Chapter Text
If Mike Wheeler had to list the most important things he had learned during the long eighteen years of his life, the list would be rather short. First of all, taming his hair was a difficult task. Still, he would always prefer his long, shaggy hair instead of the dreadful buzzcut he got a few days after his fifteenth birthday when -out of spite and ridiculous banter- Max had told him his head was full of lice, claiming that maybe it was all the blood drained by the tiny creatures that made him dumber with every second that passed. Not only had Mike come to learn that his hair was not full of lice, but his shaved head made his features stand out in a way that made him self-conscious.
Second, his friends would be there for him no matter what. Even if they had known each other ever since they were snotty little children, the moment he had absolute certainty of this was last year, when he had gone MIA for one week after a nasty fight with his father. Ted made sure to retrieve any electronic device he could use as a form of communication, and if that wasn't enough, he covered Mike's windows with wood planks so he wouldn't dream of escaping, and he wasn't allowed to come out of his bedroom except to use the bathroom. Nancy was living her dream life in New York; there were rare instances when she would bother enough to pick up the phone and call home. Both his mother and Holly were on a trip and weren't supposed to come back in two weeks, so no one could help him at all. Of course, when his friends came asking the next day for his whereabouts, his father gave a shitty excuse about visiting some relatives in California along with his mother, but Dustin didn't believe him for a second. It was after a few unsuccessful attempts and one police chase that Lucas swears it happened -and Hopper´s refusal- that the party finally took the wood planks out of his windows and retrieved Mike from his room, not caring about the broken glass or the mess they made.
And lastly, he could not deny the way his heart skipped a beat whenever Will looked at him. The small glances he liked to believe were reserved only for him, or the way their hands almost touched whenever they sat together in Mike´s shitty basement. This had been a recent discovery, but he didn't want to put a name to it or hurt his brain thinking too much about it; instead, he spent most of his days hidden away with the theater kids after the DnD club was banned due to alarmed parents who claimed that demonized activities were being carried out by its members and the Hawkins community was in grave danger.
Of course, it was complete bullshit, but he was already in so much trouble with his parents that he had no other option but to join the theater club when Eddie offered him a spot as a “creative director” and said that his storytelling skills would be put to good use. Mike blindly followed him for the rest of the school year until Eddie finally got his diploma and skipped town without telling a soul about it, only bothering to leave Dustin a note stating that he went to pursue his dreams in the big city. Mike refused to talk about how much Eddie´s selfishness bothered him or the jealousy that settled deep into his heart, wishing one day he could be brave enough.
Instead, he stayed in the theater club, wanting to scream whenever the recruits asked dumb questions about the scripts Mike wrote or how they couldn't convey enough emotion to be taken seriously. It made him want to rip his hair off and tell them they were fired, demoted, or whatever it was called, but there was so little he could get away with, considering the opening night was next week and the small amount of money they were granted to put the play in motion.
Most of the time his club teammates were nice enough to talk and hang out with them, but there was this boy the same age as him who just got on his nerves. Ben is such a stupid name. Always bragged about his dreams of moving to the big city, claiming that he already had a couple of internships lined up for him, trashing Mike's scripts, and never showing up on time for rehearsals. Mike wanted to rip his hair off, but he opted to be civil; at the end of the day, the guy could act just as well as a professional performer. Reluctantly, he gave him the lead role and had to explain that the play was approved by the headmaster- which, of course, was a white lie- and hoped Ben would be cautious enough not to give any details at all to his peers or family.
Oh yes, that was the other thing about Ben. His family was one of the main ones behind the DnD drama, creating collective paranoia among the other desperate parents. Ben was no saint either; he made sure everyone at school knew who the freaks were, but Mike was satisfied when Eddie became the club´s president, putting some sort of stop to Ben's antics and actually putting in the effort. For all the chaos he loved to create, Ben was smart enough to maintain a peaceful facade in the theater club, knowing that his college application would benefit from this.
Complete bullshit.
“No, Emil,” he grumbled while picking up the prompts discarded on the floor. “Your character doesn't have unhealed trauma; he is just the guy who works at the coffee shop.”
