Chapter Text
Present Day
July 7th, 1995
12:10 a.m
Elevator
Mike lets out a sharp laugh, “Funny, you say I did everything but talk, when you didn’t say a damn thing either.”
“What does that mean?” Will's tone is confrontational.
“It means you spent months acting like you're the victim.”
The silence echoes immediately. It's heavy, like a bomb has gone off between them, and neither of them knows what to do with the aftermath. Yet, no one takes cover.
The words hit harder than Mike intends.
The elevator sits motionless between the floors. The emergency lights buzz faintly, their reflection catches in the mirror on the ceiling. It fills the silence with a tedious hum.
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to schedule an appointment to talk to the guy who looked like he wanted to run away as fast as he could the second it was over.” Mike draws in a sudden breath, “Oh, wait! That’s exactly what you did!” Mike confessed.
Will’s jaw clenches. “Oh, fuck you.”
“Yup, there it is.”
“There, what is?” Will shoots back.
“Your fucking attitude.”
Will throws his hands into the air. “My attitude? You’re insane.”
“Right, I’m insane. Yeah, okay," Mike laughs bitterly, “because you’re fucking perfect.”
“I’m not perfect, you asshole!”
“Sweetheart, please. Let’s not play this game,” Mike drawls. “At least I don’t pretend everything’s fine.”
“Don’t fucking call me sweetheart!” Will lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You think I’ve been pretending everything's fine?
“I honestly couldn’t care less what you’ve been doing.”
“Yeah. Clearly.” Will scoffs and flicks his gaze upward toward the ceiling, seeing his reflection in the mirror, glances quickly away.
The elevator suddenly jolts, dropping slightly, and they both stumble. Mike instinctively lunges forward again, his hand shooting out toward Will’s arm. His body reacts before his brain does, and he realizes what he’s doing a second late, pulling his hand back, curling his hands into a fist at his side. Will catches himself before he falls. His eyes dart to Mike’s hand retreating, his expression hardening. “I said, don’t touch me.”
Mike’s stomach twists, hard. “I wasn’t planning on it,” the words taste like a lie leaving his lips.
“What was that?” Will asks once the elevator has settled.
“Probably an aftershock or something of the elevator getting stuck?” Mike offered.
"Yeah, because you're the expert on elevators now," Will grumbles.
“You fucking asked."
“It was a rhetorical question, dumb ass.”
Mike leans back against one wall, Will on the other side. Neither looks at the other. Thirty seconds pass, and then a minute, then five minutes. The silence sharpens into a blade, ready to cut through whatever trust was left between them. Mike mutters something under his breath. Will glances over. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. It’s none of your business.”
“Right. Here we go again with the damn mumbling.”
“Get over yourself.”
“You get over yourself.” Will snaps, pushing off the wall and stopping in the middle of the elevator. “We’re kind of stuck together, so it kind of is my business…at least for the time being.”
Mike lets out a low groan. “Jesus Christ”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, no, please. Please, say it for once.” Will is insisting now, maybe even demanding. He is sick of Mike always starting something, but never following through.
Mike shakes his head, eyes rolling.
Will folds his arms with a certain gusto. "Talk," he demands.
“Drop it.”
“No.”
Mike pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, he’s not going to drop it. Apparently, life can never be easy.
“We're trapped, okay?” Mike points out, “In an elevator. At midnight."
“Yeah, I can see that, and?” Will questions.
“And I’m fucking stuck with you," Mike says quickly. The word you is coated with an icy distaste. Mike plasters on a careless expression, daring Will to call him out on his bullshit.
Will laughs out in disbelief, "Right, of course.”
“Of course, what?”
“It's the thing you do.”
“The thing I do?” Mike stares at him, almost impressed by the sheer audacity Will has.
“Yeah, the part where you act like I'm responsible for this happening. Blaming me for every bad thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Mike laughs and stops abruptly. Then laughs again, humorless. "Trust me, if you were responsible for every bad thing in my life, we’d be here all night.”
