Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If he lets himself think about it for too long, Mike regrets saving the world. 

Of course, he’s glad they rescued Holly and her friends and stopped Vecna from merging Earth with his creepy Hell dimension. But at eight thirty on a Saturday morning, if he could, Mike would take it all back. Let the gates swallow Hawkins completely, let Vecna terrorise the town. Anything would be better than the nightmare he’s been stuck in since they defeated Vecna. 

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, it's a perfectly lovely day, and Mike has never been more miserable in his life than he is right now, knocking on the Byers’ front door. 

It’s Will who opens the door, in an old dark blue sweater that used to be Mike’s, and his heart jumps into his throat. He’s unable to speak, unable to do anything but stare dumbly at Will. His hair’s gotten longer, Mike notices, falling softly into his eyes. He wants to touch it, wants to tuck it behind Will’s ear, wants to reach out, to touch him, to prove he’s really there and not just a cruel figment of his imagination, but he can’t. So instead, he just stares, eyes tracing every inch of Will to try and commit this glimpse of him to memory. Will stares back, confused. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” He asks. Mike knew the question was coming; he’s heard it almost every day since they defeated Vecna. But it still feels like a knife to the gut, “Look, if you’re trying to sell something, we’re not interested, and I’m definitely not your target audience for the word of ‘Our glorious Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ’ either,” Will gives him a wry grin, more comfortable in his skin than Mike’s ever known him. It’s his grin, the reassurance that Will is actually, finally happy, even if it’s without him, that he’s better off, that gives him the strength to spit out his well-rehearsed lie.

“I’m a friend of Jonathan’s, actually,” The words taste like lead on his tongue, “I’m not trying to sell you anything, especially not the Book of Mormon,” He adds on, just to say different words to Will, for once.

Will, like always, shakes his head self-effacingly, “I’m so sorry, I have this, like, memory thing, which…I’ve probably told you about before, haven’t I?”

Mike smiles softly, soaking in every last second of time he gets to spend in Will’s presence. 

Will groans, “Please don’t tell me we’ve done this a bunch of times.”

Every day, “Just twice,” He lies, “Don’t worry about it, it’s exciting, I’ve never been mistaken for a Mormon before.”

“Well, I’m assuming they wouldn’t be the biggest fans of your piercings,” Will laughs. Mike just hums in response, trying to hide his delight. He’d gotten his ears pierced two weeks ago, because Holly had been too scared to do it alone. His dad had a cow, but Will’s said something about them every day since. Mike lets himself think that means Will likes them, or, would like them if he liked Mike (if he knew Mike). The idea that Will would find them cool, along with the extra bit of conversation he gets out of them, more than makes up for his dad’s snide comments at the dinner table.

“Anyways, Jon’s just in his room, and I’m sure you’ve told me before but,” Will knocks on the side of his head twice. It’s a new joke, albeit a pretty terrible one, but a new joke from Will, all the same, Mike feels his face stretch into a delighted grin, “what’s your name?”

Mike’s face falls as a wave of dread washes over him. This is the moment, every time, where he's forced to grapple with the fact that he’s not a very good person. Because even though he knows that Will is better off without him, better off forgetting him, he still prays for even a flicker of recognition on Will’s face when he hears his name.

“I’m Mike,”

Will’s face stays blank.

“Well, nice to re-meet you, Mike,” Will smiles, friendly and formal, stripped of its fondness, like Mike is some stranger he has to make a good impression on. He wants to throw up.

“Yeah, um, nice to re-meet you too,” Mike stammers before pushing past Will to head down the hallway.

He silently sinks to the floor in Jonathan’s room, leaning against the door.

Jonathan grunts at him lazily, getting up from where he’d been lying on his bed to put on a record. Mike’s spent more hours hiding in Jonathan’s room in the last month-or-so than they’d ever spent together before; they’ve quickly developed a routine.

“Jane didn’t get the door?” He asks, nearly drowned out by The Smiths. Mike shakes his head slowly, unable to pull enough words together to reply.

The terrible truth is, Mike’s glad El didn’t open the door. His brief encounters with Will might leave him shattered, but they’re also the only time he ever feels anywhere close to okay. It’s sick and twisted and horribly selfish of him, but he misses Will, every second of every day. Constant reminders of his absence have been the defining feature of Mike’s life for the last month and a half. He wakes up, missing Will, eats breakfast, missing Will, drags himself to school, missing Will, naps through his classes, missing Will, spaces out at lunch, missing Will, bikes home, missing Will, goes to sleep, missing Will, all for the cycle to repeat the next day. The two minutes of awkward small talk he gets when Will opens the door feel like his only breath of air after a life underwater. 

Mike doesn’t know how to explain it to Jonathan without sounding like a crazy person, so he just buries his head in his hands.

El slips through the door a few minutes later, only shrugging in response to Jonathan’s questions about why she didn’t answer the door, another piece of evidence Mike mentally jots down for her intentionally letting Will get it (he’s almost sure she’s doing it on purpose but is still too scared to ask in case he’s wrong, or, if he’s right and asking starts a conversation with his ex-girlfriend about why he craves the few minutes of contact with her step-brother so badly, a can of worms he’s not ready to open yet, or, ever).

“We are going to a movie later,” She says, sitting down next to him on the carpet, “Three Men and a Baby. Dustin says it’s cheesy, but Steve likes it.” In Mike’s experience, that means it’s some sort of dramedy with a soundtrack consisting solely of the top 100 pop hits, “You should come.”

Mike sighs; he’s so tired of having this argument. “You know I can’t, besides, I’m not sure a movie Steve recommends is really my thing.” It’s a cheap excuse, and they both know it. El frowns, rolling over to face him while sprawled out across the floor. It feels like her eyes go straight through him. Mike loses the staring contest immediately, looking away and busying himself with picking at the fraying end of his sleeve.

“You don’t do anything anymore.” She says, which is hurtful, even if it’s true. “You should come to the movies. Right, Jon?”

Jonathan groans, probably the only person as tired of this argument as Mike is.

“I don’t know, Jane, is Will coming to the movies?”

“Yes, but-”

“The doctors said we should try and limit his triggers, let the memories come back naturally.”

“Mike can sit next to Lucas, and Will can sit next to me; they won’t even talk!”

They continue back and forth while Mike tries to disappear into the wallpaper. It’s always uncomfortable to be forced to witness someone else's arguments, Mike learned that well enough growing up with his parents. But watching people argue about you, like you’re not even in the room, is something else entirely. He looks towards the door nervously; they’re getting pretty loud, and the Byers’ walls are thin. Mike would love for Jonathan and El to stop arguing, but he’d rather they whisper-yell at him for hours than for Will to overhear them from the hallway.

“Guys, could you maybe quiet down?” Mike hisses, but they both ignore him.

“-and Will wants to know Mike! He asks me about him.”

“Yeah, only on days you let him get the door, which I told you to stop doing! He forgets that Mike exists by the next morning.”

“Look-” Mike tries to interrupt again, ignoring how much Jonathan’s words sting.

“He forgets everything by the next morning, but he wants to know Mike, he wants to remember!”

“I’m sure he thinks he wants to remember but-”

“Look-” Mike tries a third time, still to no avail.

“He does want to remember!”

“No, he thinks he wants to remember because he doesn’t know what memories he lost. Will’s memories of the Upside-Down…they weren’t nice, Jane.”

“So? My memories are not nice, but they are still mine. Will’s memories are Will’s, so he gets to choose if he wants to remember, and he does.”

“Look!” Mike yells. This time, it finally works. “If the doctors think it could be dangerous for Will’s memories to come back, we shouldn’t risk it.”

“But-” El starts, but Mike cuts her off; he’s sure that if El and Jonathan start arguing again, he’ll never get a word in.

“If he had, like, total amnesia, that would be one thing, but he’s still Will, right? He’s just forgotten the bad stuff, the Upside-Down, Vecna,” and me, he doesn’t say, but El still hears him (supposedly, she lost her powers, Mike’s convinced she can still read minds). She squeezes his hand softly as he tries to blink back tears. “We need to focus on helping Will recover, which the doctors think means starting with his short-term memory.” The words hurt to say, even though Mike knows they’re true, “that’s more important than if he remembers me.”

Jonathan smiles at him sadly while El rolls her eyes.

“The doctors do not know anything, they think he has post…” She trails off, looking to Jonathan to help her find the words.

“Post-Traumatic dissociative and Anterograde amnesia,” Mike says, over the last month, he’s become an expert on the subject, checking out every book the Hawkins library has on memory loss and begging Nancy to bring him others down from the city when she visits. 

“Yes,” El nods, “but he doesn’t; his memories were taken by Vecna.”

“But how does that change anything?” Jonathan asks tiredly, “They’re still the leading experts on memory loss in the country; they know more than we do.” Mike’s not sure that’s true, given they’re talking about an interdimensional monster stealing Will’s memories, which the U.S. government won’t admit exists, but he bites his tongue.

El is clearly gearing up to rebut his point when she’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Hey Jonathan, do you know where-” Will pokes his head through the door, and his eyes land on El, not Mike (which is perfectly fine because he knows El, and he doesn’t know him, Mike tries to reason- it still hurts). “Oh, hey Jane. I’d been looking for you.”

“Right here.” 

“I can see that, anyways, have we ever seen this movie before? I want to know if I can sit next to Dustin, he’s awful at not spoiling things.” Will laughs, “I sat next to him when we watched The Princess Bride, and he told me the entire plot before we were ten minutes in.” 

The first time Will saw The Princess Bride, he sat next to Mike, and the second, and the third (it was a really good movie, okay?) Mike wonders if Will even remembers that. 

Does he think he sat next to Lucas or Dustin and shared a box of Red Vines? The idea makes Mike’s stomach hurt.

“How do you even remember that?”

“Because it was so bad, I wrote it down! It’s on a post-it note next to my calendar.”

“Well, we haven’t seen it before, but Dustin has so…”

“Sit next to Max, got it.” Will nods.

“Do you need me to drive you?” Jonathan asks, Mike thinks he was going for exasperated, but his tone doesn’t manage to be anything but fond.

“Maybe…” Will smiles, his real Will smile, not the one reserved for strangers (and Mike), but his true smile that stretches across his entire face and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Seeing it after so long, even though it wasn’t directed at him, still feels like a sip of water after years in the desert. “But Robin just called and said if we want to get lunch with her, she’ll get Steve to drive us to the cinema after.”

“Milkshakes!” Jane cries, jumping up to drag Will out of the room, “Let’s go!”

