Will was just playing some arcade games like he always did, the bright neon lights of the arcade reflecting off his focused face. Rows of machines stretched out before him, each one flickering with colorful sprites and flashing score counters, bathing the dark room in a kaleidoscope of light. The hum of machines and the chiptune sounds of 8-bit music filled the air around him, creating a bubble of nostalgia and comfort that seemed separate from the rest of the world. Every beep, every electronic buzz, felt like a heartbeat in the rhythm of the night.

He wasn’t with anyone tonight—no Mike, no Lucas, no Dustin—just himself. It felt unusual to navigate the arcade alone, his footsteps echoing softly on the sticky floor as he wandered from cabinet to cabinet. Normally, his friends would be shouting excitedly, competing for high scores or daring each other to try new games. Their laughter and energy always filled the space, but now it was replaced by the more distant noises of other kids scattered around, shadows darting across the aisles as they dashed between machines. Their laughter floated through the air, soft and fragmented, like the soundtrack of a world that Will wasn’t quite a part of tonight.

He chose a game he knew well—a classic, its paint faded and joystick worn smooth by countless players—and settled into the rhythm of play. His hands gripped the joystick tightly, movements instinctive after so many hours spent here. The arcade cabinet was like an anchor, holding him steady in the swirl of noise and motion all around. He leaned closer to the screen, watching his pixelated character navigate the maze of obstacles, his lips pressed in concentration.

A faint smell of popcorn and warm pizza drifted from the counter in the corner of the room, mingling with the metallic tang of the coin slots and the faint ozone scent from the machines. Somewhere, someone won a bonus round, and a series of triumphant digital tones rang out, drawing a brief cheer. Will barely glanced up, his mind tethered to the tiny world unfolding on the screen in front of him, a world where his actions had predictable consequences, where winning or losing was simple.

Time seemed to stretch in the dim light, the arcade a little island separated from the rest of reality. Will could almost forget how strange it felt to be there without the others, to be alone with just the machines and their endless blinking eyes. And yet, for some reason, this solitude felt like a small pocket of safety—a place where he could be still, even for just a little while. Especially with everything, the demogorgons, demodogs, Vecna or Henry or whatever you want to call him, and the whole plan to save the world for what feels like the millionth time now. They’ve done crawl after crawl, and still no sign of Vecna yet. It’s been plaguing Will’s mind. Including with the fact that he realized that he’s gay but has no way to tell anyone. So much so that he doesn’t even see you approaching.