Chapter Text
3. You Gave it Away
About an hour later, in Mike Wheeler's bedroom…
(Outside the window, snowflakes fall like stars, thicker than before, reflecting the moonlight that, despite the chill in the air, casts the room in a cozy glow. As the boys enter, Mike stops just inside the doorway. The sight of the bed gives him pause, bringing back memories from the night before. Of watching Will sleep in the dim light, of Will snuggling up to him, holding him, making him dream of a future that won't ever be theirs, of all the confusing thoughts and feelings that are getting harder to ignore – mostly of Will being perfect. There's a muffled voice and Mike snaps back to attention, abruptly aware that Mr. Perfect is talking.)
WILL: …really not that bad.
MIKE: I’m sorry, what?
WILL: The sweater. It's… surprisingly comfortable.
(Okay, maybe he's not completely perfect.)
MIKE: Mm. Mm-hm. Once you get past the gaudy colors and cringy name across the front…
WILL (chuckling): I dunno… I kinda like them. I mean, yeah, they're a bit…
(He pauses, tapping his lip, searching for the word.)
MIKE: Don we now our gay apparel?
(Switching on the bedside lamp, Mike grimaces down at the snowman that's grinning from his chest.)
WILL (laughing): Well, I wasn't gonna say… But… I still like them. They're soft. And also… (with a lopsided smile) you look good in sweaters.
MIKE: I, I do?
WILL: I've always thought so… (He subtly eyes Mike up and down.) Really good.
(Under Will's scrutiny, Mike can feel his temperature spike and his ears go red. And suddenly, it's way too hot to be wearing a sweater in here. He unleashes a yawn to cover up his deepening blush.)
MIKE: Oh. Well, thanks. I, um… (He swallows.) I, I think it might be time to, uh… take them off though…
WILL (taken aback): W-what?
MIKE: I'm, uh… (He points his thumb at his closet.) gonna get my pjs on.
WILL: Ohh. I thought maybe you were, y'know, still trying to… (lifting an eyebrow) see if I'm hiding more presents under the tree.
(He flashes Mike an impish grin. Mike's stomach seizes. Oh god. His whole body starts turning to jelly and his legs quiver. Until he realizes, to his great dismay, that Will's just razzing him for fun. Mike sighs, his lips twisting like a corkscrew.)
MIKE (dryly): You're never letting me live that down, are you?
WILL (laughing): Nope.
(With a smirk, Mike steps into the closet, then steps out again moments later in plaid pajamas and offers the space to Will.)
MIKE: D’you wanna… change now too?
WILL: Um, actually… I was gonna ask if I could use your shower. After all that excitement today, I'm, uh, feeling a bit… ripe.
(Sniffing the air, Will makes a face. To be honest, Mike kinda likes the smell – strong, but with a touch of sweetness. Yeah, he probably shouldn't mention that.)
MIKE: Oh. Yeah. Of course. Y-you can borrow my robe… If, if you like.
(Mike reaches in the closet and pulls out a clump of something terry cloth and navy blue. And dubiously short.)
WILL: Uh… sure.
(After Will leaves for the bathroom, Mike stares at the door for a minute before crouching down to search under his bed. Among some old food wrappers and the odd unpartnered sock, there's a shoebox marked “Will”, a white binder labeled “Will's Art” and another binder, ocean blue, with no indication as to what lies inside. It's this binder that Mike slides out and sets on his bed. He opens it, flipping through pages of song lyrics, musical notations and sheet music, until he reaches one near the end that's only halfway filled with his scribbled handwriting. He scans the page, reading through the piece he began last night but left unfinished. Like all the others, it's inspired by a certain sunshiny chestnut-haired boy.)
"Still"
Lying beside you as you drift off to sleep,
You look so peaceful, so still.
Thinking of all that I've wanted to tell you,
If I can't be honest, who will?
Laughing at breakfast over pancakes and eggs,
You put the sunrise to shame.
If I found the courage to share all my dreams,
Would you still shine just the same?
What if I could tell you
everything I've longed to tell you
every time I've yearned to hold you,
would you turn and run away?
What if I could show you
what it means to really know you,
would it change the way you see me?
Am I right to be afraid?
If you knew…
How I feel about you,
If you knew…
How much I think about you,
If you knew…
How lost I am without you,
Would you like me still?
Missing you so bad, I can't help but scream,
You make my pain go away.
Writing you letters that you'll never read,
Why is this so hard to say?
Hiding my thoughts from myself and the world,
(After skimming through the half-written lyrics, Mike picks up a pen and fills in the rest of the verse.)
