Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Here I am again.

Strapped to a board, fighting my way out of this shithole. The nurses blur around me, their faces melting into one another — white fabric, white walls, white noise. I can’t tell if I’m screaming or if it’s just the sound of my pulse, loud and useless.

It’s just a headache I've told them time after time, but they never believe me.

The voices leak into my brain, flooding every corner until I can’t think in my own voice anymore. It’s not my fault for wanting it to be quiet just for once. I yell into the fogged mask pressed across my face, my breath bouncing back at me, hot and helpless—and then, everything folds into dark.

..................................................

Outside the window, I see Mom fall to her knees while trying to put my bags onto the trunk. I’ve gotten used to seeing her like this — watching her little boy fade away. Jonathan meets her side, helping her back onto her legs. They hug and stay like that for a while. I notice him rubbing slow circles on her back, and her chest heaving begins to calm.

“Will!”

The voice of a complete stranger pulls me back to reality. The old wooden grandfather clock ticking on the wall is the only sound between us now. Books line the shelves, most of them with psychology printed down their spines. On his desk sits a mug of coffee, the surface still dark and steaming. The mug itself is cream white, a small crack trailing from the handle. Imprinted on it is a family of ducks following their mother, each wearing tiny baby blue hats. I don’t want to be here, in this far too neatly organized office — because I know what it means. Deep down, I know why my mother and brother are packing my things into the car; I just don’t want to accept it. And there is always the option of not accepting it but that only leads to more nurses and more questions.

“What’s my mom doing?” I ask. My voice cracks — it’s been at least two hours since I last spoke. The man lowers his glasses, looking at me in that careful, clinical way.  “Answer my question.”  I don’t take my eyes off the spotless window.  “Why did you take the aspirin?”
I turn my head, finally meeting his dull, middle-aged face.

Because I wanted the noise to stop.
Because I wanted to die.

“I had a headache,” I say flatly, fumbling with the cigarette packet in my hands. I pull out a fresh one, light it, and watch the end crumble to ash and disappear into the air. “You need to understand—” he starts. “No,” I cut in. “You need to understand.” I pull the cigarette from my mouth and stare at him — cold, steady. He takes a slow breath and looks down at his notebook.
“Help me understand,” he says quietly. “Explain it to me.”

Through the glass door, I see a little blond girl playing with plastic toy trucks on the waiting room floor. I lean back in my chair, hoping I look like I don’t give a fuck about anything anymore.

“Explain what?” he asks, lips pressed together. I’ve learned this trick from all my failed therapy sessions. They stay quiet, flash a warm smile, and wait for you to spill more. “Explain what?” I repeat, letting the pause do the work. The technique works. “That time can move backwards and forwards and out again and back again — and you can't control it?” I smack my lips, signaling I’m done. He looks pleased with himself. Amidst the clicking of the clock, I hear kids shouting loud, chaotic, at someone. Probably someone smaller than them.

“And why can’t you control it, Will?” he asks.
The kids shout again, louder this time, and I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut.
I can’t control it. I’m slipping backwards, tumbling through time, unable to stop.

I’m in middle school — my first year.
I walk into the bathroom, hands looped around my bag straps. Once I’m done here, I’ll meet Mike, Lucas, and Dustin at our designated cafeteria table to discuss our next D&D campaign. I make my way into the stall — and suddenly I’m thrown back against the wall. I lift my head and scratch the back of it. “Ow.” I look pathetic, sprawled across the cold school bathroom tiles beneath the paper towels. Pain pulses from the back of my head, stinging my eyes.

Troy and his gang.
“Where do you think you’re going, faggot?” he spits in my face, kneeling so we’re level.
“I was just… using the toilet?” I spit back, trying to sit upright. “Everyone in this town knows what you are,” he says, glaring down at me like some evil king. They had no evidence I was queer, just needed someone smaller to take out their stupid, mediocre anger. “Shut up, Troy,” I scramble to my feet, trying to act strong. I am strong, right? He glances at his two friends. They circle me like wolves on fresh meat, kicking and digging their shoes into my limbs. I groan, covering my head. “STOP!” “We can’t hear you, faggot,” one says, each bruise engraving itself onto my skin.

“Get the fuck away from him, Troy!” someone shouts. The sparkle in the voice — I know it’s Mike. He hardly ever swears, except in moments like this. Lucas and Dustin join his side. Troy is outnumbered now, but still bigger.  “All the fairies are here,” his blonde friend sneers, and they laugh. Mr. Clark knocks on the red entry door. “Everything's alright in here, boys?”
Mike’s lips curl, ready to answer, but Troy hisses, “We’ll get you next time, freaks,” and shoves past my friends. I groan, resting my head on the stone-cold tiles. “WILL! Are you okay?” they all call, one by one. “Yeah,” I say, clearly not, a small river of blood trickling from my lower lip.

“Will?”
I’m shot back into the sad reality of this small office. Once again, my eyes drop to the cigarette in my hand. I can barely see how much is left — my hands are shaking. God, whatever happened to the party… What happened to Mike?

“No drugs?” he asks.
I shake my head slowly, my skull still pulsing like it did all those years ago. I stub the cigarette into the ashtray beside the chair. “How do you feel right now?” I take a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’m feeling.” I stare into his eyes again, trying to find something. “You need to rest,” he mutters, scribbling into his notebook. “Yeah… I’ll go home, maybe take a nap, a shower—”
 

“No. No, you need to rest.” Well. Fuck.

…………………………..

As the cab drives I look through the back seat window. Over my bags I see mom standing in the middle of the road, still. I can subtly see her lips quivering but she is still, watching. Jonathan runs up, and El behind him. They all stand there right in the middle of the concrete road in a line, it looks like something out of a movie. My eyes sting again and single tear strays loose. I shake and climb back into my seat. I love my family and I will miss them but they don't understand what it's like. I need to break and be free and drown in my own problems.

I bring yet another cigarette to my mouth and breathe the smoke. I like the way it feels like it's slowly choking me. Breathing out my eyes drift the driver mirror examining his face. 

“Mike.” I remember sitting on the porch steps with Mike, trying to talk, trying to explain how I felt. He stared straight ahead, hands in his pockets, not moving, not flinching, not saying a word. I waited for a flicker, a glance, anything. Nothing. The silence stretched, sharp and heavy, until my chest ached. Finally, he stood up, said, “I’ve got to go,” and left without looking back. I sat there, watching him disappear, feeling the cold squeeze of being invisible to someone I trusted. Even now, I can feel it, like ice in my ribs. I can't control time anymore. 

“What did you do?” the driver asks. He has by far the fullest beard I’ve ever seen, and his eyes are sharp hazel green. “What did you do?” he repeats. I’m dazed — always pulled back by words. “Excuse me?” I stop watching him in the mirror and meet his eyes as he turns his back.
“You look… normal.” Oh. He’s asking why I’m going to a mental institution. Why Hawthorne of all places. “I’m sad,” I whisper, puffing out another wisp of smoke.

He chuckles to himself. “Well, everyone's a bit sad.” i guess he’s right but i guess i am sadder than most people. “I see things” i reply, hoping for the conversation to just end so we can just drive. He mutters to himself as we drive past abig sign that reads Hawthrone established 1896 here we go. 

We drive up to the building, where a tall man meets us. He glances down at me with a smirk, and my throat tightens. God… am I actually going to be here?
I look back, crane my neck like some scared cat. After all the paperwork is done, the instructor who introduced himself as Victor, takes me to where I’ll be staying. He has a great head of black silky hair, and somehow, he looks like the complete opposite of someone who would work in a place like this.

We find ourselves in a long, white hallway.
Closed doors line the walls, and a big living room area sits at the end — like a thermometer shape. The floor is cream, bordered by strips of mint color on each side. Inside the strips are brown diamonds. Comforting. This place looks like a fucking mint chocolate chip ice cream parlor.

A sterile smell hangs in the air, like cleaning supplies mixed with something I can’t place.
The people walking the halls who aren’t in white jackets are, I assume, patients. Their movements are slow, careful, some muttering under their breath. I spot three nurses all female, their shoes squeaking softly on the tiles.

“I’ll show you this room first,” Victor squeaks, bursting through two doors. “This is the art room.” I follow him inside. The afternoon sun leaks through the windows, casting a soft glow over everything. Somehow, it reminds me of Mike. “I take it you like art?” he asks, cutting through my disgusting thoughts. I nod softly.

A guitar strums in the corner, and I quickly turn. A pile of instruments rests against a locked cage. A small boy who looks about 14 sits on a chair, fingers lightly pressing the strings. One side of his face is creased and wrinkled like a crumbled bit of paper. “Parker, what are you doing here?” A smile spreads across both their faces. “I felt very musical today,” he says, meeting my eyes with a look of disbelief. “Not today.” Victor states as I watch Parker get up and leave the room quietly. I gulp down the big knot in my throat. God these people are really insane.

We continue down the hall as I watch each person in their rooms. A boy, visibly older than me, peers from his door with sad eyes before shutting it mysteriously. “This is the living room. Everyone hates it,” Victor states. I don’t believe him — there must be at least a dozen people in there. “I want my fucking clothes!” a girl in a hospital gown around my age says. “You’ll have to eat something first,” Victor replies. I can tell immediately what her problem is — the girl is skin and bone.

Victor ignores her and leads us to yet another room. The girl starts singing in a scratchy voice.
“She thinks it bothers me,” Victor mutters. I watch the strangers in the living room. This is a place for crazy people. He leads me into an empty room with two beds. “This is where you will be sleeping.” I examine the room. Jesus, why is everything white here? I can tell someone lived here once, maybe, but they left.

“Is there anyone els—” I’m cut off when a nurse whispers something into Victor’s ear.
He nods and leaves me alone. There is commotion coming from the window. A police car is outside, wrestling someone out of the car. “Dont touch- dont fucking touch me!” The guy cries. He is tall and lanky with black curly hair to his shoulders. I can't see his face. He is eventually brought upstairs, but i choose to keep myself in this room and unpack. 

Through the not-so-soundproof walls, I hear the boy — loud, fractured, almost too big for the space. “Hey guys, did you miss me?” I take it he’s been here before. I peek my head through the door, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. “Hey Eds, let anyone in your room yet?” he calls to the mysterious boy from before. He moves around the place like he owns it, chest out, arms swinging. “Good to be home!” he yells, throwing his long arms into the air. Finally, he turns, and I can see half his face through the crack in the door.

His eyebrows are straight, messy, dark — just like the eyes beneath them. He glares at me with those lost, midnight-dark eyes, cold as the sky at three a.m. His nose runs down the center of his face, meeting his slightly agape mouth. Freckles splash across his pale skin. He leans over, watching me from across the room like a serial killer eyeing his prey.

