Archive of Our Own ^beta

The call comes early in the morning.

Will doesn’t really think much of it at first, thinking it might be a telemarketer—or maybe his mom, who still worries way too much, even three years after their definite defeat over Vecna.

He sighs, abandoning his bowl of cereal and crossing the room to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause, and Will considers hanging up, looking wistfully back at his breakfast.

“Um,” comes a familiar voice from the other side of the line. “Hi.”

Will freezes, but before he can begin to process anything, the person continues.

“Will?” His voice sounds breathless, but Will can recognize a hint of relief in it—only noticeable when you’ve known a person your entire life.

“Yeah,” Will croaks, mind starting to reel.

“It’s Mike.” Will remains silent. He feels as if his brain has been completely emptied out, leaving him speechless. At Will’s pause, the voice goes on: “Wheeler. Mike Wheeler?”

Will gets to urge to laugh then, because the idea of him ever forgetting the sound of Mike Wheeler’s voice is ridiculous—and believe him, he’s tried.

“Mike,” Will breathes out. “Yeah, um,” he hesitates before lamely ending with, “Hi.”

“Hi, Will,” Mike answers, almost wistfully. “How are you?”

Confused, mainly. Sad, and maybe even a little bit angry, Will’s mind supplies. But that’s not what Mike really wants to hear, is it?

The truth is, Will’s been doing better. Not necessarily good, but definitely better than how he was during most of his teenage years. And significantly better than how he was last time he and Mike spoke.

Moving out of Hawkins helped a lot. Leaving his hometown hurt less than he expected, probably because he still talks to his friends—or most of them, at least.

The hardest thing for him was parting with the memories. A lot of them were full of hurt—traumatic events that he’s tried to suppress as best as he can.

But then there were the others. Those that started out as some of the happiest moments of his childhood, and then gradually morphed into memories that haunted his nightmares. Those were usually less about monsters from another dimension, and more about innocent trick-or-treating turning into heartbreaking fights in the rain.

So, in these past few years, he’s really tried to leave all of that behind. Although it hasn’t really worked as much as he would want it to. It’s as if some small part of his heart is still desperately clinging to those memories—his younger self still not being able to completely let go of them.

And of course, of course, Mike’s the reason why he can’t seem to lose himself in his new life. He’s in art school now, and he’s happier. He never thought he’d get to have some semblance of a normal life, let alone one where he can express himself freely.

But there’s always been an invisible string tying him to Mike, never allowing him to drift too far off.

He tries not to think about it too much.

Will shakes his head in an attempt to clear his mind.

“I’m good,” he finally replies, because the idea of telling Mike the depths of his real feelings is unbearable.

“Good,” Mike answers eagerly. “That’s good. I’m really glad, Will.” Mike’s voice has softened, and it reminds Will of a younger version of him—one that was forever gentle, caring, and loyal to Will.

Will’s chest aches at the memory, but he snaps out of it at the sound of Mike’s voice coming through the small speaker.

“I want to see you.” Five words, and Will’s world shifts on its axis.

“You…” Will clears his throat. “You want to see me?” And if he sounds incredulous, Mike will just have to deal with it.

“Yeah,” Mike starts. “I’m… You’re living in Boston, right?”

“Yeah,” Will lets out, and it sounds small even to his own ears.

“Right.” A pause. “Well, I’m gonna be there. Like, tomorrow, actually.” Mike’s sentence comes out rushed. “And I’d…” He sounds nervous now, pausing as if he was trying to choose the right words. “I would like to see you.”

Will isn’t sure how to reply.

But then Mike adds: “Please.” And it sounds like he’s desperate for Will to say yes, desperate to see him.

So, Will does what he’s always done when Mike asks him for something—he says yes.

“Did he call?” El asks casually, flipping through her scrapbook laying on top of the café’s table.

“You knew?” Will tries, coffee-cup abruptly stopping midway to his mouth in shock.