You make me want to come clean.
Still holding my cards pretty close to my chest,
So scared that my heart might be seen.
(He repeats the bridge and the chorus, then reads through the words one more time, tapping a beat on his leg. Then, fetching his guitar from beside the nightstand, he strums a series of chords, searching for the right sound. After a few minutes, a melody emerges, soft like a gentle rain, and the lyrics fall into place.)
MIKE (singing): What if I could tell you everything I've longed to tell you, every time I've yearned to hold you, would you turn and run away…? What if I could show you what it means to really know you…
(The door opens with a loud click. Mike jumps, nearly dropping the guitar from his lap. In a panic, he slams the binder shut.)
WILL (surprised): I… didn't know you could play guitar…
(Mike looks up and there Will stands – hair tousled and wet, legs bare beneath the bathrobe that ends just above his knees. His clothes are in a neatly folded stack across his arm, and with an odd prickly feeling, Mike can't help but wonder if he’s wearing anything under there. Anything at all.)
MIKE: Uh. Yeah. I, um... (Told you about it in that letter I never sent. Right.) just started. A-about a month ago…
WILL (impressed): Wow! You're a natural. What was that song you were playing?
(Will lays his pile of clothes over the back of Mike's chair, a hint of yellow boxers peeking out from beneath the jeans. Well, that answers that question. Mike gulps.)
MIKE: Um… just, something I… wrote…
WILL: Y-you wrote that yourself? Holy. That's… (He shakes his head in awe.) C-can you play it for me?
MIKE: I, uh… haven't worked out all the lyrics yet…
(Or found the desire to completely humiliate myself by letting you hear them.)
WILL: Oh, that's okay… I, I like the music, even without lyrics. I mean, if you want. Y-you don't have to…
MIKE: No, I… I can. Sure.
(Mike figures that couldn't hurt – Will can't tell what the song means from only the music, he's pretty certain. As Mike starts plucking out a tune, Will sits down beside him on the bed, the hem of his robe riding up a little higher on his thigh, and immediately, Mike is very grateful he's not singing right now. Because there is no godly way he could’ve hidden the voice crack that would've elicited. As it is, his heart pounds in his chest, throwing off his rhythm, and his cheeks burn to what he's sure is a very noticeable Santa-sack scarlet. He just hopes Will doesn't actually notice.)
WILL (gently): Hey… (He touches Mike's knee.) You don't have to be nervous – it's… only me.
(Mike's mouth goes dry. Of course Will notices. Crap.)
MIKE: I, I know. Just… no one's ever really… watched me before.
WILL: So, I'm, like… your first? (He smiles warmly.) Aww. I'm honored.
MIKE: Y-yup. You're my… my first.
(Mike winces and clears his throat, his skin singed in the spot where Will is touching. God, why are his knees shaking so hard? And if his hands don't stop sweating like this, his fingers’ll slip right off the strings. Jesus, Wheeler, pull it together, man! But the combination of Will's hand on Mike's knee along with the closeness of this soapy-scented boy and his naked legs – and naked whatever else is beneath that robe – quickly stirs an unwelcome reaction in the vicinity of Mike's lap. A tingling, then an aching tightness, then an overwhelming gratitude for the fortuitous location of his guitar.)
WILL: Are you okay?
(Mike squirms uncomfortably. Is he? He's not quite sure. It's not the first time this has happened, obviously – he's fourteen, not seven. But still, it is the first time it's happened when there's been a semi-undressed hot guy sitting beside him with a hand on his lap. He takes a long, shaky breath.)
MIKE: Y-yeah. I, I… will be. (Hopefully. Please?) Once I get going…
(And he's right. Luckily, once Mike settles into it and lets the music take over, his nervous system regulates. He relaxes. He finds the groove and it carries him like a boat down a river as Will listens in amazement. Soon, Mike starts humming along, being extra careful not to let the words slip out unintentionally. Those lyrics would be… embarrassingly difficult to explain. Almost as embarrassing as the lump in his pants that – thank god! – has begun to subside. As Mike finishes the song, Will rests his chin in his hand and gazes at him, wonderstruck.)
WILL: That was… incredible, Mike. That song is… wow, it’s… it's really beautiful.
MIKE (flattered): Y-you think so?
WILL: Yeah. Absolutely. It felt… (Will's eyebrows curl.) kinda sad though.
