"What do you expect me to say?
I could tell you that I'm doing great
But darling, I'm just not okay"

Turns out Will doesn't see Jamie around that day. Well, he's in the cafeteria at lunch time, but he's out in the courtyard playing hacky sack with a bunch of kids Will doesn't know. He sees him through the window as he sits with Dustin, Mike, El, Lucas, and the rest of the kids from Hellfire. Will hasn't been officially admitted into the club yet, and he doesn't know the guys very well, but Mike tells him he'll get his shirt when they start their new campaign next week. Will is embarrassed to admit it, but he cannot wait. California was good. It was warm and so sunny and the Mindflayer became more of a shadow in a nightmare rather than an icy claw slicing his spine. But he's still rather bitter over all the things he's missed out on in Hawkins. All the things he's missed out on with Mike.

Now, Will sits brooding over it on Mike's bedroom floor, legs pulled up to his chest. They're listening to Talking Heads, and he's untucked his striped t-shirt and taken off his shoes, trying to finish the rest of his novel. He reads an interaction between the two characters, Gene and Finny, something about a fall in the shower. But Will can't concentrate. It frustrates him because he knows that if he was in any other headspace he might actually really enjoy this story. He groans, instead deciding to sketch the characters along the edges of the pages and inside the cover. It's a library book, but he can't seem to find the energy to care.

Mike's sprawled across his bed agonizing over his own homework. Will isn't sure which class exactly it's for.

"What?" he asks, his dark eyes squinting at Will over his notebook.

"Nothing," Will responds, stretching and turning over onto his belly. "I just can't concentrate. It's one of the books I'm supposed to be writing a report on in a few weeks. And Mrs. Sinclair also just gave us A Scarlet Letter this morning that we'll be reading as a class. Remember?"

Mike shrugs off his multiple notebooks and slides off the bed to sit next to him. His knee grazes along Will's side and the scar above his hip burns at the contact.

"Dude, I know. I barely finished my Summer reading last week," Mike agrees as he glances at the work left abandoned on the bed. "I'm about to throw my math homework out the window, I swear to fucking Christ."

Will giggles, despite himself, as the image of Mike actually throwing all of his homework out of the window invades his thoughts. He rolls over onto his back, still chuckling, and trying to ignore the feeling of Mike's knee as it slides over the small of his back. "I'm no help to you there, Mike. As you well know."

Mike chuckles and smiles down at him. "Maybe we can just skip it and go see a movie?" he suggests.

"Mmm, what's out? It's only Thursday."

"Hmm, Uncle Buck and A Nightmare on Elm Street are still playing, but we've already seen those." Mike bites his lip. "There's a Kevin Bacon movie coming out but I don't know what it's about. I'm honestly just waiting for the new Halloween."

"Yea, I guess the movies are out for tonight. We could go to the video store? Maybe Steve and Robin are working. I still haven't seen the new Indiana Jones. And Dead Poets Society looked really good. We could grab burgers on our way."

Mike smiles at him seemingly in agreement, then his face falls suddenly when he checks his watch, the same one that had matched Will's since 5th grade. It seems silly to have the same watch for so long. But Mike had never taken his off, so Will kept his too.

"Damn, well, I was supposed to meet El around eight. She wanted to go for ice cream."

"Oh." Will sits up and closes his book tightly, trapping his pen inside his copy of A Separate Peace.

"Sorry Will," Mike says, his brow creasing thoughtfully. "Originally we just said we were doing homework tonight, so I thought it'd all work ou—-"

"No, no– It's totally okay," Will says, cutting him off and shushing him with his hands as he gets up. He's not really sure he even imagined anything beyond studying together today, and yet Will can't shake the hurt that's already building in his chest. Mike knew we were hanging out. He knows it always goes longer than we plan.

"Will…come on," Mike pleads, picking himself up off the ground in record speed. He tugs at Will's sleeve, turning him around to face him. Will crosses his arms over his belly and studies Mike's red clock ticking on his desk. He feels stupid: overly emotional and jealous. Everything he's not supposed to feel about his best friend.

"Mike, it's fine ," Will blurts out. "I get it. It's just that, you know, I only got back halfway over the Summer, and everyone was busy with their own lives. And you were busy with your job mowing, and El, and I get it, truthfully, I do, especially with all that's going on with the Upside Down and- him. It's just that… it's just that, I feel like we haven't hung out for real, in ages. I mean, we haven't even started a new campaign yet. We've had all Summer …."

"Will—" Mike stutters over his name. " We're going to do the campaign. It's next Friday. It's really not that far away. I promise."

" Mike- I don't care about the campaign!" Will shouts back, realizing he's not making any sense after it comes out of his mouth. He pushes Mike's hand roughly away from his wrist.

Mike lets him, but huffs in frustration. He is angry. Will can see it in the way that he bunches up his shoulders and the deep crease in his brow. But there's something else there too, something Will can't decipher. Mike reaches for him again, and his eyes are concerned , pleading in a way Will doesn't know what to do with.

They're left staring at each other, Mike's hand clutching Will's arm, and Will pushing at Mike's chest, desperate in need of an escape. He swallows roughly and blinks back tears that threaten to fall. He won't let that happen. Not today. Will can't understand it. How has a simple study session after school suddenly become something else?

There's a light tap at Mike's door and then it's suddenly open. Mike flies away from Will and Will forces himself away from Mike, swiftly sitting on the bed and rubbing his knees. Casual .

It's Mike's mom. She peeks her head around the door, hugging it as if she doesn't want to fully commit to coming inside the room.

"Heyy–," she greets them softly. "Dinner's ready."

"Oh, yeah," Mike breathes, responding too quickly. He shakes his head. "Sounds good. Thanks Mom."

Mrs. Wheeler eyes Will thoughtfully, now fully opening the door. She's still wearing the heels she'd picked out for the day, and Will absently thinks that her feet must be hurting now that it's past 6pm.

Mrs. Wheeler glances back at Mike. "Will's staying for dinner, right?"

Mike shifts uncomfortably on his feet, picking at the scab of a hangnail he hadn't let heal, his eyes still big and pleading with him and infuriating .

Will swallows as he stands up. He adjusts his pants and reaches for his shoes, his book, his backpack all in one swoop, sucking in a ragged breath. I won't let it show.

No.

"No…Mrs. Wheeler. I actually have to get home. My mom wanted me to help her with something," he says, focusing on keeping his voice steady and smiling as big as he can.

Mrs. Wheeler settles her weight back on one leg, putting her hands to her hips. Her face is disappointed. "Alright, Mike," she huffs, almost scolding in the way she says his name. "Well," she sighs, peering at Will. "Tell your mother I said hello okay?"

Will nods, holding his face tight against the tears that threaten to escape. He can't bring himself to even look at Mike now.

Mike doesn't say anything.

Keeping his focus on the beige carpet, Will brushes gently past Mrs. Wheeler, sliding his worn shoes on his feet in the hall, and barrels down the stairs. He ignores Mr. Wheeler in his chair, and rushes to his car that's parked on the street. The air is cool on his face and the slow turn of the leaves in the woods smells good. He breathes it in and slams the door to his car shut, and that's when the tears fall, heavy and unrelenting. That's when the familiar icy tingle creeps up his neck and into his spine. It's cold like death, and reeks of decay, and hate, and ash.