Will smiles at Mike, a small smile somewhere between his formal smile for strangers and soft smiles for friends, before closing the door behind him. Jonathan sighs, already knowing what Mike’s about to ask.

“Is it wrong of me to hate Robin?”

Jonathan responds by throwing a pillow at him, which Mike nearly catches, before being equally mature and sticking his tongue out at him.

“What is it with Robin?” Jonathan groans, “Will has other friends, why do you have such a problem with her?”

“Well… um,” Mike starts, unsure how to explain it, “they were only friends for what, a few days before all of that Vecna stuff went down? Which I still don’t understand, but whatever. And now she’s his like new best friend or something, and I just think it’s kinda inconsiderate of her to get so close with him while he doesn’t remember me.”

“Mike, are you jealous of Robin?” Jonathan laughs.

“No! Yes? I don’t know,” Mike hides his head in the pillow, maybe things will make more sense there. “He thought I was Mormon today.” He mumbles.

“A Mormon? That’s new.” 

“Do you think I look like a Mormon?” He asks, more earnestly than he’d like to admit. 

It’s not like he has a problem with Mormons; Dustin’s Ex-Girlfriend was Mormon, and she totally saved their asses like multiple times. His problem is that Will thought he was a Mormon, which probably means he didn’t think Mike was cool. And even though Will has no idea who he is, Mike still cares, probably a little too much, about what Will thinks of him. Jonathan studies him as Mike regrets every decision he ever made that led to him getting fashion advice from Jonathan Byers, god, if he told Nancy she would die. 

“Did Nancy give you that flannel?” Jonathan says eventually, Mike ignores how his voice wavers on his sister's name; that’s something he can deal with later, with Will’s help, once he remembers him (because he will remember him, eventually, right? Mike can’t let himself think about the alternative).

“No, um, it’s Wills,” Mike flushes, “he’d left it in my room…before…” He trails off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

Jonathan rolls his eyes, “Are you ready to actually talk about that? Or are-”

“He had a doctor's appointment yesterday, right? How did that go?” Mike asks, shamelessly avoiding Jonathan’s question. 

Officially, this is why he comes over to talk to Jonathan (unofficially, he’s getting updates for Nancy and straining to hear Will move around on the other side of the wall, perpetually searching for signs of life). Jonathan’s smart, Mike knows that he knows Mike has ulterior motives, he just hopes that Jonathan still thinks that motive is spending time with the only other tolerable person in Hawkins, while avoiding his entire friend group, not smuggling information back to his sister while trying to catch a glimpse of Jonathan’s brother through the crack in the door.

“Yeah, he did,” Jonathan nods.

“And?” Mike says expectantly. 

“And he’s getting better?” Jonathan shrugs, “His scans are still coming back good, but he still can’t remember anything past early November, or you.”

Mike falls back onto Jonathan’s carpet. “I can’t do this, I think I’m going crazy. Actually, I know I’m going crazy, I’m just not sure I’m past the point of no return yet.” Jonathan hums sympathetically; he’s heard this rant many times over the last month. “And I don’t know what to do, and I want to talk to Will about it, but I can’t, and I-” His voice breaks, “I can’t do this without him, Jonathan.” 

“I gave the doctors your notes,” Jonathan says, providing Mike with a change of topic that he latches onto, gratefully. 

“You did?” He sits up breathless, “Did they read them? What did they think?”

“Well, they didn’t read all of them, but-”

“Why not?” Mike cries, “It’s been weeks, they’re still completely lost, but they don’t have the time to read my notes? It’s not like they’re busy doing any work!”

“Mike, you gave me twenty pages of paper, double-sided.” 

“So?” Mike rolls his eyes, “I’m doing their job for them, the least they could do is actually read a bit.”

“If by ‘a bit’ you mean forty pages of your chicken scrawl. Mike, your handwriting is actually awful. Has anyone talked to you about that?”

“Will could read it,” He huffs, “and I don’t get what my handwriting has to do with my research.”

“Will could-” Jonathan softens, sighing slowly, “they liked your research, Mike, especially that study you found about music. The doctors are going to look into it some more, but they might try it. You’re helping Will.”

“I am?” Mike asks quietly, voice barely there over fading music. He sounds pathetic, but can’t bring himself to care. 

“You could come with us to the hospital, you know,” Jonathan says, standing up to flip the record. “The doctors would talk to you, if you wanted, about your research, about Will’s progress.”

“Jonathan, I can’t.” Mike whispers, “I just- I can’t go back there, okay?”

“They think it could help to talk to you. So they can gain a better understanding of the memories Will lost, of you and Will…of your relationship.” Jonathan tries to meet his eyes, but Mike refuses to look up. He knows what Jonathan is trying to do: make it about helping Will, so Mike’s able to endure it. If he was a better person, it might work. But Mike can’t go back to the hospital, can’t stomach sitting there like his world didn’t end in one of its little white rooms.

Mike wasn’t allowed to wait in Will’s room, which was barred to everyone but ‘immediate family only’ until he woke up. It was absolute bullshit, and eight hours after finding out, he’s still complaining.

“I’m just saying,” He says for the umpteenth time. Dustin groans, having been forced to sit through all of Mike’s previous rants on the subject, “Lucas got to sit with Max! They’re not immediate family. Why can’t I sit with Will?”

“Firstly, they’re practically married, so-” Dustin shrugs.

“They are not practically married, we’re seventeen! I’ve known Will way longer than they’ve been dating. I’ve known Will longer than we’ve known Max!”

“I know, we all met her at the same time, dumbass. But that’s besides the point. Max also doesn’t have any immediate family anymore, remember?” 

Mike rolls his eyes, which Dustin clocks instantly. “Hey, you can’t roll your eyes at me because I made a good point, you’re just pouting because you can’t see Will yet, but don’t take that out on my arguments.”

“I’m not taking it out on your arguments! I’m-”

El walks through the door, and Mike falls silent at the sight of her, waiting for something, anything, a sign that things are going to be okay. She nods, just slightly, and Mike’s running past her towards Will without a second thought.

He bursts through the door, and Ms Byers and Jonathan both smile at him as he rushes to take what feels like his rightful place at Will’s side. Now, seeing Will alive, awake, and looking at him, Mike finally allows himself to breathe. It’s over, they won, and it’s perfect until-

“Are you here to take my blood?” Will asks, voice still hoarse from the final battle.

“I’m not actually,” Milke laughs, reaching out for Will’s hand. Will pulls away, and Mike looks at him, confused, trying to ignore his rising panic, and how every second Will doesn’t grab his hand, his heart climbs further into his throat. feels the world start to crash in on him. Had he read the signals wrong? Was Will just caught up in the heat of battle? Oh god, he hates him, he absolutely hates him, Mike’s lost his best friend and-

“I’m sorry,” Will says, cutting through Mike’s internal panic, “I don’t know who you are.”

“What?” Mike must have misheard him; his ears are still ringing from the explosion.  That’s what it is, he misheard Will, but he’ll clear it all up now, and it will all be okay. They’ll be okay.

“Am I supposed to?” Mike stumbles back from Will’s words. He needs to leave, he needs to get out of here, needs to talk to El, she can fix Will’s mind, needs to find Will, his Will, because something must have happened. 

Mike runs out of the room like it’s on fire. Maybe the sharp November air will wake him up, and this is just a bad dream. Outside, he’s cold, and it still feels like the world is ending, Will’s words running through his mind on repeat. He goes to his house, then the Byers’ old house, and then to Castle Byers, nestled halfway in the trees. He’s exhausted and out of breath, falling to his knees on the forest floor.

“Will?” Mike calls out, voice shaky, he’s utterly terrified. Will has to be here, because that’s not him in the hospital; it can’t be. Will has to be here because Will has to know him. He can’t even begin to think through the other option. Will’s going to walk out of Castle Byers any second now, and he’ll smile when he says Mike’s name. He has to. “Will?” He calls out again, voice shattered and desperate. 

He’d been prepared to die in their final battle with Vecna, amidst the chaos, Mike had been ready to go down screaming; they all had been, the world was on fire, the world was ending, and it was loud.

Mike calls out to Will, and his world crumbles to pieces in the silence that follows, a quiet armageddon. 

He hasn’t been back to the hospital since.

“I’ll write them another letter,” Mike says, intently picking at a spot on Jonathan’s carpet. “And if they have any more questions, about… anything, let me know, okay?” He’d answer a thousand questions about his research before knowing where to even start with their ‘relationship’ (Jonathan’s word choice there did not slip past him, but Mike’s choosing to add that to the ever-growing list of ‘issues he will address later once he can talk to Will about it’)

“Mike…” Jonathan starts, and Mike’s not sure what the end of that sentence would be, but judging by the concern in Jonathan’s voice, it isn’t anything good.

“I should go,” He says suddenly, getting up and heading towards the door, “uh, homework.” 

Jonathan just looks at him, clearly not buying his flimsy excuse, but letting him leave anyway.

Mike quickly flees, the Byers’ house suddenly becoming suffocating.  He only stops briefly to wave at Ms Byers before he’s on his bike and heading home.

Mike bikes around Hawkins for a few hours, passing the time, thinking about Will. Nothing changes except the scenery, given that Mike had also been thinking about Will in Jonathan’s room, one of life’s reliable constants, wherever he is, no matter what’s going on, Mike’s always thinking about Will. 

When he finally, actually, heads home and sees Will’s bike on his front lawn, Mike’s convinced he’d dreamt it into existence. He did that sometimes, when Will went missing. He’d stay up all night, convinced that the second he went to sleep, Will would call for help over the radio. The next morning in first period, still half asleep, he would see Will walking into the classroom, only for him to disappear as soon as Mike rubbed his eyes. He holds his breath on the lawn, terrified to shatter the illusion, but Will’s bike is still there, no matter how many times he looks back to check. 

His mom greets him when he walks in, and his dad ignores him, which is pretty par for the course. Mike’s about to head up to his room when a voice stops him, Will’s voice, not the polite voice he uses to talk to strangers that Mike’s become all too familiar with, but Will’s real voice, drifting up from the basement. Mike walks towards the edge of the stairs, towards Will, a moth towards the light. 

Sitting at the top of the stairs, he drinks in the sight of Will stretched out on the couch, arguing about something dumb with Dustin. Max meets his eyes and smiles, apologising for not warning him that the Party was coming over. 

