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December 23, 1991
Sharing a bed with Will has become so consistent in Mike’s life that he doesn’t even think of it as sharing anymore. Of course it’s a place for them to have together, like a little capsule just for them. Most times, it’s where they cuddle each other in a bear hug, faces squished together and bodies pressed in a singular line, leaving equal parts for breathing and warmth. It’s where they’ve slept past their alarm, both on weekdays and weekends.
Tonight, it’s where Mike just can’t sleep. It would be unusual under normal circumstances; at sleepovers with the Party, he’s always been the first to fall asleep, even back in kindergarten when it was just him and Will. These days, he often teases Mike about how quickly he can fall asleep— allegedly, Mike is the perpetrator of the handful of flatlined conversations, which probably is true, considering how many times he’s ‘blacked-out’ in the middle of them, but look… it’s not his fault that Will is so easy to fall asleep next to! And waking up to stifled giggles in the middle of the night and following suit right after? How could he not want that?
But that isn’t the reality tonight. He’s all too aware of his consciousness, and the gentleness of the mattress, the pillow, the blankets, and even Will isn’t enough to get some shut-eye, no matter how much more relaxed he feels. The constant white noise in his brain tells him that much.
It’s not like he hasn’t tried alright? Counting sheep had worked before, falling asleep before he got to fifty, and well, this time, he’d been able to get to a hundred seven. He’d thought to put on an eye mask, but realized he felt more tired with the small glow of the nightlight. And then he and Will had been making out just ten minutes ago, the slow rhythm easing some of Mike’s tension and allowing him to get lost in the moment, get lost with Will, but apparently not enough for his brain waves to stop waving and peace the fuck out.
And now—
Will pokes his side, just after Mike’s fourth 360 degree turn. “Hey.”
Mike makes some unintelligible noise from the back of his throat. He considers pretending to be asleep, but he doesn’t want Will to not be worried about him when there’s obviously something to talk about. There’s only so much kissing each other breathless can do, no matter how good a kisser you are. (And Will is a good kisser— amazing, in fact.) Mike also knows Will will notice him pretending, and that neither of them would allow it to go so far as keeping these things from each other. These things, such as Mike’s inevitable doom in coming out to his immediate family over Christmas dinner in fifteen hours, save for Nancy, whom he’d already told and had gotten a calm, collected response from.
His parents are the issue. It’s not like Ted Wheeler has made any effort in trying to understand his son, but maybe Mike needs to, like, meet him in the middle or something? If he can understand just this about him, he’ll die a happy man. But even with that goal, will he attain it? Realistically, no.
He thinks he’s being pretty reasonable in his assumption that his parents won’t be able to grasp the concept of liking boys as well as girls. Liking both, and being in love with a certain Will Byers. To the common homophobe, ‘hypothetical’ attraction is easier than a real life serious relationship, so Mike is praying that his parents’ admiration for Will is enough to combat that.
Going by how his mom glared at her husband every time he made a passive, derogatory comment about gay men, she’s probably going to be the better one of the two. After all, she’s the only parent that will actually hug him and at least try to have a conversation with him. So if Mike Wheeler dies before he can say it, in the car or something, he can die assuming that Karen Wheeler cares about her son at least enough to keep appearances up. Still— not something he should bet on. The Karen thing, not the dying in a car crash thing, although that too, ‘cause then Will would be—
Anxiety. You’ve got major anxiety.
The way Will’s cheek squishes against the pillow distracts him.
“My dad’s a Reagan fan,” Mike says.
“I know,” Will says. He abandons the pillow, and Mike mourns the loss of the sight until Will inches closer, resting his head on Mike’s chest. Oh, Mike thinks, as about an eighth of his anxiety lessens. “You don’t have to, you know.”
“I know. I just…”
“You want to,” Will says once Mike trails off.