“Yeah. I gave him your number,” El replies nonchalantly, not even sparing a glance Will’s way.

“El! You know I…” At Will’s hesitancy, El finally closes her scrapbook and looks up at Will, sympathetic look on her face. Even after all this time, Will can’t bring himself to fully say it, so he just finishes with: “You know.”

Will isn’t sure if it’s due to El’s powers or their sibling connection, but she seems to immediately understand—something Will is forever grateful for. “I do, but… I think it’ll be good if you talk.” Will remains silent, unsure. So, El adds: “For both of you.”

“I don’t know,” he says softly, and he really doesn’t. I mean, he and Mike haven’t had a real conversation in years, and Will isn’t really sure if he can take another fight. He’s not sure he’ll make it out alive.

“When he asked, he sounded… hopeful.” El has a small, thoughtful smile playing on her lips as she continues. “I think he’s realized a few important things in these past few years. I really think so.”

Will remains silent. What is he even supposed to say to that? Actually, what does that even mean?

El goes on, unbothered by Will’s mental turmoil. “When are you seeing him?”

“Tomorrow,” Will replies on autopilot because his mind is blank.

El, again, seems to know exactly what’s going on inside his head. Her face twists into a concerned expression, as she reaches across the small table to grab his hand. “Will. I really do think it’s for the best, but if it isn’t…” She looks away for a moment before turning her gaze back on to Will, eyes full of protectiveness and determination. “If you end up upset, you come right to me, alright?”

Will loves her. He really, really does. He’s not sure he’d be where he is if it wasn’t for his family. So, he squeezes her hand and tries for a reassuring smile as he says: “Yeah. Thanks, El.”

Will is going to puke. He is. He can’t do this. He feels as if he were floating away from his body, and yet he is excruciatingly aware of his surroundings at the same time.

Will stops on his tracks. He has half a mind to turn around and go back to the safe space of his one-bedroom apartment. But then, he sees him—and suddenly he’s twelve-years-old again, and Mike Wheeler is a magnet he’s forever forced to follow.

Mike’s sitting at the pizza place he suggested, on one of their outside tables. He’s fidgeting with his hands—a nervous habit he’s had since Will can remember. Mike’s head snaps upwards, like he could sense Will watching him, and he meets Will’s gaze, hesitant smile instantly lighting up his features.

Mike slowly raises his hand, offering Will a wave. Will smiles back, walking the remaining distance to the table.

Once Will is standing there, just a few feet away from him—which is closer than they’ve been in years, Will’s mind supplies unhelpfully—Mike abruptly stands up, accidentally knocking over his soda and spilling it all over their table.

The action shocks a loud laugh out of Will. It’s almost painfully reminiscent of Mike’s awkward preteen years, making something deep inside Will ache with nostalgia. If he let himself imagine for even a second, it would feel like nothing has changed.

But he doesn’t. He can’t let himself hope. Not again.

Mike, however, seems strangely pleased, looking at Will with an endeared expression on his face. Will looks away.

“Hey.” And Mike’s voice sounds soft, delicate.

“Hi.”

“Sorry about—” Mike signals towards the mess on the table, embarrassed smile on his face. “But, you know. Limbs.”

Will lets out a chuckle. It’s times like these when it’s easy to pretend they’re still best friends, sitting on the couch in Mike’s basement, planning their next D&D campaign.

Before Will can think too much about that, Mike continues. “Anyway. Let’s, uh—let’s sit down.” Mike’s nervous rambling is new, at least the fact that it’s in response to Will's presence. Throughout their lives, Will has seen Mike fumble for words in very hyper-specific nerve-wracking situations. But Mike has never done that before when talking to Will. He’s not sure how to feel about it, or what Mike means by that.

But Will won’t ask about it. He can’t. If Mike wants to tell him, he will, but it’s been a long time since Mike has given him any real answers.

