Chapter Text
Will woke up gently in the mornings. If all was normal, he’d open his eyes to the cacophony of cars on the street below, and the warm, golden split rays of sunlight peeking through his blinds.
He was comfortable.
His apartment was cozy. He had a padded, blanket-clad reading nook by the window, which he knew was a fire hazard, but he didn’t mind. It was a pleasing little fraction of his home to look at, and a comfy place to get lost in works of fiction when he had the time. All the same, he figured his hypervigilance would save him from a fire, if life cruelly decided to throw him another curveball. A fire was nothing compared to the horrors he’d lived through. Whenever the worry snuck up on him, he’d shrug.
He had a sweet little zebra finch, whom he aptly named Gould, after Glenn Gould. He chittered and peeped excitedly at Will’s presence in the room, and signaled the morning for him. He was grey, with brown and white spotted wings, and a bright orange beak. He was the closest thing to a family member Will had within a thousand mile radius, and Will loved him like one.
He basked in the peace of being alone. He was thankful for the quiet chirps of his little finch, who often pulled him from his thought loops. He’d been away from Hawkins for three years. He’d left during the long and greuling aftermath of the terror he childishly thought of as The Great War. The Great War– in which he and everyone he’d ever loved fought the mother of all nightmares and horrors for the last time, losing any semblance of innocence and childlike wonder they had left– and nearly losing their lives in the process. He had trouble sleeping through nights, and living through days, for three years after. He struggled with feeling anything but grief and guilt while he lived under those dark Hawkins clouds.
He’d taken it upon himself to buy a plane ticket exactly one month after graduation, and swore to visit for Christmas.
Despite the promise he’d made, he told his mother he was snowed in for two years in a row, now. He’d never been snowed in.
He’d called, and he’d sent letters. He’d kept in contact, for the most part. Sure, he kept some of the details hazy when it came to his handling of flashbacks, and his toxic (albeit self preserving) avoidance patterns. But he’d kept in touch. He just couldn’t bring himself to go back there, in person. He couldn’t feel the Hawkins air on his new flesh. With his third Christmas away coming up in a short six months, his worry stirred again.
Firstly, he couldn’t set foot into the hellscape that was once his childhood hometown, for the sake of his sanity. The smell of the air would awaken something in him that had long been dormant since he moved away. The loop thoughts and the jumpscares that were his memories of Hawkins, Indiana left something to be desired in the realm of inner peace.
Secondly, there was the black-haired boy. His paladin. Well, not his paladin. The boy he’s loved since he learned what love felt like. The boy Will knew he shouldn’t pine about. He found himself furrowing his brow and shaking his head whenever he settled on the thought of Mike Wheeler. He found himself ill with guilt at the thought of him.
The what-ifs surrounding his interpersonal relationships were enough to send the boy into a spiral, but he biggest fear to strike him, the repetitive thought that knocked against his skull:
What if his mother, in her warm-hearted and light Joyce way, begged for him to come back home? To stay back home? To move back home?
The problem was that Hawkins wasn’t his home anymore. Home was here, in his little loft apartment, accompanied by Gould, his art, and his books. Home was The Secret Garden. Home was his fire hazard reading loft, and Edelweiss Coffee, and the city noise.
He couldn’t go back to Hawkins. He couldn’t face the people he loves the most. He knew that it would take little to no convincing from a certain black-haired boy to leave his new life behind and move back to the hokey small town to spend the rest of his days there.
That's where it got sticky for Will. He found it wrong, taboo even, to think of Mike. The quickness in which his thoughts jumped from passing, surface level memories to deep and painful yearning always surprised him, so he’d taken, very kindly, to avoidance. His avoidance was thick, and all-consuming– it had to be, in order for it to take up the exact same amount of space that his love for Mike Wheeler did.
Avoidance came in a plethora of shapes and sizes. Will would paint, draw, sculpt, and write until the dandelion sun would peek through his blinds, and Gould would begin his morning song. He’d groan and, with a stretch, pour birdseed into Gould’s feeder (“Here you go, baby. I’ll get you some of those blackberries you like today, hm?”). He’d beeline for the shower, prepared to take on the day as a sleepless elite, yawning his way through two hundred renditions of “Thank you for choosing The Secret Garden, say it with flowers! How can I help you today?”
