Chapter Text
1998
An innovative standard is set. One where Will drives two or three hours on the highway to Hawkins in his Pontiac every weekend to hang out with Mike and Bea naturally. His work schedule is flexible as long as he meets his deadlines for commissions. He either camps out over his parents’ place or at Mike’s (mostly Mike’s. He has a key to both houses). Since Will is around more, he spends more time with Bea, helping Joyce babysit her until Mike’s done teaching on Fridays. This has caused Will and Bea to bond immaculately, with Will drawing her doodles that she is spellbound by. Mike started keeping a spare toothbrush for Will on the bathroom sink and Will even forgoed the coin laundry by his studio to wash his clothes in Mike’s basement. He sleeps in Mike’s old childhood bedroom, though, there are times Will passes out in Mike’s current bed located in the master’s simply because they are reading stories together to a hyperactive Bea. In their joint attempt at putting her to sleep, Will would get lulled by Mike’s rendition of Dr. Seuss books, and he’d wake up abashed that they’d split the blankets between them with a snug Bea in the center. This is how couples with a child would do, not best friends. Will doesn’t dwell on it or he’d be insane.
He’s received an earful from his miffed friends about his disappearing act, as well. Lucas, Dustin, and Max demand he inform them of everything. He never realized that he was this valued. As if they hadn’t risked their safety to keep him near wasn’t evidence enough. Will had thought they’d be better off without him, but he figures he should rewatch It’s A Wonderful Life because his Party were praying for his return as if he was the Messiah. They missed him that badly and it tremendously touched his heart. Filled his heart with remorse and sensibility, feelings younger him never considered.
Whenever Will’s in town, he and Mike covertly emphasize that they are to be glued together the whole weekend. They’re re-living hobbies and shared interests, making do with Will’s dream to play games in Mike’s basement. Playing Nintendo, eating junk food, reading latest comics, watching videotapes. Meaningful chats and cracking jokes occupy the air, mixed with existential dread of their thirties sneaking up on them. Sometimes, Will would hang out with Mike and Bea to give Joyce a babysitting break. They’d go to the playground, Mike pushing a frolicking Bea in the swings and shifting sand in the sandbox. Will ingrains that image in his brain so he could paint it for later on. He’d go clothes shopping with them, reining Mike in when he was about to splurge on cute outfits for Bea to model in. Will did have to admit, Mike could style Bea in any attire exceptionally, and once the trio were approached by a credible talent scout lurking about wishing to put Mike’s daughter in commercials. Of course, Mike declined the offer, but he’d be smug until the day he died at how a Frog Face like him had the prettiest daughter in the world.
“You’re not a Frog Face. Troy was just being a dick.” Will would say every time Mike accidentally insulted himself.
Back in Chicago, Will has been selling his art in one of the Street Fairs, and sees a lady’s intricate dinosaur designs of baby pajamas. The 90s had gone foolish with all the dinosaur paraphernalia, animated or children’s educational TV programs, and it meant paradise for Mike who collected what he could afford. What catches Will’s eyes is a pajama onesie in stock, a red T-Rex equipped with a sewn hood to be pulled over. He didn’t bother to haggle, fishing for his wallet to acquire the necessary dollar bills, securing the garb. He felt like he’d kill two birds with one stone. Mike would be over the moon and Bea would have even cuter photos. As expected, Mike fell in love with the T-Rex onesie the moment he unbagged Bea’s newest gift.
Will’s powers are stabilizing, too. He used to have a nosebleed and sync up to Bea’s mind and emotions at least once every meeting (granted the nosebleeds weren’t as frequent). Now, perhaps as they’re within each other’s presence often, Will can tell what Bea craves based on the pitch of her cooing and visible expressions rather than utilizing his powers as a sort of cheat code to caring for her. Bea’s infatuated with Will and the feeling is mutual. He seriously and sincerely enjoys feeding Bea, playing with Bea, helping Mike pick out her next outfit, and learning how to style her curly hair with bows, ribbons, and barrettes. He isn’t bothered that Bea has drooled on him, puked on him, and tried to eat his nose ring once.
