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Will can’t sleep.
Yeah, that’s no surprise at all, considering the fact that today has been a shitty day. There’s no getting around that, no trying to put a positive spin on anything, no explaining away how fucking terrible today was.
God.
And the sad thing is that Will can’t even say that he’s that surprised. His birthday has never been that big of an affair since his mom had never been able to afford big parties or presents when they were growing up and since Will isn’t entirely certain his dad even knows when his birthday is. He seems to miss it every single year.
It’s fine. Honestly, it is. As far as Will’s concerned, it’s just… another day, and he doesn’t really need anything big or important. He never has. As long as he gets to spend time with his family and his friends, he can be happy.
And that’s exactly why Will had been so excited when he’d learned that Mike’s spring break lined up with his and El’s own spring break. Will hadn’t been part of the conversations or plans for Mike’s visit—which, admittedly, had stung a little bit—but that’s okay. He and Mike have never had to do long distance friendship. They’d always been right by each other’s sides—at least for the first eight or nine years of their friendship. So, of course, moving across the country would make things difficult.
(Never mind the fact that Will still talks to Lucas and Dustin fairly regularly and still gets the occasional letter from Max. It’s only Mike who seems to struggle with maintaining their friendship, even though he doesn’t have a problem maintaining his relationship with El.
It’s… it’s fine.)
Today was supposed to be different. Today was supposed to be… like a reset or something. He and Mike haven’t really been best friends for the last year—honestly, they’ve hardly been friends, let alone best friends. So, today was supposed to be a reset. A chance to start over and to repair their friendship. Regardless of whatever messy history they had or the things that both of them had said to each other, today was supposed to fix all of that. Will had it all planned out.
…
Yeah. Today… did not go as well as he wanted it to.
Will sighs, and he rolls onto his back, staring up at his ceiling. He’d gone to bed early tonight. Everyone in their house had. His mom and Murray are apparently catching an early flight to Alaska of all places for something having to do with his mom’s job. Will’s still not sure that he entirely believes that excuse, but it’s fine. He’s sure if his mom wanted to tell them where she’s actually going, she would’ve. Jonathan and Argyle are probably still awake—probably getting high again, like they always do—and El hasn’t come out of her room since she stormed away from the dinner table earlier this evening.
And Mike?
Mike is here, fast asleep in the old blue sleeping bag that has been his for as long as Will can remember. It’s just for tonight that he’s sleeping in Will’s room. They don’t have a guest room in their new house, so Mike was supposed to sleep on the couch. But with Murray spending the night this evening, Mike had been demoted to a sleeping bag in Will’s bedroom.
Neither one of them had talked very much when getting ready for bed. It… it had been awkward, to say the least, and that had stung a lot more than Will would like to admit.
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get how… how he and Mike can go from knowing each other and from being best friends for almost their entire lives and from promising to always be by each other’s sides to… to this.
To awkward conversations and forced smiles and half-assed hugs.
It feels like Mike has already slipped through Will’s fingers, and now, it feels like there’s nothing that Will can even do about it.
“Hey.”
Will nearly flinches, and he blinks, turning onto his side. Much to his surprise, Mike is staring back at him, his face half-illuminated by the little night light that Will still has to keep in his room. There’s a curious but somewhat unreadable look on Mike’s face, and it makes Will’s stomach twist with something uncomfortable.
There’d been a time—not that long ago—that Will had been able to read Mike like an open book. A time when Will had known Mike just about as well as he knows himself and a time when the same could be said about Mike’s understanding of Will. But now, it almost feels like Will is staring back at a stranger.
“Hey,” Will whispers back. “Um… do you… do you need something?”
Mike’s lips purse into a little frown. He seems a bit caught off guard by Will’s question, and he shakes his head. “No,” he says, still quiet. “I just, um… I couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh.” Will pauses. The conversation feels stilted, and the words are difficult to find. “Sorry. Um… Do you want me to turn off the light? Would that help?”
(It’s one of the last things that Will wants to do, but it’s fine. It’s just for one night, after all. If it helps to make this entire situation less awkward, then Will can put up with the darkness.)
