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The Upside Down was eerily still. The air was like static, the vines stoic. Maybe it knew what was coming. Maybe it knew to be on defense. Mike was rushing to strap duct-tape over an old pair of swimming goggles for Will, hands shaking. El already had her own, and Will’s old ones had broken the last time he’d used them.
This was it. This was the end.
“Hey Mike?” Will must have noticed Mike’s apprehension and put a steady hand on his shoulder.
“You’re fine, alright?” Mike blurted out. “You’re going to be fine.”
Will smiled, a little sadly. “I know.”
“You’re fine, and when this is all over we’ll get pizza or something. I don’t think any of the pizza places in Hawkins are open anymore, but we’ll figure it out.” Mike stumbled over the words.
“It’s a date.” Will laughed, eyes crinkling. Mike’s breath stuttered.
He wanted to say it, just in case. He wanted to be brave. I love you.
“Will-”
“Hey guys?” Jonathan interrupted Mike, face solem. “It’s time.”
In the end Mike said nothing.
-
It had been okay. Everything had been okay. They’d won, Vecna was dead. Gone. El and Will had done it, together.
And then El had looked up from Will’s unconscious body, eyes filled with tears, and shaken her head.
He was supposed to be asleep.
He was supposed to wake up again.
“Don’t fuck with me.” Jonathan’s voice was trembling. “Don’t, don’t-”
“Jonathan, I’m not-” El looked scared.
“No, no, no. He’s not. He’s not. There has to be a fucking way, El!” Jonathan shouted wildly at her. “You saved Max!”
She just looked at him, miserable. “I- I can’t. Not this time. It’s different.” She fell back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Jonathan had let out a horrible sound and dropped down to the ground beside Will’s body, pulling him tight to his chest like that might do something.
Will.
Mike didn’t move from his spot five or so feet away. Couldn’t. His entire body was rigid, cold.
No. No, no, no.
He couldn’t think straight, but he knew that this wasn’t supposed to happen. They were all supposed to make it, all of them, including Will.
Especially Will.
Mike watched, as if through a window, feeling almost detached as Jonathan sobbed. Mike had never seen him cry like this. Not ever.
Will’s dead and Jonathan’s what you’re thinking about? Fucking idiot.
Will was dead. Will was dead.
Suddenly Mike needed to see his face; he stumbled forward, desperate, and fell to his knees beside Jonathan.
It was almost like Will was asleep. He didn’t look troubled, his expression was soft and his eyes were shut. He was smiling just so slightly.
Earlier that day, while trekking through the Upside Down, Mike had slipped in a patch of black mud. Will had burst out in laughter- in his defense, they’d all needed a good laugh- and Mike had stood, gripping a handful of the vile stuff, and smeared it over Will’s cheek with a victorious grin.
Will’s cheek was still dark with grime.
Mike tried desperately to remember exactly how Will had laughed in the moment, the way Will’s shoulder had felt against his when he’d cursed and shoved him playfully, and found he almost couldn’t.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“ Will.” Mike breathed, pushing Will’s hair from his forehead. His skin was still warm. He could be alive. El could be wrong.
But he knew she wasn’t. El was never wrong, not like this.
“We need to go, Mike.” El broke the silence, gripping his shoulder comfortingly.
“No.” Mike snapped. “I’m staying here. With Will.” His voice shook, hard, pulling Will’s lifeless body into his arms. It felt so unbelievably wrong. He couldn’t leave Will, not in this horrible place he’d spent too much time in already. He couldn’t let Will rot here. He’d hate it, he’d be miserable.
“We’re not leaving him here. But we need to go.”
“She’s right, Mike.” Jonathan whispered. Mike didn’t understand how he’d recovered so quickly.
“What are you fucking talking about?! What’s wrong with you?!” Mike’s throat burned. It was easier to be angry. “I’m not going fucking anywhere.” His voice heightened, cracking, and he buried his face in Will’s hair.
He smelled like he always did, earthy, like pine and cinnamon. Something sharp rose in Mike’s throat, clawing and desperate and horrible .
Oh god. Oh, oh, Jesus.
Will.
Mike couldn’t do this. He could feel the sobs pushing at his chest, begging to break free.
“Mike, the Upside Down is unstable. The Gates are going to close. We need to leave. Now.” El was crying.