It had been odd at first, having Max live with them, especially while he was still adjusting to life without Will. They’d never been particularly close, both far too similar and far too self-loathing when they were younger to ever really get along. But when she needed a place to go, it wasn't even a question. Nancy was moving out, so they had the space, and Holly jumped at the chance to spend even more time with Max, her own personal shadow.

The only person with any complaints was Lucas, who’d argued for weeks with his parents on why Max should be allowed to stay with them, to no avail. But Max across the street was still way better than Max across town (or Max moving back to California to stay with an Aunt she only vaguely knew, the other option that had been discussed, which everyone agreed was unacceptable).

While the Sinclairs weren’t willing to let Max live with them, they were more than willing to have her run across the street for every meal. An offer she quickly accepted once discovering that the Wheelers were largely reliant on TV dinners and Pop-Tarts these days, as Mike’s mom was still recovering from the Demo attack. Eventually, Mike and Holly started to follow her, and seven chairs became a permanent fixture around the Sinclairs' table. Mike’s not sure his parents have even noticed, aside from one-off comments from his mother about how much longer groceries are lasting (Mike tried to offer Ms Sinclair grocery money, once; she rejected it, vehemently, and he’s still building up the courage to ask again).

It's hard to remember that there ever was a time without Max waking him up in the morning with obnoxiously loud Kate Bush blaring through her radio, trading barbs across the hall as they get ready for school, (she is typically right about his shirt and pants not matching, but he'll never admit that), and rolling their eyes in tandem when his dad says anything, ever, really.  Max in the room across the hall is right, in a way Mike can’t really explain, like it’s the final puzzle piece falling into place. (The loud, embarrassing puzzle piece, who loves to make fun of him constantly, and invades his personal space.) He was always meant to have three sisters. 

After the initial awkwardness, they’d adjusted nearly instantaneously, and this part of their new normal felt truly normal quicker than he expected. He still hasn’t adjusted to life without Will, but that’s a different problem.

She gestures to an empty spot on the couch, inviting him to join them. Mike shakes his head. If he went down, Will would stop laughing, or, at least, stop laughing like this, unrestrained, without a care in the world. So he’s content to sit at the top of the stairs, listening in, as close to the real thing as he can get.

The conversation in the basement meanders from mundane topic to mundane topic; Mike barely pays attention, just relishing in the sound of Will’s voice. That is, until. Their conversation takes a turn.

“Do you guys know Jonathan’s friend, Mike?” Will asks, and Mike nearly falls down the stairs.

“No-no, I can’t say I do, really,” Max coughs, looking back up to Mike with panicked eyes, clearly asking him to leave as quickly as possible, but now, more than ever, he can’t move.

“Oh, okay.” Will nods, as if it’s no big deal, as if the question didn’t alter the centre of Mike’s gravity. If Will really did want to know him, like El had said, would it really be selfish? Or would it just be Mike returning to his rightful place by Will’s side, his Paladin, helping him get what he wants? 

“Why do you ask?” Dustin asks, shooting Mike a shit-eating grin from his seat on the floor. He couldn’t have sounded less suspicious if he tried. 

“I don’t know,” Will hums, tracing patterns only he can see into the couch cushion, something he’s always done when he doesn’t want to answer a question. It's so Will, familiar, so close, but so far away that it makes his heart hurt. “I’m just trying to figure out how many times I’ve made a fool of myself in front of Jon’s cute friend, that he, of course, had to make after I got amnesia.”

At this, Lucas, the last person in the basement with any passable performance of ‘normal’, nearly chokes, “You think he’s cute?” He asks, voice strained, Mike didn’t even know that Lucas’s voice could go that high.

Max, El, and Dustin all look up towards him now, pantomiming ‘get away’ in every way possible, but Mike ignores them, because Will’s still talking, talking about him, and Mike couldn’t leave even if he wanted to.

But then, of course, because they weren’t even trying to be subtle, Will looks over, too. Mike nearly trips jumping to his feet, trying to make it seem like he was just coming down the stairs, and hadn’t been eavesdropping for the better part of the last ten minutes.

“Hey, guys,” he waves awkwardly, “hey, Will.” Will smiles at him, and while the rest of the Party roll their eyes at him, Mike can’t bring himself to care; the room still feels like it’s glowing.

“Hi Mike, how nice of you to just show up right now.” Dustin jokes, and it’s Mike’s turn to roll his eyes.

Will turns back towards Max, playfully shoving her softly, “Oh, you don’t know him?”

“I don’t know him, I’m staying in his house,” She laughs, “It’s really all the same if you think about it.”

“I don’t think it is actually,” 

“How was the movie?” Mike interrupts, itching to get Will’s eyes back on him. It works, and they fall into a staring contest Mike hopes never ends, a thrum of electricity underneath his fingertips. 

“Great!” El chirps at the same time that Dustin groans, “Awful.”

“I liked it,” El says, turning towards Dustin with her face scrunched.

“That’s because you like all happy endings, El.” She tilts her head at him, and he loses the argument before it even begins, “and there’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose. They’re a crowd pleaser for a reason.”

“I thought it was nice,” Will says quietly. If Mike hadn’t spent his entire life learning to pick Will’s voice out of a crowd, he might have missed it.

“Should I go see it?” Mike asks, the words fall out naturally before he can stop himself. Behind Will, Lucas, Max and Dustin all wince, as if Mike’s words caused them physical pain.

But Will smiles at him, soft and slow, almost shy. It’s a smile of Will’s that Mike’s never seen before, not the stilted smile he’s met with at the Byers’ door most mornings, or the easy grin Will wears around friends, but something else entirely that Mike doesn’t quite understand. It lights a flame in Mike’s stomach; he’s already thinking about what he can do to get Will to smile at him like that again.

“Maybe…” Will hums, “You know, if you need a movie-watching buddy, I can try my best to forget what happens.” Will’s small smile turns into a grin that nearly blinds him. Mike stumbles back on the stairs, grabbing the railing to keep his balance, not dropping Will’s gaze. 

“Okay!” Dustin claps, suddenly standing up, popping the bubble that had been separating Mike and Will from the rest of the world, “Wow, would you look at the time! Well, we should probably head out, right, Will, El?”

“We don’t-” El starts, confused. Dustin very subtly points between Mike and Will, Mike flips him off, which he ignores, but it makes Will laugh, so he really doesn’t mind. “Oh. Yes. We have to go. Curfew.” She sighs, Mike nearly laughs, remembering how they’d use the same excuse when dating; hopefully, they’d been better actors (they definitely hadn’t been).

“We don’t have a curfew?” Will says, just as confused as El had been.

“Yes, you do, you just forgot it, amnesia, remember?” Dustin says quickly, El nods, and they grab Will by the elbows and drag him out of the basement. 

Will bumps into Mike on his way up, and even through both layers of fabric, his arm burns. “Okay, I guess we have to go?” Will laughs when they stop at the top of the staircase, “Bye, guys, see you!”

“Bye!” Lucas and Max both call from the couch. 

“Bye, Mike,” He says more softly, like it’s just meant for him to hear, flashing him another one of his small smiles Mike doesn’t quite understand. It robs Mike of his words, and he continues to stand at the bottom of the stairs, wavingly dumbly at the space Will used to be, long after the door clicks shut.

Max shakes his shoulders, and Mike jolts back to reality, blinking groggily as if he’d just woken up (it hadn’t been a dream; Mike’s dreams were never that nice). 

“Hello, earth to Wheeler?” She snaps twice, “What the fuck was that, dude?”

“What?” Mike startles, still not fully able to think about anything other than Will’s smile, playing on repeat at the front of his mind.

“Should I go see it?” Lucas mocks him from the couch, in a very unflattering imitation of Mike (there’s no way he actually sounds that nasal… right?).

“I don’t sound like that,” He grumbles, going to sit down next to him. Max shoves her way between them, happily invading both boys' personal space. 

“You totally do,” She cackles, “but only when you’re talking to Will,”

“That’s not-” Mike protests, before realising this wasn’t an argument he could win. “Anyways, I don’t think it’s right for Dustin to use Will’s amnesia against him to get him to leave,” 

“Oh, it’s totally unethical, but what happened to ‘I have to stay away, for Will’s sake’,” Max says, in an impression of him somehow even more unflattering than Lucas’s.

“I do! But-” Mike struggles to explain, “I have to, but I can’t, y’know? It’s like… It’s like- it’s like gravity. If you drop a plate, it’s going to fall, even if that means it’s going to shatter into a million pieces and ruin everything and-” Mike’s nearly hyperventilating now, taking short breaths in-and-out that do nothing but make him panic further. He can feel Lucas’s and Max’s eyes on him, growing increasingly more concerned, but he can’t bring himself to comfort them, because Max is right, he should stay away from Will, he has to. 

He has to stay away from Will, but time and time again, he doesn’t. Time and time again, he’s selfish, choosing the brief relief of being in Will’s orbit over what’s best for him, over Will’s safety. He lets the plate shatter, time and time again, picking up the shards with bloody fingers, just for the chance of a quick brush of Will’s hand.

“Hey Mike, it’s okay. Breathe with me, c’mon, man,” Lucas grabs Mike’s hand and brings it to his chest. He breathes slowly, in an even rhythm, until Mike eventually starts to match him, coming back to Earth in deep ragged breaths. “Max was just giving you shit, yeah?” 

Lucas glances towards Max slightly, where she’s been sitting frozen, eyes wide and locked on Mike. She unfreezes and nods, quickly. “Yeah-yeah, totally, just, uh, just messing with you, Wheeler.” She whispers, “Are you-”

Lucas cuts her off, more than familiar with how well Mike reacts to the words ‘Are you okay’, “We’re happy that you’re talking to Will again, honest, it’s a good thing for both of you. And you shouldn’t have to hide yourself away like you’ve been doing out of fear that you might see him.”

“But the doctors said-” Mike argues.

“And the doctors said I was brain dead,” Max counters, rolling her eyes, “Do I look brain-dead to you?” Mike smirks, Max punches him in the shoulder, “Shut up, Wheeler, I’m trying to comfort you and shit.”

“I really miss him,” Mike confesses, voice barely more than a whisper, scared to say the words too loud, as if they might topple the shaky house of cards he’s been living in ever since Will woke up and didn’t remember his name.

“I know, man.” Lucas sighs sadly, “He misses you too.”

Mike snaps, “How can he miss me? He doesn’t even know me.” He can’t keep the bitter edge from his tone. 

“No, you haven’t been there. He misses you.” Lucas insists.

