Chapter Text
September 1994
Mike rolls out his shoulders for what feels like the billionth time this shift, cursing whoever decided what the average height for counters was supposed to be. He’s trying to work on his posture — his mom nags him about it — but when he’s constantly having to hunch over to pull espresso shots, it’s out of his control at that point. Sue the counter-measurement-person. He’s been here for six and a half hours, and while he normally loves his morning shift, the pungent smell of roasting coffee beans is serving no purpose but nausea.
He’s in the process of meticulously creating a swan out of frothed milk when the door dings in alert of a new patron entering the coffeehouse. “I’ll be right with you,” Mike says without looking up.
When the man approaches the bar, he asks incredulously, “Michael Wheeler, is that you?” Mike whips his head up to study the man facing him, only to realize that it’s one of his dad’s old business partners.
“Mhm, it’s me,” Mike says cautiously. He notices the way the man’s eyes glance unfavorably between him and their surroundings. When the man doesn’t say anything else, Mike continues. “Can I get something started for you?”
The man raises his eyebrows and says, “Sorry, sure— just a black coffee to-go please. How’s your dad doing, by the way?”
“He’s good. Still enjoying Indy, from what I hear, so.”
“Good, good. And you graduated college?”
“Yup,” Mike says, offering nothing else. “That’ll be $2 even.”
The man pulls out his wallet as Mike turns around to pour drip coffee into a paper cup.
“I’ll trade you,” the man says with a smile, a pitying one, as he takes the coffee and hands Mike his payment. “Wish you the best, Michael.”
“Have a great day, sir,” he says, teeth on display as the man sees himself out.
The worst part about interactions like the one that just happened is that they aren’t that abnormal for Mike. Hawkins is too small of a town. Still, his face is hot and there’s a weight on his chest that wasn’t there before. He shouldn’t have to explain himself to people who don’t actually care, to people who are just nosy. He shouldn’t feel the need to earn the approval of those kinds of people and yet he hates that he does. The truth is, he isn’t a Hawkins Man and maybe never was meant to be — he slings espresso shots and stocks fridges and steams milk and tries to write in his free time instead of climbing the corporate ladder. He’s tried to become okay with being a disgrace.
The next half hour goes by rather quickly and he catches his manager in the back room before clocking out.
“Hey Liza,” he says, poking his head in the doorway.
“You heading out?” She asks.
“Mhm, and I’ll be out of town until Tuesday, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah! Your buddy’s wedding, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike replies.
“Enjoy the time off, man. See you next week!”
“See you,” Mike calls as he walks down the hall and out the back door.
The sudden stillness once he’s in his car does nothing for Mike’s nervous system, and as always, the heaviness that comes feels almost unbearable. He’s too tired to turn on the radio, and the drive home isn’t long anyway. He forces himself to take deep breaths as he drives in silence. After about eleven minutes, he pulls onto Maple Street and into the driveway, then puts the car in park.
Mike drags himself into the house through the basement door, which is now the entrance into his room. When he’d agreed to move home after his parents’ divorce, Mike’s mom offered to turn the basement into his “private” living space now that he’s a grown adult. She tries to make it sound better than it is — in reality, he really does just live in the basement of his childhood home. Mom’s basement. And one of his best friends is getting married in a few days. He feels great about it. Really fucking awesome about it, actually.
It’s not like he’s that upset about living back at home since graduating from college. He lived on his own out in Chicago for four whole years, he did the independent thing. He’s not a complete loser, he’s just being wise with his money.
“Did I hear you come in, Mike?” His mom calls from the kitchen.
“Yeah, mom, I’m here,” he says back, just loud enough for her to hear.
The time between work and dinner goes by while Mike spaces out, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing and yet feeling guilty about everything all at once. He feels guilty about not writing or working on MFA applications or accepting his mom’s invitation to come up for dinner or doing absolutely anything good for himself, really. He remembers that Holly had asked him to go driving with her tonight since she passed her permit test. It’s something they’d always said they’d do — Mike teaching her how to drive. And yet, she hasn’t even come down to pester him about it. He doesn’t know what’s worse: Mike himself not able to be excited, or the fact that Holly has no faith he’d be up for it either. The guilt consumes him most of the time.
It’s long after the dinner window has ended that he stalks upstairs, crossing his fingers that his mom has moved to her room for the night — low and behold, though, she’s still in the kitchen when he opens the basement door.
Mike begs his smile to reach his eyes, to not give her any more reason to worry than she already has, as they make shallow small talk about his day. He feels her watching him as he searches the pantry for bread to make a sandwich, and when he looks at her, he notices the worry weighing down her eyebrows. Mike can tell she’s unsure how to act — he doesn’t talk to her — but he’ll let her pull him into her arms before he retreats again, he’ll listen when she tells him everything is going to be okay. Still, he knows that she doesn’t understand why he’s not getting better, and he ultimately feels worse that he gives her a reason to worry in the first place. If he wasn’t around at all, the story she could tell herself about her son’s life might be different. It might be better. He wishes he knew how to make it better.
The phone rings at some point the next day — he doesn’t know what time, only that it wakes him up. He doesn’t get around to answering it, but he’s conscious enough to make out the voicemail as it announces itself via the answering machine.
“Hey, it’s Max— just checking up on you, bud. We’ll see you this weekend, yeah? Miss you, loser.”
The phone clicks off, and Mike rolls over in bed. If depressed is what he is, it fucking sucks, because he doesn’t even have a reason to be. He has all his basic needs met. His mom pays for his housing, for crying out loud. Something just went— wrong, in college, he thinks is when it started. It was downhill from there. He was a pretty smart kid, though, in high school — he felt like he’d made his parents proud, and they had always encouraged him to succeed, that he could do anything he put his mind to. It felt nice that his parents had something to be proud of, that if all else went wrong, that they could look at his grades and forget everything. He applied to the best colleges, joined the honors program — and the thing is, he actually believed he could do it. He thought he might open his own business, or have a story take off or something. He doesn’t know why, then, that there was a turning point where he suddenly stopped caring, started getting exhausted way too easily to be normal. He wonders if he’d be more passionate about writing if– if–
He’s thankful Max didn’t remind him how long it’s been since he answered the phone. It’s happened far too many times, a notable one being six months ago when Dustin had called to tell him about the engagement. It had been coincidentally right after a call from Max, or Lucas, or Nancy, or someone. He’d assumed they were double calling, so he picked up on the first ring.
