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The tall sign cast a shadow above their heads. Will didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare think about the bright red SOLD that he knew was plastered across it. Instead he just continued to sit cross legged in the grass beneath it. Mike let out a wet-sounding sniffle, tearing up more grass. Handfuls of fading green were coming loose in his hands, just as quickly discarded in a pile beside him.
Nancy had told him to stop, earlier. Mike had responded by picking up the grass and throwing it in her face. (She hadn’t been very happy about that. She’d been even less happy when Will giggled.)
Mr Wheeler heaved a final box into the back of the moving van, looking as if that had taken all of the effort stored in his stagnant body. The clattering clash of the door slamming down echoed in Will’s ears as he stared.
“I don’t want to go, Will,” Mike said, quietly. His voice sounded wet and teary, but Will didn’t say anything about it, because he knew that Mike didn’t like to cry.
Will didn’t like to cry either, but he still did a lot of it. Including right now. He dragged the sleeve of his flannel across his face, ignoring the wet trail it left on the fabric as he sniffled loudly. “I don’t want you to go either,” he said, leaning to rest his head on Mike’s bony shoulder. The boy let his head fall on top of Will’s, just like they’d sat so many times.
But they wouldn’t be able to anymore.
Will squeezed his eyes shut tight, tried really really hard not to cry. There was nothing either of them could do at this point. Besides, Dad got mad last night because he was crying too hard, and then Mom and Dad were fighting. And he didn’t want his parents to keep fighting about him, especially now there was nobody for him to talk to about it. (There was Lucas, of course, but that was different.)
Suddenly, Mike was turning, wrapping Will in a hug, pressing his face into Will’s shoulder. His skin was cold, and he was getting his shirt wet.
Will squeezed back, as tight as he could just how Mike liked it.
“You gotta call me every day,” he insisted, wiping his nose.
“I will,” Mike replied with a quiet broken voice.
“And–I’ll send you my drawings!”
Mike nodded, “I’ll mail you all my new stories.” He said into Will’s shoulder, the feeling of his voice tickling, but Will didn’t pull away. He didn’t want this to be the last hug they ever got.
“Michael!” Mrs Wheeler’s voice was loud, startling both of them as she suddenly just seemed to appear above them. “Sweetie, you have to say goodbye to your friends now, okay?” Her voice was soft and sugary. Mike didn’t reply to her–he told Will that the only things he’d said to his parents since he found out about the move were yelling at them. Will couldn’t imagine yelling at his dad.
“Hi Mike,” Lucas walked up to them, holding a bag that his mom must have wrapped. He handed it to Mike. “I got you a present,” he said, smiling, a gap in his front teeth. “Don’t forget about me in Minnesota.”
“I couldn’t forget your dumb face,” Mike retorted, trying for a grin. It didn’t really work.
Will watched, cold and helpless as his best friend was led into the car, climbing into the backseat. He looked back, and there were tears dripping down his face, trailing through his freckles, and Mike never cried. Will was the crier, and seeing this was pushing him over the edge and then he was crying for the dozenth time since he’d found out his best friend was moving away.
The car pulled out of the driveway, trailer being dragged behind it, and Will was running after it before he could think twice. The window rolled down, and Mike leaned half his upper body out the window, waving frantically.
Running after it, Will felt his legs strain, shoes hitting the ground repeatedly. Behind him, Lucas was running too, calling out his goodbyes.
The car turned at the end of the street, and his steps slowed to a stop. He stared at the place where it had disappeared to, only half aware of Lucas jogging up beside him.
His best friend was gone.
______
Will made a face, flipping over his pencil and rubbing out the drawing he’d just attempted. It was meant to be a dragon–emphasis on meant to be, because it had really ended up looking more like a diseased goose.
With a sigh, he shut his notebook, instead diverting his attention to where Mrs Hawkes had just entered the classroom.
“Okay, quiet down,” Mrs Hawkes called out, voice flat and unamused as she looked over the class. “We’ll be starting shortly, I’m just waiting for–there he is!” At the last sentence, she turned towards the slightly-ajar door, beckoning somebody inside.
The boy was tall, hunched over awkwardly with dark hair that curled past his ears. He was slumped forwards, staring at the ground and looking like he would rather be anywhere but there. That was fair. Standing at the front of the class to introduce yourself wasn’t Will’s idea of a good time either.
“Hi,” the boy said. Something about his voice prickled in the back of Will’s mind–he seemed vaguely familiar, though he didn’t know why. “Uh, I’m Mike,” he muttered, voice low and stilted, and Will forced down the jump of excitement that still sparked in his heart whenever he heard the name, even all these years later. It was annoying at this point, given the sheer number of Michaels in the world.