“Yeah, like sometimes he’ll be in the middle of making a super nerdy argument, and he’ll spin around like he’s waiting for you to back him up,” Max laughs, “it’s honestly kinda sweet.”

Mike misses Will so constantly that the idea of it being reciprocated, even just for a second, makes the panic settle in his chest; it already feels easier to breathe. Mike wonders how many arguments Will’s gotten into that he’d wanted Mike’s support in, without even knowing. He hopes he gets into a million more.

“But,” Mike hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “what if the doctors are right? I can’t- I couldn’t live with myself if I put Will in danger just because I was a little sad.”

Max and Lucas both look at him, clearly thinking ‘a little sad’ is an understatement. Mike fidgets under their gaze, while it’s definitely true, he’s not willing to admit it. He’s already been far more emotionally vulnerable than he’d like to be on a Saturday afternoon.

“Who gives a fuck about the doctors?” Max groans, “No, actually, what do they even know?”

“Max!” Lucas chides, before turning back towards Mike, “Look, I know it’s hard to not know if Will’s going to be okay, it’s really scary, right?” His voice wavers, and Mike is reminded of the months Lucas spent staying up late and skipping classes, spending every hour he could at Max’s bedside, a one-man vigil. “But, we’re going to get through it, together, just like we’ve gotten through everything else. You don’t have to do this alone, you just need to stop locking us out, man, okay?”

Mike nods, just slightly, indecipherable for almost anyone. But Lucas has known him through all of his stewing and silent phases, and can read Mike’s microexpression as the apology it’s meant to be. 

“Yeah,” Max says, smiling gently, “I know we’re not great Will substitutes, but-”

“Oh, shut up,” Mike laughs. 

“But we’re still your friends, alright? So you need to stop with this loner shit, I’ve tried it, and it’s no fun. The next time we go to the movies, you’re coming, no buts, I will tell Holly where you stashed the leftover Halloween candy.”

“What if it’s a bad movie?” He grumbles, just to be difficult.

“I think El wanted to see Cinderella,” Lucas winces, “it was rereleased in theatres.”

“You’re joking-”

“No, we are not, you, Michael Guinivere Wheeler, are going to watch Cinderella with us next weekend, we’re going to eat so much popcorn that we feel sick, and we’re going to have a fantastic fucking time,” Max says with finality, clearly ending the discussion.

“Okay,” Mike rolls his eyes, “but can we watch an actual good movie tonight?” One piece of the ‘new normal’ Mike has come to enjoy is nearly nightly movie nights with Max and Lucas, who’s able to stay over much later than the rest of the Party (even when they don’t have fake curfews), given all he needs to do to get home is run across the street. He’s definitely third-wheeling, but they keep inviting him, so for once Mike allows himself to not look a gift-horse in its mouth, and to enjoy the small bit of comfort he finds curled up on the couch with Lucas and Max, heckling whatever movie they choose to watch that night. 

Tonight, it’s The Evil Dead,  and while they boo every stupid decision, Mike can almost pretend it’s truly normal, and they’re all watching a movie in his basement, just like they used to.

It’s not just how it used to be, though. Instead, it’s the twisted new normal Mike’s learned to live with, moving through the world with a constant pain in his chest that stings every time Mike turns to whisper a joke to Will and is met with empty air. But if he closes his eyes, he can pretend. Eyes shut tightly, Mike imagines Will on the other end of the couch, their legs intertwined. 

He sleeps without nightmares for the first time in months. 

“Wheeler, wake up, right now, I swear to god, Mike,” Max hisses, shaking him awake, “We are so totally screwed, you need to get up, right now.”

“Huh?” Mike rubs his eyes blearily. 

“So you remember that heart-to-heart we had last night about you not running away from Will? Great idea and all, in theory, but I had been imagining a more gradual timeline, maybe over a few weeks, or even just a few days.” Max says, all in one breath, without stopping, “But, Will’s outside like right now. So, I take back what I said last night, you need to go.”

“Will’s here?” He asks slowly, the only part of what Max said that he actually processed. 

“Yes, as I just said, Will’s here and-”

Mike’s body moves on its own accord, heading towards the stairs. 

“Mike? What are you doing? I just said to do the exact opposite of what you’re doing right now,” Max groans, running up the stairs behind him, “I actually hate you.”

Mike ignores her, unable to focus on anything else. Will’s here, Will’s here, Will’s here, his mind blares on repeat as he climbs the stairs. He freezes in the hallway, stunned at the sight of Will, even though he was expecting to see him. But it’s one thing to know that Max said Will was here, and another thing entirely to see him standing in the doorway, still in his pyjamas, holding a bright pink sticky-note.

“Hey,” Will smiles, awkward and endearing in a way that Mike is not at all prepared to handle at seven in the morning, “are you Mike?” 

Mike would’ve been more prepared for a physical blow. He stumbles back from the weight of Will’s words, nearly crashing into the kitchen counter. He can barely stand, let alone speak, so he just gapes at Will, a fish flailing about on dry land.

“How-how-” He eventually manages to choke out, still holding onto the counter for support. 

“I wrote it down,” Will says, holding up the note, “Jon's friend Mike, 1224 Maple Street. I don’t know why… I thought you might know?”

“Oh,” Mike frowns, trying to hide how crushed he feels. 

“Yeah,” Will sighs, “I’m sorry, I really didn’t think this through. I read the note when I woke up, and it just felt… important? I don’t know, I should go, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” Mike stammers, as much as Will not really remembering him hurts, it’s still something. “It’s fine, uh, don’t worry about it. I don't, um, I’m not sure why you wrote my name down, but we could figure it out, maybe…together?” 

He holds his breath as the question hangs in the air between them, an electric, enticing possibility. Will studies him intently, as if looking for the answer to a question he hasn’t asked.

“Did we know each other?” Will asks eventually, his question cuts through the silence, but only worsens the tension between them. Now, Mike truly has been left speechless, staring at Will like he’s the only real thing in the world. The house could be on fire around them, and Mike wouldn’t even notice; he’d probably chalk the warmth up to the heat in his cheeks. 

“Sorry, that’s so weird,” Will apologises, after Mike is silent for far too long, “I have issues with my short-term memory, which, you probably know. But I guess, it just feels like there’s something missing? I don’t know, that’s stupid, forget I said that. If you could forget about this entirely, that would be great, actually.”

Mike manages to form his first coherent thought since seeing Will in the doorway; Max was totally right. He’s not ready for this, for Will wanting to know him, but not knowing him. Wanting to know Mike from the start, a stranger he shoots shy smiles across the room, like he’s not the only person who’s ever truly known him. Mike can’t handle making small talk with Will, pretending he wouldn’t be able to recognise his shadow in the dark.

Making possibly his first smart decision all day, he runs.

Over the last few weeks, Mike’s life had been defined by missing Will. For the next week, his life was defined by running from Will. Something he never imagined he’d be doing, but has, every single day.

It turns out El hadn’t been lying about Will wanting to know Mike, an idea that still turns his heart into a wild winged thing slamming into his ribs, trying to break free from his chest. 

Because Will forgets him every morning, but he finds him every day by lunch. The same pink sticky note in his hands, becoming more weathered by the day. 

Some days, he shows up in his pyjamas, standing awkwardly on Mike’s doorstep in the morning light, which is not fair. He can only barely manage to make sentences around Will normally, being surprised by Will on his front steps in the early sunlight while he’s still only rubbing the sleep from his eyes consistently leaves him spellbound, looking like an absolute idiot. 

On other days, Will shows up later, giving Mike enough time to pretend he has some form of a plan (it’s always gone the second he opens the door, replaced by Will’s smile). Mike’s always waiting, no matter how much of his day he has to waste pacing around his living room, passing the time. Will knocks, and he answers.

“You know,” Dustin asks one day, always the rationalist, “if you’re just going to stammer at him before running away again, we could just leave, and actually do something other than just waiting for Will. He’s only able to find you because he has your address written down. We could go to the arcade and-”

“No,” Mike says, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I have to be here. If Will tries to find me-”

“If?” Dustin interrupts, “Hasn’t he come to your house every day since he found out where you live? I feel like we can start saying when.”

Mike fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve, if lets him hope, lets him pray for the chance to cross paths with Will each day, already more than he’d ever allowed himself to hope for. When isn’t hope, it’s setting himself up for heartbreak. But he’s unable to articulate any of that to Dustin, so he just shrugs. Thankfully, he’s talking to Dustin, who doesn’t push. 

“Anyways, I’m really glad you’re finally talking to us again, Mike. Like, don’t get me wrong, please don’t go back to the whole avoiding us thing, that sucked. But do I have to wait until Will finds you?” He groans, falling back onto the couch, “Like, I could just go, hang out with El and Will, and then come over when they do. It’s not like we do anything until Will shows up.”

“You’d get impatient and drag Will over immediately,” Mike counters, raising his eyebrows, daring Dustin to argue.

“I would not!” Dustin squawks, before pausing, “Okay, well- I probably would, but what’s wrong with that? It’s Saturday, do you really want to just sit around and waste our time waiting? I’m just being efficient. ”

Mike rolls his eyes, “It’s not- you can’t do that, Dustin, you don’t get it.” Mike’s pacing the length of the living room, back and forth, back and forth, trying to do something with the nervous energy thrumming at the base of his skull. 

“So explain it to me, Mike,” Dustin sighs slowly, grabbing the edge of Mike’s sleeve and  forcing him to stand still, “I want to understand.”

Mike chews on the inside of his cheek, unable to find the words. “If Will doesn’t want to find me, then he shouldn’t have to. I don’t want him to feel, like, pressured or anything,” He sighs. “I don’t know.”

Dustin tries to meet his eyes, but Mike looks away, already uncomfortable with how exposed he feels, his words sitting in the centre of the room.

“But Mike…” Dustin starts, unsure, “You know he wants to find you, right? I mean, at this point he’s making it pretty clear that-”

“Still,” Mike insists, “every day is different, right? That’s what the doctors said. So, I can’t expect anything of him; that wouldn’t be fair and-”

“Hold on, Mike, if you aren’t expecting him to come, then why are you waiting? You’re just content to sulk around your house all day on the chance Will shows up?” 

“Yeah?” He shrugs, painfully honest. Mike’s not sure why Dustin’s so confused; he’d sulk around waiting for Will for the rest of his life, and it wouldn’t even be a difficult decision. It’s more difficult to imagine a world where Mike ever leaves, knowing Will might come looking for him. The Earth orbits the Sun, and Mike orbits Will, as dependable as gravity, what goes up must come down, where Will goes, Mike follows.