“What? I’m not dead, okay? Did you need something?”
“Hello to you, too, Mike.”
“Dustin? Oh, sorry, I thought– whatever. Sorry. What’s up?”
Dustin had told him all about his plan to propose to his long-time girlfriend Suzie, and that the wedding would likely be later this year, and Mike remembers hardcore judging him for getting married so young, to the first girl he ever dated, no less. He passed it off as a Mormon thing and told Dustin he was happy for him, and then Dustin had awkwardly cleared his throat before telling him Will was going to be a groomsman, too.
“Did you think I’d have a problem with that?” Mike had retorted, even though he knew.
“That’s not what I said– I just know you two haven’t really talked. I know he transferred. I don’t know if those two are related, because both of you are freaks and won’t talk about it with anyone. But I’m not an idiot, Mike,” Dustin had responded, making Mike promise that he’d be on his best behavior, to which Mike swore there was nothing to worry about, before hanging up and feeling a pit in his stomach he didn’t know what to do with.
Not enough has changed between that phone call six months ago and now for him to be remotely ready for what’s coming this weekend. He fucked up. He’s fucked up, and everyone is about to find out just how much how. He messed things up with Will, and the worst part about it is that Will had given him a chance, an opening to get better, that maybe— he doesn’t know what exactly could have happened if Mike had gotten better. The point is that it doesn’t even matter, because Mike didn’t get better, he continued spiraling, and now he has to face Will and everyone else in the midst of that.
He drags himself out of bed to pack his bag. Tomorrow .
…
So he’s depressed, probably.
And alone, and no one loves him, and he doesn’t feel like he has a single thing to look forward to in his life whatsoever. Except for this fucking wedding.
Will, on the other hand, had done well in art school and then he decided to stay after graduation. He’s clearly better without Mike. Maybe Mike was holding him back — he probably suffocated Will, before everything changed.
It’s not like he intentionally chose to let his life fall apart like this. The Will thing had just triggered the already low self-esteem that Mike was working with. He scraped through his last semester of school, graduated, and moved back home. It took a few weeks of realizing that everyone around him was moving forward while he was staying behind to question if his existence even mattered. He spent so long wanting to be significant, wanting to make an impact.
He’s just tired. He should be out doing things, and yet he’s either in his room or slinging espresso shots, barely writing, and letting the months go by like they mean nothing.
He’s thankful Dustin is loyal enough of a friend to want Mike to stand next to him on his wedding day, because Mike has not been a good friend for the last few years. Long distance is tough.
Mike spends the entire flight imagining the various worst-case-scenarios that could involve Will this weekend. There’s the first meeting, which could either be in the hotel, or at the bachelor party, or at this rate, Mike may not even be able to stomach any of it and have to stay in his room sick tonight. He could somehow postpone their reunion until the morning of, and then there’ll be so much going on that they won’t be able to talk much, and Mike can avoid saying anything stupid. Don’t be stupid, Dustin had said. If he avoids Will as much as he can, then he won’t be stupid and the weekend will go exactly right and he won’t mess anything up.
He thinks back to the last time he saw Will:
June 1992
Being the good son he is, Mike was out on a morning smoothie run for his mom and Holly, a little over two years ago. He’d been standing in line, messing with the hem of his shirt, when he heard a familiar voice order a “strawberry banana with extra strawberry, please,” and he shot up to find a head of chestnut hair that flipped up a little where it met the familiar person’s shirt collar. Mike remembers trying to move past the feeling of blood pooling at his feet instead of in his brain or his heart where it should have been. One breath in, two breaths in.
Mike took in the few moments of Will contentedly waiting for his smoothie, probably humming a song to himself or thinking about what he might need from the store later. Rosiness draped across Will’s cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and there was warmth in his smile when he made small talk with the cashier. There was a miniscule look of terror after Mike finally worked up the courage to call out Will’s name, eyes going dark and then soft within milliseconds before deciding to walk over.
There were exchanges: “oh my god, Mike, hi,” a mutually blurted “I didn’t know you were in town,” and “how have you been?” and lingering glances of mixed emotions that held all the history that they decidedly weren’t going to talk about in the middle of a smoothie shop. “Come by later,” is what Will had said, and that’s exactly what Mike did.
Will didn’t let him inside, opting instead to talk on the front porch.
The nature of their relationship felt too fuzzy for Mike to make sense of it — why Will had left him, whether he had truly deserved it, if he wanted to repair things or not.
But Will had wanted to— to see him at least, and he listened with glistening eyes to Mike’s woes about his mean landlord and the cat that always used to show up at his doorstep. Will shared, too, about how inspired he felt living by the ocean and how much prettier the sunsets were there than in the Midwest, and how much cooler about stuff the people there were. Mike had ignored the pang in his chest that he couldn’t quite pinpoint at the time — something between feeling incredibly happy for Will, but also regret and jealousy.
It felt so right, though, being around Will. Like coming home should feel. And still, he’d let Will go again, without a word of protest, and they hadn’t talked since.
He’s not normal, he knows he’s not — normal boys don’t sit around and turn the memory of their relationship with their best friend over and over and over again in their minds for years. They don’t allow their lives to be placed on hold, simply because they were never brave enough to act before it was too late.
The thing is, Mike can’t even be upset if Will brings a date to this wedding, because Mike has never shown a hint of outward interest in Will’s love life. Will has no idea how Mike feels about any of it, and frankly — why should it matter to Mike?
It was never supposed to matter, not when Mike was always on track to end up with a girl. It didn’t matter how much better, more himself, he felt brushing up against broad shoulders or mouthing over an adam’s apple behind closed doors. That was never something he was going to have forever. If he were to ever let Will in on any of this, any of the truths about what felt better to him, it wouldn’t have ended well. Not for the Mike that was going to end up with a girl.