They had been having this discussion for the last two weeks. Emil, one of the club members, had a certain flair for dramatics and insisted that his character deserved to have some depth. The guy certainly had a talent for understanding what Mike wanted to convey in his scripts, but for the love of god, he couldn't act. Every word coming out of his mouth felt flat and puppet-like, so Mike wrote silly background characters that were destined for Emil. There were no stakes at all if only ten lines were involved. Of course, Emil insisted a talented actor like him should be given the starring roles.
No. Mike couldn't murder his beloved characters that way.
“C´mon, it's obvious that he has a deep secret hidden. No one can carry that amount of bluntness around the mess surrounding them.”
“Look, dude,” he said, trying to control the irritation that threatened to spill at any second. “I appreciate the insight, and maybe you can add that to your own script once I graduate and leave the club to your precious and talented mind.”
“Oh Michael, you just need to see things with a tiny bit of magic .”
Emil smiled; he tended to ignore the sarcasm in Mike´s voice and opted for blind optimism. With a quick pat on the back, Emil left the auditorium, and Mike had to finish cleaning the place himself. The irritation bubbling inside him quickly dissipated when he caught sight of Will, standing near one of the stage lights holding two paper bags.
“Emil getting on your nerves?” he asked with an amused smile.
See, that's the thing. Mike knew he wasn't an easy person to be around; lord knows how many times he became antsy in his skin, but somehow, Will was always there. As if he knew that the harsh words or the sulky moods were just a decoy and at the end of the day, nothing could come between them. Back when they were still little kids, and Jane came into their lives, they had a huge fight that almost tore their friendship to shreds. Mike knew he was the one to blame, neglecting Will- who, in 1983, had caught an infectious virus and almost died, the whole thing being a crazy government scheme- and ditching him for the thrills of newfound attention. Jane was everything he had hoped to be back then. Even though she went through some hardships that the party can´t even comprehend completely, she managed to be strong and keep going; she possessed infinite wisdom and always knew how to soothe them.
Mike couldn't be more grateful for her; they had sort of a relationship until they were fourteen and both realized that their love for each other was the friendly type. It was a clean breakup; they didn't make a big deal out of it and just continued the friendship as if nothing ever happened. Through the turmoil, Will was there. Of course, Mike apologized for being such an asshole towards him and taking him for granted. Will, as the saint he was, forgave him, and it felt like their bond with each other had taken a new form, something fourteen-year-old Mike couldn't put into words yet.
“How deep a dude who works at the coffee shop can be?” he mumbled. “Well, I can't really complain; at least he is not giving me a headache as Ben is.”
Will chuckled, walking towards him and finally sitting on the floor with his legs stretched. He took two sandwiches from the paper bags and offered one to Mike, who was now sitting across from him.
“Oh, who knows? Emil is onto something,” he said lightly. “Maybe he is the mysterious killer that is haunting the citizens of Amcaster. Quite gruesome murders, let me tell you, I don't even know how you managed to describe it to perfection.”
Mike blinked. He had been working on the script ever since the DnD chaos ensued, finding it funny how a fantasy tabletop role-playing game could cause such turmoil in the reserved community that Hakwins was, so he took the inspiration and turned it into something grisly, worth staying his nights reading anatomy books and investigating the science behind mind control. Still, he couldn't manage to show it to his friends; there was something selfish inside him that wanted to treasure his creation away from prying eyes. Yet, once the script was completed, he told Will about it, hoping to make him as excited as he was.
“It's whatever,” he shrugged anxiously. “Just a silly script I wrote when they accused us of being part of a cult. I left you a copy.”
“Mike, nothing you write is silly. I look forward to reading it.”
Mike was expecting Will to read a few bits and pieces but not the whole thing; still, he wasn't surprised, not really.
“You read it?” he mused while ripping the paper foil from the sandwich. “Wait, does it-”
“No mayonnaise.”
Mike smiled softly and took a bite out of his sandwich.
“But yeah, I read it.” Will replied, “It was a really good script, Mike.”