Will takes a shuddering breath, squares his shoulders, and sits across from Mike.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Will finally answers, and Mike lets out what seems a sigh of relief. That’s odd, Will thinks. He brushes it off.

“So, did something happen?” Will starts, because the idea of prolonging this meeting for a second longer than it strictly needs to be seems unbearable to him.

(There’s a part of Will’s heart—a part he’s tried time and time again to silence—that wishes to stay here, with Mike, for as long as Mike will let him.

He attempts to ignore it.)

Mike seems a bit taken aback at Will’s direct approach, but he recovers quickly. “I just—I don’t know. I mean, nothing happened. Or—” Mike hesitates, looking away from Will and down towards the table separating them. “Maybe it did, but. Um. I don’t know.”

Will stares at him, brows furrowing in confusion and concern, because he could spend a lifetime away from Mike Wheeler, but he could never stop caring and thinking and wanting and lov—Will stops himself from finishing the thought.

Just because Will is aware he’s in love with Mike (and has been ever since he can remember), doesn’t mean that he enjoys thinking about it. Usually, it’s because he knows that love is unrequited, and it probably always will be. But right now, it has more to do with the fact that Mike Wheeler is right there, right in front of Will, not even an arm’s reach away.

“Alright,” Will says, still not fully understanding Mike’s words. “Well, is there anything you need to talk about?” A small pause, and then Will adds: “Or want to talk about, maybe?”

Mike looks up at that, eyes brightening. He stares at Will for a few seconds with something akin to hope shimmering in his eyes. “Yeah.” And he sounds a little breathless and what might some consider overtly excited at the same time. “Um,” Mike gaze roams Will’s face, as if he would find the rest of his sentence hidden within Will’s expression. “How are you liking Boston? Are you happy here?”

“Are you happy here?” The question rings through Will’s head.

It’s a strange question, he thinks. Objectively, he is aware of the fact that it’s a fairly normal small-talk question, but coming from Mike, it somehow seems loaded with meaning Will can’t even begin to unpack.

It used to be so easy talking to Mike when they were kids. Their conversations always flowed so easily. Then, once they started becoming teenagers, some topics seemed to be prematurely outgrown, and others seem entirely off-limits.

Whenever they did have those conversations, they turned into unpleasant, nasty remarks they’d come to regret later.

So, Will isn’t really sure if he’s up to having another draining heart-to-heart at the moment. He doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it, actually.

That’s why he avoids Mike’s question, and instead asks: “That’s what you wanted to talk about? Is that why you wanted to see me? Just to know if I’m happy?”

A frown takes over Mike’s face, and Will hates himself, just a little bit, for being the one to put it there.

“I mean, kind of?” Mike tries, voice low and insecure. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Will’s a bit shocked by that, to be honest. Maybe it’s that, combined with the fact that Mike hasn’t even reached out in ages, that makes his response sound more annoyed than he’d intended it to be.

“Do you care, Mike?” He lets out a small laugh in disbelief. “I mean, do you even really care if I’m happy or not? We haven’t talked in forever, and now, what? You’re just casually curious about my happiness?”

“Of course I care, Will.” Mike’s tone sounds completely serious now, fully devoid of nerves or amusement. “I always have. I always will.”

Mike’s eyes are boring into his, and Will can’t find it in himself to look away.

A part of him wants to believe Mike, wants to let go of all his inhibitions and fully trust the words coming out of Mike’s mouth—after all, they are all he’s ever longed for. (Maybe not all, but close. And close can be enough. It has to be.)

Will closes his eyes, tries to hold on to Mike’s words. They burn into his palms.

Want is a kind of thief. It’s a door in your heart, and once you know it’s there, you’ll spend your life longing for whatever is behind it.

He feels tears beginning to form behind his eyelids, begging they won’t fall down his cheeks.

A thought burns at his chest: Stupid, stupid, stupid heart. Don’t you know he has never been yours to cry over?

Will’s ears are ringing, but Mike’s voice still manages to get through Will—just like it always has.