I’m the only boy in my family, Mike has reminded himself too many times to count. Now, it’s starting to grow tired, like meaningless words in his mouth. But for a while, he was certain that there was no other choice. The truth about what Mike actually wanted fit extremely well inside his mind, where it was safe. No one ever needed to know, because it wasn’t that important. No matter how nauseated he felt when he thought about the expectation that he’d buy a house on a cul-de-sac and put on a stuffy suit every day to provide for a wife. It was selfish, Mike knew, to assume he wouldn’t have to partake in a life like that. College is one thing, Mike had told himself, but at some point— at some point, I’ll have to grow up.
He never held Will to that standard, though. Will deserves everything, while someone like Mike doesn’t deserve to be that happy.
It’s too good to be for me, was a thought Mike had washed down with liquor too many times to be proud of. But he’d rejected too many girls, he’d dropped out of the honors program like it was nothing. He’d realized that no, finding a wife was not going to be as easy as he’d hoped it would be, which was probably more of a personal problem than Mike was ready to admit at the time. He’d felt levels of existential doom he never knew what to do with.
The truth is this: in hindsight, Mike had spent months trying to patch up the hole Will had left when he moved across the country over three years ago, but maybe he burnt himself out and left the wound halfway open at some point. Untreated, infected, and causing him more heartache than he ever planned for it to. All when he never even got the chance to kiss him.
The bell rings to signify that his plane’s bags have arrived. Everything turns into static, snapping him out of his thoughts and back into reality in the middle of the Salt Lake Airport as he picks up his head, finding a pair of hazel eyes already observing him. There’s a moment where he feels like he’s sinking into the earth, the pang in his chest too sharp, and like he could faint. Will’s face is quizzical, an eyebrow quirked up, head cocked a little to the side, and Mike guesses he probably just witnessed all the microexpressions dancing across his face during his bout of overthinking. Mike quickly does his best effort to smooth out the line in between his eyebrows, and then takes the rest of Will in. His hair still flips up where it meets his shoulders, though longer than it’s ever been, and he still has bangs, though they’re a little wispier now. His skin is tanned, evidence of a summer in California, his home. His life, completely separate from Mike. He still wears a black watch on his left wrist, and he’s wearing an open plaid button up. It’s still his Will, yet so much is different.
He should probably stop staring like an idiot and do something, except the floor feels sticky all of a sudden, his legs feel jello-y like they do when you’re trying to run from something in a dream. He thinks he’s going to move any second, he has to. How long is too long to stare at your estranged, romantically-charged, childhood best friend across an airport? For a second, he thinks Will might walk over. He wonders if Will maybe has something to say, because Will has always had the right thing to say. He’s always been bolder in his words than Mike when they really matter. But he doesn’t walk over, and Mike doesn’t find it in him to make any moves either, and then Will is shaking himself out of their shared gaze, turning his head, eyes shifting like he’s looking for something, and then he’s — walking away? He’s walking away. He’s leaving, as if he never saw Mike. He’s walking away, like it was all a figment of his imagination, and Mike is still frozen in place.
…
Okay, so Will fucking hates him.
Not only is he forced to reunite with all his childhood friends with nothing to show and watch one of his best friends profess his undying love while he has no prospects, but the one person he cares the most about in the entire world can’t even stand to speak to him.
It’s not that he doesn’t deserve it, Mike thinks as he hastily hails a cab and shoves himself and his duffel inside. He should have reached out before this weekend, he could have talked to Will, smoothed things over between them — what’s there to smooth over? Everything that happened, happened almost four years ago. Maybe establishing where they stand is a more accurate way of putting it. He could have called Will, and explained that I’ve kind of wiped off the face of the earth for everyone in my life, not just you.
Will doesn’t have to know how big a part he played in Mike’s falling off.
Regardless, it doesn’t matter, because Mike didn’t call Will beforehand, and Will apparently can’t stand to even be around Mike, and with every minute that Mike stands on the grounds of Salt Lake City, he grows more unsure of his ability to keep Dustin’s promise. Don’t be dumb.
He’s arriving at the hotel before he can think about his demise any further, and one curly headed groom is waiting for him at the entrance.
“Low and behold, Michael James in the flesh,” Dustin calls out once he’s opened the car door and offered a hand for Mike to take. “How are you, man? It’s been way too long.”
“Better now,” Mike says with a smile, letting Dustin pull him out of the cab and into an embrace. “I should be asking you! Have you had the urge to run yet?” He teases.
“Ha ha ha,” Dustin deadpans as he takes Mike’s bag out of the trunk. “You’re funny.”
“So, no? Yes? I’m not getting a definitive answer here,” Mike continues. “If you wanna go, we can go right now.” He’s kidding— he is.
Dustin looks behind him in Mike’s direction and raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re projecting. Are you projecting, Mike?” He asks like he doesn’t actually want the answer.
“Don’t know where you got that from.”
Another pointed look, and then he lets it go. A little bit of the baggage Mike has come in with sheds off, happy that things with Dustin can pick up right where they left it. He’s excited to celebrate his friend — genuinely — and feels less anxious about what the weekend holds just from the warmth of Dustin’s welcome.
“Anyway, so Lucas has been here since this morning, and Will got here like, right before you did, so they’re in his room now. Basically the rest of today is just chill, hang out, and then tonight we party.” Dustin explains as he leads Mike up to his room.
“What’s the plan?” Mike asks.
“I told Steve that my top three necessities were video games, booze, and you guys. He had a plethora of outlandish pitches, but I don’t know. I’m a simple man, with simple tastes. Apparently his great uncle has a house here in Salt Lake, so all I know for sure is that it’s going to be there.”
“Sounds right up our alley,” Mike says. “So, six?” He asks as he uses his key to unlock the door to his room. The crisp air conditioning wafts into his face with the opening of the door.
“Yeah, come to my room and hang if you want. I’m really happy you’re here, Mike. This weekend would suck without you, seriously,” Dustin says, and then leaves Mike alone in his room.
Mike drops his duffel to the floor and falls face forward on the freshly made bed.