However, Mike knows that if he said any of this, Dustin would definitely ask follow-up questions, so he just shrugs again, like it means anything.

Dustin’s about to argue, but he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. Mike jumps, his heart already pounding, Will, Will, Will, Will. 

Will’s wearing a faded Talking Heads shirt that Mike thinks once belonged to Jonathan, faded blue jeans, and a bottle cap necklace Holly had made him over the summer (she was going through a phase with the hot-glue gun). Mike has the other half of the matching set, burning a hole in his pocket.

“Hi,” Will says when he opens the door, face breaking into a wide smile. Mike can feel his heart jump into his throat. “You’re Mike, right?” He raises his eyebrow while asking the question, as if the answer’s already obvious, and Mike doesn’t understand how it feels like Will knows something he doesn’t, when Will doesn’t even know who he is.

“Yeah,” Mike stammers, unsure if he’s ever spoken a word before in his life, “Mike, I mean, I’m Mike, yeah. Um, you’re Will, right? Well, I know you’re Will, but like, you know, I know, you’re Will, and-” Will’s laughing now, softly, under his breath. It’s the greatest sound Mike’s ever heard, and also completely humiliating; Mike’s cheeks heat. “Do you think you could just forget I said anything, maybe? Please.”

“Well, I want to remember but…” Will pauses, and his face falls into the most over-exaggerated pout Mike’s ever seen, “It’s not really up to me, is it?”

“Oh my god,” Mike’s face is now fully on fire, “I forgot, I mean, I didn’t, you did and- I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?” He buries his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers to find Will still laughing at him, but Mike can tell it’s not cruel (Will almost looks… fond, if he allows himself to think like that, but he can’t, he shouldn’t, so Mike chases the thought from his mind).

“It’s alright, Mike, you’re good,” Will says, still laughing, “it’s… It’s refreshing, honestly. Everyone’s always walking on eggshells around me with the whole memory thing,” He meets Mike’s eyes, flashing him another smile that nearly makes him buckle at the knees, “It’s nice talking to someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m about to break.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mike nods, “I would never, I mean you-” He falters, realising there’s no normal way for him to say you’re the strongest person I know, given Will doesn’t know that they know each other. Mike’s eyes fall back to Will’s necklace, and he pivots, “I like your necklace.”

“Thanks,” Will rolls the bottle cap between his fingers, “Holly made it for me, Max’s-” He looks back up at Mike, head cocked, as if a piece of the puzzle just slid into place, “Well, she’s your little sister, right?”

For a few seconds, Mike can only blink; it’s like Will’s put the world around them on pause. Will’s voice drags him back to reality, as the world restarts.

“Is she not? You look really-”

“No, yeah, she is,” Mike says, stumbling over his words. “Holly’s my little sister.”

“She’s a sweet kid,” Will hums. 

“Yeah, well, of course you think that,” Mike laughs. Will looks up at him, confused, “I mean, she adores you,” He elaborates, “thinks you’re the coolest.”

“No way, she adores Max, I’ve seen it.” Will shakes his head.

“Second-coolest,” Mike amends, “still way cooler than me.”

“Is that a close competition?” Will smiles, teasingly. It runs shivers down Mike’s spine as he tries to hold it together.

“Ha ha, very funny,” He rolls his eyes, “Anyways, she loves you. Wants to be an artist just like you when she grows up.”

“She’s seen my art?” Will asks, clearly confused.

Mike immediately realises he’s fucked up. Because Holly has seen Will’s art, lots of it, Mike’s room has always been a museum of Will’s work, with drawings hung up on all of his walls and in the binder he keeps by his bed. Drawings Will probably doesn’t even remember making, and Mike has no good excuse for having. He glances towards Dustin desperately, who’s still lying on the carpet, completely ignoring them, shit. 

“Well, I mean, just some stuff you’ve made Max, I think, probably…” He trails off; it’s clear Will doesn’t fully buy it, but lets it slide. 

“It’s strange we hadn’t met before,” Will says, studying Mike as if he’d be able to stare hard enough to reveal all of his secrets (He, quite honestly, might. There's not much Mike wouldn’t confess under Will’s stare).

“I mean, we have, you just don’t remember,” Mike replies, a lie and the truth tangled into one.

“No, but, I mean, like before. I know Nancy, I know Max, I know Holly, but I don’t know you.” Mike knows Will’s words were meant to be playful; his lips are still curled into a smile as he watches Mike with bright eyes, waiting for Mike’s next move in the game they’ve started to play. Mike doesn’t know the game, Will doesn’t know Mike. His words land like a punch to the chest, robbing the air from his lungs.

“Are you okay?” Will asks hesitantly after a few seconds of silence pass between them, brow furrowed in concern, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you somehow, I can go if-”

“No!” Mike interrupts, “No, don’t go,” he probably sounds way too desperate, but can’t bring himself to care, “you didn’t upset me, sorry I just got, um, distracted for a second.”

“Okay,” Will starts slowly, “Look, Mike, if I’m overstepping in any way, please tell me, but…” Mike already knows what he’s going to ask; he’s heard the same question at least twenty different ways. His breath still catches when Will asks it, every time. “Did we know each other before?”

Mike’s about to lie, spit out the regurgitated line he’s said so many times before, but he pauses. He’s so tired, tired of stumbling through awkward conversations with Will, trying not to trip on landmines, of coming up with more and more excuses to skip hangouts with the Party that they don’t believe, he’s tired of lying to Will more than anything. It makes him feel wrong down to his bones, like even his atoms are trying to rebel against him, because he doesn’t lie to Will, they don’t lie to each other, they didn’t. They didn’t lie to each other, couldn’t lie to each other, because they knew each other too well. And now Will has to ask his name, and Mike has to lie in the answer to all of his questions, and Mike is just so tired of it. Maybe, if he tells the truth, it will feel a little bit more like it used to. 

So, Mike lies to Will (a different lie, a smaller lie, one closer to the truth but still not dangerous, hopefully). 

“Yeah, um, we did. We weren’t, like, super close or anything, but we’ve had a few classes together. And, um, knew each other through Nancy and Jonathan, obviously.” He says awkwardly. 

“Oh,” Will frowns, “that’s it?” He sounds almost disappointed. 

“Yeah,” Mike shrugs, desperately trying to hold it together. 

“And I only forgot you?” Mike can only bring himself to nod, “I’m so sorry, this must have been so awkward.” Will winces.

“Awkward?” He laughs, heartbreaking, devastating, and the worst experience of his entire life would be a bit more accurate, but, “Yeah, it was a bit awkward at times, I guess. But you shouldn’t apologise, it wasn’t your fault.”

Will wrinkles his nose at that, a gesture so familiar it hurts his heart. 

“No, no,” Mike insists, crouching slightly to look up into Will’s eyes. This, too, is deeply familiar, even if only one of them remembers. Will blinks slowly, “I’m serious, none of this is your fault. You don’t need to feel sorry, you shouldn’t feel sorry, okay?”

“Okay,” Will says, exhaling softly.

Mike suddenly becomes aware of just how little space is between them; he backs up suddenly, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

“Anyways, um, Dustin’s inside, do you wanna…” He hesitates. Thankfully, Will seems to understand exactly what he means.

“We could go to the arcade?” Will suggests, “Downtown, Dustin and I went a bunch when we were younger, I don’t know if you ever did-”

“The Palace?” Mike cuts him off, trying to ignore how much Will’s assumption hurts, “I loved The Palace, I don’t think I’ve been since middle school.”

“I don’t understand how we weren’t best friends,” Will laughs.

Mike doesn’t have a way to answer that without breaking his own heart, so he just walks into the living room, and Will follows, only a step behind. When Dustin sees them walking in together, he jumps up nearly instantly.

“Holy shit, you finally told him that-”

“That we’d had some classes together?” Mike interrupts Dustin, wanting to make sure he doesn’t say too much. An understanding passes between them, and Dustin rolls his eyes. Will looks back and forth between them, confused. 

“Yeah,” Dustin repeats, slowly, “that you’d had some classes together, exactly what I was going to say, Mike.”

“Great, then we’re all on the same page. Will wanted to go to the arcade. What do you think?” Mike asks Dustin, forcibly casual, ignoring all of Dustin’s attempts to silently tell Mike how absolutely terrible of an idea this is. He knows it’s terrible and doesn’t really care. Even if he had to sell his soul to the Devil to go to the arcade with Will and pretend like everything’s okay again, Mike would probably still consider it.

“Sure, why not?” Dustin sighs, accepting Mike’s refusal of logic or reason, “Lucas, Max, and El are across the street; we can go get them.”

“Sounds great!” Will beams, Mike forgets about Dustin’s worries instantly. Will’s smiling at him, and he’s never been more sure of a decision in his life. 

After that, it all gets easier. 

Every day, Will finds him, and Mike’s heart jumps into his throat when Will asks him his name. Every day, Mike lies a little less when he answers. 

Half the time, Mike’s not sure any of it’s real; sometimes, he’ll pinch the inside of his wrist when Will walks up to him, to make sure he’s not just dreaming the whole thing up. Most of the time, he doesn’t do anything. Even if this is a dream, Mike doesn’t want to wake up.

They fall into a routine that only Mike remembers, an odd, almost-friendship, with a clean slate each day. Mike practices jokes until he perfects them and keeps a mental list of lines he can whisper that will get Will laughing with his eyes scrunched up and head tilted back, smiling at him like they’re the only two people in the world. It’s a high he spends every day chasing.

Mike had gotten used to sitting next to an empty desk in all of his classes, staring at Will across the room. But suddenly, Will’s sitting to his right again, passing notes and whispering in hushed tones, doodling on the corner of all of Mike’s papers. 

When Mr Grabowski sees them sitting next to each other again, he smiles, telling them both he’s “So glad they’ve worked things out.” Mike had to fumble through an explanation, lying about an argument they’d had the day before that never really happened. The truth was is that they’d had Mrs Grabowski for English all through middle school, where they’d been her only exception to the assigned desk-partners rule (which annoyed Lucas and Dustin to no end). 

He turns in a worksheet to Mrs O’Donnell on Antarctica with Penguins and Polar Bears scattered throughout the margins. When he gets it back, there’s a note at the top alongside the grade: Please remind Mr Byers that there aren't Polar Bears in Antarctica. I’m glad to see that you two are getting along again. Mike shoves the paper into his bag, cheeks burning, and doesn’t have an answer when Will asks what’s so fascinating about a worksheet they did last week.

