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The Past, She is Haunted
The stars are beautiful. That's what Will whispers into the night with his artist's eye and mind. And Mike's sure they are, sure they are flickering in the sky like pixies and highlighting the crescent moon. He's sure the clouds are rolling over them, not quite making a mess of the sky, but instead enhancing the scenery, more fun for an artist like Will to draw he'd assume. Yeah, Mike knows the stars are beautiful because Will says they are and Will almost never lies, but Mike can't quite find it in himself to look at the stars.
Instead he watches Will. But unlike Will, he does not whisper into the night the beauty he sees, not the observation of an artist but the observation of someone who is so stupidly in love it almost makes him sick. At one point, it did, the idea of ever liking a boy even if that boy was the Will Byers, his very first friend and his very best friend and his favorite person. At one point he would have tried to fight the feeling, now he knows better.
Sometimes it takes the world about to end to put things into perspective and, at the end of the day, liking a boy is second to fighting an entire alternate dimension. A close second, it feels sometimes, but a second nonetheless.
And Mike's made so many mistakes, let fear control him so many times that now all he can do is try to let go. Take a deep breath and stare at the boy he loves while he looks at the stars with the softest smile on his face. Their backs both dig into the grass, the blades scratching at the exposed skin of their ankles and necks but the discomfort of lying on the ground is in the background of Mike's mind.
How could it be any more than just a small thought when Will is in front of him and he can see the stars reflecting in his eyes and the lights are hitting is face and his cheeks and he just looks beautiful. That's the only word that comes to Mike's mind (and to think he wants to be a writer).
"I would have brought my paints if I knew where you were taking me," Will says as he turns his head to Mike.
For the first time, Mike doesn't look away when Will catches him staring. He just keeps looking and basks in the wonder that is Will's gaze. "Sorry, I wanted it to be a surprise." He shrugs.
Mike had panned it all out a few nights ago, a small surprise for Will Byers because he deserves it. While One is still out there and the Upside Down continues to spread, spitting out more monsters of every demo-sort, and Will falls further and further to darkness, Mike just wanted to give him one nice night, away from everything. Because, while the end of the world wasn't a picnic, who was to say they couldn't have a picnic anyway?
He had brought Will right outside of Hawkins so they could actually see the stars, sky not marred in furious smoke and ash and lightning. As soon as they crossed the town borders, he could see Will physically relax and knew the feeling constantly prickling at the back of his neck was dwindling. Part of him wants to take Will out of Hawkins completely and not ever let him back in, send him far away from this mess. But he knows Will would never do it, that he'd find every possible way to get back.
Mike has been trying to relax too, but his heart hasn't slowed down since this whole mess started four years ago and it's not about to now. Even though they can't exactly see the impending doom at this moment, doesn't mean it's not there. And like Nancy says, they estimate a week before Hawkins has been entirely taken over by the Upside Down.
They already ate, Mike having brought peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He'd tried to sneak some alcohol for the occasion, but had been caught early and heavily scolded.
Now Will no longer looks up at the stars but reflects Mike with a small smile and a heavy gaze. Sometimes when Will looks at him like this, he can't help but feel a flutter of hope. But he knows it means nothing, knows there's pity behind the look, the fact that their days are numbered and Will's probably just trying to memorize their last moments together.
Still, something about the end of the world is making Mike feel a little braver than usual and he inches slightly closer, turning to his side to face Will completely. If these really are their last days, does what he says really matter?
Could words be so tainted they surpass death itself or would they lay a forgotten stain on a corpse? Maybe it was better to leave those words dead between them, or let them rot in Mike's mind until eventually they fade like everything else in the world inevitably will.
But Mike's never really been able to help himself, never been one to fully think things through and never been one to shy away from being selfish. So in the content quiet that stands between them, Mike can't help but interrupt.
The Future is Laced
"Do you think it's okay to be selfish?"
Will turns so he's completely mirroring Mike. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, like," Mike struggles through the words. As much as he loves storytelling, words have always been a struggle for him. From the letters he'd wrote to Will in California that were so atrociously pitiful he couldn't send, to every conversation he'd ever tried to have with Eleven, to now, Mike can never seem to fully say what he means. Luckily for him, usually Will gets it, or at least he used to. Lately though, there seems to be a disconnect, like Will can't read Mike like he used to and Mike just can't read Will.
If the painting incident meant anything, it was a clue of this truth. And Will never really understood Mike's desire to break up with El, pushing him further into a relationship he was unsure he wanted at the time and now knows he much prefers platonically.
"I mean the world is ending and that fucking sucks, right?" Mike finally says. "Because I feel like there's so much I have left to do and I- I want to do it even if it's selfish. But I don't want..." I don't want you to hate me. I don't want to ruin our final days together. "I don't know, never mind."
