Chapter 6: 996 The story of the Men of Metal and the Soft fabric heart ( night 6 )
The Sultan was visibly disturbed by the end of the story. But as the morning started to rise once again, Scheherazade lowered her eyes and silenced her speech. When the sixth night returned, Scheherazade did not wait for the Sultan to ask her; she simply began to speak.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
The story of the Men of Metal and the Soft fabric heart.
In the town of Hawkins, it was deadly to be gay in the eighties.
Not because of the AIDS crisis, and not because of the church. Hawkins, like any other small American town at the time, was a machine of conformity capable of consuming any divergent, any freak, any man or woman who dared to be different. Paradoxically, if you could hide your feelings and desires, you could live a safer life here than in a bigger city like Chicago or Dallas—if living in the shadows could truly be called life.
As was true everywhere in Reagan's America, hypocrisy was at an absolute maximum. In Hawkins, as long as a woman kept her lingerie down in public and a man kept his pride up, the old game was on: fuck as much as you can. It wasn't a public frenzy, but it wasn't nearly as shameful as everyone pretended it was when the sun was up. As long as sex was contained within the strict intimacy of your own house, almost nothing could happen to you. But it was always best to keep your neighbors away from your windows.
One might think such an atmosphere would be suffocating, but it wasn't. If you weren't completely out of balance, you could fit. Sometimes, you could fake it until you made it.
The opposite, however, was equally true: God help you if you were found alone—or in a pair—in a parked car at night. You would find your name printed in the Hawkins Gazette the very next day, and until sunset, the entire town would burn you with hostile glares. The townspeople's mouths would never stop gossiping, not until another scandal occurred or you packed your bags and departed the town forever.
From that perspective, evil had nested there long before Hawkins Labs. It had been there from the moment the town was founded, from the very first human footprint pressed into the dirt.
"Push it into me. Harder."
Karen was trying to reach an orgasm, her mind drifting to the latest fantasies from the drugstore paperbacks she had finished days ago.
Ted Wheeler stopped moving for a moment, blinking in surprise. "Karen..."
"Shh, don't talk. Just do it."
And so Ted continued to push, moving like a lifeless automaton. It was difficult for him to fulfill this particular duty. In the happiest days of their lives, when Ted was younger, perhaps there had been some genuine interest in this kind of activity. But now, all Ted wanted was to sit in his recliner, reading his newspaper or watching television. For him, his duty to his life, his country, and his wife was already entirely complete: three children were more than enough. Sharing a bed with Karen and fucking her from time to time—just so the neighbors wouldn't become suspicious about their personal lives—was plenty. The best life he could possibly have was found in that chair. If there had ever been anything else missing from his world, he could no longer remember it.
Oh, finally, Ted thought, looking down at Karen, who had achieved her release during his brief moment of internal introspection.
"Oh... oh," Ted simulated, faking his own ending as his mind whispered: Let's just finish this.
He looked down at Karen, his voice flat. "Was it good?" Then, barely pausing for her response, he added, "I need to go to the bathroom now. You were wonderful."
For a single second, a lethal, murderous gaze flared in Karen’s eyes, but the flame died out almost instantly. This had simply become her normalcy. It was always the same: just Ted performing his marital duty, completely devoid of passion. It was exactly the kind of consuming passion from her hidden books that Karen hungered for—the kind she had never actually possessed. Thinking about it now, Karen looked directly at the quiet failure of her own existence. It hadn't been a conscious life choice to stay in Hawkins and bury her dreams, just as Joyce and Hopper and the other broken people of her generation had done. But still, it was a life. It was socially accepted, and she could survive it. Playgirl and the local bookstore provided just enough romance to maintain her mental health, and Ted didn't care enough to notice.
Over at Castle Byers, Mike and Will sat in the damp woods, looking through a stash of stolen magazines.
"Should we show them to Lucas and Dustin?" Will asked, his voice laced with a quiet curiosity as he watched Mike flip through the glossy pages of a Playboy smuggled from Jonathan’s private collection.
