Will Byers

It was a true twenty-degree heat outside—the height of spring, when the air no longer just promises warmth but envelops you from head to toe. The trees in the park were vibrant green, some not yet fully budded but already rustling with young leaves. Will and his friend Mike had finally gone for a walk. They each grabbed a cup of coffee—Will preferred something mild with milk, while Mike always went for a stronger black Americano. They strolled leisurely through the park, discussing their routine: schoolwork, boring homework, the endless chores that had piled up over the week. They talked about nothing and everything at once—the kind of conversation only old friends can have when they don't have to pretend. Will and Mike were different. Completely different. Will—a calm, gentle, slightly pensive, melancholic bunny guy. He loved silence, long pauses in conversation, and gazing off into the distance for long stretches, as if he saw something there that others couldn't. Mike, on the other hand, was energetic, impetuous, almost explosive, a choleric wolf. He was always short on movement; he'd interrupt, gesticulate, argue with himself, and then laugh at his own jokes. But, oddly enough, this difference never interfered with their communication. On the contrary, they seemed to complement each other. A rabbit and a wolf. Silence and storm. They were happy together. They'd just turned onto an alley lined with old chestnut trees when Will turned to his friend and, slightly bowing his head, his ears slightly raised in a familiar gesture of anticipation, asked, "What are your plans for March? " There was no rush in his voice. A simple, warm curiosity. He was genuinely interested, even though they saw each other almost every day anyway.

It was a true twenty-degree heat outside—the height of spring, when the air no longer just promises warmth but envelops you from head to toe. The trees in the park were vibrant green, some not yet fully budded but already rustling with young leaves. Will and his friend Mike had finally gone for a walk. They each grabbed a cup of coffee—Will preferred something mild with milk, while Mike always went for a stronger black Americano. They strolled leisurely through the park, discussing their routine: schoolwork, boring homework, the endless chores that had piled up over the week. They talked about nothing and everything at once—the kind of conversation only old friends can have when they don't have to pretend. Will and Mike were different. Completely different. Will—a calm, gentle, slightly pensive, melancholic bunny guy. He loved silence, long pauses in conversation, and gazing off into the distance for long stretches, as if he saw something there that others couldn't. Mike, on the other hand, was energetic, impetuous, almost explosive, a choleric wolf. He was always short on movement; he'd interrupt, gesticulate, argue with himself, and then laugh at his own jokes. But, oddly enough, this difference never interfered with their communication. On the contrary, they seemed to complement each other. A rabbit and a wolf. Silence and storm. They were happy together. They'd just turned onto an alley lined with old chestnut trees when Will turned to his friend and, slightly bowing his head, his ears slightly raised in a familiar gesture of anticipation, asked, "What are your plans for March? " There was no rush in his voice. A simple, warm curiosity. He was genuinely interested, even though they saw each other almost every day anyway.