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Hawkins, Indiana. April 5th 1986.
Mike’s basement hadn’t changed. Not really, anyway.
The same posters clung to the concrete walls, their edges curling from years of stubborn tape. The same sagging couch pressed against the far wall, fabric worn down from too many all-nighters. A stack of board games teetered in the corner, dust thick on the ones they hadn’t touched in years. Even the carpet still smelled faintly of damp, like the place hadn’t breathed since they were kids. It was strange, Will thought, how it could all stay the same when everything else had shifted so violently around them. Earlier, the room had been alive. Dustin had been loud, dramatic as always, rattling dice across the table. Lucas and Max had shared a pretzel-throwing contest until Mrs. Wheeler came downstairs and told them to cut it out. El had curled into a blanket on the couch, eyes half on the TV, half on the others. For a little while, it had almost felt like before—like nothing bad had touched them, like Hawkins wasn’t still cracked down the middle. But the night had thinned. Parents had called. Rides had come. Doors had opened and closed. And now—
Now it was just Mike and Will.
Will sat cross-legged on the carpet, the soft hum of the lamp buzzing faintly overhead. He rolled a D20 between his palms, the plastic catching light each time it turned. Mike perched on the arm of the couch, one leg bouncing restlessly, fingers worrying at a loose thread in his jeans. Neither spoke.
It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, not exactly. But it was heavy. Dense. Like there was something hovering just above their heads, waiting to fall.
Will cleared his throat, more out of desperation than confidence. “It feels… smaller down here.”
Mike blinked, dragging his eyes up from his jeans. “What does?”
“This place.” Will’s gaze drifted across the walls, the table, the corners of the room that used to feel endless when they were ten. “I don’t know. I used to think this basement was, like… huge. Like a castle or something.” His lips quirked upward, but it wasn’t really a smile. His fingers tightened around the dice until the edges pressed into his skin. “Now it just feels… small.”Mike huffed a short laugh, though it sounded more like an exhale he didn’t know what to do with.
“Guess we grew up.”
Will let the silence settle again, though it pressed harder this time. He could hear Mike’s leg bouncing against the couch. Could feel the way Mike’s eyes flickered toward him, then away again. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to shape it into words.
Will swallowed, the dice still warm in his palm. His voice dropped softer, almost like he didn’t want the walls to hear. “Not everything grew with us.”
Mike’s head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
Will hesitated. His chest felt tight, like the words had to fight their way out. “Some things… I think we just left behind.”
Mike’s leg stilled. His fingers froze on the loose thread. The basement was quiet enough to hear the hum of the old refrigerator upstairs, the occasional creak of the house settling.
Will’s pulse quickened. His fingers brushed the edge of his backpack where it leaned against the couch. He knew the letter was still inside, folded and worn from too many times being taken out and put back in.
The dice slipped from Will’s palm and clattered softly against the carpet. It rolled a few inches before settling on a twelve. He watched it spin, oddly grateful for the distraction, for the excuse not to look directly at Mike.
His chest still felt tight from what he’d just said. Some things… I think we just left behind. The words echoed in his head like they belonged to someone braver.
Across the room, Mike shifted. The couch groaned under his weight as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. He wasn’t fidgeting now—no bouncing leg, no pulling threads. Just stillness, like Will had caught him off guard.
“What do you mean?” Mike asked again, quieter this time.
Will’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure what answer he had been hoping for—maybe for Mike to laugh it off, to change the subject, to release him from the pressure building in his throat. But Mike wasn’t laughing. Mike was waiting.
Will bent down, scooping up the dice, turning it over in his fingers. He stared at the number on top, though it blurred as his eyes refused to focus. “I don’t know,” he said, though of course he did. “It’s just… things feel different now. With us. With everyone.”
Mike didn’t argue. He didn’t say that’s not true or things are fine. He just looked at Will, his mouth pressed into a thin line, like he was holding something back too.
The lamp buzzed faintly above them. The air felt warm and heavy, and Will realized he could hear the sound of Mike’s breathing—steady, but sharper than usual, like he was forcing it.
Will’s hand drifted toward his backpack again. He hesitated, fingers brushing against the zipper, then pulled back like he’d touched fire. The letter inside might as well have been glowing. He had carried it around for weeks now, folded so many times the creases were permanent, the ink smudged at the edges. He had almost given it to Mike a dozen times, always stopping at the last second. Always telling himself not yet.
Mike leaned back against the couch again, running a hand through his hair. His eyes flickered away, toward the shelves stacked with VHS tapes, toward the corner where an old campaign map lay rolled up and forgotten. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Different.”
The word landed heavy between them.
Will shifted where he sat, crossing his legs tighter. His heartbeat felt too loud in his ears. “Do you ever think about… before? When it was just us? Just the basement, and the games, and…” His voice faltered. He forced himself to meet Mike’s eyes. “Before things got so complicated.”
Mike’s expression softened, almost painfully so. “All the time.”
Will swallowed hard, throat dry.
He wanted to ask what Mike meant. Did he miss it? Did he miss me? But the words stuck, thick and unspoken, just like the letter in his bag.