I slam the door and collapse backward onto my bed like I’ve done something unforgivable.
I feel small again, like I have countless times before — like when my dad yelled, or Troy kicked me. My breath hitches. He didn’t see me, right?

The door slams open, so hard it could fly off its hinges.

He storms over, and now I can fully see him.
After three years, he looks so different — but still the same Mike I was so deeply in love with.
He towers over me. Deep blue washed jeans. Black-and-white rimmed Converse. An old black band shirt. His nails are painted black, chipped at the edges.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?” he shouts. he stomps over to me, each step like an earthquake. Mike corners me against the wall and shouts loud again. I flinch harder than I ever have. What happened to him? The Mike I knew would never do this. Was this really the Mike Wheeler I loved? the words are caught in the back of my throat. I just watch him with wide glossy eyes while my hands and tugging at my ears despritley trying to get rid of the yelling.

“MIKE!” Victor booms as he storms in, followed by a swarm of white-coated people.
I guess it really is Mike. They wrestle him as he thrashes, trying to break free.
“LET GO OF ME!” he wails. I wrap my arms around my ears. This is really a mental institution for crazy people.

“WHY THE FUCK IS THIS ASSHOLE IN MY ROOM, HUH?” he screams.
“GET HIM OUT! I DON’T WANT HIM!” Over and over, his voice rattles the walls as they hold him down. Victor digs into his pocket and pulls out a sharp silver needle.

Mike’s eyes widen, and I can see the darkness under them — black as midnight.
“VIC… PLEASE… NO!”  “NO! NO! NOOO!” He screams like a vulture, thrashing violently right in front of me. I realize my mouth is wide open, unable to form words.

And then… silence.
Mike falls still.

Chapter Text

I lie in my uncomfortable white bed, staring up at the textured ceiling.
The little bumps rise and fall like waves, and inside each bump are smaller ones, like they’re multiplying. By the door, two floating shelves hang against the wall — one lined with children’s books, the other stacked with heavier, more complicated ones. A small ceramic cat sits between them, still and watching.

I glance over to Mike’s side of the room. Victor said he usually sleeps here, but he needed some time to himself tonight. The way he suddenly went limp — his body folding like a rag doll — I was almost convinced they’d killed him.

A few clothes spill from his dresser drawers, and sheets of paper are scattered across the desk.
Curiosity pulls me closer. They’re notes. Dozens of scraps filled with chaotic handwriting, random words spread across the page. Most of it doesn’t make sense. “You are nothing without the energy.” “Red wine and sleeping pills help me get back to your arms” and “8pm kitchen water, get it then.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid?” Mike asks.
In and out with time.

We’re sitting on the small, damp couch on my porch. The air smells like rain that never came. In my hands are a bunch of notebook pages — he’s spent the last few months trying to piece together a novel of his own. The plan didn’t really work; it only ended up being seven pages long. Mike had always wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. And I’d always wanted to be some kind of artist, so I thought we were meant to be together forever.Such a stupid thought.  I was wrong.

“No, no i dont think it's stupid.” My eyes skim the last few words on the page. “Okay, cause you got a bit quiet.” Mike says before tilting his head to gaze up at the starry sky. He had rode over on his bike at 11:34 at night just so I could read it. 

“That's because I was reading, Mike.” I can feel his eyes studying the side of my face as he lets out a tired laugh. “Yeah. So what do you think?” I look down and notice he's playing with his fingers. Occasionally he digs his thumb nail into his palm. From what I can see, it's deep enough to draw blood. “It's good. Really good. You should get this out to the world somehow.” I respond in a reassuring way. 

“Ugh, I don’t know. It’s not very long.” “Quality over quantity,” I say, half-smiling. He lets out another soft laugh, that fades into the air like smoke. The night is still. I know this was about two weeks after my seventeenth birthday —those were some of the best weeks of my life.  It sounds selfish, but after Mike broke things off with my sister, he started spending more time with me. We were almost inseparable then.

Before he had to ruin everything.

“Checks.” I drop the papers in my hand and they drift softly to the floor as I spin on my heels.
A nurse with short red hair stands in the doorway, clipboard clutched in her freckled hands. I swear I’ve seen those green eyes before.

“Jesus—how often do you do that?” I ask, my voice cracking through the quiet. Her fitted, ruffled dress has a name patch sewn over the heart: Vickie. I’ve definitely heard that name before. “Less often the longer you’ve been here,” she says, almost smiling. “I’m not staying long,” I replied quickly. “Just for a rest.” She lets out a small laugh, almost a sigh, and starts to pull the door closed behind her. That’s when it hits me—this might be my chance. My one chance to find out what happened to Mike. For what it's worth, I kinda wished I'd never see him again, but he always lingers in the back of my mind like an old perfume.

“Wait!” I practically leap over his bed and grab the door before it shuts. She jumps, eyes wide, startled. “Wher—where’s Mike?” I ask. She glances down the hall, then back at my face, eyebrows raised. Right. I have to be quiet—the whole ward’s asleep.

“He’s down the hall,” she whispers. “You can’t see him now.”

That’s okay. I can handle that. At least he's alive. I realize I’m still gripping the doorframe, leaning too close. I probably look like an abusive husband blocking her way. The thought makes me shudder, and I loosen my hand, stepping back.

“Do you know him?” she whispers. “What?” “How do you know his name is Mike?” There’s something eager in her voice now, almost hope. “Victor said it,” I mutter. “Screamed it, actually.” Her face drops, just a little. “But yeah,” I add. “I know him. Or at least, I did.” Her eyes flicker with something as soon as I say those words. I turn away, eyelids heavy, the mattress groaning under my weight.

“Do you think—” she starts softly, “do you think you could help him get better?” I don’t answer. I just crawl beneath the thin white sheet. “Not if he keeps acting like he did two hours ago.” The silence between us fills with her quiet breath. “He’s not,” she says finally. “He’s only like that ten percent of the time.” What the hell does that even mean?All the  puzzle pieces are being forced into the wrong spaces.

“What happened to him then?” I sit up, half-expecting her to tell me. “I can’t,” she whispers. “I’m afraid.” “Right.” I scoff, sinking back into the bed. “Don’t you have more checks to attend to?” The room falls silent. Then, the door closes with a soft click.

………………………….

It’s eight in the morning, and I’m slouched on the couch watching some old version of Alice in Wonderland with a few other patients. Suddenly, everyone scrambles toward the nurses’ office. I twist around, still sitting, wondering what the hell is happening.

“Parker Clark,” a nurse with a French accent calls. That’s the boy with the burn. I wonder what happened to him. “Will Byers.” Why is she saying my name? “William Byers.” I jolt up and follow the sound of her voice. She stands behind a desk, a few pills cupped in her pale hand.

“What’s this?” I ask. I don’t need fucking pills at eight in the morning—I’m not a psycho. “They help you.” She nudges them closer. “Oh no, I don’t need them.” “Christ’s sake.” The boy Mike called Eds yesterday exhales a heavy cloud of smoke right into my face. “Yes, you do need them.” I snatch the pills from her hand and start walking off.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” the nurse snaps. I turn slowly, giving her my hardest bitch stare. She points down at the desk. “We take them here, sweetheart.” I drag my feet across the cold tile and swallow the pills with a splash of water. Eds leans against the wall, inhaling smoke like he’s running out of time. “Edward Fernsby!” the French accent rings again. Eds smirks, flicking ash to the floor.

I walk down the hall, the nurses yells ringing in my ears. Those pills certainly did not help i feel like im about to be knocked out cold. I stop to lean against the wall when i see the last door in the hall being held wide open by a worker. 

There is Mike, sitting flopped against the wall. Victor is by his side rubbing his back. Mike lets out a noise I’ve never heard before. His sobs are long, heartbroken, painful to listen to. It’s the kind of sound that makes your chest ache, like the world’s collapsing right there in his throat. His shoulders quake under the weight of it all. I stand frozen, every part of me wanting to reach out but not daring to.

Between wails, I try to make out what he’s struggling to say. It’s like trying to piece together a sentence said by a child—broken, gasping, desperate. “Please, Vic.” He says it again and again, voice cracking like glass. I’m guessing Vic is Victor. “Why does he have to be here?” he sobs again. More people come to my side to get a good look at where the noise is coming from. 

The girl who wanted her fucking clothes from yesterday meets my side. Her hair is mousy blonde and she has a button nose. She seems very pretty, maybe she can't see herself that way. 

“Send him somewhere else Vic please” His voice cracks like glass. i hold my breath. “He’s the one who caused this remember? Noooo” he wails once more and it fades into his cries. “Maybe he's the one who can fix it.” Victor states quietly.

The blonde girl turns to my side. “So you’re the one who set Mike up like this huh?” I’m not holding my breath anymore, I just can’t breathe. I’m the one who caused it? Mike is in a mental asylum because of me? Seems the other way round.

“I’m Kaylee.” I storm back to my room.

………………. 

I can't remember anything that happened from when I ran down the hallway to right now, where the clock reads 3pm. Fuck i was out for about 8 hours. I roll to my side and cover my ears.

Backwards and forwards with time.

It's after I told Mike what I felt. Way after. And from what I remember he didn't speak to me for weeks after that. I thought maybe he thought I was a disgusting queer who practically drooled over men but he didn't talk to anyone so maybe not. I remember when he store blankly into the woods when I told him. He said nothing. He didn't even breathe. And then he said he had to go. That was by far the worst night of my life. 

On the fourth week, I tried to start a conversation and pretend nothing happened.

Holly proudly walked me through her house, leading me to Mike. I find him in the corner of the living room, tucked against the wall like he wants the world to forget he exists. My chest tightens before I even speak. “Holly, why don't you get me those drawings you talked about?” She does a little hop of excitement and runs up to her room. This should give me some time. 

“Hey,” I mutter, almost too quiet for him to hear. He stares forward blankly at the TV. “Hey,” he replies flatly. No warmth, no surprise, nothing. I swallow hard. “You… you haven't talked to me for weeks.” He shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “I didn’t know what to say.” “You could’ve said anything.” My voice cracks, and I hate that I sound so small.

He finally looks at me, the faintest flicker of guilt in his gaze. “I didn’t think you’d… understand.” “I can try Mike.” He turns back toward the wall, silent. I feel the weight of the words left unsaid pressing down, suffocating. “Are you… mad at me?” I ask. “Mad?” His laugh is bitter and cold. “I don’t even know how to feel anymore.”

The room swallows the sound of our breathing. My mouth hangs open and I can feel the tears swelling up. It's an odd feeling, this. When your favorite person refuses to talk to you. Possible scenarios flash through your mind, and your heart feels like it's practically being pulled out of your chest by sharp claws. My throat is tight, dry. It feels like an invisible rope struggling me slowly, watching with glee. 