Will feels honored when Mike allows him to bathe Bea while he tackles the grueling ordeal of grading the backlog of student exams, report card pickup and parent-teacher meetings coming up. Part of Will thinks this is just what best friends do. They are there for their one friend that’s a single parent, as an assist, just like in D&D. He’s certain a myriad of people are put down as an emergency contact for their best friend’s kid and are plotting their calendar to date when Bea's doctor’s appointments are. He ignores the astute and reassuring looks given to him by both Joyce and Hopper (Jonathan and El when visiting) as they ask about his standing with Mike. He has no idea what to tell them. No idea what they’re rummaging for. He feels like they’re seeing something that’s not quite there. What’s going on with Mike and him is platonic. Purely platonic. He swears. They agreed that’s what they both needed to heal the wounds made.
Come the holidays on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Will is going to reunite with the Party who are all flying in from their respective homes. Nancy is also bringing the twins. That’s predictable. Nancy is very disciplined on returning to Hawkins for family functions. They’ll feast at Joyce and Hoppers’, but the Party will retire to Mike’s for an overdue D&D campaign with their long lost cleric. Before all that is Halloween, however. Mike proposed Will volunteer, chaperone the dance and the coinciding Homecoming parade with him, if possible. Will humbly accepts, excited to see teacher-Mike in action, and making time to not let Mike down. Additionally, it was about the costume Mike had chosen that was Will’s main incentive to be at attendance. Mike had been obsessed with Interview With A Vampire, even bought the book it’s based on to read religiously. He dressed up as Lestat de Lioncourt with a wig the theater students fixed up for him because Mr. Wheeler is their favorite teacher. Will had simply gone as Ghostface, liking how low maintenance it was besides keeping the mask on. Mike dolled Bea up as a circular pumpkin, Jack-o-Lantern, her chunky baby fat arms waggling in approval of the outfit .
“If only she could trick or treat.” Mike laments, leaving Bea in Joyce’s care, a cup of fruit punch and watchful eyes on the gymnasium’s dance floor as teens coupled up. Chaperoning is boring.
“Let her crawl first. Literally.” Will consoles, wistfully listening to the music while tapping his feet, his mind wandering to when exactly Bea would begin crawling. He hopes he’s there for that and to teach her how to walk. He likes making memories with Bea and Mike. Life’s a lot less lonely.
Soon, it’s November. Will’s anniversary effect is nearing. The skies are gray, the autumn colored leaves are dry and crunchy. Few residents took down their Halloween decor, ornamenting their houses with Christmas lights and trees early in full festive spirits. It’s sweater weather. Will’s borrowing one of Mike’s. Not that he doesn’t have sweaters of his own, but Mike’s just felt better, in such a way that it posed as a quilt, shielding him from the season’s decreasing temperature. Bonus that the fabric smelt of Mike, one of his many colognes mixed with his natural scent that Will’s grown to recognize, and now associates with Hawkins specifically.
They’ve got alone time. Bea with Joyce as per usual. Will’s a bit melancholic. He always is during this month. Especially as he thinks about all the people that they’ve known and lost, that helped him to their detriment, and the others that are gone and remain nameless.
“They redid it, ya know.” Mike tells Will in the late morning. They’re finishing up breakfast at the table, their chairs scooted close, ankles crossing, calves grazing. Mike had brewed coffee, cooked sausages and eggs. Will made the toast and buttered it. Just last night, Will found a recipe in his mother’s old cookbook and figured to test it out. On the weekends, they tended to get pizza or some other kind of restaurant cuisine to celebrate the end of a work week. This time, trying something different, Mike convinced Will that they should stay inside and cook dinner. Friends do that. Make meals together like couples do, Will reasons as he thought how they moved in unison like a well-oiled machine. Synchronized swimmers had nothing on them.
“Redid what?” He can’t drink all his coffee. Will’s stomach is full and the coffee’s lukewarm, which he finds unsuitable, preferring the scalding taste. Not one to waste, Will hands it to Mike who gulps it down pronto, unbothered that the mug’s rim is still wet from the spit of Will’s lips. Sharing drinks is friendly behavior, Will reasons again, just like sharing clothes. He tugs at the sleeves of Mike’s sweater, rolling them up to his elbows, ignoring Mike beholding his biceps brazenly.
