Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

:::::::

I am already here. Behind your door. At your back. I have come.
In every rustle, every glance, every shadow, in each of your labored breaths.
I am your salvation.
When all of this becomes a stranger to you, when you are ready to remain here forever, I alone shall be your beacon. I will help you cross the threshold.
And when the moment of choice is upon you, do not choose her. She is your demise.
I am life.
Believe me. Please. For I believed you.

I will grant you a little time. You may use it as you wish.
But when the time comes, and you see 3:15 on the clock, know that I will come to collect what was promised.
Do you remember?
I have but one demand:
Give me your heart.

:::::::

Chapter Text

- Seriously? - Mike frowns and looks at Dustin with disbelief. - A cemetery?
- Well, yeah, - he shrugs. Dude! It's Halloween! We have to make the most of this night!
- Where's Lucas?
- I'm here! - a clear voice calls out from behind.

The boys turn around and see Sinclair joyfully waving at them. Next to him, a red-haired girl is walking arm in arm.

- Anyone but you, - Mike grimaces.
- Why did it have to be you? - Max grimaces in the same way. - What are you losers doing at a cemetery?
- Looking for Dustin's girlfriend, - Mike smirks sarcastically.
- Hey! I have Suzie!
- One more word, Wheeler, - Max smiles and hits him with her bag of candy she's already collected. - And tomorrow we'll come back here, but for your funeral this time!

Lucas squeezes between them and spreads his arms out to get his girlfriend and his best friend to stop.

- Calm down, - he looks first at Max, then at Mike. - Can we not fight today?

When Sinclair sees how they quickly turn away from each other and snort loudly, he smiles.

- Really, guys, not today, - Dustin nods in agreement and raises one hand. - Especially since we're not here for nothing! We have an important mission!
- What mission? - all three ask in unison.
- We need to find the cursed grave, - Henderson says this in a low voice, adding strange hand gestures. - Woooooo…
- Are you idiots? - asks Max.
- I'm serious, dudes, - Dustin points his hand towards the graves. - I read about this legend in our library. It's a long story, I'll just give you the gist. Whoever finds this grave and makes a wish, it will definitely come true! I'm telling you for sure! Believe me! But there's just one thing…
- What «just one thing»? - Lucas interrupts him.
- When you make a wish, you just have to promise something…
- Promise what? - asks Max.
- Just, a small thing…
- Just say it already! - Mike says loudly and in a commanding tone.
- To love that dead person forever.
- To love that dea... what?

Wheeler looks at all his friends puzzled, eyeing the widely smiling Dustin especially distrustfully. Max and Lucas stand there in shock. Their facial expressions are almost impossible to decipher.

- No, - says Mayfield. - You are definitely idiots, - she nods her head several times, as if agreeing with herself. - I'm not participating in this circus. I'm going back to collecting candy. Bye, losers.

The boys watch the girl walk away. Lucas takes a step, then another, and another.

- Guys, sorry, - he says. - But between a cemetery and my girlfriend, I choose my girlfriend. See you!
- You're missing out! - Dustin shouts after him. - Well, - he turns and stares directly at Wheeler. - It's just you and me now.

Mike lets out a heavy sigh and realizes there's no turning back for him now.

Chapter Text

- Is this the grave we're looking for?
- No.
- What about this one?
- No.
- Maybe this one over here?
- Mike! - Dustin says angrily. - I've told you this a million times, but I'll say it again: our grave is old, broken, and overgrown with grass. And you're showing me fresh graves!
- What time is it already?
- 3 a.m. - whispers Henderson. - The time of darkness has come. Booooo...

Wheeler lets out a heavy sigh but keeps following his friend and looking around. He feels uncomfortable here, strange. In fact, he's starting to regret agreeing to all this, but he couldn't leave Dustin alone.
He had seen how Henderson's eyes lit up when he told them this story. He couldn't disappoint his friend.

Lost in thought, Wheeler doesn't notice that the path they were on has grown narrower, and he probably should have been watching his feet to see where he was going.
Stumbling, Mike falls to the ground and painfully hits his arm against something hard.

- Ouch! - the boy exclaims, still lying on the ground.
- Mike! - Dustin shouts and runs over to him, quickly helping his friend up. - Mike, are you okay?
- Yeah, - Wheeler answers uncertainly, rubbing his sore arm. - I'm alive, just took a bit of a knock, - he smiles to reassure his worried friend and hopes the flashlight beams are bright enough for Henderson to see it. - Whose grave is this, anyway? - he decides to change the subject.

«Old»

«Overgrown»

«Broken»

Night. Silence. Only the quiet breathing of the two friends can be heard.

- Hurray! - Dustin shouts. - Hurray! Wheeler, we found it?
- Found it?
- Yes!
- Yes? What?
- Mike, did you hit your head or something?
- Well, sorry, dude, but grave identification and studying the biographies of the dead wasn't exactly in my wheelhouse.
- Now that we've found it, I have to tell you the whole story, - Dustin takes a deep breath and, stepping a little away from his friend, begins to speak in a calm, even voice. - A long, long time ago, there was a guy who lived in our town. His family was poor. But that's not the main point, just an interesting detail. Anyway, he fell in love with another guy! Can you imagine? A guy fell in love with a guy! But, you know what happened next? Nobody knows… But they found his body in our lake. Did he drown himself, or was he murdered? No one knows. They say the guy he loved was the one who buried him. Buried him right here. They even say he cut out his heart, you know, for a curse of eternal love. «Your heart will be mine forever and ever». That's why they call our town's lake «Lovers' Lake». That's the story.

Mike steps closer and runs his fingers over the half-ruined headstone. He frowns.

- I would never let the person I love die. I would protect them, defend them, love them, cherish them. And not even death would separate us.
- Can you swear to that? - Dustin says playfully. - Swear it. Go on.
- I swear! I swear I would love forever, and not even death would separate us! - Wheeler shouts loudly and runs his palm over the stone once more, his fingers tracing the outline of letters almost worn away by time.
The boy squints, trying anyway to read the name of this unfortunate young man.
- Will... - Mike says quietly. - Will Byers.

Suddenly, the lightbulb in the nearby streetlamp begins to flicker violently, making the boys flinch.

- I don't really want to be here anymore, - suddenly says the recently cheerful Dustin, his voice quiet. - And I don't want to make a wish either.
- Scared?
- No! I'm not afraid of anything!

The lightbulb starts flickering again and again, until it finally explodes with a crack from overheating.
The «grave robbers» cry out in fear and surprise. Mike grabs Dustin's arm and starts shaking it.

- Let's go home! - Wheeler says in a trembling voice. - Let's go home!
- Yeah, yeah! - Dustin nods rapidly. - But we're not going to walk...
- What?
- We're going to run! Run!

Chapter Text

- See you tomorrow?
- Sure.
- You do know that... - Mike starts.
- It'll be our secret.
- By the way, what time is it?
- It's 3:15 a.m., man, - Dustin yawns.
- It's so late already.

Having promised each other they would never tell anyone about this (especially Max, as it would be perfect ammunition for her to tease them for the rest of their lives), and of course sealing the pact with spit for a hundred percent certainty, the boys headed home. Teenagers and children were still running around collecting candy. The celebration wasn't over yet.

Pirates, fairies, and other «monsters» kept running past Mike as he walked home, a sight that both calmed and frightened him simultaneously. The presence of people gave him confidence that everything was okay. He wasn't alone. But an inexplicable anxiety wouldn't leave him. He felt something was wrong. An unexplainable feeling.

Approaching his house, he decided it was best to go in through the back door. He wanted some time alone, away from the noisy crowd, to think through what had just happened to him and Dustin at the cemetery.
As he reached the door that led straight into his house's basement (his sanctuary), he suddenly froze. His hand on the doorknob, he didn't turn it. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door.

His head was starting to ache a little. What was wrong with him? He remembered the name…

- Will…
- Yes?

The voice was quiet, even, calm.
Mike shuddered and spun around sharply.
- Fuck! Who are you?
Wheeler's heart was pounding like crazy. The boy standing right in front of him had scared him half to death.
- Who are you?! - he repeated, louder.
- Will, - the stranger says and smiles.

He looks young. He and Mike are probably the same age.
This boy is smiling. Gently. Beautifully?

Mike blinks several times and breathes heavily. He's scared. What the fuck is happening?
- Dude, seriously, who are you? What are you doing at my house? My mom isn't handing out candy this year. Get lost.
The boy stops smiling and raises his eyebrows in surprise.

His clothes look unkempt, dirty, and too strange even for Halloween. But the holiday allows people to express themselves in all sorts of costumes, so that shouldn't be scary. But Wheeler is terrified. His breathing became quieter and deeper. He was terribly afraid.
- I'm here for you. I came.
- Who did you come for? For Nancy? She's into little kids now?
- Nancy? - the boy ponders, bringing one hand to his lips, tapping his fingers against them. - I don't know Nancy.
- Then leave, - Mike says firmly and roughly.
- But you promised me… - the boy takes a step forward, and Wheeler notices how pale he is.

Mike presses his entire body against the door, wanting in his fear to pass right through it and hide inside. At home.

«What if he escaped from a mental hospital? Some kind of maniac!»

Breathing becomes even harder as the boy takes another step forward.

- You said you would love me, and not even death would separate us.

«What?»

- What? - he whispers.
- I came to you, as you asked.

Mike froze, petrified with horror.

«Halloween, Dustin, the cemetery, the legend, his love vow, the streetlights, he…»

«He»

«He»

«He…»

- … Psycho, - Wheeler voices his thoughts.
- I'm not, - the stranger begins.
- Psycho! - Mike shouts, cutting him off. - Psycho! Psycho! Psycho! Don't come near me, or I'll call the police! Get the hell out of here!

With trembling hands, Mike fumbles for the doorknob, turns it, and quickly stumbles backward into the house, nearly falling.
- You're insane! - he shouts one last time and slams the door shut loudly, his shaking hands trying frantically to lock it.

«That was so scary! Holy shit!»

Finally managing to lock it, he quickly runs through the dark basement, stumbling as he goes up the stairs to safety. Bursting into the hallway/kitchen, he looks around.

- Mom? Mom!
- Michael? - his mom's voice comes from the living room. Loud, familiar, calming.
- Mom!

His mother was here. She had been waiting for him.
When he sees her, he goes to her and hugs her tightly.
- Mom…
- What's wrong, Michael?
- N-n-nothing, - he stammers in reply.
She hugs him back, and Wheeler feels safe.

He is home. He has nothing to fear.

«Michael»

Will heard the name of his savior, his beloved. But there's a problem: he doesn't know how to turn on the light in this basement room, so he decides to just sit on the couch and wait until morning. He sits up straight, places both hands on his knees, takes a deep breath in and out, and smiles.