I slam my hands down on my thighs and let out a small, shaky, teary laugh. Mike finally looks at me. His face carries more emotion now, but I don’t care to see it any longer. I bolt toward the Wheelers’ front door and swing it open. Just before I slam it behind me, I hear Holly’s voice.

“Mike? Where’s Will? I wanted to show him my drawings—he’s the best drawer I know!” I pause, waiting to catch Mike’s response. “He’s gone, Hols.” His voice almost cracks, teetering on the edge of tears too. “And I don’t think he’s coming back.” I slam the door.

For the first time, words haven't pulled me back. I woke up on my own. I'm still lying here, in my small bed, facing Mike's side of the room with my hands covering my ears. The clock reads 4:14pm

The rain lashes against my face, cold and relentless. My clothes are soaked, my hair plastered to my skull, but I don’t care. I see him—Mike—standing under the yellow glow of the streetlight, eyes sharp and furious.

“You’re insane!” I shout, voice croaking over the lashing rain. “You left her, Mike! Four months ago! And now somehow it’s my fault?” He flinches a bit because, I can guarantee it, he’s never heard me this angry before. “You… you don’t get it, Will! I can’t stop thinking about you! I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t want this!” I laugh, teeth chittering. I wonder how much Troy and Jason paid him to pull this sick joke on me. They’re probably in the bushes right now, filming it on tape.

“Want this? Yeah, sure. Leave her, obsess over me, and now act like it’s some sick joke?” “I’M NOT JOKING!” His voice hitched. “I HATE MYSELF, I hate myself, Will. I hate that I want you! I… I… I can’t even look at myself without feeling fucking disgusting!” I shake my head, my drenched hair flying like a wet dog. “You hate yourself? Well, I’ve hated myself for as long as I can remember. Welcome to the fucking club, asshole!”

I spin against the slippery mud and begin to walk somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere away from Mike. He lunges, grabbing my wrists, fingers digging through the wet fabric. “Don’t just walk away! You think I can just let you go?!” I yank my arm free, chest heaving. “You’ve done a pretty good job of doing that the past few weeks, Mike!” “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!” I feel like throwing up, chugging a whole bottle of aspirin.

“NO!” His voice cracks like stone shattering glass. “You’re not leaving! Not this time! Not ever! I can’t… why won’t you just—” I stumble back a few steps, eyes wide.  “Why the fuck would I stay, Mike? You left her! Four months ago! And now you’re throwing a tantrum in the goddamn storm like some insane soap opera character?”

I can see his chest heaving too. He looks angry, so angry like he's about to lunge forward and stab me with a knife. “This is all your fault.” He says colder than the kind of ice that sticks to your hands. “My fault? You broke up with her! You’re the one who can’t handle your own shit, you fucking maniac. Get a grip, for fuck’s sake!” I scream. 

This is exshausting- it's so repetitive. Can't Mike just get it through his brain? He  throws up his hands in despair. “I AM trying, goddammit! I—fuck, I—” He lunges again, more desperate, gripping my shoulders. “I can’t stop thinking about you! I can’t! I—” I shove his hands away.

“I said, get off me.” He digs his finger deeper. “Youre acting like LONNIE!” He lets go slowly. I know he’s always hated my dad. “Dont say that will.” he sounds a bit broken. “Maybe you shouldn't say it, but it's not everyday the guy who you thought was your best friend admits his fake feelings for you and treats you like a social experiment.” My voice is lower now because the back of my throat itches with raspy pain. 

“You're not an experiment. I want you. I need you. I'm sure of it.” even though i want to believe it with all of my skin. I can't. “Grow a pair you pathetic loser.” If a 12 year old me saw this, he would probably burst into tears. “Why are we fighting with Mike?” he would say. 

“Why don't you believe me?” I can tell he's crying now, by the way his nose twitches and his eyes curl. I don't answer. “Why don't you believe me Will? Fuck- Why would i joke about something as serious as this? Why would I joke about wanting you, about causing myself and other people pain, why? You know friends don't lie.”  

“I understand plenty, Mike! I understand that you’re a coward who ran from what you had and now wants to blame me for your mess!” My hands shake, rain stinging my skin. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me? The way you want me but can’t say it? Fuck you!”

He freezes, then takes a shuddering breath, face hardening again, eyes dark as midnight. “Leave me alone, Will. Don’t. Don’t speak to me again. Don’t even look at me.” i freeze. His mood changes so fast it is crazy. He's a raging psychopath. Why would it end up like this? I really need that aspirin now. “I'd be happy too.” what is coming out of my mouth? The dark side of my brain is taking over.

Before I can turn once more, Mike's hands reach my chest. In slow motion I look down at his lanky fingers, and then to his angry facials. He pushes me with a force I can't explain. Then I'm in the dirt. I can feel it seeping through my clothes. I'm soaked and gasping. Mike freezes, chest heaving, eyes wide as he sees what he’s done.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice almost a sob, letting go. “Fuck… I…”

I scrambled up, chest burning, teeth chattering, and ran. Rain stung my face, mud soaked through my clothes, lungs screaming. Behind me, I could hear Mike’s ragged breathing, the storm pounding around him, the weight of what he’d just done settling in.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I just ran, heart hammering, leaving him there, soaked and furious and broken, his own hands betraying him, and I knew nothing would ever be the same.

Back and forward in time. 

Chapter Text

After last night’s recurring memory, I woke in a cold sweat. I’ve always been able to see snippets of things that aren’t really there. The long-sleeved gray cotton top I wore to bed was soaked—almost as wet as the rain that poured that night.

The clock said 4 a.m. There was nothing else to do, so I explored the room a little more. In the narrow gap between the door hinges and the bend of the wall, the plain white wallpaper was peeling. I tugged at it a bit before realizing I could get in trouble.

I stood and crossed over to Mike’s side of the room. Yesterday, during morning tea, I saw Victor come in and leave with some clothes in his hands. I assume they were Mike’s—there aren’t any stray ones on the floor now. His notes, the ones I dropped, have been picked up and stacked neatly again.

I can’t help myself. Maybe somewhere among this chaos is a clue to why Mike ended up here.

The first few pages are a mess. The handwriting is jagged, nothing like the neat, straight lines I remember from school. Half the words are smudged or violently crossed out.
“I talk to ghosts that wear your face.”
“Stop thinking. no one’s coming back.”

My hands begin to shake. God. Deep down, a part of me wishes I never said those things. Maybe Mike really does hate himself down to the bone. No. I shouldn’t think that. Not after the way he treated me.

“Keep quiet. Be loud. Keep quiet. Be loud.”
It’s scrawled down the side of a page twenty times over. A coffee stain marks the top—or maybe it’s something darker. Then my eyes fall to a longer entry.

“17 February 1990.” How long has Mike been in this place? “I miss when we were kids, when loving someone wasn’t a crime. When your laugh didn’t sound like something I wasn’t allowed to need. Now I drown in pills and smoke just to buy a few hours of quiet. The drugs don’t make me forget—they just blur you long enough for me to breathe without breaking. God, I miss being alive.”

Jesus Christ. Mike really is lost. And I hate myself for thinking, even for a second, that this might be about me. Nothing’s ever about me. I place the paper back exactly how I found it and slump onto his bed. I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes until I see stars.

“The hell are you doing, Mike?” someone hisses.

I tiptoe to my door and open it just enough to see. Victor and Vickie stand outside his room—Vickie’s trembling, on the edge of tears. Victor disappears inside, beyond my view. I hear Mike scratch out a desperate sound, then say, “You took my pills away—don’t… don’t fuckin’ take this as well!” I wonder what Victor took from him this time.

Victor comes out of the room and nods at Vickie. She closes the door just before I can hear Mike wail “NOOO” once more. Victor slides a small, lean object into his pocket, but I can’t tell what it is. He turns to face me, and I quickly shut the door and bolt under the covers. I’ve definitely just witnessed something I wasn’t meant to see.

My pills? I wonder what sort of pills Mike takes. If I think back to what he wrote, it must be something strong — strong enough to make him forget. Yet, I still don’t understand. 

 What does he need to forget so desperately?

……………………

I’ve been at Hawthorne for four days now. Well, today is the fourth day. Victor managed to get me a sketchbook and some pencils, which was nice of him. Right now, I’m sitting on one of the many living room couches, knees pulled all the way up. I’m drawing. I don’t know what I’m drawing, but it’s something — something from inside of me.

The mousy blonde girl, Kaylee, perches on the couch beside me. She’s wearing a robe again, so I take it she probably hasn’t eaten today. “Hi, William.” She’s staring at me in the most annoying way possible. “It’s Will,” I mutter back, continuing my drawing. “I know… Mike mumbles it in his sleep almost every night.”

A scary smile curls across her lips. “Whatever.” I turn away from her. “Didn’t you hear me yesterday? You seem like you don’t care much to send someone to a crazy place like this.” She leans in again. “Oh, I heard you,” I bite back.

Next thing I know, there are three people on the couch. Eds — or Edward — is on the end, puffing smoke, again.  “What are you guys fighting about?” he asks. I’m pushed way against the back of the couch now. “How Will over here got poor old Mike into this situation,” she whines, taking a light from Eds.  “You sure fucked him up,” Eds whispers.

I’m so done with this. I’m the one who fucked Mike up? He did it to himself. It’s like everyone here is out to get me. “Just… shut up, please,” I mutter. I can’t be bothered to fight right now. “Why are you here anyway?” Eds coks his head. “Everyone knows everything. There's no keeping secrets.” Kaylee adds, Eds nods.

I don’t think. “I’m sad.” Kaylee scoffs. “Lighten up, fucker. Everyone here’s sad.” Eds ignores her and inhales more smoke, puffs it out in ringlet-like shapes. “How am I supposed to know what’s wrong with me?” I really don’t know. I don’t even truly know why I’m here in the first place.

“Well… did you try to kill yourself?” she suggests. “I guess…? I don’t know.” I sputter out. Okay. I’m done now. I will not carry on with this conversation. “Half the people here have tried, so I guess that settles it.” Eds gets up and walks to his room.

“Has—has Mike tried?” I accidentally started the conversation again. “Probably. Do you care about him now, huh, Will?” I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “I’ve always cared about him.” She lets out a “huh” sound and lifts the cigarette back to her mouth.

….

It's the late afternoon and the sun is peeling through the draped curtains. We are going to be using the art room today. As the art teacher unlocks the door a loud bang echoes in the hallway. 

This place is full of surprises, there's always someone yelling or banging. “GET OUT MIKE!” Eds yells, causing the entire ward to turn and look. “Come on Eds just let me have a few” “Please.” Mike croaks. “GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” he roars. Next thing I know Mike is sliding across the tiled floor and the door slams. 