He’d hold his eyes open reluctantly as he repotted yet another ivy with root rot, wipe his nose and eyes as he prepared gladiolus bouquets, always taken equally aback by his mysterious allergy. (Who’s allergic to gladiolus, anyway?)
However, nights didn’t always bleed into days in such a way. They were usually, and for the most part, a calm, quiet thing for Will. The soft chirps of Gould would quiet as the sun set, and Will would cook himself a late dinner of baked breadcrumb chicken and glazed carrots. He enjoyed the way his living space would fill with the warm smells of home cooking, and it made him smile nearly every time. It reminded him of Joyce, burning Thanksgiving dinner haphazardly, but grinning through the light smoke as she quickly whipped up something new.
“At least we have the means to replace it,” she’d laugh, fanning the open oven with an old mitt. “I’m thankful for that. Count that as my turn, you can skip me at the dinner table. That’s what I’m thankful for.”
Therefore, Will’s thoughts traveled to Joyce during dinner, and without a doubt, to El during breakfast.
Breakfast in the city was unmistakably different from breakfast in Hawkins. Will lived just a floor above Edelweiss Coffee. He visited the small cafe on his run to work every morning, and became a regular within his first week of living in New York. He’d run in and order his medium hot coffee with cream and sugar, adding on a puff pastry waffle when they had them. He could carry it to work with him, wrapped in fancy green tissue paper, stealing bites when he stopped for the crosswalk light.
The honeycomb pattern of the takeaway waffles always sent him right back to his mother’s kitchen in Hawkins.
“El, it’s 7 in the morning. Tell me you’re not actually putting m&ms on your waffles right now,” he’d tease, swiftly met with a light shove from his sister.
“Mind your business,” she’d giggle, around a mouthful of (yes, in fact, m&m covered) waffles. “You put maple syrup on your eggs.”
Will worked happily at The Secret Garden. The name of the floristry business made him chuckle upon application, upon having seen the establishment. It wasn’t fenced in, and it was barely a garden. In fact, it was architecturally similar to Edelweiss. Will assumed that The Secret Garden was likely built at the same time as the cafe, albeit a few blocks away. They looked like the same business, save for coffee and pastries sold in one, and orchids and peperomias sold in the other. Will’s boss, Harvey, liked to call the buildings ‘soulmates’.
Harvey was met with a short laugh and widened eyes by the customers who dared to partake in smalltalk with him. He was insistent about the idea of ‘soulmates’. He swore that every flower had its one true pairing, that everything from stems, to windows, to bodega cats were owed a soulmate by the universe, and that it would be delivered to them in their time on earth. Full of love, Harvey was. His deep eyes and his raspy voice made Will feel welcome and at home at his job. There was never a dull moment at The Secret Garden, due to Harvey’s presence.
“Morning, Mr. Byers,” he’d greet Will warmly, every morning. “You look ready today,” he’d say, no matter how groggy or puffy-eyed Will was.
“Walk slow out there, and keep your eyes up,” he’d offer, as Will opened the door to leave after a shift. “Wouldn’t want to pass your soulmate by.” Every night, without fail.
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On July 9th, Will woke from a restful sleep to the sweet chitterings of Gould, softly alerting the arrival of the morning. He stretched, and reached into the bag of multicolored bird seeds to feed his feathered friend. (“Good morning to you too, tiny. Oh, I got you some raspberries yesterday, you stay right there. There you go, pumpkin. You’re the best boy.”)
He showered quickly, his concentration lost in thoughts of the wedding delicacies he was sure to have the honor of crafting today, and for the rest of the month. July was always The Secret Garden’s busiest month, with weddings booked back to back. Will loved to craft the boutonnieres, bouquets, and corsages. The nursery and mulch work were rewarding and incredible to experience, but the aesthetic of flowerheads, the sweet scent of carnations, the shine of silk ribbons, and the softness of rose petals in his hands were easily his favorite part of the job. After dressing, he tied on his forest green apron, said his goodbyes to Gould, and ducked down the stairs.
