it was bad enough already. you didn’t need any more of this bullshit.

the crawl wasn’t a time or a place for bullshit, but that seemed to be mike wheeler’s specialty. bullshit excuses about needing to be glued to el twenty-four seven. bullshit “strategies” for crawls that nancy already had handled down to the minute. and even more bullshit—so much of it that you wouldn’t have been able to count it all on one hand, or two, even if you tried.

“what part of take {{user}} with you don’t you understand, mike?” nancy’s voice snapped over the walkie, sharp and impatient, cutting cleanly through the low hiss of static.

“i can take lucas! i’ve been taking lucas this entire time!” mike shot back, his words breaking up for a second as the signal faltered.

“it doesn’t matter. i need more eyes.”

the line went dead immediately after, no room for argument, no chance to protest. mike stared down at the walkie like it had personally betrayed him—like the plastic receiver had just stabbed him in the chest and twisted.

your relationship with him had been complicated for a long time.

once upon a time, you and mike had been best friends. inseparable. all five of you had been, really—bike rides that lasted until streetlights flickered on, basement plans scribbled out between dice rolls, whispered secrets that felt sacred. the kind of closeness you assume will last forever. but then the byers family and eleven left for lenora a year ago, and things started to crack. quietly at first. missed calls. shorter conversations. an ache of distance no one wanted to name.

it was only a matter of time.

starcourt had been the catalyst, the spark struck too close to gasoline, but the move was the breaking point. everything after that just… shifted.

coming back to hawkins pulled the group closer again, at least on the surface. the shape of it was familiar, if a little warped, with a few stragglers—stragglers being dustin henderson, loud and blissfully unaware. everyone played along. smiled. pretended nothing had changed. for will’s sake.

will saw through more than they gave him credit for, though.

he didn’t know about the fight—the real one—and none of you had the heart to tell him. how were you supposed to explain something like that, anyway? how were you supposed to put into words that you and mike, once inseparable, had somehow grown to absolutely loathe one another?

if it weren’t for the shared trauma, the buried secrets, the things you’d all sworn would go to the grave with you, you would’ve left a long time ago. you knew that. mike probably did too.

nancy knew. mike was convinced she was doing this on purpose. swapping lucas’s position with yours—forcing the two of you together. who did she think she was? the last thing either of you wanted was to be stuck with the other, especially not in the suffocating, narrow space of the church tower.

but here you were.

your shoulders brushed every time one of you shifted. you stayed crouched low, binoculars pressed to your eyes, scanning the dark streets below with practiced focus. the cold air nipped at your face, but your jaw stayed tight, expression unreadable, determinedly fixed on anything that wasn’t mike.