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The battle in Mac-Z was already a few days ago. The immediate threats had been temporarily neutralized, but the air still crackled with the static energy of the unknown. Will and the rest of the crew were lucky enough to be able to regroup before the military followed them. El, was able to successfully collapse a few tunnels to keep them off their trail. The whole party were waiting, planning, and mostly, being teenagers in close quarters.
The overall mood should have been one of weary camaraderie, but lately, a subtle, highly localized tension had settled over the space, centered entirely on Will Byers and Robin Buckley.
Will, still finding his footing after the latest string of inter-dimensional horrors, had found a quiet harbor in Robin, who was the only other person in their immediate orbit to fully understand the specific gravity of their mutual secret.
For him, Robin was a lifeboat; she had navigated the treacherous waters of being queer in Hawkins, Indiana, and was now successfully (if chaotically) sailing. For her, Will was a chance to dispense all the wisdom she’d accumulated—mostly by accident—and have someone who didn't demand she explain every single pop culture reference.
Unfortunately, to the rest of the Party, their deep, immediate bond looked like something else entirely.
Mike who was sitting in a worn folding chair ostensibly guarding the "Strategic Whiteboard," was actually doing nothing but monitoring the activity in the far corner. Will and Robin were there, huddled over a map of what looked like the old library's sewer system, but which was clearly, to Mike, a flimsy cover.
Will was laughing.
It wasn't a nervous chuckle or a polite giggle. It was a warm, relaxed, genuine laugh, and the sound of it made a sharp, hot wire tighten in Mike’s chest. Will’s eyes, bright and clear, were fixed solely on Robin as she animatedly described something, probably with way too many words and wildly flailing hands.
She’s leading him on, Mike thought, gripping the dry-erase marker so hard his knuckles turned white. She’s telling him one of her insane stories, and he’s looking at her like she invented color.
Mike was, secretly and completely, head-over-heels in love with Will Byers. He had been for years, a slowly intensifying, agonizingly repressed feeling that had survived inter-dimensional rifts, cross-country moves, and the general apocalypse but it was recently magnified by the fact that Will— has saved his life a few days ago. The feeling was so huge and terrifying that he had decided the only responsible thing to do was to bury it under a mountain of nervous intensity, protectiveness, and a general air of dramatic distraction.
He knew Will was fragile. He knew Will deserved to be happy. And he was absolutely convinced that Robin, with her chaotic, magnetizing energy, was about to break Will's heart. Mike needed to save Will from the inevitable collapse, and maybe, just maybe, save his own heart from witnessing it.
He also had a secondary, compounding belief that everyone else in the Party agreed that Robin Buckley was involved with Steve Harrington.
“Dude, check out those two,” Lucas whispered, nudging Mike with an elbow. Lucas was usually the most analytical, but his analysis of this situation was entirely fueled by protectiveness for Will. “They’re having a whole thing over there. It’s too close.”
Mike didn't flinch, but his jaw clenched. “It’s unprofessional. We’re supposed to be coordinating, not… gossiping in a corner like freshman girls.”
“They’re not gossiping, Mike,” Dustin pointed out, adjusting his glasses. “They’re communicating. They’ve established a non-verbal rapport that’s actually quite fascinating. Look at the mirroring posture. It suggests deep trust and mutual—"
“They’re flirting, Dustin!” Mike snapped, turning to face his friend, who immediately recoiled. “They’re flirting, and it’s going to end badly, and Will is too good for that kind of emotional manipulation.”
“Emotional manipulation?” Dustin scoffed, baffled by the reaction of his two friends.
Lucas looked at Robin, who was now leaning in conspiratorially. “She’s nineteen, man. That’s a whole two years gap and he’s technically still a minor. Plus, everybody knows she’s with Steve. She’s just getting her kicks by being Will’s cool, older mentor who breaks his heart when Steve calls her home. It’s classic older-girl tragedy.”
The belief that Robin and Steve were secretly dating was a cornerstone of the Party's delusion. Steve was constantly hovering, constantly checking in, constantly driving her everywhere. They were inseparable, loud, and bickering in the way only an intensely comfortable couple could. Only Dustin, who knows them best, knew the truth, but his insistence that Robin was "very clearly not into dudes, Mike, seriously" was met with deaf ears and eye rolls. They assumed Dustin was just oblivious, as usual and Dustin just want to hit them with a flashlight.