“We’re still best friends, Will,” Mike says, voice a bit choked up. “At least… at least to me. And that means…” He falters, looking for the right words. “It means I’ll stay by your side,” and he sounds sure of himself now—as if he was stating a fact, as if Will was supposed to know that already.

Will can’t handle this. His fight-or-flight instinct is kicking in, but he has no energy left in him to keep fighting. He feels tired—tired of hoping for more, more, more, and even more exhausted of thinking he might actually get it. He feels selfish with greed, with his want for more.

And as if all that wasn’t bad enough, Mike adds, “Forever.”

Will feels an ice-cold rush of adrenaline, a spurt of terror, a whole-body bracing, and every muscle in his body is suddenly drawn tight.

The one thing that seemingly hasn’t changed since their childhood is the intrinsic connection they’ve always shared—the almost eerie ability to read each other’s emotions.

Maybe that’s why Mike goes on.

“Do you want me to promise it?” he whispers. “Because I will.”

“No,” Will replies, throat dry. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in ages.

Will opens his eyes just in time to see hurt flash across Mike’s face. He immediately wants to take it back, but he doesn’t.

Because it won’t matter.

Because Mike can promise him anything, but in the end, Will has learned that feelings change, and he’s always been powerless against them.

Will clears his throat. “Please don’t, Mike.”

And that’s all Will can give him, all he can give myself: some tiny measure of protection against losing himself completely within another empty promise.

Mike stays silent for a few moments, tearful eyes staring at Will, trying to reach into his soul. Mike looks hurt and confused, and Will gets the urge to ease it, to comfort Mike, to protect him.

But he remains still, sitting silently on his chair.

“Why? I don’t… I don’t understand, Will.” He knows that Mike is trying, he’s trying to fix things and Will wants nothing more than to let him. But the risk of getting hurt again is too great. He doesn’t know how to answer. “Can we not… Can’t we be friends anymore? Best friends? Do you not miss me? Because I do, Will. A lot.”

And Will wants to say yes, wants to tell Mike how he’s been waiting for this moment, but he can’t explain the extent of his emotions without giving away his love for Mike—it would be too obvious, too vulnerable.

And he wants to explain, but he’s so afraid. He’s terrified of losing Mike for good, of him never wanting to see Will again.

So of course he misses Mike. That’s so far from the issue that the thought is even a little funny.

The problem is not that for some reason, he spends a considerable percentage of his time missing Mike, and the more he tries to tamp it down, the more the feeling grows, swells, pushes up against the edges of his heart.

It’s that he sometimes feels like a ghost. Like his skin isn’t solid enough to hold the sunlight.

He might be standing in a classroom full of people with similar interests as him, but the loneliness still creeps up. He misses the feeling of having someone next to him who truly knows him, who truly loves him.

He misses Mike more than he can even begin to articulate. He’s become an expert at missing him.

The real problem is this: Will is mad. He’s mad at Mike for leaving him, for not reaching out.

And yet, he thinks he’d do just about anything to get him back. To have him back by his side.

“That’s not…” Will tries, then clears his throat and shakes his head. “That’s not it at all, Mike.”

“Then what is it, Will? Please, I just… I want to fix this. I need to,” Mike begs.

“Why haven’t you ever visited me?” Trying to ignore Mike’s look of surprise, Will continues. “Or called? Or even written, Mike? I mean, we haven’t talked in forever. It’s been…” And what Will is about to say feels too dangerous, too close to a confession, but he says it anyway. “It’s been really hard, Mike.”

Mike’s voice is barely above a whisper when he replies, “I know. I’m so sorry. I am. It’s just…” Mike lets out a sigh, clearly frustrated with his lack of eloquence.

