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He feels stupid. He is stupid. Wholly and unwavering in it. He is so dumb to think that things would just go back to normal without any real work to fix it. That even if they’d been a little distant they could go back to being Mike and Will.
Instead they’re Mike and El, oh and Will’s here too. He feels that bitter jealousy bubble up, the same way it had in Hawkins before he even really knew El. It makes him feel worse. El deserves to be happy. Deserves to date and smile and hold hands with someone who loves her as much as she loves them. He’d never wish anything different for her.
It doesn’t quell the feeling though. Knowing he won’t experience that same feeling. Won’t get those moments at all. Won’t get to go out on dates. Won’t get to hold hands with someone. No kisses or talking quietly in the morning together. It doesn’t feel fair. It’s not his fault he was born this way so why should he have to suffer for it?
He takes a moment to breathe. He’d rather not break down right now.
He’s just having a hard time wrapping his mind around it, alright? Just this morning both he and El had been beyond excited to pick Mike up from the airport. He’d grabbed his painting after getting ready and they left in a rush to make it. It’d felt like a bubble of excitement had planted itself right in his chest and judging by the look on El’s face she was no different.
They’d finally arrived, and they waited and waited and Will thought he was going to go crazy if he had to wait any longer. And then they spotted him and it took everything within himself not to sprint as fast as he could just so him. Instead he’d held it in and watched his sister welcome his best friend. The usual pang that came along with the sight of them didn’t even have time to register though because now it was his turn.
They’d hug and smile at each other, Will would give him the painting and keep it to himself that it’d be similar to how Mike had given El her flowers, then everyone would leave together and the best spring break ever would officially start.
Except that’s not how it went at all. No, instead Will had bounded over to hug his best friend and was met with an awkward mess of an hello and all too short, impersonal, hug. If he could even call it that. It was more of a pat on the shoulder. Mike had scrambled away from him and after saying hi to his brother, asked about his painting.
And of course Will said it was nothing, because that’s what it is, isn't it? Nothing. It's just muddy paints and ugly strokes of characters that don’t even exist. It doesn’t matter how long he’d spent on it, it doesn’t matter if he’d thought it was the best work he’d done. It was just a stupid painting that he’d made for his best friend who couldn’t even look him in the eye.
God, he is so stupid.
Mike must be too though because after their disaster of a trip to rink-o-mania and during their dinner, which wasn’t looking much better, he’d gone and said something stupid and, kind of petty, to El. Which, he guesses he can understand to some extent because no one expects their girlfriend to smack someone with a roller skate but also, Angela deserved it! He can’t be mad at El for going after her bully. Maybe not hitting people in the head with blunt objects but Will isn’t above revenge.
Still, Mike didn’t have to say what he did and it wasn’t long after that that dinner was over. Everyone goes their separate ways and that's where he finds himself now.
Holed up in his room, his sister most likely crying in the room over, his brother and argyle off high somewhere, Mom and Murray apparently leaving, and his supposed best friend huddled on the couch.
He glances over to his desk, where the slightly crumpled painting he’d made mocks him. He glares at it and it glares right back. Months, months of work, of pouring over it with everything he had, an ode to his childhood, to his party, to himself, to his best friend. To the person he’d come to love more than he should. It was a hope that maybe Mike would see it and would understand. Like he always had. Nothing had to come from it. Will was content with just having Mike in his life but now, in all its irony, nothing had come from it. It had become nothing. It was a pointless effort. It meant nothing. It wasn’t anything important.
He could slap himself.
Instead he snatches the nothingness, crumples it more than it already had been, and makes his way out of his room.
______
“Okay, this is starting to get ridiculous.”
Mike flops around on the couch again, attempting to get comfortable but his limbs feel too long and he doesn’t remember the couch feeling this hard and god, he is burning up down here. How do they sleep like this?
A sigh escapes him as he slams his head back onto his lumpy pillow he’d been given. Fingers picking at the borrowed pj’s he wore (honestly how could he forget to bring something to sleep in!). It wasn’t like he was going to go to bed anytime soon anyways.