The thing is, Dustin probably would have listened if Mike had been truthful about what happened at the airport, and how fucked he feels about seeing Will tonight. Out of all his friends, Dustin would probably have the most sane and honest response to what Mike’s going through, would take the no bullshit approach, which is something Mike probably needs. Yet, it would only add to his current self-loathing if he piled all of that onto the groom on his wedding weekend, so he’s a bit stuck.
Maybe Mike is just blowing everything out of proportion. Maybe his mind is completely betraying him and Will hadn’t seen Mike at all at the airport. But he can’t shake what scares him the most — that Will realized how much time he wasted pining after someone as useless as Mike. That he woke up one random morning in the last two years and cringed at all the things he’s ever said to make Mike believe otherwise. That when he saw Mike in the airport, he didn’t feel pity, not disappointment, but disgust. He couldn’t even bear to be in the same room.
How did he let himself get to the point of feeling so utterly alone? The fact that Dustin even felt the need to share so much appreciation for Mike being here this weekend felt like a punch in the face. It’s his goddamn wedding, for fuck’s sake. Of course Mike was going to be here.
He peels himself off the bed, and goes to the bathroom to assess what he’s working with, what Will saw earlier from across the baggage claim. In front of the mirror, his fingers reach up to drag across the purple skin under his eyes, the slightly greasy strands of hair falling into his face. He twists around and reaches to turn on the shower faucet to all the way hot, thinking it might help him reset for the weekend ahead.
It’s just that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get himself to feel normal, like he used to feel. He used to run around Hawkins with ease, knowing where he belonged and where he didn’t and being the loudest one in the room in the places he did. People looked at him, to him, for things. Listened for what he had to say. Even early in college, he found himself in clubs and groups and classes where he was someone— until everything snapped.
Mike knows, he knows, he tried to have his cake and eat it too, or whatever the saying is — something his mom would tell him when he’d stay at the arcade past curfew and then try to sleep through family cleaning day the next morning. He wanted to feel the warmth in his stomach, the fullness in his heart — the way Will made him feel — and yet tried with all his might to be normal. It got to the point where continuing to have Will in his life in an authentic way, the way he wanted him, would require Mike to address things he wasn’t ready to address.
It haunts Mike — how far he’s been willing to go to stay normal, to be accepted by the world’s standards, to fit in. He doesn’t even recognize himself anymore. Something has to change. Mike knows that, he’s known that for months now.
Will is somewhere in this building right now. Tonight, it starts.
…
“Steve, what the hell! This is insane!” Dustin exclaims as they walk into the house — a fairly large house, Mike observes.
He walks in behind Dustin to see that furniture has seemingly been moved around and all the free space inside is filled with arcade games. Pac-man, Donkey Kong, Frogger, Galaga, Space Invaders, Dig Dug, Asteroids — everything they used to love playing when they were kids. Steve wears a smug grin as he leads them into other rooms, where more games are set up — Gauntlet, Tetris, Galaxian, Dragon’s Lair, and racing games.
“I had to do something over the top, Henderson. I would have felt like I’d failed you as a best man otherwise,” Steve explains.
“I think you’ve done great, Steve,” Will says from the other side of Lucas. “Our Dustin deserves something special, doesn’t he?” He reaches around and places a hand on Dustin’s shoulder.
“Exactly!” Steve gushes, glad to have someone agree with him.
Mike tries to ignore how pleasant Will has been with everyone since they met in the lobby forty-five minutes ago and loaded into the van Steve rented to cart them around for the weekend. It’s not that Will has been necessarily unpleasant with Mike, because Will isn’t immature like Mike might be. Higher emotional intelligence, and all that. He’s just— indifferent. It’s like he doesn’t know how to act around Mike, so he just acts like he doesn’t know him at all.
Steve shows off the buckets of coins, and tells them that if they run out, he knows how to unlock the system and get the coins back out – meaning unlimited games all night. He shows them where the drinks are, and lets them know that the pizza delivery is on its way.
“How about a shot for the groom?” Lucas proposes, bounding into the kitchen with Dustin in tow. Everyone cheers and follows after them. Lucas pours the shots, and they get the night started.
Once Mike has a nice buzz going, things start to loosen up. The tension that had gripped his shoulders and chest all evening softens, replaced by a pleasant fuzziness. The neon lights decorating the house seem warmer now, colors blurring and bleeding into each other. He managed to beat Lucas in Space Invaders, and he’d come dangerously close to beating Dustin and Will in a heated round of Pac-Man.
Dustin is dragged out of the room to settle some debate between Lucas and Steve — something about whether Han Solo could beat Indiana Jones in a fight — and Mike realizes, a second too late, that he should have followed. Now he’s alone. With Will.
Will, who looks like he’s been drinking just as much as Mike has, judging by the faint flush coloring his cheeks and the way his eyes shine, soft and liquid.
“What’s next?” Mike asks, his voice catching awkwardly as he tries to fill the silence. Will doesn’t answer right away, eyes still locked on the screen, where their names and scores blink in steady rhythm.
“Dunno,” Will finally replies, exhaling a slow, unsteady breath. Definitely just as tipsy, if not more. His voice is lighter than it should be, like he’s covering up something heavier beneath it. Mike briefly wonders if Will had been nervous about tonight, too. If there’s been some part of him bracing for this.
Will’s lips twitch into a barely-there smile, and when he looks at Mike, there’s a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Honestly, I didn’t know if you’d actually come this weekend,” he says suddenly, his tone a mix of simple recognition and something teasingly accusatory.
Mike shifts on his feet. “No one asked you to be honest ,” he mutters, his words coming out sharper than he intended. It’s a half-hearted protest anyway— he knows Will’s right. Flaking has somehow become his reputation. He hates how predictable he’s become.
Will doesn’t flinch. “I just haven’t heard from you in a while,” he says, stepping closer. “That’s all. I guess I thought I would.”
Mike’s heart stumbles. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out.
“But I didn’t,” Will continues, his voice softer now, quieter. There’s a moment where their eyes meet, and Mike feels pinned in place, like Will is pulling apart every layer of him without even trying. “And now here we are.”
“Here we are,” Mike echoes. He hates how weak and hollow his voice sounds.
Will tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know about you, but I think we should have fun,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something in his voice— a plea, maybe, or a challenge. “We’re gonna have fun, right? For Dustin?”
