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It’s been six months since Eleven broke up with Mike Wheeler, and he thought his world would crumble.
Not because he actually, wholeheartedly, romantically loved her, no, he wasn’t heartbroken. Rather… scared. Well, maybe scared wasn’t the right word. Maybe some synonyms would work. Intimidated. Alarmed. Nervous. Frantic. And it was ironic, Mike thought, because he was supposed to be a good writer and none of those words exactly fit the way he felt. Because maybe it was more complex than that. Maybe exposed is the right word. Like all of his layers of protection are torn off and now everybody is studying him like a student audience open-heart surgery, and he’s the one under the knife.
He felt particularly exposed when he was with Will Byers, and because his heart betrays him, he is always with Will Byers as long as he can help it. Mike knew about the feelings he’s been suppressing all of these years, all the sleepless nights, all the shame and guilt that came with them, he knew what they were called, and they fell under the same descriptors and playground insults that bullies spat out and hurled at him and Will, and he knew that there was a certain shame carried with them. He never felt shame when it was just him and Will alone, but when others were around he got that exposed feeling again, like he’s cored out and served on a silver platter.
Mike’s not stupid. Mike knows that he’s probably gay, he’s known since El told her that she loved him, maybe he’s known since Will was put into danger. And he was sure of this fact when Will gave him that painting, something he can’t and won’t stop thinking about. Even when he’s trying to focus on mapping out directions to a barn in a radio station, he can’t stop thinking about Will. It’s early morning and he hasn’t slept, and Mike can see the sun rise through the dirty window he’s gazing out of, its beams casting silhouettes and slivers of syrupy light through the trees overhead. The light reminds him of Will, because everything good does.
“Mike?” a voice says, a familiar, honey-suckle sweet voice, and Mike knows who it is because his head whips up and his eyes are wide as he meets Will’s. His Will.
The door’s creaking open and Mike can see his beautiful smile. It reminds him of a waning crescent moon, the way it brightens up everything around him, even if he’s surrounded by shadowing, or evil, or traumatized by interdimensional beings, or bullied and battered his entire life. Will still smiles, and Mike doesn’t know how he does it.
Mike’s scrambling to shove stuff off of a table, markers and pens and sticky notes clatter to the floor, but he seemingly doesn’t notice or perhaps does not seem to care. “Oh– hey. Hi. Good morning.” Mike swallows thickly, feeling a little flustered. “How’d you sleep?”
Will’s grin turns sly and knowing at that, walking up to Mike and sitting on an absent chair, almost snug to Mike’s side. “I think I should be asking you that, because you haven’t, right?”
Will is holding two mugs, one filled with coffee, for Mike, presumably, and one filled with tea for himself. Will has never been a coffee person, not even since the world started to split open a couple months ago. Mike drinking coffee is a habit that has only recently been nurtured, because of circumstances.
Mike flushes as he picks up the mug, “I only asked because I know you’ve been struggling!” he nudges Will’s side, and he keels in on himself because Will has always been ticklish.
“I slept very well for once, thank you for taking over.” Will says, laughing lightly but still matter-of-factly, and the whole moment feels very domestic, almost natural, like Will could press his lips to the side of Mike’s face and Mike doesn’t even think he’d question it.
The light is filtering in through the window now, making the dust in the room look like spice, it carves out Will’s features, his soft and beautiful face, his kind and knowing eyes, and Mike thinks that his best friend is the most breathtaking person in the entire world. And it might be the sleep deprivation, or his mind playing tricks on him, but he swears that Will is looking at him the exact same way. Like he’s special, or worthy of love, too.
“So…” Mike clears his throat, his voice low and intimate. “I made a path that gets us to the barn most efficiently…” He chews on his bottom lip, attempting to get the words out and stay on track but he’s just so damn distracted from the way that Will looks at him.
Will rests his head on his hand, smiling softly, and god he looks kissable. “Yeah?” And Mike feels weak. He is a weak, feeble man, and he might throw up or cry right now because he is in love with his best friend.
“Yeah– yep. And it’s– not as hard as I thought. The mapping, I mean.” Mike says, licking his mouth, staring down at Will’s lips because he is weak. They’re only a few inches apart too, he could just reach over and–
The door slams open, Dustin popping in the room, and Mike is jumping out of his seat. Thankfully, he doesn’t spill his coffee everywhere. “We gotta get going,” Dustin says, before leaving just as fast as he came. Will wordlessly grabs the map, rolls it up, and exits the room to pack.
Once Mike finishes directing his carpool to the barn (consisting of Nancy at the wheel, which Mike is a little frightened by, Jonathan, Will, who is beside him, Vickie, who Mike just met, and Steve and Robin, who are forced into the trunk), he can’t help but sigh of relief when he stumbles out of the car door. The whole situation was honestly a mess. He kept getting distracted from Will being right beside him, and his sister kept bickering with him about his confusing words and sudden turns. It was a headache.
