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“I've been left in the rain, lost and pinning. I'm trying hard not to look like I'm trying. 'Cause every time I tried hard for love, it fell apart. I've gotten used to no one calling my phone. I've grown accustomed to sleeping alone."
July, 1985
Everything inside of Will’s body was screaming—in rain-soaked clothes, crying under a dark sky devoid of stars, his chest felt as though it was about to explode, splattering all over these already-tainted drawings and photographs. Not even Castle Byers had the ability to ease the pain this time. The words still rang through his ears, maiming him in quick lashes of hurt, fast and debilitating as a lightning strike. He squeezed his eyes fiercely to push out the cruel words, but they persisted, over and over again.
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls. It’s not my fault… You don’t like girls.
A mangled sob broke through his chest, the walls of his throat burning raw from the tears and searing summer air—uncomfortably hot rain providing no solace to the breakdown as the cries pouring from his eyes and the deluge from above mingled on his skin. Though he had put his best efforts forward—dancing with girls at school dances, hanging no suspicious posters on his walls, denying the words of the bullies—the truth still bared itself, and people knew. He knew.
What an idiot, Will cried. How fucking stupid— to have thought he, of all the people in the world, would turn his cheek, blinded eyes to the rumours. How stupid— to have thought anything good would come of being half-honest, asking for his friends to play a game. Stupid— to have been crying in some childhood safehouse made of twigs and logs when childhood was over, when good boys didn’t cry. Mike wouldn’t cry.
He digs his fingers into the dirt floor of the stupid Castle and claws away at the Earth, not releasing until the veins of his hands burst. Dirt gathered under his fingernails, and he wanted to keep digging— digging, digging father until he fell beneath the layer of Earth where people walked, where he walked. Perhaps in some other land he wouldn’t have felt such pain, wouldn’t have cried over lost childhoods and broken hearts.
But no—he had been to other lands, the Upside Down, and alternate dimensions were just as dark: worlds with no light, no sunshine. What world would have the spark, he thought, what world is meant for me? No answers came, only the crack of thunder somewhere in the distance. And the thunder roar—the sound of the Earth cracking and the sky striking—felt like a sign.
All he had wanted was for the boy to look at him— still here, he screamed, I am still here. He wanted that boy, Mike Wheeler, to have the same gaze he did on the swing set; the same eyes which laid upon him as he swung alone and beckoned him to stay. All Will wanted was for the boy to see him, standing there in the basement with ideas, and stories to tell, and a heart which would always need him, always beat for him. He wanted Mike to see him—
But not like he had. Not with the venom spitting from his lips in the garage. Not with the troubled eyes which bored into him at the weakest moment and caught some twisted glimpse of honesty that he had wanted to conceal.
Oh— but he looked down upon Will like the child he was, tantrum throwing over a game, heart beating for the wrong person— what sort of man makes those mistakes?
He squeezed his eyes once more but the venom kept coming, burning his skin.
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.
You don’t like girls. You don’t like girls. You don’t like girls
You don’t like girls. You don’t like girls. You don’t—
An entire lifetime of knowing he was different came to a head in the garage, as his best friend, the only one Will trusted with the half-truths he could muster, saw through the façade—saw through him, reached inside him, and twisted in a knife where there had already been an unhealed wound, carved out over years of his father’s words and bullies torments. Mike took the bareness of Will’s heart and squeezed it dry.
Will had feelings for the worst person—such person only made worst because he was a boy, and boys did not like boys; and because the string tying Will to Mike only ran one way; it did not have a beginning anywhere in Mike’s heart. The sparks flew one way; the electricity burned from a vantage point no one could see. Will liked boys: the wrong boy, one who would never love him back.
Just as Will eyed the baseball bat in the corner of the Castle, he saw the headlight through the cracks of branches—a beacon of white, shining in the night. A bicycle headlight, he noted. And he heard the sound of wheels sloshing through rain puddles, of chains rattling against the metal, of panting from a set of tired lungs. He peered through the curtain hung above the entryway and saw someone under the dimness of the porch lights and scattered stars. The figure, lost within darkness and rain, dropped his bike to the driveway pavement and cupped both his hands around his mouth. Then, the figure screamed out, and Will knew the voice better than he should have.
“Will! Hey, Will!” Mike ran up to the porch and began banging his fists on the door. Nobody answered. Nobody heard. “Are you in there, Will? I’m sorry! Please… Please talk to me!”
His grip loosened on the dirt as he shuffled into the Castle corner, his back pressed up against the walls and knees tucked tight to his heaving chest. Whatever Mike was doing, Will would have bet money that it would end badly—hadn’t all the stories between them then ended in such a disappointing way? A lightning bolt struck in the distance, and Mike wailed out:
“Will!” Forceful knocks battered against the front door. “Will, please! Will!”
Something in the desperation of Mike’s voice—how it cracked as the screams broke through, echoed across the vacancy of the forest—almost moved Will from the hideaway; but he stayed unwavering, body planted in the solace of the Castle, with the childhood photos and comic magazines staring him down from the walls. He remembered everything: Ghostbusters costumes and pillow cases full of candy; party games and beloved ten-hour campaigns. And the memories taunted him—haunting at his heels with every step towards High School, towards adulthood, towards the days of girlfriend expectations and friendship goodbyes.
