Work Text:
It had sort of surprised him when Mike had told him that he’d bought tickets to California for the first week of summer break. After all, El was in Hawkins now, back in Hopper’s cabin, and Max was still in the hospital, and it just wasn’t the best time for travelling. Not that Will was upset or anything, of course he wanted Mike to visit, he was just a little... confused. And worried. Was there some reason Mike desperately needed to escape Hawkins?
“Can’t I just come visit my best friend?” Mike had responded with a laugh when Will had asked him as much.
Best friend was a difficult term for Will. On one hand, it conjured memories of sleepovers and D & D and being each other’s favourite person, and it tasted like sweet-and-salty popcorn on his tongue. He knew how it felt to be Mike’s best friend, and it felt like teetering on the edge of paradise. But at the same time, it was a barrier, the wall blocking him from entering the life he couldn’t stop imagining, and it felt like weight on his shoulders every time the label was used.
Being around Mike brought many of the same conflicting feelings with it. Living without Mike would be like living in a nightmarish world without the sun, but every time he reminded himself that they were just friends, it hurt more than a blistering sunburn.
Sometimes he would play a game where he pretended they were in some parallel universe, one where everything worked out all right, and he would imagine every moment in a slightly different context.
Like, maybe Mike had just as many butterflies in his stomach as Will did when they first spotted each other through the crowd of recent arrivals to the airport. Maybe their first eager hug lasted a bit too long to be written off as totally platonic. Maybe Mike had grown out his hair like that just so Will could imagine running his fingers through it.
Mike chatted with Will’s mom on the way home, telling her all about Holly and Nancy and updating her on Max, who had recently woken up from her coma. Will felt a momentary ache for Hawkins, but he knew it was a longing for a place that would never live up to Will’s rose-tinted memories. In his head, he imagined a town that he knew inside out, a town where people welcomed and accepted him, but he wasn’t sure if Hawkins had ever really been like that, and he was certain it would never be like that again.
As Will’s mom drove over a bump, bringing him back to the moment, he noticed Mike was staring at him.
“I like your shoes,” Mike whispered gently. It was the first real thing Mike had said to him since he’d got there, excluding their brief greetings when they’d first been reunited.
“Oh, thanks,” Will mumbled, glancing down at his feet. The shoes were just classic black converse with tight white laces. They had been Will’s birthday present from his mom and Hopper, and it had been the first time he’d had brand new shoes, shoes that weren’t just hand-me-downs from Jonathan or a bargain at the local charity store. Honestly, Will had wanted bright blue or purple shoes, but that desire had been outweighed by the longing to fit in with the other kids at school. So he’d gone with simple black and white, and he was now glad he had, considering they seemed to have impressed Mike.
He was about to return the compliment by telling Mike that his new haircut looked great, or maybe even getting the nerve to compliment his pretty dark eyes, but by the time he opened his mouth, Mike had already turned his attention back to Joyce and was telling some story that made her laugh with her mouth wide open. Will shut his mouth again and turned to look out at the darkening sky outside his window.
In his head, things were going to be exactly the same as always—no, better than always—as soon as Mike arrived. Should Will have expected things to be this awkward? Was it bad that Mike had come to visit him , yet he seemed to be so much more interested in talking to Joyce?
When they reached the house, Jonathan came out to help with Mike’s bags and gave him a big hug as Will watched, slowly opening the car door and getting out. He felt very far away, suddenly, as if he was watching everything unfold in some odd movie. It was almost as if he were a stranger in his own life, his own body. He tapped his fingers against his leg as he watched Jonathan say something that made Mike smile. He couldn’t hear what it was. He wanted to know what it was, so that he could make Mike smile too.
Will was suddenly aware that he couldn’t feel his fingers tapping against his thigh anymore. He needed to feel them tapping, he needed to feel something , so that he didn’t start fading away into nothing. He lifted his arm and pinched the inside of his other wrist, relaxing at the familiar twinge of pain. At least that meant that he was real, that he was here. He pinched harder.
“You ok?”