The frown on Mike’s face deepens, and his eyes flicker to the little night light that’d made its way from Will’s home in Hawkins all the way to Lenora. “You don’t like the dark,” Mike points out, his voice soft.
Warmth rushes to Will’s cheeks. “Y-yeah,” he whispers, a bit breathless, “but… if it’d help you sleep, I… I don’t mind.”
For a moment, Mike is quiet. His expression is somehow even more unreadable now, but he looks like he’s trying to figure out what to say next to Will. Somehow, that hurts even more—the fact that neither of them really know what to say to one another.
It just shows how much the two of them have changed and how much their friendship has changed.
“Do you want to go somewhere?” Mike blurts out suddenly.
Will blinks, caught off guard, and he looks at his… his friend in confusion. “What?”
“Do you,” Mike repeats, his cheeks colored with a red flush, “do you want to go somewhere? Just… get out of the house. Neither of us can sleep, and… I don’t know. I feel all restless and stuff. I kinda want to get out of here.”
For some reason, Will’s cheeks burn even more. The thought of going anywhere with Mike alone … it’s both everything Will wanted, but also an absolutely mortifying thought. The two of them can barely hold a conversation, but for some reason, Mike wants to go out? Alone?
“I don’t know, Mike,” Will says hesitantly. “I mean, it’s late… and my mom—”
“Please, Will?” Mike interrupts, and his voice is barely above a whisper. He’s looking at Will so intently now, his eyes dark and full of a dozen different emotions. For just a moment, he looks like Mike—like the person Will has known for years and years and years now. The person whom Will once knew as well as he knows himself.
And Will’s weak. He’s always been weak when it comes to Mike Wheeler.
“Okay,” Will relents, his own voice soft. He sits up, pushing his comforter off and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. “Um… let me just put some clothes on, and… we should be able to sneak out my window. It’s not a far jump, and… and depending on where you want to go, we can take my bike.”
Then Will winces, glancing out the window. “El doesn’t know how to ride a bike, otherwise I’d say you could borrow hers,” he admits, a bit ashamed. “She prefers rollerskating, but um… I know you kind of hate rollerskating.”
Mike’s lips quirk up into a small, sad smile. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “It’s cool though. We can just… ride together. Like old times.”
For some reason, those words sting like salt rubbed into the gaping wound in Will’s heart. He still remembers, years ago, when he was really, really little and his family couldn’t afford to get him a bike. He’d always ridden on the back of Mike’s bike with him—back when it was just the two of them for a year and then Lucas the year after. Mike had never minded. He’d always been happy to share this with Will.
He’d always been happy to share everything with Will, and well… well, that’s just another way that things change.
So, though there’s an ache in his heart caused by a wound still unhealed, Will forces a smile and stands to his feet. “Yeah,” he echoes, quieter than before. “Just like old times.”
Mike ends up riding the bike, with Will holding onto his shoulders, standing on pegs of his bike’s wheels, and trying his damnedest not to fall off. It’s been years since he’s been the passenger on someone else’s bike, and it’s a lot harder than El makes it seem on their bike rides to the beach. But Mike’s just a little too gangly and far too unbalanced to even attempt to stand on the back of Will’s bike, so… “just like old times” it is.
In the end, they decide on going to the nearby 7-Eleven that’s a little under a mile from Will’s house. There’s not a whole lot to do in Lenora (even if there is more to do here than in Hawkins), especially not at 10 something at night. But the 7-Eleven is one of the few places still open, so Mike bikes as quickly as he can to the convenience store.
They make it there at 10:50, according to the matching watches Will notices they both still wear. The workers give them nasty looks, and Will winces, offering them apologetic smiles in response. Mike chooses to ignore them. It’s typical behavior for the both of them.
“What are we doing here?” Will asks curiously, following Mike down the aisles of the now empty convenience store.
He’s changed out of his pajamas—thankfully not into that atrocious outfit he’d been wearing earlier. Instead, Mike is an old pair of jeans, a t-shirt of some band that Will doesn’t recognize, and a navy blue windbreaker. He looks… nice. A bit different—considering Will only remembers seeing Mike wearing the little polo shirts and sweaters that his mom had always bought for him—but still nice. The clothes fit him well.
