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The night is warm and silent but for the distant sigh of waves only a road away. Grains of sand grind and crackle under Will's sandals as he dashes down the yellow-painted concrete walkway, past a row of vending machines towards a neon-bathed payphone.
Will finds himself outside a slightly weathered yet well-kept motel — night number one of a week-long August road trip vacation to the East coast, the entire Hopper-Byers clan in tow. Their day had started off at the crack of dawn, storm clouds threatening overhead as they pulled out of Hawkins and gradually thinning as they made their way across the interstates and past dingy rest-stops. El had insisted on stopping for anything even remotely interesting and Jonathan, always prepared with his camera, was eager to take photos of them posing in front of various 'Welcome to-!' state signs and offbeat tourist attractions along the way. It's the first family trip that he, Jonathan and his mom have been on, even before Hopper and El came around. Will always dreamed they'd one day be a family who got to go on holidays together, and his dream has clearly come true at last. Despite this, as soon as they'd arrived and settled into their rooms that night, he had swiped the ice bucket straight out of Hopper's hands, insisting that he'd gladly fill it up instead ('Not a problem, you guys all put your feet up, relax!') and had rushed out of the room to call his boyfriend.
Meanwhile back in Hawkins, the storm that rolled in early that morning is now raging outside. Mike is trapped indoors, sheets of rain washing at the windows, in the middle of his own weekend plans: a visit from his dad's brother and his equally boring wife. After having been pushed into the sitting room with them after dinner, it's his informed duty to be a 'sociable, gracious host' and to not to move until they're ready to turn in for the night.
Mid-way through his uncle's lecture on 'where the youth of today have gone wrong', the phone rings once on the side-table next to Mike — who answers it enthusiastically without a moment's hesitation. "Hello, Wheeler residence!"
"Mike, it's me!"
"Will?" Mike sits up at the sound of his best-friend-now-also-boyfriend's voice before settling happily back into the couch. "Oh, thank god. How was the drive down? Could you guys even see through the rain?" Mike's uncle stares at him, sputtering, clearly affronted by the rude interruption. Mike smiles sweetly back, black eyes wide and sparkling with feigned obliviousness. "Did you get to swim in the ocean yet? I hope you remember how to spot where the riptides are. Remember that they–"
"Mike, no," Will says, laughing. Mike can almost feel Will rolling his eyes at him. "I haven't gone to the ocean yet, we just got here. We also out-drove the storm, so that was lucky. And yeah, okay? I remember how to avoid riptides. I'm not gonna get– get swept away or anything." Will hears the crinkle of Mike's smile through the phone line and wishes he was there to see it. "Besides, what do I always say about people babying me, huh?"
"Mmm," Mike hums, "you say that you don't mind when I do it-"
"I- Look. That is not exactly what I–"
"Actually? I think you said that you love when I baby you."
"Michael. That's what you said to me!"
"Whatever!" Mike can hear Will laughing and imagines that he's thrown his head back in exasperation. "Hey, I just miss you, okay?"
Will shakes his head, looking up, though now at the clear, blackened sky and at all the stars visible outside the glow of the dusty motel lights. The moon is almost full and it's shining just as brightly as it had the night before when he and Mike kissed each other goodbye outside the Wheelers' open garage. Will lets out a breath. "I miss you too. I know it's been only like, what- 24 hours? But, it's nice to hear your voice."
"I'm so happy to hear your voice. And yeah, it's only been a day and there's still six days left until you come home– which, is actually funny 'cause," Mike pauses a moment to switch the phone to his other ear, curling his legs up and turning to lean on the couch cushions as his uncle awkwardly drawls on, commenting to the room ('It's– it's, uh, really, uh, coming down out there, huh?').
He continues. "Because my dad said it's forecast to rain like this pretty much all week and– so, today I was doing, like, last minute cleaning and stuff before my family came, right? The thunder was so loud and it turned out Holly smashed my headphones, and then my mom said she had a migraine coming on and made me shut off the boombox so I had to clean the whole house with no music at all," Mike, delighted, hears Will's gasp of genuine, sympathetic horror. "And you know how I hate chores and, even worse, hate 'having company' over, and I hated that you had just gone away. And so, there I was in the basement sorting laundry, storm going crazy outside, barely any light coming through the window, expecting to be miserable, and then I realized I just- wasn't."