Then Mike looked up, glancing over the class. But as soon as their eyes met, his eyes went wide, mouth dropping slightly.
Will felt the same way. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t feel like he could move as he stared at the person he only remembered as a seven year old child. It felt like something in his mind hadn’t synced up, because he was clearly the same person, but just so different that it was almost painful. The sound of the teacher saying—something, he wasn’t sure what—faded into the background of his senses.
Mike walked to his seat. He turned to watch him–the slow, shuffling steps, back bent awkwardly, hands fidgeting with his backpack straps as he pulled it off and set it on the ground–it was all just the same, it was all so different.
Will felt like he might cry. Especially when Mike turned his head back quickly to glance at him. The weight of his eyes was too strong, too much for him to handle in the middle of history class, and he blinked down at his notebook. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mike turn back to the front, and something deep in his chest twisted.
Because—he hadn’t seen the boy's face outside of photos since he moved. Even the sending of school photos had stopped when they were ten. The last time he’d heard his voice was a very awkward phone call in 1983.
Mike clearly wasn’t interested in talking to him, right? That’s why he’d stopped calling, and then Will had stopped too so that his old friend didn’t feel obligated to keep talking to him. After all, Will was—weird, and annoying, and Mike had probably realized that while living in Minnesota.
The class passed in a blurry haze, Will spending most of it staring at his notebook and half-heartedly writing a few words of notes that were almost completely unintelligible. How could he focus on—what, the American Revolution?—when a boy he hadn’t talked to in years was sitting in the same room.
The bell rang, startling him out of his slow musings, and he dropped his pencil, rolling off his desk and skittering off his desk. Crap. He reached for it, shoving his notebook in his backpack as he did so. Around him, people filed out of the classroom, chatting and also almost stepping on his hand before he grabbed his pencil.
Will straightened up, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, and was met by the back of Mike's head exiting the classroom. Great. He was too late.
Well, clearly if Mike had left so hurriedly he didn’t want to talk. Maybe he didn't even remember who Will was. Something about that thought made his stomach clench, low and sickening as he swallowed.
Whatever. He—he had to go to class. Yeah. Class.
_______
Mike hesitated for as long as he could, standing awkwardly by his desk, glancing back periodically to where Will, Will Byers, was scrounging around for something on the ground. But… well, if he’d spent so much time looking for what just looked to be a dropped pencil, he must be putting off coming to talk to Mike. Maybe he was mad that they’d stopped calling. Maybe, an even worse possibility, maybe Will was upset Mike was back.
He let out a shuddering breath, walking out of the classroom and funneling through the crowded halls. Whatever. This was—a fresh start, maybe. Mom had tried to convince him of that, but Mike remembered Hawkins and just how much of a shithole it was.
But after his parents divorce, he was sent back to Hawkins with his mom and sisters. Not that he wasn’t glad to be rid of his father, but, Hawkins? Again?
Pulling it from his pocket, Mike unfolded the schedule he’d been handed, hunching over it as he peered at his second class of the day. Chemistry, okay, he could do that. Glancing at the room numbers as he walked by, Mike turned down the hall and came to a stop in front of the correct classroom. Well, that was easier than expected.
Slipping through the open door, Mike looked around before slipping into what looked to be the only open seat in the entire class. (Maybe he should have noticed the way that other tables were packed full while that one was empty aside from the curly haired boy.)
He dragged out the chair with a screeching noise that was thankfully muffled by the sounds of other students chattering and taking their seats. Next to him, the boy whipped his head up, eyes wide and manic, hat backwards on his head of curly hair.
“You’re new,” he said, beaming with brace-covered teeth.
Mike blinked. “Uh… yes.” Something about the face of the other boy gave the unsettling impression that he would be dissected if he didn’t keep his guard up.
“Dustin Henderson,” he said, sticking out a hand. Okay, a handshake. Mike could do that. When he tentatively took Dustin’s hand, he was met by an absolutely crushing grip and a handshake that threatened to rip his arm out of his socket, holy fuck.
He pulled back, clutching his hand to his chest as Dustin just beamed.
“Mike,” he replied, eyes wary.
“Nice to meet you, nice to meet you,” Dustin said, leaning to scribble something in his textbook. A quick glance showed that the cover read ‘Property of Dustin Henderson,’ okay, then, this kid was enough of a nerd to own his own personal textbook. Jesus. Was it too late to switch seats?
As if summoned by his words, a man walked in, eyes darting around the classroom until landing on Mike. He tried not to shrink under the gaze. “Oh, Mr Wheeler, glad to see you’ve found yourself a seat!”
Somebody fucking save him.
…
Okay, maybe Dustin Henderson wasn’t that bad.
He was a little… enthusiastic, definitely. More than a little bit bossy. Loud, no doubt about it.