“We are going to be here all night,” Will says, his voice completely flat.
Mike’s mouth opens and then snaps shut, the words dying on his tongue as Will lets out a low, deep-throated laugh. It’s a sound that Mike loathes amlost as much as that smirk that comes along with it—but he hates that laugh even more now, because it brings up memories, with absolute clarity, of exactly how it used to make him feel.
12:21 a.m.
Mike starts pacing. Five steps forward, turn, five steps back, a sharp turn, and repeat. The elevator isn’t large enough for this. The repetitive motion was the only thing keeping his spiraling thoughts in check. Will watches him for a few minutes before finally speaking. “Can you stop? He retorts, a sarcastic bite to his works.
Mike ignores him and continues pacing.
“Mike.”
Nothing.
“Mike!”
“What?”
“You’re making me nervous.”
"Good," Mike bites out.
Will glares. "Are you for real right now?”
Mike ignores him again, his pacing continues turning into a dark, continuous loop. He stalks back and forth across the elevator, looking less like a man and more like an animal at the zoo.
“You’ve walked past me like twenty-five times.”
Mike freezes mid-step, locking eyes with Will. A disbelieving laught gets caught in his throat, but the shock quickly fades into a smug, arrogant smirk as he looks at him, “You counted?”
Throwing his hands up in the air, “I literally have nothing else to do.”
Mike almost smiles. Almost. “Sounds like a ‘you’ problem."
Will groans loudly. "Oh, my god. I hate you so much.”
“Likewise.”
12:26 a.m.
The emergency button still isn’t working. Mike has checked twice, while Will has checked three times. There is still no answer, still the same old automated message that the office is closed, still no signal on their phones. Absolutely nothing, they are stuck, actually fucking stuck, and Mike’s stuck with him. It finally sinks in to Mike that nobody is coming, not tonight, at least not until seven in the morning. The elevator feels hotter now as the walls seem to be caving in on them.
Mike knows that’s impossible. Would now be a good time to say he’s a bit claustrophobic?
Will eventually slides down the wall and sits on the floor, pulling his art bag closer to his chest. He had set it down moments ago by the elevator doors, but now holds it like a protective barrier. Mike catches the motion, and if he’s being honest, he’s been hyper-aware of every single thing Will does lately—without his permission. It’s an exhausting habit, one that he would gladly break if his own brain would allow it.
Mike continues to pace for a few more minutes. His head hurts, his legs ache, and his arms are sore from carrying the beer case from before. Already exhausted from the day, he finally slides down the opposite wall from Will, facing him. He can feel the distance between them shrinking, but at the same time it feels like they're miles apart. Nothing new there. They’ve been miles apart for months now.
The silence stretches uncomfortably. The kind that makes you aware of every breath, every little sound, every glance or shift in the other person in the room. Mike focuses on the floor, anything but Will across from him. Will looks lost in thought, staring at the elevator buttons, gripping his art bag like a lifeline.
The harsh fluorescent lights catch on the edge of Will's face again. Mike looks away so quickly, he swears he hears his neck crack. It’s already too late, though, the image sticks, the memory starts flowing, and Mike is transported elsewhere. He’s no longer in the elevator, it’s no longer a hot summer in July, and they aren’t stuck in an elevator.
All of a sudden, he’s standing outside, in December, on his balcony, at four in the morning. He’s looking out at the city lights, the cold air brushing past his legs, arms, and face. The smell of cigarette smoke floats through the air. The same memories roll past his eyes, like someone pressed rewind on a tape over and over, stuck on replay.
And of course, who could forget the kiss?
—
｡𖦹°‧
December 10th, 1994
On the balcony
4:31 a.m.
"I should uh...I should go," Will said.
Mike nods quickly—so quickly he feels a large click, wondering for a moment if his neck might snap. It’s a move he makes, desperate enough because if he doesn’t agree right away, the silence would become unbearable. “Right.”
Will’s expression shifted immediately. Mike saw it. Of course he did. He was standing right in front of him. And he completely misread it.