- You promised me, Michael. You promised…

Chapter Text

Someone is shouting. Calling him. For some reason, he feels incredibly sad.

«Mike!»

Alone.

«Mike!»

Scared.

«Mike, please! Mike!»

- Mike!

Wheeler jolts upright in his bed, breathing heavily. He's sweaty. His t-shirt is unpleasantly stuck to his body around his neck. Like a collar. Why?

- Mike!

He slowly turns his head and stares, unblinking, at the door. He hears banging sounds.

- Mike! I'm saying it one more time! The last time! If you don't get your ass out of bed right now, you'll be late for school! God, why do I have to be your nanny?!

«Nancy?»

- Nancy?
- No, Santa Claus! Hurry up!
- Nancy! - Mike throws off the blanket and runs to the door, opening it. - I'm coming! Just wait!

His sister looks perfect. Slacks, blouse, blazer, hair done. But she's angry, and Wheeler winces at the sight of her displeased face.

- Ew, - the girl says. She pointedly pinches her nose and frowns. - You stink.
- Do you say that to Steve after his workouts too?
- Shut up, - she turns away and heads for the stairs. - You have three minutes, starting now.
- That's generous, Nance! You gave me a lot of time! - the guy laughs and slams the bedroom door, not even trying to hear a reply.

Wheeler gets ready quickly, fitting into the strict time allotted to him. Grabbing his backpack and rushing out of the house, giving his mom a last-minute kiss, Mike steps outside and sees his sister's car.

Approaching it, he yanks the handle, but it doesn't budge.

- Cut it out. Open the door.
Nancy laughs and doesn't react to the request.
- Okay, okay, - he says. - I'm sorry!
That proves to be enough, and the door is finally unlocked for him.

The drive to school doesn't take much time. The radio in the car is blaring, and today's playlist is unusually weird.
Mike gets out of the car, says goodbye to his sister, and slams the door extra hard for good measure.
The sound of angry words follows him until he spots Dustin. He's rummaging in his locker.

- Hey, - Wheeler claps his friend on the shoulder. - Good morning.
- Yeah, - he replies. - Real good.
- Something wrong?
- Nah, it's fine, it was just really hard to get up today.
- Tell me about it.
- You know, - Henderson begins. - I have a feeling something's not right...
Mike lowers his gaze, looking at his sneakers, and doesn't dare tell his friend about what happened to him yesterday in the backyard. He'll definitely think Wheeler's crazy and stop talking to him.
- I think everything's fine... - Mike starts.
- No, - Dustin interrupts him. - I really feel it. You know, I decided I'd swing by the library after class and read up a bit more on that legend. You're with me?

Mike is just about to say «no» when he buckles under the weight of someone else. Lucas hangs on him, wrapping one arm around his neck, and ruffles his hair with his free hand.

- So, my valiant adventurers, how did your graveyard quest end yesterday?
He laughs, and Dustin smiles back at him. But he does it mockingly, as if the comment needled him.
- Did you manage to find a girlfriend for Henderson? - Max appears out of nowhere, making all three guys jump.
Lucas lets go of Mike and steps closer to Dustin, smiling even wider. Mike rolls his eyes and presses his lips together.
- You're in a very kind mood today.
- Thanks, baby Wheeler, I was in a good mood, but then you had to open your mouth.
- I'm glad to be the cause of your bad mood. It makes me happy, - he smiles back at Max.
- Alright, - Lucas takes his girlfriend's hand and smiles. - Enough being so positive this early, it's unbearable. Classes are starting soon, let's go?

As Sinclair and his girlfriend walk ahead, Mike feels a slight nudge to his side. He shifts his gaze to Dustin.

- So? - whispers Henderson. - You with me?
- I... - Mike hesitates. - Yeah, - uncertain and quiet. - Yeah, I'm with you.

Classes had started, everyone scattered to their rooms. Almost no one was left outside. Almost.
Can «Will» be called a person?

Chapter Text

They had been in the library for three hours already.
Three wasted hours. No information. No newspaper articles. Nothing.

- Maybe we should go grab a bite?
- Mike, - Henderson answers sharply, but quietly. - You're useless. Honestly. Maybe you could actually start helping me?
- Yeah, yeah, - he replies and picks up an old book from the table. - «Love Legends»? What kind of weird title is that? Why did you pick this dumb book?
- What's wrong with it?
- Well, - Wheeler pushes it aside, folds his arms on the table, and leans closer to his friend. - What you told me yesterday didn't sound like love at all. A guy gets killed and buried, his lover curses him and condemns him to an eternal search and longing... I don't see «love» here.
- Umm, - Dustin tore his eyes away from the book he was reading and looked at Mike, frowning. - I didn't say he was killed. No one knows what happened there. And the one he loved didn't condemn him to anything... although he did, like, carve out his heart... What search? Searching for what?
- Well, I don't know. Mutual love?
- That's stupid.
- Is it?
- How can we know for sure when we weren't even alive back then?
- It's just obvious. He couldn't have done it himself...

«He could»

- What? - Mike flinches at the quiet voice.
- He could, - Dustin repeats. - Over a failed love. It happens. People are capable of that. Have you never loved anyone?
- I... - he falls silent. Thinks. Gets lost in thought. - I have. Or rather, I do.
- Well, there you go, - Henderson nods and picks up a new book from the table. - We just need time. If you're bored, you can go.
- No, I'll stay with you.
- Then maybe you could actually help me instead of just 'staying'? - sarcasm drips from his tone.
Mike rolls his eyes at his friend's mocking tone and picks up some old newspaper.

Another hour passes in reading. And another. And another.

- Found it! - Dustin exclaims and immediately covers his mouth when he hears the librarian hiss at him. - Sorry.
Mike jumps at the shout and looks at his friend. He had dozed off a little, the tedious task wearing him out.
- I found it!
- What?
- His name was Will.
- And?
- What do you mean «and»?
- I already knew that. Anything else?
- How did you know?
- He told... - Mike stumbles. Can't tell. - I read it yesterday on his gravestone.
- Why didn't you tell me? - Henderson is offended. - That would have simplified everything!

The librarian hisses again and Dustin rolls his eyes. Honestly, she's not a person, she's a snake!
- I didn't know it was important.
- Are you stupid? - dead serious.
- I'm not stupid.
- Yeah, sorry, man, you're not stupid. You're really stupid!
- Boys! - the woman is alarmed.
- Yes, yes! - Henderson answers loudly. - Got it! Need to be quieter! Thank you, I know. You've hissed about it three times already! But I don't speak snake language.
- Language! - the librarian is furious. - I'll kick you out right now!
- Quiet, I'll be quiet.

The guy abruptly gets up from the table, grabs the books he needs, and walks over to the counter.
- Please check these out under my name, - he pauses. - Kind and wonderful lady.

The librarian glares at him, but still checks out the books to his library card.
- Thanks, - he puts the books in his backpack and waves a hand at Mike. - Let's go?
Wheeler stands up, takes his backpack, and follows his friend.

Outside, it's cool. Dark. Quiet. Lights are on in the windows of the houses. People are resting. Living. And them? They spent six hours in the library. Mom is probably worried.

- Okay, seriously now, Mike, - they walk side by side. Dustin looks serious. - Why didn't you tell me you knew his name? «I wouldn't have stolen it from you».
- What? - Wheeler stops abruptly and looks at his friend.

He doesn't believe it. This is nonsense. He must have misheard. Right?
Did it get colder outside, or is it all just his imagination? He doesn't move. Stays silent. And Dustin looks at him seriously. You're joking, right?

- I just want to know. Why you didn't tell me his name. You should have.
- Should have? Why?
- Why? What kind of strange question is «why?»
- Dustin...
- Mike!

«Mike!»

- I...
- It would have simplified our search! - Henderson throws his hands up. - We spent six hours looking for a «name», but you already knew it. I feel like an idiot.

Mike looks surprised, then gives a guilty smile and relaxes.
- Sorry.
- Sorry? That's it?
- Really, sorry. My bad.
- Alright, - Dustin rubs the bridge of his nose and, walking up to Mike, claps him on the shoulder. - Fine, I forgive you. But if you know anything else, you'd better tell me. Right now, - he looks at him pointedly.
- I...
- Well?
- I... - he looks straight at his friend.

«Tell him?»

- No, - he shakes his head negatively. - I don't know anything else.

Dustin doesn't believe him. Doubts it. But doesn't press.
- Alright, alright. Fine. I'll read the books at home and maybe find something else. See you tomorrow?
- Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow.

:::::::::::::

«Michael!»

Wheeler's eyes fly open and he jolts upright in bed. His hands claw at the edge of the blanket, clenching it with such force they turn pale, almost translucent. His jaw locks. The muscles in his face go numb, and veins bulge on his forehead. His body is tense. It feels alien. The legs, the arms. None of it feels like his own. His breathing is ragged, accelerated. His heart.
It's pounding as if it's gone insane. Or maybe Mike is the one starting to lose his mind.
He breathes. Breathes. Breathes.
The air seems to thicken and grow heavy. It presses down. Pins him to the ground.
His body feels like it's burning from the inside. Everything itches and crawls. It's as if a multitude of beetles is swarming all over him. They're everywhere.

Outside the window, it's dark. The clock reads 3:15 a.m.

Time seems to stand still, and the pain washes over him, stronger and stronger. It's an unusual pain. It terrifies him. Frightens him.
He doesn't understand what's wrong with him. Why is he so scared? He didn't have any nightmares. What could have frightened him so much? The darkness? The emptiness?...

- ... Will? - he whispers.
- Yes? - a pleasant voice answers calmly. - Are you scared? Don't be afraid.

Mike is still breathing heavily and rapidly. As if he's not allowed to breathe. It's forbidden.

Wheeler feels the bed sag under the weight of another body, and something touches his hand. Something? No. Someone? No.
- Will Byers.
- Yes, Michael, I'm here. It's alright. This will pass.

His hands are icy. When he touched him, a jolt shot through Mike's entire body. But why doesn't it snap him back to his senses? Why is he still so tense?

- It happens, - Will says and smiles. He slowly traces his cold fingers along Wheeler's arms, as if drawing patterns on them. His head is tilted to the side. - You just have to wait. It'll be over soon.

A bead of sweat begins to trickle down his forehead. It slides along his temple, slowly skirting the corner of his eye and rolling down his cheek.
Byers moves closer and places his free hand on Mike's neck.

- Look at me.

It's not a request. It's an order.
And Wheeler obeys. He looks straight into the other's eyes. Extraordinary, unfamiliar eyes. Is it a summer field bathed in sunlight?
Mike studies Will more closely. Neatly trimmed bangs, even eyebrows, a straight nose, lips curved in a slight smile, and a beauty mark. He's beautiful. That's for sure. And so... alive?
Pale, dark circles under his eyes, lips with a slight bluish tint. But he looks alive.