Mike shifted again, his restless energy returning. He grabbed a dice from the table, tossing it lightly between his hands. The plastic clicked against his palms. “It’s weird,” he said, staring down at it. “Sometimes I feel like I should’ve said more. Back then. When it mattered.”
Will’s breath caught.
Mike looked up, eyes wide like he’d just realized how much he’d admitted. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
The hum of the lamp. The stillness of the room. The weight of years pressing down on both of them.
Will’s fingers tightened around his backpack strap. He could almost feel the letter inside, like it was burning a hole through the fabric.
He couldn’t stop watching Mike. The way hiss brow furrowed slightly when he was thinking too hard. The way his hair fell into his eyes, stubborn no matter how many times he pushed it back. The way he couldn’t sit still, not even now, when the room was still as stone.
When it mattered.
The words replayed in Will’s head, looping over and over until his pulse quickened. What did Mike mean? What could he possibly regret not saying?
Will wanted to ask, but his throat closed around the question. Instead, he shifted where he sat, the carpet scratching against his jeans, the D20 pressed tight in his palm like an anchor.
Mike tossed the dice a little higher this time, catching it without looking. “It’s just… things were simpler then,” he said, voice low. “We didn’t have to worry about… I don’t know. Any of this.”
Will tilted his head. “Any of what?”
Mike hesitated. The dice slipped once in his hands, nearly tumbling to the floor, but he caught it quickly, squeezing it hard like he needed something solid to hold onto. “Everything,” he said finally. “Monsters. Upside Downs. …Feelings.”
The last word was barely audible, swallowed almost completely by the hum of the basement lamp.
Will’s chest tightened. He wanted to freeze the moment, rewind it, play it again and again until he was sure he hadn’t imagined it. But Mike’s gaze had dropped again, retreating, like the word had slipped out by accident.
Will licked his lips, the air suddenly too dry. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.”
The quiet settled back in, heavier than before.
From upstairs came the muffled creak of footsteps: Karen Wheeler moving around the kitchen, maybe, or Nancy heading to bed. The normal sounds of a normal house, so far removed from the intensity simmering beneath the basement light.
Will’s backpack dug into his hip where it leaned against him. He shifted slightly, and the zipper glinted under the lamp. His heart jumped. He could picture the folded paper inside so vividly it was as if he was already holding it. The lines of his handwriting. The smudged corner from when his hand had shaken. The words he had poured out and then buried, too scared to let them breathe.
He wondered if Mike could feel it, too—that something was sitting between them, invisible but undeniable, waiting.
Mike rubbed a hand across his face, letting out a sigh. “Sometimes I think about the campaigns we never finished,” he said suddenly, almost too casually. “The ones where your character just… disappeared. Or where I didn’t write an ending.”
Will blinked at him. “You mean the stories?”
“Yeah.” Mike shrugged, looking at the floor. “Feels like there’s all this unfinished stuff hanging around, you know? Stuff we were supposed to finish but never did.”
Unfinished. Will’s stomach turned. He knew Mike wasn’t just talking about D&D.
He wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in his throat. His fingers curled around the strap of his bag again, knuckles white.
Mike glanced at him then, really glanced, and for a split second Will thought—no, knew—that Mike could see it. That he knew exactly what Will was hiding, both in his bag and in his chest.
Will’s breath hitched. He forced his eyes away, focusing instead on the dice scattered across the table, their numbers gleaming faintly under the light.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence pressed down, thick enough that Will could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He reached forward and gathered a few of the dice scattered across the table, letting them clink together softly in his palm. The sound reminded him of late nights years ago, when they’d played until their eyes stung and their parents had begged them to sleep.
Back then, the dice had only meant games. Adventure. Escapes. Not this. Not the weight of unspoken words hiding in the air like shadows.
Mike leaned forward suddenly, reaching under the table. For a moment Will thought he was going for his bag too, and his chest lurched in panic. But when Mike sat up, he held something thin and rolled tight, a campaign map, the paper yellowing around the edges.
Will’s breath caught.
“I forgot this was even here,” Mike said, carefully unrolling it across the tabletop. The edges curled stubbornly, refusing to lay flat. “This was… what, ‘The Siege of Kelmora’? The one we never finished?”
Will shifted closer before he realized what he was doing. His knees brushed the edge of the table as he leaned over, eyes tracing the hand-drawn ink lines, the little notes scrawled in the margins. His handwriting was mixed with Mike’s—two different styles crammed together, creating a world only they had lived in.
He reached out, fingertips grazing the paper. “You kept it.”
“Of course I did.” Mike’s voice was quiet, almost defensive. “I keep all of them.”
Will swallowed. The map was simple, childish even, but it felt heavier than anything else in the room. A piece of their history preserved here, waiting for them to come back.
“Castle Byers was in this one,” Will murmured, eyes lingering on a sketch of a crooked little tower at the edge of the map. The lines weren’t exact, but he remembered the night they’d drawn it—Mike insisting it should be part of the game, that Will’s real castle deserved a place in their imaginary one.