Meanwhile, in the far corner, Will and Robin were indeed talking about Mike.
Robin tapped the map with a red pen. “So, the sewer system is a great metaphor for the confusing labyrinth that is Mike Wheeler’s brain, right? It all ends up somewhere messy and smelly, but you’re hoping there’s a treasure map hidden down there.”
Will felt his cheeks warm, and he immediately ducked his head, focusing on the rough sketch of the pipes. This was exactly why he loved talking to Robin. She could articulate the unspoken, terrifying truth of his feelings with hilarious accuracy.
“It’s not confusing,” Will mumbled, twisting a loop of string. “He just… he doesn’t see me. Not like that. He sees me as the guy who needs protecting. Or the guy who used to live far away. Or the guy who has too many feelings about things.”
Robin sighed dramatically. “Oh, my sweet, sensitive bard. Mike Wheeler is a walking, talking, mop-haired monument to emotional repression. The only way he could love someone more is if they literally died and came back with a ghost costume. He is obsessed with you. The way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking? It’s not protective. That’s the gaze of a man who wrote a whole three-page letter about how great your new haircut is.”
Will's smile widened. Robin had an uncanny ability to turn his crushing anxiety into a delightful, if dangerous, fantasy. “He wrote that letter about missing me and how apologetic he is for barely contacting me when I was in Lenora.”
“Yeah, because missing you is the only emotionally available expression he has for worshiping you,” Robin countered, leaning closer and lowering her voice further. “Look, Will. You and I, we have a connection. We share a reality no one else in this room understands, even the genius one with the curly hair. That reality means we are experts in reading the micro-expressions of people who are pretending to be fine but are, in fact, imploding with unacknowledged feelings. Mike is imploding. He’s just confusing his desire to kiss you senseless with his desire to strangle me.”
Will laughed, a quiet, joyful sound, and reached out to lightly push Robin’s shoulder. “Stop it. He’s looking at us.”
Robin didn’t even look up. “Good. Let him stew. Let him suffer the delicious, petty agony of jealousy. It’s good for his soul. And it keeps him busy enough to not interrupt your art.”
This exchange—the conspiratorial lean, Will’s bright smile, the playful touch—was all the Party needed to confirm their theory. They didn't see a supportive, queer mentorship. They saw a budding romance destined for heartbreak.
Later that evening, after Will had gone to help his mother cook dinner, the remaining members of the Party (and a blissfully ignorant Steve) gathered around the Strategic Whiteboard, which was now thankfully covered in actual strategic drawings.
“We need an intervention strategy,” Lucas declared, his arms crossed. “We can’t let Will get crushed by this. He’s finally happy again. Robin is, what, five years older than him?”
“It’s two years, Lucas,” Dustin corrected, sighing into his hands. “And she’s not dating Steve! I work with them! They’re just loud. They’re like annoying siblings who share a brain cell and zero romantic tension. It's the most platonic relationship I've ever witnessed.”
“Dustin, they been in the same work for the past years, inseparable. They finish each other’s complex sentences that doesn’t really make sense,” Lucas argued, tapping the whiteboard. “That’s couple stuff.”
Steve, who was restocking the emergency flashlight battery drawer, paused. “Wait, who’s dating who?”
Mike, who had been silent, seething, finally spoke, his voice dangerously low. “We are talking about Robin and Will. She is clearly messing with his head. Will gets this look—this vulnerable, hopeful look—and she just encourages him to talk for hours. It’s cruel when we all know she’s with you, Steve.”
Steve blinked. “Robin and me? No, man. No. We’re… we’re like… we’re like the two nerds who got left out of the popular table but then realized we’re way cooler than the popular table. She’s my best friend. That’s it. Who told you we were dating?”
The Party exchanged wide-eyed, guilty looks. They had decided this without evidence.
“But the hovering! The driving! The bickering!” Lucas exclaimed.
“That’s just logistics, man,” Steve said, looking completely confused. “We carpool. We go to the same place to work and she stops me from burning the house down. It’s a sustainable symbiosis. There’s no… sexual tension. None. Na-da”
This news should have dispelled the fear, but it didn't. It just redirected the paranoia.
“So she’s not with Steve,” Mike said, his voice rising, “which means she’s available, and she’s actively targeting our vulnerable, sweet, perfect Will!” The anger Mike felt was complex: it was protective anger, friend anger, and the blinding, agonizing rage of a crush who felt completely displaced.