His stomach dropped. Will regretted it. That had to be it, right? Why else would he stand up so fast? Why else would he look at me like that? Like he was searching for the nearest exit, trying to find an escape route.
"Right," Mike repeated. The word sounded wrong every time it left his mouth.
Neither of them moved. The city lights blurred together beyond the balcony railing. The cold air bit at his skin. The lingering smoke still hung between them, trapped. Then Will turned and headed towards the front door.
Mike watched him go. His hand twitched, almost reaching out, almost calling out his name. Instead, his arm fell uselessly back to his side.
Say something, Mike! Anything. A joke. Apologize and ask if he's okay. Ask if the kiss was good. Ask if it was awful. Ask if it meant something—anything—anything at all. His brain screamed at him, but the words never came. Nothing could fill the silence before it swallowed him whole.
Finally, Mike forced himself forward, one step at a time. His hand lifted. Will was halfway across the apartment now, almost towards the door, his escape.
Then panic hit. It crashed into Mike all at once, violently, suddenly, completely, and totally uncalled for. Mike stopped and took two steps back. Then another. His heart slammed against his chest. What the fuck am I doing? He turned around quickly and quietly and ran. Mike practically stumbled down the hallway, his feet moved faster than his brain. He slipped into his room and slammed the door shut. The hinges groaned, and his hand shook as he twisted the lock into place.
Click.
The sound echoed throughout his room. A sound so final and safe, yet so pathetic.
Mike leaned up against the door and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Well, technically, he could, but it felt wrong. It was all too fast, shallow, and rough. It felt like he was underwater, his heart pounding hard and lungs struggling to fill with air.
What the fuck was that?
He dragged both hands through his hair and then down his face. His entire body felt hot. Mike was sweating everywhere.
He shut his eyes tight, trying to rid himself of the moment that had just happened. The kiss kept replaying in his mind. He tried to blink it away, but it was still there.
Will’s laugh.
Will’s voice.
The way Will had looked at him.
The way Will had kissed him back...right?
The memory got clearer the more he thought about it.
Mike squeezed his eyes shut, voice barely above a whisper. “Oh my god... What did I do?”
The apartment is quiet beyond his bedroom now.
Mike wondered if Will had left already, if he hated him. The thought settled into his chest like a weight was pressed against him. Will regretted it—that seemed likely, and at the same time, the worst thing Mike could imagine. Will had left immediately. He was probably home and laughing about it like it was some cruel joke, or maybe he was cringing about the moment. Maybe he wished it had never happened.
Mike groaned and covered his face. Every possible option was making him feel worse by the minute. Mike finally pushed himself off the floor onto his feet. His legs felt unsteady, his stomach churned. He thought he just might puke right then and there. He swallowed it down and quickly crossed the room and threw himself across his bed. The mattress dipped from his weight.
He looked over to his nightstand, where his phone sat. It was inches away from him as he stared at it, close enough for him to grab, close enough to fix the moment, or ruin it even more, who knows. Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. The screen remained dark, his thoughts circling in his mind. Text him, don’t text him, call him, don’t call him, leave a voicemail, get up, go knock on his door. Do something, but he stayed hidden behind a locked door.
Mike never moved from his spot on the bed, the darkness had swallowed him whole. Hours passed as the sun started to peek through, and the birds began to chirp as light poured through the blinds. Mike had just stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do next.
7:45 a.m.
Mike jerked upright at a sound outside his door, a pounding headache slammed into his temples. He never slept. He had spent the entire night trapped in a waking nightmare, staring blindly at the ceiling. The horrific image of the balcony remained permanently burned into his retinas. Sitting up quickly, the agonizing flashbacks flowed right back into his conscious mind, as if he never left that railing. As if time had reversed and he had to play the moment over again.
The cold air.
The cigarette smoke.
The laugh.
Running away like a goddamn pussy.
Locking himself inside his room like a coward.
He pulled out his phone and spent nearly the next thirty minutes just staring at his phone, trying to come up with something to respond with. He had typed out at least five different messages to send, but came up short.