He pulls his lanking body off the ground and fixes his hair. He turns to everyone staring at him, his shoulders twitch. He slowly truds past everyone keeping his eyes glued to the floor. I nearly stop breathing when I realise he’s headed to my room. Well his room. Is he allowed back in there now? 

I hate him. I hate the way he lets everyone, even me, get caught up in his chaos. I hate the way he makes it impossible to stay angry at him, even when I want to be. 

God, I hate him. But I want to help him. I can’t explain why. Maybe because he’s broken in a way I’ve seen too many times in my own reflection, and I don't want him to spiral down that rabbit hole too.

I sink lower into the corner of the art room, an untouched easel in front of me. The sunlight is warm on my arms, but it doesn’t reach the pit in my stomach. It echoes in my brain; Mike screaming, Eds yelling, Kaylee’s voice like nails scraping across the walls. I dig the paintbrush deep into the watercolours. “Today, we are going to be painting our favorite season.” the instructor tells everyone. 

In and out.

“Hey El, come look at this!” I call my sister, who is sitting on the porch with our new cat, Maysilee. She scoops up a tabby and follows my voice.

It’s a wonderful spring evening. The sun warms our backs, a soft breeze drifts past, and birds sing somewhere in the distance. She comes up to my side, deep in the garden, before questioning why I brought her here.

I show her the cherry blossom tree I’ve found. Its pinks are soft and pure, just like they were back then, when we were fourteen. A few buds are showing, glossy and new, and the green of the leaves fits perfectly into the color scheme of the garden. I want this moment etched into my soul forever—the glow of the golden sun, the pastel flowers, the white bedsheet flowing in the wind on the clothesline.

“It’s so pretty,” she says in complete awe. “I’m going to get Jonathan’s camera!” she calls over her shoulder as she runs back into the house. So innocent. So pure.

“That looks really nice,” the instructor tells me as Vickie joins her side. I look down at what I’ve painted. It’s a rough outline of a cherry blossom, with two excited children’s eyes peeking through the gaps of the branches. “Thanks,” I say softly.

“Wow, Will, you’re a talented young artist. You could really do something with this,” Vickie tells me. I don’t really plan on doing anything with it. Maybe I’ll give it to El, or Mom. “Thanks,” I say again. The room is almost dark now. Vickie tells me I can finish it another day. I just nod, caught in nostalgia.

After dinner, I make my way back to my room. I slowly open the door and click it shut behind me. “Jesus,” someone mutters from the darker corner of the room. Oh, right—Mike came in before. “Sorry,” I reply, trying to act cool. I’m not cool; my heart is beating a thousand beats per second. Mike is here. He’s quiet.

I sit on my bed, hoping he can’t hear it thumping in my chest. I’m drawing again, this time a still frame. I sketch Mike, hunched in the corner, writing. He groans every now and then, occasionally tossing crumpled bits of paper into the plastic tin can. We sit there in silence for about half an hour until I could sense Mike growing restless.

He spins around on his chair and stares. He just stares. His eyes look so fucking tired. He’s so pale, you could mistake him for a vampire. 

“Did you touch my shit?” he whispers. I look at him—really look at him—without saying anything. The words don’t come out. He rolls his eyes and turns back to write. “No. I didn’t,” finally slips out.

He turns again, quicker this time. He looks almost… scary. Insane. God, I can’t get over how pale he looks. His jaw and cheekbones are sharp, almost carved. Maybe he doesn’t eat much either. He glares at me from under his outgrown hair.

“Well then, tell me why the fuck they’re in the wrong order?” Oh shit. Maybe he’ll do something insane—lunge at me, stab me with his pencil. He grabs a paper and holds it out so I can see. And then I see something else. Something that makes my stomach twist.

Scars. Some white and worn, some red, lumpy, fresh. So that’s what Victor took from him. A blade. All across his arms. Everywhere. I think I’m going to be sick. Why? Why would he do this? What happened? And then, all the walls I built to hate him, to push him away—they collapse. I need to help him. 

“Mike…” I mumble staring deep into his arms. He traces the path from my vision to his scars and pulls them back down. “Mike.” I repeat. “Stop.” he says angrily, cradling his arms. “STOP IT!” He rests his elbows onto the desk and holds his face with his hands. “Stop. stop. Stop” he whispers under his breath again and again. 

I step closer, heart hammering, hands trembling. “Mike… look at me,” I say, voice louder, sharper. He jerks, yanking his arms tighter around himself. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snaps, voice cracking. “I’m not going to hurt you!” I shout, almost pleading. “I just… I just want to help!”

I grab his wrist gently but firmly before he can lash out, my own adrenaline spiking. He pulls back, thrashing, and I stumble with him, knocking over a small pile of papers. They scatter like brittle leaves across the floor.

“Will… get off me!” he roars, but I don’t let go. I wrap around him, trying to show him I am here, and I'm sorry. Im so fucking sorry. My chest burns, and for a moment I think I’m about to break, too.

Then—I remember. Soft circles on the back. I breath in the psychiatrist's office, when I watched Jonathan comfort mom with that method. So slowly, I begin to trace his spine in small circles with my fingers. His thrashing slows. He heaves in and out big hearty sobs. His face crumples, a flicker of exhaustion, and I can see it: the boy I knew under it all. 

After a few minutes, I pull back. His face is damp with snot and tears. He looks at me with big, sad eyes, and I want to hold him tight again. I crawl back a bit, on my knees. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. Everyone is still awake, so there isn’t really any need for whispering. “I’m so, so, so, so sorry, Mike.” He looks at me again, and fuck—I’m about to burst into tears too.

“No,” he says sharply and bolts for the door. “VIC!” he stretches. “VICTOR, COME GET ME! TAKE ME!” I stand up, utterly confused. Does he not want me anymore? Does he not want me—the way I’ve always wanted him, quietly, desperately, even when I shouldn’t? “VIC! I DON’T LIKE THIS ROOM! COME STRAP ME DOWN AGAIN! SHOCK ME FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! I’M A RAGING PSYCHOPATH!”

I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I am going to find out what happened to Mike Wheeler.

………

Mike hasn’t been in my room for two days. I’ve barely seen him. Vickie told me he was with Dr. Honeyhill. I’ve seen her once. It’s so typical—you lie on the couch and you’re expected to spill all your secrets. I’m not that easy.

I’ve been thinking: since Kaylee claims no one keeps secrets here, she must know what happened to Mike.

“I love to gossip, but that’s his story to tell,” she responds as I watch Eds pace back and forth. “Come on, I’ll give you a light.” Her eyes widen, and Eds waltzes up to me. “You have some? Please, let me have some. I’ll do anything,” he begs.

Kaylee grabs two from the packet and snarls at Eds. “Hey, I said one!” I shove the packet back into my pocket before he can reach for it. “It’s gonna take two,” she laughs under her breath. “Come on, Will.” He walks closer and bends down to my ear. “I have all sorts of goodies stashed away. I’ll do anything for one.”

Kaylee laughs again as she watches the lighter catch fire. “You’re lucky, Will. No one ever gets the chance to see his room.”I glance up at Eds and nod. “Sure. Yeah, in a minute.” He lets out a sigh of relief.

“So…” Kaylee starts. “I don’t actually know the story—” “You fucking scammer,” I snap, trying to snatch the unlit cigarette back. “I know parts,” she puffs out, a cloud of smoke stinging my eyes. “So basically, he had a massive fight with you or something—” “I’m aware of that,” I say sarcastically. “I don’t know why he cares so much. You’re such a dick, William.” I scoff.

“Aaanyway, you had a big fight, and then he got sad, like most of us are. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a big fat crush on you.” I gulp. “Basiclly he was sad cause of your fight, and you know how one sad thing leads to another?” I nod. “Yeah well that happened so i guess he got depressed. He started to slice himself up like a bit of bread so his parents sent him to the doctors.”  

I pause my thoughts and let her finish. Eds pulls a seat over, looking amused. “Then what?” I ask eagerly. “Well, they didn’t work, so Mike ran.” She pauses, then starts singing, We gotta make a decision, leave tonight or live and die this way! She coughs and jumps back into talking.

“He ran away to his old friend’s house, like an hour from here. Called him, like, Eddie or something.” “Wasn’t me,” Eds yawns. “Anyway, he discovered drugs—like Valium and stuff—and now he’s here!” I try to process everything she just told me.

“Okay, you guys can piss off now.” She crosses her white flared jeans over one another.

I follow Eds into his room and he shuts the door almost the second I step foot in it. “You have this all to yourself?” I ask looking around. “Yeah my moms really wealthy and she loves me so…what do you want?”  “Well what do you have?” I circle around before taking a seat on the blue chair beside his bed. “Save me some time and just fuckin name it.” I sigh before saying "Valium and sleeping pills.” 

I’m not a druggie myself, but it wouldn’t hurt to feel what Mike is feeling.
Eds lays them out on his bed. “Two Valium and three sleeping pills for the whole packet.” He grins. I've got other cigarettes stashed anyway. “Deal.”

Before I can grab what’s mine, I’m interrupted — by Mike, again.

“You finally let someone in your room, Eds!” he sneers, stepping in. His eyebrows raise when he sees me. He’s acting like what went down two days ago didn’t even happen. “Get out, Mike,” Eds says sharply. “I’ll stop bothering you every fuckin’ second if you just give. Me. The. Fucking. Valium.” Mike leans over, wild-eyed. I snatch the pills behind my back and slip them into my pocket.

“What don’t you understand about get out, asshole?” Eds snaps. Mike leans against the doorframe, waiting. “I’ll call Vic. VICTOR, HELP ME!” Eds yells. “You hear that, huh, Eds?” Mike laughs bitterly. “Vic isn’t coming to your rescue. Now give me the fucking Valium.”

Mike obviously jinxed it, because right then Victor walks through the doorway. “Come on,” he sighs, shaking his head. I can tell he’s done with Mike, but he doesn’t want to make things worse either. “Next time, Eds. Next time.” Mike motions two fingers from his eyes to Eds, then follows Victor out of the room. 

“Fucker never learns.” Eds mumbles and i leave the room. 

…….

I cant get a blink of sleep in this fucking place. There's always something going on and it's usually always to do with Mike. God why cant he let me help him?

I fully knew what was coming this time, because by 3 p.m. he was already asleep in my room. I stayed quiet all night, not daring to disturb his much-needed rest. But he didn’t plan to stay quiet, his dreams had me jolting awake, heart pounding.

 He screamed and screamed, always ending with a desperate, “No, stop it!” before grabbing the  mug on his desk and hurling it against the windowsill.  I know I’ve thought about this too much—too deeply—but what the hell happened to Mike?

I wipe my eyes and walk slowly over to him. “Mike? It's okay stop screaming” he kept slamming the mug down and up until he was left satisfied with a shard in his hand. I let out a curling scream as I realised what he's doing. Victor comes to the rescue once again. 