Mike glances over his shoulder. “I wanted a Slurpee,” he says with a little shrug. “I almost got one when Argyle stopped at the gas station earlier, but I decided not to. I should’ve though.”
“Oh.” Will shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and he glances at the Slurpee machine, feeling a bit of guilt rise in his chest. “I didn’t… I didn’t bring my wallet with me. I didn’t realize we were going to buy anything—”
“That’s okay,” Mike reassures. There’s a bit of a crooked smile on his face. “I’ve got my wallet, and my mom gave me money for this week. I’ve got you.”
Warmth rises to Will’s cheeks as the two of them approach the Slurpee machine. “Are you sure?” Will asks hesitantly. “I feel bad making you do that. Just… you’re staying with my family this week, so… you know… you’re our guest and stuff.”
Mike pauses in the middle of grabbing two large cups, and he tenses a little bit. “It’s fine, Will,” he reiterates, and maybe Will is making this up, but he sounds a bit annoyed now. That’s great, and Will can’t help but feel a flare of annoyance rise up in his own heart.
They’re walking on eggshells, the two of them. Neither of them has addressed the fight back at the rollerskating rink or, or what El did to Angela, or Mike’s uncalled for, sarcastic comments directed at El during dinner. And maybe they’re both trying to act like things are fine, but… all it takes is a slight edge in Mike’s tone to remind Will just how carefully he needs to tread on every single interaction they have.
So, Will decides to not to push, and he sighs, stepping towards his friend carefully. “Thanks,” he mutters as Mike hands him the cup. Mike doesn’t say anything in return; instead, he just begins filling up his own cup with the blue raspberry Slurpee, just like Will had expected.
(At least that hasn’t changed.)
As soon as Mike is done, Will steps towards the Slurpee machine, and he presses his cup against the cherry Slurpee, watching as the frozen drink falls into his cup. The machine seems to be moving a bit slower than normal—probably because it’s nearly 11 o’clock and nobody’s going to refill the machine this late. But however slowly the machine works, it still continues to pour the Slurpee into Will’s cup, and he sighs softly, waiting patiently for it to finish.
About three-quarters of the way to the top, Will glances over at Mike, hoping to catch his attention. Much to his surprise, Mike is watching him intently, his head tilted slightly. The look on his face is softer now, and he seems a lot more relaxed. The harsh fluorescent lights glow above them, illuminating Mike’s face, and the butterflies in Will’s stomach flutter around nervously.
Mike… looks really nice right now. He looks beautiful, his face pale and soft under the lights. And he’s so close—closer than he has been to Will in months. Everything within Will wants to reach out—wants to spill all of his feelings and thoughts out here to Mike in the middle of this 7-Eleven…
But he can’t.
He just can’t.
So, Will just swallows the lump in his throat, and he meets Mike’s eye. The tiniest of smiles forms on Mike’s face, and Will’s cheeks burn.
Will looks away first.
His cup is nearly full now, the cherry Slurpee close to the brim of the cup.
That’s good enough.
“Sorry,” Will murmurs, pulling his hand away. “That took forever.”
“It’s fine,” Mike murmurs back. He hands Will a lid and a straw, then nods to the front of the store. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Will confirms.
And without another word, the two of them walk towards the cash register with the Slurpees in their hands.
The two of them don’t make it out of the parking lot, and it’s not for a lack of trying.
“Will, you’re going to choke me,” Mike gripes, and Will winces, trying to loosen his grip around his friend’s neck. Yeah, this isn’t working very well, because Will now has to hold onto two large 7-Eleven Slurpees while also trying to hold on to Mike so he doesn’t fall.
Will knows exactly how this is going to end. It’s going to end with blue raspberry and cherry flavored Slurpees dumped all over Mike, and it’s also probably going to end with the two of them crashing.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” Will sighs as Mike slows down, putting his feet back on the ground. As carefully as he can, Will moves his arms away from his friend, and he steps back onto the pavement. “Either you’re going to crash, or I’m going to choke you.”