Yeah, he wants to tell them. He and Will have already come out to the Party and Will’s family. These are the last people that he has to tell. Every now and then when he closes his eyes, he sees a flashing red light and hears a voice telling him that he still hasn’t told them yet. He really can’t deal with any more pestering about girlfriends and about how he could get “ any girl he wanted.” Because here’s the thing: even though he’s attracted to girls too, he doesn’t want just some girl, as nice as she could be. He already has everything he needs, romantically speaking. “I mean, shit, Will. I really do.”
“Okay,” Will says, not unkindly.
“I just don’t know if this is a good idea,” Mike murmurs, nose in Will’s hair.
“You want to,” Will repeats, and Mike nods. “I mean, even if they make you feel like it isn’t, you can always leave.”
Mike hums. “Thank god I’m no longer a prisoner there.”
He’s got his off-campus apartment and the Byers-Hopper’s house to thank for that. But before he can come home to either place, he needs to check this off. They may never understand it, but they can at least… have the knowledge that their son is bisexual. Mike’s done too much running in the past, (Figuratively. He hasn’t run a mile in five years and he’s thankful for it.) but now he’s just trying to show the world who he is.
His expression turns serious. “I need to make sure they know, like, one-hundred percent.”
Will nods. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll be there for the whole thing.” He runs a hand up and down Mike’s chest.
To this day, it still makes him shiver— a pair of hands, calloused from holding paint brushes, pencils, and, long ago, crayons too, that create such wonderful things on paper and canvas, soothing Mike Wheeler’s body and mind. Mike knows Will didn’t make him from scratch like he makes his art, but in moments like this, it feels pretty damn close.
Mike presses his lips to the top of Will’s head absentmindedly. “Yeah,” he says, a small smile finding its way to his face. It’s true— Will will be there the whole time, making it a little easier to spit out his reason for never seeing his parents again.
“Do you remember the day I came out to my mom?”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Eight months ago, Mike had hugged him for five minutes straight, wished him luck, and kissed him goodbye before Will biked alone to his house alone. To take his mind off things, Mike had torn through a hundred pages of The Fellowship of the Rings, ears attuned to any sounds of footsteps. And then, Will came back to his room, teary eyed but smiling, and Mike held him close again, wiping his tears away with utter pride.
“I wish I could say that it’s going to be that easy,” Will admits, lips pressing together.
“Me too,” Mike says.
“But— whatever happens tomorrow night, wherever the conversation leads, I love you. That isn’t going to change.”
Even with the nightlight it’s dark in their room, but that doesn’t matter— Mike has memorized every centimeter of Will’s face, every jut and curve. The moment he says those words, it becomes even more apparent that Will’s face is the only thing that isn’t shadowed by the night.
“Even if I totally lose my shit?”
Will tilts his head up and kisses Mike’s forehead. “Especially so.”
_____
Mike wakes up with a dry throat.
It’s nothing that can’t be solved with a good old glass of water, but unfortunately he’s way too tired to move. He might just fall asleep again to the soft sounds of — he blindly pats the empty space next to him— Will moving around the kitchen. The door is open, Mike realizes as the smell of breakfast and the light from the kitchen seep into the bedroom. A New Order song plays. Glass clinks against something woody. Mike squints.
The brightness of the kitchen light has nothing on the figure standing in the doorway. Will holds a tray, steam rising from two plates and mugs. It’s a little easier to move now, muscle by muscle watching as his boyfriend sets the tray on his own nightstand, and then climbs into bed and pulls the covers over them both. When Will picks up the tray and sets it over both their legs, Mike now sees what’s on the menu for each of them today: a fried egg on a burnt piece of toast, topped with a generous amount of maple syrup. To the right of his plate is — Mike sniffs— green tea, and Will’s, black coffee.
A warm hand cups his cheek as Mike holds the ceramic of his mug. The heat from Will’s hand is almost double.
“Morning,” Will says. He definitely looks like he just woke up, but the bags underneath his eyes makes him look nothing short of cute.
Mike’s skin practically melts into Will’s palms. “Will,” he lets out, hushed before he kisses him.