December 10th
The Enemy 🤬
8:15 a.m.
Mike
Hey…
Deleted.
Mike
About last night…
Deleted.
Mike
I was drunk...
Deleted, because he wasn’t.
Mike
Sorry...
Deleted, because "sorry" meant it was a mistake.
And Mike wasn’t sure it was. And that terrified him more than anything.
Mike
How’d you sleep…
Deleted. Because Mike knew the answer.
—
He put his phone down, deciding not to text him and certainly not calling him either. His stomach dropped just thinking of the kiss. He needed to do something today. He needed a distraction. Otherwise, he was going to wallow in self-pity and spend the entire day replaying those ten specific seconds over and over again.
God, what was I thinking…ughhhh. Mike rolled onto his back and groaned and then stared at the ceiling once more. Today was going to be a long day.
12:17 p.m.
After cleaning up the mess from the party last night and spending the entire morning avoiding the balcony, Mike finally stepped into the hallway to throw away the garbage bags he had collected.
He made it all of three steps before freezing. Will was there, waiting by the elevator. The garbage bags nearly slipped out of Mike’s hands. Will looked over at the same time as Mike made the abrupt halt outside of his door. Neither of them moved or spoke. Will looked just as startled and caught off guard as Mike did.
Mike's stomach dropped so hard it hurt. But then that familiar panic hit, without thinking, Mike turned around and walked straight back into his apartment, not saying a single word. The door slammed shut behind him, and then a few moments later, he heard the faint ding of the elevator arriving, then the doors closing, and then silence. The elevator was gone, and hopefully Will with it.
Mike leaned up against the door and closed his eyes, releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?” Lucas looked up from his spot on the couch.
Mike was startled once again, not knowing that Lucas was lounging on the couch. “Jesus Christ, Lucas, you scared the shit out of me!”
"Sorry, man,” Lucas chuckled, sitting up. He looked down at Mike’s hands, still seeing the trash bags. “You know those go outside in the bins, right? Or better yet, the goddamn trash chutes down the hall."
Mike looked down, the bags were still in his hands.
“Shut up, man… I’ll do it in a second.”
“What’s got you so riled up?”
Trying to avoid the conversation topic of Will and what just happened in the hall, "Uh, where’s Dustin?”
Dustin was walking out of his room, down their little hallway, and into their living room. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, dude. I’m right here.” He sat on the couch beside Lucas. “What’s up?”
“Oh, uh, nothing. I just thought maybe we could all catch a movie or do something later today,” Mike muttered.
“Yeah, that could be fun! I bet the girls and Wi—”
“No! Uh, I mean, just the guys—I mean—us, you know.” Mike cut Lucas off abruptly. “We haven’t done anything just us in, I don't know how long.” Not wanting to have to see Will again after everything that’s happened in less than twenty four hours.
Lucas looked towards Dustin with a raised brow and then back towards Mike, raising his hands up in defeat. "Sure, man, whatever works, I don’t care.”
“Yeah, I’ll see what movies they are showing later this afternoon and get us some tickets then. Does that work for everyone?" Dustin looked around the room, waiting for any objections.
“That works great, thanks, man! I—um—I’m going to go throw these bags out now, and we’ll talk later,” Mike says as he backs out of the apartment, ending the conversation before anything else could be brought up.
He walks out, the door slamming shut behind him again, and exhales. God, what was that? Why’d I say that? What is my deal? I need to just forget about last night and this morning. I need to relax. I need to get out of the house. God, why is my heart racing?
Snap out of it!
Mike forces himself to walk towards the trash chutes before he spends another moment frozen in front of his door, standing in the hallway like an idiot.
The hallway is empty now. Will is long gone. And this somehow makes Mike feel even worse.
He quickly stuffs the bags down the chute and turns around. Mike immediately regrets looking directly towards the elevator. To where Will was standing earlier that morning. The memory hits before he can stop it.
The subtle touches.
The laughs.
The kiss.
The goddamn kiss.
The
Kiss
Fuck.