“Oh, that's- yeah, that's, uh, great,” he stuttered, feeling the heat in his cheeks while he pretended that his sandwich was the most interesting thing right now. “Don't you think it's childish?”
Will frowned. “Not at all, actually. It surprised me that the school authorized you to do the play. It was a surreal experience to read the whole thing; it actually gave me the chills whenever Vecna came into the scene.”
“Well, the school didn't agree to the script per se,” he said smugly. “They think it's going to be a play regarding the traditional values and all that shit, but well, I owe Eddie´s legacy this.”
Will raised an eyebrow at him, not knowing whether the idea was absolutely genius or a complete disaster. Mike had been proceeding carefully the last couple of months while getting the play ready; he had carefully threaded a few lies here and there, and with the help of the eager theater members, he knew he could pull this off. Of course, there was a great risk that his plan would fall apart before the opening night, but lately, he was feeling lucky.
“One last adventure before college, right?” Will suggested, the glint in his eyes making Mike feel dizzy.
“Yeah.”
They continued eating and chatting, breaking into a fit of laughs whenever Will reminded him that Dustin was fixed on styling his hair for prom with that goddamn curl spray and wearing a shiny blue suit. There was only one month left until graduation, but Mike couldn't help feeling that his life was slipping through his fingers, and it was only a matter of time before everything changed. Despite the long lectures his father gave him about picking a career that would ensure success, Mike had decided a couple of months ago what he wanted to do. He applied to a couple of colleges, and acceptance letters were neatly stashed in his drawer, but one of them made his hands tremble in such excitement that he had to breathe deeply before he opened it.
It was a letter from NYU, which had one of the best programs in Dramatic Writing. Mike had applied on one of his whims, not certain that they would pick a small-town boy to allow him to pursue his dreams as a screenwriter.
New York University Tisch School of the Arts
Office of Undergraduate Admissions
383 Lafayette Street
New York, NY 10003
March 9, 1988
Michael Wheeler
2530 Maple Street
Hawkins, Indiana
Dear Michael Wheeler,
Congratulations! On behalf of the New York University Tisch School of the Arts community, it is my great pleasure to offer you admission for the Fall 1988 term. Your exceptional academic achievements, talents, and dedication have distinguished you among a highly competitive pool of applicants.
You have been admitted to the Dramatic Writing Program, where you will have the opportunity to learn from distinguished faculty, engage in innovative research, and immerse yourself in the dynamic and diverse culture of New York City. We believe that your unique perspectives and experiences will greatly contribute to our vibrant academic community.
He crumpled the paper and just sat on his bed. He did it. Mike only had to wait a couple of months before he could leave all this behind and pursue a new life to be truly free without the shallow judgments that Hawkins offered. He wondered if this was how Eddie felt when he left town, the giddiness of an uncertain future, making plans and already feeling enamored with the city waiting for him.
Surprisingly enough, his father had been calm about him choosing a career that was art-oriented. In his own words, he said that Mike “Could be a clown for all I care, as long as you attend a prestigious college and make something with your life,” so a major conflict was avoided, yet he knew that as soon as he set foot in the city, he would have to look for a job. He was grateful for the support his parents had shown him, but he knew that dealing with his father was a tricky subject; Mike didn't want to depend entirely on him. The tuition costs weren't something he was worried about after the truth came out about radioactive experiments held by the government and an expose written by none other than Bauman; Hopper and Joyce had exhaustive meetings with a couple of different government agents, and his eyes were full of pride when an agreement was made. Not only did every member of the party and those directly involved receive a great amount of compensation money, but they also managed to make the executives agree that the college tuition would be fully covered. No exceptions.
So here he was, mid-May, and the excitement in his bones was enough to make him put in a last effort. Mike hadn't found the right time to tell the party (except for Will) about his acceptance letter; everyone had their mind occupied with plans and housing options. Both Lucas and Max were accepted to UCLA and UC Berkley respectively, already making a list of all the activities they wanted to do as soon as they arrived; Dustin was set to study astrophysics and space science at MIT, and Jane decided the best for her was taking a gap year before committing to something else. It was a matter of a few weeks for everyone in the party to move to different places and be far away from each other. He wasn't worried about letting his friends go, but sometimes Mike wondered if he would be able to maintain their bond as strong as it was now.
