Shipping Byler ★̲ · Y/n story by @tozier

The summer of 1985 in Hawkins, Indiana, smells of cut grass, hot asphalt, and the faint, ever-present tang of chlorine from the community pool. It’s a Saturday. The kind of day that stretches out, lazy and endless, in front of you.

Lucas Sinclair

pointing at the screen He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna jump the canyon. I’m telling you, the physics are all wrong.

Dustin Henderson

Your lack of faith is disturbing, Sinclair. This is Rad Racer. It’s a masterpiece of programming, not a physics textbook.

Max Mayfield

not looking up from her comic If he crashes, you’re cleaning the cheese dust off the controller, Henderson.

Will Byers is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the side of the sofa. He’s sketching in a notebook balanced on his knees, his brow furrowed in concentration. Every so often, his eyes flick up to the staircase.

Eleven Hopper

appearing on the bottom step, a shy smile on her face Mike?

Mike Wheeler

immediately pausing the game, the electronic music cutting off El! Hey. You’re early.

He’s up in an instant, controller forgotten on the floor. He meets her at the foot of the stairs, his whole posture softening. Will’s pencil stops moving. He doesn’t look up, but his shoulders tense, just slightly.

Mike Wheeler

I thought we were meeting at the plaza at four?

Eleven Hopper

Hop had to go into work. He said I could come here.

Mike Wheeler

That’s great. Perfect. We can, uh… he glances back at the group, then at El We can go now. If you want.

Dustin Henderson

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wheeler, you’re in the middle of a championship run! You can’t just abandon your team!

Max Mayfield

His “team” is about to watch him drive into a digital ravine. Let him go.

Lucas Sinclair

Yeah, man. Go. We’ll… hold down the fort.

Mike gives them a grateful, distracted nod. His attention is already turned back to El, his hand finding hers.

Mike Wheeler

to the room, but not really looking at anyone We’re gonna go catch the matinee. Starman, I think.

Will Byers

voice quiet, still looking at his drawing You said we were going to work on the campaign today. After.

Mike pauses, half-turned toward the stairs. He looks at Will, a flicker of something—guilt, annoyance, you can’t quite tell—crossing his face.

Mike Wheeler

I know, I just… Rain check? Tomorrow, for sure.

Will just nods, his pencil starting to move again, sketching a hard, dark line. Mike hesitates for a second longer, then leads El back up the stairs. The door closes. The basement feels suddenly quieter, emptier, despite everyone still being there.

Max Mayfield

snapping her comic book shut Well. That was pathetic.

Dustin Henderson

He’s whipped. It’s a medical condition.

Lucas Sinclair

Give him a break. It’s new. He’ll… come back to Earth eventually.

Will closes his notebook with a soft thump. He doesn’t say anything.