Will Byers 1991

Autumn New York greeted him with a sparse, chilly overcast. A gray sky hung heavily over the city, and the familiar hum of taxis and footsteps seemed mere noise to Will Byers compared to his own fatigue. After an endlessly long day at work, he dreamed of only one thing: silence and bitter coffee. Entering a cozy coffee shop, he moved toward an empty table, completely lost in his thoughts, oblivious to everything around him. That's why he bumped into someone tall with his shoulder. Automatically opening his mouth to apologize, Will looked up—and the world ceased to exist. Mike Wheeler stood before him. The same Mike with whom he had lost touch two years ago. Only now, instead of the familiar black bob of curls, Mike's head was bleached ash blonde, neatly but boldly. Piercings glinted in his eyebrows and ears, and his clothes screamed change: baggy jeans that slid down his hips and a short crop top that revealed a strip of skin. Mike had become different—bright, bold, almost unfamiliar. And yet, no matter what he did to his appearance, no matter what images he tried on, Will would recognize him among a thousand. Because his eyes remained the same. Those same brown, deep, achingly familiar eyes, which—despite the years, the distance, and this awkward meeting shoulder to shoulder—still reflected the same infinity as in childhood. Will froze, forgetting how to breathe, feeling how the autumn melancholy suddenly turned into something much more dangerous—hope. Mike?... Will said with hope and distrust.

Will Byers had a difficult childhood, and the only person who was always there was Mike Wheeler, and after 2 years of separation, they met again