Too much had happened in the day and his mind was not going to let him sleep because of it. It’d been okay for all of thirty seconds before everything had gone to shit. He had been nervous when he landed. Not sure how things would be, if the Byers had changed, or if El would do something that he didn’t know how to handle, or if Will would be different. He was maybe just a little bit of a nervous wreck. He can admit that to himself.
But he landed, and he said hi to El and gave her flowers and holy shit had Will looked different. Mike knows they all look different but it was startling how much Will had seemed to change. He’d gotten taller, almost matching him in height, but he wasn’t lanky like Mike had become, and was that facial hair? Can Will grow a mustache? Lucas can’t even grow a mustache!
The only echoes of his best friend seemed to be in that familiar set of bangs and the warmth in his eyes, which Mike couldn’t really look at because it made his stomach feel strange everytime he did. All that is to say, he had been a little shocked, okay? That’s the only reason he’d been a little awkward greeting him.
Because Will had looked different, everyone had, and he’d…
He’d also brought that painting. The one El had mentioned in her letter. The one for some stupid girl.
Mike sighs again, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. He’s still a little mad about that and maybe he shouldn’t be but, it doesn’t make any sense! Mike and Will haven’t seen each other in a whole year and he decides now was a good time to bring one of his hand made paintings that he isn’t even giving to him to the airport? Really?
The day was supposed to be about them. And El, too. And then he’d moped for the rest of the day just because Mike hadn’t given him all of his attention. The fight they’d had at the roller rink was really just the cherry on top too. How is it his fault? He’d tried to contact Will, and sure he could've written but at least he called! He’d called so many times. The times the line wouldn’t be busy it was Will who didn’t answer. Lerona must be corrupting them because now he has a liar for a girlfriend and a hypocrite for a best friend and this couch is so goddamn uncomfortable!
He’s two seconds away from screaming when he hears footsteps make their way in his direction.
Shuffling further into the corner, he pretends to be asleep. Evening his breathing the best he can and doing his best to appear relaxed.
Whoever it is that passes by walks with light footsteps. Something that Will has done consistently through childhood, so maybe it’d him? Mike burrows deeper into the cushions and Maybe-Will walks past into the kitchen.
It’s quiet for a few seconds and Mike starts to think that Maybe-Will had snuck back past him and gone back to bed but he hears crumpling. It lasts for longer than he thinks is normal before stopping. The sound of the trashcan coming open and then closed sounds off accompanied by some sniffles.
Eventually, Maybe-Will walks back up the stairs and Mike makes himself count to forty before he gets up and pads over to the kitchen.
He’s reminded vaguely of Lucas and Dustin as he reaches into the trash can and pulls out a crumpled up paper?? It’s thicker than paper so it must be something else.
‘Stalker’
He swears he can hear Max sometimes.
Mike does his best to uncrumple what he’s holding and unfurls it.
Holy Shit
In his hands lies one of the most astonishing things he thinks he’s ever seen. The Party, dnd characters clad in their garb. A fiery red dragon looming overhead. Lucas and Dustin ready in their stances, Will the Wise ready to strike down when the chance is given. And Mike, his own little character stands at the head, sword at the ready, leading. A bright red heart that’s been crowned is set proudly on his coat of arms.
The whole thing is beautiful. Some of the best work from Will he thinks he’s ever seen. And that’s the kicker there, that he knows that this was Will. Not only is Will the only one here who really knows the details of their party but he also signed his name, in a color just slightly darker than the background. A signature, different then the one he remembered but still obviously his best friend.
Why would this be in the trash? Crumpled so much that the paint has chipped in random areas. Long lines marring the once undisturbed artwork. He runs his fingers along them. Was this what Will had been working on? This is kind of weird to give to a girl, unless she also likes dnd. But even then, wouldn’t he have made something more personalized to that then? It wouldn’t be of the party. So-, so maybe El was wrong? About it being for a girl.
