Max’s POV chapters would be amazing! Especially because we haven’t seen too much of her besides when it comes to reader. It’d bring depth into what her whole thought process is, and it doesn’t have to happen with every installment either; just whenever you feel like the audience would be interested or think Max’s POV is needed.
Freestyling will fully be needed, especially during season 4 and 5. I can’t wait for it. I’m especially looking forward to Epilogue Max!
For Byler, story-wise and based on how I thought it’d be handled, I feel like using the intermission/S5 for the build up would work best. Of course, adding in the hints that were thrown during S4 would make it better. Either would work though!
~ 👾
so i see the majority is leaning towards mileven breakup in s4? i was hoping so. i will get to writing soon, i’ve just been so busy. i’m so grateful for all those who are patient and still wait/read and support new installments. it means so much to me.
𝓼ynopsis : You’d always known you didn’t find much attraction to men. After all, your whole friend group consisted of boys. It would be pretty obvious if you did. You assumed it was because you were young. And even then, you weren’t too keen on trying to find romance anyways. You’d prefer to kill time listening to music while watching your friends’ DND campaigns. But when your friends Dustin and Lucas introduce a redhead to the group, your perception of relationships and sexuality begin to shift.
𝓹airing: max mayfield x fem!reader. 𝓰enre: strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, possible angst.
𝔀arnings: cursing, bad attempt at humor, and possibly more to be added. story will take place from season 2 to season 5. each season will be in acts. will, despite noah, plays a close role in reader’s life. separate work from actor.
taglist is open!
ACT ONE.
prologue. the time will come (wc: 636)
chapter one. madmax (wc: 813)
chapter two. trick or treat, freak (wc: 2090)
chapter three. the pollywog (wc: 1681)
chapter four. the girl on wheels (wc: 1766)
chapter five. dig dug (wc: 2064)
chapter six. the spy (wc: 2839)
chapter seven. the mind flayer (wc: 2632)
chapter eight. the gate (wc: 5947)
INTERMISSION I. (more chapters under cut!!)
chapter i. secret santa (wc: 2287)
chapter ii. the exchange (wc: 1322)
chapter iii. quiet static (wc: 1299)
chapter iv. the self sabotage (wc: 2608)
chapter v. the drunk and the stupid (wc: 4167)
chapter vi. the rekindling (wc: 3534)
chapter vii. a harrington brunch (wc: 2192)
chapter viii. comfortably numb (wc: 1764)
chapter ix. we’ve got tonight (wc: 2628)
chapter x. the safety net (wc: 4229)
ACT TWO.
chapter one. suzie, do you copy? (wc: 4646)
chapter two. the mall rats (wc: 3380)
chapter three. the case of the missing lifeguard (wc: 7480)
chapter four. the sauna test (wc: 5110)
chapter five. the flayed (wc: 11191)
chapter six. e pluribus unum (wc: 5803)
chapter seven. the bite (wc: 8389)
chapter eight. the battle of starcourt (wc: 14838)
mixtape muse readers, i need your input on some things regarding paths to take! (please answer all three)
1. max pov chapters — they’ll either be their own chapters or side chapters to the previous posted chapter just in her pov with her thoughts to things or actions and what happens whenever she’s not in a scene with reader (i give her pov at times regardless but ive seen a few people mention they want her pov in chapters so lmk how you all feel about that.)
2. freestyling — this will likely happen as soon as i start writing for s4. with that being said, i might not freestyle entirely rather how i wish certain things would’ve happened or wtv works for the plot of the fic.
3. byler/mileven — following 2, part of my freestyle would obv lead to byler endgame. with that being said, to not spoil much, i could have byler endgame and unravel in the epilogue or i can have mileven breakup in s4 (like it should’ve been) and byler slowly unravel in intermission/s5 and be together by epilogue.
OKAY OKAY I'll be claiming the spider web emoji cuz it's chill 😼
In response to your newest post. I've said like free-styling would cook, but Max pov's would be awesome too. Especially when she's now in the chapter. Like that would be tuff, but I am leaning more to you free styling...
-🕸️
i love that emoji so much, so cute!
noted, noted! (how do you feel about both happening though?)
also the third question, would love your thoughts on that one too.
mixtape muse readers, i need your input on some things regarding paths to take! (please answer all three)
1. max pov chapters — they’ll either be their own chapters or side chapters to the previous posted chapter just in her pov with her thoughts to things or actions and what happens whenever she’s not in a scene with reader (i give her pov at times regardless but ive seen a few people mention they want her pov in chapters so lmk how you all feel about that.)
2. freestyling — this will likely happen as soon as i start writing for s4. with that being said, i might not freestyle entirely rather how i wish certain things would’ve happened or wtv works for the plot of the fic.
3. byler/mileven — following 2, part of my freestyle would obv lead to byler endgame. with that being said, to not spoil much, i could have byler endgame and unravel in the epilogue or i can have mileven breakup in s4 (like it should’ve been) and byler slowly unravel in intermission/s5 and be together by epilogue.
Okay side note, I've sent three of these (4th now) and you've replied to each one. Like I feel so special since I love your work 😻 anyways yeah, I'll be waiting for that update 😼
i try to reply to everything and i try to reply as fast as i can! i have my notifications off so i come on whenever i have time. </3
i’m so happy to hear you love my work! if you’d like to pick an emoji to go by whenever you stop by, i would love to interact with you more! i just recently got a new job so hopefully i’m able to work on the next chapter soon.
I just know that you'll cook if you start to freestyle😼 it's up to you; honestly either way go you'll do its justice... so I wouldn't mind fr
thank you so much!! that means so much!
i know that for s5 i definitely wanted to try and do some MINOR freestyle and tweak some things, sort of like a rewrite but not entirely. if the majority would like this idea, please lmk!
and do all let me know if you’d like me to begin that starting with s4 opening acts or at s5, because i know a lot of people were unhappy with how season 5 came about.
I need reader to somehow be the one to end up in the coma and max being all protective in season five PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
i thought about this (trust me i did) but i also want to stick mostly to canon. i also don’t know if anyone else wants canon or for me to start freestyling lol. but if anyone else wants me to start freestyling, lmk and i’ll consider it!
i have thought about the vecna plotline recently and how to start and i feel like i’ve built a decent idea around it but i’m willing to switch it up if the majority of the audience agrees to it.
chapter iii. tryouts | wc: 14800 warnings: byler parallels and foreshadowing bc yeah. not proofread. masterlist.
The low hum of voices in the classroom blurred together until it became something distant and shapeless, like waves breaking far away, easy to ignore if you let yourself drift far enough from it. You sat at your desk with your pencil resting loosely between your fingers, your thoughts pulling you somewhere else entirely, somewhere quieter but far heavier.
It had been a week since you had last seen Max, a full week of her desk sitting empty, her absence growing louder with each passing day. It bothered you more than you wanted to admit out loud, and it was strange, almost unsettling, how few people seemed to notice. You and Lucas were the only ones who ever really said anything about it, the only ones who carried that quiet worry around like it mattered.
Everyone else seemed caught up in their own lives, moving forward without stopping to look at the space she left behind. Mike was buried in his schoolwork, determined to fix his grades so he could make that trip to California to see El, and Dustin was still wrapped up in his own world, smiling at nothing as he talked about Suzie like she existed in some perfect place far removed from everything else.
It should have made you happy, seeing them like that, seeing your friends grow into something new, something fuller, but instead there was a sharp edge to it, something bitter that settled under your skin. It felt like all of you were slowly drifting apart without meaning to, like the bonds that once felt unbreakable were loosening in quiet, almost invisible ways. The only thing that still felt steady was Lucas, his presence a small reminder that not everything had slipped out of reach just yet.
Your pencil tapped lightly against your notebook in a steady rhythm you barely registered, your eyes fixed on the window where autumn leaves clung to their branches before giving in to the wind. They twisted and fell in slow spirals, catching the light in a way that should have been beautiful, but your mind refused to settle on it. Instead it circled back, again and again, to the same thoughts you could not quite escape. Your assignment sat unfinished in front of you, words half formed and abandoned, your motivation slipping further away the longer you stared at it.
Around you, your classmates talked and laughed without restraint, their voices rising and overlapping until the whole room felt more like a free period than an actual class. You let out a quiet sigh without meaning to, your shoulders sinking just slightly as you gave in to the distraction of your own thoughts. You told yourself you would finish the essay later, after cheer tryouts, or maybe tonight when everything else had settled down and you could think clearly, though a part of you already knew how unlikely that was.
You were so far inside your own head that the sudden feeling of hands resting on your shoulders pulled you back all at once, your body tensing before you turned quickly to see who had broken through your thoughts so easily. The reaction faded almost instantly when you met familiar eyes, a small smile forming despite yourself as the tension slipped away.
“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to,” Mike said, his voice softer than the noise around you as he lowered himself beside your desk, one knee pressed to the floor while his hand steadied him against the edge of it.
You shook your head gently, glancing once more toward the window as if part of you was still caught there before turning back to him fully, shifting in your seat so your body faced him more naturally. There was something about the way he looked at you, a quiet concern that felt out of place for him and yet entirely genuine.
“You have been tapping that pencil ever since the class got loud so I wanted to know if you were okay,” he continued, his eyes flicking briefly around the room as if noticing the chaos for the first time before settling back on you.
You nodded, offering a small smile that did not quite reach your eyes, one that faltered almost as soon as it appeared. For a moment you considered brushing it off, telling him you were fine just to keep things simple, but he did not look away, and something about that made it harder to pretend.
“Look, I know I’m not Will,” he said after a pause, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the words were heavier than he expected them to be, “but you can still talk to me. You were my first friend, remember?”
The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and something in your chest shifted at the reminder. You felt your expression change before you even realized it, the smile this time coming more naturally, more honestly. When he looked back up, it was clear he had not expected that reaction, his own face easing into a smile in response, the tension in his shoulders loosening as if he had been bracing himself for something far worse.
“It’s just Max,” you admitted quietly, the words feeling heavier once they were out in the open. “I miss her. It was already hard when Will and El moved away and now this just makes everything feel even more empty.”
He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful as he searched for something to say, his gaze drifting again as if the right words might be written somewhere he had not looked yet. You both knew this was not where he was strongest, that comfort did not come easily to him, but that had never stopped him from trying, especially when it came to you. You had seen the effort before, in small moments where he stumbled through things he did not fully understand, and you had always met him there with patience.
There had been times in the past when he said the wrong thing, when his words came out sharp or misplaced, and you had taken him aside later, explaining gently, helping him see what he had missed. He listened every time, even when it was uncomfortable, even when it meant admitting he had been wrong. That willingness had always meant something, more than he probably realized, and now, watching him sit there trying again, you felt that same quiet appreciation settle in your chest.
“Want to stop by her place after school? I’ll tag along for support if you need me to,” he said, his voice careful in a way that made it sound like he was trying not to step on anything fragile. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, tracking your expression as if he could read the answer before you gave it.
You did not respond right away. Your gaze dropped back to your paper, though you were not really seeing the words anymore. The unfinished lines of your essay blurred together as your thoughts shifted, weighing everything without urgency but with a heaviness that made even small decisions feel larger than they should have been. Max’s empty desk. Lucas’s promise you had not broken yet. Tryouts waiting for you after school like a responsibility already sitting on your shoulders. You had said you would be there. You had meant it when you said it. That mattered to you in a way that was not easily pushed aside, even now.
“I have tryouts after school,” you said finally, your voice steady but distant, your pencil still resting loosely in your hand as your attention stayed half anchored to the page.
For a second, there was nothing from Mike. Not even a sound. Then his face shifted in a way that made it obvious he had not expected that answer at all.
“Tryouts?” he repeated, like the word itself did not quite fit in his understanding of you.
“Cheerleading,” you clarified, still not fully looking at him, your eyes lingering on the unfinished paragraph in front of you as if it could somehow keep you grounded in the moment.
“Cheerleading?” he echoed again, but this time it carried more disbelief, his brows lifting as he finally leaned back just slightly to take you in properly.
That time, you did look at him. Not fully turned away from your work, but enough to catch his expression clearly. He was staring at you like something had just clicked into place that he did not know how to process.
He did not say anything after that. Just silence. Not awkward exactly, but heavy in a way that made you shift slightly in your seat. It was not often Mike went quiet like that, not in a way that felt so intentional. It made something in your chest tighten just a little, like you were missing a piece of the conversation you were supposed to understand.
And while you sat there under his gaze, he was not really seeing the classroom anymore.
His mind had gone somewhere else entirely.
He was thinking about the first time he met you.
Back when everything about you had looked different in a way that had not made sense to him at first. Not just your clothes or your posture or the way you carried yourself, but something deeper than that. Something he had not known how to name then but recognized now in hindsight as distance, like you had been standing slightly apart from everyone else even when you were in the same room.
Now, looking at you sitting there with your pencil in hand and your thoughts somewhere far away, he could see it in a way he had not before. Not just the name, not just the assumption everyone else made, but the shift. The difference between then and now. The way your presence changed over time without losing its weight. The way your color palette, the small details of how you dressed and carried yourself, had changed into something that felt more lived in, more yours. Even your expression, quieter now in a way that was not about confidence but about thoughtfulness, about carrying things you did not always say out loud.
He did not say any of that. He just kept looking at you for a moment longer than usual, like he was still trying to understand how someone could feel so familiar and still feel like they were changing right in front of him without asking permission to do it.
Somehow, it had slipped past him without him ever really noticing when it started happening, the way you changed so gradually that it never felt like a single moment he could point to and say that was when everything shifted. When he first met you, you looked like you belonged to a completely different world than the one he lived in, like you had been carefully placed there rather than naturally existing inside it. Everything about you had been precise in a way that almost felt untouchable, outfits that looked chosen with intention rather than preference, colors that were always bright enough to make you stand out even in a crowded hallway, and hair that never seemed out of place, not even once, like it had been set into something permanent before the school day even began. He remembered thinking, without meaning to, that you looked like you had stepped out of one of those perfect displays that were never meant to be touched.
And yet you had spoken to him anyway.
That was the part that never quite made sense to him in hindsight. The fact that you had even looked in his direction at all, let alone talked to him like it was normal, like there was nothing strange about the two of you existing in the same space. Back then, he had never once imagined that you would become friends. Not even in the distant way kids sometimes imagine unlikely things. It had felt too far apart, like the distance between your worlds was something fixed and unchangeable.
But now, sitting here in this classroom with the noise of everyone else fading into something unimportant, it felt like that version of you belonged to a different lifetime entirely.
He had not noticed when it stopped exactly, the bright colors fading first, then the carefully put together outfits, then the way your presence in a room no longer felt like something curated but something real. At some point, without him realizing it, you had shifted into something softer in a different way, something less polished but more grounded, like you were no longer trying to fit into anything that had been decided for you. And somehow, in that change, you had ended up here, sitting beside him in a way that no longer felt surprising at all.
Now you fit there. Not in a forced way, not in a way that felt like you were trying to adjust yourself to him, but in a way that made it feel like it had always been possible. Your music tastes blended into his without effort, songs passing between you both like shared thoughts. Your styles, though different from before, seemed to settle into something that complemented rather than contrasted. Even your interests overlapped in ways that made conversations between you feel easy, like there was never anything to prove or explain.
But sitting there now, with the word tryouts still hanging in the air between you, something else crept into his thoughts, quieter but heavier.
What if that was not permanent.
What if all of this, the ease, the closeness, the plans you had made just a week ago to sneak away together and rebuild something that had started to feel fragile, was only temporary. What if this was the part where you started slipping back into something else, something older, something he was not part of. Something that had always been there waiting for you to return to it without even realizing you had left it behind.
The thought did not sit right with him. It tightened in his chest in a way he did not know how to shake off, because it did not feel dramatic or unrealistic to him. It felt possible. And that made it worse.
He was still caught in it when your voice cut through the silence.
“Mike?” you asked, softer this time, like you had picked up on something shifting in him that you could not quite name, the tension between you both suddenly feeling a little too present, a little too real.
And just like that, he realized he had been staring at you without saying a word.
“Since when was that a thing?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to. His brows pulled together immediately after, like he was already realizing he had spoken before thinking, trying to catch up to the emotion that had slipped through him too fast to control.
The second it left his mouth, something in his expression changed. Not a full retreat, not quite yet, but a visible tightening, like he was trying to pull the words back in before they could settle between you. He glanced at you and seemed to register it all at once, the way your posture shifted slightly, the way your face tightened into something that did not quite know where to land, somewhere between confusion and hurt.