“For Dustin,” Mike repeats. His stomach feels like it’s full of static, buzzing and restless. “Yeah. We’ll have— fun.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Will studies him for a moment, then nods. “Come do another shot with me,” he says, already moving toward the door.
Mike doesn’t hesitate. He just follows, like he always does with Will. What else is he supposed to do? Say no? Walk away? He trails after Will, his thoughts racing, every step making less sense than the last. Mike almost stops walking, almost asks, What the fuck are we doing? But Will glances over his shoulder then, smiling faintly, and something in Mike freezes.
Instead, he keeps following, his heart pounding like he’s walking into some kind of trap.
Will holds Mike’s gaze as they down their shots, and across the room, Lucas and Dustin exchange a look, eyebrows raised in silent commentary. Mike catches the tail end of it and resists the urge to roll his eyes.
For Dustin is right, Mike thinks. He feels like he has whiplash— completely unable to parse any of Will’s actions from the last twelve hours. Every word, every glance feels layered with something he doesn’t have the energy to decode. But acting friendly with Will? That’s something he can do. That’s safe. It might even be nice, having Will back like this for the weekend. Surface-level Will is better than no Will at all.
“There’s that smile,” Will says quietly, with a crinkle in his eyes that feels disarmingly genuine.
Mike’s delayed reaction time betrays him. Before he can respond, Lucas starts announcing something across the room, and Will is already gone, disappearing into the crowd like it’s second nature.
“Here’s to the groom!” Lucas exclaims, holding up his can of beer. “I can’t believe you’re the first of us to get married, Dusty-bun. Cheers!”
Everyone holds up their drinks, laughing at the nickname they still tease him for. They end up sitting around the living room for a while, trading their favorite Dustin stories from when they were kids. Will had some really funny ones from the summer that he and Suzie first started dating— the one after eighth grade, if he remembers right, and Mike had a lot from high school. Steve remembered little middle schooler Dustin from when they first became friends, and Lucas shared the story of when he and Max went with Dustin to visit Suzie the summer before college.
“I always forget you two actually got to meet her before anyone else did,” Dustin says, pointing between Will and Mike. They catch each other’s eyes, silently communicating, remembering that year. His heart leaps at the feeling of being paired together again, for the first time in so many years. Having everyone in the room look at them like they’re a team.
It’s way too small of a moment for Mike to be thinking this hard about it.
“Yeah, man,” Mike chuckles, trying his best not to slur his words. He rubs his hands over his eyes. “Dude, that spring break was so crazy, I feel like I blocked most of it out. Suzie is cool as hell, though — I do remember that.”
The boys talk a little more, drink a little more, and get back to the arcade games. It’s starting to get late, and Mike feels the beginning of a headache coming on. Still, he’s having fun.
That is until Mike comes back into the living room later to find Will and Steve laying out a Twister mat they must have found in a closet somewhere. He watches them attempt to play for a while, too drunk to hold any of the moves for more than a few seconds. They end up falling over each other and laughing before trying again. Will looks determined to win, and Steve looks like he’s having the time of his life. What business does Steve Harrington have playing a game like Twister, anyway? Isn’t he like — pushing 30? Shouldn’t he be paying his taxes or opening up a Roth IRA or something?
Mike recognizes the nasty look twisted onto his face only when Will catches his eye from across the room. Heat floods his chest. He ducks his head quickly, turning on his heel to walk away. He moves fast, hoping that Will didn’t notice.
“Whoa there, bud— going somewhere?” Lucas says, steadying himself as Mike nearly bowls him over in his hasty escape.
“No, I just—” Mike starts, but his brain short-circuits halfway through. He hadn’t planned for where he was heading. He just didn’t want to be there .
Lucas studies him for a beat, and then his expression softens. “Hey. Mike. I’m really glad you’re here, dude. I’ve missed you a lot.”
Mike winces at the sentiment, a sour twist forming in his chest. “I wish people would stop saying that,” he mutters. “I’m here, okay? Why would I miss a fucking wedding?”
Lucas holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, okay. Sorry,” he says, his voice calm but firm as he places a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just— You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah, man. I know,” Mike says, the words more automatic than sincere. His head is pounding now, each throb dull and insistent. He wonders, vaguely, if anyone here has cigarettes. It’s a habit he’s long since kicked, but it sounds ideal right now— a perfect excuse to slip outside, to get away from the noise and the eyes he feels pressing down on him.
A few minutes later, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, his fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood. The party hums in the background, muffled by the walls. Everyone seems to have moved on to other activities, leaving him blessedly alone. He’s downed a couple of glasses of water and checked the clock more times than he cares to admit.
Dustin’s laugh echoes from another room, clear and warm, and Mike relaxes marginally. At least someone’s having fun.
“There you are,” a voice comes from the entryway. Mike cracks his eyes open, only to find Will standing there.
“Were you looking for me?” Mike asks, his voice scratchy and low.
“I mean, kinda. Everyone’s starting to wrap up, so.”
“Cool,” Mike mutters, bracing himself for Will to leave.
But Will doesn’t. Instead, he stays planted in the doorway, his weight leaning against the frame, one shoulder cocked. There’s a lazy half-smile on his face, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. Mike can tell Will’s just as out of it as he is— the telltale flush painting his cheeks and neck, the way he moves as if his head is too heavy for his body.
Mike wonders, fleetingly, if Will drank more because he was nervous, like Mike did.
“You were staring earlier,” Will says, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, but his words feel pointed. “Are you okay?”
“I was just— I was watching. Am I not allowed to watch people? There aren’t that many people here,” Mike stammers, the words tumbling out too fast. “Maybe I was just in a daze.”
Will doesn’t look convinced. His stare burns hotter than it should, like a spotlight fixed on Mike’s face. Wide eyes causing the same level of damage they’ve always been able to.
“Chill, Mike,” Will says, his voice lighter now, teasing. “I’m just giving you a hard time. You can stare at me if you want.”
Mike’s stomach flips, and he hates how Will can still do this to him, can still make him unravel with nothing more than a casual comment. “I wasn’t— Will, oh my god,” he snaps, his face burning.