Who was it for then? Him? Was it supposed to go to him?
Mike chews at his lip, still standing in the kitchen, and stares at the painting in his hands. It couldn’t have been for him, right? But Will brought it to the airport. It hadn’t made much sense at the time, for Will to have brought the painting with him while picking him up from the airport. The mystery girl it was meant to be for wouldn’t have been there. But Mike was there and it makes a lot more sense for this painting to have been for him.
So maybe it was then. Will had painted something this amazing for him. Maybe- So, why was it in the trash? Why had he said that this was nothing? Was that all that this was to him?
Mike glances back down, the tiny characters and their battle stares back. Something in him bubbles, ugly and hot and angry. Will had thrown this away, had looked at it, looked at them and the party and the representation of all those hours of dnd and memories and the party and just-
He just crumpled it and tossed it out like trash.
Is that all that they mean to him now? Hawkins had been terrible to him. This past summer alone had been terrible to him. Hell, Mike had been terrible to him. They’d fought and never talked about it. Barely talked at all after they moved. And now Will hates them. Hates him, probably. Mike and the Party and dnd, all a reminder of the dark stain on his life that was Hawkins.
Even so, he would’ve taken this. Will didn’t have to throw it away. Mike would’ve taken it and hung it up with the rest of Will’s work. Will didn’t have to care anymore, but he still did.
Mike shifts his gaze, eyes following along the imagined trail Will would’ve taken to get to his room. Maybe he should go talk to him…
It’s not like he was getting any sleep anyways.
______
Will rubs at his eyes, his sleeves catching the runaway tears. He wasn’t supposed to break down, had even tried to stop it, but it still came. Just like it always did. He hasn’t ever been able to stop himself from crying so of course he wouldn't be able to now.
He’d gone and thrown away his work, crumpled it down and watched the paint chip. It felt like he was chipping at his own heart and when he’d finally stuffed the thing into the trash, he knew he’d torn his own heart out too.
Will huffs out a breath, a lousy attempt to get his breathing under control. He really is stupid.
Knock Knock Knock
Will pauses, head turning and making eye contact with his dimly lit door. He glances at his watch quickly.
2:24 am
Who’s up this early knocking at his door?
“Hello?” he says, hesitantly. His voice is raw and it comes out rasped. It’s fine, it’s probably just El. They usually end up having sleepovers after hard days. So he’s expecting to hear his sister.
“Will?” The voice replies. Equally hesitant, quiet, and very much not his sister.
“Mike?” What’s he doing here? Now of all times? Seriously?
“Can I-” he pauses for a long time and Will starts to think that maybe he just turned around and left, “Can I come in?”
Will takes a shaky breath, attempts to wipe off any evidence on his face that he’d just been crying, and eventually replies.
“Um, yeah. Yeah you can come in.”
He busies himself with sitting up and unfurling from his covers as the door swings open. Mike just stands there, not saying anything and Will is determined not to look at him till he absolutely has to. Smoothing the blankets over, adjusting and readjusting. He probably looks strange, squirming as much as he is but the whole day has been horrible and Will isn’t sure this, whatever this is, will go any better.
Eventually he runs out of things to distract himself with and frankly, he’s starting to get curious. Mike has just been standing there, watching him, for the whole two minutes he managed to stretch out. So he finally decides to look up.
…
He should have ignored the knocking at his door. Should’ve told Mike to go back to bed. Because here stands Mike, in some of Will’s pjs, and he’s holding his painting in his hands.
The universe must seriously hate him.
Mike stares at him, his face looks blank but his eyes have a storm of emotion behind them. Damage control. He should probably do some damage control right? Band-aid over the bullet wound.
“Mike…”
“What-, Why,” Will watches Mike take a breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to streamline his thoughts, “Who, who is this for?”
“W-what?”
The weight of Mike’s gaze doubles as he looks at him. What does he mean “whos it for”?
“It’s-, It doesn’t matter-”
“It matters. It matters, Will.”