Mike understood. He leaned down, kissing Will gently on the forehead, like he’d never gotten the chance to do. Just a press of lips. A confession. A goodbye. It was nothing, but it meant everything .
Even like this, Will was beautiful.
“I love you.” Those words had never tumbled so easily from his lips.
He closed his eyes tight then, reeling everything in, shutting everything down, and stood.
-
They made it out just in time, passing through downtown Hawkins where everyone was celebrating the closing of the rifts that had disturbed their lives so profoundly.
Mike couldn’t understand. He walked in a daze, supporting Will’s body with Jonathan’s help.
They finally found everyone else. Joyce ran up to meet them first, and Mike saw the way her eyes glazed over when she registered Will.
She fell to her knees just like Jonathan had, wailing.
Mike stood silently once again, watching the people dearest to him fall apart.
Everything ached.
-
As soon as he stumbled through the front door, Mike barricaded himself in his room.
He stayed there for three days. He didn’t sleep. He tried, sure, but whenever he’d drift off, the nightmares that clawed their way into his head were worse than any waking thought. His mom and Nancy came in a few times, but he would just snap at them, tell them to get the fuck out.
He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t even think straight. Nothing felt real. Doing anything but lying, curled up underneath his comforter, hurt. He tried to distract himself once or twice, but he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t eat, hardly drank anything. He was useless.
On the morning of the fourth day, a knock came at his door. He mumbled something like “go away, Mom,” but instead of retreading footsteps, the door busted open.
It was Lucas. He looked wrecked, exhausted, and was clutching something.
Mike stared at him blankly. “What do you want?”
Lucas opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking around his dark room. “How are you?”
“How do you think, Lucas?” He snapped.
Lucas looked hurt.
“Sorry.” Mike mumbled.
“It’s okay.” Lucas bit his lip. “This is probably a horrible time, but Jonathan, um, handed these out this morning and I thought you’d flip out later if we waited to give you yours.” He held out an envelope.
Mike took it. It had Mike scrawled across it in Will’s messy handwriting.
“What is this?”
“A letter. He wrote them for everyone.”
“Why?”
“Just… Just in case.” Lucas looked at the ground. “Max did the same thing. Back before we knew if she was going to be okay or not.”
Mike felt a spark of bitterness. Max was still alive for Lucas. The love of his life wasn’t fucking dead.
But then Mike remembered how ruined Lucas had been when Max was still in a coma. And that Will had been Lucas’s best friend too. He felt guilt creep up his spine.
“Thanks.”
Lucas nodded, backing up towards the door. “Me and Dustin, we just wanted you to know that we’re here. To talk, or just watch TV, or whatever.” He was silent. “Mike, I- I know how much you… how much you cared about him.”
Lucas looked like he wanted to say more.
But he just smiled weakly. “We’re here. Whenever you’re ready. Everyone is.”
Then he was gone.
Mike sat. The room was too silent, too still. He ran a hair through his tangled, matted hair. He didn’t need to be fucking ready, his best friend had died three days ago.
Against his best judgements, he reached for the letter. The paper felt heavy. His hands trembled as he tore open the envelope. He was faced with three folded up pieces of paper, covered in Will’s familiar scrawl. It was dated July 12th, 1987; four months prior.
He took a deep, shaky breath.
Dear Mike,
Hey. Hi. Hello. This is the last letter I’m writing, and I’m not sure why it’s so much more impossible than the others. Okay, I take that back, maybe I am sure. I think I need to start again, but Mom’s really on me for wasting so much paper.
Mike almost laughed at how Joyce of her that was. His chest hurt.
Anyways. Mike Wheeler, if you’re reading this, I’m dead.
And I have no idea how you’re taking this information. How could I? I just want to say that I’m sorry.
Mike could practically hear him saying all this. It was so like Will, apologizing even when he’s the one dead.
It must suck. You know, me being gone. That sounds pretty egotistical, but I am sorry. I don’t know what you need to hear right now. I wish I could make it better.
I don’t know when you’ll be reading this, but I hope beyond everything that you’re okay, Mike. And that everything’s over. That’ll make this worth it for me.
Everything is over, Will. That doesn’t make you being fucking gone worth it. Mike wanted to scream.
But everything already is worth it, really. Yeah, life wasn’t perfect. It never was, not for me. But I always had all of you guys by my side. That’s what made it worth it. You.
