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Max gets quiet often now. In the hussle of hyper-active teens, she turns in on herself. Her hands play with a zipper or Dug’s fur. Eyebrows slanted, lips turned downward. Max gets sad. So much so it’s a quiet understanding not to speak about it. It’s a soft, mutual agreement that no one points out Max’s ‘slow days’.
Her limbs ache more those days. Sometimes so much so she uses a wheelchair. And Dug hardly lifts his head from her lap. No one makes plans these days and Lucas disappears from the group along with her. El along with them if the day is particularly long.
But no one says much about it. In the same way people are quiet about Will’s panic attacks. Or El’s fears that seem trivial from someone who doesn’t understand. Or in the way the kids reassure each other when the weather is bad.
Which is fine. Mike Wheeler doesn’t consider himself the greatest of all time when it comes to emotions. He’s good at making a joke to poke at the things that scare them; making everyone laugh away the darkness. Or inviting them for sleepovers when significant dates roll by. Mike Wheeler clenches his teeth and locks his eyes on his hands when his friends get lost in something they’ll never be able to rid themselves of. He’s angry all the damn time—perhaps that’s his issue. The sadness creeps in like dusk. Mike doesn’t peer outside long enough to let it settle in like he should.
Lucas, El, and occasionally Steve, handle the brunt of Max’s harder days. They help care for her when her mom’s shifts stretch into the night and sleep in the living room in case she needs a hand to touch. She always comes out of them. It takes a few days and a cocktail of pain management, dog snuggles, boyfriend-softness, and lots of patience, but she does get out of those ruts. She’ll come back to the group grinning and making sassy-quips to make everyone laugh soon enough.
And if Mike gets scared of the episodes that last a day too long, he’ll never admit it. Max Mayfield is a fiesty, smart-mouthed, proud mix of a girl. She also tends to make him laugh more than anyone else. Max is also one of Mike’s best friends in the entire world. One of whom he worries about deeply when she covers her ears at a loud noise or flinches when someone unexpected gets too close.
But, no. She doesn’t have to know about that. Mike can leave the emotional-mush to his other friends and help hold up the other corners of the world while it falls.
-
The aroma of weed stinks in the air as Mike clumsily makes his way through a crowd in some rich high schooler’s living room. He frowns, shoving past a guy with a varsity jacket and a beer.
Parties aren’t his scene, but this is a last ditch attempt to gain some form of a normal teenage-kid experience. It’s not really working. Mike hates useless, drunk flirting and bad music. He’d much rather be in his room practicing guitar or watching a shit movie that Holly begged him to rent from Blockbuster.
His dad calls him a wise ass sometimes. It’s meant to be something bad, but Mike can’t help but wonder if it is such a terrible thing. His choices tend to be in the safer category these days. Dangerous endeavors are less than inviting after decades worth of trauma shoved into his early teen years.
Mike finally spots Dustin in the corner. He looks decently entertained, at least. He’s found a buddy from school and they’re both nursing cheap beer on a ripped couch. It seems like Dustin’s is barely touched, but it’s not very surprising. That’s just for cool-points. He’s social enough without enhancers. While Mike is happy for Dustin, he’d much rather get the hell out. It’s past midnight and contrary to popular belief, he does give a shit or two about school. Another failed exam in chemistry and his father may never forgive him again, however dramatic that seems. However little Mike actually cares.
Mike catches his attention by waving like an idiot. Dustin watches him mouth ‘time to go’ and sends him a dorky frown in disapproval. Mike waves his hand aggressively, but Dustin mouths ‘just a sec’ in return. Which just means it’ll be another twenty minutes. Mike huffs. Fine then. He’ll round up the girls while Dustin wraps up the nerd spew.
It takes another five minutes and pushing awkwardly past people to find El. She’s comfortably sat in the quiet dining room with someone Mike recognizes as one of El’s few friends outside of their tight-knit group. Mary or Margaret..something of that sort. They met in a study group and her quirks were as endearing as El’s. They got along quickly.
El’s holding a can of coke to her chest and laughing over something the girl says. For a second, Mike is a little enthralled by the way her cheeks blush slightly and her curls brush against her chin. It’s short lived, but it does leave a tingle in his chest. It’s more so an ache these days, but he loves El endlessly. Even if she’s not quite interested in being his partner—even if Mike deep down is more interested in having a different partner. Their history intertwines like deep-twisted roots. Better to leave that alone than dig up anything unnecessary.
He shakes himself awake and finally finds his words.
“Hey, El. I think we should—wait, where’s Max? Weren’t you two supposed to stay together?”
El’s glee vanishes immediately. Any trace of it disappears as she looks around. “Oh, I forgot. Oh no! I was supposed to stay with her because she could get lost. I’m sorry, I just—I forgot. We were by the pool and then I saw Marcy and I wanted to say hi really fast and then—“
“El. Shut up, please. We just need to find Max. That doesn’t matter right now.”