It coats him in warmth, like how sleeping next to him feels. He wants it to be gentle, so it is— slow and at least half as sweet as Will making them breakfast in bed to have together. Will kisses him back, just as purposeful as Mike’s. The hand cupping his face moves to brush through his hair, fingers getting stuck in the knots and flyaways Mike has yet to brush out. When he leans away, Mike chases his lips for just one more, and Will’s laughter vibrates in his ears. Mike tilts his forehead down against his, and opens his eyes to see Will already staring at him.
He wonders what he looks like from this angle, so up close. Will looks at him as if— no, scratch that— because he adores him, even though Mike is probably gonna yell at his dad today, even though he wakes up with a bedhead equivalent to Robert Smith’s everyday hairstyle, and even if—
“Hey, morning breath,” Will says.
Mike recoils, now a foot distance between them where there used to be none. “Wh— sorry that I'm kissing you!”
“Careful,” Will says, removing the hand in Mike’s hair to steady the tray.
Mike looks down. The yolks are shaking and both their drinks slosh in their mugs.
“Shit, sorry,” Mike says sheepishly.
“It’s okay,” Will gives him a sly smile. “Don’t apologize for being how you are.”
“I’m clumsy! So what ? Sue me.”
“You got it,” Will chimes back, and dammit—
“I hate you.”
“Doubt it. Seeing as how you just kissed me.”
“I can’t believe you,” Mike grumbles, crossing his arms. Embarrassingly for him, his stomach grumbles too.
Will smirks at him again, and Mike… still can’t believe him. He takes a bite of his toast.
_____
“You really don’t have to go that slow, you know?”
Mike grips the steering wheel with both his hands. “Are you sure we’re not going the wrong way?” He glances at Will, who is squinting at the map.
“I’m sure,” Will nods.
“Okay.” Mike’s grip loosens and he steals another look at his boyfriend, whose eyes brighten.
“Aha ! See over there?” Will says, pointing.
“Is that what I think it is?”
The Hawkins sign isn’t a sight to behold in the slightest, but it’s a sure release from the torture his and Will’s sense of directions entail. They both can’t afford one of those GPSs.
“Welcome home,” Will deadpans.
Mike blows a raspberry, which dissolves into shared, exhausted laughter.
They’re at the front door of the house in about fifteen minutes. Nancy’s car is parked in the driveway, which must mean that she and Jonathan are here already. The white dusting on the lawn tells Mike that it must’ve snowed a couple days ago, just as it did in Illinois. He presses the doorbell, his hands frigid.
The warm air hits him before the door opening sounds.
“Oh, it’s so nice to see you two!”
Mike’s mom is all smiles for him and Will both. The hug she pulls him into isn’t exactly a cure for the cold, more superficial but still, it’s warm for a fleeting moment as her manicured hands clutches lightly around him.
“Hi mom,” Mike says, at the same time as Will says, “You too, Mrs. Wheeler.”
His mom pulls back and gives his boyfriend a small smile. “Karen, Will.”
Will lets out a little laugh. “Got it.”
His dad steps into view and gives him a hug he doesn’t even notice until it’s over, with a half-assed smile and a “Hey, Michael.”
As soon as he steps away, Jonathan steps in. “Hey, Will,” he says, as Mike’s attention darts towards him. Who can blame him, when he’s grinning at his brother, so easy and content that Mike’s sure anyone in a thirty mile radius can feel the love pour out of him as he can. How could anyone not love Will when he loves everyone so easily?
Although his back faces Mike, he can hear the wet laugh enough to know that Will is close to tears.
“I missed you,” Will murmurs to Jonathan, just as something— or some one else grabs (literally!) Mike’s attention.
“Holly,” Mike says between breaths as she practically knocks the wind out of him. Her hair swings high in its ponytail; Graduating from pigtails suits her, Mike thinks.
“Hi Mike,” she says, her smile pressing into the cloth of his sweatshirt.
Nancy stands behind her, smiling cordially, and once Holly unlatches herself from him, the former hugs him too.
“Good to see you,” he says to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Will talking to Jonathan, Holly beside them and tapping her foot, probably impatient for a Will Hug. Mike doesn’t blame her.
“You too,” Nancy says. “Here. Let’s sit.”