Mike’s stubborn heart skipped a beat.
Mike. I remember the first time we met like it was yesterday. That sounds stupid. But who cares, I’m dead. It doesn’t matter, I deserve to get the chance to say stupid shit. I was scared, that day, I didn’t have anyone. You came up to me, asked to be my friend. And I said yes.
And yes. I was just a kid. What do kids know? But I knew then, Mike. I knew. Maybe I didn’t comprehend it until much, much later, but I knew it was you, for me. It always was.
Even if it wasn’t me for you.
Mike didn’t know why it was this that got to him, that shattered the fog that had laid over him for days. His breath began coming out in soft bursts, his head spinning.
“It was, it was, it was,” He stumbled over the words. “It is you for me, oh fuck.”
And he was crying. It was like some fucking dam had broken; big, choking sobs racked through his entire body. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, not without Will.
El had been Mike’s first girlfriend. But what Will Byers was to him? What Mike felt for him, what he’d been sure of since he was a terrified twelve year old, was risky and vulnerable, yes. He’d wanted nothing more than to push the inevitable away for a long, long time.
But it was also right. It was sincere, warm, and effortless. It was staying up too late reading comics, it was splitting candy bars in the hall between classes. It was sharing a knowing look. It was laughing at nothing till their stomachs hurt. It was co designing campaigns. It was knowing each other so well they’d always know exactly what the other needed. It was comforting each other after Troy said something stupid again.
So yes. It was Will for Mike. Always had been. He clutched the letter with shaking hands, forcing himself to continue.
Growing up wasn’t easy for me, Mike. You know that. But when I was with you, I was invincible.
Sometimes I’d feel like I was falling endlessly. Like I had no life ahead of me. I felt worthless. Futile. But Mike, you always knew exactly what to say to make me feel like a person again. Even when everything was falling apart around us, I was never scared around you. We were invincible. Until we weren’t.
Mike’s whole body trembled. Tears burned in his eyes, vision blurring.
He’d gone and fucked it all up, that fever dream of a summer before highschool.
He’d spent that summer hiding behind El in an effort to fight the hot, itching shame he felt every time his eyes lingered for a moment too long on the shirtless guys at the pool. The guys in Nancy’s Playgirls. And Will. Will with his too-short shorts and a new fondness for sarcasm.
And Mike had said so many things he hadn’t meant because he just couldn’t bring himself to accept it. Because he was thoughtless and young and every thought left him humiliated. When Will had moved away, Mike didn’t know what to do himself. He’d learned a lot about himself that fall. He’d called. Lots at first. But the line was almost constantly busy, and eventually the thought of calling and having to speak to Will again was terrifying.
California had been a nightmare, falling back to using El again, and treating Will like shit. Until El was gone. And Mike had to own up. And he’d tried, he really had.
And I don’t blame you Mike. For anything. I would do anything for you to be happy, and I hope you know that. I need you to know that.
But I also need you to know I haven’t been honest.
Mike’s heart lurched in his chest. His mouth felt dry.
Mike, we were best friends. We are best friends. But I’ve wasted so much time you haven’t stuck in my head, longing for things to be different. Needing to feel wanted. Wishing you’d just look at me the way I look at you, because can’t you?
You can’t. Maybe I’ve come to understand that. And maybe I never will. Maybe I’ll move away, get married, have a life, and still spend my whole life longing for something I never had.
Or maybe you’re reading this and I’m dead.
I love you. I am in love with you.
Mike almost choked. Oh god. “Will. God fucking dammit,” He felt very weak. He was shaking so bad that the letter slipped from his hands. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “Will.”
Mike fell forward, burying his face in his hands. Everything burned. The room was spinning. Fuck. A horrible whimpering sound filled the room and it took Mike a moment to realize that it was coming from his own mouth.
The pain of knowing that this yearning had been reciprocated, that they, despite their differences, could’ve worked something out and been happy if they’d just known-
Mike could’ve held Will in the way he’d always wanted to. He could’ve been held by him. Will’s ridiculous, perfect smile could’ve been his to kiss. They could’ve held hands in movie theaters and made out in Mike’s basement. Mike could’ve written a million stupid fucking poems for Will. If he’d just fucking said something.
He wanted to fall to his mattress and sink down into it, bury himself in cotton and small comforts. But he needed to finish the letter.