Mike’s screams in the distance dissipated away, but the roaring within Will stayed, lingering like some scar etched into his skin. It never left. And how long could a boy be pushed around until he broke? How long could a boy be filled with screams until he submitted, until he escaped?
The sound of footsteps, splashing around in puddles, grew closer to the Castle. And, before Will found the chance to escape, the curtain pulled back and a pair of brown eyes came peeking into the Castle. Rain ran down Mike’s face like a wild river in full fervency.
“Will, Jesus, are you okay?” Every raindrop plummeting to the ground and the Castle roof nearly drowned out Mike’s voice, but Will couldn’t pretend anymore—pretend that the boy wasn’t here, pretend that the conversation from before never happened. Someday, like everything horrible and uncomfortable in life, he would have to face this. 8:05 on this shitty July seemed to be the time.
Just breathe. Just relax—his voice repeated the mantra in his head.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Can I come in?”
Somehow, despite every rain-soaked bone in his body screaming no! , Will could not help but crumble at the way Mike smiled, how soft his words tumbled out, even though merely hours ago they had been so lethal. When it came to Mike, his capacity for no hardly existed.
“Sure,” Will said, and Mike peeled back the curtain, crouched through the doorway, and settled, legs crisscrossed, right beside Will in the dirt. For a moment, they didn’t speak; the thunder clapped and the continued pattering, and they just listened. Until, Mike muttered:
“Will—” But he was interrupted.
“We don’t need to talk about it,” Will said, not meeting his eyes. Wouldn’t it have been easier to pretend like he wasn’t hurt, to pretend that Mike’s words merely rolled off his shoulders because they held no truth, and thus couldn’t cut deep, could hardly cut at all? His pile of lies was always ever-growing, and though it hurt most to lie to Mike, more than anyone, really, he knew one more lie would suffice, one more comment or conversation shoved under the rug. That was how he survived.
“No, we should.” The tone of Mikes’ voice alone sounded like an olive branch. “I’m really sorry, okay? I was being a total asshole.” But Will refused to reach out and take it. He didn’t say anything. “It was a really cool campaign, and I shouldn’t have acted like it was childish… like you were being childish. You weren’t. I’m the stupid one, okay?”
Stupid, Will thought, the word echoing like screams in an empty room. No matter what said, he still couldn’t shake this feeling of wrongness, stupidity that clung to his being like a too-tight sweater, causing his skin to crawl. He truly had thought they would never get girlfriends, that the party would sit in the basement playing games. Never had the reality of growing-up crossed his thoughts because, in the back of his mind, he knew he’d never leave that place, he’d be the one left behind—still in the basement, still lost and pining for a love that wouldn’t amount to anything. Because the childhood games and the fun days were stripped from him too soon; and the desire for a girlfriend never struck him, and he knew it never would, no matter how hard he wished for it. His heart had beaten for a boy whose heart beat for someone else.
“It’s fine, Mike,” Will said, though it was anything but.
With a sad glance, Mike continued. “And… W-What I said about… about you not… liking girls—” Will’s breath hitched, and his insides screamed as the words came hesitantly from Mike’s mouth “—that was really shitty of me, and I’m sorry. I don’t even know what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. I don’t know.” He exhaled. “I’m just sorry.”
You said it because you know, Will thought, and you don’t like it. But all he said was: “It’s fine.”
He had expected everyone to turn on him someday—some more than others, perhaps. He’d been taunted for his heart before, practically all of his life: who it longed for, and how it always felt so deeply, loved with every fiber of its being. But somehow, even through his pessimism and doubt, he never thought Mike would be the one to take his heart and beat it. Naïve as it was, he trusted Mike more than anyone.
Stupid; that word came back to haunt once more. Stupid, stupid boy.
The air grew heavy with unspoken words, emotions swirling like an unforgiving storm—heavy and damaging as the rain which poured just outside the Castle walls.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Mike said, his fingers drawing half-circles in the muddied ground.
“I… I just want to be alone.” For the first time since Mike sat beside him, Will managed to look the other boy in the eye. He raised his head and met him with regret—regret for nothing, or perhaps everything; he couldn’t know. “I think you should go.”
“You can’t stay out here. It’s cold,” Mike said.
“It’s July.”
“It’s pouring.”
“I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Well you shouldn’t have to!” Mike snapped, and as if a bomb just exploded, they both fell silent. “Just… Just, can we go inside, please? I won’t leave you out here alone.”
Something close to anger started kindling, like a fiery ember, within Will, threatening to ignite the floodgates of tears once more. The tenderness in Mike's voice, such a double-edged sword, pierced his soul, leaving him raw and vulnerable. It was as if the gentleness in Mike's voice pulled at the very strings of his soul, unraveling the fragile threads of his composure. He couldn’t take the way it made him feel, and he wanted to run.