Dustin threw his hands up. “Mike! They’re just friends! Will likes talking to her! And Will is very clearly interested in someone else. Someone who is currently acting like a possessive, aggressive idiot.”
Mike ignored him. He looked at Lucas and El. “We need a plan to gently pry him away. A counter-attraction. We need to remind him of the value of the companionship he already possesses.”
El, sitting quietly, finally spoke, her brow furrowed with confusion. “But if Robin is not with Steve, why is it bad if she is with Will? They seem happy. Will laughs. Robin is funny.”
“It’s bad because it’s a setup, El,” Mike said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s too old. She’s too experienced. She’s too—too Robin to just have a casual, harmless friendship with Will. Will is sensitive. He feels things deeply. This is a five-alarm emotional fire waiting to happen.”
Lucas, catching Mike’s protective fire, nodded grimly. “Operation: Save Will From the Velvet Siren.”
Dustin sighed. “You guys are truly the worst detectives in the world.”
The next afternoon, while Mike and the Party were trying to devise ways to subtly insert Mike into Will and Robin’s conversations—Mike suggested an elaborate, fake-injury strategy—Will was having a much more honest conversation at home.
Joyce Byers knew everything. She had known about Will’s feelings for Mike since he was twelve, and she had known about Will’s sexuality long before he was brave enough to articulate it to himself. She was the safest, warmest port in any emotional storm.
Will was sitting at the kitchen table, drawing in his sketchbook. Joyce was making tea, humming softly.
“So,” Joyce began, placing a mug in front of him. “Did Robin make fun of Mike for his hair again?”
Will snorted into his cup. “Yeah. She said he looks like a Victorian chimney sweep who just discovered hair gel.”
Joyce laughed, leaning against the counter. “She’s a keeper, that one. She’s good for you, honey. She understands the things you don't have to explain.”
Will nodded, a soft, fond smile on his face. “She helps. She’s the only one who doesn’t treat my feelings like they’re a bomb about to go off. She just… she validates the truth. And she’s really good at pointing out how dumb Mike is being when he’s trying to hide his feelings.”
“And what about you, honey?” Joyce asked gently. “You’re good at hiding them, too.”
“I know,” Will sighed, closing his sketchbook. “It’s just… he’s Mike. And I have to save the world before I can even think about saving myself, Mom. But talking to Robin… it helps me survive the waiting. She just lets me be myself, without the whole label.”
“Well, you know your Party is having a full-blown existential crisis over you and Robin,” Joyce chuckled. “Mike looks like he’s about to punch a brick wall every time you laugh at one of her jokes. Lucas looks like he’s ready to build a chastity belt out of spare parts. It’s kind of funny to watch.”
Will flushed, a nervous but happy heat rising on his neck. “Mike’s jealous? No way. He’s just mad she’s distracting me from the war room.”
Joyce gave him a knowing look, full of unconditional love. “Honey, Mike Wheeler is never just mad about logistics when you’re involved. He’s only mad because he’s convinced Robin is his nemesis and she’s trying to steal the one thing he loves the most. He just doesn’t know how he loves it yet.”
Joyce’s simple, steadfast certainty made Will feel both relieved and terrified. He knew this secret couldn’t last forever. He planned to tell them all eventually, maybe when Max was awake and the dust had truly settled. But for now, he had his secret ally.
The tension was thick enough to cut with a spoon at the HQ the next day. Will and Robin decided to grab lunch in a quiet corner of the secret basement. Mike, armed with a new, aggressive passive-aggressiveness, trailed them, pretending to be extremely interested in a coil of cable he was carrying.
Will settled onto a bench, pulling out a half-eaten sandwich. Robin was immediately next to him.
“Okay, so update on Operation: Mop-Hair,” Robin started, pulling a sticky note out of her pocket. “He’s doing the ‘overly concerned’ routine. He spent twenty minutes ‘reorganizing’ the spare batteries just to stand near you. Also, he tried to trip me with a cable.”
Will couldn't help the wave of warmth and amusement that washed over him. He covered his mouth to hide his smile, but his eyes crinkled. This was the moment the Party, watching from the doorway, misinterpreted as intense, whispered romance.
“He did not try to trip you,” Will chuckled.