He blinked and let go of his wrist, meeting Mike’s worried gaze. Of course, he tried to say, but nothing came out, so he just nodded. Mike looked unconvinced, glancing down at Will’s fidgeting fingers and sore red wrist, which Will tried too late to hide behind his back. With a soft sigh, Mike captured Will’s wrist with his slender fingers and pulled him into a gentle hug.
It felt different from their first hug at the airport, more intimate, and it took Will a second to reciprocate the embrace. It was moments like these that reminded Will that apart from unknowingly causing Will great amounts of inner turmoil and bouts of self hatred, Mike was actually a really, really good friend, at least most of the time. Will would’ve been quite happy to stay in this moment forever, where the exact boundaries of platonic and romantic were blurry, and didn’t completely matter too much, but Mike pulled away after a few seconds and Will reluctantly followed suit.
Mike said something softly, and Will was sure it was something that would've made him laugh on some other, more normal, evening, but Will was too tired to listen and Mike’s voice still seemed rather distant, so he just smiled and nodded until Mike grabbed his wrist again and tugged him inside the house. The only thing he could really comprehend, before he crawled into bed and fell asleep, was a soft goodnight from Mike, who seemed like he was already falling asleep on a thick blanket on Will’s floor.
—
Things felt better in the morning, as they often do, although Will had begun to feel a strange ache in his chest whenever he looked at Mike for too long. The solution was easy—don’t look at Mike for too long—but Will just couldn’t help it. There was something new about Mike, something different, and he hoped that he might be able to put his finger on it if he just stared at him hard enough.
Will watched him tuck his hair behind his ear to spit out his Star Wars-branded toothpaste. He wondered if Mike’s toothpaste still had a normal minty taste or if it had some special “intergalactic” flavour. Maybe it tasted like sparkling stars, or frozen carbonite, or... or maybe Will should stop wondering what Mike’s mouth tasted like.
“What are you looking at?” Mike asked suddenly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and turning to Will. Will considered feigning innocence, as if he hadn’t just had a mini crisis over his best friend’s toothpaste flavour, but he’d never exactly been a good liar.
“You just... look so different,” Will answered carefully, which was just honest enough to be believable. Mike's hair had grown out since the last time they had met and his dark eyes were brighter, softer. Something about him looked younger, somehow.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Mike replied, giving him an odd look before turning back to the mirror.
As he watched Mike try unsuccessfully to smooth his hair down, Will finally figured out what had really changed between them since they’d last parted paths at the end of spring break. Mike was happy . Not cheerful, or faking a smile, but truly, genuinely, happy . Some more naive version of Will, one who hadn’t spent years and years getting to know his best friend from every possible angle, would’ve tried to convince himself that Mike was just enthusiastic to spend time alone together, even if they were just brushing their teeth.
But unfortunately, Will knew better than that. He knew that Mike had found a deeper type of happiness, a type of happiness that came from having friends, good friends , and a stable family, and a community of people who loved and cared about him. And, most of all, the happiness came from being with Eleven, from finally getting to hug and kiss and just touch the person he cared about the most.
In other words, happiness came from having everything that Will didn’t have.
A bitter taste rose to his tongue, the taste of unwanted jealousy. At one point, Will and Mike had been so similar, when had their paths diverged? They had always been best friends, sometimes almost more. When one of them laughed, both of them did. When one of them was in pain, both of them were. When Will questioned his sanity, Mike had promised they’d go crazy together . And yet, here they were, so impossibly different. Where Mike’s eyes were bright, Will’s own had faded. Where Will’s brow creased from worry, Mike’s eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed. And there it was, the screaming thought that Will always tried so hard to silence: What had he done to deserve such casual suffering?
Maybe he should blame Mike for all of it, maybe he should beg him to explain how they’d grown apart so fast, maybe he should feel resentment and regret, and maybe he would do all of that if it were anyone else, anyone but Mike.
So instead, he tore his eyes away from the preening boy and pushed past him to open the bathroom door.
—
“Oh, I have something for you!” Mike said suddenly, turning around to rummage in his backpack. They’d had a pretty chill day so far, only venturing as far as the gas station around the corner before coming home to play video games for the next few hours.