“You’re probably right,” Mike agrees softly. He looks around the parking look, a bit of a frown on his face, and he shrugs. “We could go sit on one of those.”
Will glances in the direction that Mike is pointing, and his eyes land on an old curb stop a couple feet away from them. The cement is cracked and well worn, but most of the curb stops in the parking lot are in the same state. It’s not like they have many options here.
“Sure.” Will shrugs, and he holds out Mike’s drink for him. Once Mike has taken the drink, the two of them walk towards the little curb stop, and they take a seat—Mike on the right and Will on the left.
Neither of them says anything, and it’s… it’s honestly a bit awkward. Will’s glad that the two of them at least have their Slurpees, because that at least gives them something to focus on. The frozen drink doesn’t really pair well with the chilly California spring weather, but that’s fine. At the very least, it tastes good, and though the drink causes Will to shiver just a bit, he finds the familiar, sugary cherry syrup taste comforting in a way.
If he closes his eyes, he can close his eyes and imagine himself sitting at the park with Mike and the other Party members, laughing and acting like they don’t have a single care in the world. Back then, they didn’t. But a lot’s changed since then. They’ve grown up a lot since then.
Will just wishes they could’ve had more time to be young. To keep being themselves and to keep being friends—best friends—before the world and all its problems pulled them away from each other.
…
The cherry Slurpee tastes a bit sour now, but Will doesn’t think it has anything to do with the syrup inside it.
“Kinda cool that they gave these to us for free,” Mike says, suddenly and awkwardly.
Will looks up, glancing at his friend. His face is half-illuminated by the light post several feet away from them, and it’s just bright enough for Will to slight redness in Mike’s cheeks.
“Yeah,” Will agrees, just as quiet and just as awkward. “I don’t think they were trying to be nice though. I think they just wanted to go home. They seemed kind of pissed off at us.”
A little laugh escapes Mike’s lips. His tongue is already blue, and so are his lips. Will feels his cheeks go warm at that realization, and he glances away, very pointedly staring at his own drink.
“It’s called 7-Eleven,” Mike points out. “And we came in before 11, so they shouldn’t have gotten pissed off.”
“Wouldn’t you be pissed if two teenagers walked in ten minutes before you were supposed to go home?” Will points out.
Mike’s quiet for a moment. Then, with another little huff of a laugh, he says, “Yeah. I guess.”
Silence settles over the two of them again, and Will stares down at his drink, taking another sip of it. The parking lot is empty now that all of the employees have gone home, so it’s just the two of them. Just… Will and Mike. The way that it always used to be.
(So, why does it still feel so different?)
Another breeze blows through the parking lot right as Will takes a sip of his drink, and Will can’t help but shiver. He’d expected it to be a little cold, so he’d worn one of his long-sleeved shirts. But the temperature has definitely dropped since earlier today, and now, drinking this frozen Slurpee, Will wishes he’d grabbed a hoodie or something on his way out.
“Are you cold?” Mike asks quietly.
Will blinks, and he feels his cheeks turn warm as he turns to look at his friend. “A little,” he admits hesitantly. “I forget that it still gets cold here sometimes.”
Mike’s lips purse into a little frown. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, but then, he starts to take off his windbreaker. Before Will can even protest, he holds it out for Will to take. “Here,” Mike says, his voice even quieter now. “You need it more than I do.”
“Mike, you don’t have to—”
“Just take the jacket, Will,” Mike says, that annoyance creeping back into his voice. The frown on his face is more obvious now, and his brow is knit together in some mix of frustration and confusion. “It’s fine.”
That same flare of annoyance rises in Will’s chest, and he bites his tongue, fighting the urge to say what he really wants to say. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get Mike. One minute, Mike is cold with him—barely able to look him in the eye or hug him or act like a normal person around him. Then, the next minute, Mike is… acting a lot more like himself. He’s more attentive. He’s caring. He’s gentle and kind, like he always used to be with Will.
And Will doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get Mike or what his problem is.
But the last thing Will wants is to have a second fight with his former best friend on his birthday, so he sighs, setting his Slurpee down on the pavement and taking Mike’s jacket. “Thank you,” he mumbles as he slips it on.