“Mike, please stop!” I'm sobbing now, dirty, raw, sobbing. “Stop Mike please stop!” I hover my shaking hands around him. “Mike!” he's fully collapsed onto the floor now, and I go down with him. “I'm sorry Will.” he finally says with tear filled eyes. Now I'm clasping the wound. 

“I never get a break,” Victor mutters, pulling out a metal syringe once more. “Help him!” I'm screaming. He's flopped his head on my shoulder now repeating im sorry millions of times. 

And I just sit there, my arms around Mike, whispering that it’s over, that he’s safe, even though the air still feels haunted.

……………. 

I haven’t seen Mike since this morning, when I held his hand while his arm was being bandaged. His head hung low, and he seems extra sadder today, Kaylee tells me.

Every patient in the ward is now sitting in a circle, taking turns sharing how many times they’ve stayed here. Eds says twice. Kaylee says once, though she’s been here for well over a year. An old woman just starts crying. Everyone turns their eyes on me. “Oh… this is my first time,” I say softly.

The circle stops at Mike, across the room. Vickie is by his side, keeping him awake. He’s slouched so far it looks like his spine might snap. How much sedative did they give him? Vickie nudges him gently. “Five. I’ve come here five times,” he spits out.

Jesus Christ.

Chapter Text

I’ve officially been staying here for a month. Today’s schedule is packed. This morning, Mom, Jonathan, El, and Max are coming to see me. I haven’t told them Mike is here—if they knew, the whole party would probably show up.

For lunch, the younger patients are going out. I’ve never been on an outing before.

I still haven’t taken the Valium, but the sleeping pills worked like a charm. Mike and I haven’t spoken often. He only sleeps in his bed sometimes; other days, I find him in the room at the end of the hall. I’ve noticed people go there if they’ve done something intense, and he sleeps on the couch sometimes.

I’m sitting on the couch with Eds, who I’ve grown closer to, and Kaylee. He’s letting me draw a dragon on his arm with a regular black ink pen. The entry doors open, and I see them. It’s been so long.

“Sorry, this is gonna have to wait.” I throw the pen onto his lap, stand up, and brush invisible dust off my pants.

“Asshole,” he mutters.

I slowly walk over to them. They haven’t seen me yet. Mom looks really fucking nervous, Jonathan is observing, El is clueless, and I can’t read Max’s face at all. Then she sees me. “WILL! BABY!” she hobbles over to me in her special way and wraps her arms around my neck. I bend down a bit so she can reach. “Hi… hi, Mom. You’re strangling me.”

She chuckles and holds my face. Jonathan is next. He wraps me into a hug before tearly saying “We missed you bud.” El and max hug me at the same time. “I missed you Will.” El says. “Whats it like in this crazy place?” Max asks before clasping her mouth. “Am I allowed to say that?” she whispers. 

Breakfast is a blur. Mom fusses over me, Jonathan teases me like he always does, El flits between hugging me and laughing over Max. I keep an eye on the doorway, half-hoping Mike won’t wander in. But of course, he does. 

He trudges down the hallway. Today, he’s wearing a long-sleeve white shirt under a black one with random patterns, black jeans, and socks. He fiddles with the string on his sleeve. He looks… horrible. Probably hasn’t slept at all. “I-is that…?” Mom stammers, eyes widening.

Mike turns to see us all gathered around the table, and lets out a weak smile. “Mike Wheeler?” mom asks. “Yeah, hey guys, long time no see.” They each take turns hugging Mike. I just hold my arms awkwardly. “So why are you here?” Jonathan says.

“Uhm…just helping out. Yeah.”  “Like a volunteer?” “Yeah, a volunteer.”  Max stares at him flatly. “You checked yourself into a psych ward and you think it’s nice?” He lets out a nervous laugh. “Well, the food’s crap, but the company’s decent.” His eyes flick toward me, just for a second. It’s fast, but I see it; the flicker of apology. 

El scoots over. “You’re lying, Mike. Your voice goes deeper when you lie.” He takes a breath in, then out. “I— I’m a patient here.” Everyone blinks around the same time. The air goes solid. “Shit just happened and now I’m here,” he adds, voice low. If his arms weren’t covered right now, Mom would probably have another breakdown—like he were her own son.

I stay quiet. The silence that follows feels like it’s swallowing the room whole. “But Will is here,” Mike says suddenly, louder than before. He pats my back and clenches his teeth. What is he doing? He keeps lying. I should stop him. But I don’t. Maybe I just want to see how far he’ll go. Mom nods slowly, clearly trying to process it all. “Well,” she says softly, “I’m just glad you’re safe. And I’m glad you two…” Her gaze flicks between us. “…have each other.”

His fake smile falters. His lips part, but no sound comes out at first. He blinks fast, eyes glassy. “Yeah,” he finally says, voice cracking halfway through. A shaky laugh breaks from him as he wipes at his face quickly, like maybe no one saw. “Yeah, me too.”

I still don’t speak. “I sh— I should probably go now.” He stands up before anyone can answer. “Nice to see you, Mike,” Max blurts out, and everyone else murmurs in agreement. “Yeah, you too. See you around, Will?” he says while backing away. He waves with one hand, then stumbles forward, mutters a curse, and smacks his forehead.

Kaylee walks up to him, says something I can’t hear. He shakes his head, mutters “piss off” and keeps walking down the hall.

“What happened to him?” I gasp, finally able to speak. “He won’t tell me.” “Why didn’t you tell us he was here, baby?” “I… I don’t know.”

Later, I take El into my room to show her my painting. She flops onto my bed, humming to herself, legs tucked under her skirt. I pull the painting out from behind my drawer set and hold it up for her.

She takes it carefully in her hands. “What’s this?” she asks, her voice bright with curiosity. “Something I… uh, painted,” I say, shrugging. She traces her fingers along the strokes, silent for a moment. “Do you remember back in ’85 when… when I showed you that tree?” She shakes her  head slowly.

“The sun was low, and you had Maysilee in your arms. I called you over to look at it, and then you took those awful photos with Jonathan’s camera.” Her face lights up as recognition dawns. “Oh yeah! I remember that!” 

“ I missed you El.” She pulls me into a tight hug. I embrace it, breathing in the familiar smell of her perfume. “Mike!” He pauses, looking at us, then at the painting. “Uh… hi,” he says, voice soft.

El waves at him without missing a beat. “Hey, Mike. Wanna see my brother’s masterpiece?” Mike glances at the painting, then at me, and gives a small, awkward nod. He steps closer, hands shoved in his pockets. “Yeah… yeah, it’s… good.” El tilts her head at him. “You don’t look convinced.”

Mike shrugs before replying “It's really cool… nice work, really.”  he leans over to look at it more. “Youre there too. El.” he walks over to the little corner of his room and grabs something from the shelf. 

“Hey El, I think you should go now. I've said goodbye but if mom protests just say it's better this way.” she gives me the warmest smile, like the sun that evening. “Of course, ill be sure to hang this up too.” she pulls me in for another hug. I feel a little of the day’s tension ease away. 

…

“Why did you lie to them, Mike?” I say sternly, in a grown up way. I'm twenty now so I guess I am an adult. “I dont know what you're talking about.” there he is, the mike who openly hates me. 

“Just before, you patted my back like we were teammates, in this together or some shit.” he slumps slightly, keeping his back to me. “They didn't need to see me like that. It would make it worse for the both of us.” 

“Why do you let me see you like this then?” he takes a long heavy shuddering breath. “Yesterday… holding your hand? That… that was the first time I felt like maybe- maybe I could be… okay. Like someone actually sees me.”

And I just melt. Mike. soft calm water glistens against the sun. The air smells like roses dusted in soft yellows and pinks. From a long shot view, I am sitting, almost reaching out to mike on the furthest bed. Mike is sitting emotionless at his desk, his papers sprawled out everywhere. Mike. He sits there, like a star I could almost touch, and the space between us hums with quiet ache. Mike. 

“Lying just makes it worse. I don't care if I see this part of you, it's still you.” he says nothing. “Its still you, Mike.” I get up and leave the room for him to think to himself.  

…

“Leaving in twenty minutes! Get ready, everyone!” Victor calls out. Kaylee practically flies off the couch and skips toward her room. “Where are we going, Victor?” I ask, though I already know. “To a cafe, about a ten-minute walk from here.” “Okay, cool.” “Start thinking about what you want to eat,” he adds.

Finally, I haven’t had proper, sweet, real food in ages. I head back to my room and grab the first jacket I see. Mike’s not here anymore.

Kaylee bounds to my side as we step through the gates of Hawkthorne. “Fucking finally!” she says, twirling in the cold air. “Do you never go outside or something?” Eds asks, lighting yet another cigarette. “I go outside, asshole. This is different.” Kaylee’s wearing a flowing pink spring top and dark flared low-rise jeans. Somehow, she’s not freezing in those Mary Janes.

Mike’s walking behind us with Vickie at his side. She’s like his emotional support animal. Eds catches my thought. “Mike, Vickie, come walk with us.” Vickie grins and drags Mike forward. “Thanks, guys,” she says. “No problem,” Kaylee adds.

Even though they say horrible things to and about each other, we’re all in this war together.

Eds starts to talk about music when I mention the cure. “No, seriously, disintegration is the best album. Don't even start with me.” kaylee rolls her eyes, “You said that about head in the door like two fuckin months ago.” “Yeah and I was full of shit.” he says, flicking his cigarette into a puddle. 

They keep talking about music and Mike says something every so often. I notice vickie creases her eyebrows in a proud way whenever he engages. “I like the sundays.” everyone keeps talking but i glance at her “You do?” I ask. “Yeah, Robin hates them though.” 

“Robin?” I say pretending to be casual. “Yeah she's my,- my friend.” then the light clicks on. “Wait, Robin, Robin Buckley, Steve's best friend?” her eyes light up “Yeah! That's her!” she chuckles, “I knew I'd seen you before.” “Small world.”

… 

Inside the cafe, I drink some coffee and eat a sausage roll. Mike just drinks coffee. The others keep talking around us but we stay quiet. It goes by in a blur.

While we walk back, me and Mike drift to the back. 

“I thought about what you said.”  Mike mumbles. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets. “Yeah?” “Mhm. thanks for not yelling.” “my pleasure.” we walk in silence again, just the sound of our shoes scraping on the pavement. 

“I'm sorry for lying. I just-i just- i dont know." I can sense that Mike is getting better in some ways. “It's alright.” “C-can you keep talking please?” he twitches his head to the side then back to me. Uh where to start? “Why did-” how do i put this into a sentence. “Why did holding your hand make you feel better? I thought-” i stop. Dont fuck this up will. 