On mornings when his appetite was lacking, Will would pick up a coffee for Harvey. It was the least he could do when he had a free hand. He was the best friend he had in the city.
“Two regulars with cream and sugar, for Will?”
“Thanks, Theo,” Will chirped, raising his hand slightly, then stepping forward to claim the two extra hot paper cups from the Edelweiss counter.
“No waffle today?” The barista asked, gesturing toward the pastry display. His glasses were thick rimmed, his hair was dirty-blonde and winged, peeking out from either side of his glasses. Familiar, his face– he’d been at Edelweiss for at least Will’s entire stay in the loft upstairs. The usual and designated nice guy on the block.
“Not enough hands,” Will sighed. “Tomorrow, for sure. Harvey needs his coffee today,” he smiled as he reached for the door, surprisingly clad with a “New Hires, This Way!” sign.
“You guys are hiring?” he quipped, spinning on his heel.
“Hired, already, actually,” Theo sighed. “Got two new heads coming in for their first day today.”
“I’ll be back today for that waffle after all,” Will laughed. “Gotta meet my new downstairs neighbors.”
“Sounds good, I’ll warn ‘em,” Theo smiled.
The boys nodded their silent farewell, and Will shoved out the door.
The walk from home to The Secret Garden was always brisk. Will loved his job, he never felt the need to drag his feet on the way. It was about three blocks away, which made for a good ten minute stroll. The small bell on the front door of The Secret Garden welcomed him as he shoved through with a smile.
“Morning, Mr. Byers,” Harvey beamed, as he did every day at 8 am, sharp. "You look ready today."
“Hey, Harv. Ready as ever. Got you some coffee,” Will strained, reaching across the counter with the cup.
“A lifesaver, you. Sent from the sky, I swear it.”
“Somethin’ like that. Got the order list for me? I’m ready,” Will clapped his hands excitedly.
Harvey haphazardly pointed behind him to a yellow slip on the bulletin board while sipping his coffee.
“Everything is clipped and ready, save for the–”
“Baby’s breath, yep. Thank you,” Will trailed, heading into the back of the store.
Entering the flower room was somewhat therapeutic for Will. The earthy smell of the cut rose stems and the heavenly fragrance of peonies graced his nose as he started his work for the day. The order called for eight posy bouquets of white peonies and one nosegay bouquet of pink ranunculus roses. Will liked receiving orders for nosegay bouquets, because they called for more greenery around the flowers. This meant he could use his creative eye to craft them as he saw fit.
He chose to dress the ranunculus roses in silver dollar eucalyptus, and the posy bouquets in baby blue eucalyptus. The distinction was important, as the silver dollar’s leaves were larger, and the nosegay was typically the bride’s, therefore it had to attract more attention than the posies did.
He chose the lighter of the two orange ribbons he was given, admittedly because it was a softer and more light reflective fabric. The flowers were, as Harvey said, clipped and ready, but the ranunculus stems had an unappealing fuzzy feeling to them. As he shaved the circumference of the stems to ward off the prickly parts, he wrapped them gently and with great care in the ribbon. As a finishing touch on each bouquet, he dabbed a small amount of hot glue on the tightly wrapped end, securing the ribbon in place.
When he glanced at the clock, he was surprised to find he was making great time, and crafted eight boutonnieres to match the posies. His focus held fast as he wrapped the wire carefully. Tough on the fingers, wire– but his hands were used to this.
Will wished, frequently, that he carried a camera around the way his brother always had. Especially when he finished a masterpiece like the entire wedding set sitting on the counter before him. His happiness was palpable. Flower arrangement was, in fact, an art form– no matter how obscure, and he took pride in his work.
When all was finished, it was already 5 pm. Will laid the bouquets in the cooler room, cleaned up his workspace, and stepped back into the front of the store. As he washed the day from his hands, he heard Harvey talking his wizard-esque ‘one true pairing’ talk to some poor potential customers. He chuckled to himself as he wiped his hands and made his way toward the door.
Like clockwork, the moment the small bells jingled atop the door frame, Harvey spoke:
“G’night, Mr. Byers. Walk slow out there, and keep your eyes up. Wouldn’t want to pass your soulmate by.”