Will tapped his fingers on his thigh, imagining what it could be. Something from El and the Hawkins gang, maybe, or some souvenir from one of Will’s favourite places in his hometown. Or maybe Mike had gotten him a bouquet of flowers, like the ones he’d gotten El at spring break! The flowers would probably be blue, since that was his favourite colour. Periwinkles, maybe? Or forget-me-nots? Or—
“It’s kinda stupid,” Mike said nervously, biting his lip and hesitantly holding the surprise just out of Will’s view. “Don’t like, laugh at it, ok?”
Will smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
And he would love it, even if it was complete trash, just because of the simple fact that it was from Mike , and Mike was nervous to give it to him, and Mike was adorable when he was nervous.
“Ok, good,” Mike sighed, pulling the mysterious present out from behind his back.
It was a shirt, black and white, with a red demon in the middle. Will was confused for a second, until he read the words above the demon, and it began to remind him of a conversation they’d had at spring break.
“It’s just— I felt really bad,” Mike stammered, bringing Will back to the present, “about joining a D&D club after you left, after you begged us to play for so long... it didn't really feel right without you, you know? So I thought— I know you never actually got to play with us, and you never even met Eddie, but... you should be an honorary member, I think. Only if you want to, of course! If this is like totally weird, then just let me know, because—”
Will threw his arms around Mike to shut him up and smiled as Mike slowly snaked his arms around Will’s waist to hug him back. He let himself imagine that Mike had spent months feeling guilty about this and searching desperately for some way to make up to Will.
“Do you like it?” Mike whispered anxiously as Will pulled away and grabbed the shirt from where it lay in Mike’s lap. In lieu of an answer, Will hugged it close to his chest and smiled softly. The shirt smelled like D&D games, trips to the corner store, staying till closing at the arcade, and most of all, like Mike.
“Thank you,” Will breathed fondly. Mike’s face slowly relaxed and he smiled back at Will, nudging their knees together gently.
That was something else Will had noticed about Mike, all the little touches. Hugs that lingered too long, playful punches and teasing grabs, feather light fingers constantly dancing around his own— never quite holding, but always almost, so close —
Will always pulled away.
It was too dangerous, getting caught up in it, because Will wasn’t sure where the boundary of all this was, but he knew that once he passed it, there was no going back. But with every touch, Will had to wonder: Why? Why was Mike suddenly so eager for physical contact? Why now ?
Because it had been like this before, before Will got taken, before Mike met El. When they were children, they’d been comfortable holding hands on the playground and sitting a little too close on the school bus. It had just seemed... normal, to them. But when Will woke up in the hospital, there was no hand tangled in his, and that’s when he knew things were going to be different. And they were. Mike flinched away when Will reached for his cheek, he pushed away Will's hugs, and he kept a safe distance while they were watching TV on the couch.
Will wasn’t sure why everything had changed, but he soon figured it out.
He had been replaced , with someone better, prettier, more likeable. As the space between Will and his once-best friend grew bigger, the space between Mike and El slowly shrank, going from longing glances to tender hugs, until they were just together. And Mike and Will were completely separated.
And now, suddenly, they weren’t. They were close again, and not just physically. From the way Mike had started to tease him for his dreadful bowl-cut again to the way Will no longer felt shy to let out his open-mouthed guffaw around Mike, Will truly felt like he had his best friend back. And he loved it.
Maybe it was just because there was no one else to impress while they were alone together or maybe things were genuinely going back to the way they used to be, either way it didn’t really matter. Will just loved having Mike back—the real, caring Mike, that he’d almost lost forever—and, more than that, Will loved feeling loved . It didn’t matter that the love was completely the wrong kind of love, or that none of this meant anything deeper to Mike, all that mattered was that for once , he had Mike’s attention, Mike’s affection , and that was all he could really ask for.
—
It was a few nights later when Will realised he hated himself.