Will was the only one who would be near Mike, and they were looking for a place to live together, considering that Will was given a full scholarship at the Pratt Institute in New York, so they wouldn't be able to share a room on campus. Joyce was a little adamant at first about letting Will go far away from Indiana, but she quickly understood that her boy was finally getting all the good things he deserved; also, she didn't need much persuading, considering Jonathan and Nancy were living a couple of hours away.
Still, Mike prepared a long list of arguments in case she needed convincing, but Joyce dismissed him with a warm smile.
“Oh honey, I know if he is with you he will be safe. No need to convince me about that,” she assured him. “You've always taken good care of him.”
Mike only had a few weeks left until prom, so he distracted himself from the dreaded thought of telling his friends that it was happening. Long gone were the days of senseless children biking around town and staying way too late watching movies in Mike's basement.
Mike couldn't wait to leave and find out how his life would pan out in the upcoming years.
“I'm just saying that my arms are strong enough to hold you.” Lucas scoffed, “I could easily lift you in the air.”
Max rolled her eyes, knowing that Lucas was capable enough to lift her, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. They were hanging out in the Byers's house -the one Hopper and Joyce bought with the settlement money that was big enough for all of them to stay around- and what began as an innocent movie marathon ended with Lucas trying to convince Max that they should do the memorable lift from Dirty Dancing (one of Jane´s favorite movie and suggestion for the night) where Johnny lifts Baby above his head while the song "I've Had The Time of My Life" plays in the background.
The movie was entertaining enough for them to forget the other VHS tapes placed on the table.
“Not a chance in hell, Sinclair. I'm pretty sure you would chicken out last minute and drop me.”
Dustin cackled and adjusted his shirt into a weird knot that showed his belly button; he moved his curls in a cheeky motion and exaggeratedly blinked his eyes.
“No worries, Lucas, I'll be your Baby Houseman.”
They stood up, distanced from each other in a measly attempt to do the lift. Max raised an amused eyebrow, and Jane giggled.
“Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” Lucas intentionally lowered his voice, trying to sound manly, but erupted in laughter when Dustin ran towards him, and they both fell to the floor.
“That's exactly what I'm talking about,” Max pointed out. “But Dustin's performance was convincing enough; you should have cast him in your play. The one you refuse to tell us about.”
Mike shrugged at her; he wanted the play to be a surprise for his friends, and he knew they would marvel at the whole thing, but he liked to keep it a secret between Will and him. There was no reason to tell them the details, considering that the opening night was tomorrow, and his friends already claimed the front-row seats.
“It's just an ordinary play, nothing exciting.”
Max scoffed. “Bullshit! I know you love the whole dramatic flair and pissing off people."
“Well, I doubt Dustin would like to be in a play with himself,” Will said, throwing a knowing grin to Mike. “Amcaster is not your type of scenery.”
“Wait! I thought your play was about Hawkins and had a moral to the story and that stuff.”
Mike couldn't help but laugh; keeping his friends on their toes was entertaining enough. He knew Dustin would go feral with tomorrow's play and would easily find the parallels between the characters and the events that occurred a few years ago. Especially, he would be fond of a certain main character.
“I'm sure you will knock us out of our feet, Mike,” Jane offered, her words a little slurry from the need for sleep.
They moved to another topic, and after bickering here and there, everyone dispersed to their rooms. Of course, the house was spacious, but there were only six rooms, so the girls went upstairs together, Lucas and Dustin shared one of the guest rooms, and Mike was left with Will.
No one questioned the arrangement, so they've been doing the same for years, accustomed to the routine. After putting on their pajamas, Will would brush his teeth while Mike rambled about something he found that week while researching for something he was writing about. Then Mike would look through the bind of drawings Will kept on his desk, admiring every single one while Will accommodated himself under the covers and read a chapter or two of a book. Finally, Mike would settle on the air mattress placed neatly on the floor and would chat until the other was tired enough to drift to sleep.