“Sure thing, Harvey. G’night,” he smiled, nodding out the door.
Keep your eyes up.
Will liked to believe he kept his eyes up as he walked, but he had a habit of making himself small in large spaces. It felt easier to shrink himself than to try and match the mass of the city. The tall-standing, classic bravado wasn’t for him, no matter how well it suited the other men he passed by on his walk.
Wouldn’t want to pass your soulmate by.
Will was reminded of his half-promise to Theo when he felt a pang of hunger wash softly over him. A waffle or two for dinner wasn’t the healthiest option, but he was sure it’d grant him an encouraging smile from his sister. He knew Theo would give him some of their unsold berries for Gould if he stopped in at night, so he decided that he’d treat himself to breakfast for dinner, after all. Theo was a nice guy, always joking and trying to get a smile out of anyone who came in the shop. He was a friend to all, and Will never minded seeing him twice.
“The flowerboy himself,” Theo fanfared playfully.
“At your service, from 8 to 4,” Will joked, tipping an imaginary hat.
“The new hires are here! I’ll grab ‘em quick, just about time to close up now anyway. And you want, what, two waffles?”
“Please, yeah. And could I have a little cup of those raspberries? For the little guy,”
“Songbird eats free, of course, yeah,” Theo trailed, walking excitedly behind the counter. “Hey guys, come out here a sec,” he bellowed into the kitchen.
“I’ll be right there, he’s gonna finish up the last carafe,” a woman’s voice called back.
Theo set the forest green paper bag on the counter for Will.
“Saved these for ya,” he teased.
“Oh, I’m forever grateful, sir. Thank you,” Will smiled.
A young woman emerged from the kitchen. Under her visor, her hair was a light shade of blonde, and it curled in ways he’d only seen in movies. She had piercing blue eyes, and a soft, friendly face.
“Hi, I’m Megan. Theo told us you live upstairs? It’s nice to meet you!” she beamed.
“Hi, I’m Will. It’s nice to meet you too! Hope Theo didn’t spend all day talking about me,” Will joked.
The second new hire strolled in from the kitchen, wiping his hands. A tall young man, with long legs and black hair. His visor covered his face as he straightened his apron. Will peeked over Megan’s shoulder as the other hire straightened his spine and walked toward the counter.
Will felt his hands begin to shake, and he shoved them into his pockets to stifle the movement. He bit his lips together and furrowed his brows, attempting precise focus.
This couldn’t be.
This couldn’t be, and it likely wasn’t.
Will figured he was just lovesick, brought to his knees in metaphor by any tall black-haired boy, by all faults of his own. He knew the blows of familiarity would’ve softened years ago, had he given up hope.
Nevertheless, he’d scoured the earth for the pieces of him that didn’t love Mike Wheeler. He’d left no stone unturned, and came up empty handed.
He had half a mind to fix his gaze to the ground-- so as not to give himself away for the millionth little time--but was struck by the false-hopeful words of Harvey again.
Keep your eyes up. Wouldn't want to pass your soulmate by.
He met the other boy's eyes and his heart felt complete again. He hadn't acknowledged the mild, ever-present ache in his chest since the last time he looked into those eyes.
His chest swelled in a familiar ache as the deep umber eyes met his own. Pink cheeks spotted with freckles, a softly hooked nose, and a gentle, blushed smile Will knew all too well were but two feet away from him.
“Hey! I’m Mike. I just mov– Oh my God.”
Will’s shell-pink face twisted into a smile. His eyes glittered with the threat of tears, and he didn’t blink them away.
“Mike,” he breathed, dizzily.
“Will, it’s– is it really you?” He thought aloud, his smile like he’d won the lottery–beaming, with an air of disbelief and wonder.
Mike reached to touch him. His face had paled, and in his eyes lingered a sliver of fear. He settled his warm hands on Will’s shoulders, squeezing. Once, twice.
“Am I imagining this?” he whispered, taking in the room around him.
“It’s me, Mike,” Will smiled.
Quickly, Mike pulled Will into an embrace so tight, so secure, and so warm, that Will found himself wishing he would never again know the coldness of the world outside of his arms. He hadn’t realized how cold he'd been before Mike reminded him of his warmth. His tizzied thoughts seemed to float above him, two halves of a whole coherency bouncing off the ceiling and never meeting their match.