“He did! It was a slow-motion, poorly executed trip-attempt, all motivated by a desire to defend your virtue from the ‘predator.’ He sees me as the final boss of your emotional availability. The good news is, jealousy is a very strong form of active attraction, Will. He’s boiling.”
Will’s smile faded slightly. “It still feels impossible. I don’t want to get hopeful, Robin? I don’t want to lose him, even like this.”
Robin put a hand on his arm, her expression suddenly serious. “You won’t lose him. You might lose the idea of him, the Mike you’ve had to invent to make this dynamic work, but the real Mike? He’s been tethered to you since you were eight. What you two have survived is stronger than any stupid social norm. But you have to tell him eventually. You have to save him from this slow, painful death by emotional constipation.”
Robin squeezed his arm, a firm, supportive gesture of solidarity.
From the doorway, Mike saw the gesture: the private words, the touch, the intense eye contact. He saw Will’s flushed cheeks. Mike felt a cold, hard knot of fear solidify in his stomach. He dropped the cable reel with a loud, clattering crash.
“Oops,” Mike said loudly, his voice tight. “Just, you know, being professional. Dealing with the necessary cables. Which you two seem to be ignoring.”
Robin and Will simply looked up at him, shared a look of pure, comedic understanding, and burst into silent laughter.
Mike spun around and stomped away, his teeth grinding.
“See?” Robin whispered to Will. “Nemesis status confirmed. Now, tell me about how you’re going to paint Mike next.”
The protective spirit had reached its peak in Lucas Sinclair. Lucas saw himself as the pragmatic older brother, the one who had to enforce boundaries and protect the innocent. He knew Will was a dreamer, easily swept up. He needed to step in.
He found Robin alone later that afternoon, setting up a projector for a presentation.
Lucas took a deep breath, trying to channel the stern, reasonable energy of his father.
“Robin. Can I talk to you for a second?”
Robin didn’t look up, fiddling with a dusty lens. “Sure, Lucas. If this is about the structural integrity of the projector mount, I agree. We’re one strong gust of wind away from a very expensive disaster.”
“It’s about Will,” Lucas said, dropping his voice. “Look, we all care about Will a lot. He’s our friend. And he’s… he’s still got some stuff he’s working through. From, you know. Everything.”
Robin finally stopped, giving him her full attention. Her eyes were sharp and unreadable. “And what about Will are you concerned about, specifically?”
Lucas shifted his weight, suddenly feeling very young and very awkward. “Well, he really seems to look up to you. And I know you and Steve are… serious. And Will is just really sensitive. I just think you should maybe… dial it back? The intense talks? The private laughing? He’s getting ideas.”
Robin raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. “Ideas?”
Lucas plunged ahead, the awkwardness fueling his bluntness. “Yeah. Ideas about you. And you’re nineteen, right? Will’s seventeen. I mean, isn’t he a little too young for you, even if you weren't with Steve? He’s just not ready for that kind of inevitable heartbreak, Robin.”
Robin stared at him for a long moment, then a slow, amused smile spread across her face.
“Lucas, Lucas, Lucas,” she drawled, leaning back against the wall. “That is a wonderfully earnest and deeply misguided question. It’s sweet that you think of Will’s heart like a porcelain doll you need to keep on the shelf, but here’s the thing about Will: he’s stronger than you, me, and probably Steve combined. He’s survived far worse things than a two-year age gap and the ‘inevitable heartbreak’ of dating someone who is clearly emotionally stunted.”
She paused, then winked. “And for the record, I find men of any age utterly confusing and generally non-essential to my personal happiness. I’m just trying to keep your little bard alive until he realizes his destiny, which, trust me, is not dating me.”
Lucas felt his cheeks burn, but the core of his belief held firm. “If you’re not into guys, then why are you leading him on?”
Robin sighed, a dramatic, theatrical thing. “I’m not leading him on, Lucas. I’m giving him the survival tools I wish someone had given me. But since you’re so concerned, I’ll take your advice under advisement. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find Steve and lecture him about using his driving gloves to clean up a spilled soda.”
Lucas walked away feeling both defeated and more certain than ever that Robin was a master manipulator. Her denial about liking guys? Obviously a clever lie to keep the Party off her trail. Her talk about "survival tools?" Clearly a coded phrase for "flirtation strategy."
Mike listened to Lucas’s report later with seething, quiet fury. This Robin had to be stopped. Dustin wished he had something bigger than a flashlight to hit both his friends.