But it doesn’t matter, because Will has always been able to understand what Mike Wheeler wants to say, even when nobody else did. “I know you are. I guess it just made me feel like… like I wasn’t important to you anymore,” Will says, avoiding Mike’s gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid to you, but—”

“It’s not.” Mike’s hand reaches out across the table, as if reaching for Will’s, before stopping abruptly—almost like he caught himself doing that on instinct. Mike clears his throat. “It’s not stupid, Will. But… I want you to know that there was nothing or no one more important than you, Will.” His voice sounds ragged now. “Not to me. Not ever.”

Blood rises to Will’s cheeks, his throat, his chest. It’s painful to swallow.

But somehow, Will’s face manages to form a small smile without Will’s approval—almost like a knee-jerk reaction to Mike complementing him. Will lifts the glass of water in front of him, vaguely registering that a server must have brought it at some point, as an attempt to hide what is now slowly turning into a grin.

Mike stares somewhere above Will’s chin for a few seconds before going on. “I have to tell you something.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and his eyes turn up to bore into Will’s.

Will stops his movement midway, hand holding the glass hovering awkwardly between them. Noticing Mike’s serious tone, his smile instantly falls. “Okay.”

Will feels an uneasy feeling in his stomach—his anxiety starting to creep in. It feels like everything’s about to shatter, like what little he still has with Mike is about to be destroyed.

“There’s a reason why I haven’t reached out to you these past few years.” Mike swallows, and Will’s head starts spinning. “I… I’ve done a lot of thinking, and… I guess I came to the conclusion that…” Mike throws his head in his hands and groans. “God, why is this so hard to say?”

Will lets out a breathy chuckle at that, causing Mike to peek through his fingers to look up at Will. There’s some amusement in Mike’s expression, but it’s most of it radiates an excruciating amount of fondness—it’s almost unbearable. Almost.

“It’s okay, Mike.” Will feels the need to reassure him—he always has. “You don’t have to explain. I know you’re sorry, and I think… I think that might be enough.”

Mike lifts his head and stares head-on at Will for a couple of moments. “But I do, Will. I do have to—you deserve an explanation. You’re just… you’re so good, did you know that? You always have been.” Then, Mike’s voice lowers, muttering to himself just loud enough for Will to hear what he says next. “I don’t know how I didn’t realize before…” Mike shakes his head.

“Realize what?” Will asks, brows furrowing.

Mike’s head snaps up, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. A faint blush starts making its way up his head. “I, um. Right. Yeah, no. That’s actually… that’s what I was trying to get at.”

Will lifts a single eyebrow in curiosity, signaling for Mike to continue.

“I realize now that I… I treated you like shit, Will.” Will gets the urge to protest, but Mike seems to read it in his face and goes on with, “No, I did. I did. Not just for these past few years, but when everything was going down with like, the Upside Down or whatever, I said some things that were just not true. Some of them were so unfair, and I know that now, okay? And, like, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I regret that. But…” Mike lets out a shaky breath. “I’m not trying to excuse myself or anything, but I want you to know why I said all those things. I didn’t really realize it at the time, but… I think that I had a reason.”

“What was it?” Will feels like he’s floating out of his own body, spectating this entire interaction as an outsider.

“You have to understand—I was so incredibly confused back then. None of us really had a chance to get to know ourselves. We were just kids, and we were supposed to save the world? We didn’t have time to… explore anything. So that’s what I have been doing for the past few years—trying to understand myself. Trying to understand what I was going through back then.

“I think I just did what I thought I was supposed to do. Me and El… I mean, of course I love her. But… I don’t think I ever loved her the way I was expected to. And I don’t think she loved me that way either. When I met her, I was worried sick that we’d lost you. That I had lost you. And, in some ways, I think I tried to fill in that gap, thinking that if I just kept pretending, everything would be alright. I would be alright.

“But then you came back, Will. You came back. And I was so happy. But then… It was like I got scared of just how happy that made me. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to be that relieved, that glad. So, I kept pretending. I pretended that my feelings were normal—that I was normal.