He scrambled to wipe his face and pick it up, ripping the corner accidentally. He couldn’t even read a stupid letter without messing it up.
I have no idea what you’d think of that, if I told you to your face. Will’s letter continued. Would you be horrified? Disgusted? Or would you pretend to be fine with it, but tiptoe around me for the rest of our lives, afraid to look me in the eye?
Mike felt hot shame flicker in his chest. How could Will ever think Mike would shut him out like that? Then Mike came back to himself. He’d given him so many damn reasons to think that.
Part of me hopes. That maybe I’d tell you and instead you smile and reach out for me, kissing me on the mouth. Maybe we could be something.
“We could’ve,” Mike choked out, like maybe Will would hear him. The words hurt.
But most of me knows that’s childish. Who am I kidding? Sometimes you smile at me differently, you talk to me soft and slow, and I feel like the most important person in the world. But that means nothing. You probably pity me already. And I hope that this letter doesn’t lead you to resent me in death.
Part of me resents it. This feeling. You.
But I love you still. Your eyes, your mouth, your hair. The freckles on your shoulders. Your careful hands. The face you make when you’re exasperated. The way you speak about things you love. How steadfast you are- the way you could never give up on something you believe in.
Mike swallowed, feeling his cheeks prickle with an uncalled for heat.
So I’m not ashamed, Mike. Not ashamed to love you. And I hope if you’re reading this, that you live. I hope you get to do everything you’ve always wanted to. I hope you travel abroad in Europe. Italy maybe. France, or Spain. I hope you finish every Kurt Vonnegut book sitting in the afternoon sun, and write your own novel.
Mike laughed pathetically through small, painful sobs that were still punching through his chest. That’d been a goal of his. Read every Kurt Vonnegut and write a novel someday. Will had been unnecessarily supportive. Mike remembered when they’d been younger and planned to make a fantasy comic book together- Will would draw the pictures and Mike would write.
That would never happen now. Will would never draw anymore pictures.
But god, those pictures had been so wonderful.
I hope you love. Lots of people, or maybe just a few. I hope you’re loved. I hope you get married, if that’s what you want, and I hope whoever it is makes you feel important.
Selfishly, I hope you remember me. But mostly, I hope you live.
Please live for me, Mike. Get out of the ditch you're in. Be mad at me for all this, for lying. That’s okay. You can be mad. Just don’t shut down like I know you do.
Live for me. Just promise me we won’t see each other for a long, long time.
But when we do I’ll be right here, waiting.
Your best friend,
Will Byers
-
Mike curled up on his mattress, clutching the letter to his chest, and cried for a very long time.
-
Mike slept through the rest of the day, and consecutively, the night. It was a deep, exhausted sleep, mercifully dreamless for the first time in days. Mike woke up with his headache gone. He blinked blearily around his room. It was a complete mess and smelled fucking terrible.
His eyes skipped over to the window. The sun was rising. Before he knew what he was doing, he was making his way out of his room and to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, and realized he hardly recognized his own pale face. There were dark circles under his colorless eyes, and his face was all bruised up from his time in the upside down. His hair was horribly knotted and all over the place. He looked how he felt. Miserable.
The bathroom had a window that opened onto a patch of roof that he used to hide out on when his parents would fight. He climbed out there now, for the first time since he was maybe twelve. He was a lot bigger now, and his gangly limbs got in the way as he pushed himself through the window.
He breathed, deeply, closing his eyes and letting the cool air ruffle his hair and raise gooseflesh on his arms. The fresh air felt incredible, and he felt emotion swell in his chest.
The sunrise had dyed the sky a gentle orange-pink. Mike hadn’t seen it look or smell this clear in ages. No stray demobats, no smoke. Just the sky.
He sat there for what felt like forever, but was probably just ten minutes, until a knocking on the window behind him startled him out of his haze. It was Nancy. Mike moved out of the way as she slid the window open.
“Hi. Can I join?”
“Yeah.” Mike didn’t trust his words yet.
Nancy climbed gracefully through the window to sit beside him. They were silent for a moment. “I guess it wouldn't be very helpful to ask how you are?”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t know. How I am, I mean.”
“Better than yesterday?”
“Yeah.” Seemed like yeah was pretty much all Mike was capable of saying today.
“That’s good.”