Ms Click assigns partners for a project in history, and Mike’s paired with Jennifer Hayes of all people, who Mike had always been wary of, ever since they were twelve and she thought she knew Will enough to cry over him, like she had ever even known him.

Now, Will waves at Jennifer at the start of class, a friend from Art club, according to Lucas, and doesn’t know Mike at all. If there’s anyone out there pulling the strings, Mike thinks they’re an asshole. 

When he’s not blinded by what he can admit in retrospect was just jealousy, Jennifer’s not unpleasant, she’s far too friendly for eight am on a Tuesday, and she’s not Will, but, he sees why they get along. 

Especially once she spots Will looking at them from across the room, and waves him and his partner over to their desk while flashing Mike a conspiratorial grin. “Okay, they’re my best friend and I say this with nothing but love. I think the last time Dafne did the assigned reading was like… sixth grade, I swear to god,” Jennifer whispers.

“Yeah, there’s no way Will’s read it either,” Mike laughs.

“So, swap? We’d have two passing projects, and I know you’d rather work with Will anyway,” She asks in a teasing tone that reminds him of Max.

“I don’t have a problem with you,” (anymore), Mike says, and he means it. Jennifer’s a friend of Will’s, which is as good a mark of character as anything in his book.

“I’m not saying you have a problem with me, Wheeler. I’m just saying you like Will more.” Mike can feel his cheeks heat, which makes Jennifer cackle as she moves to the table next to Mike's, and Will takes her seat.

“That was the most terrifying five minutes of my life. Dafne and I thought that we were actually gonna have  to do the work ourselves.” He shudders. Mike hopes he means it; it’s the only bright spot within Will forgetting his existence. He’s forgotten the Upside-Down as well; it helps him survive it.

“The horror,” Mike jokes, delighting in the way Will’s entire face lights up

“I know, I know,” Will laughs, smile growing even wider, Mike’s surprised it’s not blinding anyone else in the room, “do you want to leave?” He tilts his head in a way that says that he already knows how Mike will answer his question; he hasn’t known Mike for a day, but he’s already realised that wherever he goes, Mike will follow.

Will leaves early most days, if he comes at all. His attendance is irregular at best, but Mike can’t blame him. He’s not fully sure why Will comes to school at all. There’s not much of a point, really. The teachers were all told of his condition (well, the government-approved explanation for his condition, without mention of Vecna, or the Mind-Flayer, or the gaping Mike-shaped hole in Will’s memories), so he just goes from class to class without doing anything, aside from talking to Mike. 

Will asks him to skip last period one day, and so they do, because there’s no world where Mike turns down one of Will’s requests. His attendance record quickly becomes as sporadic as Will’s, which isn’t ideal for the fall of his Junior year. But he doesn’t really mind, even if no one else thinks it’s a good idea. Jonathan included, who’s started to roll his eyes every time Mike’s at their door with notes for Will’s doctors, which had originally been a brief sentence or two of how lost he looked in the halls, but have quickly become pages and pages of details, documenting the days they spend together. 

“You can’t seriously think you can keep this up forever, Mike,” Jonathan sighs. 

Mike wants to argue, but he can’t, because it’s not like Jonathan’s wrong. Instead, he turns to El, knowing she’ll be on his side.

“I think it’s good,” She smiles brightly, coming to his defense “you’re doing things again, that’s good, we missed you.” 

“Thank you, El,” He says pointedly. She taps his knee in response.

Jonathan just rolls his eyes. “I don’t want you to isolate yourself again,” Jonathan groans, “I never did; you chose to do that completely on your own.” This, also, isn’t wrong, just insulting, so Mike can’t do much more than scowl at him petulantly. “I want you to do things with your friends, I just…” He runs his hands through his hair, searching for the words, “I’m worried about you, alright? I know you’re happy about talking to Will again, but I can’t imagine that having him forget you every day is easy.” 

“Oh, like it’s easy for Will?” Mike retorts, “So what if it’s not easy? You don’t need to worry about me, Jonathan; I won’t tell Nancy.”

“That’s not the point, Mike,” Jonathan says softly, “I don’t need to worry about you, but I want to. Of course, this isn’t easy for Will, but…but it’s not a competition” he pauses, hesitating, “It’s okay if this…if this is hard for you too. It’s hard for me, sometimes, and he remembers— nevermind.” He meets Mike’s eyes, unflinchingly earnest, and it’s like a dam breaks. 

Mike sighs slowly, burying his head in his hands. “I think I’m going crazy,” 

“Going?” El hums. Mike looks up at her, and she laughs, “I’m joking…Well,” El raises her eyebrows at him teasingly, Mike playfully shoves her in the side, “We still love you, even if you are crazy.”

“Wow, thanks,” He smiles, allowing El to pull his head into her lap, so she can braid his hair. She’d insisted Joyce teach her, so she could help take care of Max’s hair while she’d been in her coma. Now, it was her favourite thing to do with idle fingers; other than Dustin, Mike was her favourite (semi-willing) client. 

“Why is Will making you crazy this time?” She asks.

 Jonathan snorts, and Mike flips him off lazily.

“We thought that Will’s memories would come back if he spent too much time with me, right? All of his memories.” Mike says, stressing the ‘all’ as a reminder more for himself than Jonathan and El. “But it’s been a few weeks and…”

“He hasn’t remembered anything,” Jonathan says.

Mike nods, “Exactly, he hasn’t remembered anything, but that’s not a bad thing, necessarily, because…he’s forgotten me, but he’s also forgotten the Upside Down.” 

“It is a bad thing,” El interrupts, “If Will had a choice, he would want to remember you, even if he would also remember the Upside Down.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Mike argues.

“Yes, I do. We’re twins.” She counters. 

“You’re not even-” The look on El’s face helps Mike realise this isn’t an argument he’s going to win, so he gives up, rolling his eyes in defeat, “Sure, whatever. The point is-”

“That you are sad because Will does not remember you?” 

Mike refuses to even justify El’s (not entirely untrue) comment with a response.

“The point is,” He repeats, “that even if Will would want to remember me, he doesn’t, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to. The doctors had thought it would happen immediately, but… it hasn’t. What if-” Mike’s voice breaks, “What if he never remembers me?”

“Mike,” Jonathan sighs, clearly about to console him.

“No, no,” Mike says, cutting him off, “This isn’t- you shouldn’t feel sorry for me. Will’s- he’s free from the Mind Flayer, and he’s alive, he’s safe, he’s okay, he’s- he’s happy. That’s already- when we confronted Vecna,” He feels a chill pass over the room at the mention of their final fight in the Abyss, “I really thought we lost him, but we didn’t. We didn’t, and I should be happy about it. Right? It’s- It’s selfish of me to want to endanger his happiness just because I miss him. I-I need to get over myself already and-”

“Will has good days and bad days,” El says, seemingly out of the blue.

“Yeah, I know, what does this have to do-”

“He’s had more good days,” She continues, as if that clarifies anything, but Mike’s still completely lost.

“What?” He asks, turning towards Jonathan to see if he can help Mike understand what El’s saying, but he just nods knowingly, looking back towards El.

“He has more good days,” El repeats, “now than he did when you wouldn’t talk to him.”

“Really?” The thought is too good to be true, the silver lining of his selfishness, that he’s been able to help Will in some way, nearly makes this all worth it.

“Jane’s right,” Jonathan nods, “Will has seemed more…settled, lately. I don’t know.”

“And you think that’s because of me?” Mike whispers, allowing the fluttering hope to settle in his chest.

“He misses you,” El teases in a sing-songy, knowing tone. Mike’s cheeks burn.

“So… you think that it’s okay if I keep seeing him?” Mike’s voice shakes while asking the question. He holds his breath while waiting for an answer; the few seconds of silence that pass feel like they stretch on for an eternity. 

“Of course it’s okay, Mike,” Jonathan smiles, and it feels like a weight is lifted off of Mike’s shoulders, “I just… I don’t want you make yourself miserable-”

“Why would I be miserable?” Mike asks, confused, “I’d be with Will.” 

“Yes,” El says slowly, “but he doesn’t remember-”

“So? I’ll be with Will, a Will who’s alive and happy and like, yeah, he doesn’t remember me, but he doesn't have to, he’s still Will. I still lo-” Mike’s heart catches in his throat, he shakes his head, trying (and failing) to push the words from his mind, “He’s, he’s still my best friend, okay? I can’t- I won’t be miserable spending time with him.”

“Mike,” El sighs. 

“No, no, stop thinking whatever you’re thinking,” He says, standing up and heading towards the door, “It’s fine, I’m fine, I’m more than fine actually because I’m going to hang out with Will, my best friend, and- yeah, so.” 

Jonathan opens his mouth to say something, but Mike’s really tired of having his psyche overanalysed, so he leaves the room. 

When the door clicks shut, Mike tries to shake the lingering worries out of his head. Because he’s not miserable, he’s not, no matter how many looks El and Jonathan share, and it’s fine, he’s fine, and- it takes him a few seconds to realise he’s not alone in the hallway.

“Hey,” Will smiles hesitantly, “are you Mike?”

His remaining doubts vanish in an instant. 

Mike is eventually called into Ms Kelley’s office after missing three days and four tests in a row. He sits across from her, nodding at what she says without really listening, foot bouncing against the linoleum and eyes on the clock. Agree, accept whatever punishment she sees fit, and get out as fast as possible. Every second spent in here is a second not spent with Will, a complete waste of his time.

“You’re a good friend, Mike. I’m glad Will has someone like you in his corner.” Ms Kelley says softly, it’s the first time any of her words actually register, because they’re about Will, not his GPA, or class credit, or something else he doesn’t give a shit about.

“Mhm,” Mike nods, still tap-tap-tapping his heel against the floor. Agree, accept, escape, he reminds himself, that’s all he needs to do. Agree, even though it’s not the truth. He’s putting Will in danger, and he’s lying to him, but he’s too much of a coward to commit to a choice, too selfish to let himself lose Will completely, too scared to tell him the truth. Accept that he’s not a good friend, not Mike the Brave, accept he’s probably not even a good person. Escape is impossible, but Mike still glances towards the door.

“Michael, are you listening to me?” Mike's getting on her nerves now, with his tap-tap-taping, his one-syllable responses, and his anxious looks towards the door. Maybe, if he annoys her enough, Ms Kelley will just give up on him and kick him out, then he could go find Will.

