Chapter Text
1993
New York City
Will Byers has been living in New York City for nearly three years now. After graduation, he felt the need to run off from the town that figuratively (and literally) almost swallowed him whole. And he especially felt the need to run off from the loneliness and unrequited feelings that a certain someone from back home brought him. Mike Wheeler.
Him and Mike, despite being supposed best friends haven’t spoken much since Will left town. Minimal letters were exchanged, and Will told himself that it’s fine. That he needs to move on. Mike didn’t love him in the way Will did, and Will needed to accept that. The letters eventually came less as time went on, and Will believed that he was finally free. That his heart could no longer be haunted by Mike’s name.
New York City had helped with this sentiment. It was loud in its own fascinating way that Hawkins had never been. It was crowded and constantly moving, as if it refused to let anything linger for too long. Will found himself enjoying his days sketching in coffee shops and being an assistant teacher for art at a local elementary school.
He learned the rhythm of a place that didn’t know him as the kid who disappeared and came back to life or as the boy who was quiet and different from the rest. In New York, he could be anonymous. He could create his own story. And that’s what he enjoyed most.
Carlton came into his life the way New York did, unannounced and without ceremony. The pair met in a bookstore, and Will believed that this was the perfect way to forget about his past. Carlton was kind, patient, and unassuming. He was someone Will didn’t have to worry about asking questions he wasn’t ready to answer. He didn’t know Mike Wheeler’s name and about his freckle adorned face, he didn’t know about his dark past and about alternate dimensions with slimy tentacles, or about the pain of loving someone but not being able to say it aloud.
With Carlton, Will didn’t have to excavate his past. He could just exist.
That’s why it worked. That’s why New York and living in a small, high rise apartment with Carlton worked.
Will began to tell himself that love didn’t have to feel like longing. It didn’t have to ache. Perhaps it was supposed to be quiet, steady, and unassuming. As if it was something you chose rather than chose you. Carlton neatly fit into the box Will meticulously built for himself. One that didn’t leave room for unrequited loves and monsters.
And for a while, that was enough for him.
Will was immersing himself in a new painting when he heard the front door open. It’s Carlton. He’s whistling Mayonnaise by The Smashing Pumpkins as he carries a pile of mail.
“Will! Got some mail.” He says, nodding his head in greeting. “One’s addressed to you.”
Will perks up at that. He sets his paintbrush down as he eyes the cream-colored envelope. “Oh? Wonder what this could be.”
“Open it.” Carlton shrugs, smiling a little.
Will picks up the envelope. It’s heavier than the rest, with his name written carefully across the front. He then looks at who it’s from.
Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield.
Hawkins, Indiana.
Will stares longer than he needs to at the word “Hawkins” in elegant font, a big contrast to the dark history he and the others know the truth of. He then breathes shakily as he opens it. The letter reads:
Max Mayfield and Lucas Sinclair invite you to their wedding on Saturday, Oct. 24th 1993 at 3 o clock in the afternoon.
Lovers Lake in Hawkins, Indiana.
Reception to follow. Semi-formal dress code.
Will sets the letter down on the counter, running his fingers over the lace engraved around the edges. He tells himself the tightness in his chest is nothing but nostalgia. Weddings do that to people, after all. His childhood best friends are getting married.
He does not let himself think about someone who will most certainly be there. He wonders if he can skip the wedding. Hopefully Max and Lucas won’t hate him, right?
Carlton’s voice snaps him back to reality. “What is it, babe?” He wraps his hands around Will’s waist.
Will falters, heart still racing. “Just a wedding invitation. From some friends back home.”
“You should go.” Carlton suggests supportively. “Might be good to see all of them again.”
“Yeah.” Will breathes. Carlton moves over to the fridge to fix himself a drink, and Will continues to stand there, hand still gripping the invitation.
Will nods to himself as he watches Carlton move around the kitchen, comfortable and unaware. Will tells himself that this is the life he chose. A life that doesn’t hurt, far from the town that once trapped him. He folds the invitation carefully, slipping it into his pocket.
He ignores the name he refuses to think about pressing in the back of his mind, quiet and persistent as a ghost.
The very next week, Will was on a plane from New York to Hawkins. He said his goodbye to Carlton at JFK airport, hugging him goodbye and promised him it would only be a few days.
Will pressed the side of his head against the plane window, sketching images that vaguely represent the troubles he faced as a kid. The lady seated next to him eyed Will in concern, but otherwise paid no mind.
Will’s eyes then trail down to the changing landscape. The New York clouds soon turn into patchwork of green and brown, as if to welcome him back to Indiana. New York was moving and loud, a living distraction enough to drown out the memories. But the city hadn’t erased them, as much as Will wishes it could. The upside down, despite The Party obliterating it lingered on in his mind. The streets and faces still exist in the corners of his mind as well, just as vivid and dangerous.