Mike stopped turning the pages, looking over at Will with a sudden, confused expression. "I don't know... I mean, we could, but..." A sudden weight seemed to settle on Mike's chest. "Look, I don't care too much, but it's just more comfortable with just you and me here. Lucas and Dustin would be too much."
The words sounded perfect to Will. He didn't want the others there either. Of course, a part of him wanted to share things and talk with the rest of the Party, but as Mike said, it was infinitely more comfortable to be entirely alone with him. Here, in the quiet shade of the fort, Will could look at Mike in absolute silence and allow himself to dream.
As if Mike could somehow sense the heavy direction of Will’s thoughts, he leaned back onto his spine, staring up at the canopy of leaves with his hands casually brushing against Will’s ankle.
"Have you ever thought about how we'll look when we grow up?" Mike asked softly. "Like, when we're actual adults with hair on our chests and our backs..."
"Oh my god, Mike, that's gross!" Will started to laugh, the tension breaking.
Mike rolled onto his side, looking up at Will with those familiar, innocent puppy eyes, though his mouth twisted into a dirty grin. "I bet Hopper has hair on his back. Like a total monkey!"
If the touch on his ankle had sent a sharp shiver through Will’s heart, that dangerous glance almost melted him completely. His ears began to burn with a sudden, unknown desire. There was something shifting in Mike’s attitude—something entirely innocent on the surface, but laced with a hidden depth that felt almost like a tease. It forced Will to hesitate for a fraction of a second too long, and Mike noticed instantly. For a moment, both boys desperately tried to keep the atmosphere casual.
"What? Am I wrong?" Mike asked, testing the air.
"I never thought about Hopper that way... or us," Will almost whispered, nodding quickly as his heart began to beat like a drum for practically no reason at all.
Mike definitely noticed something. Will could tell by the brief, fraction-of-a-second gaze that followed. Sensing the shift, Mike changed his position again, rolling back onto his spine and staring at the ceiling to ease the suffocating tension building between them.
"Sometimes, I just don't want to grow up." Mike’s voice was deeper this time, completely stripped of its playful edge. "I... I don't want to become my father. Look..."
Mike reached into the dark depths of his backpack and pulled out a carefully rolled magazine. He looked directly back into Will’s eyes, but this time his expression was careful—bordering on frightened.
"Don't tell anyone, okay? I found it in my mother's gym bag one day. Okay?"
Mike slowly unrolled the paper.
Will froze. This time, the paralysis hit him because he realized, instantly, that this was something he had desperately wanted to see for a very long time. It wasn't something he could have put a name to until this exact second—and even now, the word felt impossible to speak aloud. Or perhaps it already had a name. Perhaps it was the exact name his own father and the vicious bullies at school used when they targeted him.
All of these thoughts crashed into his mind at once, colliding in a fraction of a second. But instead of providing answers, they only birthed a swarm of new questions. New questions, new feelings, new desires—things he had never dared to want until now—swirled together, making him profoundly dizzy.
"Of course I won't tell anyone..." he managed to whisper, his voice barely serving him.
Why was Mike showing him this? Will's inner voice panicked. Look Mike directly in the eyes. He can't understand what I'm feeling right now. He can't know. But that electric feeling, even when violently mixed with heavy fear and suffocating shame, completely refused to fade. It was as if it had always been carved deep under his skin, patiently waiting for this exact moment to arise.
On the glossy cover was a half-naked, intensely masculine young man. The bold letters read: Playgirl.
Suddenly, something shifted in Mike's eyes. The look was so intense, so vulnerable, that it forced Will to completely forget his own internal torment, drawing his absolute attention directly to the crisis unfolding inside Mike.
"Why... why would your mom have a thing like this?" Will asked softly, giving a gentle voice to the chaotic thoughts clearly spiraling through Mike's head.
"I... I don't know, Will." Mike’s voice cracked, sounding completely broken now. He stared down at the glossy, muscular model on the cover, his knuckles whitening against the pages. "I think something... something hasn't been working between my parents for a long time. Maybe... I don't know..."
Mike paused, swallowing hard. When he spoke again, his voice began to recover its strength, hardened by a defensive, sudden wave of intensity. "But I don't blame her. I mean... I want to look like that when I'm an adult."