“Mhm,” He repeats. Ms Kelley, in an impressive show of professionalism, manages to stop herself mid-eye roll.

“Michael, this is serious. A drop in your grades like this in junior year looks bad to universities. And if you keep it up much longer, there might have to be conversations about if you’re allowed to get credit for the courses.” Ms Kelley nearly whispers this, like not getting credit for 11th-grade Biology is the worst thing in the world. Mike has to bite down on the inside of his cheek not to laugh. There are much worse fates than a failing grade in a class or two, fates he’s stared straight in the eye, when the idea of class credits Junior year, when the idea of making it to high school at all wasn’t even in his mind. Three months ago, a monster nearly destroyed their world, possessed his best friend, stole his mind, and still hasn’t given it back. No matter how much Ms Kelley tries to stress the importance of his semester reportcard, Mike can’t bring himself to care.

3“I’ve been mainly in honours classes, I’m pretty sure I have enough credits to graduate right now if I wanted to,” He hums. It had been Nancy’s suggestion freshman year, when it looked like they were getting a break from dealing with Upside-Down adjacent problems, get enough credits while you can, so the next time we have to deal with a fucking creature from Hell, you don’t have to worry about balancing it with your geometry homework. 

“Still,” Ms Kelly tsks, “you’re a smart kid Micheal, always have been. You could go to a really good school if you wanted to. It would be such a shame for you to throw that chance away just because you’re going through a rough patch.”

Now, Mike does laugh, short and bitter, a rough patch, sure. “I mean, I don’t even know if I want to go to university,”

“What do you mean?” Ms Kelley asks, concerned.

“I mean, Will’s not going, probably, so…” He shrugs, keeping his tone forcibly blasé, trying to act like this is something he’s just thought of, not an idea he’s been going over in his mind ever since Will woke up.

“Michael,” Ms Kelley sighs, pity bleeding through in a way that makes his skin crawl. “I know this is hard for you, but you can’t just put your life on pause for William-”

“Why not?” Mike asks, voice sharp. Ms Kelly stays silent, which is honestly for the best. Mike doesn’t want to hear her answer. “His life was put on pause, and we’re all just supposed to leave him behind?”

“No, of course not, but-” 

“No, this is bullshit, it’s all such bullshit. You want me to give a shit about missing a few classes while Will’s missing months of his life?” Mike pushes his chair away from her desk, agree, accept, escape, heading towards the door. “If it’s really so important that I go to my classes, then why did you pull me out of class to tell me?”

“Michael, you can’t just walk out.” Ms Kelley says slowly, dragging out every vowel like he does when trying to talk Holly through a temper-tantrum when she breaks a crayon, it’s such bullshit. Everyone wants Mike to move on, to stop being upset, but Will’s upset, and he can’t move on, so how does that make any sense at all?

“You want me in class, right?” He scoffs, “So I’m going to class.”

“Are you actually going to class, or are you going to skip?” Ms Kelley counters. Mike pauses, unsure if it’s even worth it to lie. He can see Will through the small glass window, chewing on the edge of his nail. It’s a bad day, Mike’s learned to recognise them. His shoulders are tight, and even though he can’t see it, Mike knows he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Skipping, probably,” Mike says, honestly, already halfway out the door. He shuts the door before she can say anything else, and takes a second to stare at Will as his foot stops tapping, and his posture slowly starts to relax. He’d typically have at least a little shame staring at Will so openly, trying to memorise every detail, the exact shade of pink his cheeks flush. But it’s not like he’ll remember tomorrow, so Mike can stare unafraid of consequence. Besides, the Will of today, the Will who matters, meets his eyes and smiles, so Mike stares unashamed.

“Will, hey,” He says softly, almost under his breath, like they’re the only two people in the world (for all Mike knows, they might as well be, not much would change), “do you want to get out of here?”

“Do we do this every day?” Will laughs.

“Only most of them,” Mike replies, dragging Will down the hall.

He has English next block, which is the only class he actually likes, but as soon as they step outside, Will visibly relaxes, the tension draining from his shoulders, so Mike couldn’t care less about English. 

Mike points out his car to Will in the student lot, and he climbs in the passenger seat.

This is one of the strangest parts of Will’s return to his life. While shotgun was always supposed to be Will’s, he’d never ridden in it. One of the few spaces that’s not haunted by the ghost of Mike-and-Will before, the version of them with ten years of history that still lives up in his head. All of his memories of Will in the car are of a Will who met him that day, a Will to whom he’s essentially a stranger, a Will who’s sitting in the front seat of his car anyway.

“Do you have a destination, or should we just drive? “ Mike turns to look at Will, who’s already looking at him, head tilted, he’s about to ask the question, The Question, the string of words that live in a pool of dread in the pit of Mike’s stomach. 

The Question only comes up every couple of days; he still hasn’t found any common denominators for when Will asks, except that he always looks at Mike like this. Like he’s looking straight through him, past his lies, his walls, his skin, muscle, tissue, and bone, eyes focused on his heart, his heart that’s had Will’s name carved into it ever since he can remember. 

“Mike, how close were we before?” He asks, and Mike’s about to vomit, “I know I’ve forgotten some stuff, but how much? How much of you have I forgotten?”

Everything, Mike wants to say, you knew me better than I knew myself, the cruel whispers in the back of my head and the air in my lungs. But you’ve forgotten me completely, and I’m starting to forget what it felt like for someone to know me. I’m starting to forget the parts of me that only you knew.

Instead, he shrugs, trying to hide the way his hands have started to shake, “What do you mean?”

“You say we knew each other,” Will starts slowly, “we knew each other, but we weren’t close. But… that can’t be true. I know it’s not.”

“It is.” He says flatly, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, if he was looking at Will, he wouldn’t be able to lie.

“No, it’s not,” Will repeats, desperation seeping into his tone, “I know it’s not, Mike. Because I wake up every morning and all I have of you is your name on a post-it note, but I know you anyway. I know I need to find you before I even know who you are!” Will’s voice breaks, Mike tightens his grip on the steering wheel, barely managing to keep the car on the road. “It’s like there’s this compass in my chest and you’re north, I’m always looking for you and I don’t know why, I don’t even know your middle name. But I do know that you’re not just some random guy I gave the notes to in class once, I know you’re more, Mike, even if I can’t remember.”

Mike finally succumbs to the wild want in the pit of his stomach and glances towards Will. He’s staring at Mike with a gaze that feels like a physical weight, like he’s learning to paint him, eyes tracing the lines of his face, trying to commit them to memory, even if the memory only lasts a moment. Mike’s heart jumps into his throat, and he suddenly swerves into the shoulder, realising he was very close to losing his license.

For a moment, they just stare at each other, sitting in a silence that says more than words ever could. Will’s only looked at him like this once before, the day before their final stand, the last time they were on the same page. Mike exhales, slowly, and watches Will's eyes slowly trail down to land on Mike’s lips. The air in the car is nothing like the brisk January chill outside, but something humid, almost sticky, the air thrumming with the anticipation of a bad decision.

“Joseph,” he whispers. It sits in the space between them, a single world piled on top of hundreds more left unsaid. Mike wants to say something else, he wants to do something reckless, he wants to reach over and- 

He wants Will to remember it the next time Mike kisses him.

Mike tries to shake the longing out of his head, but it won’t leave him; it never does. He directs the energy to wherever it can go other than his jack-rabbit heart, tapping his hands against his knees, knocking his foot against the side of the car, an electric current running under his skin.

“My middle name is Joseph,” He repeats. The words don’t erase the tension between them; the air stays thick. 

Until Will nods slowly, understanding the silent plea in how Mike’s hands shake. Not now, please. He cocks his head in Mike’s direction once more, and Mike knows his prayer had been heard. Not now, but not never. Mike feels a pang of regret as the rush dissipates between them, but the logical part of his brain (the part that goes silent whenever Will gives him a look) knows that he couldn’t survive being the only one to carry another one of their shared secrets when he wakes up tomorrow.

“Joseph,” Will echoes slowly, testing out the taste of the word on his tongue, “Michael Joseph Wheeler,”

“That’s me,” Mike says, giving Will a wry smile.

“And I know you,” Will shifts in his seat fully to face him, cross-legged in the front seat of Mike’s car. It’s reminiscent of how they’d sit growing up, knee to knee, but before Will would never have to wonder if he knew Mike, before, Mike would flinch back whenever their knees brushed. Mike holds on to the point of contact, the physical reminder that he has known change that isn't cruel.

“Will,” He sighs.

“No, you do, and I know you do.” Will insists, “Because you’ve been skipping class with me every day, and you’re willing to put your life on pause, but you seriously want me to believe we were hallway buddies? I know you’re lying, Mike. I don’t know how I know, but I do. I’m supposed to know you; I know you. I. Know. You.” Will repeats his words, leaning halfway over the centre console, emphasising each word with a point towards Mike’s chest, hesitating right before he makes contact, as if suddenly unsure he’s allowed, hand hovering right over his heart.

“No, you do, and I know you do.” Will insists, “Because you’ve been skipping class with me every day, and you’re willing to put your life on pause, but you seriously want me to believe we were hallway buddies? I know you’re lying, Mike. I don’t know how I know, but I do. I’m supposed to know you; I know you. I. Know. You.” Will repeats his words, leaning halfway over the centre console, emphasising each word with a point towards Mike’s chest, stopping right as he makes contact with his heart.

“You heard that?” Mike winces.

“Your conversation with the guidance counsellor?” Will asks, he rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed, “Yeah, the walls are pretty thin.”

Mike grimaces. He hates the idea of Will overhearing his argument with Ms. Kelley; it wasn’t his best moment, and Will has so few moments with Mike to begin with. He doesn’t want today’s Will to think he’s unkind.

“I’m sorry,” He says, looking up to catch Will’s gaze, “I was being an asshole. I’m going to apologise to Ms. Kelley tomorrow, but you shouldn’t have had to hear me like that.”

Will tilts his head, smiling as if Mike just made a good joke, brushing off his apology like it’s not important, “Mike, why would I care if you yelled at the guidance counsellor?” His face shifts, and he looks back towards Mike, much more serious. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“Is it true what you said,” Will clarifies, voice wavering as he anxiously bites the side of his thumb, “that you’re fine with failing your Junior year for-”

“I’m not failing,” Mike argues, “I already have enough credits to graduate.”

“Is it true what you said,”  He repeats slowly, “that you’re fine with failing your Junior year for some stranger who can’t remember you?”