He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out right away.
You knew him well enough to recognize this pattern before it fully formed. Mike Wheeler had never been simple when it came to emotions. He did not carry them in neat, manageable lines that could be explained or softened on command. He either had too much all at once, spilling over in ways that surprised even him, or he shut down completely, stuck inside himself with nowhere for anything to go. And when he could not find the right outlet, when he could not figure out how to say what he actually meant, it often came out wrong. Not cruel on purpose, never intentional, but still sharp enough to leave marks if you were close enough.
And you were always close enough.
It had taken time to understand that about him, time to learn how to read past the tone and into what was actually underneath it. There had been moments where you had to sit with him afterward, after something he said came out too heavy or too fast, and help him untangle it from itself until it made sense again. It was never clean. It was never easy. But it was familiar.
Still, understanding him did not make you immune to it.
There was a difference between knowing why someone hurt you and not feeling it when it happened.
The space between you shifted subtly, Max’s absence disappearing entirely from your thoughts as something else took its place, something immediate and much harder to ignore. The classroom around you continued moving, voices rising and falling in the background, chairs scraping, papers turning, but none of it registered anymore. It was like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you sitting there, the air between you suddenly too aware of itself.
Mike seemed to notice it too. The way he pulled back slightly in his seat, like he was giving you room without being asked, like he was trying to undo the moment even though it had already landed. His expression softened in pieces, frustration giving way to something more uncertain, more careful, like he was trying to figure out how to step forward again without making things worse.
And you noticed yourself hesitating too.
Because now there was that quiet pause between you both where anything you said next could either fix something or tilt it further out of place, and you did not want to get it wrong. So you slowed down, letting the silence stretch just long enough to think, just long enough to feel out what kind of answer would not turn this into something heavier than it already was.
The noise of the classroom faded further until it felt almost unreal, like it belonged to a different place entirely. Even if something had shifted around you, even if someone had raised their voice or laughed too loudly, neither of you would have reacted. You were both too entranced, too aware of each other in a way that made everything else irrelevant for the moment.
“I’m not leaving you or the party, if that’s where you’re coming from,” you said, your tone steadier now, more grounded as you shifted in your seat so you were fully facing him. The movement felt deliberate, like you were choosing to step into the moment instead of letting it drift any further away. You leaned in slightly, enough that the space between you and Mike felt smaller, more intentional, like you were trying to pull him back into something solid. “You know way too much about me for me to leave you now.”
It worked.
You saw it in the way his shoulders loosened first, the tension that had been sitting in him easing out in small increments like he had been holding his breath without realizing it. The sharp edge from before was gone now, replaced with something quieter, something uncertain but no longer defensive. For a second, he just looked at you, like he was still deciding whether to believe you completely or just enough to let himself relax.
Then you moved first, closing the remaining space and pulling him into a hug.
He hesitated.
It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it was there, that split second where he did not fully commit, like his body needed a moment to catch up with the reassurance you had just given him. And then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you too. Not tight at first, not immediate, but careful in a way that made it feel more real, like he was testing whether it was safe to fully settle into it. As the seconds passed, that hesitation faded, and he softened into you completely, his posture changing in a way that made the embrace feel less like a reaction and more like something he had chosen to stay in.
When you finally pulled back, the air between you felt lighter than it had a few minutes ago.
“So, no Max after school?” he asked, his voice calmer now, like he was trying to reenter the conversation without dragging the tension back with him.
You shook your head, your expression dimming just slightly as the reality of it settled back in. “Not today.”
He nodded, accepting it without pushing further, though there was a flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes as he processed it.
“Well,” he said after a moment, leaning back slightly in his seat, “whenever you do want to stop by, I’m there with you.”
It came out casual, like it was nothing more than an offer he would have made for anything else. But it landed heavier than that. Not in a bad way, just in a way that made something in your chest tighten for a second before easing again. The kind of statement that felt simple on the surface but stayed with you longer than expected.
You let yourself smile at him then, real this time, not weighed down or distracted. Just genuine appreciation sitting quietly in your expression as you nodded.
Mike glanced toward the front of the classroom, eyes flicking up to the clock before drifting back to you.
“Let me know if you make the team?” he asked.
You followed his gaze, noticing the time yourself. Five minutes left in class. The end of something small, but still a transition all the same. You turned back to him and gave a small nod.
“Wish me luck?”
He did not even hesitate.
“No, actually, I hope you break a leg so you’re stuck in the party with no worries,” he said, completely flat, expression unchanged as if he had just stated a fact instead of a ridiculous insult disguised as encouragement.
You let out a short scoff, laughter slipping out before you could stop it, light and unguarded in a way that felt good after everything that had just passed between you.
“I fear you truly do mean that,” you said, shaking your head as you finally started gathering your things.
He stood up too, the earlier tension fully gone now, replaced with something easier as he gave you a small smile.
“Of course not,” he said, already turning slightly as if to head back to his seat, pausing just long enough to look at you once more. “Good luck, Y/N.”
-
You tugged at the hem of your gym shorts as you walked closer to the gym doors, like adjusting the fabric could somehow adjust how you felt in them. It did not. If anything, it only made you more aware of everything, the unfamiliar lightness of your outfit, the buzz in your chest that kept building the closer you got, the way your thoughts kept trying to talk you out of this even though your feet refused to turn back. Calling it nervous felt almost too small for what it was. It was that feeling right before stepping into something that could go either way, where every outcome felt equally possible and equally overwhelming.
Your mother had been on the cheer team once, and you knew that fact should have made this feel easier, like there was some kind of inherited confidence waiting to kick in. Instead, it just made you more aware of the gap between expectation and reality, because you were not her, and whatever she had done effortlessly did not automatically translate to you.
And the worst part was the quiet doubt that lingered underneath everything else. Not even dramatic doubt, just the simple, persistent thought that maybe you would not make it. You had not exactly spent time building yourself into this world, not like the other girls who already knew each other, already moved together like they belonged in formation. You had been on the outside of that for long enough that stepping into it now felt like trying to join a rhythm you had not been listening to.
You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to ground yourself, trying to stop your thoughts from spiraling further than they already had. It was too late to back out. You had already said yes to yourself in some quiet way you could not undo now.
You let out a breath and tugged at your shorts again.
“I don’t think that’s going to make them any longer,” a voice said beside you.
You turned slightly, already knowing who it was before you saw him fully.
“Yeah, well, not exactly used to showing my legs this much anymore,” you replied, adjusting them one last time anyway out of habit more than anything else.
Lucas finally caught up fully to your side, his outfit mirroring yours in a way that made the situation feel slightly less intimidating just by comparison alone. There was something grounding about having him there, like you were not walking into this alone even if the outcome was still uncertain.
“You’re fine, relax,” he said easily, like it was the simplest thing in the world, like nerves were something you could just decide not to have.
He slung an arm around your shoulder as you walked, the gesture casual but steady, and you immediately leaned into it without thinking too much about it.
“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “You practically have that spot in the bag.”
Lucas let out a short laugh, pulling his arm away so he could look at you properly as you walked. “Since when did you get so pessimistic?”
You huffed softly, not answering right away, your eyes drifting toward the gym doors ahead. They were already propped open, letting sound spill out into the hallway, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor, scattered voices overlapping, the sharp echo of a space already full of competition and expectation. On one side of the gym, the boys were already moving through basketball tryouts, energy sharp and focused. On the other, the cheer group had claimed their space, stretching, talking, moving in clusters that already looked like they belonged together.
You stopped just a few feet from the entrance.
“At least we’ll be in the same room,” you said after a moment, quieter now, like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.
Lucas stayed beside you, and for a second you just watched everything happening inside without stepping in.
Then you spoke again.
“I told Mike about tryouts.”
That pulled Lucas’s attention fully back to you. The noise from the gym seemed to fade slightly in the background as he looked between you and the entrance, then back again.
“What’d he say?” he asked.
A small breath left you, almost a laugh. “That he hopes I break my leg so I’m stuck in the party.”
Lucas blinked once, then let out a slow laugh, shaking his head like he was trying to decide whether to be surprised or not.
“I was one hundred percent expecting something worse,” he admitted.
“He was fine with it,” you added, tugging lightly at your shorts again without realizing it, “so long as we don’t forget about him.”
Lucas noticed the motion but did not call it out directly this time. Instead, he just gave a small, knowing smile, like he understood more than he was saying.
“Let’s go in,” he said after a beat, nudging his shoulder lightly against yours as he started forward, “before you find a way to turn those into pants or something.”
The two of you stepped through the gym doors together, the change in atmosphere hitting immediately, like crossing into a space where everything suddenly mattered a little more than it did in the hallway. You exchanged a look with Lucas on instinct, nothing dramatic or spoken, just something brief and steady that said the same thing in two different ways. Good luck. Then you peeled away from each other, each heading toward opposite sides of the gym as if the space itself was quietly assigning roles before anything even began.
You moved toward the cheer side, your bag slipping off your shoulder as you scanned for an empty spot that did not feel like it already belonged to someone else. There was a brief, strange awareness of yourself as you set it down, like you were suddenly more visible than you had been in the hallway. Then you forced yourself to stop thinking about that and instead focused on what you could control.
Stretching.
It was simple enough to feel grounding. You lowered yourself into the first position, easing into basic leg stretches, letting the pull in your muscles replace the tension in your chest. One movement at a time. That was all it needed to be. You did not rush it, even though part of you wanted to, like speed could somehow get you through the uncertainty faster. Instead, you followed what your mother had shown you just two days ago, her voice still faintly present in your memory as you shifted positions. Small corrections, reminders to hold, to breathe, to stay steady. It was strange how something so short could still linger in your body like it had been practiced longer than it actually had.
You moved through hip stretches next, letting yourself sink into them properly, feeling the stiffness loosen in increments. With each movement, your awareness of the room softened slightly. The noise of other girls warming up, the echo of sneakers against polished floor, the distant rhythm of basketball tryouts on the other side of the gym, it all blurred into something less sharp. Not gone, just less immediate.
By the time you reached your arm stretches, there was a small sense of control settling back into you. Not confidence exactly, but something quieter. Familiarity, maybe. The idea that your body knew what to do even if your thoughts were still catching up.
You were mid stretch, arms extended, when a voice cut through the cluster of sounds around you.
A blonde girl, standing a little forward from the rest, called for everyone to come in closer.
The shift was immediate. Conversations faded. Movements slowed. One by one, the girls began to gather, forming a loose huddle that tightened as more joined. You pushed yourself up from your stretch and followed, stepping into the group with a few others, feeling the subtle shift in energy as attention began to collect at the center.
The circle tightened until there was barely any space between you and the other girls, the kind of closeness that made you suddenly aware of every small movement, every breath, every shift of weight from one foot to the other. The gym felt quieter in a different way now, not because the noise had stopped, but because all of it had been pushed to the edges of your attention. In the center of the huddle stood the blonde girl, steady and composed in a way that made it easy to understand why everyone had followed her without question.
She offered a small smile first, the kind that felt practiced but not unkind, like she was used to stepping into rooms and immediately holding them together.
“Hi everyone,” she said, voice clear enough to carry without trying too hard. “I’m Chrissy.”
The name clicked somewhere in your mind, familiar in the way certain people were known without ever needing an introduction. Cheer captain. That made sense almost instantly, even before anything else about her confirmed it. There was a kind of ease in the way she stood there, like she belonged exactly where she was and did not need to prove it.
She glanced around the circle, making eye contact where she could, her expression softening just slightly.
“First of all, I just want to say thank you for coming out today. I know tryouts can be a little stressful,” she added, a small laugh slipping in like she understood it personally, “but really, we’re just looking for effort and teamwork. That’s what matters most.”
Her words were simple, but they settled into the group in a way that made the tension in your shoulders ease just a fraction. Not disappear, but loosen.
She shifted her weight slightly, gesturing toward the rest of the gym where the space had been marked out.
“We’re going to start with some basic across the floor stuff,” Chrissy continued. “Nothing too complicated. Just want to see how you move, how you listen, and how you work with counts.”
You subtly adjusted your stance, rolling your shoulders back the way your mother had shown you, trying to ground yourself in something physical instead of letting your thoughts drift. Across the circle, you could feel the same quiet focus forming in the other girls, the collective understanding that this was where things began to count.
Chrissy clapped her hands once, not loud, but enough to signal attention.
“We’ll go one group at a time,” she said. “Don’t overthink it. Just follow along and do your best.”
Her eyes briefly passed over the group again, and for a moment, it felt less like being evaluated and more like being seen. Then she stepped slightly aside, motioning toward the floor space as the first set of girls began to move forward, the tryouts finally shifting from waiting into something real.
You stayed where you were for a moment as the first group stepped forward, watching them take their positions on the floor. The gym suddenly felt different in motion, like something had finally been switched on. The kind of quiet that came right before sound filled it again, before movement replaced stillness. You could hear the faint echo of counting being called out somewhere near the front, Chrissy’s voice guiding them through the first set with an ease that made it look almost effortless from a distance.
You swallowed once, subtly shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Your arms rested loosely at your sides, but your fingers kept flexing without permission, like your body was trying to release energy your mind had not fully caught up with yet. You watched the first group begin their sequence, simple motions at first, clean enough, synchronized in a way that told you they had probably practiced together before this moment. That realization settled in your chest in a way you did not fully acknowledge.
This was not just about skill. It was about familiarity too.
You exhaled quietly through your nose and forced your attention back to your own body, rolling your shoulders once more, grounding yourself again. You could do this. Not perfectly, not like someone who had lived in this world for years, but enough. Enough had to be enough.
Chrissy moved along the side of the floor, observing, occasionally calling out a correction or a reminder. Nothing harsh. Just direction. When she spoke, it never felt like she was tearing anyone down, only guiding them back into place.
After the first group finished, there was a brief shuffle as they stepped back into the circle, some of them exchanging small glances, others quietly adjusting their hair or catching their breath. Then Chrissy clapped again, signaling the next set.
Your name hadn’t been called yet.
You waited.
The waiting was almost worse than moving. It gave your thoughts too much room.
Across the gym, you could still faintly register the other side, basketball tryouts continuing in bursts of motion and sound. A ball hitting the floor. A sharp whistle. Someone calling out instructions. It felt like another world entirely, but still close enough to remind you that Lucas was somewhere in that chaos, probably already trying to look more relaxed than he actually was.
You almost smiled at that thought before pulling yourself back.
Then Chrissy’s voice lifted again, clearer now as she gestured toward the next group.
“Alright, next group up.”
You shifted before you even fully registered it, stepping forward with the others as your feet carried you into the open space. The floor felt larger up close, more exposed, like the air itself had changed pressure. You took your place in line, rolling your shoulders one last time, and glanced briefly toward the front.
Chrissy’s eyes passed over the group, attentive but calm.
And then the music started.
The sound came in through the gym speakers slightly distorted, that thin, echoing quality that made everything feel a little further away than it really was. It was simple rhythm, steady and repetitive, nothing flashy or overwhelming, just something to keep time. The kind of beat you were meant to move with rather than think about.
Chrissy gave a small nod toward the group.
“Just follow the counts,” she said. “Don’t rush it. Stay together.”
And then she started it herself, not performing, not showing off, just marking it clearly so everyone could see the timing. One, two, three, four. Her movements were clean, controlled, easy to read, like she had done them so many times they no longer required thought.
You watched for exactly one count longer than you should have, then forced yourself to fall in.
Arms up.
Step.
Shift.
Turn.
At first it felt slightly stiff, like your body was negotiating with your mind, but then something loosened. Not confidence exactly, but memory. Muscle remembering instruction. Your mother’s voice surfaced again in fragments, small corrections you had not realized you had stored. Shoulders back. Don’t overextend. Let it be clean, not forced.
You followed it.
Around you, the group moved in varying degrees of certainty. Some were sharp, already in sync, others a half beat behind, catching up as they went. It did not feel like failure so much as adjustment, like everyone was slowly finding the same rhythm from different starting points.
You kept your eyes forward, only occasionally glancing to the side to stay aligned. The floor beneath you felt less intimidating once you stopped thinking about it as a stage and started treating it like space. Just space you had to move through properly.
One, two, three, four.
You repeated it in your head without meaning to.
There was a moment where your timing almost slipped, a half second of hesitation when you second guessed the next motion, but you recovered quickly, smoothing it out before it could become noticeable. Your heart still picked up slightly at it, but you did not let it show.