Will knew exactly what was spinning through Mike's mind. He had been there. For him, the reality of a broken home had been infinitely worse than whatever was currently happening in the Wheeler household. But even though he had desperately wanted Lonnie—the drinker, the abuser, the bully—completely out of their lives, somewhere deep in his heart he had still hoped the D-word wouldn't happen. It was a terrifying concept, and it was one of the exact reasons he and Jonathan had built Castle Byers in the first place: to have a place where they would never have to feel that way again.
"...Mike, don't joke about that. It's a serious thing," Will said, his voice dropping to a comforting whisper. "But your mom will manage whatever adult shit needs to be managed. And Ted... Ted is better than Lonnie, even if he is completely glued to his chair sometimes."
Mike started to laugh, and this time the tension relaxed for real. But as the laughter subsided, he looked at Will differently.
Will always knew exactly what to say to make Mike drop his worries. He had a way of making Mike see the light even when there was only darkness around them. It wasn't just a recent thing, either; it had been that way forever. Mike was attracted to Will the way a butterfly is drawn to a flame. It had been like that from the very first day they met, and it continued to be like that every single day after. And even though Mike always posed as the protector of the group, deep down he had always known that Will was the strongest one among them.
Everything with Will was just... easy. And completely natural. And...
He looked with more attention at Will, with a sudden, sharp intensity, hit by a realization that made the air in Castle Byers become hot, almost completely unbreathable.
Will was beautiful. Mike couldn't stop thinking about what kind of man Will would grow up to become. Surely he would be far more beautiful than those hyper-masculine men in Playgirl that Mike had looked at out of sheer curiosity.
But looking at Will in this exact moment was completely different. He found himself imagining Will as a young man in the future, standing on the cover of that very magazine—naked, looking directly at Mike as if Mike were the photographer holding the camera.
How would Will look naked?
The thought hit Mike like a physical blow, causing him to react instantly, a sudden bulge straining against his jeans. Right on its heels came a crushing, suffocating wave of shame. Will was his best friend. His male best friend. What the hell was wrong with his mind?
Then, right beneath the panic, the next question quietly surfaced, cutting through the shame like a knife.
It didn't feel wrong per se, because in that blazing flash of clarity, Mike instantly recognized his father’s thoughts—Ted Wheeler's cold, mechanical worldview—and rejected them completely. He could deal with Ted. He could deal with Hawkins. He would gladly reject the entire world for Will.
It felt wrong because he couldn't tell if Will could ever accept that kind of friendship. It felt wrong because he knew a truth like that could end up hurting Will. It felt wrong because he could lose Will entirely.
It felt wrong because Mike understood, in that exact split second, that losing Will was something infinitely more painful than drowning.
And because he was young, and because he desperately wanted to live, he drowned the feeling deep inside his own heart.
They were young. It was time.
And because the morning started to rise once again, Scheherazade stopped speaking, bowing her head in a quiet, shy silence before the Sultan's piercing gaze.
"Sweet dreams are made of these,
Who am I to disagree ?"
(Eurhythmics -Sweet dreams)
Chapter 7: 995 -The story of the Men of Metal and the Soft fabric heart
Throughout the day, the Sultan had banished his chief cook over a mismatched spice, only to rehire him by afternoon, and had spent hours demanding his architects explain the exact load-bearing threshold of wooden structures.
When the lamps were finally lit, he leaned back against his cushions with an air of practiced indifference, trying to appear merely tired. But his rigid posture gave away his arrogance.
"If that fort falls tonight, I will have your head before the first call to prayer," Shahryar muttered, his eyes wide and fixed on her with a sharp intensity that betrayed his words. "Continue the tale at once. I wish to see the end of them."
Scheherazade kept her eyes lowered, a small, discreet smile touching the corner of her lips. She bowed her head and returned to the heavy, unbreathable silence inside Castle Byers.
(continued)
Mike scrambled backward, his boots kicking up a small cloud of dust. He frantically grabbed the open magazine, folding it shut with a loud, aggressive snap that sounded like a gunshot in the cramped space.