Mike’s attempts to separate Will and Robin were disastrous. They ranged from the passive-aggressive to the physically intrusive.
Attempt 1:
Mike cornered Will outside the supply closet, pulling him aside just as Robin was approaching. “Will, we need to talk about the advantage of having an extra… uhm can of beans in the emergency supply. It’s crucial. It demands immediate focus.”
Will, catching Robin’s eye over Mike’s shoulder, just gave her a small, conspiratorial smile.
Robin, without missing a beat, called out, “Mike, if you’re trying to make a point about tactical advantage, you should know that distracting the Party’s chief strategist for a can of beans is a clear breach of protocol. Also, your hair looks angry.”
Mike sputtered, forgetting about the beans and instantly becoming defensive about his hair. Will laughed, and Robin used the distraction to slip away.
Attempt 2:
Mike decided the best defense was a good offense. Whenever Will and Robin tried to huddle, Mike would wedge himself between them, pretending to need to look at whatever they were studying.
One afternoon, Will and Robin were looking at a complex, hand-drawn diagram. Mike quickly inserted himself, his shoulder pressed against Will's.
“What’s this?” Mike asked, his voice strained with forced casualness. “Is this a map? We need to use grid coordinates, Will. Hand-drawn diagrams are unreliable. This is bad planning.”
Robin looked at Mike’s nose, which was mere inches from the paper. “This is a drawing of how Will sees Mike’s emotional state—it’s very intricate, all those angry spirals. Now, if you would kindly move, Mr. Wheeler, you’re breathing all over the metaphor.”
Will snickered, leaning further into Mike, which only made Mike’s heart pound harder and his jealousy rage hotter. He couldn’t be jealous of Robin, he was mad for Will. He had to be.
The truth was, Will cherished these moments. Robin’s mentorship was a lighthouse in the confusion of his life. She was the one who could say, "Mike Wheeler is a disaster, and you deserve better, but you love him anyway, so here's how you survive his disaster," and it wouldn't hurt. It would just feel true.
Will knew his feelings for Mike were the driving force behind his art, his quiet intensity, and his persistent fear of rejection. Robin knew it too. And she was determined to fix it.
"He's acting like a wounded bear, Will," Robin told him later, leaning against a stack of boxes. "He thinks I'm going to take you out on a date to a movie with a mandatory pre-screening analysis of your feelings, and then dump you for my 'real' boyfriend, Steve."
"They all think you're with Steve," Will observed, shaking his head. "Even after Steve said you weren't."
"They have to believe I'm with Steve," Robin explained, lowering her voice, a sudden, warm seriousness in her eyes. "Because the alternative is too terrifying for them to process. The alternative is that two people in their inner circle, two people they love, are navigating this world, which hates us, completely alone. If they let go of the Steve/Robin idea, they have to confront the reality of me being gay, and that's too heavy for a Tuesday. They use Steve as a safety blanket."
Will looked at her, truly grateful for her insight. "Thank you, Robin."
"Stop thanking me and start confronting your issues," she retorted, nudging him. "The next time Mike glares at us, you have to look him dead in the eye and say, 'Mike, are you jealous because I'm talking to Robin, or are you jealous because you wish you were as cool as Robin?'"
Will just laughed, the suggestion too bold, too dangerous. But the thought, the sheer possibility of confronting Mike, felt electric.
The Party’s conviction (Just Mike and Lucas, really) that Robin was a villain was not weakening; it was hardening.
“Did you see the way she just dismissed Mike?” Lucas muttered to Dustin, watching Robin walk away. “She’s trying to establish dominance. She wants Mike to back off because she knows he’s Will’s best emotional shield.”
Dustin sighed, frustrated. “Guys, she’s not a villain! She’s running an elaborate side-quest of gay mentorship! She literally just told me she’s helping Will plot a new campaign set in space. This is not romance!”
“Space is a metaphor for the distance she’s putting between Will and his current support system!” Lucas countered, convinced.
Even El, in her simple, honest way, was now concerned, mainly because Mike looked miserable.
“Mike is sad,” El told Dustin later. “He looks angry. He does not like Robin and he is always watching he with Will. Is Robin a bad friend? Does she want to make Mike feel bad?”