He looks up at the cloudless sky and puffs out some air. “ I uh- i dunno maybe because it’s you,” he says finally. “Because you don’t make it weird. You just… exist next to me, and it’s like everything in my head shuts up for a second.” 

Since we met that day on the swings, I've always loved how Mike puts serious things into words. 

“When you held my hand, it didn’t feel like pity. It just felt… safe. Like, maybe you still see me. Even after all the shit I’ve done.”

I don't say anything, I just nod. I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my skull. And then- without thinking, i pull his hand out of his jacket pocket and intertwine it with mine. He looks down at my hand, and then to me. A smile that I haven't seen in so long curls across his lips. I smile back. 

We pass a playground with a couple of older kids hanging around. A few of them snicker. “GAY!” one of them shouts. Mike stops in his tracks, Kaylee swings around and starts to stop towards them.

“The fuck did you just say?” Mike yells as he follows Kaylee over to them, dragging me with him. He won't let go of my hand. “Fucking try us assholes, you know what people like us are capable of. We're crazy.” Kaylee snaps. Some of them recoil in surprise. One looks scared and starts to back away. 

Kayslee takes another powerful step forward and they all finch. Eds starts barking like a mutt. The boys run away like scared little animals. Our little group bursts out laughing. “Holy shit” I say between gasps. Mike still doesn't let go of my hand.

Today was probably the best day I've had at Hawkthorne so far. Mike is sleeping in his bed again, and everything seems lighter. Before I drift off, he whispers through the silence. “Hey Will?” “Yeah?”  “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

………..

Mike hasn't spoken a word to me today, that's probably because I haven't seen him. Eds is in his room reading Stephen King novel, Kaylee is doing god knows what, and vickie is leant against the phone chatting away. 

I have to see Dr Honeyhill today, this is our fourth appointment. Things feel so much better already but there is still a black hole inside of me, and I still tell her nothing.

“How does it feel to be without aspirin and pills?” she asks “Fine.” i say. The desire to take aspirin again still lingers everyday. Eds give me more sleeping pills which i keep under the ceramic cat.

I'm not an addict, I'm just sad. Depressive episodes, that is. Honeyhill claimed to have found out my condition and plans to tell my mom about it tonight. Borderline personality disorder she called it. Sounds more like bull shit to me.

I caught onto snippets of what Mike struggles with, unfortunately the whole backstory doesn't come with it. Hes depressed, anti social, suicidal and a medicore drug addict. What a bunch of stuff to carry on your own. 

“Do you remember when you first picked up the aspirin?” The first few questions are slow, but with time they get deeper and darker. 

Back and forth in and out.

It's after the rain fight. I come home and slam the door, mud sticking to the carpet from my shoes. No one's home. I go to open my door but I just crumble, down onto my knees and cry. cry like a man. or an animal. or like something that’s been kept in for too long.

I don't know why I said those awful things to Mike. Maybe because I'm angry. I'm so angry. angry that he left me in the rain. played a sick joke for amusement. claimed he wants me, but shuts me out anytime he gets the chance. I was just starting to think it was getting normal.

Mike is my purpose. What am I without him? i crumble my head between my knees. and wail, so loud the cry turns into a scream, an oversaturated scream that’s been collecting junk since forever, now the junk being thrown out. it leaves a burning mark anyway.

I gasp again and again, struggling for air. I stare at the wall until my eyes blur, then rack up again. I fold into a ball on the floor. I sob so loud and for so long it feels like a routine. I try to stand but keep falling, now crawling to the kitchen.

i fall again, crying so, so, so fucking loud it hurts my own ears. Then I choke. choke and gag on my own saliva. I've been crying so much I've probably leaked enough tears to fill a swimming pool.

I can breathe again, ever so slightly. My soul is empty now, bleeding through my mouth.

“i-i FUCKING HATE YOU, MIKE,” i scream, even if it goes unheard.

I want to tear him apart. Every inch of him, every laugh, every smile, every breath he takes that isn’t mine, I want to crush it. I hate him for leaving me, again and again, for every time I waited and he didn’t come, for every empty silence, every door that closed when I needed him most. but when he was there — god, when he was there — it was like sunlight cutting through the dark. I hate that I still love him, that I still need him like air, that every part of me aches for someone who taught me love can sting like fire and leave scars on the inside.

i crawl again, to the coffee table, to where i saw an interesting headline in the magazine the other day: mayor’s assistant dies due to suicide. keep aspirin out of your cabinets.

My damp eyes skim the page until I can find a source of how she did it. I take a jagged breath and stumble like a zombie to the bathroom. I leave the bathroom. Apparently your supposed to write a note, ive never tried this before. 

It's not your fault. it’s all mine. I ruined everything. I don't really have experience with this, so I guess I'm just writing. I love you so much, and there was nothing you could have done. don’t carry this weight. let it fly. This is how it was always supposed to end. Thank you for everything.

I leave it outside the bathroom door and shut it softly. I cry again in the mirror for a while before shakily taking 10 aspirin tablets in my hand. I wipe my tears and stare at my ugly reflection. It was always meant to be this way.

I swallow the pills

“Will!?” I gasp for air, again and again motioning to my throat. “Can you breathe?” I shake my head again and again. And collapse onto her floor. She slams her hands down onto my back. I gasp, eyes widening. I can breathe. I kinda wished I had stopped. She escorts me back to my room and something has changed. 

The sadness, its crawling back. Its reaching its claws out to me. But they aren't claws, they are soft, motherly welcoming arms. Asprin, I need asprin. 

Mike follows us in and says something to her, curses, smacks, and sits next to me. 

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” my tears are dried, my lips are swollen and agabe. My eyelashes sting and my eyes are still and wide. Why does he care? Hes the one whos fucked up, hes the one who left me.

I turn to stare and him and blink.

“I want to die, Mike.”

“I want to be dead and rotting so fucking bad.”

Chapter Text

Relapse. 

A deterioration in someone's state of health after a temporary improvement. 

……

Turns out I had double hallucinations that night. Mike was never there. He never comforted me. That was my mind playing tricks on me. 

I'm not mad. I'm just tired. I'm so tired. I sleep the whole day, or just lie on my bed. No one comes to see if I'm okay. 

I wake up with my left cheek planted against the cold cracked tile floor. Everything is still. The back of my mouth tastes like chalk. I sit and lean against the bathtub and remember. Remember the fight, remember the pills, remember the days, remember everything. Shoot the note. 

I scramble up and read the note again. Pathetic. I grab dads old red lighter and watch it disintegrate into the air. I stumble to my room and lie on the floor.

In and out 

I tried to kill myself a few years ago. I've never been more alone. Waking up everyday is the hardest thing imaginable. Getting up, dragging myself out of bed and starting each day feels like an endless torture i cant escape. 

Everytime i look in the mirror I get tears in my eyes and I want to scratch my face. I hate the sight of myself. I harbor, deep, ugly, and painful hatred towards myself and I can't get rid of it. 

“You look like shit” Kaylee whines. I don't respond. “Hey im talking to you” i dont respond. 

“Are the pills working? You look like you haven't slept in days.” eds mumbles. I don't respond. 

“Will,” Mike says, kneeling beside me, his voice low and firm. “Look at me, hey look at me.” I don't. 

The next month goes by like nothing. Mike tried to help the first few days but it seems he’s given up now. Victor notices and keeps a close eye on me. I tell him music would help so he gets me a head set and some tapes. I haven't eaten for the past two days. Victor says if I don't eat lunch I have to get a robe. 

i lie in bed, sheets twisted around me, staring at the ceiling. every breath is heavy. mike perches at the edge of the mattress, restless, eyes flicking to me again and again. “hey…you’ve been sleeping?” he asks quietly.  "Haven't eaten in a while, have you?” he adds, voice careful but strained.  my gaze drops to his arms. fresh cuts. Did I do this? my stomach twists. He swallows. “shit, Will…look at these dark circles. you’ve barely slept.”

It's been two and a half years since I saw Mike. Nothing has changed. Mom is almost always away with her new job and Jonathan has college, so most of the time the house is just mine and Els. El doesn't bother me. She knows not too.

 I dont know how ive survived this long, when he was the thing keeping me alive. But I don't plan on surviving past tonight. I go to the drug store and buy what I need. I bump into Eddie Munson. “Hey man, long time no see!” he wraps me into a hug I wasn't prepared for. “Just the usual?" He looks down at the three bottles of aspirin in my hands. I don't answer. “Mike used to chug that stuff down like juice.” Since Mike's name rings in my head so normally i dont catch it then. 

 “Do you have any like alcohol?” Eddie looks around. “Vodka do?”

I stand at the sink once more. So disgusting. I pour a whole jar of aspirin into the vodka bottle then another. This should do. 

in and fucking out of time. 

“Come out to the lounge with me.” Kaylee is standing in front of my bed with an outstretched hand. I sit up, dizzy. “What?” she points her hand out the door then back to me. I follow her out to the lounge. I fell asleep on her shoulder.

She nudges me awake. “Will, wake the fuck up and look.” by the entry doors is mike and nancy. I haven't seen her in forever too. They hug, mike tower over her as per usual. He cups his face and whispers something. They say goodbye and she leaves. 

Nothing else happens for the rest of the week. When I hear Mike yelling to eds about valium again, I remember what's kept under the ceramic cat on my bookshelf. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try. 

It's 10pm when Mike walks in and finds me curled up in a ball on the floor. “What the hell are you doing?” he realizes how his tone came out and softens up. “Are you okay?” I pull my head up and sit against the bedframe. “Go away.” “You were on the floor, Will.” “congrats detective” my words came out, muttered and slurred. “Do you want a medal?” 

He steps closer and sits in front of me. “Are you high?” I laugh. “N-no but i feel great though.” “Did you take something?” “Yeah. The Valium. Congratulations, I finally did it.” “Jesus, Will—” “Don’t ‘Jesus Will’ me. You’re the one who taught me that silence makes people care.” 

Mike stares at me like he's trying to decide between crying or yelling. “You can't just say stuff like that.” I sigh too. I don't want to be yelling at Mike again. “I'm sorry.” he flashes me the warmest, most heartbroken smile I have ever seen in my 20 years on this earth. “It feels good mike” i whisper “i feel like I'm floating” i let out an airy laugh.

He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “It messes with you, Will. It takes more than it gives. And I don’t want you to-” His breath catches. “-to end up where I did.”

 oh my beloved mess. He's sitting right in front of me, shoulders tight, eyes glistening. Every part of me aches, but he's here. Here and listening to me like when we were small. 

I blur my gaze over him, words spilling before I even know I’m saying them. “Then… Why did you leave me?” his lips part and he twitches again. “I-i though that was what you wanted.”  “What i wanted?” I'm choking on saliva again. He nods. I play with the strings on my hospital gown. 