Will laughs, low and heady, and licks his lips. His gaze doesn’t falter, doesn’t pull away. It lingers, heavy and deliberate, like he’s daring Mike to say something, to do something.
Mike hates how much he wants to kiss him, despises how content he’d be if Will just crowded into his space, made it impossible for him to think about anything else.
The moment is broken by a sharp honk! cutting through the quiet, startling them both.
Will glances toward the open front door and nods his head toward the van outside. “Guess that’s our cue,” he says, and Mike follows him out into the night.
The ride back to the hotel is silent, and Mike is glad the wedding isn’t tomorrow. The boys are going to be so hungover in the morning — Mike wonders what’s on the agenda, and hopes it’s golf. Golf is the one sport Mike actually somewhat thrives in. He used to go with Jonathan in high school, and planned to continue that in the summers between college, until— well. He’s sure Jonathan would be happy to go, still, but Mike’s rarely in the mood to be rejected. So he’s never asked.
He watches Will, who’s taken the seat directly in front of him — well, he watches the back of his head. Mike notices it fall forward a few times before jerking back up, watches it sway as the van jostles and turns. He wonders if Will’s eyes are closed, whether he has the spins or not.
The five of them stumble through the hotel lobby and into the elevator. Mike watches Lucas press the “8” button and Steve press the “9,” which is the same floor as Mike’s. For fuck’s sake, Mike thinks, not looking forward to being alone with Steve . He isn’t sober enough for this. When Dustin and Lucas get off on the eighth floor, though, Will stays on. Which— frankly, isn’t much better. He’s probably overreacting, but he doesn’t care. He’s been through a lot tonight.
The three exit the lift when it arrives at their floor. Steve gives a quick “Goodnight,” stopping at his room near the start of the hallway. Now, Mike and Will are left alone to walk the rest of the way in silence, the quiet so heavy it makes Mike’s ears ring.
“Mine’s just down here,” Will says, his voice slow and careful, like he’s picking each word with purpose. He doesn’t look at Mike, just keeps his eyes straight ahead.
Mike doesn’t at all understand him. At the party, Will had been so confident, and if Mike squinted, flirty, but now he’s gone quiet and withdrawn. He doesn’t understand how Will brushed him off at the airport and then stood so close later, how he’d laughed in a way that almost felt... inviting. It’s impossible to figure out what Will’s feeling, and it’s driving Mike insane.
“Same,” Mike manages, and they continue down the hall.
They reach Will’s door first. Will pulls the room key from his wallet, swipes it, and waits for the soft click before turning the handle. Mike places a hand on the doorframe, steadying himself as the weight of the moment sets in. Will hesitates, his hand still resting on the doorknob, and then he turns to face Mike fully.
For the first time all night, Will really looks at him. Mike swears he hears the faintest hitch in Will’s breath as his eyes lock onto his, and suddenly it’s too much. The alcohol feels heavier in Mike’s system— the weight of everything between them presses harder on his chest. He wants to close the space between them. He aches for it, aches for Will.
But he knows he can’t.
Mike closes his eyes, as if that will help shut out the ache. Like they can just exist in this moment as its own disconnected reality. Just for one minute, in Will’s space again. Untethered from the mess of the past and the uncertainty of what’s next. His heart can’t decide whether it’s beating out of his chest or it’s calming down for the first time in months. When he opens his eyes, it’s over— he’ll have to step back and say goodnight.
“I should sleep. You should sleep,” Will says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
When Mike finally opens his eyes, Will is still watching him, his expression caught somewhere between sadness and something softer, more tender. There’s something unspoken in his gaze—something searching, as if he’s trying to find the answer to a question neither of them knows how to ask. Mike’s eyebrows pull together, forming a crease, and he nods.
His throat tightens before he takes a deep breath in, holds it, and then exhales slowly.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“I—” Mike’s voice falters, his words sticking in his throat. He swallows hard and tries again. “Um— I miss you.”
It sounds stupid, pathetic even. Too small for everything he’s feeling. But it’s the truth, and it’s all he can manage.
Will’s expression softens, and he nods slightly. “I miss you too, Mike,” he says, quiet but sure. His gaze doesn’t waver, and Mike feels it like a punch to the gut— how Will can stand there, so open, so unflinching, while Mike feels like he’s falling apart.
“Okay,” Mike whispers, his voice cracking.
“Okay,” Will echoes, his lips pulling into the faintest half-smile.
Will turns and pushes the door open. He pauses, looking back over his shoulder once before stepping inside. The door clicks shut behind him, and Mike just stands there, staring at it, his chest tight and his head spinning.
After far too long, he finally forces himself to move, walking two doors down to his own room.
…
Mike wakes up however many hours later it took for the sun to come up, because he forgot to put the shade down before practically falling into bed last night. The sun is rudely shining into his eyes and burning his skin, and he’s so thirsty, and his headache is back.
He drags himself into the bathroom and immediately regrets neglecting his routine last night. His face feels disgusting, and the contacts have pretty much dried inside his eyes, which is a sensory nightmare in itself. He takes them out, washes his face, drinks the entire complimentary bottle of water waiting on the counter, closes the curtains, and shoves his face back into his pillow for hopefully another half hour at least.
Sleep doesn’t come as easy as Mike hoped, because now that he’s conscious, he can’t seem to get his blood to pump at a normal rate. He knows it’s just a symptom of drinking too much — his body is trying to regulate itself, his mind working to rebalance its chemicals — that there’s nothing actually wrong. The thing about anxiety, though, is that it’s very convincing. He tosses and turns and gets up to drink more water and covers his head with the pillow until he finally decides to give up on sleeping more.
He should just go downstairs. It’s probably late enough in the morning that someone’s up having breakfast by now — probably Lucas, if he had to guess, definitely not Will. Going downstairs is a reasonable option; it’s just that he’s not in the mood to talk. Not when he feels like an open wound. Maybe everyone who expected him not to come was onto something. There’s so much wrong, so much he’s still working on, so much he doesn’t want to be asked about.