- I am alive, Michael. Don't think such silly thoughts.

His body begins to relax, and his mind empties. The feeling that an eternal, deep sleep is about to descend. But Will is still here. Beside him. He continues to hold Mike by the neck and doesn't let go.

- I want to remind you of something: you made me a promise, Michael, - he carefully helps Wheeler lie back down. Removing his hand from Mike's neck, Byers places it on the boy's chest, right over his beating heart. - Now it belongs to me.
- Is it because you don't have a heart of your own anymore? - it sounds like a taunt, but it's not funny.

Will laughs and presses down harder on Wheeler's ribcage.
- Yes, exactly right. I don't have one. So I'm going to take yours. And I'll do it very soon.

Mike falls asleep. He no longer has the strength to fight.

Outside the window, it's dark. The clock reads 3:15 a.m.

Chapter Text

Someone is shouting. Calling him. For some reason, he feels incredibly sad.

«Michael»

Alone.

«Mike»

Scared.

«Mike, please!»

- Mike!

Wheeler jolts upright in his bed, breathing heavily. He's sweaty. His t-shirt is unpleasantly stuck to his body around his neck. Like a collar. The heart pounded fast. Loudly. The pounding echoed in the ears, which only added to the headache.

- Mike!

He slowly turns his head and stares, unblinking, at the door. He hears banging sounds.

«Nancy?»

- Mike! I'm saying it one more time! The last time! If you don't get your ass out of bed right now, you'll be late for school! God, why do I have to be your nanny?!
- Huh?
- I said hurry up!
- Nancy?
- No, Santa Claus! Hurry up!
- Nancy! - Mike throws off the blanket and runs to the door, opening it. - I'm coming!

His sister looks perfect. Slacks, blouse, blazer, hair done. But she's angry, and Wheeler winces at the sight of her displeased face.

- Ew, - the girl says. She pointedly pinches her nose and frowns. - You stink.
- Do you say that to Steve after his…

Mike's words died in his throat. He frowned, his gaze fixed on his sister. Her body language screamed irritation - arms crossed, head tilted. A creeping, familiar unease settled in his gut. This felt off. Like a precise replay. As if they were both reading from an old, worn-out script.

- Shut up, - she turns away and heads for the stairs. - You have three minutes, starting now.
- That's generous, Nance! You gave me a lot of time! - the guy laughs and slams the bedroom door, not even trying to hear a reply.

Wheeler gets ready quickly, fitting into the strict time allotted to him. Grabbing his backpack and rushing out of the house, giving his mom a last-minute kiss, Mike steps outside and sees his sister's car.

Approaching it, he yanks the handle, but it doesn't budge.

- Cut it out. Open the door.
Nancy laughs and doesn't react to the request.
- Okay, okay, - he says. - I'm sorry!
That proves to be enough, and the door is finally unlocked for him.

The drive to school doesn't take much time. The radio in the car is blaring, and today's playlist is unusually weird. The music is blaring, and a dull throb starts behind Mike's temples.

«Maybe I should ask Nancy to turn it down?»

But a look at his sister's smiling face makes him reconsider. He decides to endure it.

Mike gets out of the car, says goodbye to his sister, and slams the door extra hard for good measure.
The sound of angry words follows him until he spots Dustin. He's rummaging in his locker.

- Hey, - Wheeler claps his friend on the shoulder. - Good morning.
- Mike!
Wheeler jerks, startled. He gives a nervous smile and puts a hand to his chest.
- Don't scare me like that, - he grimaces. - I almost died.

«I wouldn't allow it»

The guy freezes and looks around, his eyes searching for the speaker.
- Mike, - Henderson waves a hand. - Mike! - he shoves Wheeler in the shoulder, causing him to jump. The backpack slung over one shoulder slips down his arm and lands on the school hallway floor with a thud. - Hey! You having a seizure or something? Have you lost your mind?
- N-no, - he whispers. - I… I didn't sleep well today, - he bends down to pick up the fallen backpack, brushing it off.
- I didn't sleep well either, but you won't believe...
- You won't believe.
- What?
- What?
- Ugh, never mind, I can see you're having brain problems, - Henderson twirls a finger near his temple, teasing his friend.
- Mike Wheeler is having brain problems and I'm the last to know?
Mike yelps, clutches the backpack to his chest, and whips around.
- Max, - he whispers and grimaces.
- I've been telling you all forever that Wheeler is an idiot and a psycho, and you didn't believe me! - the girl presses a hand to her forehead and lets out a dramatic sigh. - It's so hard being a genius.
- Yeah, - Lucas peeks out from behind her shoulder and grins. - In our group, you really are the best.
He smiles widely and gives his girlfriend a light bump on the shoulder.
- It's not hard to be a genius among idiots, - Max says, taking a step to the side so Lucas can stand next to her.
- Haven't you started kissing the ground your girlfriend walks on yet? - Mike says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he smiles.
- One more word, baby Wheeler, and I'll get a needle and thread and sew your face to the floor. And then I'll walk all over it, - Max sticks her tongue out at Mike.
- Okay, enough, you two, - Dustin slams his locker door shut and nudges his friend in the back. - Let's go, let's go! Class is about to start!

When Max and Lucas had moved ahead, Dustin grabbed Mike by the arm and spun him around.
- You won't believe what I found! Wanna know?
- I do, - he agrees. - After school?
- Yep.
- The library again?
- Ugh, no, that old snake is there, and I'm afraid she'll bite me with her poisonous mouth and I'll die.
Wheeler laughs and nods.
- What about we go back to our favorite creepy cemetery today?
- Okay.

The bell for class made the guys jump. They looked at each other and, scrambling to their feet, took off running for the classroom.

The classes dragged on for an eternity. Mike was desperate for sleep, his eyelids heavy. The night had been hard. Strange. Wheeler looks at Dustin, then at Lucas and Max. If he tells them about Will visiting him last night, how quickly would Max have him committed to a mental hospital? It seemed like Mike wouldn't even finish his story before that wonderful girl would have a doctor on the line.
Lucas? He couldn't keep a secret, especially not from his girlfriend. He'd do anything for her. And of course, he'd tell her everything.
Dustin? Maybe he really should try to tell Henderson everything. He might understand. And since they were returning to the starting point of their adventure today, Mike decides he will try to trust his friend.

After an eternity, the classes finally end.
Wheeler and Dustin say goodbye to their friends and hurry out of the classroom.
The journey doesn't take long, but the boys, not stopping along the way, still manage to get tired.
They walk through the cemetery slowly, watching their steps carefully and examining every grave they pass.
When they find the one they need, Henderson tosses his backpack on the ground. Opening it and rummaging inside, he pulls out a flashlight and shows it to Mike.

- I came prepared.

Wheeler nods and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

Dustin, crouching down, runs his hands over the gravestone, clearing away dirt and stray weeds. He holds the flashlight under his chin, illuminating the surface to make the inscription clearer.

- So, - he studies what he sees intently, then takes the flashlight in his hand. - According to the books and articles I studied at home, William Byers departed this horrible and unjust world, - he squints and clicks his tongue in disappointment. - In May of 1886. So our legend is just a scary story people have been retelling to each other for a hundred years. Well, shit! - he stands up and sighs sadly. - And I was hoping for something more interesting.

Mike is also peering at the inscriptions on the grave of his «stalker». He rubs his eyes with his fists, as if they've decided to play a trick on him.

- Dustin, - he says quietly. - Are you sure?
- About the articles and books? Absolutely. About what I just read with my own eyes? That's not even up for debate.
- Okay, answer me one question?
- What?
- Pick one: you or me?
- Well, - Henderson thought about it. - You?
- Alright, so I'm the idiot.
- What's wrong?
- Because, - Mike moves right up close to the headstone, brushing away a cobweb. - Because it clearly says 1986 here. Nine-teen. Eigh-ty. Six, - his voice grows quieter with horror. - And he really did die in May. But not a hundred years ago. Dustin, - Wheeler looks up at his friend from his crouched position. The other boy is suspiciously silent. - It happened just a year ago.

Dustin looks at his friend incomprehensibly, then at the stone, then back at Mike. A chuckle gets stuck in his throat. He looks surprised. A little shocked.

- Mike. Cut it out. Are you messing with me? You think I can't read or don't know my numbers? - Henderson leans in and jabs his finger at the digits. - Look, it says: «1» «8» «8» «6». 1886. A hundred years ago! Did you lose your marbles after that hit? - he shines the flashlight directly into Wheeler's face, making him squint from the bright light in his eyes.
- I hurt my arm that time.
- And?

Mike grabs Dustin's hand and forces him to crouch down next to him.

- Dustin, I swear!
- Whoa, - Henderson yanks his hand free and stands up. - Let's have no more «swearing». I had enough of that last time.
- But I clearly see it says 1986! I... I'm not crazy!

At that moment, Dustin's flashlight flickers and dies. For a second, silence reigns, broken only by their heavy breathing. When the light comes back on, Mike sees the shadows pooling and spreading at their feet. And a whisper sounds in his ears.

«Michael… Michael?»

Wheeler yelps, which in turn startles Dustin, who jumps in place. Mike scrambles to his feet and grabs Dustin's arm in a vice grip.

- Okay, - he says in a trembling voice. - A hundred years ago? So it's a hundred years ago! Let's go home?

Still in a state of shock, Henderson nods. They grab their backpacks and hastily leave the town cemetery.

:::::::

3:15 AM.

The numbers burned in the dark like a branding iron. Mike didn't just wake up - he was torn from sleep by another wave of freezing terror. His muscles seized, his breath caught. He couldn't even scream anymore. He could only lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the room constrict, pressing down on his ribcage.

- Enough.

The voice didn't come from the emptiness. It emanated from the very thickness of the dark beside his bed. Low, breathy, devoid of echo - too real.

Mike slowly turned his head. On the edge of the mattress sat Will. Not a translucent vision, but solid. His knees were apart, elbows resting on them. He sat like an owner who had come to collect a debt. And he watched. Not into Mike's eyes, but through the skin, into the very core where a wild, animal panic fluttered.

- I'm tired of your fear, Mike, - Will said. His lips barely moved. - You're so... compliant.

He moved closer. The mattress springs dipped under his weight. Mike felt a chill emanating from his body - not a frosty one, but a deep, subterranean cold, like from an open root cellar on a summer night.

- May I? - Will stretched his hand directly towards Mike's chest, to the place where his heart was going insane.

Wheeler didn't have time to flinch. Cold fingers dug into the fabric of his t-shirt, pressing a palm against his ribcage. And then - pressed down. Not painfully. With irrefutable authority.

