Chapter Text
The implications of what El told him about the painting don't sink in for a couple of hours. And then he doesn't know what he is supposed to think.
Why would Will lie about that? What did he want Mike to think? What is the game?
He stops himself. Will Byers of all people doesn't have a ‘game.’ He's not like that. Right?
Right.
Mike knows that. Holy shit, Mike. Get it together. Mike is not going to do this. Not anymore, at least. He's not going to start doubting Will, of all people. He doesn't want to be that person. He doesn't want to do that.
But what is he supposed to think? Will lied, right to his face. About important things. That's not what friends do.
Why would he lie? That's what Mike keeps coming back to. He plays the conversation over and over in his head. It refuses to explain itself.
He should ask him. He wants to ask him. But he doesn't want to confront him. It shouldn't be like that. Mike is mad, but he doesn't want to fight. He's done enough of that already. And it was all his fault. He can't make things worse.
But he needs to get to the bottom of this. He wants to understand what happened. What he did wrong.
But the conversation doesn't begin the way he hoped.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.
“What?” Mike asks, as if he can play dumb about this. He can’t. But he also doesn’t think of anything else to say in time. “What do you mean?”
Will shakes his head. “Come on, Mike. I thought things were different now.”
That feels like a punch in the gut. Mike pretends it doesn’t. Things are supposed to be different now. He keeps trying. He really keeps trying.
“I’m sorry, Will. There’s just been a lot going on.”
“There’s always a lot going on. What’s changed?”
Mike sighs. As always, there are a million better ways for him to say this that he will surely think of later once this has all blown up in his face, and he can’t fix it anymore. No better time than the present. “I… El told me something, and I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about it.”
Well, that makes it sound way worse than it should be.
“What… what did she say?”
“Can we sit down?” Mike asks.
Will nods. “Okay.”
Mike sits next to him, and their knees are so close that they're bumping against each other. He feels himself blushing, and he tries very hard to ignore it. It partially works.
He knows that this is a conversation he should start delicately. He doesn’t want to fight. He wants a lot of impossible things, but most of all he wants to not fight. But, despite all of that, and in true Mike fashion, he hears himself say, “Why did you lie about the painting?”
Will inhales sharply. “What?”
Mike sighs. “Please, don’t do this, Will. I was hearing what I wanted to hear. In…” he takes a deep breath. It doesn’t help, but he has to continue speaking anyway.
“I was hearing what I wanted to hear in more ways than one. But that doesn’t explain why you lied. You said El commissioned the painting. You said that El felt all those things… about me. You said that…” His throat is tightening. The fear of crying is rapidly outpacing the fear of an argument.
“But it wasn’t true. The painting wasn’t for me. You made it up. Why?”
Will is intently avoiding eye contact. “Mike, I… I wasn’t lying.”
“El told me. And I should’ve known. I should’ve known nobody would feel those things about me.”
His voice cracks, and he looks away, hoping Will won’t notice the tears in his eyes. It’s funny, actually. He spent that entire car ride pretending he couldn’t see that Will was upset. He’s spent the last two years pretending not to see that Will is upset. Pulling him closer, in one form or another, to compensate.
Or pushing him away. Won’t we all be happier if you think I never tried to call you? If you think I never listened to the dial tone for hours, curled up on the basement floor staring at your drawings on the wall.
“Mike, I…” Will takes a deep breath. “You and El were in love. And you were doubting yourself. I didn’t mean to lie. I just wanted to help.”
“I wasn’t in love with her. I was…” his voice cuts off. “You shouldn’t have lied.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mike stands up, glad that his legs don’t give up on him. “It’s okay,” he manages. “I’m okay.” Now we’re both liars.
He walks out of the radio tower, content in the knowledge that he fucked that up beyond all recognition somehow. Where is Nancy? She’ll call him an idiot for how he behaved, but she’ll also try to make it okay. He hopes.
No. He’s not doing this. He’s not reverting to how he was when they were in middle school. It’s not my fault you don’t like girls. Mike winces at the memory. He walks down the hill towards the woods. He’s not stupid. He’s not going to wander away. But he needs the air. (He wants someone to follow him. He just doesn’t know who yet.)
But nobody follows him. Why would they?
Mike knows he can’t take it personally. It’s cold, and he didn’t look like he wanted to be followed. It’s okay. He has a tendency to take things personally.
Will was trying to help. He was trying to help, of course he was. Mike should’ve realized it would be something like that.
But it feels worse somehow, now. He felt like if anyone would realize that he wasn’t… wasn’t himself, it would be Will. Even Mike knew he wasn’t in love with El. He just thought it would follow eventually. But Will thought they were happy? Really?
What does that say about them? Mike thought they understood each other better than that. Clearly they don’t.
Mike tries to cut off the train of thought again. He’s getting worse at it, but he’s able at least to lecture himself about it. Don’t do this. Will deserves better. You’re projecting again.
He tries to wish his problems away by appreciating the glint of the metal bandaid covering the gates of hell in the sunset. But it’s cold. He can’t stay outside forever.