"We should go," Mike said, his voice cracking slightly before he forced it lower. He didn't look at Will. He couldn't. "It's getting dark. Karen's gonna kill me if I'm late for dinner."
"Oh, you're right. I totally forgot how fast time flies when..." Will stopped for a second. He had wanted to say when we're together, but now, forced to look down at his own deck of cards, the words felt entirely inappropriate. What if Mike could feel the storm raging inside Will’s mind? "...when we're here," he finished, the words turning flat, almost completely meaningless.
Mike noticed the sudden shift in tone, but he was far too desperate to hide the cracks in his own soul to pay closer attention. He just needed to escape the suffocating heat of the fort.
They walked their bikes out from the thick shadow of the woods onto the edge of the asphalt, the dry leaves crunching beneath their sneakers in a rhythmic, agonizing cadence in, both of them, silence. The sun was dipping below the horizon, bleeding a deep, bruised purple across the sky.
Mike started to bike towards Maple Street as Will started in the opposite direction to Mirkwood, both hoping they will forget the discovery they made that day. But as the distance between them grow, the need started to grow inside them. Each step felt like lead, each breath felt painful as if they were not on Earth anymore but on Jupiter or somewhere else. The Universe felt cold, tragic and sad.
When Mike arrived home, he just threw "I am not hungry" at Karen and rushed up in his room, put his pillow over his head and started to cry.
In Mirkwood, Joyce was not at home and Will flashed besides Jonathan, rambling a quick "Hi", crushing into his bed, mirroring Mike.
"Go away!" they both shouted to Nancy and Jonathan later, when their siblings were knocking, like unknown to them, the Universe prepared a terrible joke against them.
Will could not sleep that night, thinking at a naked, adult Mike, like the man on the cover. Mike could not sleep neither for same, identical reasons.
But if there is something in the world that can one day shatter a boy into pieces and the next day make him shine like new, it is the power of love and the hope of tomorrow. And as the day could not start better than with that hope of tomorrow, both Mike and Will decided to hide their true feelings for each other.
#### At the foot of the couch, Dunyazad lunged forward and grabbed her sister's arm, her fingers tightening in pure fright. She looked from Scheherazade to the towering, rigid silhouette of the Sultan, terrified of what his reaction to such an ominous ending might be.
With that steady voice, Scheherazade drew away her sister’s fear, her eyes remaining locked onto the shifting shadows of the Sultan's face, and she continued.
####
Both boys had started that Sunday morning with the exact same happiness in their hearts. When the first light filtered through their windows, the heavy, suffocating anxiety of the night before seemed to melt away like morning mist. Life was good, and there was absolutely no rush to grow up. They could still just be children. They could still just be best friends.
There was no urgent need to share the new, frightening secrets they had discovered in the woods, and certainly no need to act strange around each other. The alternative—confronting those burning desires—was entirely unthinkable.
However, it is worth noticing how differently the morning found them after that sleepless, white night.
he silence of the morning was shattered simultaneously in both houses by the harsh, static crackle of the walkie-talkies. Lucas and Dustin were already awake, their voices buzzing with chaotic energy through the airwaves.[Radio Static] Dustin: "Mike! Will! Do you copy? Today is the day! Over!"
The reaction in each bedroom could not have been more opposite:
In the Wheeler House: Mike jumped instantly out of his bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. The static voice had jolted him awake, pulling him violently out of a dream he was desperately trying to forget.
In the Byers House: On the completely opposite side of Hawkins, Will acted as if he hadn't heard a thing. He lazily extended a single hand from beneath his heavy blankets, blindly pointing his fingers toward the noisy radio with absolutely no intention of waking up. He wanted to stay in the comfort of the dream world that for a moment was possible.
Mike was not only dizzy but completely frightened: He had completely forgotten.
He had spent two agonizing weeks planning, drawing maps, writing descriptions of troglodytes, and balancing encounters for their massive, epic D&D campaign. It was supposed to be the masterpiece of their fall season. But looking at the messy stack of graph paper on his desk, Mike realized that the intense events in Castle Byers the previous afternoon—and the burning thoughts that kept him awake until dawn—had completely wiped his mind clean of dungeons and dragons - for the first time in his life, the fantasy world he built couldn't compete with the reality of Will Byers -
"Dustin, stop talking and walk. I am ready in 5. Over !"