Chrissy moved along the edge again, watching, occasionally stepping in with a quiet correction to someone nearby. When she passed your line of sight, her gaze briefly flicked over you, not lingering, just noting, before she continued on.
The music carried you forward.
By the time the sequence ended, your breathing was slightly heavier, your arms warmed from movement, your focus narrowed into something more present than it had been all day. The group came to a stop together, some more neatly than others, and for a second there was only the sound of the gym again, the squeak of shoes settling, the faint buzz of anticipation returning.
Chrissy stepped forward and gave a small, approving nod.
“Good,” she said simply. “That’s exactly what we’re looking for. We’ll go again, same thing, a little faster this time.”
A few quiet exhales passed through the group.
You adjusted your stance slightly, rolling your shoulders back again, letting your fingers relax at your sides. This time, the nerves were still there, but they were different. Less sharp. More focused.
You were not out of place yet.
And for now, that was enough to keep going.
The second run started almost immediately, Chrissy clapping once and letting the beat roll back in without giving the group much time to settle into their thoughts again. This time it was faster, just enough to make the difference between thinking and doing feel thinner, like there was no room left for hesitation.
You exhaled slowly and let yourself move before your nerves could rebuild.
One, two, three, four.
There was something different about how your body responded this time. Still controlled, still careful, but less interrupted. The stiffness that had been there before started to dissolve into something more natural, like you were no longer translating steps in your head before doing them. You just were.
Around you, the group tightened. Movements sharpened, some girls finding their rhythm more clearly now, others still catching up to the pace. But you stopped comparing yourself to it. You stopped looking for where you fit in and just focused on being in it.
Arms lifted on time.
Turn clean.
Step grounded.
You let the counts sit inside you instead of fighting them.
Somewhere in the middle of the sequence, you felt it shift. Not suddenly, not dramatically, but in the way attention sometimes lingers without you realizing it. Chrissy passed again along the edge of the floor, and this time her gaze paused just a fraction longer when it reached you. Not judgmental. Not surprised. Just noticing. Like she was registering something that did not need to be corrected.
You did not react outwardly.
You just kept going.
Your movements were not the loudest in the room. They were not the most aggressive or the most showy. But they were clean in a way that stood out because they did not ask for attention. There was no excess in them, no strain to prove anything. Just control settling into place.
And slowly, something inside you eased.
The fear of the room stopped feeling like it was sitting on your shoulders. It moved further back, replaced by something quieter, more focused. You could still feel it, but it was no longer driving you.
Instead, something else started to take its place.
The thought of your mom came in first. Not as pressure, but as memory. Her telling you to commit to the movement, to trust your body more than your doubt. Not to look perfect, just to look certain. That stayed with you as you turned, as you landed each step a little more confidently than before.
Then, unexpectedly, Steve came to mind.
Not in a loud way, not like a spotlight moment, but in a simple, almost offhand memory. Him making some exaggerated comment about you doing something you swore you would never do. Him laughing like he already knew you were going to surprise yourself anyway. That weird, steady belief he had in people even when they did not fully believe in themselves yet.
You let that thought sit there for a second, and something in your expression softened without you realizing it.
The final count came faster than the first run, but you did not miss it.
One last step. Clean. Together.
And then stillness.
The music cut, leaving a brief echo in the gym before it faded entirely. The group came to a stop, and this time there was less uncertainty in how everyone landed. A few small adjustments, a few breaths being caught, but overall it felt more solid than before.
You stood with your arms lowered, chest rising and falling evenly, realizing only now that you were not shaking anymore.
Chrissy stepped forward again.
She looked across the line slowly, taking her time this time, not rushing past anyone.
When her eyes reached you, she paused again. Just briefly. Enough for you to notice, but not enough to feel singled out in a bad way.
Then she gave a small nod.
“Okay,” she said, voice calm but clearer now. “Good job. That was much better.”
She shifted her weight slightly, glancing toward the other side of the gym before looking back at the group.
“We’re going to narrow things down after the next set,” she added. “Same energy. Don’t overthink it.”
A quiet ripple moved through the group at that, nerves returning in small waves, but yours did not rise the same way this time.
You rolled your shoulders once, subtle, resetting yourself.
The third run came after a shorter pause, almost like Chrissy wanted to see who could hold onto what they had just found without losing it again. The music started up once more, and this time there was less explanation, less cushioning. Just expectation.
You stepped into it without waiting for doubt to catch up.
One, two, three, four.
Your body remembered faster now. The counts did not feel like instructions anymore, just rhythm you were already inside of. You could feel the difference in the room too. The group was starting to separate itself quietly, not in obvious ways, but in timing, in control, in how much attention each person needed to stay with it.
You did not need much.
That was the shift.
Your arms moved cleanly, not exaggerated, not underdone. Just enough to be readable, just enough to be sharp without feeling forced. When you turned, you stayed centered. When you stepped, you committed fully instead of second guessing halfway through.
There was a moment where you caught yourself almost smiling, not because anything was funny, but because something inside you finally stopped resisting. The nervous energy had not disappeared, but it had changed shape. It had turned into focus.
You were aware of everything now, but not overwhelmed by it.
Chrissy was still moving along the edge, but you could feel her attention pass over the group differently this time. More selective. More deliberate. When she looked at someone, it lingered just long enough to matter.
When she looked at you, it did not feel like pressure.
It felt like acknowledgment.
You kept going.
At some point, you stopped thinking about the others entirely. Not out of arrogance, but because it no longer helped. You could feel them around you, hear the faint differences in timing, but your attention stayed inside your own lane. Clean movement. Clean counts. Clean execution.
And somewhere in the middle of it, the thought returned again.
Your parents.
Your mom, specifically, and the way she used to talk about discipline like it was something quiet, something you built over time without announcing it to anyone. You wondered, briefly, if she would recognize this version of you. Not the unsure one who had walked into the gym earlier, but this one. The one who had stopped fighting the moment and started moving with it.
Then Steve again, softer this time, like a background thought you did not have to push away. Just a reminder that people could see you differently than you saw yourself in moments like this.
You landed the final count of the sequence without hesitation.
One last step.
Stillness.
The music cut again, and this time the silence felt sharper, like it was waiting for something to happen.
Chrissy stepped forward immediately.
She did not speak right away. She just looked at the group, scanning slowly, her expression thoughtful in a way that made your stomach tighten slightly before settling again.
Then she nodded once, like she had made a decision.
“Okay,” she said, a little more definite this time. “That’s what we needed to see.”
A few girls shifted beside you, subtle reactions, quiet exhales, small exchanges of looks. You stayed still, but your heart picked up just slightly, not in panic now, but in anticipation.
Chrissy’s gaze moved across the line again, slower this time, more intentional.
And when it landed on you, it stayed.
Not long enough to be dramatic.
Just long enough to matter.
Then she gave a small, almost approving smile.
“You can all step back for a moment,” she said, motioning gently toward the side. “We’ll make final cuts after we run the last group.”
The tension in the room loosened all at once, but you felt something else rise underneath it.
Because you already knew, even before you moved, that something about the way she looked at you had changed. And for the first time since you walked into the gym, you allowed yourself to believe you might actually be staying.
You stepped back with the rest of the group, but it did not feel like retreating anymore, it felt more like returning to yourself after being held in place for a while, like your body finally had permission to stop performing and just exist again. The gym noise came back in gradually, not all at once, but in layers, like your attention had been peeled away from it and was only now settling back into it. Around you, some girls immediately started talking, small bursts of nervous laughter or reassurances, others just stood quietly, replaying the sequence in their heads with subtle shifts of expression that gave away how they thought they had done.
You stayed quiet.
Not out of uncertainty anymore, but out of something steadier, something that did not need to be spoken to feel real. Your hands rested at your sides as you exhaled slowly, letting your breathing fall back into something normal instead of controlled. Your body still carried the rhythm of the counts in a faint echo, like it had not fully let go of them yet, and you found that you did not mind it.
Across the gym, the basketball side was still moving, still loud in its own way, but it felt further now, like it belonged to a different conversation entirely. You did not search for Lucas this time, not because you did not care, but because you did not need to anchor yourself through him anymore in that exact moment. Something about that realization sat quietly in your chest, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable.
Chrissy moved toward the center again, gathering the remaining girls with a simple gesture that did not need repetition. There was a calmness in the way she handled the space, like she understood that everyone was already carrying enough tension without her adding more to it. When she spoke, it was not loud, but it carried cleanly through the gym without effort.
“We’re going to bring the last group through,” she said, glancing briefly at the clipboard in her hands before looking back up, “and then we’ll finish reviewing everything before we call anyone back in.”
You shifted your weight slightly, rolling your shoulders back once more without thinking about it, more out of habit now than nerves. There was still anticipation sitting under your skin, but it was no longer sharp or overwhelming, it had settled into something quieter, something patient. You had done what you needed to do. The rest was no longer in your control.
The final group moved forward, and you watched them without comparison this time, not measuring yourself against them or trying to predict outcomes through their performance. Instead, you just observed, present enough to notice details but detached enough not to spiral into them. A clean turn here, a slightly delayed count there, a moment of hesitation that would probably matter or maybe not at all depending on what Chrissy was looking for.
It struck you then how much of this was not just about movement, but about presence, about how someone held themselves even when they were unsure. You had not fully understood that when you walked in, but now it made more sense, like something you had been slowly learning without realizing.
When the final sequence ended, the gym fell into a deeper quiet than before, the kind that felt heavier because it meant decisions were being made somewhere just out of sight. Chrissy stepped back toward the group again, but this time she did not immediately speak, instead taking a moment that stretched just long enough for everyone to feel it.
You could feel your heartbeat again, but it was steady, not frantic.
She looked up.
“Alright,” she said finally, her voice still even but more final now, “if I call your name, I want you to stay and come see me after. Everyone else, thank you for coming out today.”
The words landed in the space like something physical, simple but loaded with consequence. You stood still, your hands resting loosely, your attention narrowing without forcing it, waiting without tension even as the air around you changed.
Chrissy glanced down at her list.
Then she began to call names.
The first few names came and went in a steady rhythm, each one breaking the silence just enough to make your attention sharpen before releasing it again when it was not yours. You stayed still, not because you were trying to appear calm, but because there was nothing left in you that needed to move unnecessarily anymore. The nervous energy had burned itself down into something quieter, something that sat beneath your ribs instead of shaking through your limbs.
Each time Chrissy looked up from the list, your chest tightened slightly on instinct, then loosened again when she moved on. Around you, the other girls reacted in small ways, a hand pressed briefly to a mouth, a quiet exhale, a subtle step forward or back depending on what they were hearing. You noticed all of it without attaching yourself to it.
Then she paused.
Just a fraction longer than before.
Your name had not been said yet, but something about the way her eyes moved across the page made the space feel different, like the list had reached a section that mattered more than the ones before it.
She looked up.
And when she spoke again, her voice stayed steady, but it landed differently.
“Y/N.”
For a second, there was only sound and stillness, like the gym itself held its breath around the word. You did not move immediately, not because you were unsure you heard her, but because your body needed a moment to accept that it had actually been called. Then you stepped forward.
It was not dramatic. It was not rushed. It was just clear.
You walked out of the line and toward the center, feeling every eye in the space settle on you for a brief moment before fading again into the background. Chrissy gave you a small nod, not overly expressive, but unmistakably intentional, and gestured for you to stand slightly to the side with the others who had been called.
You did.
As you took your place, something in your chest shifted, not loudly, not explosively, but in a way that felt final in the best sense of the word. Like a door you had been standing in front of without realizing it had just opened.
From somewhere across the gym, you caught a glimpse of Lucas watching, his posture subtly straightening when he saw you step out. You did not need him to say anything to understand what his expression meant, but even so, there was something grounding about it, something familiar that made the moment feel less unreal.
Chrissy continued calling names behind you, but the sound faded slightly as your attention settled into your own body again. You stood there with the others, shoulders relaxed, hands steady, and for the first time since walking into the gym, you were not trying to prove you belonged anywhere.
You had already done that.
And now all that was left was confirmation.
The feeling did not arrive all at once, it settled in slowly, like your body was only now allowing itself to understand what your mind had already been told. You were still standing in the same place, still in the same gym, still surrounded by the same noise and movement, but everything felt slightly altered, like the edges of the moment had softened just enough to make it feel less sharp.
Around you, the other girls who had made the team began to shift into smaller conversations, some exchanging quiet congratulations, others already talking about what came next as if the uncertainty of tryouts had simply been replaced with a different kind of anticipation. You stayed where you were for a moment longer, letting it all pass around you without needing to immediately join it.
Chrissy was still at the front, organizing papers and speaking softly with one of the assistant coaches, her presence calm even now that the formal part was over. When she glanced up again, her eyes briefly found yours in the crowd. She did not call you over or gesture for anything, just gave a small nod that carried more meaning than anything verbal could have. It was subtle, but it landed.
You returned it.
From the side of the gym, you could see Lucas making his way closer now that things were breaking apart, weaving through the shifting groups of people with an ease that came from knowing exactly where he needed to be without needing directions. When he reached the edge of your space, he stopped just long enough to look at you properly, like he was making sure it was real and not something that might still change if he blinked too fast.
“You made it,” he said, like he still needed to hear it out loud.
You nodded once, the smile that followed this time staying longer than it had before. “Yeah.”
There was a pause between you that did not need filling, not awkward, just full in a different way. Lucas let out a small breath, shaking his head slightly like he was still processing it himself.
“Your mom is going to lose it in a good way,” he said after a moment, and there was something light in his tone that helped ground the moment even more, something that made it feel less like an achievement you had to carry alone.
That pulled a quiet laugh out of you, softer than anything you had done earlier, but more genuine than all of it combined. “Yeah,” you admitted, adjusting the strap of your bag as it suddenly felt a little heavier in a way that did not bother you, “I think she’s going to be proud.”
The words sat with you after you said them, not as pressure, but as something steady. Something you had been reaching toward without fully naming it until now.
Across the gym, movement continued to wind down, tryouts dissolving into scattered conversations and slow exits, the space no longer holding the same intensity it had earlier. You could feel yourself easing into it too, the tension finally leaving your shoulders completely as the reality of the day caught up with you in full.
Lucas nudged you lightly with his shoulder, already starting to walk backward toward the exit with you beside him.
“Come on,” he said, glancing at you with a small grin, “you still owe me a full recap of how you went from ‘I might die in there’ to actually making it.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no real resistance in it as you started walking with him, the sound of your footsteps blending into the fading energy of the gym behind you.
“I did not say I might die,” you replied, though your tone lacked any real defense.
“You absolutely implied it,” he shot back immediately, and that earned a proper laugh from you this time, one that felt like it belonged outside the gym just as much as it did inside it.
As you reached the doors again, you paused for only a second, glancing back over your shoulder. The gym looked different now than it had when you first walked in, not because anything had physically changed, but because you had. The space no longer felt like something you were trying to earn your way into.
It felt like something you had already stepped through.
Then you turned forward again and walked out with Lucas beside you, the sound of the gym fading behind you as the hallway opened up ahead, carrying you back into everything else waiting outside of it.
-
“This is so exhausting,” you sighed under your breath as you finally set your pencil down, letting your body collapse backward onto your bed like your bones had given up the idea of holding you upright any longer. The assignment sat unfinished on your stomach for a second before you shifted it aside, staring up at your ceiling like it might offer you some kind of answer you had not already gone over in your head ten times.
If you had gotten this earlier, you would have finished it in one sitting without thinking twice about it, but now it felt like every sentence you tried to write got interrupted by something else entirely, something that refused to stay quiet. Max was still there, lingering in the back of your mind in a way that did not feel temporary anymore, like she had taken up space you could not just ignore or push aside, and the longer you sat there the more you wished you had just asked Mike to wait for you after tryouts instead of letting everything drift into separate directions.
You turned onto your side and glanced at the clock, watching the numbers glow back at you in a way that felt almost judgmental, 8:45 sitting there like a reminder that time was still moving whether you were ready for it or not. You should have been settling down by now, should have been easing into the end of the night so tomorrow would not feel like it was coming at you too fast, especially with the plans you and Mike had waiting for you tomorrow, something that was supposed to be fun and exciting. But there was nothing simple about the way your thoughts kept circling back to the same place, the same redhead, the same unanswered space in your head that made it hard to focus on anything else, and the more you tried to ignore it the more it seemed to press in.