Mike groans, rubbing his face until the memory relents its tight grip on his mind. Barely.
He exhales through his nose and moves away from the trash chute, away from the elevator doors.
The walk back to his apartment seemed longer than it had just moments prior.
1:15 p.m.
Thank god he had suggested going to the movies. It was better than probably sitting alone in his room with his thoughts.
Dustin picked out the movie like he said he would. They all walk out to Mike’s car. They all walk out to Mike’s car and climb in, Mike driving, with Lucas in the back and Dustin in the passenger seat. Lucas leans forward and immediately complains about the movie theater Dustin chose.
“The one across town is way better! Plus, the seats aren’t stained!” Lucas argues.
“It’s also five bucks more,” Mike mutters as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“So?” Lucas states, looking at Mike through the rearview mirror.
“So, I’m paying. And you guys are making me, since I suggested going to the movies in the first place.”
Dustin turns around in his seat to look towards Lucas. “The cheaper theater has better popcorn and snacks anyway. Hence why I picked it out.”
“It does not!” Lucas cried.
“Yes, it does!”
The two of them spend the next ten minutes debating popcorn quality and which theater is better, like it would somehow solve world peace.
However, Mike hears none of it. because his hands are locked at ten and two, eyes on the road, almost zoning out. Every stop sign reminded him of freezing up on that balcony, every red light reminded him of the party lights illuminating his face, and every time his phone buzzed, it made his heart beat a little too loud, a little too fast. Hoping it was a certain someone.
The texts aren’t from Will. Are they? Of course they aren’t. He wouldn’t text him. Why would he? Mike couldn’t.
He pulls into the movie theater lot. They grab their popcorn, snacks, and drinks and head into the movie.
The movie begins to play.
Mike has no idea what’s going on. He doesn’t even know what movie Dustin picked out. He just ceremoniously followed them into the theater. Paid for their tickets when he was asked to, paid for their snacks, drinks, and popcorn, and was led to their seats.
Halfway in, he realizes he had just been staring at the screen without processing what was happening, almost falling asleep. At one point, he’s watching a scene where a group of boys pass around a pipe.
All he can think about now is the feeling of Will’s hand brushing his as he passed the cigarette to him.
The smell of the smoke.
The way Will looked over at him when he blew out the smoke.
The way Will leaned closer every time he spoke.
Or maybe…
Mike shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He shakes his head to dislodge the thought.
Or maybe it was Mike who leaned closer every time he took an inhale from the cigarette or tried to get Will to look over to capture his attention. The realization hit harder than it should have.
3:38 p.m.
The credits roll.
“What’d you think?” Dustin asks as they walk back toward the parking lot.
“Yeah, it was good,” Mike answered automatically, staring blankly ahead.
Lucas immediately starts to laugh. “Dude, you fell asleep.”
"No, I didn’t.”
"Yes, you were totally zoned out, man!”
Mike starts, “I was—"
“And don’t say resting your eyes,” Lucas interrupts. “If anything, you weren’t even paying attention.
Mike rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man.”
Dustin catches up to where Mike is walking ahead of them now. “Dude, you suggested going to the movies. And then didn’t even watch it. You were weird as shit this morning, too. What the fuck is up with you?”
Mike had barely spoken since this morning. Usually, he’d be arguing about the movie facts or what was consistently done wrong throughout the movie. He’d be complaining about the ending or making up some joke. Instead… "I just got a lot on my mind.”
Lucas and Dustin exchange a quick look.
“Okay, sure, man, like what?" Lucas raises a brow and begins walking backward, standing right in front of Mike. "Huh?"
“Yeah, did something happen at the party last night?" Dustin laughs, playing off of what Lucas said.
“Oh my god," Lucas blurts out.
“What?” Mike asks, nervous about what’s about to come out of his mouth.
“There’s someone.” Lucas starts getting excited, his face beaming.
“What? No, there isn't."
“There totally is!”
Dustin gasps dramatically. “Oh my god, who is she?”