Mike leaned closer too, their shoulders almost touching. “Yeah. You made it the stronghold.” He smiled faintly, but there was a softness behind it. “Unbreakable.”
The word stung. Will’s chest tightened. Castle Byers hadn’t been unbreakable at all—it had been torn down, ruined. Just like the simple safety of everything they’d once had.
“I guess nothing really is,” Will said, his voice slipping out quieter than he meant.
Mike didn’t answer right away. His fingers brushed against the edge of the map, almost overlapping with Will’s. He glanced at him then, eyes darker than the basement shadows, and for a second Will thought—no, hoped—he might say something, anything, to close the space between them.
But Mike only leaned back, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “We could… I don’t know. Finish this one, maybe. If you wanted.”
Will blinked. “Finish it?”
“Yeah.” Mike gestured at the map, though he wasn’t looking at it. “All those campaigns we left hanging… maybe we should go back. Tie up the endings. Give the characters what we never did.”
Will’s throat felt tight. Unfinished things. Unspoken things. He knew Mike wasn’t just talking about games, but he wasn’t ready to push. Not yet.
“Maybe,” Will said softly. His hand brushed against the strap of his backpack again, almost unconsciously.
Mike tugged open one of the boxes stacked against the wall, its lid loose from years of being shoved around. He crouched, rifling through the contents—old comics, tangled cords, a broken walkie-talkie.
Will watched him, the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his shoulders hunched forward. For a second, Mike looked like he had when they were twelve, digging for dice or miniatures before a campaign. But then he pulled something out, and the years between them came rushing back.
It was a folded sheet of paper, crinkled at the edges, the ink faded but not gone. Will’s stomach flipped. He knew that linework.
Mike carefully smoothed it against his knee. “You drew this.”
Will leaned closer, his breath catching. It was one of his old sketches—one he’d given to Mike years ago, maybe even forgotten he’d drawn. The details were clumsy, lines too heavy in some places, too light in others, but there was heart in it: four tiny figures, swords raised, standing before a towering dragon. Their party. Their first big adventure. It was an old and more messy sketch, similar to the one he had painted Mike and given to him just weeks ago.
“I can’t believe you kept that,” Will said. His voice came out smaller than he intended.
Mike looked at him sharply, like the question offended him. “Of course I did.” He paused, eyes softening as they traced the drawing again. “You gave it to me. Why wouldn’t I?”
Will’s chest tightened. He didn’t know how to answer, so he stayed quiet, staring at the shaky little dragon, the four tiny heroes. It wasn’t very good, but Mike was looking at it like it was worth something anyway.
The silence lingered, but this time it didn’t feel quite so empty.
Mike set the drawing carefully on the table, almost reverently, then dug deeper in the box. His hand closed around something rectangular, and when he pulled it free, Will recognized the faded plastic casing before Mike even blew the dust off.
A mixtape.
Mike turned it over in his hands, squinting at the handwritten label on the front. The ink was smudged, but Will knew what it said: For Mike. His cheeks heated. He hadn’t thought about that in years.
“You made this,” Mike said, a little wonder slipping into his voice.
Will shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I, uh… I don’t even remember what songs I put on it.” Which was a lie. He remembered every single one. He remembered spending hours choosing, trying to find tracks that said the things he couldn’t.
Mike smiled faintly, setting the tape down beside the drawing and the map. “We should listen to it sometime.”
Will’s heart stuttered. Sometime. The word felt like a promise. Or maybe just a delay.
The three items sat in a row on the table now: the map, the drawing, the tape. Relics of the lives they used to live. Unfinished stories. Quiet confessions tucked into paper and plastic.
And sitting just inches away, still zipped in Will’s bag, was the one relic that mattered most. The one he wasn’t brave enough to lay beside them.
Will’s fingers itched toward his backpack, toward the folded paper that had been waiting for this exact moment for weeks. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not while Mike was still carefully inspecting the artifacts of their shared childhood, tracing the edges with reverence.
Mike picked up the mixtape again, tilting it in the lamp light. “You know,” he said softly, almost as if thinking aloud, “I wrote something too. A long time ago. Never gave it to anyone.”
Will’s stomach lurched.
Mike’s eyes flicked to him, then away, like he was embarrassed to meet Will’s gaze. “Yeah. Didn’t know if I should. Or… maybe I was just scared. Guess I still am.”
Will’s hands tightened on his knees. The letter in his bag suddenly felt unbearably heavy. He could almost hear the words inside, waiting for release, waiting for Mike to finally know.
“I… I wrote something too,” Will admitted, voice trembling. “Never… never gave it to anyone.”
Mike froze mid-motion, the mixtape dangling between his fingers. He swallowed hard, looking at Will like he’d just unlocked a secret he hadn’t dared hope for.
“You mean to… me” Mike asked cautiously, the word fragile on his lips.
Will nodded. The tremor in his hands betrayed him. “Yeah. You. I… I don’t know why I didn’t...”
Mike put the mixtape down slowly, carefully, like touching it too quickly might shatter the fragile bubble of truth between them. “Me too,” he whispered. “I guess… I thought I’d never get the chance.”