The jacket’s warm, and it smells faintly of the familiar scent of the Wheelers’ laundry detergent, mixed in with a hint of… maybe cologne or body wash or something? That’s new, but it’s not bad. It suits Mike.
“No problem,” Mike mumbles back, and he sips his Slurpee, staring blankly out at the empty parking lot. He doesn’t look like he has anything else to say, so Will just swallows the lump in his throat and picks up his drink again.
God, this is so awkward.
This is so awkward that it’s painful. The two of them are literally just sitting here, drinking their Slurpees without a single thing to say to each other. They haven’t seen each other since October and haven’t talked to each other since their brief call on the day after Christmas. Will knows nothing about Mike’s life—nothing other than the little tidbits that El has shared with him from Mike’s letters.
It’s as if the two of them are… strangers now.
And that sucks.
That sucks so fucking much, because Mike is the one person Will never thought would become a stranger. Mike is the one person Will thought would always be by his side, smiling and laughing and playing games together for the rest of their lives. They’d always made plans like that when they were little, and maybe Will had just been naive and stupid to believe those plans would ever become anything.
“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”
Will clenches his hands around his styrofoam cup, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. The memory from that day replays over and over in his mind. He’s tried not to think about it over the past several months, and it’s been… easier without Mike around. But now, being back in Mike’s presence, Will feels all too aware of his every single action. He feels like he’s walking on eggshells, desperately trying to do everything he can to make sure that Mike isn’t uncomfortable with him.
That… that has to be why things are so different between the two of them. Mike knows. He has to know… that Will’s gay, at the very least. Maybe if Will is lucky, he doesn’t know about Will’s feelings for him, but… but he must know Will is gay. Why else would he have said those words that day?
The words hurt back then, and they still hurt now. But Will’s always been good at hiding and keeping things to himself. If that’s what it takes to… to at least become friends with Mike again, then he’ll do that.
He just wants his best friend back.
“Happy birthday, by the way.”
Will’s breath catches. Every single muscle in his body goes tense, and he slowly turns to Mike, staring at his friend. “You… you remembered?” he asks, surprised.
The blank look on Mike’s face transforms into a frown, and he looks up, meeting Will’s eyes. There’s… hurt on his face, which makes the flare of frustration rise up in Will’s chest once more. “Of course, I remembered,” he says with a bit of a huff. “We’ve known each other for a decade. I wouldn’t forget.”
The frustration builds inside Will’s chest, and this time, he doesn’t push it back down. “Well, sorry,” he huffs, just as snippy. “I guess I assumed you’d forgotten since you didn’t say anything until…”
He checks his clock and frowns again. “Until 11:07 at night,” Will mutters, looking away. “So, sorry for assuming.”
Mike is silent for several moments. The time on Will’s watch switches from 11:07 to 11:08 in the silence.
“I didn’t forget,” Mike says, his voice impossibly quiet, and in spite of everything, Will can’t help but look up. That hurt, wounded look is still on Mike’s face, but it’s mixed in with a bit of his own annoyance now. “I just… got busy.”
“Busy,” Will echoes, and his own voice comes out more bitter than he means it to. “Right.”
The frown on Mike’s face grows. He clenches his hand around his styrofoam cup so tightly that Will’s a bit worried it might burst and spill blue raspberry Slurpee all over both of them. “Yeah, I was kind of busy, Will,” he says, snappier now. “With my girlfriend. What do you want me to say?”
The words feel like a slap in the face, and Will’s own hand tightens around his cup. He looks back down, staring at his dirty shoes and at the blacktop pavement.
What does he want Mike to say? An apology would be nice—for waiting until now to say anything about Will’s birthday, for ditching Will in favor of El the entire day, for not even reaching out to Will at all this past year. Yeah. That’s what he wants Mike to say.
But more than that, he just wants Mike to say that they can be best friends again. That things can go back to normal and that the two of them can be themselves—the people they used to be before girlfriends and high school and interdimensional monsters and all of life’s other messes. That no matter what, it’ll always be the two of them, the way they always promised it would be.