- Hush, - Will commanded, and Mike felt his own heart — a furious, wild beast — slow down. Not by his will. As if an invisible hand had clenched it in a fist and turned down the pace. It didn't make it easier. It made it a thousand times more terrifying. He choked, his eyes widening in horror before this absolute power over the most intimate part of him.
- See? - Will leaned in so close that his breath - smelling of damp earth and old book pages - touched Mike's lips. - Your life... so fragile. So loud. I could simply crush it, and that would be it.

Tears of a burning sensation welled in Mike's eyes. From fear. From humiliation. From the impossibility of movement.

- But I won't, - Will whispered, and something hot, alive, impatient broke through in his voice for the first time.

He didn't kiss him. He took.

His lips pressed against Mike's with such force that Mike gasped in a soundless scream. This wasn't a kiss. It was a claim of rights. Will didn't ask for access - he took it. His tongue, cold and insistent, invaded Mike's mouth, exploring, tasting. It tasted like that very rain from the cliff - a mix of storm ozone, blood, and the bitterness of copper. What was the point?

Mike tried to break free, to push him away. His hands pressed against Will's shoulders and... froze. Because beneath the thin fabric of the t-shirt, he felt not the bones of a ghost, but dense, living muscle. Tense. And the cold was gradually receding.

Sound vibrated in the room. One of Will's hands still held Mike by the chest, fingers digging in so hard there would surely be bruises. The other shot up, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pinning his head to the pillow. There was no tenderness in this. It was restraint. As if Will feared Mike would dissolve if he let go for even a second.

Mike's fear didn't disappear. It melted under this icy, demanding flame and flowed through his veins as something else - sharp, dizzying, depraved. His body, betrayed by panic, now surrendered to something much more ancient. He threw his head back, baring his throat, and answered the kiss. His own tongue met Will's - no longer in a struggle, but in a union. Hot, alive, desperate - against cold, knowing, endless.

The air in the room became almost electrified, heavy, like before a lightning strike. Mike felt with his entire body how Will was changing - how that subterranean cold in his skin was retreating, replaced by something almost hot, like the flesh of a drowned man pulled out into the scorching sun.

When Will finally pulled away, a thin, shiny thread stretched between their mouths. His eyes weren't empty and grey, but tinged with green, like a field that had said goodbye to summer and was ready to greet autumn. He was beautiful. Frighteningly, unnaturally beautiful. His lips - wet, slightly swollen.

- You see, Michael, - he exhaled, and his voice was hoarse, human to the point of pain. - That's where it is. Your promise. Your eternity. It's not in words. It's here. In this.

He ran his thumb over Wheeler's swollen lower lip, smearing the saliva and, perhaps, a drop of blood from the bite. Then he brought the finger to his own lips and licked it clean.

Mike lay completely emptied, filled with a tremor that could no longer be called fear. It was acknowledgment. Surrender. And somewhere in the deepest depth - a dark, forbidden relief. The trap had snapped shut. The struggle was over. From now on, he belonged not to himself. And in that was a terrifying, intoxicating peace.

Will lowered his head, pressing his now-cool forehead against Mike's collarbone. His breathing evened out, almost imperceptible, unlike Wheeler's, who was breathing so loudly it seemed he would wake everyone in the house.

And on the clock, 3:15 AM still glowed. But now this number had become the death sentence that Mike Wheeler had signed for himself.

Chapter Text

Someone is shouting. Calling him. For some reason, he feels incredibly sad.

«Michael»

Alone.

«Mike»

Scared.

«Mike, please!»

- Mike!

Wheeler jolts upright in his bed, breathing heavily. He's sweaty. His t-shirt is unpleasantly stuck to his body around his neck. Like a collar. His heart pounded fast. Loudly. The pounding echoed in the ears, which only added to the headache.

- Mike!

He slowly turns his head and stares, unblinking, at the door. He hears banging sounds.

«Not again!»

- Mike! I'm saying it one more time! The last time! If you don't get your ass out of bed right now, you'll be late for school! God, why do I have to be your nanny?!

What's happening? His headache was growing even worse. Wheeler drew in a heavy breath of the air that saturated the entire room and exhaled loudly. The same thing. Everything happens the same way every time. Is someone playing a joke on him? Did someone decide to prank him? It's not clear. And it's frightening. Morning. Nancy. School. Conversations with Dustin. And the night. The strange night with Will for company. Is this some stupid dream? Or maybe Mike really has lost his mind? Does he have schizophrenia? Paranoia? Maybe he really does need a doctor's help?

- Mike!
- Huh?
- I said hurry up!
- Nancy?
- No, Santa Claus! Hurry up!

Getting out of bed slowly and approaching the door, he opens it and sees his sister. And everything is as usual. She's even wearing the same clothes as always. Funny.
His sister looks as she always does. Slacks, blouse, blazer, hair done. But she's angry, and Wheeler winces at the sight of her displeased face.

- Ew, - the girl says. She pointedly pinches her nose and frowns. - You stink.

Mike remained quiet. He chose not to answer her verbal jab, deciding to test a theory: what if he acts differently today? Will it change anything? Maybe this was his chance to break the cycle.

- Shut up, - she turns away and heads for the stairs. - You have three minutes, starting now.
- I see.
His responses don't matter in this world. That's it. Wonderful. Mike Wheeler has lost his mind. He pinched his arm, flinched from the pain, and clenched his teeth. These aren't fantasies - he felt the pain. So what is it then? What the hell is this?!
Calming down, this time he didn't answer and simply closed his bedroom door, deciding that today he would have to tell Dustin everything. He froze.

«Everything? Are you sure?»

Well, he wouldn't tell him about the kiss. But everything else - absolutely! Yes!

Wheeler gets ready quickly, fitting into the strict time allotted to him. Grabbing his backpack and rushing out of the house, giving his mom a last-minute kiss, Mike steps outside and sees his sister's car.

Approaching it, he yanks the handle, but it doesn't budge.

Mike, knowing the script, decided to skip the small talk. No games. Straight to business.
- I'm sorry!
That proves to be enough, and the door is unlocked for him.

The drive to school doesn't take much time. The radio in the car is blaring, and today's playlist is unusually weird. The music is blaring, and a dull throb starts behind Mike's temples.

«I'm so sick of this»

But a look at his sister's smiling face makes him reconsider. He decides to endure it.

Mike gets out of the car, says goodbye to his sister, and slams the door extra hard for good measure.
The sound of angry words follows him until he spots Dustin.

Henderson was, as always, rummaging in his locker, paying no attention to anyone. Mike gives a quiet cough, waits a second, and slaps his friend on the shoulder.

- Morn…

- Before Max and Lucas get here, - Wheeler cuts him off, moving in close - very close - pressing his whole body against his friend, trying to whisper clearly but urgently. - I need to tell you that…

- What do I see?

Mike and Dustin jump in place, startled. They turn and see a bright smile on a pretty girl's face.

«Damn it!»

- Max, - Wheeler says with a strained smile. - Other people's mornings start with coffee, but ours start with the sound of your wonderful voice. Mmm, - he drawls. - Am I in heaven?

- No, - she sneers. - You're not worthy of heaven.

- Never doubted it, - he laughs and leans an arm on the shoulder of Henderson, who was already tired of their eternal bickering. - Meeting someone like you is only possible in hell.

- Hey! - Lucas appears as if from thin air, covering Max's mouth with his palm as she was about to let loose. - What a wonderful day! And you two, as usual, have charged us all with positivity and set the mood for a very productive day!

Dustin laughs and, shaking Mike's arm off his shoulder, slams his locker door shut.

- Alright, let's go. Classes will start soon.

The quartet walked down the hallway without hurry. Lucas and Max were discussing something animatedly, and Mike decided it was the perfect opportunity to finish his morning speech.

- I need to talk to you after classes are over.

- Okay, - Henderson nods. - Did you find something?

- Something found me.

Dustin freezes in the middle of students bustling back and forth and stares at Mike in surprise.

- I…

- After class, - Mike says once more.

The school bell signaled the start of lessons, and Wheeler, grabbing his stunned friend by the elbow, dragged him to the classroom.

Classes dragged on, one after another. And when the last one finally arrived, Mike felt a flicker of relief. Just a little longer to endure.

The bell rang, followed by the clatter of desks and hushed whispers. The world narrowed to four walls bathed in the dull glow of fluorescent lights. Mrs. Clare was writing on the board with chalk. The squeaking sounded like the noise you'd use to drill into teeth.

- Today we are concluding our topic on local folklore, - her voice was as monotonous as the buzzing of a fly against a windowpane. - And we'll talk about the most famous myth, called «The Bloody Bluff».

Mike, sitting next to Dustin, felt everything inside him go quiet. Quiet and on high alert. He hadn't heard the last ten minutes, staring blankly at an ink-stained spot on his desk lid.

- The legend says, - Mrs. Clare continued. - That once, a long, long time ago, a girl, whose feelings were rejected by a man, threw herself from this bluff straight into the lake. But as she fell, she suddenly froze in mid-air. The sunset abruptly turned a crimson, bloody red, and her body began to dissolve. But not simply. She disintegrated into flowers. They were roses. Lush, massive. The buds drifted down slowly, covering the water's surface. The girl's body evaporated. Melted away. Vanished. But her love did not leave. It froze in the air. On that very bluff. And now, everyone who passes by it finds their happiness. Beautiful, isn't it?

The classroom fell silent. Even Max stopped doodling on the cover of her textbook.

- But that's nonsense! - she said loudly, breaking the silence. - All these urban legends are made up by people for people. To scare, to motivate, to compel. They set you up to take a step, but behind the pretty packaging, real horror can be hiding.

- Perhaps, - Mrs. Clare smiled a strange, unkind smile. - But what if it's really true? What if a legend is just a distorted echo of a real event? An event that repeats because its thread was never tied off? Like an unfinished homework assignment.

She looked at Mike again. This time, directly. Her eyes, usually dim, became clear and piercing for a second, as if she saw not his face, but something behind his shoulder. A ringing started in Wheeler's ears.

- Some psychologists, - the teacher continued, now looking at her textbook. - Speak of the phenomenon of «looped memory». When a trauma is so strong that the mind gets stuck in it, replaying the same day over and over again. Like film in a broken projector. And the person starts to feel like the whole world revolves around that one day.

Lucas was whispering with Max. Dustin leaned forward interestedly, engrossed in the theory. Only Mike sat as if paralyzed. Every word hit the mark. Looped memory. Replaying the same day. He involuntarily raised a hand and touched his own neck. He was sweating, though it wasn't hot.

- Wheeler! - Mrs. Clare's voice made him flinch. - You seem to have found the answer before everyone else. Perhaps you can tell the class what a «loop break point» is?