The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was full. Full of possibility. Full of the words that had been trapped in paper for months, full of everything they’d been too scared to say.
Will finally reached for his backpack, hands shaking. He unzipped it slowly, deliberately, as if giving himself time to prepare. He pulled out the folded papers, creased and familiar, and held them out to Mike.
Mike’s breath hitched. His hand hovered over the letters as if afraid they might disappear before he could touch them. Then, slowly, deliberately, he took them.
Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The weight of what had been unspoken for so long filled the space between them more completely than words ever could.
And for the first time in a long time, Will felt something like relief, like maybe the basement wasn’t small anymore—not with Mike here, with this moment stretching out, fragile and infinite, just for them.
Will reached for the mixtape, its worn plastic case familiar in his hand. The label—For Mike—made his chest tighten again. He remembered the nights he had spent carefully choosing the songs, hoping somehow the music would speak the words he couldn’t say out loud.
He flipped it over and read the handwritten track list, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the nerves:
Side A:
-
The Smiths – Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want
-
Joy Division – Love Will Tear Us Apart
-
David Bowie – Heroes
-
The Cure – Just Like Heaven
-
New Order – True Faith
Side B:
-
The Smiths – I Know It’s Over
-
David Bowie – Modern Love
-
The Go-Betweens – Cattle and Cane
-
The Psychedelic Furs – Love My Way
-
The Replacements – Swingin’ Party
Will traced the letters with his fingertip as he read them, remembering why each song made sense. Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want—that one was obvious. He had wanted to tell Mike everything for so long, and the lyrics said what he couldn’t. Love Will Tear Us Apart—he had picked it for the ache of distance and regret, the way life seemed to put walls between them even when they were side by side. Heroes—because some part of him hoped they could still be brave, even now.
“Mind if I…” Will held the tape up, gesturing toward Mike’s old cassette player in the corner.
Mike shook his head, a small, nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Go ahead.”
Will walked over, the carpet soft under his sneakers, and slid the tape into the player. The mechanism clicked and whirred, and then the first faint notes spilled into the basement. Warm, slightly scratchy, but familiar. He adjusted the volume until it filled the room, but still gentle, like it was meant only for them.
Mike’s eyes followed him the entire time, watching every careful movement. He shifted on the couch, leaning back against the armrest, hands resting loosely on his knees. The music brought something quiet into the air—memories of nights in this very basement, of laughter, of whispered secrets, of the world outside fading away.
Will returned to the table.
Mike breathed in slowly, fingertips brushing the edges, as if afraid to tear it open too quickly. He finally unfolded the page and began to read.
The room felt smaller, warmer, somehow sacred. The hum of the cassette player and the faint scent of old carpet surrounded them. Will sat close enough that their shoulders almost touched, but neither moved—both caught in the gravity of the moment, waiting for each word, each pause.
Dear Mike,
it's been a week since we arrived in california and its so different here. The weather is warmer and the people are also quite different. I'm sitting in my new room right now, on the carpet, my mom said my desk hasnt came yet so i cant sit and write or draw yet. But that doesn't matter. Sorry its not important. What I wanted so say is that I really hope that you're doing okay and that high school is gonna be fine.
There are so many things that i want to tell you but its too much for me to write down with my bare hands. And I cant stand writing all of it down for you to read it like a week later, and i would have to wait and be all anxious without knowing how you would actually react. Anyways, please call me someday, and say hi to your family from me, and Dustin, Lucas and Max! Okay ill talk to you soon i hope.
Lo From, Will:)
The hum of the cassette player filled the basement softly—the scratchy intro of Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want curling around them, fragile and tender. The music wrapped around Mikes chest like a warm, familiar blanket, setting a quiet rhythm for his heartbeat.
It’s been a week since we arrived in California, and it’s so different here…
Mike’s eyes flicked up at Will for a moment. The words were simple, almost casual, but the way they were written carried weight—longing and care pressed between the lines. He could picture Will sitting on his carpet, the room empty except for him, thinking of Mike across the country.
I really hope that you’re doing okay, and that high school is going to be fine…
Mike’s throat tightened. He knew Will didn’t often write letters like this, didn’t often reach out in a way that made him feel this close, even from miles away. The ache of distance pressed in around him, and for a second he could almost hear Will’s voice saying the words.
There are so many things I want to tell you, but it feels like too much to write down with my bare hands…
Mike smiled faintly, a ghost of a grin, imagining Will hunched over paper, hands cramped, hesitant with every word. He felt a little lighter and heavier at the same time—lighter because Will had written, heavier because the things left unsaid carried their own weight.
Anyway… please call me someday. Say hi to your family for me, and Dustin, Lucas, and Max too. Okay? I hope we can talk soon.
Mike folded the letter slowly, pressing it against his chest for a moment. He glanced up at Will, who was sitting quietly, hands resting on his knees, eyes wide and nervous. There was a vulnerability there, raw and tender, that Mike wanted to reach for but didn’t know how to touch.
“Will…” he murmured, voice low, almost breaking. “I… I didn’t know. Uh, I didn't know.." Mike struggled to find the right words but Will just smiled slightly.