Frustration built slowly, not in a sudden burst but in layers, until it finally reached a point where it felt like it had nowhere else to go, and before you even really thought about it you shoved your books off the bed with more force than necessary. They hit the floor with a dull thud that immediately made you regret it, the sound snapping you out of whatever spiral had been building in your chest.
“Crap,” you muttered, already leaning forward to fix what you had just done, reaching down to gather your things back together as if putting them back in order could undo the feeling that had come with it.
Before you could fully sit up again, your bedroom door swung open without warning, making you freeze halfway down toward the floor.
“Is everything okay?” Steve asked, his head appearing in the doorway first before he stepped in a little further like he was trying to gauge the situation before fully committing to it.
“Knock maybe?” you shot back immediately, still bent over your bed as you grabbed your scattered papers and pulled them back together, smoothing them out with slightly more force than necessary.
“Woah, what’s with the crappy attitude?” he replied, pushing the door open wider as he fully entered your room now, clearly not planning on leaving anytime soon.
“Nothing,” you said quickly, not looking up as you tried to straighten out the corner of one page that had bent during the fall, your focus suddenly fixed on anything that was not the conversation. “Do you need something?”
“Mike does, apparently,” Steve answered, leaning back slightly like he was already done with his part of the job, “no funny business or I’ll snitch to everyone since you want to be an ass.”
He stepped aside after saying it, moving just enough to reveal Mike standing awkwardly in the doorway behind him, like he had been waiting for permission to exist in the room rather than actually entering it.
“You’re just bitter, you have no game!” you called after Steve without thinking, finally standing up from your bed and shoving your books back into place before moving toward the door to close it, more out of instinct than anything else.
Steve muttered something under his breath as he left, disappearing down the hallway and leaving the door half closed behind him.
Mike stepped fully into your room now, though he still looked like he was trying to figure out where to put his hands, standing a little too straight by your desk as his backpack strap hung loosely off one shoulder. His eyes followed you for a second, taking in the way you were moving, the way your frustration still seemed to sit just under the surface even if you were trying to smooth it over.
He did not say anything immediately.
He just watched you for a moment longer than usual, like he was trying to decide how to approach you without making things worse.
“Are you ready?” he finally asked, tugging slightly at his backpack strap like he needed something to do with his hands while he waited for your answer.
“That’s tomorrow,” you answered automatically, throwing yourself back onto your bed face first.
“Not that,” Mike said after a second, still standing there, still watching you carefully. “To see Max.”
You immediately sat up so fast it was almost like your body had been waiting for the permission to move, the shift so sudden it cut clean through whatever frustration had been sitting on you a second ago. There was no hesitation in it now, no dragging weight in your thoughts, just a sharp, immediate focus that replaced everything else in one clean motion.
Mike barely had time to react before you were already moving.
You crossed the space between you in a few quick steps and wrapped your arms around him with a kind of relieved intensity that caught him off guard, like you were letting go of something you had been holding in for far too long without realizing it. He let out a small, surprised laugh as his arms lifted hesitantly before settling around you in return, still a little awkward but steady enough to count. It was brief, not lingering, but it landed in a way that felt grounding rather than overwhelming.
When you pulled away, it was just enough to breathe again, just enough to reset, and you were already turning toward your room again before the moment could settle into anything heavier. Your leather jacket was lying a short distance away, half forgotten from earlier, and you grabbed it quickly, shrugging it on in one smooth motion that felt more certain than anything you had done all night.
Mike watched you, still standing where you had left him in the center of your room, like he was trying to keep up with how quickly your energy had shifted.
You hooked your fingers lightly around his arm without thinking, tugging him toward the door with a sense of urgency that finally felt clear instead of scattered.
“Let’s go!” you said, already halfway out of the room before he even fully caught up.
Mike stumbled a half step, then steadied himself as he let himself be pulled along, shaking his head slightly like he was still processing the speed of the change but not fighting it. Outside your room, the hallway felt quieter than it had earlier, the house settling into the night around you both, but you did not slow down for it.
Whatever had been weighing on you before did not disappear completely, but it moved into the background now, pushed aside by something sharper, something more immediate.
Max was waiting.
And for once, you did not hesitate long enough to let anything else get in the way.
Mike insisted on you riding on the back of his bike, his way of “repaying” you for tomorrow, he said it like it was something that made complete sense, like there was a balance between the two of you that he was trying to keep even. You didn’t argue. You didn’t have it in you to argue. So now here you were, seated behind him as he pedaled, your hands lightly holding onto him while the cold night air brushed against your skin in a way that should have been refreshing but instead only made you more aware of everything you couldn’t quiet.
The ride stretched on in a steady rhythm, the soft sound of the tires rolling over pavement filling the silence between you. Neither of you spoke. It wasn’t tense, not exactly, just quiet in a way that felt understood, like both of you were somewhere else entirely even while sharing the same space. Mike stayed focused ahead, his movements consistent, while you sat behind him with your thoughts moving far faster than the bike ever could.
Max had already taken up space in your mind long before you left your house, so it wasn’t surprising that she was still there now, louder than everything else combined. You missed her in a way that didn’t feel simple anymore, not just missing her presence but missing the ease of what you used to have before everything shifted into something more fragile. It made you think of things you hadn’t wanted to admit out loud, ideas that felt like they came from a place of desperation more than clarity.
You wondered if maybe the only way to keep her was to let that part of it go.
If you told her you just wanted to be friends, if you stepped back into something familiar, maybe things could go back to how they were. You could admire her quietly again, the way you always had before any of this became real, before it started to matter in ways that made her pull away. She could go back to being unaware, back to existing in that space where your feelings didn’t complicate anything, where she didn’t have to think too hard about you or what you meant.
And you would still get to have her.
Just not in the way you wanted.
The thought sat heavy in your chest, both comforting and painful at the same time, because even considering it meant acknowledging what you would be giving up. Letting her go like that didn’t mean the feelings disappeared. It just meant you would carry them differently, quieter, hidden in a way that no one else would have to deal with.
You leaned forward slightly, your forehead resting against his back for a moment as your eyes unfocused, the dim streetlights passing by in slow intervals. It felt easier to think with something steady beneath you, even if your thoughts refused to settle into anything that made sense.
It was the world you lived in.
That was the part you kept coming back to, the part that made everything feel smaller than it actually was. The eighties didn’t exactly leave room for things like this to unfold easily, not without consequence, not without risk. You tried to tell yourself it was natural, that maybe this was just something people went through, something temporary, something that faded with time once it had been explored enough to understand.
Maybe this was just an experiment.
Maybe it was something that was never meant to last as long as you had wanted it to.
You swallowed, your grip tightening slightly as the bike shifted beneath you, your thoughts continuing to circle without stopping.
Eventually, you told yourself, you would meet someone else. Someone who understood you in a way that didn’t require explanation, someone you could be yourself with without hesitation, someone who could meet you where you were instead of leaving you to question everything on your own. You couldn’t be the only one in the world who felt like this, the only one who looked at girls the way you did, the only one who carried something like this quietly.
But then again, how would you know.
Your world wasn’t exactly full of examples.
The thought lingered, uncertain and distant, not something you could hold onto yet.
And then, like it always did, your mind shifted again, landing somewhere you didn’t like but couldn’t avoid.
What if you just settled.
Not because you wanted to, not because it felt right, but because it was easier, because it was what people did when the alternative felt too complicated to exist out loud. A good man, someone kind, someone safe. Maybe attraction wasn’t something immediate, maybe it was something that came with time, something you could learn if you gave it enough effort.
Maybe you just hadn’t given it a chance.
Your friends had never counted. They had always just been your friends, nothing more, nothing you had ever tried to see differently. And if it wasn’t some random guy, then there was always the joke you and Will made, something that used to feel distant and almost funny, about ending up together one day if everything else failed. A life that looked right from the outside, something that wouldn’t raise questions, something that would make everything easier in ways that mattered to everyone else.
The idea didn’t feel light anymore.
It sat heavier now, more real than it should have been, because the thought of hiding something like this for the rest of your life didn’t feel like a solution.
It felt like losing something you hadn’t even fully gotten to have.
You shifted again behind Mike, adjusting your hold on him as the road stretched out in front of you, your thoughts still restless, still searching for something that would make all of this feel less complicated.
But no matter how far your mind wandered, no matter how many different paths it tried to take, it always circled back to the same place.
To her.
And the fact that you were still on your way to see her anyway.
Unbeknownst to you, Mike’s thoughts were not all that different, even if they didn’t take shape in the same clear way yours did. He stayed focused on the road ahead, his pedaling steady, his posture unchanged, but his mind kept circling back to the same place over and over again without ever fully landing somewhere that made sense.
He didn’t understand it.
Not completely.
He knew you cared about Max, that much was obvious, it had been obvious for a while now, but the way it seemed to sit with you lately felt different, heavier in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He tried to break it down in the simplest way he could, tried to make it fit into something he already understood instead of something new he didn’t have the words for.
Maybe it was just because she was the only girl you had really gotten close to since El.
That seemed reasonable enough at first. It gave him something to hold onto, something that didn’t feel too complicated. But the longer he thought about it, the less it held up. You had Nancy, you talked to her more than most people did, and lately even Erica had started to gravitate toward you in her own quiet way.
Ever since she got her hands on Will’s old DnD stuff, she had been asking questions, small ones at first, like she didn’t want to admit she was interested but couldn’t help it anyway. And she had come to you about it, not anyone else, like there was something about you that made it easier for her to say things out loud.
You thought it was sweet, told the rest of the party later like it was something light, something special.
So it couldn’t just be that.
His grip on the handlebars tightened slightly as he adjusted his pace, his thoughts continuing to move without really organizing themselves into anything useful. The dynamic between you and Max had never made complete sense to him, not in a way he could follow from beginning to end. It always felt like he had missed something important somewhere along the way, like he had walked into the middle of a story without seeing how it started.
Like watching a show where a few episodes were missing, and now the characters were reacting to things he didn’t fully understand.
He had noticed it more during group hangouts, the way something small could shift between you two and suddenly everything felt just a little off, not enough for anyone else to question it out loud, but enough for him to notice. At first, he didn’t think much of it. He assumed it was just what happened when people got closer, the same way he and Will had, the same way things changed when someone became important in a way that didn’t need explanation.
That had to be it.
That was the only version of it that made sense to him.
And still, something about it didn’t sit right.
Because it reminded him, in a way he didn’t expect, of how he felt about Will.
The thought came quietly, not fully formed, more of a comparison than a conclusion. He thought about all the times Will wasn’t around, how that absence always felt sharper than it should have, how it pulled at him in a way that made him want to fix it, to find him, to make sure he was okay. It wasn’t something he questioned. It had always just been there, steady and constant, a connection that felt natural from the moment it started.
He cared about Will.
That much was simple.
And when he tried to line that feeling up next to what he saw between you and Max, it almost fit, but not quite. There was something else layered into it, something he couldn’t name, something that made your reactions feel different from his own even when the base of it seemed similar.
That was where his thoughts stopped making sense.
Because he didn’t have the words to go further than that.
So instead, he let it sit in that space, unresolved, unfinished, something he would probably circle back to later without even realizing it.
The bike kept moving forward, steady and quiet beneath him, and he didn’t look back to see where your thoughts had taken you, but somehow, without either of you saying it out loud, you were both caught in something that felt bigger than either of you fully understood yet.
Max’s house finally came into view, and with it, whatever fragile space there had been for conversation between you and Mike disappeared entirely, like the moment ahead demanded your full attention before you even reached it. Mike began to slow as you got closer, the steady rhythm of the ride easing into something quieter, something more cautious. The house stood the same as it always had, but something about it felt off immediately.
All the lights were off.
The sight of it settled into your chest in a way you couldn’t ignore, an empty sort of drop that didn’t match what you expected to see. It was unusual, enough to make your stomach twist, but you tried to explain it away before it could fully take hold. With everything going on, maybe Max and her mom had just gone to bed early. Maybe the silence meant nothing more than that.
Mike came to a stop right in front of the house, steadying the bike as you carefully climbed off, your feet meeting the ground as he kept it balanced for you.
“I’ll be back,” you said quietly once you were steady.
He gave you a small smile in response, something gentle, something meant to reassure, even as his eyes followed you a little more closely than usual. You turned toward the house without looking back again, your steps slow at first, then more deliberate, like something inside you already knew what you were walking into even if you hadn’t fully admitted it yet.
With each step, the feeling grew.
You wiped your palms against your clothes without thinking, trying to get rid of the faint dampness there as you reached the front door. For a second, you just stood there, staring at it, before lifting your hand and knocking softly, the sound small and uncertain, like you were afraid of what answering it might mean.
You waited.
Nothing came.
No movement, no sound, no sign that anyone was on the other side.
The silence stretched out longer than it should have, long enough for the unease in your chest to turn into something heavier. Slowly, you turned your head, glancing back toward Mike. The look you gave him said enough on its own, something unsettled, something already starting to break, and he returned it almost immediately, his expression shifting in quiet understanding.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and moved again, this time toward the side of the house. Your steps picked up slightly, urgency slipping in without you fully meaning for it to, your body guiding you toward her room like it had done so many times before.
But this didn’t feel like those times.
When you reached the window, you leaned in just enough to peer through the blinds, expecting something, anything.
Instead, you found nothing.
Empty.
Completely.
The sight of it hit you in a way that didn’t give you time to process gently, your breath catching sharply as your chest tightened all at once. For a second, you just stood there, staring, like if you looked long enough something might reappear, something might prove you wrong.
It didn’t.
And before your mind could catch up, your body was already moving again, faster now, rushing back toward the front of the house. You barely slowed as you reached the window, your eyes searching inside, needing confirmation even though you already knew.
The house was bare.
Furniture gone. Space hollow. No trace of the life that had been there.
You stopped.
Everything hit you at once.
From where he stood, Mike watched it happen in real time, the shift in your posture, the way your movements lost their certainty, the way the realization seemed to land all at once instead of gradually. He set the bike down quickly, the kickstand hitting the ground as he moved without hesitation, jogging toward you with a growing sense that something was very wrong.
By the time he reached you, you were already turning toward him.
You didn’t say anything.
You just reached for him.
Your arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him in like you needed something to hold onto before everything else slipped too far out of reach. He caught you immediately, his own arms coming up around you without a second thought, grounding you in place as you held on.
And as he did, his gaze lifted over your shoulder toward the house.
It only took a second.
The emptiness inside. The silence.
The absence of anything familiar.
It hit him in a way that felt far too familiar.
For a brief moment, it wasn’t this house anymore.
It was another one.
Another quiet that didn’t make sense.
Another time where something important had been taken out of reach without warning.
The Byers’ house, the way it had felt standing there after realizing Will wasn’t just gone for a day, but gone in a way that made everything feel uncertain and wrong. He remembered how it had settled into him all at once, that overwhelming understanding that something had changed and he didn’t know how to fix it. He remembered going home after, not saying much, just finding his mom and holding onto her because it was the only thing that made sense at that moment.
And now, standing here with you, it felt too close to that.
Not the same, but close enough to reopen something he hadn’t fully put away.
He tightened his arms around you slightly, just enough to steady you, just enough to keep you grounded, because he understood that feeling even if he didn’t have the words to explain it.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Because there wasn’t anything you could say yet that would make what you were seeing feel any less real.
“What do you think happened?” you asked, your voice quieter now, thinner around the edges as you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands still gripping onto him like letting go completely might make everything feel worse. He could feel the slight tremble in you, subtle but there, and it made him hold on a little steadier without thinking about it.
“The teacher hasn’t called her name in a week,” you continued, your thoughts rushing ahead of you before you could fully slow them down. “Do you think—”
You stopped yourself.
The rest of the question didn’t make it out, like even saying it aloud would make it too real, too permanent. Your head dropped back against him again, your forehead pressing lightly into his shoulder as your mind filled in the blank anyway, running through possibilities you didn’t want to consider but couldn’t ignore.
Would she really leave like that.
Without saying anything.
Without telling you.
It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like something she would do, not to you, not after everything, but the empty house behind you made it harder to argue against it. You tried to find something that made more sense, something that didn’t feel like it was slipping through your fingers the more you thought about it.
“There has to be some kind of explanation,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, your grip tightening slightly again like you were holding onto that idea just as much as you were holding onto him.
Mike swallowed, his mind still tangled in its own confusion, but he knew he needed to say something, needed to give you something that didn’t send you further into that spiral.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said, his voice careful, measured in a way that showed he was choosing his words instead of just letting them fall out. “Maybe she just moved.”
He didn’t expect it to land.