Mike hates that he’s overthinking his every move with Will. He knows it must be obvious to everyone how pathetic he is, the way he can’t decide how to be around Will. He knows for a fact that at least Dustin’s eyes are on the two of them. He and the rest of the group have probably caught on to Mike’s anxious energy, and Will’s anxious energy that’s there because of Mike. His childhood best friend, his person, his Mike — it wasn’t supposed to ever be this way.
It shouldn’t be this way, but it has to be, because Mike is a coward. Mike doesn’t even know if he’d want to be “just friends” with Will, for things to go back to how they were before everything. No, he wants more with Will. That’s the problem. He wants more with Will so badly that it physically hurts — and it has for the better part of three years. It’s stung like a sharp pain in his gut, reminding him of the emptiness of something missing. The fear and the want have been at an even balance, though — a constant equilibrium that’s kept him stagnant.
The reality that he’ll have to face is this: choosing Will, if Will would ever dare give him (another) chance to, means choosing to be gay in practice and not just in theory. He knows who he is, regardless — it’s more about what’s expected of him. What society says he should be. He despises how much those expectations matter to him, unlike Will. Will took what people said about him and wore it like a badge of honor, such a quiet confidence in his identity, and never looked back. Mike so desperately wishes he could be like that, but he’s too afraid of disappointing people. The space between who he thinks he has to be and what would actually make him happy is simultaneously a billion miles and a simple breath away. All he’s done, ever since graduating, is think himself in circles about where he belongs, whose arms he belongs in.
He eventually drags himself down to the lobby, and low and behold, Lucas and Steve are seated at one of the tables. Lucas waves him over as he steps into view.
“Coffee?” Steve says as Mike sits at the vacant seat across from him.
“No, I probably shouldn’t,” Mike says. His heart rate hasn’t gone down a single beat since he woke up.
“I think we’re all gonna eat together at the hotel restaurant, but coffee was a priority for me this morning,” Lucas grumbles. “Did you sleep alright?”
“I guess,” Mike murmurs, wiping a hand across his face.
“So, Wheeler,” Steve starts, clearly not reading the fact that he’s not up for talking yet. “What have you been up to since I saw you last — what was that, Hawkins Middle Graduation?” Mike forgot that Steve was Holly’s seventh grade Social Studies teacher. See, old.
“Oh — yeah, I guess so,” Mike says, trying to engage.
“Anything exciting happen? Any girlfriend we don’t know about?” Steve asks, and Mike knows he’s just making small talk, but the questions feel like daggers, and it’s like the building is closing in around him.
“No,” Mike says, and he wishes he did have coffee now, that he had an excuse to avoid eye contact without looking more rude than he already does. Lucas is eyeing him in the way that Lucas does — curious, almost judgmental but not quite.
What else is he supposed to say? “No, I don’t have a girlfriend because I don’t think I actually like girls anymore, or ever did. Either way, I’m too busy mourning the strained friendship with my boy best friend who I want to kiss, all the time, to even look at girls. I’m a loser who isn’t making anything happen in life right now, so please stop asking.”
Because really, Steve only asked once. He shouldn’t be punished just because he asked the same question Mike gets asked every time he steps out in public. Mike also doesn’t want to start off the day being mean. He forces himself to take a breath, and then says, “Sorry. Yeah, not much. I’m working on possible grad school stuff right now, and no, no girlfriend or anything.”
“You’re good, dude,” Steve says with a smile, appearing to give him a break.
Mike relaxes after that, and actually starts contributing to the conversation. The three of them chat for the next twenty minutes, debriefing last night and sharing similar college partying stories as the lobby grows busier and the morning traffic increases. Will and Dustin join them eventually, and they head to their table in the restaurant. Mike tries to get a read on where Will’s head is this morning, but again, he’s unreadable.
“Last night was a movie, man,” Dustin says, a huge smile plastered on his face.
The entire group laughs, endeared by his dorky nature. “You are so lame,” Lucas says, eyes glistening at his friend nonetheless.
“That’s why you guys love me,” Dustin counters. “But really, like. I love you guys so much. Steve, you did great, buddy. I definitely didn’t ask for nearly as much, but am grateful regardless.
“ Again,” Steve says. “I take my duties as a best man seriously. And you deserve it, dude. Don’t let it get to your head.”
Dustin’s lips form a sentimental frown, and he gives Steve obnoxious puppy eyes. “Aw, dude!”
“Save the tears for your wedding, my guy,” Steve says, laughing.
The conversation lulls as they talk over the menu and what looks good — eventually everyone decides and they place their orders.
The warmth of friendship and acceptance Mike used to know more intimately stings as it washes over him, a reminder of what he’s rejected for far too long, for stupid reasons. He checks back into the conversation just as Will is reaching over to cover Dustin’s mouth, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he does.
“I’m just saying it was a failed attempt, that’s all,” Dustin says. Oh, last night’s infamous game of tangled limbs. “Where did you even find Twister?”
“There was a whole closet of games,” Steve explains. “Impossible number, really— like a magic hat that produces anything you can think of.”
“Exactly!” Will says, and there’s a flush across the tops of his cheekbones. Mike has quickly gone back to wishing he could explode Steve with his mind. Seriously, this man should probably be doing the crossword right now. Taking his fiber pill.
“Mike, you good?”
He blinks up at Dustin, who’s eyeing him not-suspiciously, thank god, but with a curious eyebrow raised. The smile hasn’t left his face, and there’s a lightness in his question. Mike has got to work on his expressions— he’s always been scolded by his mother, to which he fights back every time with I would if I knew I was doing it! It’s a downside to wearing his heart on his sleeve— he wears it across his eyebrows and in his scowl too.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Mike replies with an easy grin. The others don't pay their exchange much mind, Lucas opting to continue teasing Will for his lack of Twister skill.
Mike's sugary response appears to be what signals to Dustin that something's off— which isn't Mike's best moment, because of course that's what was going to happen. Dustin might be just as terrible at picking up on sarcasm as Mike, but he can sense bullshit from a mile away. The smile drops, and his chest prickles at the reality that he'd forgotten that. Yet another reminder that he isn't as close to any of his friends as he once used to be, that his head is too preoccupied with shifting around fog to hold that kind of capacity anymore.