MIKE: Oh. Yeah. It… it's about missing someone who, who means so much it… feels like you can't breathe without them. Like you're lost and… And wanting to tell them but… you're... y-you're so scared because…
(Will cocks his head, listening intently. Shit. What is Mike doing?! He’s saying too much. Will’s gonna figure it out! He'll know. How is Mike supposed to explain this – feeling this way about him? It's not normal! He'll be so freaked out. Grossed out. Just… out – he'll be done with Mike forever. Oh god. Please don't figure it out… Please don't figure it out… He holds his breath, gripping the frets of his guitar so hard the strings dig into his fingertips. For a second, Will's eyes light up, giving Mike a mild heart attack. But then they flicker and dim.)
WILL: Oh. So it's… about El, then.
(Yes! Just… just say yes – that would explain everything, and so effortlessly. And then Mike wouldn't have to justify it. Will is handing him an easy out. He just has to go along, just has to say yes. Say yes!)
MIKE: N-no…
(Fuck.)
WILL: N-no?
MIKE: No. It's… it's not about El.
(Mike drops his head, braces himself, waiting for Will to ask who it's about then. Waiting for the sharp, stinging question to slice through him like hot knives. But Will doesn't ask. What is he waiting for? Why doesn't he ask? Terrified, Mike looks at him. In the amber-tinged lamplight, Will's eyes shine, glossy, his lips soft with unspoken truth. He already knows the answer, that's why. And he doesn't look disgusted. And he's not running away. Mike sets the guitar down beside the bed and slowly turns himself towards Will.)
MIKE: You don't… think it's weird?
WILL: No. I get it. I feel the same way sometimes… (shrugging) Most times.
MIKE: Y-you do?
(Mike's eyes widen in amazement. The seed of hope in his chest erupts into a flame. Does Will actually understand? Does he feel it too?)
WILL: Yeah. I mean, we've been best friends for, like, ten years, Mike. It's not weird for us to miss each other.
(Mike's heart sinks.)
MIKE: Yeah. Best friends… Exactly.
(Pursing his lips, Mike nods. Right. It's a song about missing his best friend – not about wanting the boy he's loved since before he even knew what the word meant. He exhales, both relieved and disappointed all at once. It's for the best, he tells himself, trying his damnedest to believe it.)
WILL (hesitating): One question, though – w-what does it mean to, um… really know me? (Caught off guard, Mike’s eyebrows lift. Will winces.) I… overheard some of the lyrics through the door. S-sorry.
MIKE: You…? Uhhh… Well… I, I guess... um… (Shhhit.) R-really knowing you means… knowing who you really are? (Oh, that's brilliant, Wheeler. Pulitzer Prize winning sentence right there! Dumbass. He inwardly cringes.) Like, your, um, likes and dislikes… y’know, y-your hopes and dreams… what scares you, what makes you happy. What makes you cry. What makes you… feel better when you're down. Knowing you… like I know myself… I guess? Like you're part of me. That's why I… feel so empty when you're not here.
(As he's listening, Will bites his lip and his eyes go misty. Okay, that wasn't half bad. Surprisingly.)
WILL: R-really?
MIKE: Yeah.
WILL: So… what are the lyrics after that? What if you could… show me?
MIKE: Uhh. Um. I… haven't quite… figured all that out yet.
WILL: Oh. Well… it sounds like a great song… I'm sure it'll be awesome.
MIKE (with a shy smile): Thanks.
(Will touches Mike's shoulder and stands up to fetch some pajama bottoms out of his duffel bag, slipping them on under the robe. He then takes off the robe and walks, shirtless, over to the closet to hang it up. Mike swallows down a small whimper. He plays with the bracelet around his wrist, doing his best not to stare. Sure, he's seen Will without a shirt on before, countless times, but he's never looked quite like this. And Mike didn't have quite these kinds of feelings back then. Love, yeah – but lust? That's a fairly new one. And Mike is not at all sure how to deal with it.)
WILL: Oh, you know what helps me with that…?
MIKE: Um. With…? W-what?
WILL: When I miss you. So much that it… it hurts.
(To Mike's great relief, Will grabs a t-shirt and slips it on on his way back to the bed.)
MIKE: Y-you feel that way too?
WILL: Yeah. (nodding) Of course I do. But when I want to feel like you're with me, I just… hold one hand in the other and… and pretend it's yours. That way I feel… connected to you. You know? (He twists his lips, blushing a little as he sits down beside Mike, a little too close. His hand twitches and Mike finds himself wishing he could hold it for real.) I know. It sounds dumb. But… that always helped me when we were younger and… I, I guess it still does.
MIKE (shaking his head): It's not dumb.
WILL: So… maybe there's something like that you could try… Like, when I'm not here, you could… I don't know…
MIKE: Wear the bracelet, and… think of you?