Will can’t exactly say that aloud.
So, instead, he just sighs, and he takes a drink of his Slurpee. “Thank you,” Will mutters. Mike raises a brow, and Will just shrugs. “Thanks for wishing me happy birthday.”
Silence settles over them again. It’s even more uncomfortable and forced than it was before, and Will is really beginning to regret agreeing to this. He thinks he was better off lying in bed and staring at his ceiling. At least in his bedroom, the two of them can pretend they don’t realize they’re both awake.
Right now, there’s not a whole lot of pretending they can do.
“I have your birthday gift back at your house,” Mike says quietly, and Will turns his head so quickly that he nearly gives himself whiplash.
Gone is the hurt look on Mike’s face. Instead, in its place is something softer. Something more hesitant. He gazes at Will carefully and curiously, like he’s trying to figure Will out and trying to understand Will’s thoughts.
Huh. That’s funny. Will supposes he’s not the only one who feels like he doesn’t understand his former best friend.
“You… you didn’t have to get me anything,” Will says hesitantly.
The tiniest of smiles forms on Mike’s face. “I know,” he says, “but I wanted to.”
He says those words like they’re something obvious and something simple like, “The grass is green,” or like, “The ocean is blue,” or even like, “We’re best friends.”
And Will’s heart pounds inside his chest. The butterflies in his stomach flutter around—nervous but excited.
“It’s um… it’s only part of your gift,” Mike adds, softer now. “I… I can’t give you the other part yet.”
Will raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Mike scrunches his nose, like he’s trying to figure out how to explain himself. “Well, it’s not… something I could bring to Lenora,” he says carefully, and Will can tell he’s trying not to spoil the gift. “It’s, um… well, it’s…”
He lets out a frustrated little groan and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you just want me to tell you?” Mike sighs. “I know you hate surprises.”
In spite of everything, Will can’t help but laugh, a certain fondness blossoming in his heart. He does hate surprises, actually, and it’s something that he’s only ever told Mike. He’s never had the heart to tell anyone else that surprises make him a little bit nervous, because nobody wants to hear that after putting together a surprise party or getting a surprise gift or anything for another person.
“You don’t have to. I don’t really mind,” Will says softly, and Mike just raises a brow. It looks like he’s trying to say, Okay, bullshit, and Will rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. Tell me.”
A satisfied smirk forms on Mike’s face. “Okay, so the first part of your gift,” he says, seeming a bit more excited now. “It’s um… it’s a Hellfire Club t-shirt. That’s, uh… that’s the DnD club that Lucas, Dustin, and I joined this year.”
Will tries to ignore how that stings. He knows about Hellfire—Lucas and Dustin had mentioned it, after all—and he’s glad that his friends found other people to befriend this past year. Still, it hurts to think about this little tradition—something that had once been theirs—continuing on without Will.
It’s… it’s not about him though. And Will shouldn’t be upset about that. He’s glad his friends are happy. Really, he is.
“Yeah,” Will says softly. “Lucas and Dustin… they, um… they mentioned it in their letters.”
This time, Mike winces, and for the briefest moment, a pained, guilty look forms on his face. “Oh, cool,” he breathes. “So, um… anyways, I talked to… to our DM, Eddie… I don’t know if the others told you about him or not, but I was telling him about you and how much you love DnD… And I got him to make you an unofficial Hellfire Club member.”
Will blinks. “Wait… really?”
“Really.” Mike smiles, clearly proud of himself. “I’ve got a t-shirt for you and everything. Eddie… he’s hopefully graduating this year, and he wants me to take over as DM next year… So, I mean, whenever you come back home, you can just play with us.”
Mike pauses here, and he shifts slightly, getting a bit quieter. “That’s… that’s the other half of your gift,” he adds. “I’ve been brainstorming a campaign for you… I… I don’t know what your plans are for the summer, but I was thinking if… if you wanted to come home again, our Party could… maybe play together. Like old times.”
Will’s breath catches, and he sits there, trying to process Mike’s words.
