Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler’s earliest memories were not sharp images so much as feelings. Warmth. Motion. The sound of wheels against pavement. The quiet certainty that if he turned his head just slightly, Will Byers would be there.
When he was six, Mike learned to ride a bike in his parents’ driveway. He remembered the way his father’s hands steadied the seat, the wobble in his legs, the sudden lurch forward when he realized he was moving on his own. What he remembered most clearly, though, was Will standing a few feet away, helmet too big for his head, clapping softly like he was afraid of being too loud.
“Look, Will,” Mike had called, exhilarated. “I’m doing it!”
Will beamed at him, eyes bright. “I knew you could.”
Mike rode straight into a bush thirty seconds later, but Will was the first one at his side, helping him up, brushing leaves from his sleeves with careful hands. Mike hadn’t noticed then how easily Will slipped into that role, how natural it was for him to tend to others, but the memory stayed with him anyway.
By the time they were ten, Mike had stopped noticing when he slowed his bike so Will could keep up. It wasn’t something he decided to do. His body just adjusted, like it knew something his mind hadn’t bothered to articulate. When the group raced ahead, Mike stayed back. When Will lagged behind, Mike waited. No one ever commented on it, and Mike would have denied it if they had.
“Why do you always stay with Will?” Dustin asked once, kicking his feet against the basement couch.
Mike shrugged, already setting up the D&D board. “Because.”
That had been enough of an answer.
Years later, when pack dynamics became impossible to ignore, Mike wondered if that should have been his first clue.
The words alpha, beta, and omega entered their lives quietly, folded into health classes and hushed conversations between parents. Hawkins pretended it was all very clinical, very orderly, but Mike learned quickly that nothing about it was simple. Lucas presented as an Alpha and carried it with an ease that made sense. Dustin and Eleven, Betas, grounded the group without trying. It all fit together neatly.
Mike’s own presentation was less graceful. He was fourteen and angry at the world, restless in a way that made him pace his room late at night. His senses sharpened, sounds too loud, smells too strong. He snapped at people without meaning to, then spent hours afterward stewing in guilt. Joyce once joked that he looked like a guard dog who hadn’t been trained yet.
Through all of it, Will remained the same. Quiet. Gentle. Observant.
Will presented as an Omega later, and even then it happened without spectacle. He just grew more tired, more withdrawn for a while, his scent changing in a way Mike noticed before he understood why it mattered. Sweet wasn’t the right word for it, but Mike didn’t have a better one. Being near Will made his thoughts slow, his breathing steady.
Mike didn’t talk about it. He didn’t think about it. He just adjusted.
At sixteen, that adjustment had become habit.
They sat together at lunch without discussion, Will’s shoulder brushing Mike’s arm as naturally as breathing. Will listened while Mike talked, sketching in the margins of his notebooks, occasionally nudging Mike’s knee under the table when he got too animated.
“You’re going to spill that,” Will murmured one afternoon, nodding toward Mike’s dangerously tilted juice box.
Mike glanced down just in time to steady it. “How did you—”
“You always do that,” Will said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Mike scoffed. “I do not.”
“You do,” Will insisted gently. “Every time.”
Mike tried to argue, but Dustin interrupted them by launching into a story about a malfunctioning radio, and the moment slipped by. Still, Mike found himself holding his drink more carefully for the rest of lunch.
The day another Alpha sat too close to Will, Mike didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. He noticed it the way he noticed a wrong note in a familiar song. Something was off. Will grew quieter, his pencil pausing more often. The Alpha leaned in, voice low, laughing at things Will said like they were private jokes.
Mike’s chair scraped loudly against the floor when he stood.
Lucas looked up. “What are you doing?”
Mike didn’t answer. He crossed the short distance between them and stopped beside Will, close enough that their arms touched. Will looked up, startled, then visibly relaxed.
“Hey,” Will said. “What’s up?”
“You ready to go?” Mike asked.
Will glanced at the clock. “I thought we were staying.”
Mike shrugged. “Changed my mind.”
The Alpha frowned but didn’t argue. Will packed up his things quickly, shooting Mike a questioning look as they walked away.
Outside, Will slowed his steps to match Mike’s. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said carefully.
“Do what?”
“Rescue me,” Will said, not accusing, just stating a fact.
Mike bristled. “I wasn’t rescuing you.”
Will studied his face. “Okay.”