“No, El! Robin is a fantastic friend! Mike is just an idiot!” Dustin insisted, feeling like he was living in an absurd comedy where he was the only sane one. This are the times he miss Max more, if she were here, she would’ve hit Lucas and Mike with a baton.
The so-called Party had a meeting and decided that Mike, as Will’s best friend, needed to be the one to stage the final, direct intervention—to make Robin understand that Will was off-limits. They saw Mike’s anger as pure, protective friendship. Mike saw it as his last chance to save Will from heartbreak and save himself from the sight of Will looking at someone else with that soft, genuine smile.
The next morning, Will arrived at the HQ early. He was finally ready to admit that he had to tell Mike. Robin had convinced him that the slow burn was worse than a quick, possibly messy, confrontation. He walked into the A/V room and saw Robin there, holding a map, a tiny smile playing on her lips.
“Guess what,” Robin whispered, handing him the map. “Steve just spent an hour trying to explain the history of the band Rush to me. I survived. I deserve a medal.”
Will grinned, tracing the outline of the map. It was a joke—a drawing of a dungeon where all the monsters were Mike Wheeler’s self-doubt issues. “Did you tell him that Rush is the sound of existential crisis?”
“I did,” Robin said, leaning close. “And he just nodded sagely and told me I ‘get it.’ The man is oblivious, Will. Utterly, beautifully oblivious. And speaking of the oblivious ones, I saw Mike practicing his 'casual lean' outside. He’s going to make his move. He's got the look of a man about to confess a mild addiction to potato chips, but really, he's about to blow up about your friendship with me. This is your moment, Bard. Be brave.”
Will’s heart was hammering. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, I can do this.”
The timing, however, was not on his side.
Mike walked in. He saw Will and Robin pressed close together, Robin’s hand on Will’s shoulder, Will smiling that private, melting smile. It was too much. The weeks of jealousy, the confusion, the protective rage, the sheer impossibility of the Party’s combined delusion—it all crashed down on him. He saw a predator about to hurt his prey.
“Will,” Mike’s voice was strained, barely a whisper. “Get away from her.”
Will looked up, surprised by the raw, wounded tone in Mike's voice.
Robin, however, was delighted. “Oh, here we go! Full alpha male territorial display. Ten points for drama, zero for finesse.”
Mike ignored Robin entirely. His eyes were fixed on Will, burning with a mix of fury and fear.
“I said, get away from her, Will,” Mike repeated, his voice louder now, cracking with emotion. “I know what you’re doing, Robin. And you need to stop. Will is not some game you get to play just because you’re bored, or because you and Steve are having problems, or because you need some kind of validation.”
Will stood up, his smile completely gone, replaced by a look of profound disappointment. “Mike, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you deserving better, Will!” Mike shouted, finally letting his emotions run wild. “I’m talking about her taking advantage of your kindness and your vulnerability. You’re finally happy, and she’s going to ruin it. You’re too good, Will! Too trusting! And I’m not going to let her hurt you!”
Mike took a step forward, his fists clenched, but not toward Robin. He was standing too close to Will, a suffocating level of proximity, his protectiveness overflowing into outright aggression.
Robin just watched, arms crossed, a slight, knowing smirk on her face. She was waiting for the show.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Mike continued, his voice dropping to a desperate, shaking intensity. “You think you’re in love with her, but you’re not. You’re just confusing her support with… with that kind of feeling! And when she inevitably leaves, it’s going to shatter you, and I— we won’t be able to fix it!”
Just as Mike finished his agonizing, jealous confession, the door burst open and the rest of the Party—Lucas, Dustin, El, and a very confused Steve—piled into the room. They had been waiting in the hall, ready for the protective rescue.
“That’s enough, Robin!” Lucas shouted, stepping forward with a protective stance toward Will. “He said that’s enough! Isn’t he a little too young for you to be toying with, anyway?”
Dustin groaned, knowing this was going to be a train wreck. Steve just looked from Mike's trembling anger to Lucas's aggressive posturing to Robin's calm amusement, completely lost.
“Mike, what the hell?” Steve asked, baffled. “Why are you yelling at Robin? What did she do?”
El, seeing Mike’s distress, walked right up to Robin. “Stop making Mike feel bad,” she instructed simply.
Robin threw her hands up in mock surrender, laughing. “Oh, this is delicious. I should have brought popcorn.”