“The swings at Hawkins Primary and Elementary. The ones where we first met.” Mike replies, licks his upper lip, grabs the hem of the sweater Will’s borrowing to wrench his fingers in and it pulls Will nearer. A childish glaze is directed at Will, the kind that he’s seen during the occasions Mike begged Will to sleepover or partner up for school projects. The same look he gave him when they had their first kiss and other firsts of many. “Wanna go? Swing? For old time’s sake.”
They hadn’t touched a playground since Elementary. Once entering Hawkins Middle, that type of thing was shunned amongst their peers.
Fuck it. “Yeah.” Will plucks the empty mug from Mike’s grasp to clean it.
“Yeah?” He feels Mike’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head as he turns on the faucet. Knows that Mike’s afraid he’ll change his mind. The sweater’s hem is still clutched in Mike’s fingers.
Will shoots him a breezy smile and Mike’s face lights up the same way it lit up when Will said he wouldn’t join a new party, and when Will consented to letting Mike give him his first hickey.
As kids, the playground was painted a firetruck red and eggshell white. Today, it is ocean blue and banana yellow. Ironically, Mike and Will’s favorite colors. Luckily for them, no one is there, not the bubbling families or motley crew of children. Sunday mornings are reserved for sleeping in or church services, making the playground awfully deserted. Will spots the swing that he sat on a long time ago, refurbished. His feet have a mind of their own as he begins to move from Mike’s side. He hears the gritting noise of wood chips underneath the soles of his shoes. The wind is nippy, caressing, unlashing.
Weather isn’t cold enough for puffs of breath to be seen. Wearing a hat wouldn’t hurt. Will sits on the sturdy swing managing to hold his weight, adult body be damned. Mike hasn’t followed him yet. A distant glint in his dark brown eyes. He is observing Will swaying and kicking his legs, physics in motion as he starts to swing. Back and forth. Up and down. Just like a pendulum as the momentum reaches a 45 degree angle. The gears in Mike’s brain churn and he moves forward.
“Hi. My name’s Michael.” He is standing by a swinging Will. Taking pauses in his speech whenever Will is passing by. “But you can just call me, Mike.”
Planting his feet abruptly on the ground to look at Mike in the eyes, the chains clanging, he responds, playing along to the reenactment. “I’m Will.”
Rounding the stationary swing, Mike is in front of a sitting Will, looking down at him while Will looks up. He places his larger warm hands over Will’s cold ones, which are clinging to the chains.
“Do you wanna be my friend?” He breathes the question that launched it all, their entanglement with each other’s lives, and it occurs to Will that this is a renewal of vows somewhat. How despite everything said and done, they can always go back to their origins, and how whatever is broken between them can always be patched up.
Will nods, blinking away the wetness in his hazel eyes at an urge overcoming him. “Yes!”
That’s it. This is them burying the hatchet completely. In the past, they would’ve argued like in the garage or at Rinkomania. Mike’s mouth wide and voice projecting. Will’s voice quaking and brows knitted. Then, slowly but surely, they’d find their way to a tense pacifist compromise. Unable to fully quit the other. As they got older after Lenora, before Will left Hawkins, their fights became subdued, more passive aggressive, scattered now and then in a healthy amount. Even with Will currently making amends with his belated visits to Hawkins, they had little spats here and there, none too drastic that Will stopped driving down every weekend and Mike stopped letting Will stay at his house. The spats were swiftly dealt with instead of dragged out in bouts of teenage pettiness. Both of them are tired of aimless actions, having matured, and realized so late (better late than never) that closed mouths don’t get fed. That they’d have to bluntly communicate to save persistent issues from stasis or escalation. That the past is in the past, so what are they going to do about the present?
“Tell me about Bea’s mom.” Will bites his bottom lip, stomach knotting up. He really hated it. Not knowing. Bea’s a lovely girl and Mike’s a dashing father. Will hates that neither would have existed if not for this mysterious woman laying with his best friend, his paladin, his living breathing heart.
Been weeks, almost two full months of them speaking on any and everything. Testing the waters. Rebuilding what they had. Will believes it’s time for another session of truths.