Mike nodded, his fingers tracing the edge of the paper as the song shifted, the notes tugging at something deep inside him. The music, the letter, the basement… everything felt suspended, like the world outside had stopped, and only this small bubble of honesty existed.
“Thank you,” Mike said finally. “For this.”
Will’s chest lifted slightly at the words, relief mingling with nerves. “There’s more,” he said quietly, reaching for the next letter.
Mike looked at him, eyes warm, expectant. “Then I guess I should get comfortable,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as the next song began, and the first of many shared confessions started to unfold.
The second song on the mixtape started—Love Will Tear Us Apart—soft and haunting, and Mike let the first song fade behind him as he unfolded Will’s next letter. The paper was creased from being handled, but the words spilled across the page with the same honest awkwardness Mike had come to recognize..
Dear Mike,
Hi! It's Will, obviously you already know that, sorry. Anyways, I hope everything is alright in Hawkins, with school and everything. Dustin called me yesterday and told me about this new campaign you guys did last weekend. I wish I could be there too..
Ive been thinking a lot lately, about everything thats happened and how things could have ended so differently. I also noticed that you've started ignoring my calls, either that or you're just busy. I just...i dont know its stupid.
How is Nancy doing? Jonathan told me that she's started writing for the school papers, thats so cool! Jonathans talking non stop about college its starting to get annoying. is hawkins any different? Are Max and Lucas okay? Dustin also mentioned they've been fighting a lot. I know this will take ages for you to even get, and you know that you don't have to write back to me. I just miss talking to you.
It's been three weeks since you last called to talk to me and not El but yeah, shes been filling me in on your life.
I'm sorry, the last months i've been struggling a lot with school, i mean yeah california is great but.. its not the same going to school without you guys. I'm not gonna have you reading more of my stupid thoughts. I hope you're okay, call soon yeah? please. Dont forget to say hi to everyone from me!
//Will
Hi! It’s Will, obviously you already know that, sorry…
Mike felt a small smile tug at his lips. He knew that voice. The tentative way Will approached the world, the half-apology always tucked in, as if the words themselves could hurt someone if not careful.
I hope everything is alright in Hawkins, with school and everything. Dustin called me yesterday and told me about this new campaign you guys did last weekend. I wish I could be there too…
Mike’s fingers brushed the edges of the paper, almost protective. He could feel Will’s absence, the longing pressed between the lines, and it hurt in a way that made his chest tighten.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about everything that’s happened and how things could have ended so differently. I also noticed that you’ve started ignoring my calls, either that or you’re just busy. I just… I don’t know, it’s stupid.
Mike swallowed hard. He knew he hadn’t ignored Will. He had just… drifted, trying to handle the chaos of his own life, thinking the other boy would understand. But reading this, seeing how it had felt from Will’s side… it twisted something inside him.
How is Nancy doing? Jonathan told me that she’s started writing for the school papers, that’s so cool! Jonathan’s talking non-stop about college; it’s starting to get annoying. Is Hawkins any different? Are Max and Lucas okay? Dustin also mentioned they’ve been fighting a lot. I know this will take ages for you to even get, and you know that you don’t have to write back to me. I just miss talking to you.
Mike let out a quiet breath. The music played, the vocals soft but aching, and it felt like it had been chosen to underscore every word Will had written. He could hear the longing, the small frustration, the quiet loneliness.
It’s been three weeks since you last called to talk to me and not El, but yeah, she’s been filling me in on your life…
Mike’s eyes flicked to Will, sitting close by, hands folded nervously in his lap. The boy looked so small, so earnest, and Mike realized how much he had missed this—missed Will’s presence, his voice, the way he always made the world feel like it belonged to them for just a little while.
I’m sorry, the last months I’ve been struggling a lot with school. I mean, yeah, California is great but… it’s not the same going to school without you guys. I’m not gonna have you reading more of my stupid thoughts. I hope you’re okay, call soon, yeah? Please. Don’t forget to say hi to everyone from me!
Mike folded the letter carefully, pressing it against his chest as if he could hold the words themselves. He looked up at Will, and for a moment, neither said anything. Everything in the basement—the music, the soft glow of the lamp, the scattered relics of their childhood—hung heavy between them, holding the space open for something neither had dared say out loud.
“I… I didn’t know you felt that way,” Mike murmured finally, voice low, almost caught in the music.
Will’s throat tightened, and he nodded, small and careful. “I… I didn’t know if I should."
Mike’s eyes softened. He reached out, just a hand hovering for a moment before he rested it lightly on the table near Will’s letters. “I’m glad you did.”
Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the tension easing ever so slightly. The second song faded into the next track on the mixtape, but neither of them moved to change it. The basement, the music, the letters—they existed for only them in that moment.
The next song clicked into place on the cassette player—Heroes by David Bowie. The soft, soaring notes filled the basement, giving the room a quiet, almost sacred feel. Mike held the third letter in his hands, feeling the familiar weight of Will’s words even before he unfolded it.