That was all he said, but the word lingered between them, weighted with something Mike didn’t want to name.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. At Will’s house, Mike waited as he always did until Will reached the porch.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Will asked.
Mike nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
Will hesitated, then smiled, small and sincere. “Thanks. For today.”
Mike watched him go inside, chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t quite place.
That night, Mike found himself calling Will without thinking. Will picked up quickly, voice soft with sleep.
“Hey,” Will said. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Mike replied. “I just—” He paused. “Did I make things weird today?”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “No,” Will said. “I don’t think so.”
Mike exhaled slowly. “Good.”
“Mike?” Will added.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to protect me all the time.”
Mike frowned, sitting up in bed. “I’m not trying to.”
“I know,” Will said quickly. “I just wanted you to know that I’m okay.”
Mike didn’t know what to say to that. “Okay,” he managed.
They stayed on the line for a while after that, not talking much, just listening to each other breathe. When they finally hung up, Mike stared at the dark ceiling, unsettled.
The thing was, Mike didn’t feel like he was protecting Will.
It felt more like… staying close to something important. Like keeping a hand on a door he didn’t want to see closed.
And Will, for his part, continued taking care of everyone in the quiet ways he always had. He brought extra snacks for Dustin. He reminded Lucas to sleep. He noticed when Mike was wound too tight and sat beside him without comment, presence steady and warm.
Neither of them spoke about it.
Neither of them knew what it meant.
But the gravity between them, slow and unyielding, had been there since childhood, pulling them together one small, unnoticed step at a time.
—————————
The first snow of the year fell overnight, light and careful, dusting Hawkins in a way that made everything look softer than it really was. Mike noticed it the moment he woke up, staring out his bedroom window as the world seemed to hold its breath. He pulled on a sweater before he even checked the time, already thinking about how Will hated the cold but never remembered gloves.
By the time he got downstairs, Nancy was already halfway through her coffee.
“It’s snowing,” she said, unnecessarily.
Mike grabbed a scarf from the hook by the door. “I know.”
She watched him loop it around his neck, then tilt her head. “You going to Will’s?”
Mike paused. “I mean…we’re walking together.”
Nancy hummed. “Right.”
Mike ignored her tone and left before she could say anything else.
Will was waiting at the end of the Byers’ driveway, wrapped in a coat that was definitely not warm enough. His hands were tucked into his sleeves, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. When he saw Mike, his posture eased, like he’d been bracing himself without realizing it.
“You’re going to freeze,” Mike said immediately.
Will smiled faintly. “Good morning to you too.”
Mike stepped closer, tugging his scarf loose without asking and looping it around Will’s neck. Will startled, then stilled, eyes wide for just a second before softening.
“Mike—”
“Just wear it,” Mike said, already adjusting it. “I’ll get it back later.”
Will’s cheeks were pink, though Mike wasn’t sure if it was from the cold. “Okay,” he said quietly.
They started walking, boots crunching softly against the snow. Will kept one hand wrapped around the scarf, fingers brushing the fabric like he was making sure it was real.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Will said after a moment.
Mike shrugged. “You never dress warm enough.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I know,” Mike cut in, then sighed. “I just don’t want you to get sick.”
Will glanced at him. “You worry a lot.”
Mike scoffed. “I do not.”
Will smiled, more to himself than anything. “You do.”
Mike opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. There was something in Will’s voice, not teasing, not accusing. Just observant.
At school, the snow made everything louder and quieter at the same time. Hallways buzzed with energy, boots tracking water across the floor, voices echoing. Mike stayed close without meaning to, angling his body slightly in front of Will when people jostled past.
Lucas noticed.
“You good, man?” he asked as they stopped at Will’s locker.
Mike frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
Lucas nodded toward Will. “You’re hovering.”
Mike bristled. “I am not.”
Will shut his locker gently. “It’s okay,” he said softly, like he was smoothing over something sharp. “It doesn’t bother me.”
That only made Mike feel worse, though he couldn’t have explained why.
Throughout the day, Will moved more slowly than usual. He yawned during history, eyes unfocused, pencil pausing mid-line. Mike leaned over during a lull and whispered, “Did you sleep?”
Will nodded, but it was too quick. “A little.”
Mike didn’t push, but his attention never fully left Will after that. When the bell rang for lunch, he was already standing, waiting.
Will noticed. He always did.
“You don’t have to wait,” Will said as he gathered his things.
“I know,” Mike replied. “I want to.”