“Okay.” Mike is all for it. He’d only feel comfortable in letting Will know, to be straight. He’s used to confessing his sins, his secrets, to Will. It’s the one certainty he has where he knows he won’t be judged. That he’ll be given grace. He sits on the swing next to Will. His eagle-eyes remain forward to where the car’s parked across the grassy field and Will’s discerning eyes are on his profile. “I was reckless. After you went away. I kinda always get that way when you’re not by me. I don’t make, like, the best decisions. Like, I mean, I don’t take care of myself.”
“Mike.” He won’t meet Will’s gaze.
“That was then! I’m better. I don’t do that anymore. Gotta be better for Bea.”
“And also for yourself.” Will sighs, and if he wasn’t being cautious, he’d place a hand on Mike’s knee for relief. “You should be better for yourself, Mike.”
“Haha. Yeah. You’re right.” Mike’s lips twitch into a blur of a smile. His lips afterwards are in a thin sober line. “I got into drinking. Easier to get than weed.” Finally, he glances at Will, stark. “I only smoke when you’re around. I don’t like smoking with anyone else or by myself.” His eyes are forward again. “Missed you a lot and couldn’t contact you. Took a toll on me heavy. I found other people, mostly girls cuz dudes… It was difficult with dudes that weren’t you. Pretending with girls is easier to hook up with, since I already had practice with doing that. At the bar, the last time I ever touched a bar was last year by the way, I went home with a woman. She just wanted harmless fun with no consequences. My type to go for.”
“One night stand, huh. I can relate.” Will senses his possessive emotions swelling up and holds it off. He can’t be angry at Mike, that’d be like the pot calling the kettle black. He does take repose in Mike’s virulence at his words, noticing knuckle-white fists clenching the swing’s chains. Splendid, at least Will knows they both are possessive people.
“We were careful. Bea’s mom and me. Didn’t matter, obviously. She got pregnant and tracked me down to hash it out. Felt like I got hit by a bus. I’d never thought I’d be in a situation like that, but, well, when have we not been in situations?” Mike weakly grins and Will mirrors it.
He goes on to tell Will that Bea’s mother, Becky, is a very career oriented person, having goals for herself. She had just got accepted into medical school and a baby totally threw off her plans. Indiana doesn’t do abortions and she had not one maternal bone in her body. Out of courtesy, she asked Mike if he wanted full custody, or else she’d put Bea up for adoption once born. Mike immediately accepted. From then on Bea’s mom and Mike strictly disclosed details regarding the baby. He was there at the hospital, she signed over the rights, and Mike hasn’t heard from her since.
“Gonna tell me the skeletons in your closet now?” He asks, having his legs and feet angled. It helps for him to lean further into Will’s space.
“Okay.” Will tilts his head to the side, long eyelashes fluttering. “I’ll tell you my dirty little secret.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Alright… So, I guess. I needed to do something different. I’m already different. I’ve never been normal and being in Hawkins did a number on me cuz I was just being who I am.” Will rubs his nape, blushing and staring at his feet. “You guys were good. You did your best, I just, I couldn’t stand it. Having everyone know me for whatever rumor or label or fact that kept getting tossed around. I didn’t want… Didn’t want to be perceived and when I looked at you guys, at you Mike, I saw - ” He respites and gulps blatantly. “I got reminded of every single bad thing that happened to me and it looped in my head, loud and taunting. I had to get away from the noise and I-I-I felt like no one would get it. Not even El or you. That I saw all of you almost die cuz Vecna made sure I couldn’t block it out. Then he gave me use of my powers so even in death, he’s haunting me. And the only way I thought I could do that, be free, was to lose everything.” Will glimpses at Mike’s mesmerized stare, of patience and leniency. “It took me losing everything, losing you Mike, in order for me to find myself and make myself whole again on my own terms by my own efforts. I know it’s fucked up how I did it, by leaving you when we promised. I know it’s selfish, but after being in pain for that long, I liked it. I liked being selfish and putting myself first. Even at the expense of everyone. My headspace wasn’t good back then and I definitely should’ve waited a few days to make sound, better decisions… I guess I was reckless, too.” Will smirks roguishly at Mike. “Seems we have similar ways of coping. Letting our emotions lead us without second thought. Haha. Once I got out, it was harder to come back and take you with me.”
An interval.
“It’s great you found yourself, Will.” Mike speaks, authentic.