Dear Mike,
It's late right now. I've been up painting and didn't realised how late it was. Anyway, i'm pretty sure you will never even read this but i have to confess my feelings somehow. Soo, it's december now, christmas is around the corner and it feels so weird being without you. Its cold here now, or not that cold but still. I hate the cold, i could almost still feel the haunting inside my skin, the freezing feeling and the hairs raising everywhere on my body. So i'm actually glad that i live in california right now. Back to more important things.
I miss hawkins so much. Especially around christmas times. i remember when you, me and Lucas were outside building an ice globe when we were like 7, we were so so cold but we had to finish it. And another time we had a winter campaign that you and i had planned together for weeks, then Dustin got sick so we never got to finish it. Anyways. I dont really know what i wanted to say, i guess i just cant sleep because i cant stop thinking about you and all our memories. I'll have to sleep eventually, but i hope you're okay. My biggest wish this christmas is for you to call me..
Merry christmas Mike!
/Will:)
It’s late right now. I’ve been up painting and didn’t realize how late it was…
Mike’s eyes flicked up at Will, sitting nervously across from him. The boy looked small in the soft glow of the lamp, hands folded, shoulders hunched just slightly. Mike’s chest tightened. He could almost hear Will painting, could almost feel him there in the middle of the night, struggling to capture his feelings in color and words.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure you’ll never even read this, but I have to confess my feelings somehow.
Mike froze. His fingers tightened around the paper. He knew this wasn’t just another casual letter. Will’s voice, even in writing, trembled with honesty.
It’s December now, Christmas is around the corner, and it feels so weird being without you. I hate the cold. I could almost still feel the haunting inside my skin, the freezing feeling and the hairs raising everywhere on my body.
Mike’s stomach knotted. The memories of Will being possessed a few years ago flickered through his mind. He hated seeing Will like that.
I remember when you, me, and Lucas were outside building an ice globe when we were like seven. We were so, so cold, but we had to finish it. And another time we had a winter campaign that you and I had planned together for weeks, then Dustin got sick so we never got to finish it.
Mike swallowed hard, eyes flicking up to Will again. He wanted to say something—I remember too—but the words lodged in his throat. He just let the letter speak for both of them, letting the soft music and the gentle lamplight fill the room.
I don’t really know what I wanted to say, I guess I just can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about you and all our memories. I’ll have to sleep eventually, but I hope you’re okay. My biggest wish this Christmas is for you to call me…
Mike’s chest tightened painfully. His hand shook slightly. He looked across at Will, whose eyes were fixed on the floor, nervously waiting for a reaction. The vulnerability in Will’s words made the basement feel both impossibly small and infinitely intimate.
“Merry Christmas, Mike,” he read aloud softly, almost whispering the ending, letting the words linger in the air.
Will’s lips quirked into a tiny, nervous smile. “I… I meant it,” he murmured. “That’s really all I wanted.”
Mike’s throat went dry. He wanted to tell Will how much he missed him, how every memory in that letter mirrored his own thoughts, but instead he reached out, letting his hand hover briefly before resting it lightly on Will’s arm—a quiet connection, a reassurance without words.
For a moment, the basement was just the two of them, the letters, and the music carrying every emotion too big for either of them to speak aloud.
Will nodded for Mike to continue.
The next song hummed softly from the cassette player—Just Like Heaven by The Cure, bright and nostalgic, lifting the weight of the last letter just enough to make the basement feel warm instead of heavy. Mike unfolded the fourth letter slowly, his eyes scanning Will’s familiar handwriting.
Dear Mike,
Hey! El just told me that you're coming to visit for spring break. I'm so excited to see you again you have no idea. I'm sitting in my bed right now, I had school today and it was so boringg. A girl asked me out today..haha. It was during lunch, she just walked up to me and El and asked me to go on a date with her. I felt so rude when i turned her down. Sorry i dont even know why i'm telling you this.
I was thinking earlier today about the snowball in 8th grade, when I danced with that random girl, just because you told me to. That night is very special to me still, we had so much fun. I also remember once when we were in elementary school and some girl said to me that she thought you were cute and wanted to be your friend and i got sooo mad. hahaha, I wanted you all to myself and I was so scared that you were gonna find someone better than me.
I miss you guys so much and i cant wait to see you for spring break! Call me soon:)
Love, Will.
Hey! El just told me that you’re coming to visit for spring break. I’m so excited to see you again, you have no idea.
Mike’s chest lightened slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, almost shy smile. He could hear Will’s excitement through the words, and it made him feel closer, even though the letter had traveled so far across space and time.
I’m sitting in my bed right now, I had school today and it was so boringgg. A girl asked me out today… haha. It was during lunch, she just walked up to me and El and asked me to go on a date with her. I felt so rude when I turned her down. Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.
Mike chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You always tell me everything,” he whispered, almost to himself. He could hear Will’s nervous, awkward energy coming through even in writing, and it made him ache with both affection and longing.
I was thinking earlier today about the snowball in 8th grade, when I danced with that random girl, just because you told me to. That night is very special to me still, we had so much fun.
Mike remembered that night perfectly—the snow crunching under their feet walking outside the gym hall, Will laughing, Mike’s own chest swelling with pride and a little helplessness because he hadn’t realized how much Will had cared about his approval.