"No," Will says softly, looking down at his hands as they pick the grass. "I think I get it."
"Yeah?" Mike asks as he watches the expression on Will's face shift into a soft sort of pondering, brows pinched inwards in conflict and yet not something overwhelming, but a necessary train of thought to ride through.
"Yeah, I do." Will smiles. "Sometimes it hurts to think I'll never do it."
"Then why don't you?"
"Why don't you?" Will shoots back with a grin. "You mentioned it first.
Mike opens and closes his mouth. "Because... Because I'm scared I'll hurt people."
Will's face screw into a twisted sort of disbelief, laced with amusement as his smile lays tilted and his eyebrows furrow. "Is that what makes it selfish?"
"Yeah, kinda," Mike admits, looking away from Will for the first time and feeling vulnerable under his gaze reflected with stars. "I just- It feels like something I need to do, regardless of how it affects the other person and I- I feel awful for thinking that but... the temptation is strong. And with each passing day feeling closer to the apocalypse, the temptation just keeps growing."
"The other person?" Will asks with the raise of his eyebrow.
Mike's eyes go wide thinking he's said to much, given too much away. "No one, never mind. Let's talk about something else."
"No, no," Will turns back to him. "Mike, whatever it is, I'm sure it's not as selfish as you think. If it's something you feel you need to do, then I think you should go for it. I know you, okay? And you would never hurt someone you cared about on purpose. And if this person cares about you, then maybe they won't mind you being a little bit selfish." Will shrugs.
But the person is you. And we do care about each other. But I can't- I can't do that to you. I can't.
"Can you, maybe tell me what it is?" Will asks softly. "Or at least, give me more details."
Mike can't stand to look at Will anymore, his softness, his concern, the goddamn stars in his hazel eyes that look like they should have been there since birth, like they're not just a reflection but a real part of him.. He turns onto his back and finally sees the beauty of the sky. "I want to say something to someone," he starts slowly, trying to control his anxiety. But this is Will, his best friend who understands. This is Will who will listen to Mike ramble for as long as possible and give him the best of advice even when he's being a fucking idiot.
"I want to say something," Mike continues, "But I spent a long time being terrified of saying it. And for the first time, I'm not. I'm not terrified because, hell, the world is probably going to end and who fucking cares anymore?"
"But..."
"But I don't think the person will like what I have to say," Mike finally admits, fidgeting with the grass much like Will was doing earlier. He can't stop staring at the flickering of stars. "And I don't want them to hate me in the end."
Mike looks back towards Will who is nodding like he gets it. Does he?
Sometimes I think, it's just scary to open up like that. To say how your really feel. Because... what if they don't like the truth?
"Yeah, I think I get it," Will says quietly, like he's lost in thought. "There's a lot I want to say too." There's a small pause between them as they both enjoy their moment of togetherness and understanding, one that it doesn't feel like they've quite had in a while. "Remember those letters Max wrote us? When she was being targeted by One? I wish... I wish we could do something like that. Like, I could just tell people right at the end so I wouldn't have to waste any time. Or maybe... Maybe I could just paint them a picture and they would just understand, you know?"
Mike does know. He knows so much that he sits up suddenly and reaches for his bag. "I... Here." He pulls out his old notebook. "I mean, we don't have to actually give them to anyone, but maybe we could write it down. Or draw if you like."
Will smiles, sitting up and nodding.
Ripping out a sheet, Mike inches forward so they are less than a foot apart and hands the page and a pencil to Will who takes it swiftly. He turns to his own paper and starts writing. He has so much he wants to say, so much unnecessary rambling he could shout to Will and in the end he only writes one sentence before folding it up and looking towards Will. He catches his eye and Will's go wide as he looks back down quickly.
Mike cocks his head slightly as he watches Will try to hide his paper on his left hand, only for the pen to poke a hole through and him to sigh with slight frustration. When Mike lets out a small huff of laughter, Will looks back up at him. "Finished already?"
He shrugs. "Didn't need that many words."
Will finishes his own soon after and folds it up, placing it next to Mike. "Now what?"
"Uh, we hide the letters and never let them see the light of day?" Mike suggests light-heartedly.
Will laughs. "Yeah, maybe that's for the best."
Oh if that doesn't make Mike want to pick up the sheet right now and read it. Not that it was even for him, but... if Will's being this secret about it, he wants to know what it says.
Instead, he takes his sheet and shoves it deep into the pit of his backpack. Will watches him before tenderly taking his own, holding it in his hand like it is a treasure, a piece of himself before he folds it again and slides it into his jacket pocket.