Everyone turned to look at him. Mike opened his mouth but made no sound. The air seemed to thicken. He saw the teacher's lips moving, but the sound reached him delayed, distorted, as if from underwater.

- I… - a pause. - I don't know.
- Naturally, - she smiled. - If you knew, you wouldn't be sitting here.

A deathly silence hung in the classroom. Dustin stared at him, eyes wide. Mrs. Clare looked at him intently, and in her gaze was something akin to… satisfaction?

- Be careful, Mike, - the teacher paused. - You most of all. By breaking a loop in one place, you might create a new, even stronger one in another. Now open your textbooks to page 86.

The dismissal bell rang like a saving shot. Mike jumped up from his seat, feeling nauseous. He didn't hear Max's mocking comment. He saw only Dustin's pale, alarmed face.

- What's wrong with you? - Henderson whispered, grabbing his sleeve. - Are you okay?
- Yes, - Mike exhaled, and it sounded less like an answer and more like a question. - Let's go?

He was the last to leave the classroom and would have sworn he felt a cold, intent gaze on the back of his neck. He turned around. The teacher was sitting at her desk, looking at him and smiling. And on the still-damp chalkboard, next to the textbook page number — «86» — two digits had been added to the beginning of the number in neat handwriting, as if they had just welled up like a drop of water:

«1986»

Chapter Text

When they reached Mike's house, they decided to go in through the back door to get straight into the basement. This place was deeply important to the boys. And first and foremost to Wheeler himself, because this was where he kept all his ideas and all his memories. They had often played here, had sleepovers, even made it their headquarters when some new crazy idea was brewing. They were older now, but these walls were still steeped in that same pure, innocent energy of childish, madcap happiness.

As they approached the door, Mike involuntarily tensed up and spun around sharply. This was precisely where he had first met Will.

- Hey! - Henderson sounded surprised. - Why are you staring at me? Open the door.

A chill ran down his spine for some reason, but he quickly pulled himself together. He nodded and opened it.

Switching on the light to see where they were going, they closed and locked the door, made their way to the couch, and collapsed onto it.
- Classes were unbearably boring today, - Dustin said, dropping his backpack on the floor, opening it, and pulling out two cans of Coke: one for himself, the other handed to Mike.
- Thanks.
- So, what did you want to tell me? - Dustin bit his tongue, wincing as a few drops sprayed onto his hand when he opened the can. He shook them off and took a big gulp. - Is there anything… magical about 3:15? - the aluminum of Mike's can dimpled under his restless fingers.. He wasn't looking at Dustin. It was hard for him to talk about this.
- Why do you want to know?
- Just…
- No, Mike, not «just», - Dustin frowned. - We spent six hours in the library, but you already knew the name. We went to the cemetery, but you had a different date. Now you're asking me about 3:15? - the guy rubbed his temples with his hands, mimicking a headache. But his voice clearly carried frustration and hurt. - You're hiding something and you're afraid to tell me.
- I'm afraid, - a pause. - That you'll think I'm going crazy.
- Wheeler! - Henderson raised his voice. - I've known you since we were kids! I've seen everything, - he fell silent. - Even the stuff I didn't want to see.
- You mean Steve and Nancy?
- Forget it, - the guy made a dismissive hand gesture. - I mean, - he looked at Mike seriously. - I'm not going to think you're a psycho.
- Every night I wake up at 3:15 AM, and Will comes to me. And also, every day for me is Groundhog Day.
- You're a psycho, - Dustin shrugged and took another sip of his Coke.
- Stop it. I'm serious, - Wheeler shifted his gaze to the stairs leading from the basement upstairs. His eyes grew dull. - I really want to know if there's anything strange about it? Magical?
- Like in a fairy tale?
- Like in a horror movie.
- In general, - Henderson placed his Coke on the table and turned his whole body towards his friend. - It depends on what exactly you're interested in. For example, if we break it down into individual digits, 3:15 is 3 + 1 + 5, right? That all equals 9. The number 9 in numerology is completion, the end of a cycle. Or, say, we divide 15 by 3 and get 5, and 5 is the number of change, risk, instability. And so on.
- Completion, - Mike repeated. - And instability…
- Well, yeah, - Dustin leaned back against the couch and tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling. - Also, for example, 3:15 as a biblical reference. You know, John 3:15: «…that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life». See? - without changing his posture, he looked at Mike, seeing his responsive and interested gaze. - E-ter-nal life, - he enunciated syllable by syllable.
- Got it.
- Thanks a lot, Dustin, for not hiding that information like I did, ungrateful Michael Wheeler, and for telling me everything right away, keeping nothing back, - Henderson says sarcastically.
- Are you waiting for my gratitude?
- No, - Dustin smiles and holds out his hand to Mike, fingers splayed wide. - A marriage proposal.
- I got it! Thanks, Dustin.
- Now seriously, - Henderson's expression shifts, becoming more serious. Even his voice drops to a lower tone. - What does this Will want from you? Why does he come? Do you only see him at night? Or during the day too?
- I don't know...

«You do know»

- No, I don't know! - Wheeler shouts, making Dustin startle slightly. Not from fear, but from surprise.
- I got it the first time. No need to yell.
- I hear a voice in my head. Or voices.
- Ooooh, - Henderson drawls. - Seriously?
- Yeah.
- You're lucky I love you. Otherwise, I'd tell Max everything, and she'd dance all over your self-esteem and reputation.

Mike smirked. The air filled with a strange scent, one not typical for his basement.

- Um, - Wheeler glanced around the ceiling and took a few short sniffs. - What’s that smell? Dustin, - he grimaced. - Did you pollute the air?

He turned his head to say something else snarky to Henderson, but no one was there.

- What the hell?!

Mike jumped up from the couch. He banged his leg against the small table and nearly fell.

- Dustin? Dustin!

In that same instant, the last thing the guy felt was as if he were being broken apart, all his bones as if they were shattering. But it didn’t hurt. It was strange. As if his body was becoming softer, weaker, lighter. And then - a plunge into an abyss, sudden and soundless, as if someone had pulled the plug on reality itself.

And then darkness fell.

The smell of damp earth hit his nose. Mike flung his eyes open and tried to move. Around him was emptiness. Darkness. Absolute, all-consuming darkness. It pressed down. It terrified him.

Wheeler jerked and pressed his palm to his cheek.
- What is this? - his voice sounded alien. Hoarse and high-pitched.

The cold on his cheek intensified. It pressed, bringing discomfort. Like the blade of a knife. Not a large one, but a small one. The kind that cuts more painfully.
- I'm asking ag…! - Mike didn't get to finish. His own chest clenched in an icy spasm.

Wheeler screamed and, his eyes wide with shock and fear, stretched both hands out in front of him like a zombie.
- I… ah! What is this?!
His hands, one after the other, began to be covered in small cuts. They appeared as red lines, from which blood began to seep in droplets a second later.

Panic started in Mike. He looked at his bloody hands and couldn't move them. He was being forced. He wanted to turn away, close his eyes, hug himself and feel sorry for himself. To protect himself. But he couldn't. His body trembled. A fierce cold began to spread over him. From his feet straight to his heart. And to his head.

- thud! -

Pain. A sharp, burning stripe across his forearms. He instinctively pulled his hands in, pressed them to his chest, but the pain was inside, deep and misplaced. The tearing of the fabric of his own t-shirt - the threads snapped with a disgusting, quiet crunch, exposing vulnerable skin.

- Stop, - he didn't understand what was happening and didn't understand what he was doing. Wheeler tried to join the torn fabric back together. - Please. I don't understand. Help! Mom!

Fear. Sticky, paralyzing. Fear that doesn't scream, but whimpers somewhere at the base of the throat, low and animal-like. Mike felt his own throat make that pathetic, treacherous sound. Helplessness. Absolute. Thoughts turned into a white, panicked howl.

- stopstopstopstop -

Mike choked when the cold suddenly concentrated below his own breastbone. He slowly lowered his head.

«What's inside you, William?»

- What? - was the only thing the guy managed to squeeze out.

Mike howled. His voice broke, tore, became something alien, throat-shredding. It was the sound after which there is no «after». Scarlet agony flared in his stomach - dull, tearing, unbearable. He curled up, clutching his stomach, but there was no wound there. He was whole. But his t-shirt began to stain red, almost black.

- Please…

The smell. Oh, God, the smell. Sweetly coppery, but with a nauseating note of bile. Mike vomited. He was in pain. He was scared. Did he even care anymore? Tears blurred his vision.

The vision faded as suddenly as it had begun.

Mike lay on the floor, covered in spit and tears, shaking with sobs that found no release. The whole world narrowed to a throbbing, phantom wound in his stomach and a chilling horror in every cell. He was broken.

And then blood gushed from his nose. Thick, scarlet, warm. It flooded his lips, chin, dripped onto the floor with quiet, heavy thuds. He didn't even try to stop it.

All the darkness around him suddenly evaporated, melted away. But then a shadow leaned over him. Cold fingers gripped his chin, sharply turned his face up. Will's eyes were dark, bottomless. They didn't have that field lit by the sun, the one Mike had seen in their past meetings.

«So that's where all the darkness around went?»

- Did you like it?

He leaned in.

This was not a kiss. This was communion.

Will's lips, cold and dry, pressed against his bloody ones. Mike didn't try to pull away; his body wouldn't obey him, paralyzed by the remnants of the recently endured agony. Will was persistent. He drew in the blood flowing from Mike's nose, his lips moving with a greedy, passionate intensity. Mike tasted the salty, metallic flavor of his own blood, and maybe even snot, mixed with the cold of the other mouth. He heard the quiet, wet sound. Felt how something - not a liquid, but the very essence of the nightmare, the horror, the pain, the despair - circulated between them in this unnatural exchange.

It was disgusting. Revolting to the point of trembling knees, to spasms.

Will pulled away. A thread of dark saliva and blood snapped between their mouths. His lips were now stained the same bright, vivid scarlet as Mike's. He looked at Wheeler with pity, with anxiety, with… love?

- She will be here soon, - Will said quietly, and his eyes reflected Mike's broken, distorted face. - When you meet her, remember. Your salvation is in me. You swore to me. To me… Swore that «not even death would part us», - he leaned closer, touching his forehead to Wheeler's. - Remember, she is death. I am life.

Mike silently moved his bloody lips. Blood still trickled from his nose, warm and alive. But inside there was only emptiness, scorched by someone else's mortal terror, and a chilling, unbreakable bond, sealed by this bloody, passionate kiss.

«Mike!»

«Michael!»