The words felt heavier than they should have.
At lunch, Will barely touched his food. Dustin talked enough for all of them, as usual, but Mike found himself distracted, watching the way Will’s fingers curled around his juice, the way his shoulders sloped forward.
“Will,” Mike said quietly. “You’re not eating.”
Will blinked, like he’d forgotten there was food in front of him. “Oh. I will.”
He didn’t.
When Mike came back from the vending machines with an extra snack, he slid it across the table without comment. Will looked at it, then up at him.
“You’re doing it again,” Will said softly.
Mike stiffened. “Doing what?”
“Taking care of me.”
Mike frowned. “I take care of everyone.”
Dustin snorted. “No, you don’t.”
Will’s lips twitched. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “I don’t mind.”
That wasn’t the reassurance Mike needed, but he nodded anyway.
Later, as they walked home, the sky already darkening, Will lagged behind slightly. Mike slowed automatically, then caught himself.
“You don’t have to slow down,” Will said.
Mike glanced back. “You don’t have to rush.”
Will considered that, then matched his pace. “Fair.”
They walked in silence for a while, the snow crunching beneath them. Will broke it eventually.
“Do you ever feel like… things are changing?” he asked.
Mike’s chest tightened. “What kind of things?”
Will shrugged. “Just…stuff. Everyone’s growing up. It’s weird.”
Mike nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“I don’t like it,” Will admitted. “I like things the way they are.”
Mike didn’t answer right away. He didn’t trust his voice. “Me too.”
Will glanced at him, something unreadable in his expression, then looked away.
At the Byers’ house, Mike lingered longer than usual, hands shoved into his pockets.
“You want to come in?” Will asked. “Mom made hot chocolate.”
Mike hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Inside, the house was warm and smelled like cinnamon. Will handed Mike a mug and sat across from him at the table, knees tucked up onto the chair. Steam curled between them.
“You okay?” Will asked, watching him closely.
Mike frowned. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
Will smiled gently. “Because you ask me.”
Mike looked down into his mug. “I just—” He stopped, frustrated. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
Will shook his head immediately. “You’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’ve always been like this,” Will said. “You’ve always stayed. You’ve always noticed. That’s not a bad thing.”
Mike met his eyes then, really looked at him. “And it doesn’t bother you?”
Will’s gaze softened. “No. It makes me feel… safe.”
The word settled between them, quiet and undeniable.
Mike swallowed. “Good.”
They sat there until Joyce called Will to help with dishes. Mike stood to leave, pausing at the door.
“Hey, Will?”
Will looked back. “Yeah?”
Mike hesitated. “If things do change… we’re still us, right?”
Will didn’t hesitate at all. “Always.”
Mike nodded, chest aching in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying, and stepped out into the cold.
As he walked home, the snow falling steadily around him, Mike tried not to think about how the world felt subtly wrong whenever Will wasn’t nearby. He tried not to notice how deeply that one word “safe” had lodged itself in his chest.
He told himself it was just friendship.
He told himself there was nothing else it could be.
The truth, slow and patient, waited anyway.
——————————
By December, Mike began to realize that his days were quietly organizing themselves around Will.
It wasn’t something he consciously decided. There was no moment where he stopped and thought, I’ll do this for Will or I’ll wait for Will. It simply happened. He woke up earlier because Will liked to walk to school together when it was still quiet. He stayed up later because Will tended to call at night, voice low and hesitant, like he didn’t want to impose but needed the company anyway. Mike started carrying extra things in his backpack, snacks, gloves, a spare pencil, without fully acknowledging why.
One morning, Dustin noticed.
“Why do you have two granola bars?” Dustin asked, peering into Mike’s open bag as they waited outside the school.
Mike zipped it shut quickly. “In case I get hungry.”
Dustin squinted. “You never eat those.”
Mike shrugged. “Maybe I will.”
Will arrived then, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, cheeks flushed from the cold. His eyes softened when he saw Mike, and he fell into step beside him without comment. As they walked, Mike felt the familiar sense of things settling into place, like a knot loosening somewhere in his chest.
Halfway to the building, Will stumbled slightly on a patch of ice. Mike’s hand shot out instinctively, fingers closing around Will’s wrist before he even realized he’d moved.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
Will blinked, startled, then smiled. “Thanks.”
Mike didn’t let go right away. Neither did Will.