(Mike rubs his fingertips along the beads.)
WILL: Yeah. And then you'll know that I'm thinking of you too. ‘Cause… (shrugging) I usually am.
(Will ducks his eyes, as if maybe he's not supposed to admit that.)
MIKE: Yeah?
WILL: Mm-hm. And then maybe you won't feel so alone. It could be like an “I'm here with you” bracelet. A… BF bracelet – for Best Friends.
MIKE: Uh, okay. Cool.
(They share an affectionate smile that makes Mike's stomach flutter and Will's ears turn pink.)
WILL: Cool.
MIKE: Y’know, Byers… (He spins the bracelet around his wrist.) This… might actually be my favorite present this year.
WILL: It even beat out the snowman sweater? Wow. (grinning) That's no easy feat.
(Mike chuckles as he gets up to switch off the bedside lamp, stifling another yawn. Will pulls back the thick comforter and climbs into bed, Mike hopping in beside him, and they both snuggle down into the blankets. For a moment, they lie silently next to each other, cozy in their refuge from the crisp night air. They listen to the stillness and their breathing and nothing. Nothing but quiet. This time it's Will's turn to yawn and Mike can't help but think how adorable he looks, just like when they were younger.)
MIKE: Hey, Will…?
WILL: Hey, what?
MIKE (tentative): How... often are you having nightmares now?
WILL: Um… fairly regularly still…
MIKE: Really? (Mike gives him a little pout of sympathy.) You can still call, you know… Anytime you want.
WILL: Okay. (nodding) I will. I'll… try to.
MIKE: Did you have one last night? ‘Cause you seemed pretty, uh… (Beautiful…? Angelic?) calm… to me.
(Will pauses to give this some thought.)
WILL: Actually… No, now that you mention it. It was probably the best sleep I've had in… a long while…
MIKE: Yeah? (Mike smiles.) Me too.
(Will tilts his head, narrowing one eye at Mike.)
WILL: Wait, but… y-you said you barely slept…
MIKE (flustered): Oh. Yeah. No… I, I, um… I meant… (What did I mean? Being in your arms is the most at home I've ever felt in my life…? Nope – can't say that.) W-when I did sleep, it was… (Amazing.) good.
WILL: Oh. Well… good.
MIKE: Yeah.
(Contently, they gaze out the window, at the snowflakes dancing in front of the full moon. It feels a bit magical, like something from a storybook. Like little falling wishes for things yet to come.)
WILL: So… what was your actual favorite present?
MIKE: Oh, that's easy…
(They both answer at the same time.)
WILL: Super Mario Brothers?
MIKE: You.
(Will squints and shakes his head, unsure if he heard that right.)
WILL: Wh… W-what do you mean – me?
MIKE: Just… you. Being here. Honestly, it's… really all I wanted.
WILL: Y-you wanted… me? (The unspoken “not El?” is heavily implied.) Really?
MIKE: Yeah. It's… the only thing I asked for, actually.
WILL: Y… you…? I, I thought this was all your parents’ idea…
MIKE: Well, no… I… I mean, yeah, they arranged everything, and paid for it and… (slightly annoyed) didn't tell me. But only because I begged them. I didn't even want the other presents – I think they just felt bad for me because I… I've been so… lost this year. (The unspoken “without you” is also heavily implied.) Y’know?
WILL (still stunned): You… wanted… me.
MIKE: Of course I did, Will. You're my… (Everything.) best friend.
(Will peers at him, welling up as he swallows a giant lump in his throat.)
WILL: Yeah. Best Friend.
(Even in the cold soupy moonlight, Will's beaming smile is enough to brighten the whole room. He leans back into his pillow and reaches his hand out, looping his pinky finger around Mike's. It's the tiniest little touch, but to Mike, it means the world. He feels the weight of Will's finger, the warmth of it against his own, linking them together, and suddenly, the word friend – Best Friend – doesn't feel so disappointing. It feels special. Like it did when they were younger. Like it has a whole other secret meaning that nobody else knows. And in this moment, that feels like enough. The seed of hope sprouts into a tiny bud, glowing warmly in Mike's chest as he closes his eyes and listens to the quiet murmur of Will's steady breathing, in and out, in and out. Will is here. They're both respiring the same air, sharing the same space, feeling the same body heat. And there is nothing else in the world Mike could want more. While they lie side by side, joined at the hand and the heart, a quiet peace settles over them, soft like snow, and soon, they both drift off to sleep.)
(THE END)
(of the beginning)