- Mike!
The guy's eyes flew open wider and he stared, shaken, at Dustin's face, twisted in horror.
- Holy shit, Mike! You're covered in blood! - he grabbed his friend by the shoulders and squeezed them hard.
Wheeler pushed him away and ran to the bathroom, which was right there in his basement.
Reaching the sink, he turned on the water and began washing his face. The blood didn't stop. It just smeared into ugly streaks from the water across his face. Suddenly his gaze fell on his own hands. Not a single cut. Not one. And his t-shirt was intact. He was completely whole.
Nausea rose in him. His head spun. The taste of blood and bile in his mouth intensified, making him want to turn himself inside out. It was disgusting. Vile.
Mike shifted his gaze to the mirror and saw his own, yet so alien, face.
- Hey! - Dustin peeked over his shoulder, looking worried. - What happened?
- I don't know! - Wheeler raised his voice, almost yelling at his friend. - I don't know! - he rinsed his face, washing away the blood flowing from his nose. - She'll be here soon.
- She? - Henderson asked again. - Who is «she»?
- I don't know!…

«You know perfectly well, Mike»

The guy froze and nervously glanced around.

- I… - he began. - I don't know…

«You do»

Shaking his head, Wheeler slowly turned to the agitated Dustin.

- Death, - he said it in a whisper.
- What? - Henderson frowned, staring intently at Mike.
- She is death.

Chapter Text

Mike's eyes snapped open in terror. He was breathing heavily in short, shallow gasps. He had slept poorly, tossing and turning in bed, shifting positions, all without pain. Sleep had finally come at 3:15 AM. Sleep had «come», but Will had not. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to pull himself together by sheer force of habit. He was exhausted. All Wheeler wanted was to burrow deeper under the covers and not get out of bed at all today. But then Nancy would kill him because they'd be late for sch...

- Nancy… - he whispered, staring blankly at the ceiling. - Nancy, - Mike frowned, pushed himself up on his elbows, and sat up. - Nancy!

Wheeler threw off the blanket, jumped out of bed, and ran to the door.

- Nancy! - he peered into the hallway, but it was empty.

«Why isn't she standing there yelling at him?»
«Why has his morning, monotonous and identical, suddenly stopped being so?»
«Where is Will?»

With each question that surfaced in his mind, Mike was engulfed by a suffocating, paralyzing panic. Something was wrong here!

- Something is definitely wrong here! - he repeated aloud.

He took off, quickly descending the stairs from the second floor to the first.

- Nancy?! Nancy!

- Are you an idiot?

Mike spun around sharply and saw his sister. Her hair was different today. And her clothes were different too. The insults were the same, but everything else was different.

- Nancy?

- Michael Wheeler! Get back upstairs and get dressed this instant! I'm willing to forgive a lot, but polluting my morning with your appearance is not on the list! - his mother pointed a firm hand toward the second floor. - Now! You and your sister are late for school!

Mike hesitated. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but the thoughts racing and flashing through his head were moving so fast he didn't know how to respond.

He nodded and slowly trudged back up the stairs when he heard his sister's sharp remark right at his back: «Thank God you at least put on underwear!»

He froze, turned around, but decided not to answer. His «brain was broken». He had stopped understanding what was happening.

Entering his room, he collapsed onto the bed and stared, unblinking, straight at the door.

- Is this a new Groundhog Day? - he groaned quietly, covered his face with his hands, and fell back onto the bed.

«Mike!»

- Mike!

The guy jumped in fright and sat up abruptly, looking with scared eyes at his sister, frozen in the doorway.

- We're late, you know? - she said, stretching out her hand and shaking the car keys. - Hurry up.

- Yeah, - Wheeler got up from the bed and began looking around the room in confusion. - Where are my pants? - he said quietly.

- I'm giving you one minute. The clock is ticking! - she turned to leave but kept watching the teenager running back and forth. - If you're not ready, you're staying here.

- What? - Mike froze and looked at his sister, her face a mask of serious resolve.

- I said if you're not ready, you're staying home, you dork. I'm leaving alone.

- Uh... Got it!

Nancy smirked, left his room, and went downstairs.

Mike got ready incredibly fast. He ran downstairs, shouted to his mom that he didn't have time for a hug, and got into the car.

They drove in silence.

- «And the radio isn't even on,» - Mike thought -

After saying goodbye to his sister - and exchanging mutual insults in the process - Mike hurried to the lockers, where he had always found Dustin before.

And he found him.

- Morning.

- Yeah, morning, - Dustin yawned. - I really didn't want to go to school today. But mom's wonderful cat, - he grimaced. - Woke me up. Had to get up. He refused to leave. You'd think he was worried about my education, - Henderson said with undisguised sarcasm.

- Yeah, yeah, - Wheeler said hurriedly. - Listen, about yesterday...

- We messed up, I know.

- Yeah, but...

- Giving us licorice instead of those chocolate bars was just an insult! - he slammed his locker door and adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder.

- What? What... licorice?

- Exactly! What the hell kind of licorice! Who even likes licorice?

- Dustin, are you in your right mind? - Mike grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. - Yesterday we were at my place talking about Will, 3:15 AM, and eternity! Then my nose started bleeding and...

- Mike! - Henderson shrugged his friend's hands off his shoulders and grabbed Mike's shoulders instead, shaking him back. - Hello? This is Dustin, come in, do you read me? Yesterday we went trick-or-treating! We weren't at your house, - he tilted his head and squinted. - And who the hell is Will?

Wheeler stopped breathing. His hands, hanging at his sides, trembled. He wanted to disappear. To evaporate. This wasn't true!

- No!...

- What's going on with you two? - Max appeared unexpectedly, cutting Mike off and slapping Henderson on the shoulder as a greeting.

- Mike's lost his mind, - Dustin said, looking at the surprised girl and twirling a finger near his temple. - Says we were hanging at his place yesterday talking about «some» Will.

- He's not «some» Will, - Wheeler said quietly. He hunched his shoulders and frowned.

- Yeah, - said Dustin. - Not «some», but who the hell is he?

- Oh no, - Max started patting her jeans as if she'd lost something. - Oh no! Don't move, - she held her hands out in front of her, making Henderson smile and Wheeler despair. - We've lost our friend's tiny brain! Don't step on it! - she smiled but tried to look serious. - Don't worry, I'll ask the janitor not to clean this hallway. Otherwise, that tiny little thing, the size of a pea, will end up in the trash.

Dustin laughed, but then put an arm around the devastated and broken Mike's shoulders.

- Let me remind you, - he said calmly. - Yesterday was Halloween, and all five of us went trick-or-treating.

- All five? - Mike looked at him in surprise. - Nancy went with us?

- Even if the choice was between death and going trick-or-treating with us, she'd choose...

- Death, - Wheeler whispered.

- Right.

- So, all five, with who?

- Have you completely lost it, you asshole? - Max said irritably. - You, me, Lucas, Dustin, and...

- Will?

- ... and El!

- El? - he frowned. - Who's El?

- Your girlfriend, - his friends said in unison.

Mike froze. He went completely still. He didn't understand anything anymore.

Chapter Text

The bell rang like a blow to an anvil. The sound didn't ring, it slammed into his temporal bones, making the world shudder. Dustin's and Max's voices dissolved into the corridor's din, turning into white noise.

«Your girlfriend»

Those words hung in the air not as sounds, but as a physical object, a lump of ice in his esophagus.

Mike took a step back, bumping his back against the cold metal doors of someone else's locker. The ringing. It passed right through him.

- Hey, dude, you okay? - Dustin's voice came as if from under thick water.

Mike didn't answer. He just turned and walked, pushing off the walls as if the ship's deck were giving way beneath his feet.
«.El. El. El.»
The name beat out a rhythm to the pace of his heart, which was hammering somewhere in the region of his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He wasn't heading to class. His legs carried him on their own to where, according to the feeling in his mind, she should be. To the table in the cafeteria where they usually… where they usually… His chest tightened. What «they»? He never…

But he saw her.

She was sitting alone, neatly chewing on her favorite waffles.
Mike froze. Favorite waffles? He was seeing her for the first time, but his brain insisted otherwise. She had dark hair, the plainest clothes. Nothing unusual. And everything was wrong to the point of nausea. Every gesture, every tilt of her head - it was all alien and yet claimed to be familiar.

Mike stopped in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. His palms were sticky with sweat. He felt reality cracking at the seams, exposing a black, empty void beneath.

She looked up.

And their eyes met.

She had brown eyes. Beautiful… But something in that intent gaze made Mike freeze. It wasn't recognition. It was… study? The look you give an insect under a microscope before sticking it with a pin.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, she put aside her unfinished waffles. Stood up. And walked towards him.

Each of her steps echoed in his skull with a dull thud. He wanted to step back, to run, to scream, but his legs had turned to jelly, chained to the linoleum. She stopped in front of him, too close. He smelled her sweet shampoo, ordinary, suffocatingly banal.

- Mike, - she said. Her voice was level, a bit low, utterly lacking the huskiness or uncertainty that he… that he expected? Where did the expectations come from? Where did this knowledge that it should be different come from?

- El? - he blurted out, and his own voice sounded hoarse and alien.

She nodded. Then her lips stretched into a smile. The smile was soft, caring, perfectly tailored to the situation of «anxious guy – calm girlfriend». And that made it a thousand times scarier.

- You're acting kind of weird today. Didn't sleep well? - she reached out a hand to touch his forehead, to check for fever.

Mike instinctively jerked back, hitting the back of his head on the doorjamb. The pain was sharp, real. This wasn't a dream.
Her hand froze in the air. The smile didn't fade, but something in her eyes changed. Not vanished, but shifted. As if something behind the familiar mask had stirred, appraising and cold. It lasted a fraction of a second.

- Are you really okay? You're scaring me. Come on, let's sit down. You're pale.

- No.

She sighed, and in that sigh was all the condescending pity of a whole world that thinks you're insane.

- Mike, honey, - her voice dropped to a whisper, intimate. - Remember our recent date? At the movies. You were so nervous you spilled soda on me. Well, my jeans never came clean, - she sighed sadly. - Now you owe me a new pair!

A memory flashed in his mind: sticky liquid on denim, her laughter, not irritated, but cheerful. A bright, vivid, false picture. He felt sick.

- That's all a lie, - he groaned.

- It's the truth, - her voice became firmer. A steely thread appeared in it. - And the sooner you accept it, the better. For you, - she looked at him again with that appraising gaze. - Whether you want to or not… - a pause. - You're gonna have to spend the money.

She laughed and reached out her hand again, this time not towards his forehead, but towards his hand, as if to lead him away. And when her fingers almost touched his wrist, Mike saw.

Just for a moment. A distortion. As if the projection had flickered. Not her face, but… the space behind her. The shadow on the wall didn't mimic her movement but froze, stretching out into a strange, too-long shape. And in her brown eyes, reflecting the fluorescent light, a glint flashed - not white, but a dull, dirty gray, like ash. And the silence around them became absolute, dense, as if all the air and sound had been sucked out.