"Yeah, who’s the lucky lady?” Lucas adds in almost falling backward onto his ass.
“There isn’t a she.” Mike insisted, not realizing what he said at first.
Lucas and Dustin both freeze right as they get to the car, and Mike freezes too.
“I mean—Jesus, guys! There's no one, it’s nothing, just leave it alone!" Mike waves them off. His face beginning to turn red, he turns away before they can see he’s flushed.
Dustin and Lucas almost fall over laughing, swatting at each other's shoulders. Making jokes amongst themselves. Mike ignores them, mostly because he’s afraid he’ll say something stupid again or, worse, by saying something he shouldn’t.
Mike climbs into the car, and the drive home is quieter than it was before. Lucas had given up on choosing a radio station to listen to, and Dustin was munching loudly on the leftover popcorn. He barely noticed that he was driving under the speed limit when someone honked at him from behind. He apologizes to absolutely no one and presses harder on the gas. His hands tighten around the steering wheel, trying to think of anything to clear his thoughts, so he starts messing with the radio stations. Tuning it back and forth.
However, nothing is helping to erase what happened from his mind. Of what he did last night. No matter what he does.
4:44 p.m.
At some point during the drive home, Dustin and Lucas had decided they were hungry and wanted to stop by that one diner on the other side of town, the one with the good burgers. Mike pulls into the diner and parks the car.
“My treat, man." Lucas claps Mike on the shoulder from the back seat. “Maybe this will put you in a better mood. You know, carpe diem.”
“Yeah, seize the day, my ass,” Mike mutters under his breath.
“Oh, so you were watching the movie,” Lucas chuckles.
Dustin snickers from the passenger seat, attempting to hold in his laugh. Mike gives a tight-lipped smile, hoping it shows he is grateful for Lucas's effort, and to hide the fact that he hadn’t actually watched the movie, even though he heard different bits and pieces playing the entire time.
After picking up their food, they head outside to find an empty picnic table beside the diner and take a seat.
Lucas was now telling some ridiculous story about his bartending job, and Dustin was laughing so hard his drink was coming out of his nose. Mike had laughed, too. It was real, but it also felt forced. Dustin was telling Lucas to stop, but Mike was barely paying them any mind.
Suddenly, his phone vibrates. He reaches for it almost immediately before he can stop himself.
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He unlocks his phone to find one specific contact: .png)
Nothing from him. Of course. Right. What else should he have expected? His mom, his roommates, and the girls were always sending some dumb shit, Mostly to annoy him. All he wanted was maybe a sign that he cared or didn’t regret things. Like usual, he was left with his own thoughts. Mike really needed to really snap out of it. It was getting embarrassing.
Instead, it was just a dumb photo from Lucas of Dustin with soda coming out of his nostrils. The moment he had just witnessed. Mike sighed heavily.
“Whoa there, buddy,” Lucas teased, “expecting somebody?"
"Wha—no," Mike croaked. Heat rising up his neck. “Shut up."
"Dude, you practically ripped your phone out of your pocket, man.”
"It buzzed," Mike shook his head, looking away from the two. Trying to keep his head from exploding. If they said one more thing to him, it just might.
“So?” Dustin eyed Mike.
“Just leave me alone, Dustin.” Mike pleaded.
Dustin narrowed his eyes. “Oh, there’s definitely somebody.”
“Just leave it alone, Dustin. His Royal Highness has been in a foul mood all day, throwing a tantrum. Heaven forbid we upset his fragile ego.” Lucas's voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Shut the fuck up, Lucas!” Mike explodes, “I am not throwing a fucking tantrum. My ego is fine. Your mouth seems to be the fucking problem!” The words landed sharper than he had intended. But he had had enough of the stares, the looks, the comments, and the questions from both of them.
“Yo dude, take a chill pill," Lucas murmured, eyes wide.