“And I kept that up for years. I mean, you know how long me and El were together, and you also know that it ran its course long before we called it quits. I know that, she knows that. And it’s okay.

“But then, when the world was not ending anymore and I finally had some time to think, I realized that… even though my feelings for El were not romantic, that doesn’t mean that I’ve never…” Mike looks away from Will for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and swallowing before he finishes his sentence. “It doesn’t mean that I’ve never had romantic feeling for someone. I have, actually.” He turns back to look at Will now, eyes fierce. “I do.”

“You…what?” Will splutters, mind still trying to catch up with everything Mike just said.

“I said,” Mike starts calmly, “that I have feelings for someone. Romantic feelings.”

Will’s mind is blank. Completely and entirely blank. Before today, the possibility of Mike having feelings for someone else would make an unpleasant sensation make its way through Will’s body, but now… It seems different—the way Mike is going about saying this, how he’s carefully choosing his words… Something is throwing Will off, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Maybe that’s why he decides to ask: “Oh. What is she like?”

Mike’s confident demeanor crumbles a little at the question. “She’s not…” Mike clears his throat. “Um, it’s a he, actually.”

Will’s world abruptly stops. It turns upside down. It spins towards the opposite direction. It implodes.

He’s sure his eyes are wide in shock, but he can’t do anything to suppress his expression because his entire brain capacity is occupied by “it’s a he.” What? Will isn’t a hundred percent sure he isn’t dreaming.

“But, it’s so much more than that.” Mike’s expression is soft, unguarded eyes gazing lovingly at Will. “I’m in love with him. I’m in love with you, Will. And I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it, and I’m even more sorry for all of the pain I’ve caused you.” Mike pauses, and when Will still doesn’t speak, he carries on. “Anyway, that’s why I wanted to see you. I needed you to know. I hope… I hope you can understand. I hope you can try to forgive me.”

“Mike.” Will shuts his eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache coming in.
“Shut up. Just, hold on for a second. I need to… I need to say something.

“What if I…” Will braces himself, grabbing hold of every last scrap of courage, but frankly, it’s not all that much. “God, what I’m trying to say is that I lo—” It’s almost like he can’t bring himself to say it back, like he can’t believe what Mike just confessed is real.

Will tries to steel himself. He wishes they were in the dark—back in the comfort of Mike’s basement, just like when they were kids. It’s so much harder to say things in the light of day.

Will makes a point of keeping his eyes shut so he won’t have to see Mike’s reaction, won’t see if the world suddenly ruptures at the words: “I love you too, Mike. I always have.”

He waits.

Nothing.

No eardrum-destroying groan as the earth splits in two.

Yet somehow, the familiar sensations of an incoming panic attack still manage to bubble up in Will—his throat tightens, and there’s a sudden drop in his stomach.

But Mike’s soft voice pulls him out of it. “Will. Can you please look at me?”

And Will does—because after all, when has he ever been able to say no to Mike?

Mike reaches out, pulling Will’s arm away from his face, grabbing him by the wrist. He shifts their hands so they’re interlaced, resting them on the table between them. Will is pretty sure his heart has stopped.

“I love you so much, Will. More than I can bear. I don’t think I can stand being apart from you anymore. But I know I’ve hurt you. And I understand if you want me to leave, but… I would like to give this a try.” He squeezes Will’s hand. “I would like to give us a try.” And then he adds, “Please let me.”

Will can feel the tears running down his cheeks, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Not when Mike Wheeler is in front of him, laying his emotions bare, and asking Will to grant him this—as if it were a favor, as if it wasn’t the thing Will’s wanted, longed for, for as long as he can remember. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Mike beams, the intensity of his smile infecting Will, which makes him sport a grin just as sappy.

“Cool.” Mike lifts their hands, and lightly kisses Will’s knuckles. Will shudders slightly, face turning crimson. “I want everything with you, Will.”

“Me too, Mike. We have time.” Will lets out a laugh, half delirious and half ecstatic. “We have so much time.”