Then everything returned. The shadow was normal. In her eyes - only concern.

Mike felt scared.

He snatched his hand back, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow, heralding a panic attack.

- Leave me alone, - his voice broke. - Leave me alone.

Finally, the last pretense of softness vanished from her face. All that remained was cold, patient observation. Like a predator that knows its prey is already in the cage.

- As you wish, Mike, - she said quietly. - But know that I'm close. I have been and will be close. Always. After all, I'm your girlfriend.

She turned and walked back to her table, leaving him standing in the doorway, trembling, shattered, alone.

The bell for class rang again.

Mike slowly slid down the doorjamb to the floor, hiding his face in his knees. A crushing weight squeezed his chest, threatening to shatter his ribs.

He decided there would be no classes today. He'd skip them. He had no strength left. Everything was going sideways. Everything was strange. Maybe he really had lost his mind?

:::::::

Mike sat on the floor in his room, in the exact same pose he'd frozen in at school - back against the bed, knees pulled to his chin. The sun outside the window was already sinking towards sunset, painting the walls in a thick honeyed color that used to feel cozy to him.
He had to do something. He had to do something!

Getting up abruptly, he went down the stairs to the first floor, threw a short «It's important!» at his mom's question, and ran out of the house.

Hawkins Cemetery met him with a cold wind and complete silence. He ran between rows of headstones, reading names until a haze blurred his vision from the strain. Nowhere. But the grave he needed was nowhere to be found.

- Will! - his voice, hoarse and cracking, tore through the cemetery's peace. - Will, please!

Only a crow's caw in response. No whisper in the wind, no shadow among the trees. Emptiness. Absolute and final.

His world hadn't just changed - it had never been any different. Mike was a madman screaming into the void, having invented a friend for himself. And at that thought, something inside him, the last bastion of resistance, snapped with a quiet, dreadful crunch.

:::::::

In the evening, the door to his room swung open without a knock. Dustin, Lucas, and Max stood on the threshold. And behind them, slightly apart - El.

- Your mom let us in. Hey, buddy, you planning to rot in here like food left out in the scorching sun? - Max snapped, but her gaze held concern.
- We brought pizza, - he pointed at the square boxes in Lucas's hands. - «The Evil Dead», - he pointed to the tape in El's hands. - And soda! - he held up a bag. - Well? Don't be an idiot! A horror classic. You need to take your mind off your… - Henderson paused, thinking of a more loyal way to describe his friend's madness. - …thoughts.

They went down to the basement. Well, more accurately, they piled in, filling the room with the familiar noise, arguments about pepperoni and pineapple, the rustle of wrappers. Everything was so familiar, so normal. And so monstrously wrong. Mike sat, pressed into a corner of the couch, watching as El helped Dustin set up the VCR. Her movements were smooth, confident. She had woven herself into his life, his home, his friends seamlessly, as if she'd always been there.

The movie started. Bursts of light from the screen snatched laughing friends' faces from the darkness. Mike didn't see the horrors on the screen. He saw the horror right here, in this room. He felt the reality they were creating with their presence, their laughter, their normality, pressing down on him, squeezing out the last of his doubts. And when Max shrieked at an unexpected jump scare and Lucas hugged her, protecting her, something jabbed in Mike's chest with a sharp, jealous pang. He should be the one hugging like that. Mike. His girlfriend.

As if sensing it, she turned her head. The light from the screen fell on her face. No ash in her eyes. Only warm, understanding concern. She wasn't looking at the screen, but at him. And slowly, so slowly, she reached her hand across the couch. Her fingers touched his clenched fist.

The touch was warm. Human. And that - was the scariest thing of all he'd experienced today. Because that warmth was lying. It was saying, «Calm down. You're home. You're among your own».

And he, exhausted, broken, lonely to the bone, wanted to believe that lie.

His fist unclenched. He let her weave her fingers into his. Her palm was soft.

The movie was nearing its end, the room plunged into semi-darkness, his friends, stuffed with pizza, began to nod off. Dustin and Lucas were arguing in whispers about the plot's logic. Max was already dozing on Lucas's shoulder.

El didn't let go of his hand. She leaned in so close he smelled the strawberry scent of her hair and clothes. And something else - sweetish, almost imperceptible.

- See? - she whispered so quietly the sound didn't even reach Dustin. Her breath brushed his cheek. - Everything's fine. I'm here, just like I promised. Everything before was just a bad dream. You've been going to bed so late lately. Walking around like a ghost. And now you've started being afraid of me.

He looked into her brown eyes, so close, and saw his own reflection in them - scared, lost, small. And the desire to surrender, finally, to extinguish this hellish pain of doubt, was stronger than fear.

- Just a dream? - his own voice sounded hollow, like a child's asking for confirmation there's no monster under the bed.

- Just a dream, - she smiled, and such unshakeable certainty rang in her voice that it seemed the only truth in the entire universe. - Forget. Allow yourself to forget.

And then she leaned in even closer. Her lips touched his.
They were soft. Correct. But utterly foreign.

It was a ghost-kiss. Mike felt only pressure, warmth, the faint smell of strawberry that infused her clothes and hair. A quiet panic raged inside him.

«But she's my girlfriend…»

Wheeler didn't understand anything. He sat on the couch like a mannequin, lips immobile under her affectionate but uncertain movement. His world narrowed to this mismatch: physical contact and total inner emptiness.

And then - everything changed.

The same warmth, the same point of contact… but as if someone had flicked a switch in his nervous system. Everything froze. As if his friends had vanished. Silence. Frightening, yet so desired.

The softness suddenly gained a familiar texture - not perfect, but his own, the very one. The strawberry scent dissolved, giving way to a pure, elusive sensation he couldn't describe but recognized with every cell. It was the smell of damp earth and something deeply personal. It was the smell of…

Mike gasped right into the lips of the one he was kissing. His paralysis shattered. His arms, which had hung limp, flew up, grabbed Will's t-shirt, pulling him closer with a force that made him stagger. The kiss stopped being something received. It became a demand, a plea, a desperate attempt to cling to the only reality that mattered.

He wasn't kissing anymore - he was checking. Touching, inhaling, with the desperation of a drowning man, convincing himself: yes, it's here, it's true, it's you. His lips moved now greedily, almost painfully, losing all caution. This wasn't a kiss of tenderness - it was a kiss of hunger. Hunger for truth, for memory, for the person who was his.

In it was everything: rage at the injustice of the loss, panicked fear that the vision would crumble any second, and the relieving, staggering wave of something breaking through unknown charms. Mike whimpered into the kiss - a muffled, choked sound of despair and hope. He held on so tight, as if by sheer will he could lure Will into this distorted world, hold him here, captive to his despair.

And in the last fraction of a second, before his mind could dispute everything, it seemed to him that the lips under his responded - not like El's, but with that very same quiet, boundless pliancy known only to Will. It was consent. It was: «Mike, I'm here. I came.»

Chapter Text

The softness of his lips, that familiar, yielding pliancy - it was an anchor in the stormy sea of lies. Mike clung to it, to this sole proof of truth, for as long as he had air. But it was Will who broke the kiss.

He didn't pull away sharply. It was a slow, almost torturous separation. First, his lips retreated, but his forehead still rested against Wheeler's. Mike was breathing heavily. His breaths were short, ragged, but very loud. Then he moved back another centimeter, and between them hung that very same, thrilling yet painful silence - the aftertaste of the contact they had just shared. In the room's semi-darkness, Will's eyes seemed to glow with a soft, anxious light. They didn't have the depth he had seen in El's eyes. They were kinder.

- Mike, - his voice was quieter than a whisper, hoarse from long silence or from overwhelming emotion. In that single word was everything: acknowledgment, pain, urgency. - We have to go. Now.

- Go? Where? - Mike whispered, his mind still struggling to grasp reality. He looked around the room in despair. Their friends were gone. Not even a hint of their presence remained. As if everything that had happened to him that day was imagined. He panicked. His breathing faltered. Too much. Far too much had happened in the last few days. His head was buzzing, and his temples pounded with such force he thought he might die.

- I don't have time for your hysterics, - this was spoken sternly, even roughly. - You can wallow in your misery on the way.

Will stood up from the couch, and his movement, usually so quiet, now felt explosive in the frozen silence of the room. He pulled Mike by the hand. Mike didn't resist. He simply couldn't. Everything around him felt alien, terrifying. Byers's cold, pale hand was the only thing stopping him from retreating into a corner and sobbing.

They quickly climbed the stairs, passed through the dark kitchen. It was empty too. Where was his mom? Where was Nancy? Incredibly, he even started worrying about his dad, even though their relationship was strained. The world around had become strangely muted, colors washed out to shades of gray, as if they were moving through an old photograph. The house, which had once been his sanctuary, was now empty and silent.

The night outside was cold and clear. The air, clean and sharp, burned Mike's lungs. Where was everyone? The houses suddenly looked as if no one had ever lived there. Will led him, not looking back, through the backyards. They were headed to the edge of town, to that very place Mike had often heard about in casual conversations and local legends. They were going to «Lovers' Lake».

- Why are we going there?
- Just be quiet.
- I'm...
- I know you're scared. But if you decide to drown yourself, and me along with you, in your grief and despair right now, then it's better not to. Otherwise, I'll regret even spending my time on you.

Will froze. Mike crashed into his back and let out a quiet groan from the sudden impact.

- Eleven, my dear, - Byers said quietly, but with steel in his voice. Perhaps fear was hidden there too, but at the very, very bottom.

The cold that came was not from the night wind. It came from within, an icy wave piercing to the bone. The air thickened, became viscous like syrup. And the smell - a sweetish, cloying smell of rotting strawberries and damp earth - filled everything.

Will frowned. His hand slipped out of Mike's. Wheeler felt afraid. Not for himself, but for Byers.

The shadow cast by a streetlamp lengthened, twisted, detached from the ground, and stood before them. Not El. Not immediately. At first, it was just a deformation of space, a black hole in the shape of a person. Then familiar features emerged from the darkness: dark hair, brown eyes. But it was all wrong, like a funhouse mirror. She stood, looking at Will, and on her face was neither softness nor a mask of concern. There was only coldness.

- Why do you keep doing this to me? - her voice sounded childishly hurt. - You…

Mike stepped up beside Will and began looking incomprehensibly from him to her. Tension built in the air, condensing into dark clouds in the starry night sky.

- I thought you were smart, - a pause. - But you turned out to be a fool.