His parents are already at either head of the table, Holly next to their mom, followed by Nancy and Jonathan. Will sits next to him, a relief and also makes his plan a little (understatement) easier. On the table is a plate of roast beef, still steaming, and a bowl of asparagus beside it. There’s also a bottle of wine and sparkling apple cider.
“So, how was the semester?” his mom asks as Mike spoons some asparagus onto his plate.
“Busy,” Will supplies. “But it’s nice. We both adjusted pretty well I’d say.”
Mike exchanges a warm smile with Will. ‘Well’ doesn’t necessarily mean quickly. They both struggled, probably more than the average college student without their boatload of childhood trauma, but Mike has to give credit where credit is due. Obstinance was a strong thing for both of them this semester, and stubbornness can’t exist without things being difficult.
“That’s really good to hear. You deserve it, both of you,” she says, cutting a piece of meat for herself.
“Thank you,” Will says, smiling genuinely.
“Still in that major of yours, Michael?” His dad asks, his mug steaming.
Snarky comment about being an english major with a concentration in creative writing, check.
“You bet,” Mike says, twirling his fork around on his plate.
His mom tosses a cursory glance at her husband and then clears her throat. “How are the two double beds working out? It must be nicer than those twins from your first two years.”
“Yeah, totally,” Mike says, tossing his asparagus around on his plate.
His eyes flick up to Will’s, and Mike knows what he’s thinking. As soon as his parents left on move in day, Joyce and Hopper helped Mike and Will turn Will’s single into a guest room/hangout space/storage room. So yeah, he could say the two double beds are working out great.
Mike tells them about the little social life they’ve made— the few friends in both their majors, what the party and Greek life is like, and how they don’t participate in the latter.
“Met anyone of interest yet?”
Oh, and there’s the question. He feels like he’s been put on the spot, but he knew this question was coming. After his break up with El, his parents must’ve been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to happen.
“No.”
“Well, you should get started on that.”
“Why?”
“You don’t know what’s out there for you. College is the perfect opportunity for this sort of thing now that females have started going along with us.”
“I like girls, but I don’t need a girlfriend,” Mike says, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork.
“And why’s that?”
Mike grips onto Will’s hand under the table. Will squeezes back and briefly looks into his eyes. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. “Because I already have a boyfriend,” he announces to the table. “Will.”
Mike stares at his parents, trying to gauge their reactions, eyes flitting back and forth between the both of them. His mom has a pleasant smile on her face, though it takes a few seconds longer than necessary to form.
His dad’s expression is different. The sound of his chewing gets so much louder and slower, as if his only way of processing this news is to focus on the food, not on his son.
Holly runs to the opposite end of the table, holding her arms out and crashing into his boyfriend, so much that Will disconnects their hands. “Will!” she cheers.
“We’d love for you to be part of the family,” his mom says, smiling at Will and taking a sip of her wine after. “Isn’t that right, Ted?”
Ted Wheeler sighs, just as Will’s hand meets Mike’s again. “Alright, son,” he finally says. “Just don’t get the HIV, you hear me? I don’t want to pay for any medical bills with these damn taxes already skyrocketing.”
Mike sees Nancy roll her eyes.
For the record, he and Will always use protection, not that he would tell that to his dad.
“But— anyone could get it,” Mike points out, already a tone slipping into his voice. “It isn’t something I’m just gonna pick up from, what, liking men too?”
“I know that,” his dad says casually, as Nancy and Jonathan share a look. “I just don’t want you getting into any trouble with your new… boyfriend,” he says, eyeing Mike and Will. “Especially since you’re more prone to catching these things.”
Mike turns and sees Will mouth wordlessly and squeezes his hand.
New boyfriend, as if he and Will haven’t been best friends for over a decade, new boyfriend that isn’t even new at all, but rather over a year old. But how would his dad know that, since he hadn’t even bothered to ask how long they’ve been dating?
“Ted,” Mike’s mom says, glaring at her husband. “Now is not the time.”
Mike takes that as an invitation to retort back. “What is your problem, Dad?”