“It’s great you got Bea, Mike.” Will wrings his wrists.
Mike takes Will’s hand in his tightening grasp. “You came back for me after all these years even when it hurts you being here.”
“I had to.” Will rasps, putting his free hand over their joined ones. “You never stopped looking for me even when everyone else thought I was dead.”
Mike and Will continue to sit on the swings, twisting around to coil the chains, and then spin in a frenzied circle like they’re in a hurricane, tornado, whirlpool. For this brief instance, they aren’t in their 20s. They’re four years old and they are happy and are frolicking.
“You’re always here.” Joyce remarks, kneading homemade bread, flour speckling her apron and chin.
“Sorry?” Will stirs in sugar to his coffee, taking mild offense. “I thought that’s what you’ve been wishing on a shooting star for.”
She puts in elbow grease, stretching the dough, pleating it and adding more flour to make it less sticky. “I’m just saying. You and Mike are…”
“What of it?” Will sips his drink, scalding his tongue in the process. He didn’t like talking about what Mike and him have. It’s complicated. She knows that. Everyone knows that, right?
“Well, I mean, you always stay at his place. He’s never seen yours.” Joyce glances his way peculiarly.
“I told him I’d show him around.” He did. Not his fault that Mike expressed zero interest, in his opinion, on traveling outside of Hawkins to the city.
“Will, honey.” Joyce sighs disappointedly. “You’re going to need to be more assertive than that.”
“Huh?”
“Listen, invite Mike to your place. I’ll keep Bea all weekend. She won’t miss him. That boy hasn’t left Hawkins besides college in Indy. Make him more worldly. A small town is all he’s ever known.” She proposes, putting the dough in a baking pan and sticking it in the preheated oven.
“Can’t believe my mom’s giving me boy advice.” He rolls his eyes, regretting that he ever came out to Joyce during their battles against Vecna.
“To be fair, I did date my fair share of boys. You could learn from me, honestly.” Joyce laughs at Will’s wincing. He didn’t need to know about his mom’s love life.
“Alright. I’ll bite. How’s that cheerleader chant go? Be aggressive?” Will chuckles, thinking of Mike’s reaction to him taking the lead when it was the opposite as kids.
“I said assertive Will.” Joyce lightly swats at him with a dish rag. “Don’t twist my words.
He hugs her, thankful, and drives to Mike’s. He parks the Pontiac in the driveway. In his pocket is the house key and he unlocks the door. At this point, he can drop by unannounced, uninvited, and Mike wouldn’t bat an eye. Will hears snoring, combined with the background noise of the TV playing The Lost World: Jurassic Park. Will enters the living room to an incredibly heartwarming sight. Mike and Bea are cozily napping. Mouth ajar, Mike’s head is propped on the brown couch arm, dark curly strands hanging from the sides of the cushion, body pressed to yellow pillows. He’s lying on his back, glasses still on, wearing a dull gray shirt and blue cotton shorts. Bea is sprawled atop him, flat on her belly, donning a pink Kirby onesie, the video game character Mike claimed saved him from going crazy during college finals.
Smiling, Will retrieves a disposable camera from the kitchen drawer to immortalize the moment with a photo. He then makes himself comfortable, climbing onto the couch, and wedging his body between Mike and yellow pillows, extra careful not to disturb Bea in any shape or form. Used to the feel of Will, drowsily, Mike shifts in his sleep so that he can make room, never once cracking open an eye. Will kindly takes off Mike’s glasses so they don’t get broken and proceeds to join the Wheeler daddy-daughter duo in naptime. Later in the evening, the three of them burrowing under blankets and watching reruns, Will invites Mike to his studio and is startled at Mike’s enthusiasm, resembling a ray of sunshine at the suggestion.
Come the next weekend, they wouldn’t be in Hawkins. They’d be in Chicago. Will is very much freaked out about it. He’s never hosted anyone at his place ever. He throws out his bedsheets and buys new ones. He gets more cutlery and cups to make everything less bachelor-y. Will’s decent with cleaning, but he deep cleans all the nooks and crannies to calm his mounting nerves. His neighbors aren’t too loud and aren’t nosy. The landlord is sensible as long as rent is never late, and Will hasn’t seen the man since the first week he moved in. With the doorbell ringing, Will stumbles over nothing.
