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December 24th, 1987
What was pretty high up, actually, in the list of “Wheeler Family Activities That Makes Mike Want To Boil His Own Skin”, is holidays. Specifically christmas. Also specifically with his parents. It didn’t help that Mike didn’t even believe in the God they were celebrating, but what was really the topping piece to his trauma cake of holidays, was everyone’s behaviors. More accurately, the way everyone’s behavior changed in the blink of an eye.
Even before incidents in November with Ted, Christmas was never a fully happy holiday. One second he, Holly and Nancy would be posing for photos to put on a shelf just so they could deceive the public eye, and the next they’d be in the car on the way home, choking on the tense and angry silence they were met with from their parents. Then, later in the night when everyone was asleep he’d curl up and whisper “At least they’re still here” to the empty room, hoping it would listen to his justifications anyways.
He’d wake up with dried tears on his cheeks, and the aching imprints of fingernails on his palms.
However, with Mike still living in the Wheeler house (to protect Holly, although he did have to convince his boyfriend it wasn’t self-destructive tendencies taking the driver’s seat), thetension in the house was so thick, Mike thought he was drowning in it when he woke up. And when he had woken up that early December morning, going downstairs mentally preparing himself for blank stares and sly remarks poking at his self-worth, and had been met with a silence so loud it echoed in his ears; he dug his nails into his palms and told himself it wasn’t what he thought it was.
He checked the garage for his parents' cars, then was promptly met with the stale smell of cement and a waning sense of hope. ‘ Maybe his mom left a note! She was probably taking Holly to the grocery store. Makes sense, considering their fridge had been mostly empty and accompanied by echoing cabinets for weeks now.’
Yeah! That…he could believe that, if he tried hard enough. God, if anyone found out they’d lose their shit . And it wasn’t even a big deal either! He was 16 years old, 17 in spring, he should be able to take care of himself. But even if there was a note nearby, he wouldn’t see it, far too entranced by the cup of cold coffee sat on top of a list of conversion therapists.
(And maybe, if he had looked close enough, he would’ve seen the plane tickets laid out on the counter next to him).
=-=-=-=-=
Everyone had been holed up in Steve Harrington’s house, the bite of the cold outside being enough to drive them indoors to sit and watch the neighborhood kids fall face first in the snow.
“Nothing like seeing toddlers fail at basic motor skills.” Robin sighed contently, her contented tone pulling a quiet laugh from Mike, who was currently sat with his hair being braided by El.
“There really is something special about seeing their chubby little faces hit the ground. Just makes you wanna point and laugh.” He added, feeling a sense of happiness at the short cackle he heard from Robin and the nods of agreement from the others that followed. A comfortable hum of silence and whispered conversations flowed back into the room, making Mike feel safe in a house for the first time in nearly a month.
One thing that Mike had learned from being a chronic overthinker however, is that wherever there’s a moment of silence, there are always thoughts nearby to end the quiet. He thought about how he could smell the sweet scent of gingerbread from the kitchen where Will, Lucas and Dustin were making cookies with the supervision of Eddie and Steve, he thought about how he could feel El’s fingers threading through his hair, making an elaborate crown braid he knew he wouldn’t have the heart to undo, thought about how he could feel Max sitting across from him on the sofa, talking happily about the movie date she and Lucas had recently.
He thought about if he looked just slightly to his left, he could see Nancy and Robin chatting quietly and sneaking smitten glances at each other, and if he looked up at the sofa next to them, he would see Jonathan laying in Argyle’s arms, a content smile on his face while his half-asleep boyfriend sleepily swept his thumb over his knuckles.
And he thought, did he really deserve all the love he was getting, the love he was surrounded by? He knew he hadn’t done a single thing to earn the love he was getting, and god, they were probably so fucking sick of him and his greedy, selfish antics. The way he would just take, and take, and take, and not give a single thing in return. What would he even say if one of them asked why he was being so selfish, taking all the love and affection he was being given. Consuming, like he’d been starving for it since the moment he met them all, acting as though he’d been living without affection for so long, he forgot what it felt like.
(He didn’t forget. It just hurt too much to remember.)