Will, the center of the storm, watched his best friends sacrifice their sanity and dignity for his protection. They were trying to save him from a phantom threat, driven by a complete and total misunderstanding of who he was. Mike’s raw, unfiltered jealousy, however painful to witness, was also the most honest expression of his feelings Will had ever heard.
The moment had finally arrived. Will took a deep breath, and the noise in the room—Mike’s ragged breathing, Lucas’s defensive murmuring, Robin’s suppressed laughter—seemed to fall away into a sudden, deep silence.
“Stop,” Will said, his voice quiet but incredibly firm. “All of you. Stop.”
The unexpected calm in Will's voice cut through the chaos instantly. Mike’s chest heaved once, and he lowered his fists. Lucas froze mid-sentence.
Will walked past the still-smirking Robin, past Lucas, and stood squarely in the middle of the circle they had formed. He was completely calm, completely centered.
“I was going to wait,” Will started, looking at each of them. His gaze lingered on Mike, whose face was still a mask of fear and fury. “I was going to wait until Max was better, until we were done with the waiting, so we could all just be together when I told you this. But you guys forced my hand. And frankly, I’m tired of hiding.”
He paused, taking another deep, steadying breath.
“Robin is my friend. My best friend here. She is a great friend and a great mentor. She is not leading me on. And I’m not in love with her.”
He looked straight at Mike, his eyes holding years of unspoken truth.
“I’m gay.”
The air was sucked out of the room. The silence this time was heavier, profound, broken only by the hum of the fluorescent lights.
Mike stood absolutely still, his mouth slightly open, the anger in his eyes slowly, agonizingly being replaced by a terrifying, vulnerable hope.
Lucas blinked rapidly. Dustin slapped his hand to his forehead with a low, frustrated groan. Steve stared at Robin, then back at Will, his confusion deepening into utter bewilderment.
El, however, was the first to speak. She walked over to Will, her forehead furrowed, and gently touched his arm.
“Will. What is gay?” El asked, her voice innocent and clear. “I do not understand why Mike is angry about it. Is it a bad thing to be queer? Why do people think it’s a bad thing?”
Will looked at her, and the simple, pure goodness of her question provided the emotional anchor everyone needed.
“It’s not a bad thing, El,” Will said softly, looking at his friends. “It just means that I like boys. I’ve always liked boys. And queer… queer is just another word for it. It’s who I am.”
El nodded slowly. “Oh. Then that is good. You should be who you are. I think you are a good person, Will.”
Her straightforward acceptance immediately disarmed the situation. Lucas let out a long, shaky breath and lowered his arms.
“Will… wait,” Lucas stammered, his mind racing through all the terrible things he had just said to Robin. “You’re… you’re gay? And you’ve been talking to Robin about it? Not… not a crush?”
“She’s the only one who knows what it’s like,” Will confirmed, finally allowing himself a small, nervous smile. “She knows. She’s been helping me feel less… less alone.”
The realization dawned on Lucas, and Mike simultaneously, hitting them with the force of a small freight train. They had been completely, spectacularly wrong.
Dustin finally dropped his hand and burst into a fit of frustrated, relieved laughter. “You guys! I told you! I told you! She’s not with Steve, and she’s not into Will! She’s just a certified, card-carrying queer! I’m friends with her, you idiots! I knew this!”
Steve looked at Robin, who was now beaming. “Wait. You told Will.. and Dustin? And here I thought I was special, Buckley”
“Ha— you’re no use Harrington. I can’t even get entertainment for you,” Robin explained with a sigh, pushing herself off the box. “Also, I didn’t tell Dustin, he just kind of figured it our, and Will saw me kissing Vickie.”
“Oh,” Steve mumbled.
Lucas, meanwhile, walked up to Will and threw his arms around him, pulling him into a tight, protective hug that was suddenly real and sincere.
“Will. I'm sorry for being an idiot. And for saying all those things to Robin. And for making you feel like you had to hide. We love you. We don’t care. You’re our brother, man.”
Dustin joined the hug, burying his face in Will's shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Will! This is huge! And I knew about Robin! Just for the record!”
The hug released, and Will was left facing Mike. Mike was still paralyzed, leaning against the whiteboard, his expression a complicated mix of shock, fear, and a happiness so enormous it threatened to spill over.
“I… I didn’t… I didn’t know,” Mike finally managed to stammer, his voice small. “The jealousy… it was real. Not for you, Robin. I mean, Will… ”
Will, whose composure had been rock solid until this moment, felt his cheeks heat up again. He felt the nervous tremor return to his hands. He had said the terrifying truth out loud.