He didn’t expect it to be enough.
But it was.
You stilled slightly against him, the thought settling into place in a way that felt… possible. It wasn’t perfect, it didn’t answer everything, but it was something solid, something that didn’t feel as heavy as everything else your mind had been trying to build.
Moved.
That made sense.
It explained the house. The silence. The absence.
You held onto him for a second longer, letting that idea settle into you before slowly loosening your grip, pulling back just enough to look at him again.
“You think so?” you asked, searching his face like he might have something more certain to offer.
“Has to be that,” he replied, a little more firmly this time, even if the certainty in his voice didn’t fully match what he was feeling inside. He needed it to sound real. He needed you to believe it, even if he wasn’t entirely sure he did.
Because everything else felt too complicated.
Too unclear.
And he was already struggling to understand why any of this was hitting him the way it was. The emotions sitting in his chest felt tangled, layered in ways he didn’t know how to separate or name properly. That was always the hardest part for him, not the feeling itself, but trying to understand it, trying to figure out what exactly it meant and what he was supposed to do with it.
He pushed it down instead.
Focused on you.
“Let me take you home,” he said gently, his hands moving to your arms, rubbing them lightly in a grounding motion before guiding you to turn with him. “We have a whole day planned tomorrow, remember?”
You nodded, the motion small, almost automatic.
Right now, tomorrow felt far away, but the idea of ending this day, of putting some distance between you and everything that had just happened, sounded like the only thing you really wanted. Sleep felt like the closest thing to escape, even if you knew your thoughts wouldn’t fully let you rest.
Still, it was better than standing here.
Better than staring at an empty house and trying to make sense of something that refused to explain itself.
You let him lead you back to the bike, your movements quieter now, more subdued, the earlier urgency replaced with something heavier, something tired.
And as you climbed back on behind him, one thought lingered quietly in the back of your mind.
If she had really moved.
Then why didn’t she tell you.
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a/n: i hope the effort i made in making parallels for the nth time doesn’t go unnoticed. please say you see them lol.
I have a few ideas if you’d like to think about writing them out or maybe they’ll help out on springing other ideas!
1) Max’s mom; the audience barely saw her relationship with max and how the events of the end of season 3 all really affected it (on screen). Maybe something with that character?
2) Erica; since the reader is getting closer to Lucas, I’d say more Erica cameos throughout the installments? Sprinkle with Dustin since I feel like maybe he’s the one who taught Erica DND (headcanon) when Lucas decided to focus more on basketball
3) Nancy; this is only because I love the character. I have no ideas whatsoever for Nancy being more involved at this point.
4) Chrissy; just in slight ways, maybe similar or even less than Eddie. It’d make sense, similar to Erica, that Chrissy is somewhat involved since reader is on the team. I’m not sure how close the reader would be to her beyond that.
5) Vickie; I want Robin to gush over this girl. How? Seeing as she’s not out to the reader in any way, shape, or form? No clue. I’d love it depicted in some way since season 4 almost immediately jumps into the Robin crushing on the girl.
These are some ideas, take them with a grain of salt since I came up with them on the spot and you know your story the best!
~ 👾
i’d like to say i have something planned with max’s mom but i think it would only be a small little portion. not entirely sure yet since i haven’t gotten to that chapter draft yet.
wait i love this dustin idea. . . stayed tuned for that one maybe!
i really want to incorporate nancy into the story too i just feel like i haven’t had an opening quite yet. maybe i can figure something out for the next chapter but who knows. i’ve been struggling a little bit to keep everyone involved and i’m trying to avoid that the best i can.
chrissy will be a little more involved too but not too much since i don’t feel like i have the ability to write her all that well. (i need to get better at this, trust me i know </3)
not sure how to incorporate vickie just yet but i do want to get robin closer with reader but like i said before with nancy, haven’t really had that opening yet or right time. but i am so trying to work on that trust me!
i love how you’re always able to come up with ideas on the spot, you’re better for this fic than i am atp 😭
OMG I can't believe you updated it!! I'm so happy!!!
i'll read it right noww
thank youuu 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
i'm responding to this so late omg, i'm so sorry </3
i'm so happy to see that people are still enjoying this story. i honestly did not expect so many to have stayed this long. so thank you so much for your support!!
chapter iii. tryouts | wc: 14800 warnings: byler parallels and foreshadowing bc yeah. not proofread. masterlist.
The low hum of voices in the classroom blurred together until it became something distant and shapeless, like waves breaking far away, easy to ignore if you let yourself drift far enough from it. You sat at your desk with your pencil resting loosely between your fingers, your thoughts pulling you somewhere else entirely, somewhere quieter but far heavier.
It had been a week since you had last seen Max, a full week of her desk sitting empty, her absence growing louder with each passing day. It bothered you more than you wanted to admit out loud, and it was strange, almost unsettling, how few people seemed to notice. You and Lucas were the only ones who ever really said anything about it, the only ones who carried that quiet worry around like it mattered.
Everyone else seemed caught up in their own lives, moving forward without stopping to look at the space she left behind. Mike was buried in his schoolwork, determined to fix his grades so he could make that trip to California to see El, and Dustin was still wrapped up in his own world, smiling at nothing as he talked about Suzie like she existed in some perfect place far removed from everything else.
It should have made you happy, seeing them like that, seeing your friends grow into something new, something fuller, but instead there was a sharp edge to it, something bitter that settled under your skin. It felt like all of you were slowly drifting apart without meaning to, like the bonds that once felt unbreakable were loosening in quiet, almost invisible ways. The only thing that still felt steady was Lucas, his presence a small reminder that not everything had slipped out of reach just yet.
Your pencil tapped lightly against your notebook in a steady rhythm you barely registered, your eyes fixed on the window where autumn leaves clung to their branches before giving in to the wind. They twisted and fell in slow spirals, catching the light in a way that should have been beautiful, but your mind refused to settle on it. Instead it circled back, again and again, to the same thoughts you could not quite escape. Your assignment sat unfinished in front of you, words half formed and abandoned, your motivation slipping further away the longer you stared at it.
Around you, your classmates talked and laughed without restraint, their voices rising and overlapping until the whole room felt more like a free period than an actual class. You let out a quiet sigh without meaning to, your shoulders sinking just slightly as you gave in to the distraction of your own thoughts. You told yourself you would finish the essay later, after cheer tryouts, or maybe tonight when everything else had settled down and you could think clearly, though a part of you already knew how unlikely that was.
You were so far inside your own head that the sudden feeling of hands resting on your shoulders pulled you back all at once, your body tensing before you turned quickly to see who had broken through your thoughts so easily. The reaction faded almost instantly when you met familiar eyes, a small smile forming despite yourself as the tension slipped away.
“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to,” Mike said, his voice softer than the noise around you as he lowered himself beside your desk, one knee pressed to the floor while his hand steadied him against the edge of it.
You shook your head gently, glancing once more toward the window as if part of you was still caught there before turning back to him fully, shifting in your seat so your body faced him more naturally. There was something about the way he looked at you, a quiet concern that felt out of place for him and yet entirely genuine.
“You have been tapping that pencil ever since the class got loud so I wanted to know if you were okay,” he continued, his eyes flicking briefly around the room as if noticing the chaos for the first time before settling back on you.
You nodded, offering a small smile that did not quite reach your eyes, one that faltered almost as soon as it appeared. For a moment you considered brushing it off, telling him you were fine just to keep things simple, but he did not look away, and something about that made it harder to pretend.
“Look, I know I’m not Will,” he said after a pause, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the words were heavier than he expected them to be, “but you can still talk to me. You were my first friend, remember?”
The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and something in your chest shifted at the reminder. You felt your expression change before you even realized it, the smile this time coming more naturally, more honestly. When he looked back up, it was clear he had not expected that reaction, his own face easing into a smile in response, the tension in his shoulders loosening as if he had been bracing himself for something far worse.
“It’s just Max,” you admitted quietly, the words feeling heavier once they were out in the open. “I miss her. It was already hard when Will and El moved away and now this just makes everything feel even more empty.”
He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful as he searched for something to say, his gaze drifting again as if the right words might be written somewhere he had not looked yet. You both knew this was not where he was strongest, that comfort did not come easily to him, but that had never stopped him from trying, especially when it came to you. You had seen the effort before, in small moments where he stumbled through things he did not fully understand, and you had always met him there with patience.
There had been times in the past when he said the wrong thing, when his words came out sharp or misplaced, and you had taken him aside later, explaining gently, helping him see what he had missed. He listened every time, even when it was uncomfortable, even when it meant admitting he had been wrong. That willingness had always meant something, more than he probably realized, and now, watching him sit there trying again, you felt that same quiet appreciation settle in your chest.
“Want to stop by her place after school? I’ll tag along for support if you need me to,” he said, his voice careful in a way that made it sound like he was trying not to step on anything fragile. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, tracking your expression as if he could read the answer before you gave it.
You did not respond right away. Your gaze dropped back to your paper, though you were not really seeing the words anymore. The unfinished lines of your essay blurred together as your thoughts shifted, weighing everything without urgency but with a heaviness that made even small decisions feel larger than they should have been. Max’s empty desk. Lucas’s promise you had not broken yet. Tryouts waiting for you after school like a responsibility already sitting on your shoulders. You had said you would be there. You had meant it when you said it. That mattered to you in a way that was not easily pushed aside, even now.
“I have tryouts after school,” you said finally, your voice steady but distant, your pencil still resting loosely in your hand as your attention stayed half anchored to the page.
For a second, there was nothing from Mike. Not even a sound. Then his face shifted in a way that made it obvious he had not expected that answer at all.
“Tryouts?” he repeated, like the word itself did not quite fit in his understanding of you.
“Cheerleading,” you clarified, still not fully looking at him, your eyes lingering on the unfinished paragraph in front of you as if it could somehow keep you grounded in the moment.
“Cheerleading?” he echoed again, but this time it carried more disbelief, his brows lifting as he finally leaned back just slightly to take you in properly.
That time, you did look at him. Not fully turned away from your work, but enough to catch his expression clearly. He was staring at you like something had just clicked into place that he did not know how to process.
He did not say anything after that. Just silence. Not awkward exactly, but heavy in a way that made you shift slightly in your seat. It was not often Mike went quiet like that, not in a way that felt so intentional. It made something in your chest tighten just a little, like you were missing a piece of the conversation you were supposed to understand.
And while you sat there under his gaze, he was not really seeing the classroom anymore.
His mind had gone somewhere else entirely.
He was thinking about the first time he met you.
Back when everything about you had looked different in a way that had not made sense to him at first. Not just your clothes or your posture or the way you carried yourself, but something deeper than that. Something he had not known how to name then but recognized now in hindsight as distance, like you had been standing slightly apart from everyone else even when you were in the same room.
Now, looking at you sitting there with your pencil in hand and your thoughts somewhere far away, he could see it in a way he had not before. Not just the name, not just the assumption everyone else made, but the shift. The difference between then and now. The way your presence changed over time without losing its weight. The way your color palette, the small details of how you dressed and carried yourself, had changed into something that felt more lived in, more yours. Even your expression, quieter now in a way that was not about confidence but about thoughtfulness, about carrying things you did not always say out loud.
He did not say any of that. He just kept looking at you for a moment longer than usual, like he was still trying to understand how someone could feel so familiar and still feel like they were changing right in front of him without asking permission to do it.
Somehow, it had slipped past him without him ever really noticing when it started happening, the way you changed so gradually that it never felt like a single moment he could point to and say that was when everything shifted. When he first met you, you looked like you belonged to a completely different world than the one he lived in, like you had been carefully placed there rather than naturally existing inside it. Everything about you had been precise in a way that almost felt untouchable, outfits that looked chosen with intention rather than preference, colors that were always bright enough to make you stand out even in a crowded hallway, and hair that never seemed out of place, not even once, like it had been set into something permanent before the school day even began. He remembered thinking, without meaning to, that you looked like you had stepped out of one of those perfect displays that were never meant to be touched.
And yet you had spoken to him anyway.
That was the part that never quite made sense to him in hindsight. The fact that you had even looked in his direction at all, let alone talked to him like it was normal, like there was nothing strange about the two of you existing in the same space. Back then, he had never once imagined that you would become friends. Not even in the distant way kids sometimes imagine unlikely things. It had felt too far apart, like the distance between your worlds was something fixed and unchangeable.
But now, sitting here in this classroom with the noise of everyone else fading into something unimportant, it felt like that version of you belonged to a different lifetime entirely.
He had not noticed when it stopped exactly, the bright colors fading first, then the carefully put together outfits, then the way your presence in a room no longer felt like something curated but something real. At some point, without him realizing it, you had shifted into something softer in a different way, something less polished but more grounded, like you were no longer trying to fit into anything that had been decided for you. And somehow, in that change, you had ended up here, sitting beside him in a way that no longer felt surprising at all.
Now you fit there. Not in a forced way, not in a way that felt like you were trying to adjust yourself to him, but in a way that made it feel like it had always been possible. Your music tastes blended into his without effort, songs passing between you both like shared thoughts. Your styles, though different from before, seemed to settle into something that complemented rather than contrasted. Even your interests overlapped in ways that made conversations between you feel easy, like there was never anything to prove or explain.
But sitting there now, with the word tryouts still hanging in the air between you, something else crept into his thoughts, quieter but heavier.
What if that was not permanent.
What if all of this, the ease, the closeness, the plans you had made just a week ago to sneak away together and rebuild something that had started to feel fragile, was only temporary. What if this was the part where you started slipping back into something else, something older, something he was not part of. Something that had always been there waiting for you to return to it without even realizing you had left it behind.
The thought did not sit right with him. It tightened in his chest in a way he did not know how to shake off, because it did not feel dramatic or unrealistic to him. It felt possible. And that made it worse.
He was still caught in it when your voice cut through the silence.
“Mike?” you asked, softer this time, like you had picked up on something shifting in him that you could not quite name, the tension between you both suddenly feeling a little too present, a little too real.
And just like that, he realized he had been staring at you without saying a word.
“Since when was that a thing?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to. His brows pulled together immediately after, like he was already realizing he had spoken before thinking, trying to catch up to the emotion that had slipped through him too fast to control.
The second it left his mouth, something in his expression changed. Not a full retreat, not quite yet, but a visible tightening, like he was trying to pull the words back in before they could settle between you. He glanced at you and seemed to register it all at once, the way your posture shifted slightly, the way your face tightened into something that did not quite know where to land, somewhere between confusion and hurt.
He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out right away.
You knew him well enough to recognize this pattern before it fully formed. Mike Wheeler had never been simple when it came to emotions. He did not carry them in neat, manageable lines that could be explained or softened on command. He either had too much all at once, spilling over in ways that surprised even him, or he shut down completely, stuck inside himself with nowhere for anything to go. And when he could not find the right outlet, when he could not figure out how to say what he actually meant, it often came out wrong. Not cruel on purpose, never intentional, but still sharp enough to leave marks if you were close enough.
And you were always close enough.
It had taken time to understand that about him, time to learn how to read past the tone and into what was actually underneath it. There had been moments where you had to sit with him afterward, after something he said came out too heavy or too fast, and help him untangle it from itself until it made sense again. It was never clean. It was never easy. But it was familiar.
Still, understanding him did not make you immune to it.
There was a difference between knowing why someone hurt you and not feeling it when it happened.
The space between you shifted subtly, Max’s absence disappearing entirely from your thoughts as something else took its place, something immediate and much harder to ignore. The classroom around you continued moving, voices rising and falling in the background, chairs scraping, papers turning, but none of it registered anymore. It was like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you sitting there, the air between you suddenly too aware of itself.
Mike seemed to notice it too. The way he pulled back slightly in his seat, like he was giving you room without being asked, like he was trying to undo the moment even though it had already landed. His expression softened in pieces, frustration giving way to something more uncertain, more careful, like he was trying to figure out how to step forward again without making things worse.
And you noticed yourself hesitating too.
Because now there was that quiet pause between you both where anything you said next could either fix something or tilt it further out of place, and you did not want to get it wrong. So you slowed down, letting the silence stretch just long enough to think, just long enough to feel out what kind of answer would not turn this into something heavier than it already was.
The noise of the classroom faded further until it felt almost unreal, like it belonged to a different place entirely. Even if something had shifted around you, even if someone had raised their voice or laughed too loudly, neither of you would have reacted. You were both too entranced, too aware of each other in a way that made everything else irrelevant for the moment.