Well, Mike was on the phone with Eleven, laughing and blushing as he always did when she made a joke (or even when she didn’t, honestly), and Will felt far away again, and everything was bad, everything was wrong. And Will hated himself.
Because at first, he had tried to hate El, to hate her stupid jokes and how easily she’d made Mike fall for her, but he couldn’t quite manage it, not when he’d lived with her for a year and seen how alike they really were. Eleven didn’t have any friends at school and she flinched when someone yelled too loud and she was the only other living person to have such a strong connection to the Upside Down. And, of course, they were both in love with Mike Wheeler.
So next, he’d tried hating Mike himself, for falling in love with someone else and abandoning Will so thoughtlessly, but of course, that was a pointless endeavour, and one he’d already tried countless times. If he’d ever succeeded, maybe the hatred could’ve finally been the thing to dull the ache in his chest that burned more and more with each passing breath, but every attempt at detesting Mike just seemed to light another match of affection inside his heart.
And that left only one person to direct his hatred at, within this shameful excuse for a love triangle.
Himself.
The more he thought about it, the more sense it made, self-hatred.
After all, he was sort of a horrible person.
He was in love with someone in a relationship, for starters. Not just that, he was in love with someone who would never— could never—love him back, someone who would feel disgusted and angry if he ever found out how Will felt. It was almost disloyal, in a way, to play his little game and imagine that Mike might return his feelings. Mike wouldn’t be ok with that, if he found out. It was all disgusting , really. How dare he feel butterflies when Mike’s fingers brushed his arm? Who gave him the right to lay awake and imagine all sorts of lovey-dovey scenarios while Mike slept unaware, inches away on his floor? It was honestly horrifying how obsessed Will was with his completely oblivious best friend.
Sometimes even the mere fact that he liked boys was enough to make Will want to die. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t—
Everything just felt very wrong .
He pinched the inside of his wrist. It was sort of an anxious habit; it grounded him, calmed him down. And right now the sharp pain sort of felt like what he deserved.
After a minute, he heard Mike’s bright voice pause and he looked up to find Mike staring at him questioningly.
“Sorry— I have to go,” Mike told El in a low tone, and he hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye or an I love you . The fact that he had hung up so abruptly just to check on Will made his chest feel warm, but then a wave of guilt hit him and his self-hatred immediately doubled.
He pinched himself harder and then Mike was beside him, grabbing his wrist, so reminiscent of the first night Mike had arrived.
“Why do you do that?” Mike asked softly. For some reason, Will had braced himself for a harsh, angry tone, but Mike’s voice held nothing but curiosity and a lilt of gentle concern.
“Sorry,” Will mumbled. He didn’t feel totally worthy of Mike’s sympathy at the moment.
“No, no,” Mike backtracked quickly, biting his lip. “Don’t be sorry— I’m not mad, I was just... you shouldn’t hurt yourself like that, ok?”
Will almost laughed at that, at the idea that pinching his wrist was some extreme, dangerous behaviour that made Mike nervous enough to stumble to find the right thing to say. Will had done a lot worse, in the past, and for a second he considered telling Mike such, maybe showing him the scars just a few inches further up his arm, just to see his stunned reaction. He quickly dismissed the idea; he didn’t want Mike to start treating him like some fragile object that could explode if it was a bit overwhelmed.
“Ok?” Mike repeated.
“Oh, right,” Will agreed halfheartedly. Mike didn’t look convinced, but he let Will’s wrist drop and gave him a cautious smile that made Will want to kiss him and punch him at the same time.
Why did everything with Mike have to be so confusing?
—
“I have an idea,” Mike proclaimed.
The time before Mike went back to Hawkins was flying by, with only three dwindling days left, but the boys had somewhat run out of things to do. They were currently lying on Will’s bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. Which weren’t even glowing, due to the fact that it was only a few hours past midday. It was not particularly entertaining for either of them.
“Yeah?”
“You should draw me something,” Mike announced confidently. Will laughed. Will felt that he was a mediocre artist at best, but Mike had always been overly enthusiastic about his abilities.
“I’m serious,” Mike continued, “I need something to hang on my wall next to the one El commissioned!”