It was only after a second too long that Mike released him, shoving his hands into his pockets like they’d betrayed him somehow. Will flexed his fingers once, then tucked his hands back into his sleeves, expression thoughtful.
Inside the school, the day dragged. Mike found it harder than usual to concentrate, his attention snagging every time Will shifted in his seat or sighed quietly. In chemistry, Will leaned over and whispered a question about an equation, their heads nearly touching. Mike answered, aware of how close they were, how easy it would be to lean just a little closer.
He didn’t.
At lunch, Max plopped down across from them, boots thudding against the bench.
“You two are unbearable,” she announced.
Mike frowned. “What did we do?”
“You breathe in sync,” she said flatly.
Will flushed immediately. “We do not.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “You just did.”
Dustin laughed. “I don’t hear it.”
“That’s because you’re loud,” Max replied. Then she looked back at Mike, eyes sharp. “You okay?”
Mike stiffened. “Yeah. Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
Max shrugged. “Just checking.”
Will glanced between them, uncertain. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Mike said too quickly. “Everything’s fine.”
Will studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay.”
That night, Will came over unannounced. Mike was halfway through homework when he heard the knock at the door. He was already halfway down the stairs before Nancy could call his name.
Will stood on the porch, hands clasped nervously in front of him.
“Hey,” he said. “I hope it’s okay I came by. I just—”
“Yeah,” Mike interrupted. “Of course it’s okay.”
Will smiled, relieved, and followed him upstairs. They sat on the floor, backs against the bed, textbooks forgotten between them. Will pulled out his sketchbook, flipping through pages until he found something he wanted to show Mike.
“It’s not finished,” he said, like he always did.
Mike leaned closer. “You always say that.”
“And you always ignore it.”
Mike smiled despite himself. “What is it?”
Will hesitated. “It’s… us.”
Mike blinked. “Us?”
“Not like—” Will rushed to clarify, flustered. “Just…the group. I was trying to draw how it feels. When we’re together.”
Mike studied the page. The figures were small, but unmistakable. They stood close, shoulders nearly touching, a quiet strength in the way they faced outward together.
“It looks right,” Mike said quietly.
Will exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” Mike said. “It does.”
They sat there for a long time after that, Will sketching, Mike watching, the room filled with the soft scratch of pencil and the steady hum of the heater. At some point, Will leaned sideways, his shoulder resting against Mike’s arm. Mike stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, letting it happen.
Neither of them commented on it.
When Will finally stood to leave, it was later than either of them had realized.
“Thanks for letting me come over,” Will said, hovering by the door. “I just needed… somewhere quiet.”
“You can always come here,” Mike replied. “You know that.”
Will met his eyes, something warm and uncertain flickering there. “I do.”
The next day, Mike felt it more sharply than ever when another Alpha laughed too loudly at something Will said. It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have mattered. But Mike’s chest tightened anyway, irritation flaring hot and sudden.
“You don’t have to stand so close,” he snapped before he could stop himself.
The Alpha blinked. “What?”
Will stiffened. “Mike.”
Mike took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” Will said quickly, stepping slightly away from the other Alpha, closer to Mike without seeming to notice he was doing it. “We were just talking.”
Mike nodded, jaw tight. “Okay.”
Later, Lucas cornered him by the lockers.
“You’re being weird,” Lucas said plainly.
Mike frowned. “I am not.”
“You are,” Lucas insisted. “You’re territorial.”
Mike bristled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lucas studied him for a moment. “Just… be careful, man.”
With what? Mike wanted to ask. With who?
He didn’t.
That evening, Will called him, voice quieter than usual.
“Did I do something wrong today?” Will asked.
Mike sat up immediately. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
“You seemed upset.”
Mike ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t upset at you. I just… I don’t like when people crowd you.”
There was a pause. “Why?”
Mike opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t have an answer that didn’t feel dangerous.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I just don’t.”
Will was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Okay.”
They talked about other things after that, but the question lingered, unanswered, between them.
Later, lying in bed, Mike stared at the ceiling, heart heavy with thoughts he refused to examine too closely. He thought about Will’s shoulder against his arm, about the way Will always seemed calmer when he was near, about the way his own instincts flared whenever someone else got too close.
He told himself it was habit.
He told himself it was loyalty.
He told himself it was friendship.
But the truth was taking its time, sinking deeper with every shared glance, every unspoken understanding, every quiet moment where neither of them pulled away.
And somewhere between childhood memory and present-day certainty, something patient and inevitable continued to grow.