Mike… wants him to come visit Hawkins. And Mike… he was thinking about Will—at least enough to brainstorm a campaign for when Will might be able to come back and visit everyone in Hawkins. He… he went to all that trouble to get Eddie to accept Will as an unofficial member—a feat that Will imagines couldn’t have been easy, based on Lucas’s letters—and he’d already started to think about the future.
A future where Will would come back and visit them, often enough to play DnD with all of his friends.
Just like old times.
Tears sting Will’s eyes, and he takes a shuddered breath, blinking them back. “Mike,” he says softly, and his friend looks back up, hesitancy clear in his eyes. “Thank you… Thank you so much.”
All at once, Mike’s shoulders sag in relief, and a tentative smile forms on his face. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Yeah, of course.”
For a moment, neither one of them moves. Instead, they just sit there, staring back at one another, and Will’s heart pounds inside his chest. Mike is so close—closer than he has been in a long, long time—and God, Will’s heart aches. Everything inside him wants to pull Mike close and never let him go. He wants to apologize for the distance that grew between them this year. He wants to apologize for the things he’s said to Mike and also for contributing just as much to the slow decline of their friendship.
Maybe Mike had been the first to drift away from Will, but Will had allowed himself to drift even further from the boy who used to be his best friend. Maybe they’re closer to strangers than they are best friends now, and maybe it’s just as much Will’s fault as it is Mike’s.
I’m sorry, Will thinks, but he doesn’t say aloud.
…
Those words barely even scratch the surface of the things Will wishes he could say to Mike. There’s so much he still wants to say—so much that he wants to confess and so much that he wants to share with the boy who used to be his best friend in the entire world.
But he can’t.
Will just… he can’t.
So, Will looks away first.
He takes another sip of his Slurpee as the silence settles over them once more. He’s probably halfway done with the entire cup, but the cherry-flavored Slurpee is starting to get old. He’s not sure he’ll end up finishing it. At least he doesn’t have to feel bad about wasting Mike’s money since they got the Slurpees for free.
Beside him, Mike takes a drink of his own Slurpee. Will very pointedly chooses not to look at him, but he hears the sound of Mike’s straw scratching the styrofoam as he shifts his straw around, trying to break up the bigger chunks of ice.
“Hey, Will?” Mike whispers.
Will hesitates, but he looks up again, meeting his friend’s eyes. “Yeah?”
There’s a tentative look on Mike’s face. His eyes flicker to the cup in Will’s hand; then, they flicker back up to Will’s eyes. He looks beautiful like this, with his face illuminated by the yellowish white glow of the street lamp.
“Wanna trade?” Mike asks, his voice small and soft.
And for just a moment, Will feels like he’s seven years old again, sitting on a bench in the park with his best friend in the entire world. He’s seven years old again without a care in the world, and he’s seven years old again, braver because of the beautiful boy sitting beside him. He’s seven years old again, and his best friend smiles at him, his teeth stained bright blue from his own Slurpee.
Back then, when they were seven years old, they used to share everything—their town, their interests, their friends, their secrets. Back then, when they were seven years old, it used to be the two of them—Will and Mike—best friends, up against the entire world.
They’re not seven years old anymore, though. They’re fifteen and fourteen years old—though only for a couple more weeks, in Mike’s case. They don’t share everything anymore—not their town, not their interests, not their friends, and certainly not their secrets.
But here, in the dim glow of an old street lamp, Mike Wheeler holds his blue raspberry 7-Eleven Slurpee out to him, and he asks that simple question.
“Wanna trade?”
Maybe the two of them don’t share much of anything anymore.
But that doesn’t mean they can’t share this.
So, Will just smiles, and he holds his own cherry 7-Eleven Slurpee out to his friend. The two of them trade drinks, and they exchange another soft smile, before taking a sip of their new drink.
And though everything is still different between the two of them… though everything has changed so much over this past year, for right now, things feel the same. They feel wonderfully, quietly, and blissfully normal, and the world and all its problems feel oh so far away.
For right now, sitting in the 7-Eleven parking lot and drinking their shared blue raspberry and cherry Slurpees, Will feels like himself again. And Mike feels like Mike again.
It’s all that Will could’ve asked for on his birthday.