Will rolled his eyes with a smile and pushed himself up to his elbows, Mike following suit.
“I don’t even have a canvas,” Will groaned halfheartedly.
“You can—”
Before he knew what he was saying, Will offered something he had dreamed of doing with someone special ever since he had seen it in some corny romance movie as a child:
“I could draw on you— like, on your arms or something, like a temporary tattoo, you know?” He cringed internally, waiting for Mike to give him a weird look or point out the more conventional solution: paper—a medium which he could actually hang on his wall.
But Mike grinned enthusiastically, giving Will permission to let out the cautious breath he’d been holding as he waited for Mike’s response. And before he even knew what was happening, Will had a glittery blue gel pen in his hand and a milky white canvas with blue veins and pale freckles in front of him.
“What... what should I draw?” Will asked, still unsure if this was a normal thing to ask your best friend to do (or a normal thing for your best friend to be so enthusiastic about).
“Whatever you want,” Mike answered brightly.
Unhelpful.
Will sighed and pulled Mike’s arm towards him gently. Mike was warm, as usual, and Will tried to imagine how it would feel to link their fingers together. Ok, this was a bad idea. Before he could do something he could regret, he touched his pen down near Mike’s wrist, drawing a slightly wobbly flower, a forget-me-not. The blue was bright and the glitter sparkled and Will wanted to cry. This was a horrible idea. It was all... too much. His hand was touching Mike’s, his favourite flower was on Mike’s wrist, at this rate he might as well go ahead and confess his deepest secrets.
On the other hand, Mike seemed almost too excited, pulling his hand from Will’s grasp and admiring the simple drawing. For a second, Will saw a glimpse of the Mike from his childhood, all wide eyes and wide toothed smiles. Seeing Mike so enthusiastic, so innocent, pulled at something in his heart, maybe even the very root of his love for Mike, and he couldn’t handle the saccharine warmth spreading through his body. So before he could lose his nerve, he pulled Mike’s hand back towards him and started drawing again.
It started with a few shaky flowers, but by the time he was done, Mike’s arm had been transformed into a blooming blue bouquet, with every flower Will knew how to draw, from roses and violets to snowdrops and lilacs.
For some reason, Will prepared himself for rejection and disgust, even when he was so proud of the masterpiece on Mike’s arm. If he’d done this when Mike had visited at spring break, Mike would’ve found it weird, Will was sure of it, but he was once again struck with the feeling that things were different now, easier.
Mike was softer now.
And Will could tell that Mike loved the blue art scribbled across his arm. His awe was practically written in the lines at the corner of his mouth and the rosy peaks of his cheeks. Will had never seen someone with eyes so wide, so excited.
Mike looked at the flowers on his arm like Will looked at Mike.
“Thank you,” Mike breathed out, fondness and warmth leaking out of each syllable.
For once, for a split second , Will thought he saw a glimpse of something deeper in Mike’s dark eyes, maybe a reflection of his own admiration.
But just as soon as it appeared, it was gone.
Mike finally looked up at Will, his eyes shining happily, and without warning, he grabbed Will's arm and pulled his sleeve up. Will reacted instinctively, pulling away with a gasp and pushing his sleeve back down sharply, but Mike had already seen what lay under it and the damage had been done.
None of the scars were deep, and none of them were new, but there were a lot of them, thin and red. Many were from various adventures in the Upside Down, but a certain few had been on purpose, right after he had moved to California and felt deeply lonely. Honestly if he let his arms see enough sun to tan, the scars wouldn’t even be that noticeable, but as it was, the red lines stood out against his pale skin like stars in a midnight sky. He waited for Mike to react, to yell at him or start crying, or just do anything , but Mike just glanced up and gently reached for his arm again.
Will let him.
Mike slowly pushed his sleeve up, still not showing any signs of shock, or fear, or anything other than genuine care.
With one hand, Mike clasped Will’s wrist and turned it over to gain access to the inside of his arm, and with the other, he reached to the ground and grabbed a metallic red pen and uncapped it.