But he also had a contagious grin, and a way of explaining things that—while making you feel like a colossal idiot—got across points easily and efficiently.
They were the first in the class to finish the lab, and Mike had only burnt his hand on the Bunsen burner once. (Had Dustin knocked him into it? Well, yes.)
“You should eat with us at lunch today,” Dustin said, and the words were matter of fact, halfway to an order if he was being honest.
Mike blinked up at him.
“On Fridays we eat with Hellfire Club—“ Mike had no idea what that was. A cult, maybe? Whatever it was, it sounded cool. “But we’re just with the Party today.” He finished.
Mike nodded along and pretended to know what he was talking about.
“Okay, guys, you can go now, but if anybody asks..?” The teacher trailed off expectantly, and Mike watched with mild bewilderment as the class chorused ‘you didn’t let us.’
“Mr Mitchell always lets class out five minutes early,” Dustin said matter of factly, leading Mike through the mostly-empty halls. “That's why he’s so awesome.”
He nodded along, though he wasn’t sure Dustin was actually paying attention to him as they walked into the cafeteria. It was sparsely populated by the students who had spares in the previous period, small groups chatting or studying at long tables. It was a high school cafeteria, there wasn’t much else to be said about it.
He followed Dustin as the boy walked with purpose, leading him to the short line for food. Mike didn’t actually… need food, having chosen to shove a sandwich in his bag rather than take a chance with cafeteria food on his first day, but he was a little uncertain of how to tell Dustin that.
So as Dustin paid the lunch lady and received a tray, he just shook his head at the hairnet-wearing woman and followed the boy over to a table.
Once they sat down, the sound of the school bell echoed through the room, quickly followed by the chattering of students flowing into the halls. Mike pulled his slightly-squashed peanut butter sandwich out of his bag, unwrapping it and taking a bite.
Dustin was also miraculously quiet as he sipped at a small carton of chocolate milk, eyeing the door expectantly as kids filed in.
A grin split across his face as two girls walked over to the table—one with bangs, and one ginger.
“Hello!” Greeted bangs girl with a small wave and a bright smile, sliding into the seat next to Dustin. “Who are you?”
Mike faltered under the unyielding stare. “Uhhh…” He said awkwardly, reaching down to twist at the sleeves of his shirt.
“You really know how to find the smart ones,” the ginger girl said sarcastically, reaching into the other girl’s plastic lunchbox to crunch on a carrot stick.
“Hey!” Mike bristled, glaring, and the girl laughed, eyes flashing. Asshole.
“I’m El,” introduced the bangs girl with a smile, and Mike glanced back over to her. God, all these different interactions were so hard to balance.
“Mike,” he replied.
“Over here!” Exclaimed Dustin, waving an arm, which, what? Were there even more people? Great.
Mike turned into his seat to see the approaching—
Shit.
Will stumbled as he caught his eye, grip tightening around his lunch tray and eyes wide. Beside Will, a boy in a letterman jacket gave him an odd look, nudging him forwards.
The last two people—or at least, Mike hoped it was the last two, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more—sat down, immediately trading some words and greetings with the others at the table.
Will just stared at Mike. Mike stared back, hands picking at the crust of his sandwich.
“Yeah, so this is Mike, we sit together in Chem now,” Dustin proclaimed with a dramatic gesture.
“Shit, Mike?” The letterman boy's eyebrows raised. “Hey, man.” Wait…
The words, the tone—something about them sparked recognition in his mind. “Oh, Lucas!” He grinned despite the hovering awkwardness.
“You’re back in Hawkins, huh?” The ease with which Lucas spoke easily dissolved much of the tension—even the ginger girl, who he’d heard El call Max, stopped glaring suspiciously at him.
“Unfortunately.”
Lucas snorted out a quiet laugh, nodding, and Mike smiled back tentatively. He hadn’t seen the other boy since second grade, but it seemed that he had filled out and grown up.
“Oh,” said El, realisation clear in her wide eyes. “You’re Will’s Mike.”
Mike immediately flushed red, even as Will stammered out protests. Will’s Mike. Even as Max laughed, and Dustin made a noise of realisation, and Lucas barely stifled a sound of amusement, Mike turned to look at Will.
The boy fell silent, mouth slightly ajar. For a period of time that could’ve been a second, could’ve been an hour, they just stared at each other.
Then Mike slipped into a small, shy smile, and Will flushed red.
“Yeah,” Will said, shyly, and Mike watched as he raised a hand to the back of his neck, fidgeting with the shirt collar there in the same way he always had.
“Yeah,” Mike repeated, quiet and hopeful, cheeks red, grin tugging at his cheeks.
Will’s Mike. He kind of liked the sound of that.