“Hey!” He greets with a blushing grin, Mike standing in the hallway, both his hands gripping the medium sized luggage handle.
“H-Hey! Is it okay that I parked on the street?”
“You’re good. You’re good. Come on in.”
“Awesome. Okay. Thanks for having me.”
“Thanks for visiting.”
Mike doesn’t judge where Will lives. He is enthralled. The studio is not grand. It’s not bland either. It’s Will Byers designed in all its glory. He gives Mike a tour of the small balcony, kitchen, bathroom, and messy corner dedicated to creating his art.
“As you can guess. I don’t spend my time here except to sleep.” Will takes Mike’s luggage for him. “Let’s paint the town red!”
They explore the citylife. Basking in the daylight and thriving in the nighttime. Will has a story for each corner and street and alleyway that’s in their path. To fill their growling bellies they go to a hole-in-the-wall joint only natives are privy to. They splash a bit in the waters of Lake Michigan, Mike unable to get the sand out of his shoes no matter how hard he tries. Closer to midnight, Will leads Mike into Boystown for an adventure in the gay clubs. He’s got experience with integrating into the queer scene, but Mike’s been holed up in Hawkins with slim pickings if Robin isn’t stopping by to be the middleman.
Strobe lights are flashing and the building is vibrating from the music. The smell of liquor and weed is filling Mike’s nose. He sees lots of people doused in glitter, wearing all kinds of clothes, revealing and accentuating. The bodies on the dancefloor gyrate in unison, pawing and devil-may-care, some patrons singing the lyrics at full blast, throats hoarse, and others hike up barstools to shake a leg on the bar, nearly knocking down drinks with shuffling feet. Will turns to Mike, his hazel eyes effervescent and a pleasant smirk dashing his lips. Mike wants to kiss him. He’s scared to do it.
“C’mon!” Will intertwines their fingers and drags Mike to the center of the floor, pushing past the drunk or tipsy bodies zoning out to the atmosphere.
“Wait! Will, I’m not really…” Mike’s words die on his tongue, his nerves thawing as Will pulls him near, pressing them together and grabbing his waist firmly. The touch has Mike’s hands get clammy and heart beating irregularly.
“It’s okay. You’re fine. We’re fine.” Will pacifies, boldly resting his head on Mike’s shoulder when a slow song comes through the speakers.
Mike freezes up. They’re in public. They aren’t dating. They’re just friends. He cautiously turns his head left and right. He notices that everyone else is lost in their own worlds. They don’t care that Will is embracing him intimately, his hands dipping from Mike’s waist to his hips, leading them in a dance in the untroubled crowd.
Loosening up, Mike’s arms gingerly encircle Will and he clumsily copies the movements he’s witnessing. He laughs, face flushed and sweaty, hair sticking to his temple and glasses fogging from the heat. He looks down at Will, who’s looking up at him, and the pendulous motion they’ve got going on is tranquilizing. Mike’s always yearned to dance with Will. Since that night of the bonfire and barbeque when they were only eighteen with their whole future ahead of them. He so badly yearned to yank Will close in front of everyone since they never got to even have a prom, or Snow Ball together. It’s like Will read his mind, knowing that Mike had imagined this scenario countless times. Wishing for a re-do.
But Will doesn’t need to use his powers on Mike to deep dive into his mind. He knows Mike the most like the back of his hand. Knows that Mike is courageous, clever, snarky, and lets his walls down when he feels safe. He always feels safe around Will.
“I’m glad we reconnected.” Will blurts, his eyes stuck on Mike’s penetrating gaze.
“Me too.” Mike breathes, pressing their foreheads together, restraint chipping.
“I’m glad we’re friends again.” Will leans in further, cheeks reddening, their noses brushing.
Mike doesn’t recoil, eyes lidded. “Me too.”
Then Will kisses him, the soft lips that Mike hasn’t tasted in a decade are still the most delicious on his savoring tongue. He screws his eyes shut, kissing back, ironing his lips to suck in like a cigarette and just like that, Will is pulling away with a look of pure mortification.