His dad gives the faintest of smiles. “I don’t have a problem with anything. Your safety matters is all.”
Mike drops his fork. “Are you even happy for me? Are you even— are you even proud of me?”
“Of course I am. I’m happy, you’re—”
“I’m definitely not happy.”
“I wasn’t gonna say that, Michael, because right now, you’re being a little intolerable here if I’m being honest.”
“Dad!” It’s from Nancy.
“Intolerable? How— how am I being intolerable? Does it have nothing to do with what I just told you?”
“No, not that at all, your behavior—“
“My behavior, Jesus, you’re such a douche—”
“Hey! Keep things civil, alright? We’re trying to have a nice family dinner here. It’s Christmas Eve. Take my advice and if you don’t like it, don’t come crying to me when you’ve made the wrong decision just to spite me.”
How can anything be a wrong decision with Will? He doesn’t have to worry about safety, because Mike always makes the right choices with him.
His mom turns to Holly. “You’re excused, now sweetie,” she whispers. “Go up to your room, okay?”
“No,” Holly’s ponytail swishing as she shakes her head.
His dad turns his gaze to his plate. Briefly, Mike remembers being twelve years old in this very same dining room on November 7th, 1983. It feels as cold as it did back then, everywhere except for his hand which Will still holds. Mike concentrates on it, concentrates on the warmth that makes him feel not as lost, and it works for the most part. Will has always been attentive, has almost always been a constant in his life, but Mike knows that all of that doesn’t dampen the truth. This… disconnect between him and his dad is something that hasn’t bridged, still hasn’t shaped into something more meaningful, and instead they continue to exist as they have: stilted and evading.
Mike’s mom sends him a quick, sympathetic smile, but he doesn’t return it.
That is really unfair, son. We care.
Will gives Mike a look. Do you want to go?
Mike nods minutely. Yes please.
As Mike moves his chair back, his dad shakes his head. “No, Michael. You’re not a boy anymore. You’re an adult, a man. You can’t just call it quits whenever someone says something you don’t like,” he says. “And, your mom made chocolate cake. You don’t want to miss that, do you?”
“You don’t know me.”
Mike doesn’t know why, but the curtness of his response shocks him. Perhaps it’s because this is the one instance where he’s actually paid close attention to his parents. Maybe that’s the root of his anxiety, the fact that he’s preoccupied with that alone and the actual coming out to them as well. It feels odd to anticipate something from someone who hasn’t been part of your life for a long time.
So, just like he did back then, he gets up and leaves. He isn’t looking behind him but knows Will is following. His throat feels sore from the yelling, but he knows that it might be because the tears are on their way, which he’ll try to delay until it’s just him and Will and the car.
“Mike,” he hears his mom say, the sound of her heels catching up to him, rushed, and someone else, probably Nancy behind her.
Everything feels hot, the air as he walks ( stomps ) through it, his body, his face, and his brain, like he’s had an actual physical reaction to embarrassment and is now trying to, like, sweat it out. His stomach rumbles. Once he’s at the entrance, Mike turns the door handle and gets out.
_____
Mike drives for about a minute or two and takes in all that’s changed since he left Hawkins. Not much has. There’s still the same trees of Mirkwood, the same street signs, (he thinks, though signs don’t change their location, even if they are indeed a replacement) and the same roads that take him further away from his house and closer to Will’s.
The point is, he wouldn’t be back here if it weren’t for Will and the rest of the Party. As corny as it may sound, they make Hawkins feel like home, Will especially. The synonymousness of Will and home being truth so embedded in his mind only became more so once he realized his feelings.
Mike knows what he’s coming home to: Joyce, holding out her arms for both of them, warm greetings from El and Hopper, and Jonathan once he arrives, and the general fact that neither of them have to pretend. They can kiss and hold hands and cuddle in front of them, Mike thinks as he makes a detour down Mulberry.