The ink was cold on Will’s arm, but Mike’s warm hand grasping his helped distract him, and he could barely even pay attention to what was being drawn on his arm when Mike was so focused and his mouth was slightly open in concentration and if he just leaned in he could kiss the wrinkles out of his brow and—
Mike was drawing a galaxy between his scars, filling all the white spaces with tiny stars, and planets, and constellations, and oh my god, Will loved him so much. Mike seemed careful to avoid his scars, almost as though he was afraid it would hurt Will if the ink touched them. That was... pretty stupid, but Will found it impossibly endearing.
The final touch, the one that made Will’s heart almost burst with affection, was Mike drawing a small heart around one of Will’s smallest scars, almost near the inside of his elbow. And when Mike lifted the pen for the final time, pulled away to admire his work, his entire arm was a vibrant red sleeve, a spinning galaxy, and Mike had drawn so many tiny celestial objects that it was impossible to tell where the scars ended and where the doodles began.
Will would never dare tell Mike, but even if Mike had just drawn meaningless squiggles, Will would’ve seen it as the most beautiful thing in the entirety of the universe.
—
Without warning, it was somehow the night before Mike had to leave. The boys had lugged sleeping bags out of Will’s closet to have a sleepover in the attic, for no particular reason other than they thought it seemed fun and it was the closest thing they could think of to the sleepovers in Mike’s basement that they both missed. Will’s mom and brother were both working, so the house was dark and silent. The only sound Will could hear was a ticking clock downstairs, counting down the hours until Mike had to leave tomorrow morning, before the sun even rose. Mike had already packed up all his stuff—his blanket, his clothes, even his Star Wars toothpaste—and Will’s room had felt strangely empty. Maybe that was the real reason they were up here.
Although their time was dwindling and Will still felt he had so much left to tell Mike, they were both silent, just studying each other, maybe capturing this moment to hold onto until the next time they could see each other. Maybe it was the silence that created the odd tension between them, almost like it had been when Mike had just arrived.
“I can’t believe it’s really your last day,” Will sighed, breaking the quiet and sitting up suddenly.
“Yeah, me neither,” Mike agreed softly, following suit and sitting up. “It feels like there’s so much we never got to do.”
“Yeah.”
Will looked down at Mike’s arm and noticed with disappointment that the flowers had mostly washed off this morning in the shower. Will’s own arm had been carefully avoided as he’d washed the rest of his body, and he was wearing his new Hellfire t-shirt. It was one of the first times he had felt comfortable enough to wear short-sleeves out of his room in months.
He wished that Mike had preserved his arm art too; he’d liked how it felt to have twinning “tattoos”. Maybe one day they could both make the art permanent and Will wouldn’t have to feel like he was the only one who found their matching drawings meaningful.
“And there’s so much we never got to say ,” Mike added suddenly, the casual lilt of his voice not quite covering up the odd sentiment.
“What do you mean?” Will asked slowly, not sure how much was hidden under Mike’s easy tone.
“Well, there’s nothing more you want to tell me, before I leave? This might be the last time we get to talk in person for a long time,” Mike pointed out. Will couldn’t tell if he was trying to give him some kind of hint or if he was speaking more generally, but Will paused for a second to consider Mike’s words.
Maybe Will was just exhausted, or maybe it was the tension in the air, but he suddenly longed to be honest with Mike, tell him everything.
But of course, he couldn’t do that.
He moved his hand to pinch his wrist, but stopped when he saw Mike’s eyes trace his movement with a concerned gaze. He sighed and chose to let out his anxious energy by tapping his thigh instead, being rewarded by an encouraging smile from Mike.
That brought on an idea: maybe he could do something similar with his words... settle for something safer that would let out his scorching feelings without completely freaking Mike out.
“You’ll never know how much you mean to me,” Will murmured with a soft smile, the words holding a weight that Mike would never understand.
It was better like this. He couldn’t risk losing Mike right now, not right before he left.
Mike bit his lip, as if considering his next words carefully.