“Yes, and I was gonna wait ‘till all of this is finished to tell you that I like you Mike,” Will said quietly. “I’ve liked you for a long time. That’s why I was so scared. And that’s why I was talking to Robin. She was helping me… figure out how to be okay with it.”
Robin walked up and clapped Mike on the shoulder, snapping him out of his shock. “Okay, Mike. Time to use your words. Or, you know, just kiss him. I don’t care. But the suspense is literally killing the comedy of the moment.”
Mike didn't even register Robin's instruction. He only saw Will: brave, honest, and looking at him with an affection that felt like a healing balm over every wound he’d carried.
The Party, sensing the shift from group crisis to deeply personal moment, suddenly got very interested in leaving. Lucas grabbed Dustin, apologizing again to Robin as he went. Steve awkwardly shuffled toward the door.
“Come on, El,” Steve said gently. “Let’s go see if Joyce needs any help with… with uhhh things.”
El gave Will a thumbs-up and followed Steve, leaving Will, Mike, and a knowing Robin alone in the room.
Robin gave them a minute, then picked up her bag. “I’m going to go check on my favorite oblivious idiot. Mike, if you mess this up, I will use my advanced knowledge of the human psyche to destroy your life. And I know how.”
She winked and left, closing the door softly behind her.
Mike and Will were finally alone, surrounded by the remnants of their life—maps, papers, gaming dice, and the lingering, electric energy of Mike’s outburst and Will’s confession.
Mike pushed off the wall and walked slowly toward Will. He stopped just a foot away, the space between them suddenly crackling with years of suppressed longing.
“Will,” Mike started, his voice barely audible. He reached out, his hand trembling, and gently rested it on Will’s cheek. “You don’t know how long I’ve… how long I’ve wanted you to say that. How long I’ve been terrified that I was wrong, that you hated me, that you were just my friend out of pity.”
Will leaned into the touch, a massive, overwhelming wave of relief washing over him. “I never hated you, Mike. Never. You were the reason I kept going. You were the only thing I ever painted. You’re everything.”
“I was so angry at Robin,” Mike confessed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I wasn’t mad because I thought she was going to hurt you. I was mad because I was convinced she was perfect for you, and I wasn’t. I was jealous of her confidence, her ability to talk to you, her… her existence. I felt like I was losing you. And I couldn’t tell you why.”
He opened his eyes, and they were shining with unshed tears. “I love you, Will. I love you so much it makes me physically ill sometimes.”
Will smiled, a genuinely happy, radiant smile that reached his eyes. “I know. Robin told me.”
Mike groaned, a sound of combined exasperation and surrender. “Of course she did. She’s the worst.”
“No, she’s the best,” Will corrected softly. “She gave me the courage to stop waiting for the world to change, and just tell you the truth.”
Mike’s thumb gently traced the curve of Will’s cheekbone. His eyes dropped to Will’s lips, and the years of hesitation, fear, and secrecy finally dissolved. There was no more waiting.
“I need to kiss you,” Mike whispered.
“I need you to,” Will replied, his voice just as quiet, closing the small distance between them.
The kiss wasn't dramatic or explosive. It was soft, hesitant at first, and then suddenly deep, a careful, desperate exploration of a truth they had both buried for far too long. It was warm and familiar, a quiet confirmation that every moment, every letter, every painting, every shared glance, had led them here. It tasted like relief and decades of deferred joy.
When they finally pulled apart, breathing heavily, Will rested his forehead against Mike’s.
“So,” Will murmured, a goofy, love-struck grin plastered on his face. “Does this I’m stuck with you?”
Mike laughed, a clear, happy sound that seemed to echo in the empty room. He pulled Will into a fierce, solid hug, holding him close.
“No escaping now, Byers,” Mike admitted, burying his face in Will’s hair. “ It was always you, y’know. We both just didn’t know it yet. Now, how about we go find Dustin and Lucas and ruin their game night with my sudden, overpowering need for public displays of affection?”
Will laughed, gripping Mike tightly. “Sounds like a perfect plan. But first, promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” Mike replied, pulling back just enough to look into Will’s eyes.
“We tell Robin she wins.”
Mike rolled his eyes, but his smile was blinding. “Fine.”