"Michael," a gentle knock came at his door. "It's time to come downstairs and have some breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," he blatantly lied, staring up at his ceiling. It had been two days now, and he still refused to do much other than gaze blankly at the walls of his bedroom. He barely left the house, didn't eat more than a half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and spoke very seldomly.

He could have stopped her. This was all his fault. Why hadn't he tried to talk her out of it? There had to have been another solution. The four of them were smart enough. Why hadn't he stopped her for just a moment to try to think it through?

"Just eat something, please?" his mother begged through the door, interrupting his thoughts. "Just enough to make me stop worrying about you, okay? I know you've been through a lot of scary stuff this week, but you can't shut the world out forever like this, okay? I'll make you whatever you want, as long as you just come down."

"Okay," he finally gave in after a long, contemplative pause. At least for her sake, he could try to eat and let her believe that he was fine. She never knew the truth about El. She would never understand.

Sluggishly, he trudged down the stairs and entered the kitchen. His mother was standing over the stove, presumably cooking breakfast for Mr. Wheeler, who was sitting at the table, his face hidden behind the morning's newspaper. Neither of them had heard him enter the room, so he meandered over to the refrigerator, unnoticed. What options did he have? There were various jams and jellies that he could spread on toast, a carton of eggs, a gallon of milk, plenty of butter, a box of Eggos.

Wincing at the sight, he let the door slip out of his hands. It slammed shut and startled his poor mother.

"Goodness, Michael," she laughed, "I didn't even hear you come down. You made me jump! Anyways, have you decided what you want for breakfast? How about some of the bacon and eggs that I've been making for your father? Would that be nice?"

Putting on a fake smile, Mike nodded. He sat across the table from Nancy, who managed to exchange a fleeting glance with him. His eyes quickly darted away. He knew that look. It had followed him since the moment of Will's disappearance, and he had quickly grown tired of it. He was tired of the constant worry and sympathy, the "how are you feeling"s and the "just talk to me whenever you feel like it"s. All he wanted was a single day, an uninterrupted span of 24 hours in which he could just be alone.

He hastily devoured his meal and disappeared into the basement. The tent in the corner of the room still remained intact, untouched by even Mike himself. Memories of El began to flood his mind as he stared at it with watering eyes.

It had only been a week ago that he had met her, standing outside in the rain with a wild look in her eyes. Six days since the moment that he learned her name and taught her what it meant to make a promise. Five since he realized that she meant more to him than just some girl who could help him find his best friend. And two since he first felt the brush of her soft lips on his before she vanished forever.

His legs suddenly became weak, and he half-collapsed onto the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. Hot tears began to roll down his face, but he didn't bother to wipe them away. Instead, he grabbed the corner of El's blanket and held it up close to his heart. She was somewhere out there in the Upside-Down, extremely close yet somehow worlds away. If she was still alive, did she ever think about him? Did she hate him for making promises that he could never keep? The seemingly endless list of "never"s had certainly plagued his mind. He would never take her back home, where she could eat all of the Eggos that her heart desired, where she would be safe. He would never take her to the Snow Ball, where he would not just tell her that she looked pretty, or even pretty good, but beautiful, because that was what he had wanted to say all along. He would never introduce her to the rest of the school as Elenor, his Swedish cousin who despised the cold, never grow up with her, never grow old with her.

His body grew rigid at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. In one swift move, he wiped the tears from both of his eyes and dropped the blanket.

"Are you okay?" Nancy asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," Mike kept his back to her, hoping that she would leave.

"Well, I'm always here for you," she said, gently. "If you ever need to talk, I'll always be around to listen, okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The silly, repetitive cliche simply passed in one ear and out the other.

He heard her turn and begin to climb the stairs when he was suddenly overcome by a troublesome thought.

"Nancy, wait," he turned around. She paused in the doorframe for a moment before descending the stairs again.

"Yes?"

"The other night… You know how we made that promise? That both of us would tell the truth, no matter what?"

"Yeah, of course. Why?"
"Well, I… I already broke that promise. And I wanted to start over. For real this time."

"What are you trying to say?"

"It's just that," he choked on his words for a moment before continuing. "I really did love her. Eleven. And now that she's gone, I'm scared that I'll never see her again, and that it's all my fault."

"Hey," Nancy spoke softly and soothingly as she joined him on the floor and held him as he cried. "It was not your fault, okay? It wasn't anyone's fault. She did exactly what you would have done for her if you were in the same position. And she's probably still out there, somewhere. We've just got to find her. We will, okay? I promise."

"Promise," he echoed, making a vow to El herself. He nodded as he wiped his eyes again. This time, he would keep his promise. One day, he would find her. One day, he would bring her home.