“I think... I do know,” Mike whispered gently, kindly. There was a tone in his voice, a tone Will couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, it made Will freeze, feeling his heartbeat get louder, pounding loud enough that he worried it might alert Mike that something was wrong.
“I think I know how you feel about me,” Mike continued. The boys just looked at each other for a minute, trying to read each other’s faces. Mike bit his lip again.
“You don’t,” Will started shakily, finally breaking the silence. “You can’t.”
Slowly, Mike leaned closer, reaching out to touch Will’s trembling hand. Mike’s hand was soft, gentle, but freezing cold.
Will pulled away.
“Will, I’ve known you since we were kids, don’t you think I can read your emotions by now? Can’t you do the same for me?”
Will considered that for a second. Will had always been so proud of knowing his best friend so well, even when that meant being certain that his feelings for Mike were unrequited. Could Mike really read him just as easily? Had he known how Will felt, all along?
“How long?” Will asked quietly. “How long have you known?”
“Maybe that Halloween when we were ghostbusters? Maybe a bit before that? I don’t know exactly.”
Will stood up and took a step backwards, closing his eyes. This wasn’t real. This had to be a fucking nightmare.
“I’m not mad,” he heard Mike’s voice tell him, still soft, still gentle.
“You should be mad,” Will whispered, opening his eyes. His vision was blurred by welling tears, but he could make out Mike standing up and taking a step toward him. Why did Mike keep coming closer? Why wasn’t he disgusted? Why didn’t he hate Will? Unless...
Unless Will had read everything wrong. Unless Will’s wildest dreams were becoming a reality. Unless, for the first time, Will wouldn’t be alone, wouldn’t be abandoned. Unless Mike was like him. Unless—
“Unless you feel the same?” Will asked quietly, trying not to let too much hope seep into his voice. He wiped his eyes quickly, to see Mike’s reaction, but there wasn’t much to see. Mike was just standing there, biting his lip again, like he always did when deciding how to react.
For a second, the room seemed to expand, to lift, and Will could see it now, could see why Mike had come to visit, why his touches always lingered too long, why he looked at Will with such care and gentleness. Will could see Mike in a whole new light! And then—
Mike shook his head.
“I can’t,” he whispered, “I’m dating Eleven, I’m—”
“Forget about Eleven,” Will begged, feeling guilty as he said it, “Please, Mike, if you weren’t with El, if we’d never met her, would you feel the same about me? Would you love me back?”
“I shouldn’t think about that—”
“Just tell me!” Will sobbed.
“Yes!” Mike shouted, beginning to cry as he continued, “Is that what you want to hear? Yes , I would feel the same way, because I did feel the same way. When I thought El was dead, when I first noticed your feelings for me, I liked you back, and how could I not, Will? You care so much, you love so much, how could I not feel the same when that love was directed at me? But then, El came back, and I liked her , and I stopped liking you, and everything was good, everything was how it was supposed to be. Except for... you , you still liked me, and you didn’t stop liking me, and I felt bad, but I guess I thought, I guess I thought... you would grow out of it.”
Grow out of it .
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
“He’ll grow out of it,” his mom had told his dad, trying to calm the furious man down after he’d pointed his finger at Will, drunk and spitting, and called him a queer.
“It’s probably a phase,” Jonathan had assured him cautiously when Will had told him that he wanted to marry a pretty boy when he grew up.
“We’re not kids anymore,” Mike himself had reminded him countless times. It had always hurt a bit more coming from Mike’s mouth for some reason.
All his life, he’d been told to grow up, to grow out of it, to stop acting childish. Was it so childish to reach for a happy ending? Was it naive to hold onto things in his life that were burning to ashes in his grasp? Was it immature to just love people, and worry about the consequences later?
And suddenly, Will wasn’t sad anymore. He’d spent the whole week, his whole life , feeling bad for himself and pouting and hurting himself and the people around him and he wasn’t sad anymore. He was angry .