"I am on my way, with Lucas. Ready to rule !!! Over !"
"Will, are you listening ? Wake up and came to my house. Over ! " - Mike voice was a little worried because he did not hear Will voice, but finally, Will decided to go out of the bed, remembering how much soul Mike put in that campaign.
"I heard you all ! I am on my way ! See you all at Whelers. Over and out !"
The sun was shining in that morning of November, but Mike could not tell it was the sun, or the excitment of the campaign, or the emotion of seeing Will again that was heating him from inside. On the road to Mike house, Will was thinking if it was the sun, the campaign or the emotion of seeing Mike again that made him sweat as if it was a hot summer day.
#### and again, seeing the night and again, seeing how night gave way to day, Sherezada remained shyly silent, the Sultan nodded something like a protest, frustrated, having nothing to do but to wait another day.
( to be continued )
Chapter 8: 994. The story of the Men of Metal and the Soft fabric heart (It was a seven )
but when the day began to set, the sultan entered the room, slamming the door and sitting impatiently on the bed. Scheherazade waited for darkness to fall and continued the story.
"It was a seven." Will looked into Mike's eyes with a sincere look, making Mike want to prolong that moment forever.
"The Demogorgon... it got me." Those words brought Mike back, sending shivers down his spine. He wanted to tell Will to stay, but Dustin called out from the side of the house:
With a last melancholic look, Will started to ride after Dustin.
Dustin and Lucas had arrived in no time that morning, just as Mike made his way downstairs, but Will was running late, so Mike and the boys started to make sandwiches. It was good to be all together, but Mike noticed how different things were without Will. It was not only his imagination. Something about his feelings towards Will was different, and the reason was Will.
"You are late." Will stood in the frame of the door, hardly breathing from the effort of his bike ride. Looking at Will brought the image of a Winter Jasmine into Mike's mind, wondering for the countless time how fragile that boy looked, and realizing how the worry from moments before was becoming the pure joy of seeing Will again. The words reflected the tension before, but the tone of his voice was unbiased, soft, and warm.
"Yes, Mike, I know. Why, do you think I am dying here?" Will laughed, covering the emotion of seeing Mike under the shield of that joke.
"I am such a good friend, I forgive you. C'mon, the others are waiting."
When Will entered the house, by reflex, with a large arm movement, Mike grabbed Will's shoulders. It was a gesture that he had done so many times before, but this time, it was a bad decision. For a moment, all of the air came out of his lungs as the innocent, friendly touch felt like a burn for both boys. Mike quickly retracted his arm, searching desperately for a sign of rejection on Will's face, who did the exact same thing. Both looking worried, Will spoke first, giving Mike a reason for his reaction: "Are you okay?"
"It's nothing, just a cramp. I think I slept uncomfortably last night," Mike smiled, acting as if nothing had happened. Did Will notice anything?
"Oh Mike, you really give me shivers," Will's response was comfortable, and he smiled, but inside, it was a tempest waiting to happen. You need to calm down, it was just a friendly hug, whispered Will in his mind to himself.
"Hi Will! C'mon, let's start!" The head of Dustin popping out from the basement stairs saved the tension for a future time.
The day felt for Will like a dream. Mike had built a wonderful campaign. Every detail was perfect. Mike had spent weeks hand-drawing intricate maps of old ruins, burning the edges of the paper with a match to make them look like ancient scrolls. He sat at the head of the table, wrapped in his familiar blue jacket, the fabric catching the dim basement light every time he leaned forward. Whenever Lucas and Dustin argued over a trap, Mike didn't just read from a notebook; he stood up, his deep black eyes sharp with excitement as he changed his voice to mimic a sinister tavern keeper or a dying wizard. He had thought of everything—custom riddles tailored to their characters, hidden loot beneath secret floorboards on the grid map, and an entirely original lore for the Vale of Shadows.