“Will?” he whispered, hoping the boy wasn't asleep so he could talk a little bit with him.
“Hm?”
“Do you ever get scared about the future”
There was silence for a couple of seconds, as if Will was trying to find the right words to answer.
“Sometimes,” he murmured. “But there is no use worrying about something that doesn't exist yet. I know it won't be all easy, but I didn't survive all those years ago just to give up now or when things get hard.”
Mike took in Will's answer, wondering if there were times when Will doubted his choices for the future that were waiting for him. Did he regret rejecting all the other college offers he had? Or the fact that he wouldn't be near his brother? Was Mike being selfish?
“Mike,” he said, standing up so Mike could see him, the low light from the lamp being enough to make some of his features visible. “I'm sure whatever happens, we´ll have each other. No matter what.”
Mike looked at him with wide eyes, hoping the blush creeping up his neck wouldn't be noticeable. He stared deeply into the warm hazel eyes looking at him tenderly until the feeling in his chest was crushing enough to make him look away.
“And,” Will said, “We´ll be thirty, flirty, and thriving.”
Oh god.
Mike hid his face in his hands, trying to muffle the laughs coming out of his throat.
“Please don't tell me you have been reading Jane´s column from her journalism club.”
Jane had taken a special interest in writing, not inclining towards the artistic side of it like Mike, but had been fascinated by the stories Nancy had covered over the years and the long investigation process it required. She was really interested in the interview process, connecting with people, and getting to know their version of the story. Jane became the writer for a small column that covered a variety of topics, and readers gave their advice anonymously.
“Hey! She has a way with words, quite wise for our age, I might add.”
“Are you implying I'm not?”
Will settled his head on the pillows, his face no longer in Mike's sight.
“You will always be number one in my heart.”
Mike smiled and closed his eyes, already feeling the day's weight fall on him.
Thirty, flirty, and thriving.
Mike couldn't wait for that.
Mike was going to lose the little sanity left in him.
The auditorium was packed with people but not as many parents as he had expected; the rows were mostly filled with students he assumed were told that the play was a mandatory event. The crew backstage was running around trying to place the props and doing their makeup, and there were certain people (Emil mostly) who did some sort of pre-ritual. Mike had been this nervous even when he took his SATs, but something about the inquiring looks from the audience made his skin prickle uncomfortably, the acidic taste of bile rising to his throat. From here, he could see his friends chatting in the front row; he heard earlier they had a bet going on, but the details weren't disclosed to him.
“None of your business, Wheeler; go with your theater kids and break a leg!” Max had said earlier.
He took deep breaths to calm himself; he was being ridiculous. Mike wasn't the one who was supposed to go on stage and recite lines, but the anticipation and the product of the club´s hard work kept him on edge. Would the audience be able to see the play for what it really was?
A soft hand touched his shoulders; Mike turned and saw Will standing in front of him. He was dressed in a black suit that was a little too big for him, but somehow it made him look endearing; his hair curled around his ears, and Mike noticed he was holding a gift in his hands. Probably a book, judging by the shape.
“Hey,” he said, smiling.
“Hey yourself,” Will whispered. “How does it feel to be minutes away from presenting one of the best plays this town has ever seen?”
Mike blushed, playing with the end of his tie mindlessly. “Hope everyone likes it and they don't go running away.”
“They would be idiots if they don't get the message that you are trying to deliver.”
“Anyways, I got something for you,” Will said, his demeanor changing slightly into something shy when he offered Mike the gift. “It looks kinda messy, but it's something that commemorates this moment.”
He opened the package and saw the cover of a comic book drawn by hand, the title of the play written boldly on top, and an illustration of the villain and the main characters drawn neatly. Mike's eyes widened, not wanting to open the comic, scared that it would break. Over the years, Will's art has evolved, but no matter how much time passes or how skilled he became, Mike would always appreciate those drawings from their childhood dearly. Messy charcoal and sometimes crumpled paper that made his heart flutter.
“This is…There are- there are no words for this,” he stuttered. “This is a masterpiece, Will.”