I also remember once when we were in elementary school and some girl said to me that she thought you were cute and wanted to be your friend and I got sooo mad. hahaha, I wanted you all to myself and I was so scared that you were gonna find someone better than me.
Mike laughed softly, shaking his head, the warmth spreading through him. He looked up at Will, who was sitting close by, hands fidgeting in his lap, eyes nervously watching for a reaction. “You were scared?” he murmured.
Will shrugged, cheeks pink, but nodded. “I didn’t want to lose you,” he admitted quietly.
Mike swallowed hard. There it was. The vulnerability he had been sensing, now spoken in memories and playful confessions. His hand twitched, almost reaching out, but he stayed still, letting the words sink in.
I miss you guys so much and I can’t wait to see you for spring break! Call me soon :)
Love, Will.
Mike folded the letter gently, holding it against his chest for a long moment. The music continued to play softly, carrying the warmth, the nostalgia, the quiet confession of a boy who had carried so much for so long.
He looked at Will, who offered a small, hopeful smile. Mike’s own chest ached in response, the letters, the music, and Will’s presence all colliding into a quiet, overwhelming sense of relief and longing.
“I… I couldn't wait to see you either,” Mike said softly, almost a whisper, letting the words hang in the air between them.
Will’s hands flexed nervously in his lap, but he didn’t look away. “Good,” he murmured. “Because… I missed you.”
Mike’s lips twitched, almost a smile, almost something more. The mixtape played on, a perfect backdrop to the letters, the memories, and the small, unspoken truths they were finally letting each other feel.
The next track clicked into place—I Know It’s Over by The Smiths. The soft, haunting melody filled the basement, carrying with it a sense of ache and longing. Mike unfolded the fifth letter carefully, almost trembling.
Dear Mike,
I don’t even know how to start this. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at a blank page, thinking about how much I want to tell you, and how scared I am to actually do it.
Everything’s different here, but I keep thinking about you, about us, about Hawkins. I keep remembering all the little things—our late-night campaigns, laughing until we couldn’t breathe, the way you always knew what I meant without me saying a word.
I don’t want to hide it anymore. I like you, Mike. So much. More than a friend. More than I even realized until recently. More than...anything really. I don’t know if you feel the same way. I don’t even know if you’ll read this, but I had to say it.
I miss you. I miss Hawkins, I miss the basement, I miss our games, and I miss you. being around you made everything feel… easier, lighter. Somehow safer. I hope we can see each other soon. I hope… I hope you feel the same.
Love,
Will :)
I don’t even know how to start this…
Mike’s eyes scanned the words, and his chest tightened. The casual, tentative voice of the first letters was gone. This one carried the full weight of Will’s feelings, unguarded and raw.
I like you, Mike. So much. More than a friend. More than I even realized until recently. More than...anything really.
Mike’s breath caught. He looked up at Will, whose hands were clenched loosely in his lap, eyes fixed nervously on the floor. The basement suddenly felt impossibly small, and yet somehow infinite, holding them together in the quiet glow of the lamp.
He could feel the honesty in every line, the courage it must have taken for Will to write this. The ache in his chest was sharp, a mixture of relief, longing, and the sudden, overwhelming realization of how much he had missed Will too.
“I… Will,” Mike whispered, voice catching. He reached out slowly, almost afraid the moment would break if he moved too fast. His hand hovered over Will’s before finally resting gently over his. “I… I feel the same.”
Will’s eyes snapped up, wide and shining, and then a small, relieved smile spread across his face. “You do?” he breathed.
Mike nodded, a grin breaking through the tension. “Yeah. I’ve liked you for… a long time too. More than I even realized until now.”
Will let out a shaky laugh, and for the first time all evening, the tension in the basement seemed to dissolve. The mixtape played on, but the letters had done their work. Words that had been trapped for months, maybe years, were finally out. And in the soft glow of the lamp, with the music surrounding them and their hands just barely touching, Mike and Will felt… home.
Mike’s hand lingered on Will’s, warmth spreading through him as the final words of the fifth letter sank in. His chest felt heavy, full, like it might burst. He let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly, trying to process everything.
Then, almost like a memory jolted him awake, he froze. His eyes went wide, and he muttered under his breath, “…Wait.”
Will tilted his head, curious and nervous. “What is it?”
Mike reached slowly into his pocket, fumbling for the folded sheet of paper he had tucked away months ago. “I… I wrote something a long time ago,” he said, voice low. “I was scared, and I never… I never gave it to you. I didn’t know if I should.”
Will’s eyes softened. “Mike…”
Mike swallowed hard and handed him the paper. “I think… now’s the time you should read it.”
Will took it carefully, unfolding it slowly. The handwriting was unmistakably Mike’s—neat, deliberate, with small quirks that only he would recognize.
Dear William Will,
Hi! I uhm, don't really know how to do this type of stuff but I will try my best. But I will probably not even send this letter so it doesnt really matter. It's been a month since you left and i've gotten a lot of time to think. about everything really. Will I am so so sorry for everything i've done- I've been the shittiest friend ever the last year and i'm..sorry. You didn't deserve any of that and I guess I was sort of just, distracting myself with other things that I didn't think about the way my words and actions hurt you.