They make eye contact.
“I was going to give it to you at the airport.”
“Well, why didn’t you?”
Yeah, why didn’t he? He squeezes his eyes shut. It would’ve been so simple, right? Not like Mike had treated him like a stranger the moment he got there. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t know, Mike.”
“But, you do. You have to know.”
“Well, I don’t! I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t matter anyways,” Will says in a huff, arms flinging out to motion to the discarded painting, “that painting, it’s not worth anything, its just…” he trails off, the same hopeless feeling chasing after him.
“What? Garbage? Is that what you were going to say? Is that what we are to you too?”
“What, Mike no, thats-”
“Because that’s what this looks like Will! You painted this picture of all of us, of the party and us being a team again, and the only way you’ve described it is “worthless” or- or “nothing”! So, what else am I supposed to think?”
“Mike, please-”
“No, Will! I don’t know what changed or if you're mad at me or if you just want to leave Hawkins a-and me behind. Forget all about it or something. But I still care! Even if you don’t, even if you hate Hawkins and everyone in it. Maybe you think this is pointless but it’s not to me, okay,” he takes a breath and it's shaky. Will is stunned into silence and Mike takes the chance to keep going.
“You, you could’ve at least given it to me, I would’ve taken it. It didn’t have to go into the trash. If this was all I was going to have left of you, I would’ve taken it.”
The room falls silent as Mike quiets. His head is bowed low and he’s clutching Will’s painting like a lifeline.
“I-,” Will swallows around the tightness in his throat, “I didn’t think you cared.” He glances back up at his friend catching the look of recognition that flashes across his face.
“... You keep saying that- you said something similar when we fought earlier too.” Will cringes at the reminder.
“Yeah, I mean, I guess, but it’s true. Or at least I thought it was.” Will says as he
brings his legs up to his chest. Resting his head on top of them as he looks back at Mike.
Mike shuffles a bit where he stands but eventually takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
“It’s not though. I-, What did I do to make you think that, Will?” Mike is asking. His eyes trailing him.
Will could give a myriad of answers to that one, going all the way back to that summer and how often he’d been blown off in favor for girls. The fight in the rain. The lack of communication when he moved. Today, just today in general. He’s not sure how to go about answering this that doesn’t end in another argument and even if this conversation is uncomfortable, he’s tired of fighting.
He chews the inside of his cheek.
“I think-, it’s just, we're all just getting older and everyone is moving on with their lives. Everyone is moving on and that’s good but, but I’m still stuck. It just seems like,” he takes a breath, closing his eyes and begging his tears to stay down, “I’m weighing people down, you know? And I guess, after everything, I assumed I’d still have my best friend to talk to, that at the end of the day, you’d still be there. But-, but you want to move on too. And you should! You should. I shouldn’t expect you to stick around just ‘cause I can’t be normal.”
Will doesn't even know where he’s going with this anymore. The point he’d been trying to make was completely lost as his words just dip back into the spiral that was his mind. Tears he tried to push down springing up and rolling down his face. He looks stupid. He feels stupid.
At the end of the day it all comes back to him, huh? He’s the reason everything started, the reason they’d moved, the reason he and Mike are the way that they are now. How can he expect anyone to care when he knows he the problem. They had to have realized too. It might’ve hurt like hell for them to ditch him, but he can’t, he can’t be upset with them for it. Not really.
A whimper escapes from him and he curls in on himself even more.
This is so embarrassing. Crying in front of Mike isn’t anything he’s new to but that doesn’t stop the humiliation. He wishes Mike would’ve had better timing and came by later when he wasn’t in the middle of falling apart. At least then he could’ve had time to pick up the pieces and pretend all was fine.
He’d run his mind ragged with the torment of his own thoughts and it’d left him raw and bleeding. Every little touch, every feeling, no matter how small, feels ten times worse.