Mike presses his fingers to his forehead before spinning on his heels and aggressively shoving past tipsy peers. He hears a girl utter ‘asshole’ in response but he can only grunt. The scenes on the side of him can only blur as he anxiously hunts for his friend. He curses himself with a narrow frown. He shouldn’t have agreed to bring everyone here. El is smart, but she gets lost in conversation. It was a stupid idea. He can hear Steve berating him already. Will’s choice to stay in and Lucas’s punishment of being grounded sounds more appealing right now.
Maybe his father is right about a few things. Perhaps he could stand to think things through a little longer.
A large gust of air returns to his lungs when he finds Max sitting on the edge of a lawn chair. The collection of red hair and a cane prompt against her is a blazing sign that it’s her, even from yards away.
Mike speeds up towards her and shouts her name and her head quickly lifts. She turns to locate the noise. A watery, awkward smile makes its way to her face when she realizes who it is. Mike stops at the front of the chair and tilts his head. Her knees her turns in and she’s holding her head in her hands as if it’s too heavy to stay up.
“Max, oh my god. I thought you—I was—erg. Nevermind. I’m glad you’re fine. We’re leaving right now, let's go.”
Max sluggishly lifts her head again. Her foot knocks against a bottle and Mike finally looks down to see an empty glass bottle at her feet. His eyes widen when she tiredly offers him a hum of confusion.
“Were you drinking? Are you drunk?”
“Hm? Yeah. I recognized the shape of the bottle. My mom has it at home. I got it earlier and just…” she waves her hand to the ground.
“Shit, Max. That’s so unsafe. You need to get home. We’re not doing this again. Who knows what could’ve…”
“It’s fine. Don’t parent me, everything is fine. I’m fine,” Max over enunciates every word to the point Mike is beginning to believe she just learned how to speak. He reaches for her elbow as she gets a wobbly start to walking. As his arm links around her’s in the fashion that they’ve all been taught to do, Max grunts and slightly tugs her arm away.
“What the shit, Max? How do you expect to find your way through without a guide?” Mike comments. His nostrils flare as he reins her in again and tightens the tension he has around her arm.
“Don’t be an asshole, asshole,” she retorts, “I'm capable of getting home.”
“You’re not fourteen anymore. You’re blind as shit. You can’t get home by yourself,” he responds harshly. He should regret how angry he sounds, but it’s really late and he misses his bed. And the potential ways this scenario could’ve been worse can’t stop reeling in his head like a horror movie.
He feels a slap to his chest. Followed with a very disturbed yelp. “That’s so—asshole!”
“So I’ve been told. You’re drunk out of your ass, Max. That alone makes it difficult for you to navigate yourself right now. I don’t have to explain this situation to you.”
There’s a bit of a resistance to their pace but Mike insists with tugging. Max is only able to stop him so much. Eventually they fall back into a continuous, slow pace toward the house. Mike can spot El standing by the sliding glass doors. She’s hugging herself with a look of relief and complete guilt. Mike doesn’t have enough energy to even think about consoling her.
Max has fully resorted to pouting by the time they get to the other girl. El throws her arms around her, making them both rock.
“I’m so glad you’re okay! I’m sorry I left you alone. I wasn’t thinking,” El says. She sounds genuinely devastated with herself. But it’s only fair. No matter how much Mike hates to see her get upset at her own doings.
Max waves a nonchalant hand. “I’m fine.”
“Clearly,” Mike breathes into the crisp summer air, “we should go. Like now. I’m taking her to the car. Get Dustin and tell him he needs to stop talking.”
“Okay,” El agrees, “should I walk with you guys? Does she need help?”
“I’m—“
“She’s fine,” Mike irritably finishes for his plastered friend, “just hurry.”
El nods once before venturing into the sea of teenagers. Mike regains their pace out of the house, but not without bumping into people and making Max thoroughly miserable. He’s in a bit of a rush, however, so he doesn’t really care to consider Max’s feelings.
They make it to the car that’s parked down the street. He only realizes Dustin has the keys after remembering the boy returned to the car briefly after they got in to grab a jacket. He huffs. Yes, he really starting to become jealous of his friends that are tucked in their homes.
“Sit, we have to wait for Dustin. He has the keys,” Mike explains. He guides Max to curb where she plants herself.
Her head lays on her knees as Mike crouches down beside her. He fumbles with his sleeves and pulls them over his knuckles.
“What were you doing, drinking all that?” He asks after a minute or two go by with only the ambience of the party in the background. He looks sideways at her, expecting a quick-witted response but her expression only holds still in an image of uncomfortableness.
“Hello? Max, you still home?”
She blinks and shakes her head. “Hmm? What?”
Mike pushes his thumb into his palm and rubs a circle. “Why did you drink so much? You never drink.”
She runs her eyebrows tiredly. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. I dunno,” she slurs. She runs her fingers through her hair but then stops to detangle a knot.
“I thought you were super anti-drinking for yourself. You gave us that whole spiel on New Years.”
Max lifts her head again. She looks in his general direction. A very pathetic version of her usual smiles arises.