I hope you can forgive me one day, I tried calling you a few times but I dont know if the line is busy or if you just dont wanna talk to me. Shit, I'm so sorry. It's so different here without you here. Sometimes i even bike past your old house, and castle byers, just sitting there. El has told me that you painted something when i talked to her a few days ago. It made me think of when you used to make me drawings all the time, and when one of the other guys asked you to, you always said no. It made me feel so special. Fuck I'm sitting here grinning like an idiot just at that memory. What happened to us Will? We were so close before, inseparable my mom used to call us. We did everything together, it was even a little weird to be honest.
I wish I could go back. I wish I would've done things differently. Then maybe you would have wanted to talk to me right now. My mind is spinning all over the place now and my hand is cramping so i think i'm just gonna stop this here. Please Will, call me soon when you can, I can't lose you. I love you.
Love, Mike<3
Will’s chest tightened as he read Mike’s words. The mix of apology, longing, and honest emotion pressed in around him like a tide he hadn’t realized he was holding back for himself too.
Will, I am so so sorry for everything I’ve done—I’ve been the shittiest friend ever the last year and I’m… sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that and I guess I was sort of just distracting myself with other things that I didn’t think about the way my words and actions hurt you.
Will’s fingers trembled slightly as he turned the page, his eyes scanning every line. He could hear the sincerity in every word, feel the weight of Mike’s regrets, the ache of missing him.
I hope you can forgive me one day. I tried calling you a few times but I don’t know if the line is busy or if you just don’t want to talk to me. Shit, I’m so sorry. It’s so different here without you. Sometimes I even bike past your old house, and Castle Byers, just sitting there…
Will let out a quiet breath, the memories surfacing—the basement, the laughter, the adventures, the way they had been inseparable once. He looked up at Mike, who was watching him nervously, his hands clasped tightly together.
El has told me that you painted something when I talked to her a few days ago. It made me think of when you used to make me drawings all the time… It made me feel so special. Fuck, I’m sitting here grinning like an idiot just at that memory. What happened to us, Will? We were so close before, inseparable, my mom used to call us. We did everything together; it was even a little weird to be honest.
Will’s eyes shimmered, a quiet laugh escaping him, soft and breathless. “Mike…”
I wish I could go back. I wish I would’ve done things differently. Then maybe you would have wanted to talk to me right now. My mind is spinning all over the place now, and my hand is cramping, so I think I’m just gonna stop this here. Please Will, call me soon when you can. I can’t lose you. I love you.
Love, Mike <3
Will looked up at Mike, who was holding his breath, waiting for a reaction. And in that moment, the basement, the mixtape, the letters—they all faded into the background, leaving just the two of them.
Will laughed softly, shaking his head, tears threatening to spill. “Mike… you idiot,” he whispered, a mix of relief and disbelief. “You didn’t need to hide this from me.”
Mike shook his head, exhaling shakily. “I was scared, that you wouldnt...feel the same” he whispered. His thumb brushed over Will’s hand, and suddenly, everything—months of distance, letters, missed calls, awkward silences—collapsed into this one moment.
Will’s eyes filled completely, a tear escaping and sliding down his cheek. “I… I missed you so much, Mike,” he said softly, voice trembling.
Mike’s own throat tightened, his chest aching. “I missed you too. More than I even realized,” he admitted. His hand moved gently, cupping Will’s cheek. The warmth of his palm was grounding, almost painfully intimate.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other, breaths hitching, hearts hammering, the mixtape playing softly in the background. Each word, each confession, each memory had brought them here—finally, unguarded, raw, and honest.
Will leaned slightly into Mike’s touch, their foreheads nearly touching. “I… I don’t want to hide anymore,” he whispered.
Mike’s lips trembled, a small, almost imperceptible smile crossing his face. “Neither do I,” he murmured.
Slowly, hesitantly, they leaned closer. Eyes half-closed, hearts racing, hands still entwined, until their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle, careful, almost like testing the waters, but the weight of months of longing made it feel impossibly electric.
Will’s hands moved to Mike’s shoulders, gripping lightly as if grounding himself. Mike’s other hand brushed against the back of Will’s neck, holding him close, steady, letting the warmth between them speak louder than words ever could.
The kiss deepened gradually, unhurried, savoring every second, every sensation. Tears mingled with soft laughter and quiet sighs, and for the first time in what felt like forever, they let themselves just be—together, unafraid, and utterly present.
When they finally pulled back, foreheads still touching, breaths mingling, Mike whispered, “I love you, Will. Always have”
Will smiled through his tears, heart pounding. “I love you too, Mike,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss him again, this time with a little more certainty, a little more passion, but still tender, still slow.
The mixtape hummed on in the background, carrying the notes of their unspoken past into the quiet glow of the basement.
Will felt his head spinning, he felt like he was going crazy. But at least he wasn't the only one. The voice echoed in his head.
Crazy together.