Will flushed, a small smile placed on his lips, and his cheeks colored with the loveliest shade of pink.
“Do you like it?”
“How could I not? I may have written the play, but you brought it to life.”
Will laughed and shook his head. “Emil mentioned something about feeling the magic in the package, even if he couldn't see it.”
Mike felt the crushing of his chest once again, a pulling that made him breathless. Only this time he wasn't pretending to run away from it; he stared at Will's eyes, and there was a hint of unsaid things beneath them.
Will licked his lips. “Mike, there is something I-”
He was abruptly interrupted by the sound of clicking heels and someone harshly pulling Will away from him.
“I can't say I'm surprised that you managed to fool me, Mr Wheeler.” The headmistress's voice was clipped, and he could see a thick stack of papers in her hands.
His script.
The original one.
Mike blinked, finally noticing that Ben was standing next to the headmistress with a smug grin that he wanted nothing but to erase with a punch. Something in his gut told him that something was not quite in place, but he refused to let his usual pessimism take over and blindly trusted the odds were finally in his favor. Now that he thought about it, it was unusual for Ben to be on his best behavior and show interest in the script.
He planned the whole thing from the beginning, wanting to push his stupid “Hakwins and moral values” theater play into motion. It was no surprise; Ben's play was rehearsed before Mike got the approval from the headmistress, so in case of any interference, the opening night would go smoothly with or without him.
“How are you certain that the script belongs to me?” Mike inquired, desperately searching inside his head for an exit.
The headmistress flared his nostrils. “There is no such thing as secrecy from the…” She glared at Will, a clever sneer appearing on his face. “Companies you decide to surround yourself with. But rest assured, I will not allow such nonsense on these grounds.”
“That's bullshit! Gloating about the great Hakwins community, but the ones who dare to see beyond know the crap conformist families are hiding. You have no proof!”
“Mike!” Will grabbed his arm, trying to shut him up.
The headmistress opened her eyes in bewilderment at his outburst, opening her mouth to speak, but Ben swiftly interrupted her.
“Oh, Michael,” he said and snatched the comic he was holding in his hands, opening it with such force that it almost tore the paper apart. “Don't tell me your friend here drew the whole play? This is proof enough.”
He handed the comic to the headmistress, who scanned its contents with an alarmed expression, her hands gripping the paper hard.
“I've been trying to be comprehensive about your whole situation, Mister Byers,” she said, gesturing. “But I will not tolerate the silly conspiracy you have going between the two of you to create turmoil in our community. It was hard enough to rebuild it after your cult took the reins and terrorized the students.”
“That didn't happen! And for the last time, DnD is a board game,” he exclaimed.
“Aren't these your drawings, Byers? I could swear I saw this same art style on the flyers from the art club with your signature on them.”
“It is not your business,” Will said with a clipped tone.
“I guess this is settled then. I will inform the public that there has been a change in the itinerary,” Ben exclaimed with a satisfied smile.
“I'm very disappointed in both of you,” she added. “We are not going to make a scene, but I expect both of you and your parents in my office as soon as the play is over.”
He saw Ben walk towards the thick velvet curtain that separated them from the stage, fixing the ugly brown suit he was wearing and taking a microphone in his hand.
There was no way he would let him have the satisfaction of this going smoothly; Mike was nothing but petty. He made his way just behind him and could feel the rage running through his body; from here he could see the confused expressions on his friends
“Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the delay, but I-”
Ben was interrupted by Mike punching him neatly in the face, sending him staggering back. Of course, he underestimated Ben's reaction and gave Mike a swift punch in his gut.
“What is wrong with you?!” he screamed and winced when his palm touched the left side of his face. “You are making a fucking scene, Wheeler. Stop pushing your agenda on the rest of us!”
“Shut the fuck up, I can break your nose if I want to.”
The few people remaining in the audience stared at them with confusion and excitement, not knowing whether what was happening was part of the play. Lucas quickly stood up and went to grab Ben, knowing the boy was thrilled to have an excuse to get into a fight with Mike. Will also walked on the stage but stood next to Mike, grabbing him by the shoulders.