Whatever it is they both have to say left up to the fates because both know they will never say it.
This Could Be All That We Know of Love and All
Will is nearing sleep.
Mike knows this, sees the way his chest rises and falls and the way his eyelids have been slowly drooping for the past few minutes. Tiredness pulls on Mike's own eyes but he sits up anyways. "I'll be right back."
Will nods, eyes slipping closed as Mike gets up and walks to the car only a few yards away. He grabs the sleeping bags he'd packed for the two of them and carries them back, giving one to Will and laying his own on he ground. Will sleepily slides into his, just a little bit closer to Mike, barely noticeable to anyone who isn't hyper-focused on every little thing Will does like Mike is. "Thanks," He mutters as his eyes flutter closed once more.
After a few minutes of Will drifting to sleep and Mike watching him, he decides to actual try to follow Will and close his eyes. He gives up after a few minutes, his mind too much of a spiral to settle and something about watching Will too addicting to stop for the sake of sleep. Questions scrape against his brain, temptation too, and a bit of grief.
Everything in him is screaming to let it all out, let out all of secrets. Some part of him is screaming that Will won't care, that they're best friends now and will be best friends until the end. The thoughts are too much but so is the idea of actually telling Will so Mike settles on something else instead. Honestly, he thinks the stars or some shit is making him philosophical.
"Hey Will?"
Will hums in response.
"Sorry, I know you're trying to sleep," Mike says softly, realizing that just because Mike couldn't fall asleep, didn't mean he had to subject Will to the same fate.
"'S okay. We can talk," Will responds sleepily, eyes still softly closed.
Mike breathes out and turns on his side facing Will once more. "Okay, I know it's the end of the world and shit and nothing really matters." As if that's actually true to Mike but whatever. "But I just- I have another question."
"Shoot."
Mike allows himself a deep breath. "Friends don't lie. I know that's kind of a party rule we've had since, like, the beginning of time, but... and I know you really value honesty, I just... To what extent? If being honest meant also being selfish, which value wins out?"
"Is this about the thing again?" Will asks and they both know he's talking about the 'whatever it is Mike can't say to whoever it is he can't say it to'.
"No... maybe."
Will grins even in his half-asleep state. "I get that lying can be safe sometimes," he says softly. "It can be a sort of protection, seem necessary, but I think it usually bites you back in the end. I- I haven't always chosen honesty in the past, but I almost always wish I did, you know? I’d say I’d rather someone be honest."
"Oh," is all Mike can respond to that, unsure what to do now that Will's giving him every chance to come clean. "I..." But Will's also half asleep and he looks so peaceful, so beautiful in the starlight and at rest for the first time in a while. Who is Mike to disrupt that with his own selfish honesty? "Yeah, you're probably right."
And with that, he lays his head back down, the mess of his brain somewhat calmed as he inches further into his sleeping bag.
"'Night, Will," he whispers, shutting his eyes.
"Goodnight, Mike," is the barely there whisper he gets back.
I Was There When the Rain Tapped Away Down Your Face
The morning starts slow, sun peaking from the horizon before hiding in the gray clouds and birds flying overhead in frantic calls mistaken for songs. Mike is up first, yawning and stretching and going back to his ritual of watching Will before his attention drifts upwards to the sky and sees the looming gray coverage overhead.
He gently wakes Will who blinks slowly before smiling softly and yawning. "'Morning."
"'Morning. Sorry to wake you but it looks like it might rain," Mike says before starting to roll up his sleeping bag.
Will glances at the sky before exiting his sleeping bag and and following Mike's action of rolling it up.
As they set their stuff in the car, Mike also making sure to grab his picnic basket and backpack, he asks, "Sleep well?"
"As well as I can in a sleeping bag in the grass without a pillow," Will shrugs.
"Right, sorry, not the best planner," Mike confesses, feeling slightly guilty that this was his plan and how would anyone have wanted to sleep in the middle of a field?
"I'm kidding," Will assures. "It was fine." He pauses before catching Mike's eyes and there's such a sudden intensity in it that Mike stops what he's doing just to look at Will further. "Hey, Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. Just... Thank you," Will says with a smile brighter than all the stars combined. "This... I can't believe you did all this for me. The picnic, the stars," he shakes his head in fond disbelief. "Thank you."
"Yeah, I mean, no problem," Mike says, sure he's blushing. "You deserve it." And all other good things this lifetime has to offer. Food and stars are by far some of the smallest things you deserve at this point, he thinks but none of the thoughts slip onto his tongue.
Maybe Mike's still tired, but he swears he sees a soft blush on Will's face too. Whatever, he chooses to ignore it and goes back to packing up before getting in his car.