So he stood from the ground. “I’ll just leave then,” he said, ducking through the doorway and walking out of the Castle.
“No—” Mike followed shortly behind, running after Will in the storm. “Will, come on!”
Will stopped his steady pacing and turned to Mike. “Please, just leave me alone!”
Rain fell until his hair clung to his head. “Why?”
Because if you stay I’ll do something bad, Will thought. Because if I don’t put distance between us, I won’t be able to ignore how much I want to be close. Will said nothing, just stood still as the rain came falling down.
“I’m sorry.” Mike started. “I’m really sorry! H-How can I fix this?”
You can’t fix this, Will thought, because you aren’t the broken one, it’s me; I’m the mistake. Will said nothing, just kept walking away from the Castle, away from Mike. Somewhere further in the woods he could cry with nobody to hear, could break down with no witness to him falling apart.
“Will! Stop!” Mike reached out and clutched the ditch of Will’s elbow, holding him back. “I don’t want you to hate me.” His voice was like a squeeze.
I could never hate you, Will thought. Don’t you see—that’s the problem. No matter what you say or do, if you’re dating someone or not, if you break my heart a million times, I will never be able to hate you. Will turned to the other boy and said only one thing.
“I could never hate you.”
And Mike visibly exhaled. His hand stayed on the inside of Will’s arm, a sparkling touch that lit his skin aflame. “Then come inside with me. We can talk. We can not talk. Just… I don’t want you to be alone right now. I want us to be okay.”
“We’re fine,” Will assured, but it was obvious Mike didn’t believe that.
“I… I just feel like I’m losing you.” Mike took his hand off him; and he felt the absence like a dagger piercing his skin. Oh, how he longed to be close, and how much it hurt to long. He hung on Mike’s every word, the way he spoke with such intimacy. Somewhere, between the fight in the garage and this moment, something changed between them. A switch flipped, and Mike was looking at him differently—in a way he never had before. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Will shouldn’t have stayed, but he couldn’t help it. His feet wouldn’t move; his soul wouldn’t drift away from Mike no matter how much he willed himself to run. Will stayed. And he knew this could leave him with his heart broken twice over, but it could bring it back to life, as well. He was never a risk-taker, but with Mike, he couldn’t help but ignore the odds, how they’d always been stacked against him.
“You are my… best friend,” Mike said, “and being your friend is the best thing I’ve ever done.” He took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have forgotten that, and I’m so fucking sorry that I did. You’re the most important person to me, okay, Will?”
“Don’t.” It wasn’t even angry, the way Will said it. It was just a plea, really, from someone who couldn’t stomach another ounce of false hope, who couldn’t bear to have faith in those words. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Just—”
“What if it’s true?” Mike bit the corner of his lip, and Will couldn’t say a word. “What if… What if I meant it? Because I do, it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“I… I don’t know.” It’s not possible, Will thought.
Silence fell between them. And that’s when Will realized… Mike was crying.
“I’m sorry,” Mike mumbled, and a bolt of lightning walloped in the distance. Everything felt charged—as if the Earth they stood upon, fought upon, cried up in this moment was static, filled with electricity that flowed between them, within them.
Will moved closer, and he saw how Mike was shivering, his shoulders and fingers twitching. He touched the sides of Mike’s arms and held them. “Jesus, Mike, you’re shaking.”
Mike said nothing for a moment. His body shifted infinitesimally further into Will’s touch. Then he spoke, his voice entirely raw. “Please don’t hate me.”
“Wha—”
But before Will could get the full word out, Mike leaned his body into him, and his lips opened like a flower atop the pillow of Will’s own, drinking in the other boy through a kiss so desperate yet laced with a deeply-embedded fear. And as the warmth of Mike’s skin cut through the cold, an electric touch jolting him into a state of aliveness and rightness Will had never known before, he gave himself over—wholly and fearlessly—to the sensation; and he opened his own lips and allowed the other boy in. He brought his hands to Mike’s face and placed them upon his cheeks, holding on to the steadiness of this touch amidst the thunder cracks and rainfall, the world melting and tumbling around them. In each other’s arms, they were steady; they were safe.
In the kiss, they could barely breathe—oxygen, this integral lifeline, became something they shared, and the desire to part never befell them. But for a moment Will pulled away, and bore his eyes into Mike’s.
“Is this real? Y-You’re not pranking me, are you?” he asked, genuinely, causing a smile to just break onto Mike’s face.
“It’s real.” He nodded his head. The raindrops went flying. “I promise.”
“Then kiss me again.” His hands wandered in the darkness, wrapping around Mike’s waist, pulling him closer until they were pressed length to length, so close that when the rain came, it couldn’t fall between them. “Kiss me again,” he begged.
And Mike did just that.
What world would have the spark, Will once thought, what world is meant for me? The answer came, this time, through the heat of his best friend’s lips against his own. And as the crack of thunder roared somewhere in the distance, he knew the Earth was calling out to him. What it was speaking of exactly, he did not know.
“Got a feeling your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life. And I want you now, wanna need you forever, in the heat of your electric touch.”