Will hesitates, tilting his head in good-humoured confusion. Where is Mike's mind going with this? He can't exactly see what's so funny about him leaving for a holiday and how it had anything to do with Mike not hating chores. "And so, why weren't you? Miserable, I mean."
Mike takes in a breath. "The truth is, all I was thinking about was you. And how, even though you're away from me? This time… this time I know you're safe. And how, even though things might seem shitty and grey where I am, just thinking about your smile and how it just lights up the room, having your artwork all over the walls next to me, remembering how we," he lets out a nervous laugh, his voice lowering, "how we took our time saying goodbye in my driveway last night, and- knowing you're thinking of me too, I don't– no. No, I know- even when we're apart, you just make everything better... You're my sunshine, Will."
"Mike..."
Mike bows his head, trying to conceal his furious blush from the room. "Just– don't extend the trip any further, alright? I'm not making any promises about how long this whole 'sunshine' thing will last if the weather stays this way."
Will smiles into the phone, biting his lip in a futile attempt to keep from grinning like a lovesick idiot. The fact that Mike can just say things sometimes that are so incredibly sappy — things that anyone else with a semblance of shame would play close to their chest — and then he goes and says them with such earnestness, like it was a simple fact of his life. Even when he tries to lighten it up with a joke afterwards, Will knows- they both know how sincere he is. It sends Will reeling, all the time and in the best of ways. That's him. That's his Mike: his Mike who is speaking to him from miles away, only connected together by telephones wires and waiting for him at home through a week's — a lifetime's! — worth of storms, his Mike probably twisting the phone cord around his fingers and into a tangled mess and sitting in the... sitting...
A new thought rudely butts in on his reverie and Will finds himself suddenly self-conscious, though still giddy, as he feels the blood rising in his cheeks. "Hey, uh, Mike, where are you in your house right now? Shouldn't your relatives be...?"
"Oh, yeah!" Mike leans back again, extending his legs and extracting an index finger from a jumbled ball of phone cord. "No, I'm sitting with them right now... Yeah. Yeah... They're all staring at me 'cause I'm being extremely rude and talking to you- my boyfriend," Mike calls the two last words aloud to the room with emphasis, ignoring his dad's lazy, yet irritated warning ('Michaellll!'), "on the phone instead of learning from my dear uncle all the dangers that drugs, queers, and long 'Hippie hair' can get me into."
"Ha! You did not just–!" My boyfriend is such a brat, Will thinks. God, I love him!
Just before he can say as much, Will hears a throat being pointedly cleared. He slowly twists around in search of the source of the interruption. Behind him stands Hopper, now holding the empty plastic ice bucket Will had left abandoned on the ground, moustache twitching and a heavy eye brow raised in a teasing sternness.
"Uh... Mike?"
"Yeah?" Will's insides melt at the softness with which Mike breathes that single word.
"I think I may have my own disgruntled family to deal with here." Will grins wide and sheepishly up at Hopper before turning his back and whispering into the phone, "I'll call again tomorrow, okay? And… Mike? Oh my god, you're just–" Will lets out a breathy laugh, all tension washing off his shoulders. "I love you, too."
"I love you, Will."
Ted can be heard in the background of the call, his voice beginning to crescendo ('Tell your "sweetie pie" goodnight! Now, Michael!'). "Argh! Okay, okay!" Mike squawks. Will unsuccessfully holds back a loud guffaw at what sounds like a mini father-son scuffle over possession of the phone, Mike's justified (in Will's opinion) antics gone a little too far even for one Ted Wheeler. Mike, in a strained voice, clearly holding onto the receiver for dear life, scrambles to say his last goodbyes. "G'uh– sleep well! Miss you! Love you! Goodnight! Look out for the ripti–" The dial tone cuts Mike off just before he can finish.
Hopper chuckles as Will, flushing deep crimson, hangs up his payphone call, the delicate clinking of coins echoing inside. "I think that maybe this belongs to you?" Hopper returns the plastic container into Will's arms, patting a warm hand on his shoulder as he marches them both towards the ice machine.
As he sinks into his clean motel sheets that night, Will smiles, musing to himself as he drifts off, thoughts of riptides and the moonlight and Mike swirl in streams across his consciousness. Had there ever been hope in resisting the currents of his heart when it came to a certain curly-haired boy? Perhaps he's already been swept away, long before anything as small and insignificant as an ocean could ever move him.