“We are just having some fun. It looks like you decided to wake up on the wrong side of the bed.” Dustin lets out a small chuckle, but when Lucas looks over and exchanges a tense glance with him, the laugh dies immediately. It’s quiet amongst them as they have a silent conversation, and a mutual understanding passes between them. Speaking in a way that doesn’t need words. After a few moments, they drop it, moving the conversation elsewhere. Mike lets out a breath he was holding, more grateful than he could care to admit that things had shifted.
7:17 p.m.
Mike parks the car as they arrive back at the apartment. He shuts off the engine but doesn’t get out.
“You coming, man?” Dustin asks.
"Yeah, just give me a minute," Mike mutters.
Lucas and Dustin exchange another look and climb out without a word. The doors shut, leaving Mike alone in the silence. It should have felt nice, but his thoughts always kept dragging him back. Mike steps out of the car and lingers outside. At least he’d managed to waste a few hours away from home. Not that it had helped, not even a little bit. Every distraction seemed to make things worse.
Will laughing. Will smiling. Will looking at him. Will kissing him back. Mike squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t stop replaying that fucking kiss. It shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t like boys anyway. So why did he do that in the first place? It was the alcohol, right?
He finally forces himself toward the entrance. He gets to the elevators, and his stomach drops for the third time that day. The doors are closed, but it's not because of that. It's because of who he thought of instantly, expecting them to be there, waiting. But nobody's there. He’s almost disappointed. Why should he want them there?
He shakes his head quickly and takes the stairs instead. Anything to give him more time to shake off how that made him feel.
7:36 p.m.
Mike finishes trudging up the stairs, forgetting that it was seven flights of stairs and that he doesn’t work out as much. Unlike Wi—
He immediately cut the thought off. No, not doing this, not again. God, today really has sucked.
He gets to his door and luckily doesn’t have to go digging for his keys, as it is already unlocked. The familiar smell of leftover pizza and popcorn hits him as he walks through the place. Lucas is already splayed out on the couch playing some Nintendo game. Dustin has a book open that he clearly hasn’t been reading as he watches Lucas play. Yelling out,“Watch out for those mushroom guys!”
The door slammed shut behind Mike. Alerting the other guys that he is finally back.
“About time, man. Took you long enough.” Lucas says without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Yeah, for real.” Dustin laughs, but then his face goes serious after looking toward Mike. “Everything okay, man?"
Mike nods his head a bit too fast. “Yeah, I’m good. Like I said, I just needed a minute.”
“You sure?” Dustin sincerely asked.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You’ve barely talked and have been lashing out all day,” Dustin noted.
“I’m just tired," Mike groaned. “I stayed up late last night.”
The sound of Lucas’ game makes a loud ‘GAME OVER’ announcement. Lucas groans, “Damn it,” and turns around, tossing the controller onto the couch. "You hungover or something?”
“What? No, I’m fine," Mike insisted.
"Dude, you look weird—”
"Wow, okay, gee, thanks."
“—that wasn’t an insult,” Lucas continued.
“Fucking sounded like one,” Mike stated.
“I mean,” Lucas shrugged, “you just look different, uh, sad, even. I don't know."
“I’m not sad.”
“Are you sure?” Dustin cut in.
Mike freezes for a moment and then laughs dryly, “Jus—just leave me alone.” He walks towards the kitchen and picks up a slice of cold pizza. Lucas looks over to Dustin then. They look at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Probably not believing him. Mike retreats to his room and disappears before they can ask him any more questions. He's had enough of them for one day. He shuts the door with a soft click. But he doesn’t lock it this time…
Mike sits at his desk and spins in his chair. Quickly eating his slice of pizza before anything can fall onto his shirt. He stops spinning for a moment and stands to throw himself onto the bed. His phone slips out of his pocket and bounces onto the mattress beside him. He blinks at it.
He reaches over and unlocks the phone to check his messages.
.png)
His thumb hovers over it. Then he opens the conversation. The draft box is still empty from this morning. He wants to send something this time.
December 10th
The Enemy 🤬
7:49 p.m.
Mike
Hey…
Deletes. Again.
Mike
How was your day…
Deletes. What the fuck. I can’t say that.