“Thought’d it would be nice to forget who I am,” she say, “gets hard being like me,” she admits a moment later. Her hand waves in front of her face and to her legs. Her legs that often hurt and her body that will never work like it used to.
Mike doesn’t say much for a minute. It’s not often Max’s darker feelings are expressed in his presence. He knows they’re there. Every damn person in their group has incredibly complicated issues given their past. But Max shields most everyone from hers. He’s only got a clue of how bad they are when Lucas emerges from privacy with her with a frown so deep it could carve onto his bones.
“Oh,” Mike says, softly and unsure. Max hums and a little redness floods her face.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. He knows he’s messed up. He’s supposed to say something. Christ, he’s been trying to get better at words for so long but his throat still closes up when it matters most.
“No, Max—shit I'm bad at this. It does matter, I guess I didn’t think of that. I have a hard time thinking about other people outside of Will and El.”
“Yeah,” she says, though she sounds gentle, “I know.”
“Hey, I get it. I know that it all…it all piles on you sometimes.”
Max turns to him, nailing eye contact this time. Her opaque color appearing sharp under the streetlamp. “Do you?”
Mike picks at his hands. A tightness forms in his chest. He’s reminded of the time his father went to the emergency room and claimed he was having a heart attack only to be told he was experiencing a panic attack. Mr.Wheeler scuffed and demanded to see a better doctor.
“No,” Mike says, “I don’t get it.”
She blinks a little longer. A softer smile stretches out a milicent. “That’s okay,” she says, “I wouldn’t want you to. It just gets…really dark, sometimes.”
He stares at her. Watches as she rubs her hand down her face. Max shakes her head. “Sometimes I think I’m dead. Then all the darkness makes sense. It’s stupid. But sometimes pretending I’m dead makes it easier.”
A sharp sting races through Mike’s head. His hands find Max’s before he really understands that he’s doing it. She jumps a little but relaxes when she recognizes the texture and size of the hand.
“I’m sorry, Max,” he says, mouth parted into a shared despair and a desire to make things right.
“You didn’t make me like this,” Max says. There’s a wave of bitterness in her soft laugh.
“No. But I’m still sorry.”
She swallows harshly. “I am too.”
They sit a few seconds more. Mike can hear the steps of the other two approaching just as Max turns to him again with a pained expression just lingers on the cusp of wavering acceptance. “Thank you,” she says so softly he can barely hear it.
He wants to say something more, to explain to her that he’s so incredibly glad that she’s not dead, but Dustin dumps the keys in his lap and makes a loud comment about hoping he can sneak in without waking his mom.
Max lifts her hand away. She grapples in the air for El’s touch until her friend helps lift her up and get her to the car.
Mike stands up, gripping the keys until they begin to imprint on her palm. He opens his mouth again. He wishes the words would just come out.
“Mike! C'mon man, you’re the one who wanted to get out of this thing!”
He blinks harshly. Right. They should be getting home.
-
Max crashes on his basement floor in a mess of blankets and sleeping bags. El is asleep beside her. An impromptu sleepover occurred due to the fact that Max’s mom isn’t home and he’d never leave her alone in a drunken state. He’d also prefer not to only host Max, so El had gleefully joined after a painful phone call to Hopper. Mike should never give his friend the opportunity to lie. Fibbing will never be one of her true talents.
Max wakes up with a groan and a regret for the night prior. El doesn’t stir. Her face presses against Max’s leg. It looked uncomfortable, but they slept without a sound. She first takes in the scent of Mike’s basement and the feeling of the sleeping bag beneath her before making a face and accepting the ache of her body that is for once not due to pre existing issues.
Mike greets her quietly. He didn’t sleep much. Spiraling often keeps him away from rest.
“Do you remember anything?” Mike asks her, half-hopeful and half-worriedly.
“No,” she responds, “I did something stupid, didn’t I?” Max looks prepared for something extraordinarily embarrassing. But Mike just presses his lips together and hands her a glass of water. Lucas once told him and Dustin about how hard he tries to protect her pride.
It’s easy, for him and the ones that love Max, to pretend like some barriers don’t exist. Sometimes Mike leans a certain way so she always lands her teasing slaps to his shoulder. They hurt like hell, but it always makes her grin.
“You were just sleepy, that’s all,” he says. He’s a little grateful she can’t see the strain on his expression.
A wave of relief washed over her face. She sinks back into the pillows and gingerly sips on the cup.
“Thank god. And uh—thanks for getting us here.”
Mike stumbles over his words. He smiles. Even if she can’t see it. He hopes it strengthens the nonchalance he is feigning. “Yeah, no problem. It’s whatever. I’ll go see if my mom is making breakfast.”
“Alright. Thanks, Wheeler.”
“You’re welcome, Mayfield.”
There’s an itch of a smile on her face. Though all he can really focus on is the twitch it makes when she thinks he’s walked away.
“I’m really, really glad you’re not dead,” is what he whispers to his feet as he walks up the stairs.