He’s full on sobbing now, arms wrapped around himself in a pseudo hug. His face hidden away. It’s the best he can do considering he can’t actually run or hide anywhere right now. Really, why is this happening right now? It only makes him feel so much worse. He’s acting like a child.
You are a child. The thought isn’t as comforting as it should be. Mike has been silent the whole time and Will really isn’t sure he wants him to actually say anything. He hopes to anything that’ll listen that Mike doesn’t want to fight either. That this will blow over and they can pretend like nothing happened.
He hears shifting from where Mike is sitting and glances up in an attempt to prepare himself for whatevers about to happen next.
Mike stands from the bed, still not having said anything, and Will feels his stomach drop. Did he really screw up so bad that Mike was just going to leave without talking? Was this it?
He watches Mike take a few steps towards Will’s desk and gently places the painting down, standing there staring at it for a few seconds.
“Will-”
Will startles at his name, eyes gone wide.
“Will, you aren’t-“ Mike’s voice breaks on the word, cutting his sentence short. He spins on his heels and-
Will blinks and apparently that’s enough time to pass because at one moment he’s upright and huddled around himself and the next he’s knocked back into his bed, Mike curling his limbs around him.
“Mike?” His voice comes out shaky and weak. He’d really rather not talk right now but he’s just a little confused. And also kind of concerned. Mike squeezes him a little tighter, pulling him closer into their shared space. Mike’s head is tucked between Will’s shoulder and ear and he tenses at the contact.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Will. You’re not a burden to any of us. You’re not holding anyone back, okay?”
He hears Mike take in a shuddery breath and Mike pushes himself further into Will. Will attempts to relax into it, finally returning the hug loosely. He knows Mike is holding onto him but he doesn’t want him to feel trapped if he were to hug back just as strongly.
“I know I’ve been an idiot-”
“Mike-”
Mike shakes his head, cutting Will off from his defenses.
“I have, Will. I have. I haven't been a good best friend at all.” Mike finally pulls back enough to look him in the eye. He’s hovering over him and Will feels heat rise to his cheeks. Him and Mike don’t really do personal space, but this just feels like another level. Will looks away.
“That-, That’s not true. Or at least, if it is then I haven’t been a very good one either. You’ve been trying and I’ve just been me. It’s not your fault that I’ve been avoiding things.”
“You mean avoiding me, right?”
Will glances back at the boy above him. Mike’s eyes are as intense as ever and Will does his best to understand what they say.
“It’s okay, if you have. Or well, it’s not okay, but I get it. Things have been weird. Weird in Hawkins and weird between us. I think I would’ve avoided me too.” Mike looks away as he finishes talking, looking deep in thought.
“I just, I thought you didn’t think you wanted to talk to me. I’d only heard from you a few times over the phone and the calls were always so short. And the letters…” Will doesn’t let himself finish what he was saying, not wanting to make things tense again.
A look of panic crosses Mike’s face so fast he probably wouldn’t have seen it if he wasn’t so close right now. Mike must’ve realized how close they were because he leans back further before he keeps speaking. Moving more to lay next to Will opposed to hovering above him. Mike looks at the ceiling and Will takes to studying his profile.
“Of course I wanted to talk to you. I tried calling so many times, I even got grounded at one point from running up the phone bill.”
Will laughs lightly at that and Mike smiles for the first time since he’s come in. “Really?”
“Of course. I really wanted to talk to you. Hawkins just isn’t the same without my best friend.” Mike says, finally turning back to look at him. Will glances away after a few seconds, unable to stop the smile that stretches across his face.
“I wanted to talk to you too, but so much had happened and I didn’t want to mess up and argue again. So I didn’t answer, which was messed up of me to do, and when I finally did get the courage to try calling, I’d realized I waited too long. I don’t think you were even calling anymore. I figured you moved on.”
“I assumed you moved on. That’s why I stopped calling. And-, and the letters,” Mike turns back to the ceiling, “I wrote some. I wrote to you almost every day actually. I just-, I didn’t send them.”
“What, really? Why didn’t you send any?”