He grips his sketchbook tighter as he imagines the familiar chaos of Hawkins and the voices he hadn’t heard in years. Lucas, Max, Dustin, Steve, Robin…all of them would be there. Waiting. And somewhere in the crowd, he would inevitably have to face Mike. The thought made his stomach twist in a way that no amount of distance could fix.
Will rests his eyes as he tells himself its just nothing. Just a reunion. Him and Mike would only share awkward conversation over champagne and that would be end of them once more.
But Will knew deep down that walking back into Hawkins would mean walking straight back into the part of his heart he never left behind.
The plane soon touches down, and Will’s eyes scan around the airport as he looks for Dustin Henderson. The two agreed to meet up, since their flights were at the same time before heading to a reunion lunch Max and Lucas were hosting. It’s supposed to be a small, intimate gathering. A way for the friends to catch up before the wedding after all the years that have passed.
Will locks eyes with Dustin as he stands in front of baggage claim and immediately breaks into a smile. Dustin has a way of making everyone feel happy on the inside.
“Dustin! Dude, hey!” He exclaims.
“Will!” Dustin grins, giving Will a hug. “How’ve you been, buddy? How’s New York treating you?”
“It’s been great. Really great.” Will says softly. While that isn’t entirely a lie, what he really wants to say is that it’s just a distraction from everything that’s been haunting him. But he thinks that’s too much for a reunion.
Dustin is wearing a Yale crewneck and his hair is cut shorter. He looks smart. “How’s Yale for you?” Will asks.
“It’s amazing. I love it there, and I love my classes.” Dustin says as he grabs his luggage. “Cmon, I got a rental car. Let’s ditch this airport. So stuffy.”
Will laughs in agreement as he follows Dustin to the rental car. The air in Hawkins already feels familiar, as if he never left. He slides into the passenger seat as Dustin turns on the ignition.
“Where’s Jonathan? Couldn’t make it?” Dustin asks as he pulls out of the parking lot.
Will nods. He remembers the hushed phone call he had with his brother, begging him to go with him to the wedding. He couldn’t do it alone, he told Jonathan. He couldn’t face Hawkins alone, without his brother who knew him the best out of anyone. But Jonathan said he got caught up behind work and raising a family, apologizing profusely. Instead, he told Will to take Carlton along.
Will thought of it, but Carlton doesn’t know about anything Will went through. He just wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t understand the anxiousness he feels of returning home.
The streets of Hawkins unfold in an array of familiar store-fronts and street names, each turn down the road unfolding pieces of memories Will thought he packed away. The hum of the engine feels familiar, comforting in a way that New York wasn’t.
The air through the rolled down windows smells like dirt, leaves, and the sweetness of early autumn. The smell carries him back years, back to nights of playing DnD and saving the world.
Dustin chats easily about everything and nothing, a habit that he never seemed to grow out of. He talks about what he heard changed about the town, what everyone’s doing nowadays, and droning teachers that are still miraculously around.
Will smiles as he laughs along, but a part of him drifts. Everything reminds him of someone he’s not ready to see. The name he doesn’t say causes him to gnaw at his nails.
He keeps telling himself it will all be fine. They’ll all share jokes, stories, and nothing more. But the truth presses at the back of his mind, waiting to come out. He knows better.
When they pull into the driveway where the pre-wedding gathering is being held, he sees the crowd of familiar faces coming into view. He sees Robin laughing with Steve, Vickie close to her. He sees Nancy and Max talking, sharing a friendly smile. He can hear the clink of glasses and smell baked goods through the open window.
And that’s when he sees him.
Mike Wheeler, sitting on a bench in the yard talking to Lucas with his usual outgoingness. His hair is slightly longer since he last saw him, but his deep brown eyes still have that same shine to them. Freckles still adorn his face, and he now has a creative sense of style that Will wonders where he learned it from.
He’s grinning at something Lucas said. That same grin that used to make Will’s brain short circuit and his stomach flip. It still seems to have that same effect, because his chest tightens. Every sound seems to fade.
Will gets out in the car in a daze, as his old friends run up to greet him and Dustin. He can’t hear what they’re saying, because it all feels like background noise in a motion picture.
And then:
“Will. Hey.” He hears a voice say.
Will’s eyes trail to it, and there he is. Mike Wheeler standing infront of him. He smells like a mix of cologne and old cigarettes.
Their eyes meet, oblivious to what’s happening around them.
“Hey, Mike.” Will manages.
It’s a heartbeat of recognition, memory, and every unspoken word they never managed to say.
Just like that, the years of distance, the lack of letters, and New York and everything Will told himself would protect him all collapsed in a single, sharp, exquisite moment.