“I’m sorry!” He apologizes. Mike’s bemused, lips parted and thirsty. “I shouldn’t have done that. We agreed to be friends and I just went ahead and ruined it.”
Will’s shut up instantly by Mike stealing his breath away, lips plastering to his, a tongue slipping in between teeth to venture at the back of his throat. He moans at the sensation and Mike releases his fiendish mouth.
“Do you wanna be my boyfriend?” Mike whispers, skimming his lips against Will’s in an almost smooch.
“Yes!” Will responds giddily just like he did in kindergarten when Mike approached and bridges their lips once again.
They dance a few more songs, fast and slow before returning to Will’s studio blood buzzed with booze, avidly kissing and groping at each other beyond the door’s threshold, stripping off clothes and hearing a garment rip. Falling into bed, Will cups Mike’s jaw in his palms while Mike looms over him and hastily clicks the lights off. They wake up enshrouded in covers, shirtless torsos exposed and sheets pooled in their laps. Will is snuggled up next to Mike, an arm draped atop his boyfriend’s abdomen. His head on Mike’s chest, ear right above Mike’s heart, counting the beats per minute. Mike’s enveloping Will in his grasp, nuzzling his face into Will’s disheveled hair.
“I’m in love with you.” Mike mutters, dazed.
“When I said you’re the heart,” Will raises his ear from Mike’s chest to mouth along the stretch of freckled neck, enjoying how Mike shudders. “I really meant that you’re my heart and I’d be the one who’d fall apart without you. Even now. You’re my heart and no one can take that away from us.”
“Don’t ever leave me again.” Mike sniffs, tears running down the sides of his face. Will goes to wipe them, his own hazel glossy.
“I won’t. I’m right where I’m supposed to be. At your side.”
Going at their own pace and still establishing boundaries, the relationship is prudent. This is very fresh for the pair considering they weren’t officially dating as their original breaching of platonicness was a friends-with-benefits arrangement. Mike and Will are in a long distance relationship. They barely handled a long distance friendship when Will moved to California. They live in two different states and the only fortunate thing is that the Midwestern states are bordering each other. Mike, for obvious reasons, doesn’t tell anyone that Will is his boyfriend and vice versa. He keeps his love life private, though he had an inkling Joyce and Karen can sense how their haunted sons have been abnormally chipper lately during weekly check-ins.
Will considers moving out of his apartment, calculating his monthly budget and realizing he spends a majority of his time at Mike’s, his studio more of a glorified hotel room now. The problem is Will has no intention of ever becoming a permanent resident of Hawkins. He’ll go anywhere else other than backwards.
“I told my mom about us.” Will admits the open secret to Mike, working on a puzzle, languidly connecting the plethora of pieces.
He’s sitting crossed legged on the floor, the coffee table cleared sans the puzzle pieces and the box it came in. Lying next to him is Bea, flopped on her belly, big eyes concentrating at Mike grading students’ assignments while sitting in the Lay-Z-Boy, marking in red ink, the color unlocking something within her like a bull to a matador.
“I told mine, too.”
Will looks at him in awe. “You came out to your mom and didn’t tell me?”
“Yeah. She took it well.” Mike looks right back at him with a worshiping gleam in his eyes. “Maybe Florida isn’t so bad. Mom’s gotten more liberal.”
“Isn’t your mom living with Dustin’s mom?” Will has a hunch that the moment Ted died, Karen and Claudia Henderson got much closer than older women should. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Mike, nor Dustin, that the two women reminded him of a middle-aged lesbian couple that took care of him in his early runaway days as an amateur artist.
“Oh shit, Will!” Mike drops everything and points excitedly. “Honey Bea’s crawling!”
“Now way!” Will geeks, puzzle forgotten.
Both men yell fervidly as Bea is on all fours, trudging along unsteadily to pinch at the papers Mike’s grading. She has an urge to always damage Mike’s important papers, in her mind, emulating perfectly whatever her father’s doing. Will runs to get the video camera to film. Mike praises Bea who flaunts with a spit riddled grin, inheriting her father’s smug attitude.
Eventually, Mike and Will get around to coming out to their friends and the rest of their family. Most are tolerant and accepting, albeit not able to get the logistics of it. They don’t hold it against them when ignorant questions are asked. Mike prefers to be unlabeled and Will respects it, a far cry from how their bathroom conversation went when they were eighteen. It’s not an issue since Will knows that Mike is crazy about him, feeling mutual.
