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Mike couldn’t help but think analytically.
He’d been told by teachers, the party, his family, or anyone that talked to him for more than a minute, that he thought differently. Outside of the box , they’d say. He wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a compliment or an insult. And honestly at the point in his life where he felt like he never even had a box to begin with, he flipped the bird to that metaphorical box.
Spending time with people like the party (and the extended party) made him feel the need to think about his actions all the time. Whether they were plotting to save the world (for another damn time), or just deciding what to order for movie night, he felt like he needed to be completely there and thinking like fucking Einstein. And while that worked a lot of the time for situations like how to push over a car, his out-of-the-box analytical thinking was no good when it came to expressing his feelings.
On the party’s scheduled and planned night of the month where they would gather and talk about their varying forms of traumatic experiences, familial relationships had been brought up. It seemed that it would be the theme of tonight, given as to how Mike had just crashed their sleepover he wasn’t initially going to attend. And the fact that he had tear tracks down his face, with matching irritated patches on his skin where he scratched at it from stress.
He’d been cleaning up the kitchen with his mom when suddenly she had started pouring herself glasses of wine, sitting down and venting to him about all that was wrong with her marriage with Ted. He doesn’t think he could forget about how angry he felt when his mom started telling about things that he couldn’t see happening- things he didn’t even know had occurred. Things like his mom taking out massive sums of money to pay for things around the house with the promise of getting her half of the money back from Ted for things he said he’d cover. But getting nothing in return. Or about how when her group of friends from highschool were in town and she had planned to meet up with them, Ted had decided to simply not watch Holly so he could go to the bar instead- canceling her plans for her. And so when he had assured that his mom and Holly were safely in bed, he walked out of his house and let his anger drive him wherever it wanted to- which was apparently the Byers-Hopper house.
So clearly there was a lot to work through with each individual party member (Max had said this to him, but he was pretty sure she just didn’t want him to feel singled out) and their families- but Mike had no clue on where to start. He doesn’t know how to bring anything up unprompted without that sickening feeling of guilt following close behind, or how to not feel like he’ll die everytime he has to talk about how he feels. And so now as he sits here choking on what seems to be nothing,
but feels like everything at once and it won’t stop-
unable to talk or move or breathe or-
“Mike?” It was Will, hazel-green eyes coated in a concern that held a striking similarity to the look Joyce Byers gave when Mike would be shaking in his seat at dinner, restless. “ Do you need a minute?” God, Mike loved his boyfriend. To others it didn’t seem like much, but to Mike? He was everything. He wanted to talk about it, he really did. He could picture the worlds falling out of his mouth, uncontrollable and persistent- something his parents said was one of his most annoying traits.
“I…I uhm.” He choked, clearing his throat around nothing and turned to look at El’s poster filled walls. Blondie and Siouxsie and the Banshees were both ones Mike had introduced her to while sitting on the floor of her room in silence with a Walkman split between them, the atmosphere comfortable with their new healthily established friendship. One of the top priorities in their breakup was that they become best of friends- and that was the easiest one to accomplish (the most difficult being confessing how he felt to Will, which was insisted upon by El, forever one to seek happiness for others). His eyes fixated on the bright pink and yellow of the Blondie poster, as he began to talk.
“My family’s like a puzzle.” His words were coarse and empty, shaking with effort. “ But none of us fit together.” He looked around at his friends, all of them casual and attentive- exactly what Mike needed to spur him on. “My dad isn’t as bad as he could be, but I don’t think I could ever say he’s done much good. I mean, when He was around and I was being accused of being a satanist, he didn’t spare a second trying to defend me! I don’t really know what a dad is supposed to be like or how it feels to have one that actually cares about you, but I think that he should at least not want me in prison. You know?” He took a deep breath, looking around trying to catch a glimpse of anyone urging him to stop talking. But when he found no clues towards it he continued on, feeling his mouth start to match pace with his emotions and start to run wild and rampant.
“And I wish he would care. That he could be fair in his punishments, and not hold his power over me like a weapon. And that he would see me alone at the dinner table eating and care enough to come over and sit down even though he doesn’t have to. But most of all I wish that he didn’t scare me.” He swallowed, that sound echoing in his head as he absorbed every reaction from his friends. “I wish that I could count on the fact that no matter what , he’d love me. Or that I could trust that he would never hit me, or kick me when I’m down, or see me suffering and actually fucking help me. ” He felt Max’s hand on his knee and El’s head on his shoulder, Lucas’ comforting pats on his back and Dustin’s little nods of reassurance, and Will’s gentle fingers carding through his hair. His friends, warm and safe and comforting, were there to support him. They didn’t think he was overreacting, or that it was ridiculous, or any of the things he feared they would do.
“Hey Mike?” It was Lucas this time, his voice steady and strong- ready to cut through Mike’s wiry thoughts of self-deprecation.
“Yeah?” He whispered back with his energy gone, it had been lent to his passion moments ago.
“I hope that throughout all of his shit that he puts you through, that you remember that it isn’t right , it isn’t fair , and it definitely is not something that he should even think is okay.”
Oh. Mike can feel a wall deep inside his mind- one made of long established tough, impenetrable stones- crumble down. It broke down and he with it, bitter tears falling from his eyes- unable to avoid the gentle swipe of a thumb that would rid him of them. He knew that a good relationship with Ted was something that wouldn’t happen, but how could it ever matter when he had all of them . Each providing their own sense of comfort- Max with her teasing yet sensitive remarks, Dustin with his ability to cheer anyone up with a quip, Lucas and his ability to make the mind wander with elaborate stories, El and her talent to make every bad thing feel temporary with a smile, and Will with his empathetic eyes and soft-spoken words. He had them, and they had him . Nothing else really mattered then, did it?
So he closed his eyes, letting himself dream of the future he knew he would have, with his friends beside him.