“No! Don't you dare touch me,” Mike snapped, flinching back. Seeing Will´s face fall hit him with a sharp pang in the chest, but the rage in his head was louder. “You had to make a grand gesture, didn´t you? You couldn´t just keep that stupid comic to yourself.”
Mike knew he was being straight-up mean, words filled with venom. But he couldn't help it; everything crashed down in the course of the last thirty minutes, and he didn't know how to handle the ire contained inside of him. No one was guilty, at least not them. It was everything else surrounding them tainting their lives and clutching them, the forced conformity from the rest, and Mike's selfishness.
“Oh, don't you dare pin this on me,” Will scoffed, his voice tight. “I wasn't the one who faked a script and had a fucking meltdown on stage. Handing you that drawing was a mistake, fine, I get it. But I´m not taking the blame for how you deal with your life and blow everything out of proportion, Michael.”
“That's enough, people! Everyone out!” Max exclaimed at the curious people remaining, giving them nasty stares and what may be interpreted as a punch motion.
Ben was gone, and the headmistress was likely in her office trying to contain a room full of furious parents. Only the group remained, standing in the heavy quiet of the auditorium. I t had been years since Mike lost control like this. He´d always been rough around the edges, but this felt different - raw, reckless and ugly.
A bitter, humorless breath escaped his chest. The small voice in his head told him to shut his mouth, to back off before he crossed a line he couldn´t uncross. But the humiliation of losing everything he´d built for this night was suffocating.
“It's funny that you mention how to deal with something. Oh, Will the Wise, please enlighten us,” he pleaded mockingly. “Is it dealing with your problems being so scared of nightmares that you refuse to sleep for days? Or maybe how you say everything is fine but then we find you passed out in the bathroom?”
“Mike, that's enough,” Dustin warned, taking a step forward.
“No,” Will cut in, his eyes fixed on Mike, shining with a dangerous mix of hurt and defiance. “Let him speak, let him tell me what he really thinks about me.”
Jane caught Will´s arm, her voice barely a whisper. “Will, please,” she begged.
“No, I need to know.”
“You sit on a high horse, judging all of us as if you are this superior being. Guess what? You are not! I'm tired, tired of running around in circles trying to figure out how to help you because you refuse to let anyone know what is wrong. Acting like you- like you are the voice of reason when we both know you have so much shit going on that you can barely hide it anymore. You have no right to tell me how to fix my life when you haven't even fixed yours.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the heat in Mike´s chest evaporated, leaving behind a cold, sickening realization. He looked at Will. The anger on Will´s face was gone, replaced by a hollow, quiet devastation.
Will picked up the comic from the floor. The cover was creased and torn at the edge. He didn´t smooth it out. He just looked at it for a second before turning his gaze back to Mike.
No. No. No.
“I made this because I was proud of you, ” Will said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “I thought you´d want to remember tonight, but I guess I don´t know what you want anymore and we don't know each other after all.”
“I guess we don't.”
Will walked towards him and pressed the comic against Mike's chest. “You can have this; consider it a parting gift. Good luck at NYU, Michael.”
Mike took the comic in his hands and stormed out of the auditorium. It wasn't until he was walking down the corridors that he noticed beads of sweat forming on his forehead, despite the cool weather, and his hands were trembling uncontrollably. Mike clutched his chest, feeling a sharp pain, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps as if he was struggling to get enough air.
His vision was getting blurry; he walked fast and entered what seemed to be a supply closet. He knew the signs by now, and he knew how to calm down; the dreadful sessions with his therapist were sufficient to know what a panic attack looked like. But his brain wasn't listening; he tried deep, slow breaths and told himself that everything was going to be okay.
He clutched the comic in his hands and felt the tears collecting in his eyelashes; he let himself cry and tried to diminish the pained sobs coming out of his throat. Mike desperately wished he could turn back time and make everything different. Mike wished he could let this go away, for the years to come by and finally be living the life he craved.
He wished and wished, begging whatever superior power was listening to let him be happy.
Oh. Mike wished to be thirty, flirty, and thriving.