She didn't take a step. She simply reached her hand toward Will. Her palm clenched into a fist with such force that her knuckles turned white from the strain.
Will cried out - almost soundlessly, because the air vanished from his lungs. The space around him trembled and inverted. It didn't disappear, it inverted. Colors bled into negatives, shadows shone with a blinding white light, and light areas were swallowed by absolute blackness. The stones under his feet became soft and viscous like swamp, and the sky beneath his feet - hard and cold as ice. This was his nightmare. The Upside Down. His personal «Other Side», turned inside out from the deepest corners of his memory, where fear came not from monsters, but from his own reflection, from a feeling of being wrong.

He fell to his knees, choking on the air.

- Will! - Mike shouted, rushing toward him, but an invisible wall, elastic and cold as glass, arose between them. He beat his fists against it, but it only echoed with a dull pain in his knuckles.

Inside his distorted world, Will lifted his head. His eyes, wide with horror, resentment, and anger, met El's.

- Let him go! - Byers's voice broke through the distortions, strained but full of unexpected strength. - He can't...!

- He can, - the girl interrupted him. - And it would have happened sooner if you hadn't interfered, - El countered, her lips not even moving, the words were born directly in the air. - I did everything right. He was fine, had loved ones nearby, was full of happiness. But you, - she exhaled through tightly clenched teeth, holding back the rage bursting forth. - You decided to play the hero.

- That's not right! - Will shouted, trying to stand, but the inverted earth was sucking him in.

- When it happened - you were still a child, right? - her voice became sweet, poisonous. - Your life was so short, how could you know what's right and what's not? - the girl frowned. - Or maybe you're playing the hero because you forgot...
- You wouldn't dare! I'm not from this... - he didn't get to finish as his head snapped back. His eyes rolled back as if in a fit.

El made another, almost imperceptible gesture.
- You can't go against me, silly, - she said this tenderly. With deep sorrow and regret in her voice.

The agony that washed over Will was not physical. It was memory. It was the icy stab of loneliness in a dark room where the walls breathed. It was the feeling of a tentacle wrapping around his ankle, cold, alien flesh penetrating inside. It was that same whisper in his head, repeating that he was a mistake, that he would never belong in this damnably unfair world.

«Wanna talk?»

Will walked on calmly. He was used to it.

«Wanna talk?»

It meant being shoved, called names, tripped, having your backpack emptied into a school toilet, your clothes ripped, being humiliated.
«Wanna talk?» - that hurt. It was unpleasant.
It was hot. It wasn't a cold autumn evening, like in the legends, but a stifling, May evening, when the air thickened with the scent of blooming flowers and a thunderstorm that never broke. A scent that would later haunt him forever. Until the very end.

- So, William, - an older student stepped in front of him, his breath hitting Will's face with the unpleasant smell of cigarettes.

That's how his father smelled. It was the smell of family fights and inaction. The smell of his mother's tears.
- I heard you fell for someone? I mean… Is it true? Come on! Tell me! So you're really… like that?

Silence. Will stayed quiet, staring at a mud puddle by his sneakers. This refusal to play by their rules, this stubborn, quiet dignity, infuriated them most of all.

- He thinks he's better than us, - one of the friends snorted. - An artist. A freak. A fag!
- Why so quiet, William? Answer your friends, do you really like guys?

The first blow was unexpected - not a fist, but an open palm to the ear. A sharp slap that made his head ring. Then came the shoves. Will fell to his knees and covered his head with his hands. If he were in a magical world, monsters wouldn't have scared him. But he wasn't in a fairy tale. And they were worse than monsters. Monsters are fiction. People are not.

- Confess! - the older boy screamed, kicking him in the side with the blunt toe of his boot. - Confess you're a sick freak! Say it out loud!

Will doubled over and let out a quiet moan.

Mike, behind the glass wall, saw it. He saw Byers writhing and twisting, and his own heart tore from helplessness.

El watched with detached curiosity.

Will lifted his head. Blood from his split lip was flowing, staining his chin a sticky crimson. There was no fear in his eyes. There was weariness. An infinite, cosmic weariness from constantly having to justify his own existence. To the guys at school, to his father. To the whole world.

He wasn't different from them. He was a human being too. He was a human. And humans can love. And they have the right to choose who they want to love. A girl or a guy. Love can be different! It has the right to be different!

- I'm… not sick, - Will whispered.

And that was his fatal mistake.

Those words became the trigger. «Not sick» meant «normal». And that was a challenge. Their rage, stripped of even a ghost of moral justification, became pure, animalistic.
They pinned him on his back. Someone sat on his legs. The older one, breathing heavily, pulled out a folding knife - not a hunting knife, but a dirty, scratched, urban tool for intimidation.

- Not sick? - the older boy hissed, pressing the cold blade to his cheek. - Healthy people have different interests, William. Let's check what you're really made of?

This wasn't murder from the first strike. This was desecration. The blade cut not to kill, but to defile. It left shallow, humiliating cuts on his arms, which he instinctively raised to protect his face. It tore the fabric of his favorite t-shirt - a birthday gift from his mom. Every cut was accompanied by a filthy comment, wild laughter.

Will didn't scream. He whimpered. Quietly, like a dog, from helplessness and pain. This sound drove them even crazier. Blood was everywhere: on his skin, on their hands, soaking into the ground. It was bright red, alive, adolescent. It smelled of iron and dust.

- Stop squirming! - the older boy suddenly said, and his voice held a strange, almost scientific curiosity. - Let's see what's inside him? Come on, William, show us! Maybe there's some blue or a rainbow in there?

- Stop it! - Mike screamed when he saw Will arch unnaturally and begin to wheeze.
- This is a lesson, - El said quietly, calmly. - You're a student, Michael, and you should understand how important education is for people. So watch and learn what not to do and why you shouldn't ignore my warnings.

This was no longer a fight. This was a spontaneous, exploratory autopsy. The knife plunged below his chest. Not deep, but enough for Will to finally let out a howl - a drawn-out, rending sound, a voice that couldn't belong to a child. It was the sound of finally shattered hope.

The older boy froze, mesmerized. Sniffing the air, he pressed on the knife handle and began slowly twisting it. He wasn't looking for the heart as an organ. He was looking for the reason. That very «wrongness» that could be cut out like a tumor and shown to the world: see, here it is! We were right! The kid is sick! And we cured him!

He tore through flesh, tendons, hit something hard (a rib), scraped the knife against it. The insides didn spill out in coils like in the movies. Dark, almost black blood flowed out, mixed with something bubbling. The smell changed - now it was a sharp, nauseating smell of the inside of a human body: blood, bile, and something inexpressibly personal.

Will was still alive. His eyes, clouded with shock and pain, stared at the gray sky. He didn't see his tormentors. He seemed to see something else. Maybe his drawings. Maybe his mother's face. Maybe that boy with dark curly hair who on Monday wouldn't even glance his way. Would you have looked at me? Could you have loved me? Because I…

And at that moment, staring at the sky, he whispered. Through the bloody foam on his lips.

- I'm sorry…

It wasn't addressed to those who had humiliated him throughout his short life. It was addressed to everyone. To the world that didn't accept him. And, of course, to himself. He thought he loved himself. But it turned out he didn't.

The boy tearing at his body froze, hearing it.

«I'm sorry»

That word, that unshakeable, transcendent human dignity in a moment of absolute humiliation, finished him off more than any scream. It robbed his whole «hunt» of meaning. In a rage, he drove the knife into the ground next to the boy's bloodied body.

- Fuck!

Will stopped feeling anything. Finally, everything stopped hurting. His eyes simply closed.

The boys stood over what a minute ago had been a person. Now it was just a shapeless, bloodied object in the mud.

- William, open your eyes. Come on, open them!

The thrill evaporated, replaced by a sticky, freezing horror. They hadn't found any blue or rainbow inside. Only blood. The same red as their own.
- Fuck, - one of them muttered. - Shit, what have we done?!

Terrified, they ran, leaving the body in the quarry. But they didn't take the knife with them. And they didn't take with them the feeling of monstrous, senseless emptiness that would now live in them forever. They hadn't killed a «fag». They had killed a boy. And the only trophy, the only «proof», was the pattern of his blood on their sneakers and under their fingernails.

And Will remained lying in the rain, which finally poured from the sky, slowly washing the dirt and partly the blood from his face. But it couldn't wash away the feeling of injustice. He wasn't killed for what he did. He was killed for who he was. And that was the most terrible thing in the world.

From the cliff, there was a perfect view of the lake. What a cruel joke. To die next to «Lovers' Lake» without ever experiencing love in return.
Actually, it got its name not from any romance, but because it was deep, dark, and considered cursed by the local teenagers themselves - a perfect dumping ground for secrets.

Will, trembling, lifted his head and Mike was horrified, taking a couple of steps back. The blood began not to flow, but to well up. Not from a wound, but from within, as if his body itself was rejecting his presence in this inverted world.

Wheeler saw it seep from the corners of his eyes - not scarlet, but dark, almost black in the distorted light, thick like tar. It didn't run down his cheeks right away; it lingered, swelled, before reluctantly, slowly trickling down, leaving not tears, but sticky, glossy trails. They forked, skirting his cheekbones, and converged at his chin, dripping onto his light t-shirt, where they were immediately absorbed, leaving spreading dark stains.

Then blood came from his nose. In a stream, not intermittent, but steady and insistent. It flooded his upper lip, got into the corners of his mouth. Will tried to swallow, and his throat worked with a convulsive, painful motion.

But the worst was yet to come.

His lips, those same lips that had just been soft and alive in the kiss, parted slightly, as if for a soundless cry. And from this dark space between them, slowly, like thick syrup, blood crept out. It didn't gush, didn't spurt. It oozed, filled his mouth, and spilled out in a heavy, hanging drop that stretched, grew longer, thicker, until it broke off and fell onto his knees, leaving another black mark on his jeans.

He was breathing now with a gurgling, bubbling sound. Every exhale carried from his mouth a fine bloody mist, tinting the air before his face a disgusting pinkish haze. The blood from his eyes mixed with sweat and something else - perhaps pus from the unbearable pressure - forming murky, yellowish-red streaks. His face ceased to be Will's face. It became the mask of a martyr, a grotesque icon of suffering, molded from flesh, blood, and distorted reality.

And Mike saw it all.

He was silent. He watched.

Tears, hot and salty, streamed down his face in torrents, distorting his vision but not erasing the nightmare before him. Every cell in his body howled with helplessness. His muscles tensed to the point of spasm, his stomach clenched with such spasmodic pain, it felt like he was being cut with a knife from the inside.

His legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees before the glass wall.
The pain became unbearable. It was the pain of absolute helplessness. He was here, just a few steps away. He was ready for anything. But he couldn't even move. He was nailed to the spot by his own powerlessness, forced to be merely a spectator to the most horrific show of his life.

He flinched, hearing a quiet voice in his head:

«Even in the afterlife, I would still love you. And if you ever call for me, I will come. I swear it to you»