But under the mask, Will could not pay complete attention to the game. He didn't even hear Mrs. Wheeler coming home, and sometimes his mind would drift away. He tried to focus on the game, but he could not stop thinking about his burning shoulder. The boys were having the time of their lives, and Mike was... there were no words to describe it. Mike was shining like a paladin in his armor. Mike - the paladin, the man of metal with soft fabric heart.
To everyone not in his skin, Mike looked completely immersed in the game, but he had eyes only for Will. Mike noticed the look of pure admiration flowing toward him from across the table, and it made him feel... proud? Happy? He couldn't choose the right word for that feeling. It was just so good, so intoxicating, and Mike wanted this feeling, this day, this night, to never end.
The Dungeon Master slammed his hands onto the table, the wood rattling as he dropped a heavy lead miniature right into the center of the map grid.
"The Demogorgon is pleased with your choice!" Mike boomed, his voice echoing in the small basement. "The monster has arrived!"
"Something is coming..." Dustin muttered, his eyes wide as he gripped the edge of the table. "Something hungry for blood."
"We're dead," Lucas groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "It's the Demogorgon! Will, what are you doing? Cast protection!"
"No, protection is for losers!" Dustin shot back, leaning across the table at Lucas. "We need to fight! Will, cast Fireball!"
"An army of troglodytes charges into the chamber from the rear!" Mike shouted over them, keeping the pressure on. "You are surrounded! What do you do?!"
"Fireball!" Lucas yelled at Will. "Fireball the son of a bitch!"
"Protection! We won't survive a direct hit!" Dustin screamed.
"Will, your party is falling apart! The beast is closing in!" Mike pressed, leaning forward, his intense black eyes locked onto Will. "I need your action now, Will! What do you do?!"
Will looked from Dustin to Lucas, his heart racing as he clutched the twenty-sided die tight in his fist. The pressure of the game collided with the storm of thoughts still swirling in his head.
"Fireball!" Will shouted, finally breaking under the tension.
He threw the die across the table—but he threw it too hard. The plastic d20 bounced off the edge of the script, flew past Dustin's shoulder, and clattered into the dark, dusty shadows of the basement floor.
"Where'd it go?!" Lucas yelled, immediately dropping to his knees.
"Did it land on a seven?!" Dustin scrambled out of his chair, grabbing a flashlight to scan the concrete floor. "Will, did it land on a seven?!"
Before Will could even bend down to look, the heavy wooden door at the top of the basement stairs clicked open. A sharp rectangle of bright kitchen light flooded down the steps, cutting through the dim, cozy atmosphere of the game room.
"Mike!" Karen Wheeler’s voice called down, firm and unyielding. "It's 8:15. Time for your friends to head home."
"Mom, just seven more minutes!" Mike pleaded instantly, turning toward the stairs, desperately trying to stretch out the night. "We're in the middle of a campaign!"
"Michael, I'm not negotiating," Karen replied smoothly, her shadow stretching down the stairs. "Tell your friends goodbye."
The game was over. The magical world they had spent ten hours building vanished in a second, leaving the boys in the harsh reality of a Sunday night.
Outside the house the boys prepared to leave.
"It was a seven." Will looked into Mike's eyes with a sincere look, making Mike want to prolong that moment forever.
"The Demogorgon... it got me." Those words brought Mike back, sending shivers down his spine. He wanted to tell Will to stay, but Dustin called out from the side of the house:
With a last melancholic look, Will started to ride after Dustin.
It had been a long day.
Mike waited outside until Will and Dustin disappeared in the night at the end of the road. A sudden sadness gripped him and and he rushed to his room. "Tomorrow". Tomorrow he will see Will again, Mike was thinking looking trough the window to the stars. That thought was his last, before the tension of the day took its toll.
And as the day could not pass in better way, So darker was the end.
Because after Dustin headed his home, Will, the soft fabric heart of the Paladin, disappeared.
...and because the light of day appeared again, the shy Scheherazade fell silent while the sultan, visibly moved, silently left the room. Scheherazade looked at his little sister sleeping, and moved his haze to the rising sun before falling herself asleep.