“I’m not failing,” Mike argues again, unwilling and unable to address the rest of what Will said. 

“That doesn’t answer my question, and you know it, Mike,” Will sighs, like he's tired of Mike dodging his question. He sighs like he remembers Mike doing this a thousand times before, his habit frustratingly familiar, of course, he doesn't, but Mike allows himself the privilege of pretending, just for a few seconds.  “Who am I, to you? Who are you to me?”

Isn’t that a question.

Mike sinks down in his seat, resting his head against the side of the car, staring up at the roof. He can’t look at Will right now; all it would take is a furrow of his eyebrows, or a twitch of his lips, or, honestly, just Will looking at him the way Mike can feel he is without even looking down, for the entire castle of cards he’s slowly stacked up to come crashing down.

“What do you want me to say, Will?” Mike asks honestly, voice nearly breaking. 

He doesn’t know how to answer, he doesn’t know how to lie to Will right now, he can’t lie to Will right now, but he doesn’t know what the truth is either.

To Mike, Will is everything, as cheesy as it sounds. His best friend, his first friend, the first person he wants to tell anything to, who he seeks out immediately in every crowded room. Dustin used to call them an ‘old married couple’, rolling his eyes when they’d get into arguments about how to do the dishes whenever his parents made them share the chore (Mike stands by the fact that there’s no point in drying them off, when air-drying them is just as effective). It’s not like Dustin was wrong, exactly. Will had been his other half for his entire life; he can’t remember what life was like before Will. Was there life before Will? 

Mike’s not sure if he believes in soulmates, loves not about chance as much as it’s about commitment, choosing to carve out a home in your heart for someone else, no matter how hard it is to do. But if soulmates were real, Mike’s would be Will; he knows that with complete certainty. It had always been Will, but he consciously made the choice a few hours before the final battle, a whispered confession at the Sqwawk and the sudden realisation that Will Byers was the love of his life, and would be for the rest of it, however long (or short) the rest of their lives turned out to be. If the question were just who Will is to Mike, the answer would be easy, even though everything that follows would be anything but.

But Mike honestly has no clue who he is, who he was, to Will. They were something, once, friends, best friends, but there had always been the undercurrent of more, no matter how hard Mike tried to ignore it. Lucas was his best friend, Dustin was his best friend, Will was… his Will, an all-encompassing term that’s far too vague but still far too revealing. Mike fought it, teeth bared, spitting out words he could never take back, but the thing between them, the undefinable mass of Mike-and-Will with no spaces in between, still stayed. 

Mike was Will’s first friend, his best friend, his Paladin (Mike was his first heartbreak, which still makes him want to vomit). Mike was to Will what Will was to Mike, the person closest to his heart, and the only one able to cut so deep. There had been a moment, a confession, a kiss, a breath shared, where Mike had thought that maybe he was Will’s something, sort of like a soulmate, too. He believed that they had both built homes in the crevices of each other's hearts, and could stay there, for as long as they are able. 

Then Mike went from Will’s sort-of-soulmate to a stranger in less than a day, and they never got to talk about it, with the whole ‘saving the world’ and all, other than in stolen glances and the squeeze of a hand that felt like it was saying so much at the time, but three months later when it’s still all he has really doesn’t feel like enough. Not enough to know for sure, especially with Will, terribly trusting Will, who would believe him, who would let Mike say they were soulmates. 

Mike doesn’t think he ever deserved Will, not really, but at least Will had been making the choice. Choosing Mike, his temper and his moodswings, their vicious fights, awkward apologies, and all of the rest that’s been left unsaid. Now Will wouldn’t be choosing him, he wouldn’t be choosing Mike, he’d be choosing a stranger he has a good feeling about, a feeling he could have with anyone. The choice doesn’t matter anymore; he’s not choosing Mike either way.

“I want you to tell me the truth, Mike.” Will pleads, like it’s simple, god Mike wishes it could be that simple, “You’re the one fucking person who actually treats me like I’m normal, alright? I don’t want to do this without you, fuck, I can’t do this without you, honestly.” Will laughs, running his shaking hands through his hair to push it out of his face. He pauses, taking a deep breath, and his shoulders finally stop shaking, ”But I need to stop being selfish, I can’t let you throw your life away just because some amnesiac stranger imprinted on you and-”

“You’re not a stranger!” Mike interrupts sharply. The truth might be complicated, but that much is easy. Will’s never been a stranger to Mike; he could never be a stranger. Even if they fell out of touch for the rest of their lives, Mike knows he would still be able to pick Will out of a crowd in seconds, just by listening for his heartbeat.

“Then who am I?” Will cries, throwing his hands into the air.

“I-” Mike hesitates, biting into his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, “I can’t tell you,” He eventually whispers, the words only add to the sour metal taste on his tongue.

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t tell me?” Will echoes incredulously, “Yes, you can! Just tell me!” 

“No, I mean- I can’t-” Mike stutters, unable to find the right words, “just forget about it, okay?”

That was quite possibly the furthest from the ‘right words’ as he could get. Will’s eyes widen, and he just blinks at Mike for a couple of seconds, face twisting through shock, hurt, and eventually settling on anger. 

“Fuck you, Mike,” He spits. Mike can’t help but flinch.

Mike’s eyes widen, “Will, I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t,” he says, voice shaking, reaching out to grab Will’s hand, but he jerks away, “C’mon, Will, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, okay? I wouldn’t-”

“You know what?” Will scoffs, turning to grab his coat from the floor, and reaching into the front pocket, “Fine, don’t tell me, whatever, I’ll just forget about it.” He tosses a piece of paper at Mike, it’s the pink sticky note, crumpled and torn, but still reading Jon's cute friend, Mike, 1224 Maple Street. Mike wants to spend more time focused on the ‘cute’ part of the note, which has never been included in Will’s explanation of how he finds Mike every day, but there’s no time because Will’s getting out of the car, Will’s leaving, so Mike desperately stumbles after him.

“Will, what are you-”

“Message received, Mike, loud and fucking clear,” Will cuts him off harshly, smiling with his lips pressed into a thin line, it doesn’t reach his eyes which are brimming with tears. “If you don’t want me to know you, I don’t have to know you.”

Will turns to leave and Mike feels throat constrict, nearly choking on the venom in Will’s voice, I don’t have to know you, it feels like the ground has disappeared under his feet,  I don’t have to know you, his grandpa had a heart attack a few years back, and had never been able to describe what it felt like, I don’t have to know you, Mike wonders if it was anything like this.

“The first time you asked me what my name was, I threw up,” Mike says suddenly, words falling out before he thinks them through. He needs to say something, anything; he needs Will to not walk away.

“What?” Will asks, turning back towards him slowly. Having Will’s eyes back on him, even though Will’s scowling at him, is such a relief that Mike nearly sobs.

“The first time you asked me what my name was, I- god, I sound like such an asshole,” Mike laughs, even though it’s not funny at all, “because obviously you’re going through so much more than I am. But, this has been so hard, Will.” His voice breaks. Will takes a hesitant step forward, arms stretched, and Mike all but collapses into the contact, “I can’t tell you who I am to you, because I don’t even know,” He whispers the confession into Will’s shoulder, Will just hums in response, letting Mike tuck his face further into the crook of his neck, puzzle pieces slotting back into place “I don’t know how to do any of this without you, there’s not a minute I don’t miss you, and I know it’s selfish but I just- having to tell you my name nearly kills me, Will, having to tell you who I am to would break my heart, I, I can’t do that day after day, I can’t survive it.”

“Mike-” Will breathes, trying to pull away, so he can look at Mike again. Mike ignores this completely, burying himself further in the collar of Will’s sweater.

“But… I don’t want to lose you, Will, I can’t. So,” Mike’s hands clench, and he inhales deeply. Joyce has used the same detergent brand his entire life, citrus ocean breeze, it’s the first thing that comes to mind whenever he thinks of home. “So, if that’s what it takes I’ll do it, I mean it, I’ll tell you who I am to you every day for the rest of our lives,” and break my own heart in the process goes unsaid, but Will’s hands tighten their grip on Mike’s hair, so he knows Will heard it anyway, “because you not remembering me might hurt, but, living without you is so much worse. So much worse.”

Will pushes Mike back, forcing him to meet his eyes. For a few seconds, they just look at each other, not blinking, barely breathing, chests rising and falling in sync. Something undefined hangs in the air between them; if Will could remember him, Mike thinks it would feel a lot like love.

“Promise you’ll tell me eventually,” Will says softly. “If I don’t get my memories back, I just-”

“Will, what are you talking about?” Mike interrupts, “You’re going to get your memories back. Didn’t the doctors say you’ve already made progress?”

“Yeah, but,” Will pauses, giving Mike a double take in confusion, “how do you know what the doctors said?”

“Oh, um, I-” Mike stutters, it feels like his face is on fire, “You must have told me the other day,” He lies.

“Okay, sure,” Will nods slowly, an amused smile dancing across his features, “you’re right, the doctors think I’m getting better, but they’re not sure, and…” He trails off, shoulders shaking. Mike grabs his hand, on instinct, interlacing their fingers. 

“If your memories don’t come back, we’ll do this every day, okay?” He says softly, squeezing Will’s hand. “I’m serious, Will.”

“That’s not fair to you, though. I can’t-” Will tries to argue, but Mike cuts him off.“As long as you still want to know me, I’ll be here. I mean it, Will.” He insists, pulling their interlocked hands to his chest. It’s an old gesture, something that would calm Will down when they were younger, a reminder of Mike’s heart beating in his chest, a reminder they were alive. Now, Will freezes, and Mike realises too late that his pulse probably isn’t as grounding to a stranger, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“I’ll always want to know you, Mike,” Will whispers, a soft smile spreading across his lips. 

“Really?” Mike teases, fully beaming, not even trying to hide how happy it makes him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Will rolls his eyes fondly, “But, really, if it looks like my memories aren’t going to come back,” The smile slips off Will’s face, it makes his stomach hurt, “will you tell me what I’ve forgotten, someday?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” 

“Okay,” Will says, smiling again, which makes it all worth it.

“Okay,” Mike echoes, “now, do you actually want to go somewhere? Or are we just going to stay sitting on the side of the road, because that’s fine too.” He meant it as a joke, but it’s not, not really. He would sit on the side of the road for the rest of the day if Will wanted to, because the side of the road with Will is still so much better than anywhere else without him. He’d sit on the side of the road with him forever; he’d tell Will his name every day for the rest of their lives.