“Did you get a letter?” Mike asked carefully. “From Will.”
Nancy looked surprised at the question. “Yeah. It was really sweet. Told me I’d been like a sister to him. I appreciate that- I mean with how much he was around our house when you two were younger…” she trailed off, expression mournful. “He was like a brother to me too.” She said softly.
“Wrecked me.” Mike mumbled.
“What?”
“His letter to me.” Mike looked down. “It wrecked me. He said a lot, Nance. But I didn’t get the chance to tell him anything. There were so many things I wanted to say.” His voice cracked.
Nancy reached out for him, and Mike fell into her arms without another thought. Nancy felt solid. Strong. Real. Mike tried really hard not to cry. It didn’t work, but that was okay, because his sister held him as he wept softly into her shoulder.
They didn’t used to do this as siblings. They were never close, they rarely hugged. But a lot changed in the last week.
Nancy held Mike fast, even after he’d calmed down. She ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Will really was everything to you, wasn’t he?” She asked her brother, voice quiet.
Mike’s heart skipped a beat. Fuck. He stayed quiet.
“I mean, it was hard not to tell, when you were kids. You looked at him like he hung the moon.” Nancy laughed a little. “You two were always attached at the hip. It was kind of adorable.”
Mike pulled away from the hug. “Jesus.” He murmured, going a little pink.
“Do you remember when we all threw him that surprise party?” Nancy stared off into the distance. “And you-”
“Spoiled the surprise by accident because I knew he was getting a Nintendo?” Mike finished. “Yeah. He wasn’t even mad at me. Just excited.” He smiled a little bit.
“He was a sweet kid.” Nancy looked at Mike.
Was. Was, was, was, was-
“Yeah.”
“Y’know I love you, Mike, right? No matter what. I’m always here. And I know none of this is fair. And I’m not very good at this. But I’m here, if you ever need to talk.” Nancy put a hand on his shoulder. “Always. I promise.”
“I was in love with him.” The words came, a whisper, before Mike could stop himself.
Nancy smiled sadly. “I know.”
“I never told him.” Mike added miserably. “I’m such a coward. I’m such a damn idiot.”
“You’re not. You were scared. I mean, anyone would’ve been.”
“You knew. Of course you knew.” Mike breathed out.
Nancy laughed softly, not unkindly. “I was around you two a lot. You’ve always been a little bit in love with him. I didn’t really understand that for a while, how, well, you know.” She said it quickly, not exactly uncomfortably, per se, but Mike couldn’t blame her for not being totally accustomed to talking about it.
“I know.” He said. All he could do was thank God that she wasn’t looking at him differently. That she wasn’t shuffling away now that her suspicions were confirmed.
Nancy nodded. “I thought maybe Will was just a really good friend, but when the way you looked at El didn’t exactly match up with how you looked at him, I eventually pieced it together.”
“I wish he’d noticed that too.” Mike gazed out at the sky. “I wish I was more obvious about it now. So he’d know. He was so… so awful to himself about it. In his letter. He thought I’d hate him if I found out, when really… well.” He sighed. “If making him feel less ashamed meant sacrificing this, this false sense of security I’ve built around myself, then I’d do it in a heartbeat.” He cursed.
He bit back a fresh wave of tears. He was just talking, talking like he’d never talked to Nancy before. They didn’t talk like this. Mike didn’t talk like this. Not out loud.
“Honestly, Nance? Fuck that. I’d do it anyway, if I’d known. I’d have done anything to have him.” His voice cracked. Pathetic.
Nancy put her arm around his shoulders. “Do you remember last week? The last night before everything started for real? When we all had dinner at the Byers’ place.”
“‘Course.”
“You two were together the whole evening. Couldn’t pull you away from each other, it was like you were kids again.” Nancy smiled. “Will was so damn happy, Mike. You could tell by just looking at him, and I know Byers boys.
“Mike,” Nancy continued. “Maybe you messed up sometimes, of course you did, you’re a fucking idiot, but-”
“Oh fuck you,” Mike muttered with a half smile.
Nancy rolled her eyes. “But, what you and Will had? The way you looked at each other? That was special. You had something most people never get the chance to. And it’s absolutely not your fault for hiding.”
Nancy looked so sincere it hurt. And somehow, somehow, Mike felt a little better.