“I needed you.”  “You said you never wanted to see me again, ever.” Mike says, staring deep into the carpet. I let out an annoyed sarcastic noise. “I was angry, I was so angry I couldn't think straight, Mike.” Tears are swelling up like a bee sting. “Did you really think I would want to let go of my favorite person?” They fall like a trail, slow and sticky, down my cheeks.

Mike listens. “Fuck mike, you left me. I needed you. I needed you so bad but you just left.” my voice finally cracks and i take a sky breath before starting again. “ I would stare at my ceiling all day, nights too. It was just quiet and fucking depressing all the time. I tried to make it stop, make it all just stop. Pill after pill it didn't work. I would wake up plastered to the bathroom floor.”

Tears burn my eyes, spilling over fast. I cant breathe around the sobs. “I needed you Mike. I -n-needed you to be there. I need you god i fucking needed you. But y-you weren't there!” 

Mike stares at me with wide red rimmed eyes. He's shaking too. “...i know. I know Will.” I start sobbing onto the floor, my chest heaving like I'm drowning. He moves toward me slowly, cautiously, wrapping me in his arms.

Mike sits against the side of the bed, one knee up, one down, and I rest against him, torso pressed lightly to his chest, head near his shoulder. His arm drapes over my shoulder, holding me steady, hand brushing strands of my hair. 

Every night I survived alone, every moment I thought I wouldn’t make it, all of it crashes into his chest. He breathes into my hair. “Im here now.” 

I think I fell asleep there, with Mike, because it was the best sleep I had in ages.

Chapter Text

It’s October now, and I've been here for four months. Things are slowly getting better, but I know they’ll always own a bit of my soul, like Victor said.

Mike and I are back to normal again, if not closer. The three of us, Me, Mike, and Kaylee are in the living room together. Vickie is pacing outside, checking her watch every two seconds. “Would you two stop constantly fucking touching each other?” Kaylee groans. From my view, we’re just holding hands. Nothing bad.

“Fuck off,” I mutter. She huffs, turns her head dramatically on the chair, then bolts upright. “EDS!” Eds is trundling down the hallway, hands in his pockets, dark curly hair bouncing with every step. “What?” he squints one eye.

“Come save me from these two!” Kaylee groans. I roll my eyes. “Tell me about it.” He huffs as he plops onto the arm of Kaylee’s chair. “How was Honeyhill?” I ask. “My parents were there,” he says flatly. Mike sits up a bit, whispering, “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Turns out I’m cured and going home next week.” “No fucking way,” Kaylee and I say at the same time. “Does that mean I can have all your pills now?” Mike teases. I let go of his hand and cross my arms, tension creeping in. He promised he’d stop. He gives me a guilty, sorry look.

“No, it doesn’t, Mike. But I was thinking…” We all listen to Eds eagerly. “Before I go, we could, like… go somewhere and use them up. Get wasted or something.” Kaylee laughs. Mike snickers. “You’ll probably get set back though?” I mumble. “Not if they don’t find out,” Mike says with a sly grin.

Vickie runs up to us and we all straighten up. She is a nurse here so if she found out that wouldn't be so good. “Mike, guys, how do I look?” He sits up a bit and calls her over with his hands. He fixes her hair and straightens the sleeve of her dress. “You look pretty Vickie.” Kaylee mentions with a sweetness in her voice. 

Then the doors open. Now I see why Vickie was worried about her appearance. In steps Robin Buckley herself. And behind her is a sight that makes me stand to my feet. 

Lucas. Dustin. El. Max. All there. 

Vickie runs to Robin and they hug for a long time. “Who are these randoms?” Kaylee whispers. “Theyre my- our friends” i whisper back, to caught up that they are actually here. “You guys have friends?” Eds chuckles. “Shut up.” I run to the others and Mike stays still on the couch.

I hug Dustin first, then Lucas, then El, then Max. My chest feels like it’s about to burst. I can’t believe they’re really here — I thought they’d forgotten about me. It’s bubbling up inside me, all this joy and relief, and I’m smiling so hard it actually hurts. Lucas glances over at Mike, eyebrows raised. “So… is that actually him?” They haven’t seen him in forever. He just… disappeared. “Yeah,” I whisper, still grinning, “yeah. One second.”

I walk over to Mike and sit next to him. “Come on, they miss you.” he shakes his head slowly, eyes staring forward. “Please, ill be with you the whole time.” he looks at me now. “They didn't call.” “Thats because they had no idea where you were, Mike." he sighs and stands up slowly. 

We walk over together. “Hey guys” They all look stunned so I widen my eyes at them. He's trying his hardest. “Mike! Dude! Wow you're really…here.” Dustin says as he pats him on the back. “It's good to see you, Mike, really.” Lucas adds. He just scratches the back of his neck nervously. 

Kaylee whispers from the side, clearly amused. “Oh my god… he’s actually terrified.” Eds leans back, smirking. “This is better than TV.”

…

Two hours later we are all crowded around the table setting up a game of life. Mike is a bit more eased now which is good. “Shit, there's no dice, I'll be back.” I get up and leave the table and head for the supplies closet. 

I open the door just to find Robin's tongue down Vickie's throat.

I slam the door behind me and rest against it. Shit. I slowly walk back to the table stunned. “Are you okay Will?” Dustin says. “Uh yeah… sorry no dice.” “What? How are we supposed to play then?” max slurs. Just then robin appears behind me, hair tousled and face all red.

“What the fuck happned to you?” kaylee questions. “Nothing. Nothing!” she bursts, slapping her hands on her lap. “Come on kids, we gotta go, i start work soon.” “Five more minutes? I like this girl.” Kaylee whines, an arm around max. “Nope. let's go.” we all groan and say our goodbyes.

…

I’m sitting across from Mike, sketchbook open, pencil in hand, but I can’t really focus. His shoulder brushes against mine every so often, and I catch him glancing up at me more than once.

“You’re staring,” I bite. He shrugs, pretending it’s nothing. “Just… appreciating the art,” He says, letting his gaze linger a beat longer, “…and the artist too.”

…

“You're being ignorant Kaylee just have some food.” Me and Mike peer up from the couch to see Victor trying to get Kaylee to eat. She doesn't budge. “Youre gonna be stuck her forever if you dont-” “Thats not fair. That's not fair! THAT'S NOT FAIR! SEVENTY FOUR IS THE PERFECT WEIGHT!” Eds emerges from his room and the whole ward watches as Kaylee screams. 

She gets up from her seat and starts flipping chairs and plates. “I'M PERFECT ALREADY!” plate after plate i flinch each time. Victor and some more white coated people drag her to the last room in the hall. I can still hear her screams from behind the closed door.

…

Mike is reading me a poem he wrote while I was with Honeyhill. It's soft and painful and I can feel it deep in my bones. “This is so poetic, Mike.” “you love it.” 

…

My outdated red alarm clock reads 2:17am when Eds and Kaylee come into our room. “Get up assholes were gonna get stoned” Mike throws the sheets off his bed and drags me out of the room. “Come on, let's go!” We scurry down the hallway and into the art room. “Are we seriously doing it here?” I ask, genuinely a bit scared. Eds puts a finger to his mouth to tell me to shut up. 

We go through another door, and another. We go down some gritty metal stairs into a concrete underground hallway. “Mike?” I whisper from behind him. “Yeah?” he doesn't look back, just follows the others. “Promise me you won't fall back into it all?” He looks back and smiles. “Yeah, I promise.” 

We go up more stairs now, way more stairs until we are on the roof. There's no bars or anything around the edges. “They really arent keeping us from fuckin ending it are they?” Kaylee announces, louder now that we are free of the building. I look at her wrists to see they are all bruised in a thick line. Maybe it's from the straps on that bed at the end of the hall. I shudder at the thought. 

The top of the roof is quiet apart from the hum from the city a few miles away. It's just a big rectangle shape with small ledges around the borders. We came out of a door which has its own roof around it. There are some cracks, with greens sprouting through.

Eds is already sat down with Kaylee rocking on her heels beside him. “Today, I have four blunts, a couple of Valium…” Eds spreads his collection out like a deck of cards. “…maybe some Xanax, a couple of leftover Adderall, and this random bottle of cough syrup.” 

I sit as motionless as the concrete beneath me. Mike practically shoves one of everything into his mouth, I told him not to go overboard but it seems like that didn't mean shit to him. Eds hands me the first blunt and I breath the smoke right into Mike's eyes on purpose. “Ow stop” he kinda deserved it. 

It takes him about half an hour to get fully intoxicated. Crazy intoxicated. He can't even speak probably now. 

“So what's the worst thing that's happened to you guys here?“ I ask, trying to pass by the sickening silence. Eds hums and then comes to his conclusion, “I got put in isolation for like 5 days with no pills and nothing to do to see if I'd break, they called it progress.” he shrugs. “It’s bullshit how they study our minds, but we can’t study theirs for calling nothing progress.”

“So what's your diagnosis again?" Kaylee mutters. “Called fuckin schizoid personality dissorder or something.” Kaylee cackles before she starts her story, “They force-fed me once. Five fucking nurses holding me down while some idiot shoved a tube up my nose. Said it was ‘for my own good.’”Kaylee snorts, shaking her head.  “Yeah, nothing like choking on their bullshit to make you feel alive.”

We stay quiet, but Kaylee's smack on Mike's knee cuts through the silence. “Hey dipshit it your turn for trauma bonding” Mike stares into the distance and takes a breath. “Mine…yeah. I uh…” We all stare in awe of how this is going to pan out.

“The-the first time i came i was…really fucked up and they pinned me down and uh…” It constantly sounds like he's lost his train of thought, maybe that's why he likes valium so much. “Zzzzt. They'd shock me after any inconvenience…for them, tha-that is.” Kaylee gives me an excited look hinting that mikes never opened up like this before. “Then what?” Eds nudges. 

“I -Jesus spit it out!” “you probably saw but…i cut my-myself to see if this was actually real, to like feel something? I don't even know.” he laughs it off. “Anyway…i guess i didnt want people to see me like this cause they might leave. They'll just walk away and I'll be alone again. Just walk away…” 

“Alright we get it Mike. We're not walking away right now are we? Nothing to be wallowing about Jesus." They all turn to me. 

“Alright Will, your turn.” Eds says with amusement. My mind goes blank, they've all been here far longer than me, apparently I don't have half the trauma they've had. “I don't really have one?” 

“Well what's the worst thing that's happened to you then?” Eds needs to hear it by the tone of his voice. “Uh, my dad used to hit me all the time? I dunno, ive tried to kill myself three times but it never worked so I'm here now.” 

