Chapter Text
02. June. 1987
Mike was staring at his calendar, not that he had a reason to. He and Will were supposed to hang out at his house, "like the old times" he said. He didn’t have a reason to be this nervous, it was only Will and him, alone.
Ever since the Byers moved back in Hawkins, after the gates were closed, and the everyone went back to school, Mike and Will barely hung out alone. Will apologized for lying about the painting long ago, and to be fair, Mike actually liked the idea that Will made it for him much better anyway.
Mike and El broke up. Mike was honest and told El about everything, the reason he couldn't love her, what he never thought he would admit out loud ever. In reality they've always made a better pair as friends.
Mike started playing with his fingers as he thought about Will, the conversations they had when the Byers were staying over at the Wheelers, when they shared the bed and about the letters Will almost found. He once heard Will tell him he loves him when he thought he was asleep (which could totally mean nothing), and he woke up with Will's hands around his waist a not-weird amount of times (not that Mike would ever complain). He knew Will didn't like him like that, he shouldn't hope for something. He felt sick to his stomach, but all he could picture was Will holding him, kissing him and perhaps more.
Then he heard a knock on the door. He hadn't even realized tears began to form till he replied with a chocked "Come in.", so he wiped them as fast as he could. His best friend came in and complained about how hot it was outside, but then noticed Mike's red eyes (because how could he not) and looked at him with slight worry. Mike shrugged and looked down, and Will sighed but didn't ask anything. It had been weird these past few months, they avoided talking about stuff like this and Mike especially avoided physical contact (for his own sake).
Will sat down on the bed, next to the brunette, and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. It tempted Mike to talk, but he obviously decided against it because, as Mike saw it, their friendship was on the line and it was something he couldn't live without. He looked at Will and gave him a slight smile and so they continued their afternoon.
They talked about stupid things like new movies that had come out, Dustin's latest obsession with The Mariana Trench, the Queen posters on Mike's walls which lead to David Bowie and so on. But then Will decided to bring up the fact that Mike was basically crying when he arrived, which shouldn't be so unusal. "So, if you don't mind me asking, what was that about when I came in?" He said softly, his eyes studying Mike's face in an unreadable manner. Mike frowned and took his fingers to the bridge of his nose, to which Will sighed but told him "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but it wouldn't hurt to open up to someone." But what Will didn't understand it most definitely would have hurt, Mike couldn't just tell Will what kind of person he was, the thoughts he had about him and that he loved him so much his heart ached. "Well, I can't." Mike said quietly and collapsed on the bed in a dramatic manner.
Will tilted his head and looked down at him, "And why not?" He asked, smirking, amused by Mike's theatrical gesture. When Mike opened his eyes, he locked eyes with Will and he smiled, his cheeks turning a pink tint. But his smile quickly disappeared as he was reminded of the guilt he felt, he looked away and his throat felt like it was swelling. Will's eyes were now filled with worry, he didn't know what was wrong with Mike. So all he did was also lay back next to him and take one of his hands to comfort him, but in reality that only made it worse. Mike covered his entire face with his other hand, he felt his cheeks burning and his eyes were glistening with tears.
"Hey, look at me." Will said, almost demanding. And Mike did (of course he did). Will wasn't shocked to see Mike crying, so he brought his other hand to his cheek and wiped a tear, but Mike took it off his face and raised his body off of the mattress. Will did the same, his lips pursed and their hands still intertwined. "You're not ok." Will stated and Mike let out a small laugh.
"This is really weird you know that?" Will smiled, "I missed you." He said a little quieter.
Mike's heart fluttered. He knew missing your friend was normal, but the way Will said it felt different. "I missed you too." Mike whispered, "I love you" went unsaid as he bit the inside of his cheek.
Sometime in the autumn of 1986 | post "apocalypse"
"I should probably start packing my stuff." Will said while brushing his overgrown bangs up. The Byers were slowly starting to pack their stuff to move away from the Wheeler's residence. They were moving back to Hawkings, since the threats were completey gone. "Can you believe this is over?"
"I don't want to believe anything else." Mike sighed. He glanced at Will looking under the bed, "Still can't find the grey flannel?"
"Yeah, I genuinely have no idea where it is." Will says and frowns at the mess under the bed. He saw a binder full of his drawings and he smiled, but next to it was a white shoebox that seemed to be new. He looked back up and saw Mike leaving the room. Then back to the shoebox. He raised an eyebrow and reached out to take it from under the bed. It looked like nothing special, a plain white shoe box. He slightly opened the lid up, but then noticed Mike was standing in the doorway looking scared? Will quickly got up, "Are you okay?!" he questioned, worried.
"Um, yeah." Mike breathed out, quickly going past Will. He sat down and put the lid back, sliding the box under his bed yet again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop." Will said and crossed his arms.
Mike was laughing as Will made a stupid joke about 2 slices of bread falling in loaf at first sight. The phone rung, and it was most certainly Joyce announcing Will that she's on her way to pick him up. They both sighed and got up.
Will left not much after. Mike stared as the car drove off, and kept staring after for something that felt like a good minute. He remained alone, with nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company. He rushed to his room and slammed the door as he got in. "I missed you." the words echoed in Mike's mind, Will said that, he thought as he put his palms over his face and started giggling like a teenager in love (which he was).
Although it was summer, Mike headed to sleep early. He noticed he's been doing that a lot lately, it didn’t matter whether it was to get away from his thoughts or to see Will sooner, because he hated to wait so long. He hugged himself, smiling.
03. June. 1987
The room was dim, the only light being the pale blue light leaking through the half-closed blinds. On the bedside, old digital clock indicated 04:06AM. The room was still, the kind of stillness that didn't comfort.
Mike sat upright in bed, sweating lightly (despite the cold air). His eyes were wide, unfocused and haunted by the remnants of a dream too close to memory. He rubs his face with both hands, then glances around the room. He threw off the covers and swung his legs over the edge, his bare feet landing softly on the wooden floor. It creaked slightly, and he flinched. He stood slowly, like his body carried something heavy- something unseen.
The hallway was dark, but the light remained turned off. He didn't need to see to get around the house, after so many sleepless nights. Each step he took sounded louder than it should have, echoing like his guilty thoughts.
In the kitchen, he opens the fridge for a source of light. He squints and grabs a glass from the cupboard. Although it looked clean, he rinsed and then let water pour. The faucet ran a bit too long.
He drank slowly, his eyes unfocused, looking around the kitchen. He stared out the window into the blackness outside. Somewhere out there, it felt like someone knew. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him unblinking, judging. The hand holding the now empty glass was shaking as he attempted to put it down next to the sink, but he missed and it fell down, shattering loudly. In that moment he felt like he himself would shatter. He stared at the pieces of glass on the floor and cursed himself when he heard footsteps.