He would tell them he’s sorry, that he’d never dare do it again, and he would give all the affection he took back, because he’d rather starve on the affection he doesn't have, than gorge on affection he doesn’t deserve. But he’d wanted to starve all along, hadn’t he?
A light shake of his shoulder shook him out of his trance, stepping out of his headspace to be met with the concerned face of Max and the confused stares of Nancy and Robin. He blinked once, twice, then stood up.
“I’m gonna go check out what Wills’ doing before I head home, thanks for the braids El! ” He shot her a quick closed-mouth smile as he walked over to the kitchen and pretended he couldn’t hear Max’s whisper of, “That was weird, right? That seemed weird to you too?”
As he walked more into the atmosphere of the kitchen, his eyes widened in surprise and stifled his laughter at his friends and boyfriend.
Will, Lucas and Dustin all had flour on various parts of their faces and clothes, it was matted in their hair, caked on their face, and scattered on their shirts. Eddie was draped over Steve’s shoulder as the latter sat at the counter, lightheartedly teasing him as Steve stuck a polaroid picture of the current situation in the middle of a thick paged book, sloppily writing ‘Christmas, 1987’ beneath the photo. While Dustin and Lucas were pushing each other around, occasionally scooping up spare flour and throwing it at the other boy, Will laughed at them and looked over, making eye contact with Mike, causing Mike to smile fondly at the sight of his boyfriend, who was currently scanning his eyes over Mike’s hair.
Before they’d gotten together about a year ago, it was all shy glances and painful pining. These comments came from the others around them, but if you asked Mike, he’d tell you it was more the tentative press of Will’s thigh against his while sitting, the panic inducing feeling of Will’s muscular build when they hugged, and longing glances that tended to linger on lips; all of which resulted in rose-tinted faces and the urge to lean over and kiss the shock off Will’s face, which was a thought Mike had to remind himself wasn’t a good idea an embarrassing amount of times. But don’t get him wrong, them finally getting together didn’t stop those gay panics (as Robin called them when he explained the experience. She also laughed extensively at him when he mentioned Will’s recently more muscular build ((and how it made his face light up like a stop sign)) but that’s unimportant), if anything it just made them more frequent, which he was painfully aware of, courtesy of pretty much everyone.
“Mike! I thought you were braiding Max’s hair, not the other way around?” Mike opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by his boyfriend. “I mean, not that I’m saying it looks bad , it doesn't! It looks really nice, actually. I don’t mean that in like, a sarcastic way though! I just-it looks- it looks good!...Yeah.” Mike laughed as he saw Dustin fake-gag and Lucas mouth “GAY” over Will’s shoulder.
“Thanks?” He raised an eyebrow and Will flashed a sheepish smile. “And yes, Max’s hair has been braided, El just braided my hair because she was bored and it’s a nice hairstyle. The better question than what happened to my hair however, is what happened to you guys?”
“Dustin dropped the ball of dough in the flour bin and got it all over himself, then hugged Lucas, who hugged me, and then we somehow ended up throwing flour at each other.” His boyfriend waved his hand to the side, disregarding what he said. “But you look stressed, are you okay?” The concern in Will’s eyes tugged at his heart, and he almost reached out for comfort. Almost.
Selfish.
He shook his head. “I’m fine, just wanted to check what you guys were doing before I headed out.” He saw Max, El, Nancy and Robin enter the room from the side of his eye.
“You’re gonna walk home? Mike it’s practically 0 degrees outside right now.” Robin scolds, worry in her voice more prominent than anger.
“I have a coat, I’ll be fine!” She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “It’s one of those big puffy coats Robin, I’ll be fine.” She sighed and pinched the crease in between her eyebrows.
“Okay let's say that I hypothetically let you walk home right now. What is so urgent at this moment that you need to go home right now? Because we’re all going to head over to the Byers as soon as those cookies are done.” Well, it’s not like everyone in the room didn’t see him after his father beat the shit out of him a month ago, so they might as well know that Mike hasn’t seen his parents since a week after he came home in November.
He looks to the side, scared that if he looks at any of them when he says this, the tears he’s been holding in for a month will finally come out.