By the time they finish preparations (such as boarding up drafty windows, which Will was assigned to, and Mike took the courtesy of laughing at every time he missed a nail. Jonathan had to intervene.), night fell upon them. The day went by surprisingly fast, and maybe it’s because Mike was directly beside Robin the entire time, who apparently can not and will not shut up. However, he didn’t really mind, because she made for entertaining conversation.
Sleeping preparations were much easier, and people were sorted into tents, cars, or clean stalls in the barn. When Will was deciding where to sleep, Mike offered himself to go with him embarrassingly fast. However, Will did not seem to take note. Mike closes the tent zipper shut, which was placed a little outside of the barn, while Will tucks himself into a sleeping bag a couple inches away from him.
“Busy day, huh?” Mike says, laying his sleeping bag out beside him. “This’ll be fun. It’s like when we used to sleep over as kids.” He grins, shoving himself in the sleeping bag. However, Will did not seem so comfortable.
“What?” Mike prodded, “what’s wrong?” He asked, knitting his eyebrows together with concern.
Will’s gaze broke from the pale-green, worn in tent ceiling to look back at Mike, and it reminded him of when Will was younger. It broke his heart a little bit. “I–...” Will whispers, “...I’m scared of camping. Even though I know it’s not really camping– the tent– it reminds me of the upside down, when I had to hide myself–” he gulps, looking pale, and Mike wants nothing more than to shield him from everything. “I thought I’d get over it now, and It’s stupid– ”
“It’s not stupid!” Mike interjected, looking offended on his behalf, “It’ll be okay, Will. I’m here. You’re not alone like you were before. Nothing will happen, and if anything were to happen, I’d protect you.” Mike says, soft and sweet, laying a hand on Will’s shoulder.
Will nodded, laying on his side to face Mike and Mike slouches down with him, and his heart skips a beat, and he’s trying not to freak out. He looks beautiful, because Will is always beautiful, inside and out. Will breathes deeply, and Mike thinks it’s a sigh of relief because he notices all the tension in his body flatten out of him. Oh how he wants to kiss him, and hold him, and make him feel safe
And oh, how he wants Will so desperately. He could write one thousand sonnets about his eyes alone. He could use every word in the English language, no, every word in the world, in existence, and it would not amount to how he feels about Will. Maybe in Gaelic, it would come close. Maybe.
He’s staring at Will, eyes fluttered close, lashes fanning out on smooth cheekbones and bagged under eyes from a lack of sleep. His hair is unruly, beautiful, always beautiful, because any flaw that Will may have is also something of purity and beauty. He wants to reach out and touch, and caress, and kiss, but instead he opts to sleep. Mike is afraid, or nervous, or perturbed, or maybe feeling exposed, so he closes his eyes and wishes it all away.
Mike is in a deep slumber, dreaming about Will, blurrily, the lines of his face and his hands, when he’s awoken by the real Will. Which is strange, because it isn’t the usual waking up when the sun rises, it’s a disturbing sort of awakening.
Will is muttering something frantically, thrashing in his sleep, crying, and Mike is quick to stabilize him by placing his hands on his sides. “Will! Are you okay? Will!” Mike shouts.
Will’s eyes shoot open like pinholes, and he lets out this wretched gasp as he sits up in a sort of unstabilized way. He’s staring around the tent, scared out of his mind and tears streaming down his face, until his eyes land on Mike. Because then, he sobs and his voice breaks.
Mike is even faster when it comes to holding Will, cradling him tightly to his torso, and it’s like an instinct. “Mike–” he sobs, and wraps his arms around Mike tightly, like he’s afraid that he’ll disintegrate in his fingers.
“Oh, Will, you’re okay. You’re safe– I have you, Will. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Mike speaks into his ear, whispering, trying to be as gentle as possible as he rubs his back. Will’s entire body wracks with sob after terrible sob, and he tries to get impossibly closer into Mike.
“It was– It was terrible–” Will cries, “You were gone and– because he took you– and I couldn’t get to you–”
“I’ll never leave you Will, okay? He won’t get me.” Mike reassures in a feather-light voice. “It was just a nightmare. It won’t happen to me. It’s not real.”
Suddenly, Will’s departing from his grasp and looking up at him, “Promise me.”
“What?”
“Promise me that you won’t ever leave me.” Will chokes out, wiping an endless stream of tears from his face. “I need you, Mike. I need you more than anyone.” Mike gathers the courage to join his hands on his face, wiping tears off of his beautiful cheekbones.
“I promise that I won’t ever leave you.” Mike brings Will closer, holding him again, before releasing him. “Let me help you get out of this sweater. Oh, you’re so sweaty, come on, come change.” He ushers him.