“I’m not leaving you or the party, if that’s where you’re coming from,” you said, your tone steadier now, more grounded as you shifted in your seat so you were fully facing him. The movement felt deliberate, like you were choosing to step into the moment instead of letting it drift any further away. You leaned in slightly, enough that the space between you and Mike felt smaller, more intentional, like you were trying to pull him back into something solid. “You know way too much about me for me to leave you now.”
It worked.
You saw it in the way his shoulders loosened first, the tension that had been sitting in him easing out in small increments like he had been holding his breath without realizing it. The sharp edge from before was gone now, replaced with something quieter, something uncertain but no longer defensive. For a second, he just looked at you, like he was still deciding whether to believe you completely or just enough to let himself relax.
Then you moved first, closing the remaining space and pulling him into a hug.
He hesitated.
It was small, almost unnoticeable, but it was there, that split second where he did not fully commit, like his body needed a moment to catch up with the reassurance you had just given him. And then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you too. Not tight at first, not immediate, but careful in a way that made it feel more real, like he was testing whether it was safe to fully settle into it. As the seconds passed, that hesitation faded, and he softened into you completely, his posture changing in a way that made the embrace feel less like a reaction and more like something he had chosen to stay in.
When you finally pulled back, the air between you felt lighter than it had a few minutes ago.
“So, no Max after school?” he asked, his voice calmer now, like he was trying to reenter the conversation without dragging the tension back with him.
You shook your head, your expression dimming just slightly as the reality of it settled back in. “Not today.”
He nodded, accepting it without pushing further, though there was a flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes as he processed it.
“Well,” he said after a moment, leaning back slightly in his seat, “whenever you do want to stop by, I’m there with you.”
It came out casual, like it was nothing more than an offer he would have made for anything else. But it landed heavier than that. Not in a bad way, just in a way that made something in your chest tighten for a second before easing again. The kind of statement that felt simple on the surface but stayed with you longer than expected.
You let yourself smile at him then, real this time, not weighed down or distracted. Just genuine appreciation sitting quietly in your expression as you nodded.
Mike glanced toward the front of the classroom, eyes flicking up to the clock before drifting back to you.
“Let me know if you make the team?” he asked.
You followed his gaze, noticing the time yourself. Five minutes left in class. The end of something small, but still a transition all the same. You turned back to him and gave a small nod.
“Wish me luck?”
He did not even hesitate.
“No, actually, I hope you break a leg so you’re stuck in the party with no worries,” he said, completely flat, expression unchanged as if he had just stated a fact instead of a ridiculous insult disguised as encouragement.
You let out a short scoff, laughter slipping out before you could stop it, light and unguarded in a way that felt good after everything that had just passed between you.
“I fear you truly do mean that,” you said, shaking your head as you finally started gathering your things.
He stood up too, the earlier tension fully gone now, replaced with something easier as he gave you a small smile.
“Of course not,” he said, already turning slightly as if to head back to his seat, pausing just long enough to look at you once more. “Good luck, Y/N.”
-
You tugged at the hem of your gym shorts as you walked closer to the gym doors, like adjusting the fabric could somehow adjust how you felt in them. It did not. If anything, it only made you more aware of everything, the unfamiliar lightness of your outfit, the buzz in your chest that kept building the closer you got, the way your thoughts kept trying to talk you out of this even though your feet refused to turn back. Calling it nervous felt almost too small for what it was. It was that feeling right before stepping into something that could go either way, where every outcome felt equally possible and equally overwhelming.
Your mother had been on the cheer team once, and you knew that fact should have made this feel easier, like there was some kind of inherited confidence waiting to kick in. Instead, it just made you more aware of the gap between expectation and reality, because you were not her, and whatever she had done effortlessly did not automatically translate to you.
And the worst part was the quiet doubt that lingered underneath everything else. Not even dramatic doubt, just the simple, persistent thought that maybe you would not make it. You had not exactly spent time building yourself into this world, not like the other girls who already knew each other, already moved together like they belonged in formation. You had been on the outside of that for long enough that stepping into it now felt like trying to join a rhythm you had not been listening to.
You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to ground yourself, trying to stop your thoughts from spiraling further than they already had. It was too late to back out. You had already said yes to yourself in some quiet way you could not undo now.
You let out a breath and tugged at your shorts again.
“I don’t think that’s going to make them any longer,” a voice said beside you.
You turned slightly, already knowing who it was before you saw him fully.
“Yeah, well, not exactly used to showing my legs this much anymore,” you replied, adjusting them one last time anyway out of habit more than anything else.
Lucas finally caught up fully to your side, his outfit mirroring yours in a way that made the situation feel slightly less intimidating just by comparison alone. There was something grounding about having him there, like you were not walking into this alone even if the outcome was still uncertain.
“You’re fine, relax,” he said easily, like it was the simplest thing in the world, like nerves were something you could just decide not to have.
He slung an arm around your shoulder as you walked, the gesture casual but steady, and you immediately leaned into it without thinking too much about it.
“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “You practically have that spot in the bag.”
Lucas let out a short laugh, pulling his arm away so he could look at you properly as you walked. “Since when did you get so pessimistic?”
You huffed softly, not answering right away, your eyes drifting toward the gym doors ahead. They were already propped open, letting sound spill out into the hallway, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor, scattered voices overlapping, the sharp echo of a space already full of competition and expectation. On one side of the gym, the boys were already moving through basketball tryouts, energy sharp and focused. On the other, the cheer group had claimed their space, stretching, talking, moving in clusters that already looked like they belonged together.
You stopped just a few feet from the entrance.
“At least we’ll be in the same room,” you said after a moment, quieter now, like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.
Lucas stayed beside you, and for a second you just watched everything happening inside without stepping in.
Then you spoke again.
“I told Mike about tryouts.”
That pulled Lucas’s attention fully back to you. The noise from the gym seemed to fade slightly in the background as he looked between you and the entrance, then back again.
“What’d he say?” he asked.
A small breath left you, almost a laugh. “That he hopes I break my leg so I’m stuck in the party.”
Lucas blinked once, then let out a slow laugh, shaking his head like he was trying to decide whether to be surprised or not.
“I was one hundred percent expecting something worse,” he admitted.
“He was fine with it,” you added, tugging lightly at your shorts again without realizing it, “so long as we don’t forget about him.”
Lucas noticed the motion but did not call it out directly this time. Instead, he just gave a small, knowing smile, like he understood more than he was saying.
“Let’s go in,” he said after a beat, nudging his shoulder lightly against yours as he started forward, “before you find a way to turn those into pants or something.”
The two of you stepped through the gym doors together, the change in atmosphere hitting immediately, like crossing into a space where everything suddenly mattered a little more than it did in the hallway. You exchanged a look with Lucas on instinct, nothing dramatic or spoken, just something brief and steady that said the same thing in two different ways. Good luck. Then you peeled away from each other, each heading toward opposite sides of the gym as if the space itself was quietly assigning roles before anything even began.
You moved toward the cheer side, your bag slipping off your shoulder as you scanned for an empty spot that did not feel like it already belonged to someone else. There was a brief, strange awareness of yourself as you set it down, like you were suddenly more visible than you had been in the hallway. Then you forced yourself to stop thinking about that and instead focused on what you could control.
Stretching.
It was simple enough to feel grounding. You lowered yourself into the first position, easing into basic leg stretches, letting the pull in your muscles replace the tension in your chest. One movement at a time. That was all it needed to be. You did not rush it, even though part of you wanted to, like speed could somehow get you through the uncertainty faster. Instead, you followed what your mother had shown you just two days ago, her voice still faintly present in your memory as you shifted positions. Small corrections, reminders to hold, to breathe, to stay steady. It was strange how something so short could still linger in your body like it had been practiced longer than it actually had.
You moved through hip stretches next, letting yourself sink into them properly, feeling the stiffness loosen in increments. With each movement, your awareness of the room softened slightly. The noise of other girls warming up, the echo of sneakers against polished floor, the distant rhythm of basketball tryouts on the other side of the gym, it all blurred into something less sharp. Not gone, just less immediate.
By the time you reached your arm stretches, there was a small sense of control settling back into you. Not confidence exactly, but something quieter. Familiarity, maybe. The idea that your body knew what to do even if your thoughts were still catching up.
You were mid stretch, arms extended, when a voice cut through the cluster of sounds around you.
A blonde girl, standing a little forward from the rest, called for everyone to come in closer.
The shift was immediate. Conversations faded. Movements slowed. One by one, the girls began to gather, forming a loose huddle that tightened as more joined. You pushed yourself up from your stretch and followed, stepping into the group with a few others, feeling the subtle shift in energy as attention began to collect at the center.
The circle tightened until there was barely any space between you and the other girls, the kind of closeness that made you suddenly aware of every small movement, every breath, every shift of weight from one foot to the other. The gym felt quieter in a different way now, not because the noise had stopped, but because all of it had been pushed to the edges of your attention. In the center of the huddle stood the blonde girl, steady and composed in a way that made it easy to understand why everyone had followed her without question.
She offered a small smile first, the kind that felt practiced but not unkind, like she was used to stepping into rooms and immediately holding them together.
“Hi everyone,” she said, voice clear enough to carry without trying too hard. “I’m Chrissy.”
The name clicked somewhere in your mind, familiar in the way certain people were known without ever needing an introduction. Cheer captain. That made sense almost instantly, even before anything else about her confirmed it. There was a kind of ease in the way she stood there, like she belonged exactly where she was and did not need to prove it.
She glanced around the circle, making eye contact where she could, her expression softening just slightly.
“First of all, I just want to say thank you for coming out today. I know tryouts can be a little stressful,” she added, a small laugh slipping in like she understood it personally, “but really, we’re just looking for effort and teamwork. That’s what matters most.”
Her words were simple, but they settled into the group in a way that made the tension in your shoulders ease just a fraction. Not disappear, but loosen.
She shifted her weight slightly, gesturing toward the rest of the gym where the space had been marked out.
“We’re going to start with some basic across the floor stuff,” Chrissy continued. “Nothing too complicated. Just want to see how you move, how you listen, and how you work with counts.”
You subtly adjusted your stance, rolling your shoulders back the way your mother had shown you, trying to ground yourself in something physical instead of letting your thoughts drift. Across the circle, you could feel the same quiet focus forming in the other girls, the collective understanding that this was where things began to count.
Chrissy clapped her hands once, not loud, but enough to signal attention.
“We’ll go one group at a time,” she said. “Don’t overthink it. Just follow along and do your best.”
Her eyes briefly passed over the group again, and for a moment, it felt less like being evaluated and more like being seen. Then she stepped slightly aside, motioning toward the floor space as the first set of girls began to move forward, the tryouts finally shifting from waiting into something real.
You stayed where you were for a moment as the first group stepped forward, watching them take their positions on the floor. The gym suddenly felt different in motion, like something had finally been switched on. The kind of quiet that came right before sound filled it again, before movement replaced stillness. You could hear the faint echo of counting being called out somewhere near the front, Chrissy’s voice guiding them through the first set with an ease that made it look almost effortless from a distance.
You swallowed once, subtly shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Your arms rested loosely at your sides, but your fingers kept flexing without permission, like your body was trying to release energy your mind had not fully caught up with yet. You watched the first group begin their sequence, simple motions at first, clean enough, synchronized in a way that told you they had probably practiced together before this moment. That realization settled in your chest in a way you did not fully acknowledge.
This was not just about skill. It was about familiarity too.
You exhaled quietly through your nose and forced your attention back to your own body, rolling your shoulders once more, grounding yourself again. You could do this. Not perfectly, not like someone who had lived in this world for years, but enough. Enough had to be enough.
Chrissy moved along the side of the floor, observing, occasionally calling out a correction or a reminder. Nothing harsh. Just direction. When she spoke, it never felt like she was tearing anyone down, only guiding them back into place.
After the first group finished, there was a brief shuffle as they stepped back into the circle, some of them exchanging small glances, others quietly adjusting their hair or catching their breath. Then Chrissy clapped again, signaling the next set.
Your name hadn’t been called yet.
You waited.
The waiting was almost worse than moving. It gave your thoughts too much room.
Across the gym, you could still faintly register the other side, basketball tryouts continuing in bursts of motion and sound. A ball hitting the floor. A sharp whistle. Someone calling out instructions. It felt like another world entirely, but still close enough to remind you that Lucas was somewhere in that chaos, probably already trying to look more relaxed than he actually was.
You almost smiled at that thought before pulling yourself back.
Then Chrissy’s voice lifted again, clearer now as she gestured toward the next group.
“Alright, next group up.”
You shifted before you even fully registered it, stepping forward with the others as your feet carried you into the open space. The floor felt larger up close, more exposed, like the air itself had changed pressure. You took your place in line, rolling your shoulders one last time, and glanced briefly toward the front.
Chrissy’s eyes passed over the group, attentive but calm.
And then the music started.
The sound came in through the gym speakers slightly distorted, that thin, echoing quality that made everything feel a little further away than it really was. It was simple rhythm, steady and repetitive, nothing flashy or overwhelming, just something to keep time. The kind of beat you were meant to move with rather than think about.
Chrissy gave a small nod toward the group.
“Just follow the counts,” she said. “Don’t rush it. Stay together.”
And then she started it herself, not performing, not showing off, just marking it clearly so everyone could see the timing. One, two, three, four. Her movements were clean, controlled, easy to read, like she had done them so many times they no longer required thought.
You watched for exactly one count longer than you should have, then forced yourself to fall in.
Arms up.
Step.
Shift.
Turn.
At first it felt slightly stiff, like your body was negotiating with your mind, but then something loosened. Not confidence exactly, but memory. Muscle remembering instruction. Your mother’s voice surfaced again in fragments, small corrections you had not realized you had stored. Shoulders back. Don’t overextend. Let it be clean, not forced.
You followed it.
Around you, the group moved in varying degrees of certainty. Some were sharp, already in sync, others a half beat behind, catching up as they went. It did not feel like failure so much as adjustment, like everyone was slowly finding the same rhythm from different starting points.
You kept your eyes forward, only occasionally glancing to the side to stay aligned. The floor beneath you felt less intimidating once you stopped thinking about it as a stage and started treating it like space. Just space you had to move through properly.
One, two, three, four.
You repeated it in your head without meaning to.
There was a moment where your timing almost slipped, a half second of hesitation when you second guessed the next motion, but you recovered quickly, smoothing it out before it could become noticeable. Your heart still picked up slightly at it, but you did not let it show.
Chrissy moved along the edge again, watching, occasionally stepping in with a quiet correction to someone nearby. When she passed your line of sight, her gaze briefly flicked over you, not lingering, just noting, before she continued on.
The music carried you forward.
By the time the sequence ended, your breathing was slightly heavier, your arms warmed from movement, your focus narrowed into something more present than it had been all day. The group came to a stop together, some more neatly than others, and for a second there was only the sound of the gym again, the squeak of shoes settling, the faint buzz of anticipation returning.
Chrissy stepped forward and gave a small, approving nod.
“Good,” she said simply. “That’s exactly what we’re looking for. We’ll go again, same thing, a little faster this time.”
A few quiet exhales passed through the group.
You adjusted your stance slightly, rolling your shoulders back again, letting your fingers relax at your sides. This time, the nerves were still there, but they were different. Less sharp. More focused.
You were not out of place yet.
And for now, that was enough to keep going.
The second run started almost immediately, Chrissy clapping once and letting the beat roll back in without giving the group much time to settle into their thoughts again. This time it was faster, just enough to make the difference between thinking and doing feel thinner, like there was no room left for hesitation.
You exhaled slowly and let yourself move before your nerves could rebuild.
One, two, three, four.
There was something different about how your body responded this time. Still controlled, still careful, but less interrupted. The stiffness that had been there before started to dissolve into something more natural, like you were no longer translating steps in your head before doing them. You just were.
Around you, the group tightened. Movements sharpened, some girls finding their rhythm more clearly now, others still catching up to the pace. But you stopped comparing yourself to it. You stopped looking for where you fit in and just focused on being in it.
Arms lifted on time.
Turn clean.
Step grounded.
You let the counts sit inside you instead of fighting them.
Somewhere in the middle of the sequence, you felt it shift. Not suddenly, not dramatically, but in the way attention sometimes lingers without you realizing it. Chrissy passed again along the edge of the floor, and this time her gaze paused just a fraction longer when it reached you. Not judgmental. Not surprised. Just noticing. Like she was registering something that did not need to be corrected.
You did not react outwardly.
You just kept going.