It was cruel, Will thought. The way that everything in the room evaporated for them. Beautiful, but cruel. It was like a hard blow to the stomach, the aide-memoire in the form of human touch–Mike’s touch– the heart wrenching guilt, and in turn,--sadness, that overtook Will, knowing that this meant more to him than it did to Mike.
He couldn’t help but ponder the unfairness of it all, in relation to who would be awake, pacing about this reunion later. He mulled over the distinction of interpersonal connections. He tried his best to see things from Mike’s point of view, to try and steal a glimpse of what this might feel like from the other side.
The wondering was to no avail. Will had countless times convinced himself that Mike was unattainable to him, and the grand bias within Will was the barrier that forbade him to see things another way.
“You two… Know each other?” Theo uttered to the boys, still wrapped tightly in their embrace.
Will was pulled without warning back to the floor–back to reality. It struck him again that there were other people in the room. He cleared his throat, consciously loosening his grip on Mike’s shoulders. Mike pulled away first, quickly and stealthily wiping his eyes.
“Y-yeah, we’re um,” Mike stuttered. “He’s my best friend, actually.”
Theo gasped, a curious smile washing over his face.
“This is amazing, this is amazing. Oh, I love this. Megan, look!” he drawled, a theatrical tone about him. Megan half-smiled, removing her visor and apron in preparation for clock-out. Will couldn’t blame her for being less than involved in the conversation. The poor girl just wanted to work and got drawn into a dramatic scene of lost-and-found.
Theo was over the moon, and Will found it endearing.
“A reunion!? This is so sweet! How long has it been?”
Will wiped his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Oh, just around three years,” Will sighed, unable to take in a satisfying breath. “Mike, what are you doing here?” he laughed.
“I wanna get some of my stories out there,” Mike beamed. “Mom told me I’d have some better luck in New York. Midtown is right around the block. They say you don’t even need college credits to get published.”
“Amazing. You’ll get on just fine here,” Theo reassured, nodding vigorously. His smile was catching– Will couldn’t help but smile too.
“He’s right,” Will added. “No place for a writer like the city.”
Will knew that it would be normal–-acceptable even– to invite Mike upstairs for a drink, for dinner, or just to catch up. He knew that, but his nerves struck him like a storm. He wasn’t sure why he felt so uneasy, save for his near unbearable hunger. His head felt heavy, his fingers weak. For the first time in what felt like years, Will was unsure of his next move– plagued with worry about making the wrong one.
He didn’t know how to collect himself around Mike. He’d noticed every new freckle on Mike’s skin, every fresh ripple in his lips. Mike had grown taller yet, and his arms still hung low as he walked. He’d noticed everything new about the boy, and bathed in the beauty of everything old.
In light of noticing things, Will found himself picking apart his own posture, his tone of voice, and his clothing choice. He found himself worried to the point of sickness.
What did Mike notice about him?
It’d never been like this before. He knew he could be himself, his whole self around Mike. He’d done so his whole life. As he realized he was spiraling too far into his head, he palmed the paper bag from the counter and nodded to Theo.
“I’ve gotta go feed Gould,” he sighed. “Oh, and myself. I’m starving. Thanks for the waffles, Theo, and it was nice to meet you Megan!” he trailed, heading toward the door.
“Wait, Will,” Mike barked. Will startled at the louder tone of his voice. “Sorry. D’you have to work tomorrow?”
“No, why?”
“‘Cause I’m about to clock out,” he laughed. “I wanna catch up, and meet your bird. Can I come up?”
Will’s chest hardened as he studied Mike’s face. He couldn’t decipher the emotion in the other boy, but he knew that whatever it was, Mike was awash with it. It looked somewhere between impatience and fear, with a small hint of something else– something Will couldn’t pinpoint. It’d always been like this with Mike. The familiar uncertainty brought Will a certain comfort– a nostalgia of the most minute proportions.
God, loving him was so easy.
“Yeah, of course, sure,” Will sighed happily, a fumbled attempt to mask his nerves. “Come on up.”