As soon as Will is in a clean shirt, and Mike finishes wiping the tears off of his face, Will begins to tuck himself back into his sleeping bag.
“Uh– wait.” Mike says impulsively, and he almost regrets the words as soon as they come out of him. Will’s tired eyes look up at him like a kicked puppy and Mike wants to burn the world that’s made him so upset.
Mike scratches the back of his neck. “You can– uhm… just a suggestion, no pressure or anything– but, do you… maybe would it make you more comfortable– or like, make you feel more safe if you…” He clears his throat. Will looks confused but he’s elbow deep in this shittily constructed sentence, and he’s a completionist.
“Do you… wannasleepinmysleepingbagwithme?”
Will’s eyes blink up at him sleepily. “Huh?”
“Sleep beside me.” Mike states, face flushed to high hell as he gestures to his open sleeping bag. “So you don’t have a nightmare.”
“Okay.” Will says, significantly more energized now as he crawls into Mike’s sleeping bag, and Mike sidles in after him. He is terribly snug to Will’s side and he almost regrets his decision but god damn it Mike Wheeler is a completionist. Mike Wheeler will commit to this.
And he finds that it isn’t so hard after all, holding Will close as he feels the rise and fall of his chest onto his own. Will is nestled into Mike’s neck as he grabs at the hem of his t-shirt, grasps at it as a sort of tether. His breathing slows and Mike rests his head on top of Will’s. Mike decides that, for the sake of Will, this won’t mean anything.
A week flies by on the farm before Mike knows it. He’s helping El with moving and unpacking some boxes at midday, because contrary to popular belief, you can be friends with your exes. They’re talking about something, an inside joke they share together while she unpacks some of Mike’s belongings that rest at the back of Hopper’s truck. The laugh sort of dies in his throat when he realizes what she’s pulling out.
The painting.
“Oh!” El’s eyes light up, curious, adoringly, “Did Will paint this?” She asked, tilting her head up at Mike.
Wait, what?
“Wait– you don’t know?” Mike chokes out. “You– he–” And now El looks even more confused, squinting her doe eyes at him.
“What are you talking about, Mike?” El tilts the painting a couple ways, seemingly studying the detailing, and Mike’s stomach is in his heels and doing backflips or failing at gymnastics. El doesn’t know. El doesn’t know.
“You’re telling me, you’ve never seen this painting in your life?” Mike exclaims, “You never told Will to paint this?” He grabs her shoulders, looking deeply into her light brown eyes.
El furrows a brow at him skeptically. “I never tell Will what to paint. I barely see what Will paints. I mean- it is a lovely painting. I like the red.”
He hesitates, a digested pause in between responses, “Yeah. It is a lovely painting.” Mike nods, and he shoves the thought to the back of his filing-cabinet mind. He ignores the rattle-snake heartbeat that burns in his ribs. He ignores the twitch of his hands as he takes the painting and rolls it up. He ignores his rabbit-speed pulse in his fingertips, almost mocking him, as he shoves the painting to hold under his arm. El doesn’t question him and she moves on to talk about gardening and sourdough. He wordlessly picks up a stack of letters beneath where the painting laid.
Mike is avoidant, he realizes, because now that he’s learned of this knowledge, he just won’t look at Will, or talk to Will, and when Will says good morning he can only muster a grunt in response. He’s afraid, for real this time. Or maybe thinking. It’s been two days since he learned that Will Byers is apparently very good at lying. Maybe Mike is angry. He doesn’t know. He knows there’s something that rests beneath his lungs, snug like a sleeping dog that makes itself a home inside of his body. He knows there’s something else. He almost hates himself.
And, because of his luck, Will eventually corners him because he always knows when something’s wrong. They’re organizing something inside the barn, but Mike can’t focus because Will’s beside him. And when people pile out to do whatever the fuck they’re doing, Mike included, Will, still, sticks beside him. He stops at the doorframe of the barn. He feels a pit in his stomach and he wants to run, but he can’t because there’s nothing for miles, and so he feels rather defensive instead. Really, just truly miserable.
“Mike,” Will sighs, restless, “what’s wrong?” and before Mike can open his mouth and say nothing, Will crosses his arms. “And don’t say nothing, because I know you.” God damn it.
“Well, I guess– I just–” Mike runs an anxious hand through his hair, “I’ve been thinking.” Mike attempts, and Will says nothing, waits patiently.
And because Mike was never very good at articulating himself in high-emotion situations, he fucks it completely. “You lied. I know that you lied.” Well, Will looks completely taken aback now, and Mike wants to die a little. Mike can smell ozone in the air and he knows that a storm is coming. A storm is here.
“About… About what?” Will mutters. The rain is starting to pick up now. It prickles his skin like guilt. Like Judgement Day.