Your movements were not the loudest in the room. They were not the most aggressive or the most showy. But they were clean in a way that stood out because they did not ask for attention. There was no excess in them, no strain to prove anything. Just control settling into place.
And slowly, something inside you eased.
The fear of the room stopped feeling like it was sitting on your shoulders. It moved further back, replaced by something quieter, more focused. You could still feel it, but it was no longer driving you.
Instead, something else started to take its place.
The thought of your mom came in first. Not as pressure, but as memory. Her telling you to commit to the movement, to trust your body more than your doubt. Not to look perfect, just to look certain. That stayed with you as you turned, as you landed each step a little more confidently than before.
Then, unexpectedly, Steve came to mind.
Not in a loud way, not like a spotlight moment, but in a simple, almost offhand memory. Him making some exaggerated comment about you doing something you swore you would never do. Him laughing like he already knew you were going to surprise yourself anyway. That weird, steady belief he had in people even when they did not fully believe in themselves yet.
You let that thought sit there for a second, and something in your expression softened without you realizing it.
The final count came faster than the first run, but you did not miss it.
One last step. Clean. Together.
And then stillness.
The music cut, leaving a brief echo in the gym before it faded entirely. The group came to a stop, and this time there was less uncertainty in how everyone landed. A few small adjustments, a few breaths being caught, but overall it felt more solid than before.
You stood with your arms lowered, chest rising and falling evenly, realizing only now that you were not shaking anymore.
Chrissy stepped forward again.
She looked across the line slowly, taking her time this time, not rushing past anyone.
When her eyes reached you, she paused again. Just briefly. Enough for you to notice, but not enough to feel singled out in a bad way.
Then she gave a small nod.
“Okay,” she said, voice calm but clearer now. “Good job. That was much better.”
She shifted her weight slightly, glancing toward the other side of the gym before looking back at the group.
“We’re going to narrow things down after the next set,” she added. “Same energy. Don’t overthink it.”
A quiet ripple moved through the group at that, nerves returning in small waves, but yours did not rise the same way this time.
You rolled your shoulders once, subtle, resetting yourself.
The third run came after a shorter pause, almost like Chrissy wanted to see who could hold onto what they had just found without losing it again. The music started up once more, and this time there was less explanation, less cushioning. Just expectation.
You stepped into it without waiting for doubt to catch up.
One, two, three, four.
Your body remembered faster now. The counts did not feel like instructions anymore, just rhythm you were already inside of. You could feel the difference in the room too. The group was starting to separate itself quietly, not in obvious ways, but in timing, in control, in how much attention each person needed to stay with it.
You did not need much.
That was the shift.
Your arms moved cleanly, not exaggerated, not underdone. Just enough to be readable, just enough to be sharp without feeling forced. When you turned, you stayed centered. When you stepped, you committed fully instead of second guessing halfway through.
There was a moment where you caught yourself almost smiling, not because anything was funny, but because something inside you finally stopped resisting. The nervous energy had not disappeared, but it had changed shape. It had turned into focus.
You were aware of everything now, but not overwhelmed by it.
Chrissy was still moving along the edge, but you could feel her attention pass over the group differently this time. More selective. More deliberate. When she looked at someone, it lingered just long enough to matter.
When she looked at you, it did not feel like pressure.
It felt like acknowledgment.
You kept going.
At some point, you stopped thinking about the others entirely. Not out of arrogance, but because it no longer helped. You could feel them around you, hear the faint differences in timing, but your attention stayed inside your own lane. Clean movement. Clean counts. Clean execution.
And somewhere in the middle of it, the thought returned again.
Your parents.
Your mom, specifically, and the way she used to talk about discipline like it was something quiet, something you built over time without announcing it to anyone. You wondered, briefly, if she would recognize this version of you. Not the unsure one who had walked into the gym earlier, but this one. The one who had stopped fighting the moment and started moving with it.
Then Steve again, softer this time, like a background thought you did not have to push away. Just a reminder that people could see you differently than you saw yourself in moments like this.
You landed the final count of the sequence without hesitation.
One last step.
Stillness.
The music cut again, and this time the silence felt sharper, like it was waiting for something to happen.
Chrissy stepped forward immediately.
She did not speak right away. She just looked at the group, scanning slowly, her expression thoughtful in a way that made your stomach tighten slightly before settling again.
Then she nodded once, like she had made a decision.
“Okay,” she said, a little more definite this time. “That’s what we needed to see.”
A few girls shifted beside you, subtle reactions, quiet exhales, small exchanges of looks. You stayed still, but your heart picked up just slightly, not in panic now, but in anticipation.
Chrissy’s gaze moved across the line again, slower this time, more intentional.
And when it landed on you, it stayed.
Not long enough to be dramatic.
Just long enough to matter.
Then she gave a small, almost approving smile.
“You can all step back for a moment,” she said, motioning gently toward the side. “We’ll make final cuts after we run the last group.”
The tension in the room loosened all at once, but you felt something else rise underneath it.
Because you already knew, even before you moved, that something about the way she looked at you had changed. And for the first time since you walked into the gym, you allowed yourself to believe you might actually be staying.
You stepped back with the rest of the group, but it did not feel like retreating anymore, it felt more like returning to yourself after being held in place for a while, like your body finally had permission to stop performing and just exist again. The gym noise came back in gradually, not all at once, but in layers, like your attention had been peeled away from it and was only now settling back into it. Around you, some girls immediately started talking, small bursts of nervous laughter or reassurances, others just stood quietly, replaying the sequence in their heads with subtle shifts of expression that gave away how they thought they had done.
You stayed quiet.
Not out of uncertainty anymore, but out of something steadier, something that did not need to be spoken to feel real. Your hands rested at your sides as you exhaled slowly, letting your breathing fall back into something normal instead of controlled. Your body still carried the rhythm of the counts in a faint echo, like it had not fully let go of them yet, and you found that you did not mind it.
Across the gym, the basketball side was still moving, still loud in its own way, but it felt further now, like it belonged to a different conversation entirely. You did not search for Lucas this time, not because you did not care, but because you did not need to anchor yourself through him anymore in that exact moment. Something about that realization sat quietly in your chest, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable.
Chrissy moved toward the center again, gathering the remaining girls with a simple gesture that did not need repetition. There was a calmness in the way she handled the space, like she understood that everyone was already carrying enough tension without her adding more to it. When she spoke, it was not loud, but it carried cleanly through the gym without effort.
“We’re going to bring the last group through,” she said, glancing briefly at the clipboard in her hands before looking back up, “and then we’ll finish reviewing everything before we call anyone back in.”
You shifted your weight slightly, rolling your shoulders back once more without thinking about it, more out of habit now than nerves. There was still anticipation sitting under your skin, but it was no longer sharp or overwhelming, it had settled into something quieter, something patient. You had done what you needed to do. The rest was no longer in your control.
The final group moved forward, and you watched them without comparison this time, not measuring yourself against them or trying to predict outcomes through their performance. Instead, you just observed, present enough to notice details but detached enough not to spiral into them. A clean turn here, a slightly delayed count there, a moment of hesitation that would probably matter or maybe not at all depending on what Chrissy was looking for.
It struck you then how much of this was not just about movement, but about presence, about how someone held themselves even when they were unsure. You had not fully understood that when you walked in, but now it made more sense, like something you had been slowly learning without realizing.
When the final sequence ended, the gym fell into a deeper quiet than before, the kind that felt heavier because it meant decisions were being made somewhere just out of sight. Chrissy stepped back toward the group again, but this time she did not immediately speak, instead taking a moment that stretched just long enough for everyone to feel it.
You could feel your heartbeat again, but it was steady, not frantic.
She looked up.
“Alright,” she said finally, her voice still even but more final now, “if I call your name, I want you to stay and come see me after. Everyone else, thank you for coming out today.”
The words landed in the space like something physical, simple but loaded with consequence. You stood still, your hands resting loosely, your attention narrowing without forcing it, waiting without tension even as the air around you changed.
Chrissy glanced down at her list.
Then she began to call names.
The first few names came and went in a steady rhythm, each one breaking the silence just enough to make your attention sharpen before releasing it again when it was not yours. You stayed still, not because you were trying to appear calm, but because there was nothing left in you that needed to move unnecessarily anymore. The nervous energy had burned itself down into something quieter, something that sat beneath your ribs instead of shaking through your limbs.
Each time Chrissy looked up from the list, your chest tightened slightly on instinct, then loosened again when she moved on. Around you, the other girls reacted in small ways, a hand pressed briefly to a mouth, a quiet exhale, a subtle step forward or back depending on what they were hearing. You noticed all of it without attaching yourself to it.
Then she paused.
Just a fraction longer than before.
Your name had not been said yet, but something about the way her eyes moved across the page made the space feel different, like the list had reached a section that mattered more than the ones before it.
She looked up.
And when she spoke again, her voice stayed steady, but it landed differently.
“Y/N.”
For a second, there was only sound and stillness, like the gym itself held its breath around the word. You did not move immediately, not because you were unsure you heard her, but because your body needed a moment to accept that it had actually been called. Then you stepped forward.
It was not dramatic. It was not rushed. It was just clear.
You walked out of the line and toward the center, feeling every eye in the space settle on you for a brief moment before fading again into the background. Chrissy gave you a small nod, not overly expressive, but unmistakably intentional, and gestured for you to stand slightly to the side with the others who had been called.
You did.
As you took your place, something in your chest shifted, not loudly, not explosively, but in a way that felt final in the best sense of the word. Like a door you had been standing in front of without realizing it had just opened.
From somewhere across the gym, you caught a glimpse of Lucas watching, his posture subtly straightening when he saw you step out. You did not need him to say anything to understand what his expression meant, but even so, there was something grounding about it, something familiar that made the moment feel less unreal.
Chrissy continued calling names behind you, but the sound faded slightly as your attention settled into your own body again. You stood there with the others, shoulders relaxed, hands steady, and for the first time since walking into the gym, you were not trying to prove you belonged anywhere.
You had already done that.
And now all that was left was confirmation.
The feeling did not arrive all at once, it settled in slowly, like your body was only now allowing itself to understand what your mind had already been told. You were still standing in the same place, still in the same gym, still surrounded by the same noise and movement, but everything felt slightly altered, like the edges of the moment had softened just enough to make it feel less sharp.
Around you, the other girls who had made the team began to shift into smaller conversations, some exchanging quiet congratulations, others already talking about what came next as if the uncertainty of tryouts had simply been replaced with a different kind of anticipation. You stayed where you were for a moment longer, letting it all pass around you without needing to immediately join it.
Chrissy was still at the front, organizing papers and speaking softly with one of the assistant coaches, her presence calm even now that the formal part was over. When she glanced up again, her eyes briefly found yours in the crowd. She did not call you over or gesture for anything, just gave a small nod that carried more meaning than anything verbal could have. It was subtle, but it landed.
You returned it.
From the side of the gym, you could see Lucas making his way closer now that things were breaking apart, weaving through the shifting groups of people with an ease that came from knowing exactly where he needed to be without needing directions. When he reached the edge of your space, he stopped just long enough to look at you properly, like he was making sure it was real and not something that might still change if he blinked too fast.
“You made it,” he said, like he still needed to hear it out loud.
You nodded once, the smile that followed this time staying longer than it had before. “Yeah.”
There was a pause between you that did not need filling, not awkward, just full in a different way. Lucas let out a small breath, shaking his head slightly like he was still processing it himself.
“Your mom is going to lose it in a good way,” he said after a moment, and there was something light in his tone that helped ground the moment even more, something that made it feel less like an achievement you had to carry alone.
That pulled a quiet laugh out of you, softer than anything you had done earlier, but more genuine than all of it combined. “Yeah,” you admitted, adjusting the strap of your bag as it suddenly felt a little heavier in a way that did not bother you, “I think she’s going to be proud.”
The words sat with you after you said them, not as pressure, but as something steady. Something you had been reaching toward without fully naming it until now.
Across the gym, movement continued to wind down, tryouts dissolving into scattered conversations and slow exits, the space no longer holding the same intensity it had earlier. You could feel yourself easing into it too, the tension finally leaving your shoulders completely as the reality of the day caught up with you in full.
Lucas nudged you lightly with his shoulder, already starting to walk backward toward the exit with you beside him.
“Come on,” he said, glancing at you with a small grin, “you still owe me a full recap of how you went from ‘I might die in there’ to actually making it.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no real resistance in it as you started walking with him, the sound of your footsteps blending into the fading energy of the gym behind you.
“I did not say I might die,” you replied, though your tone lacked any real defense.
“You absolutely implied it,” he shot back immediately, and that earned a proper laugh from you this time, one that felt like it belonged outside the gym just as much as it did inside it.
As you reached the doors again, you paused for only a second, glancing back over your shoulder. The gym looked different now than it had when you first walked in, not because anything had physically changed, but because you had. The space no longer felt like something you were trying to earn your way into.
It felt like something you had already stepped through.
Then you turned forward again and walked out with Lucas beside you, the sound of the gym fading behind you as the hallway opened up ahead, carrying you back into everything else waiting outside of it.
-
“This is so exhausting,” you sighed under your breath as you finally set your pencil down, letting your body collapse backward onto your bed like your bones had given up the idea of holding you upright any longer. The assignment sat unfinished on your stomach for a second before you shifted it aside, staring up at your ceiling like it might offer you some kind of answer you had not already gone over in your head ten times.
If you had gotten this earlier, you would have finished it in one sitting without thinking twice about it, but now it felt like every sentence you tried to write got interrupted by something else entirely, something that refused to stay quiet. Max was still there, lingering in the back of your mind in a way that did not feel temporary anymore, like she had taken up space you could not just ignore or push aside, and the longer you sat there the more you wished you had just asked Mike to wait for you after tryouts instead of letting everything drift into separate directions.
You turned onto your side and glanced at the clock, watching the numbers glow back at you in a way that felt almost judgmental, 8:45 sitting there like a reminder that time was still moving whether you were ready for it or not. You should have been settling down by now, should have been easing into the end of the night so tomorrow would not feel like it was coming at you too fast, especially with the plans you and Mike had waiting for you tomorrow, something that was supposed to be fun and exciting. But there was nothing simple about the way your thoughts kept circling back to the same place, the same redhead, the same unanswered space in your head that made it hard to focus on anything else, and the more you tried to ignore it the more it seemed to press in.
Frustration built slowly, not in a sudden burst but in layers, until it finally reached a point where it felt like it had nowhere else to go, and before you even really thought about it you shoved your books off the bed with more force than necessary. They hit the floor with a dull thud that immediately made you regret it, the sound snapping you out of whatever spiral had been building in your chest.
“Crap,” you muttered, already leaning forward to fix what you had just done, reaching down to gather your things back together as if putting them back in order could undo the feeling that had come with it.
Before you could fully sit up again, your bedroom door swung open without warning, making you freeze halfway down toward the floor.
“Is everything okay?” Steve asked, his head appearing in the doorway first before he stepped in a little further like he was trying to gauge the situation before fully committing to it.
“Knock maybe?” you shot back immediately, still bent over your bed as you grabbed your scattered papers and pulled them back together, smoothing them out with slightly more force than necessary.
“Woah, what’s with the crappy attitude?” he replied, pushing the door open wider as he fully entered your room now, clearly not planning on leaving anytime soon.
“Nothing,” you said quickly, not looking up as you tried to straighten out the corner of one page that had bent during the fall, your focus suddenly fixed on anything that was not the conversation. “Do you need something?”
“Mike does, apparently,” Steve answered, leaning back slightly like he was already done with his part of the job, “no funny business or I’ll snitch to everyone since you want to be an ass.”
He stepped aside after saying it, moving just enough to reveal Mike standing awkwardly in the doorway behind him, like he had been waiting for permission to exist in the room rather than actually entering it.
“You’re just bitter, you have no game!” you called after Steve without thinking, finally standing up from your bed and shoving your books back into place before moving toward the door to close it, more out of instinct than anything else.
Steve muttered something under his breath as he left, disappearing down the hallway and leaving the door half closed behind him.
Mike stepped fully into your room now, though he still looked like he was trying to figure out where to put his hands, standing a little too straight by your desk as his backpack strap hung loosely off one shoulder. His eyes followed you for a second, taking in the way you were moving, the way your frustration still seemed to sit just under the surface even if you were trying to smooth it over.
He did not say anything immediately.
He just watched you for a moment longer than usual, like he was trying to decide how to approach you without making things worse.