With a sigh, he turns back towards the radio tower. He doesn’t want to face Will, but he doesn’t feel like he has much of a choice. But when he gets inside, Will pretends not to notice him, pouring over a random magazine they picked up on a supply run. Mike sighs. He’s not brave enough to start this.
This started on the first day of kindergarten on a swing set, but Mike can’t unpack that right now, so instead he walks down to the lower floor past the fake shelf. Mrs. Byers is sitting on the couch. She looks around and offers him a small smile. He nods to her, unsure if he should move closer or leave.
He stands at a distance. The silence feels like one that she is going to break. And, after a few moments, she does.
“I’m worried about Will,” she tells him.
“Me, too.” Mike replies. What else can he say? He’s scared to move.
She rests her chin in her hands. “You’ve always known him better than the others. You were always my favorite. You slept in that hospital chair next to him for so long.”
Mike doesn’t reply. He’s not sure he could speak if he tried.
“He keeps risking himself,” she whispers. “He can’t keep risking himself.”
Mike clears his throat. “Mrs. Byers, Will can handle himself. He’s… he’s one of the strongest people… he’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. You love him, and I do, too, but he can handle himself. He’s always been able to handle himself. He’s not fragile, or breakable. And he’s not a kid. I mean, he’s basically a superhero.”
She nods. “I know. But you’re… you’re looking out for him, right?”
“Always.” Mike whispers. His voice sounds hollow. But it’s true, isn’t it? ‘Superhero’ doesn’t change shit for Mike. Of course, it has, sort of. Partially because the way Will looks is just so… it was amazing. He was killing monsters, but he just looked… the way he always does. But Mike let himself notice it.
With a deep breath, Joyce stands up, and turns around to look at him. Her gaze scans him carefully, and Mike presses the tips of his nails into his palms. “I heard about what you did to those awful boys. I’m glad my son has you.”
Tears prick in the corners of Mike’s eyes again. He nods, not trusting himself not to break down. She squeezes his shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to recognize all the other things that are breaking him on the inside. Which is probably a good thing.
He turns to watch her leave, and she closes the door behind her. Revealing Will.
Mike’s heart drops into his stomach. He borders on the fence between angry at the spying and panicking over what he heard. And I do, too.
Will takes a step towards him. Panic wins over.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that… I didn’t know you were here.”
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Will tells him. He hesitates. “But…”
Shit. Mike has ruined this. “Will, I…”
“Did you mean it?”
Mike takes a deep breath. He’s not running again. “Will. I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“You aren’t going to mess anything up, just tell me if you meant it when you said you love me!”
“I love you!” Mike cries, more a response to Will’s tone than anything else. He clamps his hand over his mouth too late.
Will stares at him, breathing heavily. Mike thinks he’s going to dissolve into a puddle of I don’t want to deal with the ramifications of this right now.
“Look, I really don’t want this to change things be—”
Mike is cut off as Will moves forward, looking up at him. Which is a far stretch from the worst case scenario. “Mike, stop it.”
He takes a shaky breath. “Will, I…”
Will shakes his head gently. “Mike. I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”
In hindsight, ‘did you mean it’ isn’t really a pre-rejection question. Mike nods on instinct. Will leans slowly forward, and Mike meets him halfway.They’re lips collide. It’s electric. It’s not like anything he’s ever felt before. It’s more than anything he’s ever felt.
He has no idea what to do with his hands. Or with anything. Before he can figure it out, Will pulls away, just barely. Mike leans after him like a child. Their lips brush.
“I love you, too,” Will whispers.
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes,” he breathes, and they lean in at the same time. His hands cup Will’s cheeks, and Will’s grasp his waist. They move until Will is pressed against the door. Mike doesn’t want this to stop. He wants Will, and Will wants him, too. They can deal with the rest of it later.
This thing between them, this tension, has been building and building. It’s been pressed up against the dam of everything stopping them, and one leak has broken the whole thing down. They’re falling, but they’re falling together and Mike doesn’t care.
They break apart, breathless. “I have to tell you something,” Will whispers.
“What is it?” Mike asks, nervously.
Will’s hand moves down his arm, and Mike’s heart rate quickens. Will intertwines their fingers.
“It was me,” he murmurs.
“What was you?”
“The… the painting. Everything I said, it was me. I meant me.”
“What? You…” But you make me feel like I’m not a monster. Like I’m better for being different. Oh.
Mike looks at Will’s wild, nervous eyes, and he sees his own reflected so brightly he wonders how he never saw this before.
They’re still touching each other, lightly. Mike can feel Will’s breath on his neck. But it’s not close enough. Mike wraps his arms around Will carefully. Nervously, and then desperately, clutching him tight and closer.
“Will, I… you’re… everything,” he murmurs. And, holy shit, Will doesn’t run away. He holds Mike closer. And when they pull apart, he’s smiling. And Mike is smiling, too, and nothing is hidden anymore.
Nothing is hidden anymore.