—
Mike drops his phone onto his chest just to pick it right back up. He types out another message, deletes again, and starts the cycle over. Nothing sounded right, and nothing sounded normal. There didn’t seem to be anything he should say to someone after—well, after that.
Ughhhhh. He tosses his phone across the mattress. Giving up after just a few minutes. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t fucking talk to him. Anything but that. Why can’t he just text first?
Present Day
July 7th, 1995
12:38 a.m.
Elevator
Mike plays mindlessly with a thread on his jeans and begins to tap his fingers against his knee. Something to focus on besides the person sitting across from him.
Will digs through his art bag. He sets his phone and headphones to the right of him and pulls out a scrap of paper, a receipt, and his notebook. Then, finally, a pencil.
Mike looks up immediately at the sound of the rummaging. Will starts drawing and he notices instantly, of course he does. Will begins drawing random shapes and doodles, and from his point of view, he can’t see much, but he knows what Will’s usual doodles look like. The same things he always has drawn in the margins of his notebook.
Mike looks away after a while. Then looks back. Then looks away again. He’s about to look back again when Will catches him staring.
“What?” Will questions.
Mike shrugs, hating the fact that he was caught looking.
“You’re staring.”
“No, I—I wasn't.” Mike hesitated.
“Enjoying the show?” Will raises an eyebrow, a smile starting to form on his lips.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“Mike, you were.”
“No.”
Will gives up. “Okay, whatever.”
Mike thinks that's the end of it, but then Will begins to study him. Mike can practically feel it. The attention. The scrutiny. He looks up now and questions him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
"Well, now you're staring at me.”
The smile has fully formed on Will's lips now, “Oh, so you admit to staring at me earlier?” he beams.
Mike instantly regrets opening his mouth, “Shut up.”
Will laughs quietly but immediately looks away, back down at his notebook. The conversation dies. Neither of them catches the familiarity of that conversation.
12:52 a.m.
The silence in the air wasn’t comfortable or peaceful, it felt thick like the air before a storm. Mike stops tapping his fingers and decides to bounce his leg instead, quiet but loud enough to get Will to occasionally glance up. Across from him, Will continues to scribble in his notebook, concentration etched on his brow, like he was thinking about what to do next. After a second, he absentmindedly tapped his pencil against the floor.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
"Can you not?"
Wills stops for a second.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Mike groans. “You're totally doing that on purpose.”
“Maybe…” The smugness in Will’s voice is immediate.
“Oh, okay, I see how it is.” Mike points at him.
“What are you talking about?”
“You being an asshole,” Mike states.
To Mike's surprise, Will laughs. A real laugh, instead of the fake ones he’s been doing whenever they’ve been hanging out during movie or game nights with their friends.
The sound catches him off guard. For a moment, he’s back at the party. Searching for Will across the room. Feeling something ugly twist inside his chest yet again... something he still can’t name. Or won't.
The memory dissipates, leaving him stunned. He’s also left staring at Will for a second too long, and Will notices.
“I’m pretty sure I'm the one who called you the asshole, remember?” Will smirks. “Not the other way around.”
1:00 a.m.
Mike’s left speechless. The elevator snaps back into focus, and he is brought back into the moment where it's just him, Will, and the small space between them.
One hour, that was all it took for his sanity to start chipping away already. He could handle the heat and the cramped feeling of the walls closing in. It was the awkward silence and conversations between them that made him feel like he was losing control. Everything just felt weird, everything seemed to be mocking him and saying six more hours of this and you’ll unravel into absolutely nothing, like a loose thread floating in the wind.
One down, six more to go, he would have to tell himself. He’s going to have to get through this without exploding, if that’s even possible. It's like the world wanted to punish him for what he did all those months ago and had finally trapped them together to try and get them to open up. Yeah, like that was going to ever happen. Not today, not ever.
Looking over towards Will as he continued to scribble in his notebook, Mike’s thoughts flowed through him. And before he could stop himself and let his brain catch up to his mouth, he spoke out loud.
“Do you still draw those weird little D&D characters?"