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There is a hole inside of him and it's the shape of Will Byers. This hole is never fully fixed. Mike wants to believe that it won't happen again. That they're safe. That Will's safe. Yet each year, since the vanishing, the quarry, the funeral - Mike knows that space in his chest keeps growing wide like a sinkhole ready to consume him into the abyss.
He feels it constantly. Whenever Will had his episodes, or had his hazel eyes get possession shades darker, or he writhed furiously before being sedated - Mike felt desolating grief. Because even though Will was saved, his pain stayed persistent. Stayed unhealed and bleeding and with no cure.
Mike scoffs sometimes, staring at the drawings of the Party in his trembly hands, seeing himself as a paladin in various stages of Will's developing art style. Not once does he feel worthy for his cleric is never at peace for long. No matter how hard Mike tries to play hero. He hates that Will left him for California. Hates that he knows Will would be, is safer, somewhere else. Far from Hawkins. Far from him.
Can Mike be selfish? Can he request for Will to return to the very town Mike himself planned to escape from one day? Can he muster up the courage to ask Will if he misses being in the very place that refused him kindness? Grace? Empathy? All for the sake of Mike to have Will at his side again just so things could rewind like their VHS tapes, to the good parts, the best parts. They could pause or skip all the bad parts too. Mike has the phone pressed to his face and he bites his bottom lip hard, it's almost cut open as he hears the dreadful ringing switch to "The Byers can't come to the phone right now..."
The only thing he can stomach is Will's favorite candies and snacks and pop. The only way he can sleep is picturing Will's right there with him spending a night in the basement for summer memories. Mike reads El's letters and knows they're doing good. They're safe. Will's safe. Apparently painting too! Gosh he misses getting art. Mike misses a lot about Will, really. He has so much he wants to say, that he didn't have the words for prior, that he didn't have the acceptance before.
Mike still tries to phone the Byers. The few times he miraculously got through had him closing his eyes, pretending Will was in the room with him and not faraway in the distant lands, Holly's fairytales having flooded his brain to cope with the crater within him. Always Will shaped, of course. He nearly drops the phone from his grasp because Will's voice changed slightly. Had it been that long? If this is what he sounds like, then what does he look like? El never sent photos so Mike's been imagining.
He hopes he's taller than his best friend still. He hopes Will kept the bowl cut. Mike hopes, unlike his easily sunburnt skin, Will survives the west coast heat and gets tanned. That would be a sight. Sadly, time zones are the enemy, long distance chats are expensive, and calls are cut short. Mike's back to basics. He hangs out with Dustin. Flags down Max who ignores them. Doesn't get why Lucas is into basketball, and splitting time between the Party and his teammates. After Will left, Mike felt the boys should be tighter than ever to make up for their lost cleric. It's frustrating.
Then Karen surprises him with a plane ticket. He's kind of afraid. Hawkins is all he's known but the chance to see El and Will, especially Will, outweighed that. It's not how he planned. Nothing is in Mike's life. They're back in Hawkins, for worse not better, and Will has the same look he always gets that scares Mike to the depths of his soul. The Will shaped cavity within him is filled. His best friend is no longer gone, but as he should be, at his side. At what cost though?
Mike's always wanted Will to be with him. He was selfish. Now, he's got his wish but at the expense of Will's temporary peace. It was bound to break anyways. The shootout in Lenora reminded them that. Nowhere is truly safe. However, the damage of Lenora was incomparable to the devastation of Hawkins. Will breathes heavily and so does Mike. They're in sync as they stare forward in the half decaying flower fields. Will's hand is there, he's done it before, take it into his comforting own, yet Mike doesn't make a move.
He feels just like this past year. Stagnant. Here he is. Will's with him. Now that he has him, Mike has no clue what to do next. All he knows is that he must protect Will more than ever. They need to be safe. But there's something in Mike that knows the hurtful truth, a deep intrusive voice, that of a man, whispers in his head.
"Nowhere's safe. Not even your mind."
Why's his nose bleeding?