As they drive, it starts to sprinkle like Mike predicted and he catches Will watching the drops race each other down the window. He still looks tired, but hides his yawn as he turns to Mike with a smile.
Mike doesn't want to, but he keeps driving as they pass the Welcome to Hawkins sign. He can visibly see Will shrink just a little bit, a tension that wasn't there the night prior returning. He wonders if Will can still feel One, if One is doing something to mess with his mind or if just his presence is enough to sink Will further into pain and darkness.
He drives Will home and walks him to the door. Will turns back to him before entering the house, hand on the opened door and ready to retreat at any moment. Instead though, he dwindles, looking at Mike again with the kind of admiration that should scare him, the kind of admiration he doesn't deserve.
"Thanks again, Mike," he says.
"Of course," Mike lets out in a breath. "See you tomorrow?"
Will smiles. "Yeah, definitely."
"Okay, well, have a good rest of your day," Mike finishes awkwardly, not exactly wanting to leave but not having any reason to stay. It feels like there's a lot left between them but the rain is turning to pouring and it's getting just a little colder and Mike should really go home so he doesn't worry his mom.
But God does he want to kiss Will goodbye. He wants to kiss Will a lot more than that, deeper and more passionate and... But he doesn't.
"You too," Will says and then he closes the door.
Mike stays there for a moment as the rain slides down his skin. He replays the scene over and over in his head of Will slowly closing the door, his smile, his face. He thinks of the night before, the stars in his eyes, the expression laid so delicately, almost as if painted on. And even though he didn't say any of the things he wanted to say, he feels content and warm. Feels like he has his own glowing glowing in his heart, his own flickering stars pretending they are butterflies.
Finally, he turns away and heads back to the car. The key slides into the slot but he doesn't yet turn it, instead moving to grab his backpack and open it. Carefully, he slips out the letter he'd written. One sentence and it would have been everything he needed to say to Will. He remembers what it says almost exactly but he wants to read it again anyway, see the language of a lovesick boy, the handwriting, the words, he wants to pretend he's reading them out loud to the person he loves.
He unfolds it and his jaw drops.
Apparently there are occasions where the fates do comply and choose to intervene.
There's not a single word written on the page, instead there's a full pencil drawing that could be done by none other then Will. And it's him, it's Mike, a pencil sketch of him yesterday under the stars. There's beautiful shading along his hair and stars shining in his eyes he didn't think were there. There's so much care and precision put into the small sketch and Mike can't help but get transported back to the night before.
Maybe I could just paint them a picture and they would just understand.
Mike looks back at the drawing about how beautiful he looks in it and he... he understands. Finally, he understands.
Mike doesn't care that it's downright pouring at this point as he practically stumbles back to Will's door. His heart feels like it's caught in his throat, pounding and pounding and he's not sure he'll be able to get the right words out, or any words at all but he just needs to see Will again. He needs him to know that he understands. He understands Will more than he has in a while. And finally he feels like he understands Will beyond the present, like now all of Will's past makes sense, a puzzle Mike has finally solved.
He reaches the steps and brushes his soaked hair out of his face. One deep breath and he's reaching for the door to knock and-
The door swings open and there is Will in all his beauty. There's tears rolling down his face mirroring the rain down Mike's and there's a letter in his hands.
There's a pause between them as they both breath deeply, clutching their papers and staring into each other's eyes and understanding. Finally understanding.
And then Will pushes forward and into the pouring rain and kisses Mike. And Mike was ready, immediately placing his hands on Will's jaw and pushing back. And it's not gentle, it's not hesitant, it's passionate and desperate and all the million things it should be. When Mike pushes deeper, Will follows, their heads and mouths working together because now they understand they understand they understand.
It's hard to think when Will is kissing him, but that thought never leaves his brain. That and the fact that he loves Will. Loves him so much, the way he draws and how kind he is and how strong, how he lays on the grass and how he watches the stars and of course the way that he now kisses Mike.
Mike loves him and he understands him and Will does too.
They break apart for a breath and Mike immediately leans forward, resting his forehead against Will's as they rock slightly back and forth. He smiles and Will laughs, the happiest, most beautiful sounding laugh Mike's ever heard.
No words are exchanged between them, only the sounds of the rain pounding against the ground and the warmth of their bodies pressed near. No words are exchanged, only the letter Mike wrote falling between them before becoming drenched. Neither of them notice, but the words are there nonetheless. Not fading into extinction, but fading into the world, into memory, into past, present, and future.
I love you.
Mike thinks but he never says. He doesn't need to for Will to know and Will doesn't need to say it for Mike to know that he loves him too. Will loves him.
The letter rests between them and even the world understands.
Hope Was a Letter I Never Did Send
Will,
I'll always need you.
Mike