“Are you ready?” he finally asked, tugging slightly at his backpack strap like he needed something to do with his hands while he waited for your answer.
“That’s tomorrow,” you answered automatically, throwing yourself back onto your bed face first.
“Not that,” Mike said after a second, still standing there, still watching you carefully. “To see Max.”
You immediately sat up so fast it was almost like your body had been waiting for the permission to move, the shift so sudden it cut clean through whatever frustration had been sitting on you a second ago. There was no hesitation in it now, no dragging weight in your thoughts, just a sharp, immediate focus that replaced everything else in one clean motion.
Mike barely had time to react before you were already moving.
You crossed the space between you in a few quick steps and wrapped your arms around him with a kind of relieved intensity that caught him off guard, like you were letting go of something you had been holding in for far too long without realizing it. He let out a small, surprised laugh as his arms lifted hesitantly before settling around you in return, still a little awkward but steady enough to count. It was brief, not lingering, but it landed in a way that felt grounding rather than overwhelming.
When you pulled away, it was just enough to breathe again, just enough to reset, and you were already turning toward your room again before the moment could settle into anything heavier. Your leather jacket was lying a short distance away, half forgotten from earlier, and you grabbed it quickly, shrugging it on in one smooth motion that felt more certain than anything you had done all night.
Mike watched you, still standing where you had left him in the center of your room, like he was trying to keep up with how quickly your energy had shifted.
You hooked your fingers lightly around his arm without thinking, tugging him toward the door with a sense of urgency that finally felt clear instead of scattered.
“Let’s go!” you said, already halfway out of the room before he even fully caught up.
Mike stumbled a half step, then steadied himself as he let himself be pulled along, shaking his head slightly like he was still processing the speed of the change but not fighting it. Outside your room, the hallway felt quieter than it had earlier, the house settling into the night around you both, but you did not slow down for it.
Whatever had been weighing on you before did not disappear completely, but it moved into the background now, pushed aside by something sharper, something more immediate.
Max was waiting.
And for once, you did not hesitate long enough to let anything else get in the way.
Mike insisted on you riding on the back of his bike, his way of “repaying” you for tomorrow, he said it like it was something that made complete sense, like there was a balance between the two of you that he was trying to keep even. You didn’t argue. You didn’t have it in you to argue. So now here you were, seated behind him as he pedaled, your hands lightly holding onto him while the cold night air brushed against your skin in a way that should have been refreshing but instead only made you more aware of everything you couldn’t quiet.
The ride stretched on in a steady rhythm, the soft sound of the tires rolling over pavement filling the silence between you. Neither of you spoke. It wasn’t tense, not exactly, just quiet in a way that felt understood, like both of you were somewhere else entirely even while sharing the same space. Mike stayed focused ahead, his movements consistent, while you sat behind him with your thoughts moving far faster than the bike ever could.
Max had already taken up space in your mind long before you left your house, so it wasn’t surprising that she was still there now, louder than everything else combined. You missed her in a way that didn’t feel simple anymore, not just missing her presence but missing the ease of what you used to have before everything shifted into something more fragile. It made you think of things you hadn’t wanted to admit out loud, ideas that felt like they came from a place of desperation more than clarity.
You wondered if maybe the only way to keep her was to let that part of it go.
If you told her you just wanted to be friends, if you stepped back into something familiar, maybe things could go back to how they were. You could admire her quietly again, the way you always had before any of this became real, before it started to matter in ways that made her pull away. She could go back to being unaware, back to existing in that space where your feelings didn’t complicate anything, where she didn’t have to think too hard about you or what you meant.
And you would still get to have her.
Just not in the way you wanted.
The thought sat heavy in your chest, both comforting and painful at the same time, because even considering it meant acknowledging what you would be giving up. Letting her go like that didn’t mean the feelings disappeared. It just meant you would carry them differently, quieter, hidden in a way that no one else would have to deal with.
You leaned forward slightly, your forehead resting against his back for a moment as your eyes unfocused, the dim streetlights passing by in slow intervals. It felt easier to think with something steady beneath you, even if your thoughts refused to settle into anything that made sense.
It was the world you lived in.
That was the part you kept coming back to, the part that made everything feel smaller than it actually was. The eighties didn’t exactly leave room for things like this to unfold easily, not without consequence, not without risk. You tried to tell yourself it was natural, that maybe this was just something people went through, something temporary, something that faded with time once it had been explored enough to understand.
Maybe this was just an experiment.
Maybe it was something that was never meant to last as long as you had wanted it to.
You swallowed, your grip tightening slightly as the bike shifted beneath you, your thoughts continuing to circle without stopping.
Eventually, you told yourself, you would meet someone else. Someone who understood you in a way that didn’t require explanation, someone you could be yourself with without hesitation, someone who could meet you where you were instead of leaving you to question everything on your own. You couldn’t be the only one in the world who felt like this, the only one who looked at girls the way you did, the only one who carried something like this quietly.
But then again, how would you know.
Your world wasn’t exactly full of examples.
The thought lingered, uncertain and distant, not something you could hold onto yet.
And then, like it always did, your mind shifted again, landing somewhere you didn’t like but couldn’t avoid.
What if you just settled.
Not because you wanted to, not because it felt right, but because it was easier, because it was what people did when the alternative felt too complicated to exist out loud. A good man, someone kind, someone safe. Maybe attraction wasn’t something immediate, maybe it was something that came with time, something you could learn if you gave it enough effort.
Maybe you just hadn’t given it a chance.
Your friends had never counted. They had always just been your friends, nothing more, nothing you had ever tried to see differently. And if it wasn’t some random guy, then there was always the joke you and Will made, something that used to feel distant and almost funny, about ending up together one day if everything else failed. A life that looked right from the outside, something that wouldn’t raise questions, something that would make everything easier in ways that mattered to everyone else.
The idea didn’t feel light anymore.
It sat heavier now, more real than it should have been, because the thought of hiding something like this for the rest of your life didn’t feel like a solution.
It felt like losing something you hadn’t even fully gotten to have.
You shifted again behind Mike, adjusting your hold on him as the road stretched out in front of you, your thoughts still restless, still searching for something that would make all of this feel less complicated.
But no matter how far your mind wandered, no matter how many different paths it tried to take, it always circled back to the same place.
To her.
And the fact that you were still on your way to see her anyway.
Unbeknownst to you, Mike’s thoughts were not all that different, even if they didn’t take shape in the same clear way yours did. He stayed focused on the road ahead, his pedaling steady, his posture unchanged, but his mind kept circling back to the same place over and over again without ever fully landing somewhere that made sense.
He didn’t understand it.
Not completely.
He knew you cared about Max, that much was obvious, it had been obvious for a while now, but the way it seemed to sit with you lately felt different, heavier in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He tried to break it down in the simplest way he could, tried to make it fit into something he already understood instead of something new he didn’t have the words for.
Maybe it was just because she was the only girl you had really gotten close to since El.
That seemed reasonable enough at first. It gave him something to hold onto, something that didn’t feel too complicated. But the longer he thought about it, the less it held up. You had Nancy, you talked to her more than most people did, and lately even Erica had started to gravitate toward you in her own quiet way.
Ever since she got her hands on Will’s old DnD stuff, she had been asking questions, small ones at first, like she didn’t want to admit she was interested but couldn’t help it anyway. And she had come to you about it, not anyone else, like there was something about you that made it easier for her to say things out loud.
You thought it was sweet, told the rest of the party later like it was something light, something special.
So it couldn’t just be that.
His grip on the handlebars tightened slightly as he adjusted his pace, his thoughts continuing to move without really organizing themselves into anything useful. The dynamic between you and Max had never made complete sense to him, not in a way he could follow from beginning to end. It always felt like he had missed something important somewhere along the way, like he had walked into the middle of a story without seeing how it started.
Like watching a show where a few episodes were missing, and now the characters were reacting to things he didn’t fully understand.
He had noticed it more during group hangouts, the way something small could shift between you two and suddenly everything felt just a little off, not enough for anyone else to question it out loud, but enough for him to notice. At first, he didn’t think much of it. He assumed it was just what happened when people got closer, the same way he and Will had, the same way things changed when someone became important in a way that didn’t need explanation.
That had to be it.
That was the only version of it that made sense to him.
And still, something about it didn’t sit right.
Because it reminded him, in a way he didn’t expect, of how he felt about Will.
The thought came quietly, not fully formed, more of a comparison than a conclusion. He thought about all the times Will wasn’t around, how that absence always felt sharper than it should have, how it pulled at him in a way that made him want to fix it, to find him, to make sure he was okay. It wasn’t something he questioned. It had always just been there, steady and constant, a connection that felt natural from the moment it started.
He cared about Will.
That much was simple.
And when he tried to line that feeling up next to what he saw between you and Max, it almost fit, but not quite. There was something else layered into it, something he couldn’t name, something that made your reactions feel different from his own even when the base of it seemed similar.
That was where his thoughts stopped making sense.
Because he didn’t have the words to go further than that.
So instead, he let it sit in that space, unresolved, unfinished, something he would probably circle back to later without even realizing it.
The bike kept moving forward, steady and quiet beneath him, and he didn’t look back to see where your thoughts had taken you, but somehow, without either of you saying it out loud, you were both caught in something that felt bigger than either of you fully understood yet.
Max’s house finally came into view, and with it, whatever fragile space there had been for conversation between you and Mike disappeared entirely, like the moment ahead demanded your full attention before you even reached it. Mike began to slow as you got closer, the steady rhythm of the ride easing into something quieter, something more cautious. The house stood the same as it always had, but something about it felt off immediately.
All the lights were off.
The sight of it settled into your chest in a way you couldn’t ignore, an empty sort of drop that didn’t match what you expected to see. It was unusual, enough to make your stomach twist, but you tried to explain it away before it could fully take hold. With everything going on, maybe Max and her mom had just gone to bed early. Maybe the silence meant nothing more than that.
Mike came to a stop right in front of the house, steadying the bike as you carefully climbed off, your feet meeting the ground as he kept it balanced for you.
“I’ll be back,” you said quietly once you were steady.
He gave you a small smile in response, something gentle, something meant to reassure, even as his eyes followed you a little more closely than usual. You turned toward the house without looking back again, your steps slow at first, then more deliberate, like something inside you already knew what you were walking into even if you hadn’t fully admitted it yet.
With each step, the feeling grew.
You wiped your palms against your clothes without thinking, trying to get rid of the faint dampness there as you reached the front door. For a second, you just stood there, staring at it, before lifting your hand and knocking softly, the sound small and uncertain, like you were afraid of what answering it might mean.
You waited.
Nothing came.
No movement, no sound, no sign that anyone was on the other side.
The silence stretched out longer than it should have, long enough for the unease in your chest to turn into something heavier. Slowly, you turned your head, glancing back toward Mike. The look you gave him said enough on its own, something unsettled, something already starting to break, and he returned it almost immediately, his expression shifting in quiet understanding.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and moved again, this time toward the side of the house. Your steps picked up slightly, urgency slipping in without you fully meaning for it to, your body guiding you toward her room like it had done so many times before.
But this didn’t feel like those times.
When you reached the window, you leaned in just enough to peer through the blinds, expecting something, anything.
Instead, you found nothing.
Empty.
Completely.
The sight of it hit you in a way that didn’t give you time to process gently, your breath catching sharply as your chest tightened all at once. For a second, you just stood there, staring, like if you looked long enough something might reappear, something might prove you wrong.
It didn’t.
And before your mind could catch up, your body was already moving again, faster now, rushing back toward the front of the house. You barely slowed as you reached the window, your eyes searching inside, needing confirmation even though you already knew.
The house was bare.
Furniture gone. Space hollow. No trace of the life that had been there.
You stopped.
Everything hit you at once.
From where he stood, Mike watched it happen in real time, the shift in your posture, the way your movements lost their certainty, the way the realization seemed to land all at once instead of gradually. He set the bike down quickly, the kickstand hitting the ground as he moved without hesitation, jogging toward you with a growing sense that something was very wrong.
By the time he reached you, you were already turning toward him.
You didn’t say anything.
You just reached for him.
Your arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him in like you needed something to hold onto before everything else slipped too far out of reach. He caught you immediately, his own arms coming up around you without a second thought, grounding you in place as you held on.
And as he did, his gaze lifted over your shoulder toward the house.
It only took a second.
The emptiness inside. The silence.
The absence of anything familiar.
It hit him in a way that felt far too familiar.
For a brief moment, it wasn’t this house anymore.
It was another one.
Another quiet that didn’t make sense.
Another time where something important had been taken out of reach without warning.
The Byers’ house, the way it had felt standing there after realizing Will wasn’t just gone for a day, but gone in a way that made everything feel uncertain and wrong. He remembered how it had settled into him all at once, that overwhelming understanding that something had changed and he didn’t know how to fix it. He remembered going home after, not saying much, just finding his mom and holding onto her because it was the only thing that made sense at that moment.
And now, standing here with you, it felt too close to that.
Not the same, but close enough to reopen something he hadn’t fully put away.
He tightened his arms around you slightly, just enough to steady you, just enough to keep you grounded, because he understood that feeling even if he didn’t have the words to explain it.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Because there wasn’t anything you could say yet that would make what you were seeing feel any less real.
“What do you think happened?” you asked, your voice quieter now, thinner around the edges as you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands still gripping onto him like letting go completely might make everything feel worse. He could feel the slight tremble in you, subtle but there, and it made him hold on a little steadier without thinking about it.
“The teacher hasn’t called her name in a week,” you continued, your thoughts rushing ahead of you before you could fully slow them down. “Do you think—”
You stopped yourself.
The rest of the question didn’t make it out, like even saying it aloud would make it too real, too permanent. Your head dropped back against him again, your forehead pressing lightly into his shoulder as your mind filled in the blank anyway, running through possibilities you didn’t want to consider but couldn’t ignore.
Would she really leave like that.
Without saying anything.
Without telling you.
It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like something she would do, not to you, not after everything, but the empty house behind you made it harder to argue against it. You tried to find something that made more sense, something that didn’t feel like it was slipping through your fingers the more you thought about it.
“There has to be some kind of explanation,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, your grip tightening slightly again like you were holding onto that idea just as much as you were holding onto him.
Mike swallowed, his mind still tangled in its own confusion, but he knew he needed to say something, needed to give you something that didn’t send you further into that spiral.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said, his voice careful, measured in a way that showed he was choosing his words instead of just letting them fall out. “Maybe she just moved.”
He didn’t expect it to land.
He didn’t expect it to be enough.
But it was.
You stilled slightly against him, the thought settling into place in a way that felt… possible. It wasn’t perfect, it didn’t answer everything, but it was something solid, something that didn’t feel as heavy as everything else your mind had been trying to build.
Moved.
That made sense.
It explained the house. The silence. The absence.
You held onto him for a second longer, letting that idea settle into you before slowly loosening your grip, pulling back just enough to look at him again.
“You think so?” you asked, searching his face like he might have something more certain to offer.
“Has to be that,” he replied, a little more firmly this time, even if the certainty in his voice didn’t fully match what he was feeling inside. He needed it to sound real. He needed you to believe it, even if he wasn’t entirely sure he did.
Because everything else felt too complicated.
Too unclear.
And he was already struggling to understand why any of this was hitting him the way it was. The emotions sitting in his chest felt tangled, layered in ways he didn’t know how to separate or name properly. That was always the hardest part for him, not the feeling itself, but trying to understand it, trying to figure out what exactly it meant and what he was supposed to do with it.
He pushed it down instead.
Focused on you.
“Let me take you home,” he said gently, his hands moving to your arms, rubbing them lightly in a grounding motion before guiding you to turn with him. “We have a whole day planned tomorrow, remember?”
You nodded, the motion small, almost automatic.
Right now, tomorrow felt far away, but the idea of ending this day, of putting some distance between you and everything that had just happened, sounded like the only thing you really wanted. Sleep felt like the closest thing to escape, even if you knew your thoughts wouldn’t fully let you rest.
Still, it was better than standing here.
Better than staring at an empty house and trying to make sense of something that refused to explain itself.
You let him lead you back to the bike, your movements quieter now, more subdued, the earlier urgency replaced with something heavier, something tired.
And as you climbed back on behind him, one thought lingered quietly in the back of your mind.
If she had really moved.
Then why didn’t she tell you.
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a/n: i hope the effort i made in making parallels for the nth time doesn’t go unnoticed. please say you see them lol.
janainaart
dededos
andulkaphoto
germansingergirl
vaporwave