Mike shrugs his shoulders, his voice going a bit shy, “Didn’t think you’d want to read them and, um-,” Will watches his face twinge pink, Mike’s fingers toying with the edge of his t-shirt shirt, “they were also a bit embarrassing, so-.”
“Mike, I’ve literally watched you eat your boogers before. How much more embarrassing can it get?”
Mike’s eyebrows shoot up in shock and he moves just to shove at Will’s shoulder, “Oh my god- Shut up,” He says with all false aggression and the biggest smile he’s had so far, “Like you haven’t.”
“Sure, but at least I didn’t do it in front of anyone. You must’ve trusted me a shit ton.”
Mike rolls his eyes and flops back onto the bed. “ ‘Course I did. We were practically bonded together for life at that point.”
“Like atoms.”
“Heh, yeah like atoms.”
“What kind of compound element would we be?”
“I don’t know, water?”
“That’s so basic, Mike.”
“Yeah, but it’s essential to life.”
“So we’re essential to life?”
“I think so. You’re essential to me.”
…
Will’s face is beet red and he knows it. He thinks he’s getting whiplash from the ride his emotions are taking him on.
They sit in silence for a while, both of them processing through everything. It doesn’t feel stifling or uncomfortable like it had been. It feels the closest it has to being them in a long while.
“You guys do matter to me.”
“Hmm?” Mike looks back to Will where he’d been waiting to meet his gaze.
“I care about you guys a lot, the party, I mean,” And you, “you probably figured it out by now but I threw that painting out because I didn’t think anyone would want it and it hurt to look at. It just felt like a reminder of what I'd lost.”
Mike regards him for a bit, chewing at his lip the same way Nancy does. Will thinks it’s funny that even though they try not to, you can still tell they’re siblings.
“I think we’re both idiots,” he says finally, “I felt like I lost you too.”
Will feels a laugh bubble out of him at that, “I guess we’ve been feeling the same way the whole time.”
“We have! And we would’ve known had we just talked to each other.”
“Seriously! We used to do that all the time-” Will resists the urge to punch himself. Why did he say that? They were finally talking normally and he had to go and say that.
“Yeah, we did. And I still want to.” Mike turns back over to him and holds out a hand. Will stares down at it, glancing back up at his best friend before he slides his hand to rest against his palm. Mike threads their fingers and squeezes. Will glances back up at him.
“You’re still my best friend and I don’t want to lose you again. We can be a team.” Mike says, never breaking eye contact.
Will can feel his own watering. He didn’t think Mike would ever want to be that close with him again. He knows he’s not his first priority anymore but he’d gladly settle for Mike still choosing to stay in his life.
“Y-yeah, you're my best friend too and I think I’d really like that.” he replies, his voice is as soft as mike’s had been.
“Cool.”
“Yeah, cool.”
Will doesn’t know how long they sit there just staring at the other but they both snap out of it when they hear a door close shut from outside of his bedroom.
“Don’t sweat it, bro! We’ll get s’more tomorrow.”
“Argyle, I legit just spilled your whole stash on the floor and then wasted our soda all over it. At least let me pay for it, man.”
“No way, dude! Money’s not a problem. Just one up us on snacks and we’ll call it even, cool?”
A sigh, “I guess.”
Why his brother and Argyle felt the need to say all this right outside of his door, he doesn’t know, but it broke whatever energy that was playing out in the room so he isn’t sure whether to be grateful or not.
“Why are they having this conversation in front of your room?”
“No idea.”
The two of them watch the door for a moment waiting to hear anything else. Argyle and Jonathan eventually make their exit, probably for those snacks they were talking about, leaving the room and hallway silent again.
Mike is still holding onto his hand and Will isn’t making any moves to let go.
“So can I have that painting or-”
Will huffs out a laugh and turns back over to his best friend who is laying on his side, free hand tucked under his head and doing his best impression of puppy dog eyes. Will rolls his own, although he turns a bit pink.
“Yeah, Mike.”