Dustin's eyes stay fixed on Mike, which causes Mike to sink into his chair a little, ducking his head and focusing on his plate. The care with which Dustin pauses his meal to quietly check on Mike, the others still distracted, only serves to make Mike feel worse. He looks back up to meet Dustin's questioning stare for a brief second before he begins to shift them uncomfortably, bargaining for escape. He can tell Dustin is piecing things together in his brain— whether those conclusions are right or not, Mike doesn't know.
Dustin finally lets Mike off the hook with pursed lips, a head nod, and a wink. Mike offers his most genuine smile, and takes a sharp breath in when Dustin looks away.
"Boys, we’ve got a day ahead of us,” he announces. “There isn’t really a huge plan, but we do have some wedding stuff that has to get done. Suzie’s mom is at the church, and she needs people to help set up tables and chairs and what-not. Then, there may or may not need to be flowers picked up at a shop that’s,” he clears his throat, “forty-five minutes away. Any immediate takers?”
The thing is, it’s not that Mike particularly wants to escape the company of his best friends for two hours — but if someone has to do it, it may as well be Mike. It might be good to get the fresh air in his lungs, listen to some music, and calm himself down before more wedding events tonight.
So, when he promptly raises his hand and says, “I’ll do it,” he’s surprised that his voice sounds like it came out doubled. He’s even more shocked when he looks over and Will’s hand is just as raised.
“Oh, perfect. It’s a two person job, so Mike and Will, if you both want to, that’s great,” Dustin says, pleased.
Will is silent, and Mike quietly considers his options. If he protests, it’ll cause a scene and make Will feel like he doesn’t want to spend time with him, which are both very unwanted effects. If he agrees to do the task with Will, then that could lead to even more trouble, and there’s a high chance Will won’t want to go. But Will stays quiet, and so Mike nods and says, “Cool. What’s the address, and what car do we use?”
…
It’s an hour and a half later when Dustin tosses Will the keys to his car, along with a piece of paper scrawled with the name of the shop and directions to get there. Will catches the keys easily, but without a word, he passes them to Mike instead. Their fingers brush briefly, and they share a soft smile before heading to the car.
The silence in the car feels impossibly loud for the first few minutes of the drive. Mike grips the steering wheel tighter than necessary, hyper-aware of how close they’re sitting and how quiet it is.
This is the first time they’ve spent time together, alone, sober, in over two years.
The weight of that realization sinks in, and Mike’s thoughts start to spiral. He racks his brain for things to say, but every idea feels wrong— too casual, too personal, too much, or not enough. He knows his brow is furrowing in that way Will always used to tease him about. He can practically feel Will's thumb pressing into the crease, the way he’d rub it to remind Mike to relax.
He wonders what it would take for Will to do the same now — wonders if the way Will is clasping his hands together might have something to do with him recalling the habit, too.
The tension becomes unbearable, so Mike makes an impulsive decision to pull off at the next exit for coffee. Mike’s stomach still turns at the idea, but some tea might be nice.
“Where are you going? We just got on the road,” Will asks, his voice curious rather than annoyed.
“Quick stop,” Mike says. He steers into the parking lot of a drive-thru coffee joint, his nerves momentarily soothed by having something tangible to do.
When it’s their turn at the window, Mike doesn’t even think to ask Will what he wants. “Can we get one small Chamomile with vanilla and one small Americano with cream and honey?” he orders automatically.
As he pulls forward to the pickup window, Mike notices the way Will’s lips quirk up, like he’s holding back a laugh.
“What?” Mike asks, glancing at him.
“You just ordered for me,” Will says, his voice lilting with amusement.
“Did I get it wrong?” Mike asks, immediately defensive.
“You didn’t, no,” Will says, shaking his head. “It’s right. It’s just—” He pauses, his cheeks tinting red. “It’s been a while, that’s all.”
They take their drinks, and Mike can’t help the quiet satisfaction that rises in his chest when Will takes a sip and hums his approval. Three years is a long time, but some things haven’t changed. The important things about Will — his preferences, his habits — are still carefully filed away in Mike’s mind, even after all this time.
He’s trying. He hopes Will sees that he’s trying.
The tension eases a little. Will reaches over to the radio, flipping quickly through stations until he lands on one playing Nirvana. He sits back in his seat, satisfied, and Mike’s lips twitch into a smile despite himself.
It’s not much, but it’s a start.
“Do you think these flowers are, like, super fancy or something?” Mike asks a little later.
“They better be, for them to be worth a whole road trip to acquire them,” Will chuckles.
“Or maybe they’re more affordable since they’re outside the city.”
“Oh, that’s smart. Probably that,” Will says, raising his pointer finger. Mike hums, and that’s how the next twenty minutes go — light conversation, making Will laugh, comfortable silence. It feels good. The pressure on Mike’s chest has dissipated, which he can thank the chamomile and Will for, probably.
When Mike is thinking about Will, he gets anxious — but being around Will is an entirely different story. Will soothes Mike, and he’s always been able to. It always felt so natural to be beside Will — Will was practically an extension of himself when they were younger. Then, as they got older, and their minds got more complex, they grew more complex as entirely separate humans, so that stopped being acceptable. He wishes it wasn’t — remembers, in times like this, that existence with Will is still as simple as it was when they were kids. It’s the everything else that’s so goddamn confusing.
Existing with Will when they were in college was simple like this. Wanting to lean over and kiss Will under his eye is a simple desire, the same way it was three years ago — Mike’s issue is wishing for that to remain inside a vacuum. It’s failing to understand that his actions have cause and effect. That there’s an entire human brain operating inside Will’s skull, too — with his own set of desires and expectations. That there’s a whole world that exists outside of the bubble he wants so desperately to live inside that includes just him and Will.
It’s selfish. Mike knows that.
“You’d like California, I think,” Will says, bringing Mike out of his head. It’s like he’s thinking out loud — no weight on it, just musing. He’s looking out the window, content and comfortable. Maybe he doesn’t hate Mike, after all.
“You think so?” Mike decidedly doesn’t mention the fact that he hasn’t not considered California before.
“Mm,” is all Will says in response. Mike wonders what made Will think about that.