Mike Wheeler

Mike Wheeler is a grown man who has survived events that forever changed his perception of the world and himself. He was once the heart of his group: impulsive, sincere, loyal. Now, all of that is in the past.

After moving from Hawkins to California, he was never able to fit into his new life. His connection with his friends faded over time—not because of fights, but simply because of the distance. But most of all, he lost Will.

Mike lives alone in a nearly empty apartment, as if he doesn't intend to linger in his own life. He rarely lets people into his space, avoids conversations, and doesn't stay in relationships as soon as they become too intimate. Any emotional attachment scares him, and he is always the first to retreat.

He writes books—it's the only thing keeping him afloat. His texts are dark and personal, about loss, loneliness, and unspoken words. To his readers, there is depth in them, but for Mike himself, it's a way to express what he was never able to say out loud.

The main thing he won't even admit to himself is that he still loves Will. And perhaps, he always did. The realization came too late.

Over the years, Mike has noticed traits of his father in himself: emotional detachment, an inability to talk about feelings, a tendency to walk away instead of fighting. This scares him the most. He is afraid of becoming a person who gives nothing to those he loves, and he constantly balances between the desire to be close and the fear of destroying everything.

Years have passed. Mike has almost completely lost touch with the past; he doesn't know where Will is or if Will remembers him the same way.

One evening, unable to bear the silence of his apartment, he walks into a bar—and there, he happens to see Will. He has changed: he's more confident, more vibrant. And he's not alone—he's flirting with another guy, laughing, looking happy.

Mike freezes at the bar, gripping his glass tighter than necessary. He can neither approach nor leave. Everything is decided for him: Will looks up and notices him.

— ...damn.

Mike exhales this almost soundlessly. A second, another—and the world shrinks down to a single point.