“What is so wrong with me?” he asked Mike, his voice getting stronger, “Because all my life, all I’ve ever tried to do is find someone who cares about me, someone who loves me as much as I love them. I just want someone who stays . Is that too much to ask for? Sometimes I think I’m cursed, because no matter what I do, no matter how hard I beg them not to go, everyone I love seems to leave me. Can you tell me why, Mike? Why does no one choose to stay with me?”
Mike just stared at him, looking almost afraid. Will liked how it felt to be the one in control, for once. He took a step forward.
“Jonathan has Nancy, Lucas has Max, Dustin would rather hangout with Steve,” he continued, “And you? You’ve chosen El over me, a hundred times .”
“Will—”
“I don’t blame you, I’m not mad, I just— sometimes, I imagine that I’m the one leaving, for once. Like, what if I just pack my things and start a new life and stop caring about Lucas, and Dustin, and Eleven, and Jonathan, stop caring about all the people who clearly don’t give a fuck about me. I mean, the only time they really show that they care is when they think I’m about to die. That’s fucked up, don’t you think, Mike? The only time I ever feel loved is when I barely escape death. It sorta makes sense then, that my brain keeps telling me to try to die?”
“Please Will—”
“Stop the bullshit , that’s why you’re here too, right? You’re scared I might go crazy and try to kill myself? Well, great news, Mike, you can’t fix me, you can’t save me, so you might as well go home too, you might as well leave me.”
“ Will ,” Mike repeated, nearly shouting to be heard over Will’s distressed rambling, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you .”
—
Things felt better in the morning, as they often do.
Will woke up slumped against the wall in the attic, light filtering in through the small boarded up window, and he would’ve decided the events of last night were just a horrible dream if he could’ve come up with another logical explanation for why he was in the attic. The exact events of the previous night felt hazy, but Will could still remember every emotion with a lingering sting.
Denial, fear, disgust, hope, despair, and then... anger. Blinding white, burning hot anger, strangely cauterising his raw wounds and finally allowing him to feel in control of his life, of himself. He’d still felt all the pain, deep within, but the anger had been all encompassing, numbing any other feelings until it had been sufficiently released. Will couldn’t remember much after that. Mike hugging him... both of them sobbing... and then... nothing.
Will tried to lift up his hand to tap his leg anxiously, but he suddenly realised there was a warm body slumped against his side. He turned his head to face a crown of dark curls that he’d become very familiar with as of late and discovered that Mike Wheeler was sleeping on his shoulder.
Mike Wheeler had missed his plane and was sleeping on his shoulder.
A week ago, Will would’ve pushed him away and spiralled into some kind of self-deprecating anxiety attack, but now... it didn’t seem like the most horrible thing in the world. It was Mike’s choice to sleep here, it was Mike’s choice to miss his plane, and Will was tired of feeling guilty about everything.
For a second, Will’s mind went automatically to playing his little game, to imagining that Mike was sleeping next to him because he had realised he was gay and in love with Will. But he hadn’t and he wasn’t. Mike was his friend , his best friend, and the term made him feel sick as ever, but the sooner he stopped shying away from it, the sooner he could begin to accept it.
Maybe once, in the past, they could’ve been more than friends, or maybe in some other place or time or universe, but not here , not now .
It was bitter, no, painful , but—
At least he knew .
And there was another aspect of this realisation, a somewhat comforting silver lining to this thundering cloud. They would never be more than friends, yes, but they would never be less than that either. Always close, always connected, through everything. If Mike didn’t hate him for being queer, for being secretly obsessed with him, Mike wouldn’t hate him for anything . He couldn’t hate him for anything. They were alike in that way.
Will knew that he would be in love with Mike forever, probably.
And he knew that it would always hurt, it would probably almost kill him sometimes. Maybe one day it really would , honestly.
But right now... things felt better in the morning, and Mike was just starting to wake up, and Will had a small smile on his face.
So for now, things were—
He felt Mike stir at his side, heard him sigh and then yawn, and he remembered one more thing from the night before, something very important. Perhaps the most important thing of all. It was sort of obvious, but it felt good to solidify it in his mind after so long.
After so many heart-wrenching fights and disastrous confrontations and miserable goodbyes, finally, finally —
Mike had stayed .