Mike is annoyed now, annoyed that Will wants him to explain himself. He knows why. He has to know. “Will. I looked like– She didn’t even know what you painted. And I felt like a fucking idiot–”
“Mike–” Will starts, but Mike doesn’t let him.
“And I really thought, you know, that somebody actually felt that way about me. That I was needed. But, no,” Mike laughs cynically, “It was just one big crafted lie. Because why would somebody need me, right?” And as Mike’s explaining himself, he realizes how angry he sounds, but he can’t help it. It’s boiling out of his skin, spilling over, and he doesn’t know what to do. Will is silent, and he looks devastated. Mike doesn’t know why. Mike is devastated.
“I thought that you’d be the last person to lie to me, Will, but here we are.” Mike gestures wildly, and thunder crackles somewhere. And he realizes that he sounds like an asshole, but now it’s the only way to protect himself.
“I didn’t lie to you, Mike, I was trying to encourage you.” Will gasps out, eyebrows furrowed. “And honestly, it’s really not my problem that your relationship didn’t work out, and I’m tired of you making it my problem.” And Will’s entire face is dropped, stone cold, Mike is afraid and so he panics.
“When did I ever want you to encourage me?” Mike shouts.
“Oh, I don’t know, when you wouldn’t stop moping about how El doesn’t love you anymore.” Will gestures with his arms, completely defensive, ices Mike out.
Mike is angry. Mike is really angry. But he can feel that something else is threatening to bubble up, and so he pushes it down. “So you decided to make me look stupid with a pep talk? I didn’t need one, Will! I was fine– we were fine. I don’t understand why you lied to me!”
“Just forget it, Mike.” And Will is walking away from him, out into the rain, into the endless field. He feels useless, momentarily, like there’s nothing he can do, that Will is always going to be like this– running. Mike won’t have it– not again. He runs after him.
“Will, stop!” Mike yanks on his shoulder, and Will, surprisingly, stops.
“What? What could you possibly want, Mike?” Will shouts, a wild look in his eye and tears streaming down his face.
“I wanted to know why you lied because I would’ve– I–...” Mike trails off, and the rain is so, so cold, and both of his hands are on Will’s shoulders now, gripping, because god damn it he will not lose Will Byers again.
Will swallows, angry, furious even. “You would’ve what, Mike? You never wrote, you never called, you didn’t even care about where I was! And it’s fine, I’m over it, but you can’t be angry at me for caring about you when you didn’t even care in the first place!” And Mike can tell he’s about to say something again, and the feelings are bubbling up all over again, and he loves Will so much, more than he can breathe, and he’s beautiful in the rain–
“Why, Mike? Why didn’t you…” Will’s voice breaks, and his true feelings ripple through the facade of anger. Mike understands now.
“I wrote you a letter every single day!” Mike shouts, louder than the rain, the ice cold water that’s piercing their skin, louder than the thunder that crackles threateningly. The long grass whips against his shins, and the wind throws rain into his eyes. He can see even darker clouds rolling in from the distance, but he continues.
“For 6 months. 182 days, I wrote to you. 182 letters.” Will looks beautiful, all rain-washed and wind blown, he looks like a wreck, devastated, maybe shocked, but so beautiful, and Mike feels warmth in his ribcage and bloodstream despite the terribly cold rain that pelters down onto them. He looks at Will’s face, his mouth, his eyes, really takes him in, and his lips are parting and he’s not sure if he can control himself anymore.
“I never loved El, Will.”
Will looks confused, looking into Mike’s eyes for an answer, and so Mike lunges for his mouth. It’s a quick and admittedly cold kiss, because Will is frozen against him and Mike gets freaked out, so he jumps back and stares at him wide-eyed.
Will searches his face, and Mike can see the realization hit him like a freight train, and they lunge at each other again, kissing, correctly this time.
Will pulls him into his body furiously, starved, and Mike is hungry too. It took too long, he waited far, far too long, and he’s making up for lost time now as he bites and licks his way into Will’s soft mouth, swallowing every noise that comes out of him greedily. He puts his hand in Will’s wet hair, grasps it gently, because God damn it he is not letting Will Byers out of his hands ever again. Mike doesn’t care about the rain anymore, and he doesn’t care about the punishing tails of grass that whack them in their knees and legs, and he can barely hear the thunder or feel the rain over the warmth of Will’s mouth and the crackle of their lips together. This is better than any lightning. Mike feels whole again because Will fucking Byers is kissing him and it’s an answer to every prayer and problem they’ve ever had. Yes, this makes sense.
Mike is content with kissing Will forever. If he’ll have him, of course.
Mike parts from him first, gasping, “I love you so much.”
Will smiles, that waning crescent smile that lights up the world during this storm and he leans his forehead on Mike’s. The rain doesn’t exist to either of them anymore, because the only thing that matters is each other and the contact they share. “I love you, too.”