He’ll send Holly a few postcards now and then like usual. There will probably still be birthday phone calls and mandatory cousins’ weddings to attend, but other than that, he doesn’t have any obligation to set another foot in that house again. His persistence in pretty much everything doesn’t have to strain itself to fit in with this, with trying to get both his parents to accept him without hesitation, to love him the crystal clear way they should.
Mike parks at Lover’s Lake. The sun has gone down, and now everything is coated in deep greens and blues. He puts the car into park and pulls the keys out as the sound of the wheels rolling over the pebbles stops like every restraint telling him to pretend too.
Like any normal person, Mike has always associated crying with sadness. He’s never been one to cry at weddings, not really anyone else in his family either, except maybe his mom, but that’s about it. So… There haven’t really been any tears of joy that have struck his face over his lifetime so far except for when he and Will had gotten together.
Mike grips the steering wheel tight, not like he’s trying to break it or anything but like he’s trying to hold onto something steady. His gaze draws to Will, eyes searching as he lets out a shaky breath. He sniffles a little too late, and it comes out as this halting and desperate one-note sound, matching the obviousness of the tears all over his face shown through the rear view mirror.
Will unbuckles his seatbelt and leans in close to cup Mike’s face with both his hands. Mike unbuckles himself and holds Will’s face too. Will cries silently beside him and Mike wipes away his tears, Will laughing quietly as he does so.
Being loved by Will Byers is probably the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to him— but that isn’t totally right. It’s happened before, and is still happening; Mike knows that the reason his boyfriend is crying too is because he just has so much compassion, not because there’s anything wrong. And that compassion being directed at him? It amazes him constantly.
“You did so good,” he says, all honest and soft.
Still, Mike knows it isn’t true— he completely lost his mind with his dad talking to him like that. He shakes his head. “I didn’t, though. I lost my shit.”
“Rightfully so,” Will counters.
“That’s true,” Mike says, “That is true.”
“You stood up for yourself,” Will continues. “I… sort of knew you would.”
“Am I that predictable?”
Will snorts. “I mean, it’s just… it’s you, you know?”
He’s starting to understand what Will is saying. Mike smirks. “What if I said I didn’t?”
“Then, Sir Wheeler,” Will starts, leaning a little closer, “I’d say you’re lying, but I’d be willing to indulge.”
“How very kind,” Mike smiles back.
“Mike,” Will says, voice more serious. “You were brave tonight. You really were, and… I love how you’re able to be like that, even— especially in these types of situations. It’s just so… instinctive for you. It’s been that way since we were kids, and… it’s incredible.” Will laughs, as if in awe. “You’re incredible.”
“I love you,” Mike says. “I love you so much, Will.”
“I love you too,” Will says. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Mike echoes.
What he finds most incredible is that it’s not just physical things he gets to share with Will. He gets to look and stare, have these kinds of moments with him that feel more tangible than anything he knows, so tangible that it becomes physical in itself. Perhaps if he closes his eyes right now, he can see both their hearts beating in sync, side by side.
And if his dad can’t understand this about him either— the solid, overwhelming love they have for each other, then screw him. Mike wouldn’t expect him to, anyway. So… he just has to drive the rest of the way away and leave his parents behind. Easy as that.
“It’s a gorgeous night,” Will says, gesturing outside. He’s smiling, and it’s a wonderful thing, even more so because Mike knows exactly what he’s thinking.
The trees aren’t visible anymore against the night sky, but it’s sort of relaxing. He’s okay with things being hazy that way, even hazier still with Will here.
“It is,” Mike agrees, staring at him. “A little chilly, though.”
“We’ll keep each other warm, right?” Will says with a smile so perfect he could melt, or something. “We don’t have to go to mine just yet.”
“Okay,” Mike says, and gives Will a small smile. “I’d like that.”
“Okay, Will says. “Cool.”
“My mom was right,” he says once they’re both out of the car and walking on the dock. “You do deserve it. You deserve everything, Will,” Mike says, not even trying to stop himself from saying his name again. He plops down on the edge, reaching up to grab Will’s hand and pull him down gently.
“I know,” Will says, sitting down too so that they’re eye to eye and kisses him softly. “I have you.”