“I-i uhm. I just…I, I wanted to s-see if my parents would…be there.” MIke heard a sharp intake of breath and started talking again. Mistake, mistake, mistake, mistake. “It’s not a big deal or, anything! I just haven't, you know, actually seen them in a while and I mean it's probably weird that I think just because it’s christmas- '' Mike dug his nails into the palm of his hand, before feeling the calloused hands of his boyfriend break apart the fist he’d made. “I’ll see them but no matter what usually they’re there , and I mean like I said I really don’t know if they will be but I- I hope they are. So I just… I need to know if they’re there.” He kept his eyes down, staring at the tile to distract himself from the reactions of the people around him. Mistake.
“Mike-” Robin cleared her throat, the raspiness he was familiar with becoming more apparent. “Are your parents taking care of you?”
He shrugged and she stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“ Mike .” He looked up at her, seeing a small frown and inquisitive blue eyes. “ Do they take care of you? ”
He shook his head and she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him, gently resting her chin on his shoulder. Mike inhaled shakily, faintly smelling the mix of linen and vanilla perfume.
“Steve? Can you pack some boxes of mac and cheese for us to take over?” He heard the shuffling of cabinets opening and socks sliding against tile. As he opened his mouth to protest, Robin squeezed a bit tighter. “Don’t you dare think about telling me not to, cause there’s no way any of us will listen to that. I swear , I’m gonna kick their homophobic little faces in if I see them.”
“I second that!” Max agreed. Oh. He forgot everyone else was here too.
He pulled away from the embrace, staying close enough to still have Robin’s hand laying on his shoulder, now accompanied by Nancy’s hand.
“Sorry about interrupting your guys’ night with all… that . I uh-I still need to go back though.” He said cautiously.
Steve nodded, walking over with a brown bag that Mike assumed contained mac and cheese. “Their faces don’t stand a chance, kid. Not after we’re done with them that is.”
Mike smiled at him, and walked out the door after giving Will a peck on the cheek, hearing the footsteps of Robin, Steve, Eddie, and Nancy behind him.
=-=-=-=-=
They were gone.
They were gone, leaving an empty house and a single note in their wake. He could feel the chill of the house echo around him, it was suffocating.
He should have known , he should have known that they would leave without a goodbye, that when they left, the house would shudder and creak with every step he’d take, and there’d be no one there to yell at him to keep quiet. He should’ve known he’s not enough for them to stay.
Why is he never enough?
Distantly, he can hear the slide of his father’s chair when he gets up from the table and walks away, showing Mike that nothing he can do will ever be enough for his father’s attention. He hears the sound of his mother’s voice drift through the air, when Mike would sit at the table when she would mindlessly clean, listening to her tell him her fantasies of running away. And he could picture Holly sitting, playing with her Lite Bright at the table, eyebrows drawn together in a silent state of focus.
But he knows the house is empty, his friends gone at his own insistence. The note crinkled in his hands, the forbidden tears in his eyes clouding the words.
Out for the week, be back soon. Merry Christmas. -Karen
The silence rang in his ears as he stumbled to his feet from his spot on the floor, grabbing a jacket and walking out the front door. The cold bit at his face, the howling of the wind was nothing compared to the volume of his thoughts. Why couldn't they just stay ? He knew that they were disgusted, with his father to a violent degree, but he’d rather be with the family that hated him than without them at all. He knew he wasn’t the only one with a bad familial relationship in the party, hell, he’d been there when both Neil and Lonnie were pieces of shit, but he knew his situation was nothing compared to what others had to go through.
At least there had only been minor occasions of physical beatings before this, and they were all deserved, he swore!
The lights of the Byers-Hopper house brought him out of his pitiful stupor, the windows shining with the lights from the dining table. Mike stumbled onto the porch, knocking on the door. The door opened to reveal Hopper, clad in a festive sweater the others probably forced onto him.
“Wheeler, what’re you doing here?” He asked. Mike looked to the side, seeing Will, El, Jonathan, Argyle and Joyce stare worriedly at him. The sight of compassion in their eyes was enough for the tears in his eyes to tip over, falling down his cheeks as he threw himself into Hopper’s arms, longing for the warmth of the hug he found from him 3 years ago. Mike felt Hopper’s arms wrap around him in return, ignoring how his mother’s note fell from his hands.
“You’re gonna be okay kid, you’ll be okay.”
Maybe he will be, if he doesn’t drive them away too.