Chapter Text
Mike feels his hand twitch towards Will’s. They are sitting close as always, Will talking. Normally Mike always listens to Will, really listens, but the paint on Will’s index is really distracting... Mike crumbles his hand into fist.
“So, it’s okay, she’s probably right. You do need your space from each other, you know?” Will finishes, looking at Mike now and wait, holy shit, did Mike just zone out like that while Will’s talking about the breakup?
“You came over to comfort me?” Mike asks.
Will’s face tightened inwards in confusion, “Well, yeah. I’m pretty sure I said that.”
“Will, it was over a week ago.” Mike realizes it doesn’t sound like much time to be over a long relationship like his and El’s. He also realizes he should probably need the comfort, fighting melodramatic sobs and just wanting to hold her one…last…time… like in a soap opera, but he doesn’t and it feels utterly stupid to fake it.
“Mike, you don’t have to be over it yet. It’s fine. And you didn’t come to the arcade with us yesterday, I guess I just got worried.”
“No, I’m really okay. I was just not up to answering questions about it. There’s not much to say, and anyway, I’m not good with words. You were always the wise one.” Mike softly jabs Will’s arm with his elbow, and blushes feeling the new muscle it carries.
Will shoves back lightly, which launches the start of a wrestling match. They haven’t done anything boyish like this in a long, long time. They hadn’t really wrestled like this even as kids; that was something he would do with Lucas or Dustin, but not Will. With Will, it was just different. Joyce used to joke that they were like an old married couple, talking and just enjoying the other’s company. It brings up complicated feelings now and Mike pushes the idea out of his head.
Will grabs Mike’s arm and says he could break it by bending it a certain way. Mike calls Will a nerd. Will pushes Mike’s shoulder and Mike pushes back on Will. His hand feels funny after. It’s just wrestling. It’s just wrestling, don’t be weird Mike, it’s just wrestling. Will puts up a pretend fighting stance, which makes them laugh so hard they flop on the bed. Mike sits up and Will sort-of-gently pushes him back down. Wrestling. Mike does something and Will does something and somehow they twist and then…then…
And then Will is hovering above Mike, breathing heavily. His cheeks have a wash of pink and his lips are slightly parted as he stares down at Mike with growing eyes. Mike watches as Will’s eyes tinge with something, his chest moving up and down with every breath. Mike is studying Will, knowing Will must be studying him, and Mike feels like he’s on fire. He knows his skin must be warm, thinks that Will’s might be too, and wants to check. His hand twitches, he’s raising his head, he wants to check, he wants to get closer, he wants to-
Will’s eyes pull away suddenly and glance toward something that must’ve gotten fallen during their wrestling.
“Hey, what’s this?” He asks, moving away off the bed to bend down and pick the mystery object up.
Mike cranes his neck to see, “Oh, that’s-” and then he freezes because that’s a secret. It’s a piece of him. It’s everything. It’s an unsent letter. And under his bed, emerging from a spilt over box, there’s a hundred more.
“Mike?”
Will’s facing him now, a wet gloss over his eyes. His face is tight with confusion again— but he’s frowning and his eyebrows are laced even closer together.
“Will…”
“These are letters, addressed to me.” He’s holding a few, and Mike can recognize by the lack of pen ink smudges and too careful handwriting that they’re some of the first ones. Back when he planned on sending them, eventually.
But was he ever really going to send them? No, he knows he never was. Because every one ended the same, with Mike exposing himself as who he really was. As needy and disgusting and queer.
Queer.
God, he hates himself for it. Queer, fairy, fag. Another diseased one, another statistic, another soul damned to hell because of disgusting thoughts that won’t go away. He can’t seem to outrun it.
“Get out,” Mike says, his own sternness surprising him.
“What?” Will’s face contorts even more in helplessness. Mike’s heart aches a little.
“Leave,” he repeats, “please.” He’s begging, his voice a little whiny and noticeably less powerful than before. “I’m sorry.”
Will hesitates, but he obeys, closing the door behind him and choking out a “bye.”
Mike falls to the floor with his head in his hands. He lets out a single sob.
He doesn’t see Will taking a letter with him.