“When are you going to move in with us?” Mike is gathering a clump of Bea’s curls, tying it into a pigtail with silk ribbons. She’s reclining calmly in his lap and singing to herself. Her voice sounds pretty good.
Sketching them with pencil, Will is shading when he easily says, “I wanna move in with you guys.” He observes Mike’s stunned and flustered face, satisfied at the reaction. “Not Hawkins. Somewhere else. This time, we’ll keep our promise and leave together. Cool?”
“C-Cool.” Mike exhales, stuttering.
“Cool!” Bea agrees, screeching. One of the few words she can speak besides “daddy” (that’s Mike) and “dada” (that’s Will).
They immediately search for available spots and put the house for sale. Wherever they go, wherever they roam, Mike and Will can make it home.
1999
They bought a house in the western suburbs of Chicago. The town they live in is the self-proclaimed gay friendly Oak Park. Mike did extensive research. In 1997 the suburb constituted a Domestic Partnership Registry for same sex couples, recognizing the legitimacy of gay and lesbian relationships. Be a first for Mike to introduce Will as his boyfriend while meeting new people at the playgrounds Bea gets to frequent. Will has his faithful clients nearby in the city, setting up a website to sell his art online to cut down on the driving, and is a stay-at-home dad. Mike landed a teaching job at the local high school, enrolled in a master’s program at university to be certified as a possible district superintendent, and began writing his fantasy sci-fi book to exercise his Dungeons and Dragons DM skills. Bea is almost two years old and can finally walk, wobbling away and investigating her wondrous surroundings, getting into trouble like climbing kitchen counters and breaking into the cookie jar, her father’s sweet tooth strong within her.
The housewarming was stupendous, their loved ones showing up and showing out with gifts. Mike and Will hosted El, Jonathan, Nancy, the twins, Karen, Holly, Joyce, and Hopper for Christmas. For Will’s 30th birthday Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Erica, and El (once again) are coming up to celebrate. Currently, they’re counting down the clock to the end of the world, Y2K, the year 2000 for New Year’s.
Bea’s knocked out, laying akimbo on the couch cushion. Mike is pouring another glass of blackberry wine for Will and brings it over to him, kissing his sweet tasting lips. The Twilight Zone marathon is running as background noise, but Will changes the channel to where they can watch a news anchor report the ball drop.
“3…2…1! Happy New Years!”
Mike snakes his arm around Will’s waist, pressing them chest to chest, dipping his head low to capture lips in a quick series of pecks that leisurely meld into torrid smooches.
“Look (kiss) at (kiss) that. We survived another armageddon.” Will flirts, gesturing to the window where they can see some of the fireworks illuminating the night sky.
A hand slants Will’s chin, Mike going in for another kiss, and trailing down his jawline to lightly bite at his neck.
“Must be my light for a reason. You’re my good luck charm.” Mike compliments.
They’re about to naughtily make out when Bea hinders them, the noisy fireworks waking her. The pair turn to Bea glaring at Mike in particular. It’s no secret that Bea favors Will over Mike and the two Wheelers have an unspoken (amiable) rivalry about it, competing to gain Will’s undivided attention, which Bea tends to triumph and Mike gracefully loses.
“No kissy! Daddy noooo!” She scolds, jumping to her feet and tottering to Will, her arms raised for him to lift her. “Dada, up!”
“Are you still cockblocking me, Bea Bea Guns?” Mike huffs, rolling his eyes and blowing a raspberry at her.
“Language!” Will covers Bea’s ears protectively. She’s too busy sticking her tongue right back out at Mike, all haughty.
“Mine! Dada mine!” She declares, wrapping her arms around Will’s neck and kissing his cheek.
Undeterred, Mike kisses Will’s available left cheek. Bea, petty and possessive, attempts to push Mike away with her hand, yet she’s too weak, and he won’t budge. Will sighs, knowing that this is going to be a long night. Wheelers are so damn stubborn. However, this is his fledgling family that he’d kill for.
He never anticipated this, and yet, Will Byers wouldn’t have it any other way.