“Thank you, Nancy.” Mike swallowed. “I’m- I’m really sorry for being such a brat these last few days. To Mom too.”
“Micheal, apologize literally any other time for that. You’re always a brat. But you don’t get to do that right now.”
“Okay. Not sorry then.” Mike fought a smile.
“Good.” Nancy glanced inside. “I gotta go get ready. I’m meeting Jonathan in an hour- he’s been distracting himself with volunteer work the past few days and it’s the least I can do to help. To be there.” She smiled wobbly.
Amidst everything, Mike had forgotten that Nancy’s boyfriend had lost his little brother too. He had no idea how Nancy could even start to comfort him, Jonathan loved Will so much.
Nancy climbed through the window gracefully once again, and Mike wondered how she did it.
“I love you Mike. Promise me you’ll eat something- there’s leftovers in the fridge.”
“I will.” Mike nodded. “Love you too.” Apparently they said that to each other now. It was nice. He realized with a start how damn much he appreciated his sister. She tried so hard, and Mike really hoped she knew that.
“And take a shower,” Nancy wrinkled her nose. “You smell.” She shut the window.
Mike thought about what Nancy said, and hoped she was right. The last two or so months they had together, Mike and Will had been growing slowly back to being almost as close as they’d been in seventh grade, before everything went to shit. It had been good. Better than good, really, despite everything falling apart around them.
And things only could’ve gotten better. If he hadn’t fucking-
Mike closed his eyes and wished away the thought.
Will had written the letter a while back, about four months to be precise, before everything got hectic. That means maybe, just maybe, Will hadn’t felt just so hopeless by the end of it. Maybe he’d even been able to forgive Mike a little bit. Be able to be around him and instead be hopeful.
Mike hoped so, remembering Will’s last words to him: It’s a date.
Maybe it could’ve been. They could’ve driven to the town over, maybe even Indianapolis, if they’d wanted. Just to get pizza. Maybe the two of them would forget everything awful for a couple hours to joke around and shovel huge slices of greasy pizza into their mouths like real teenagers.
Mike settled back against the window, listening to a lonely dove sing its melancholic morning song. Or maybe it was a mourning song. Who was Mike to say? But it comforted him. The fact that this bird might be mourning beside him.
He just kept thinking of Will. The thoughts came easily. Mike didn’t fight them. He imagined Will beside him, humming along to the song. Smiling, content. Maybe his hair would still be damp from a recent shower. Maybe he’d have a crumb of toast on the corner of his lip from breakfast. Will always was much more of a morning person than Mike. Now Mike wished he’d watched more sunrises.
He sat there for a long time.
He imagined an alternative universe, where Will’s letter had never come. Where maybe he was standing here on the roof, much too close to the edge. Ready to step off. Ready to meet Will once again.
But this was not that universe. Will had told him to live. That was his last request. And dammit, Mike would try.
Mike’s eyes caught on his old bike. He remembered riding around Hawkins with Will, racing down hills, the thrill of catching eyes and screaming Bowie lyrics. Riding alongside Will had made him feel so alive.
Mike, to his surprise, felt very alive right now. He felt every little thing. The window against his back. The roof, rough like sandpaper against his fingertips. The way his stomach ached, hungry for the first time in days.
The sun finally reached him, creeping over the roof, wrapping him in its comforting warmth. He shut his eyes, tight. If Mike didn’t know better, he might’ve thought it was almost as if Will was hugging him from far, far away.
“You can’t hear me.” He whispered. “But you need to know it’s always, always been you for me.”
And suddenly Mike was crying again, silently. Hot tears stung at his eyes. He felt lost, and at the same time grounded. Everything hurt, but that was okay. Expected. It meant he was real.
And maybe yesterday he’d wished he wasn’t real. And maybe he still kind of did. But Mike felt clean for the first time in days, even as he stained his cheeks with fresh tears.
He listened to the birds. There were lots more now. He watched the pink of the sky fade into blue. He let himself revel in the heat of the sun. He thought of Will. And he let himself smile, remembering his best friend’s laugh.
He’d hear that laugh again someday, whether heaven existed or not. Mike knew he would. They’d meet again, and greet each other with a sweet, tearful kiss.
But not yet. For now, Mike needed to live. So he slipped through the window, bare feet finding purchase against the cold bathroom tile.
Mike would live.
A fragile sort of relief swept through him.