“Come on dude we need juice, how did you try to kill yourself?” Kaylee whines. Why the fuck are they so intrested in how i tried to end my own life? Psychotic I guess you could say. “I just took lots of aspirin and vodka.” “Why’d you do it?” Jesus Christ, this is getting weird. I'm definitely not just about to tell them why I did it , or who did it. 

“I just- there was no point in living forward you know? All the purpose was gone.” Eds nods and finally we can escape from this awkward conversation.

…

Mike turns to look at me. He stares for a long long time so I try to pretend he's not. I can tell he isn't thinking straight by the way he's frozen there. I think he's ten times more affected by the pills than me, eds or kaylee. Maybe I opened the door to his black hole again. 

“...Will?” His voice is small and unsure. “Is that you?” 

“Yeah?” he blinks at me like he can't believe it. “You're…real?” he taps me on the shoulder again. “Yes, Mike, I'm real.” It's like we are alone together because Kaylee and eds are watching us in silence. “Okay good. I thought-i…jesus. I thought i was daydreaming or…imagining you” 

Eds scoffs “How are you even friends with this fuck up?” Mike looks up, surprised to see the others but he doesn't say anything. “I-I…I” he swipes his head to the side before blinking rapidly again. “You're okay.” I say softly. 

“No no no” he slurs groggily before starting up again. “Im not okay…i cant- i cant. I have to-” he stops and looks at the starry sky. Jesus, I'm glad I'm not dealing with him alone. “I have to- shit i have to tell you Will.” 

“I have to tell you that-that…I love you.”

I've forgotten how to breathe. I blink at him, trying to convince myself I didn’t just hear it. My stomach twists, my mind racing, and part of me wants to laugh nervously, to deny it, to pretend it didn’t happen. Mike, my Mike loves me? Impossible. 

I watch as Mike's face starts to glow and his body stiffens. I remember that we aren't the only ones when eds lets out a sarcastic laugh and kaylee mutters “Holy shit.”

“I… I didn’t… I shouldn’t have-fuck -I wasn’t thinking—” he slams his wrists into his eyes and groans. “I thought maybe you- the pills…oh god.” he looks around like he's looking for something and i watch as his eyes swell up. 

Eds whistles softly, shaking his head. “Well… I totally didn’t see that coming,” he says, sarcasm clear but amused, keeping his voice low. Kaylee nudges him lightly, eyes wide. “ im gonna fucking gag” she murmurs, a small smile twitches across her face.

I scotch closer, my hand brushing his arm. “Hey…it's okay…”

“I love you too.” 

His eyes widen, like ink on paper, searching mine. “You're not- not lying?” God, Mike is so stupid. “No.” I whisper. Mike is here, his pale defined freckled face that loves me. He watches me like he's seen the most valuable piece of art in the world. His soft outgrown curls sway softly in the wind and the only sound is a car horn nearby. 

I can barely see kaylee and eds from the corner of my eye, now standing up trying to break the tension between me and mike. Kaylee is pretending to intensely vomit all over the floor. “Quick Kayls come fucking strangle me!” is what I can hear beyond the ringing in my ears. Kaylee leaps over to Eds and starts pretending to choke him. 

Mike. I'm here in this moment for Mike, not for them. I bring back my focus to his face that is still studying mine. He leans forward slightly, and my heart lurches. Our faces are inches apart. The wind whistles softly. I close my eyes, imagining what it would feel like to-

“HEY WHO’S UP HERE!” bellows from the jammed shut door. All four of us exchange looks fast before running behind the concrete block protecting the door. We stay quiet as we hear whoever it is open the door. “Hello?” Mike is next to me, pressed against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut. Maybe he's worried he might get zapped again if we get caught. I doubt he'll remember anything tomorrow. We stay, huddled together, silent as an empty house. 

After a few minutes, we hear the patting of feet on metal stairs again. “That was fuckin close.” Eds says letting out a deep breath. After we agree that it was clear we all trud down the stairs, satisfied with the night we had.

Me and Mike walk together and he mutters something along the lines of I'm tired. He nearly collapses into my arms again before he stumbles back up. “Mike dont fall asleep on me okay?” he mumbles a mhm and lays his head on my shoulder despite the fact we are walking forward. Kaylee and Eds are far ahead of us so this should be the perfect opportunity to talk. 

I glance down at him, his head resting lightly on my shoulder, curls falling into his eyes. “Mike… hey,” I murmur softly. “Tomorrow are you going to… remember any of this? What you just said?”

He blinks slowly, groggy, voice barely above a whisper. “Huh?… Remember…?” He yawns, jolting his head upright again. “I dunno… maybe?” Maybe? Is this as big of a deal to him as it is to me? “And I mean it… did you really mean it? What you said?”

He blinks again, confused, then slowly smiles a little, drowsy and soft. “…Yeah. I… I think so. I… love you.”

His words are slurred, and quieter, more fragile. My chest aches. “Mike… you have to know I love you too. And it’s not just because of tonight. Kay?” He hums, a small, tired sound, and leans down into my shoulder again. “Okay… okay… Will,” he murmurs, voice soft and wavering, 

“I… okay. I'm all yours.”

Chapter Text

I wake up to the late morning sun seeping through my curtains. The room is still and quiet. The walls are painted golden from the sun and it smells faintly of warm daisies. I roll to my other side to see Mike's sleeping body in his bed across the room. He looks so peaceful there, not a bad thought in the world. I smile at the sight of his face and slowly get up.

I decided not to wake Mike up because he might get cranky. I grab a bit of toast and orange juice or breakfast before taking my pills. Vickie meets me in the hallway and asks me how I'm feeling. I ask about Robin and she turns red. I tell her I dont mind. Eds or Kaylee are nowhere to be seen, until I find Kaylee model walking down the hall.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, she jumps a bit at my voice. “I'm practicing for when I get out of here, asshole.” she bites back. “So you want to be a model?” She is cut out for it, tall, lean, blonde. “Of course, would you want this to go to waste?” She does a little twirl. “I guess not,” I answer quietly. “You know, I could totally fall for you if you weren't all over Mike-” I roll my eyes and gaze around for Eds again. “Fuck you too.” She continues her walk.

 “So where's Eds?” She keeps waltzing down the hall , hands plastered on her hips. “Have you forgotten?” She keeps walking. Forgotten what? Oh shit did something happen while I was sleeping? “Oh, you fucking did.” she scoffs as she finally walks up to me with a bitchy stare. “Hes packing to leave, you jackass.” “Is he gone!?” she flicks her hair at me and continues. “Nope. He will be after lunch though." Thank god. I have plenty of time to say goodbye.

When I open the bedroom door, I find Mike sitting up in his bed, hair poking in every direction, staring deep into absolutely nothing. I break his gaze when I click the door shut again. “Morning.” He rubs his eyes almost instantly and fixes his hair. Maybe I will just let him figure out to himself what happened last night, and that will also help me see how much I actually mean to him.

I watch him blink violently a few times before groaning and falling backwards into his pillow once more. “I feel like shit.” he whines as I make my way over to my bed, with my sketchbook in hand. “No wonder.” I mutter small enough that he can't hear me. I open my book to the rough sketch I started yesterday. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks finally, his sleepy voice almost folds me in half. “Nothing.” I murmur, and begin to start the outline. I hope it looks like I don't care, because I don't. “Youre lying.” he teases and jolts up from his bed and paces over to mine.

“I am not-” “Let me see.” he insists, reaching out for my sketchbook. “No.” “Please.” I roll my eyes and hand it to him. 

I have drawn a hand, with half of an arm, covered in self made scars. On each scar, no matter how big or deep a sprout of green,- or growth blooms through. I guess you could say it's a piece with meaning behind it. That's what it's like to be an artist. Through all the struggles, there is always time to grow, and start fresh.

Mike examines it for a long while before letting out a short croak. “This is beautiful, Will.” I just nod. And fuck- i cant wait anymore. I need to know what he really thinks of me. 

“Do you…do you remember anything that happened last night?” As I speak, an immense black pit grows in my stomach. It is long and endless and constantly claws at your stomach. That's my experience with anxiety. Mike slowly rips his eyes from my book and meets mine. “Last night?”

I nod slightly, careful not to make it obvious how much this matters. The pit in my stomach twists, clawing deeper, but I stay still, letting him find out for himself. He rubs a hand over his face, groaning. “Shit… did I say something dumb?” “You…” I trail off, watching him.

I watch all the lightbulbs come to life behind his eyes, the way he curses under this breath. He fidgets with the rim of his pajama top. “Yeah. I remember a little bit.”

“But I don't know if you…you felt the same.”  his voice trembles in a scared way, ever so slightly. “Did- did I mess it up? I can't remember." I stay silent, just watching him, letting him unravel and find the truth on his own. Mike runs a hand through his curls, letting out a deep deep breath. “Will… I…” He stops, swallows hard. “I… I think I love you. I… I really do.”

The pit in my stomach is still there, twisting, but it's not as sharp. He remembers. He really loves me. I can feel my eyebrows crease and I nod, once more.

“I’d… remember loving you in any universe,” he adds, voice almost breaking.

Every universe. Two flowers, planted in a pot. Two aliens exploring new planets. Two boys who meet by fate in college. Two fireflies, dancing in a meadow. Two snowflakes landing on a branch. A prince and a knight, sneaking out at night. Wow. Every. Universe.  I want that sentence engraved on my heart forever. 

“Will?” he says softly. “Yeah?” “Say it again.” I swallow hard. “What?” He tilts his head, eyes glassy and tender. “That you love me. Just once more.” And I do. Quietly. Carefully. 

“I love you,” I say.

Then, he leans forward and kisses me. I can't bring myself to close my eyes out of shock. This is my first kiss ever, and it's led by the boy I've loved since the day we met. It's soft and pure, and all the butterflies in my stomach fly peacefully into the sky. 

He pulls back and I realize I didn't kiss him back, I was too caught up in what was actually happening. Before he can start to panic, or do something worse, I lunge forward at him.

I lean forward before I can think too much, and suddenly he’s there, close enough that I can see the way his eyes widen and glisten. When our lips meet, it’s not just a touch, it’s every look, every tiny moment before this, every word I’ve ever whispered in my head, rushing at once. He tilts his head, nudging me gently, the smallest push and pull of his lips guiding me. I feel the fast beat of his heart beneath my fingers, my thoughts still whirling with him, him, him.

The door snaps open and Victor appears. “Times up.” Our lips separate, and a chorus of cheers erupts from around the ward. Its the 90s for fucks sake isnt being gay a crime?  “What the fuck Vic?” Mike snaps.

“FAGGOTS!” oh, I spoke too soon. “SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I BASH YOUR TEETH IN!,” Kaylee shouts. She's such a bitch but I love her, especially when she stands up for me. The clapping gets louder. Mike buries his overly red face onto my shoulder. “Tell me this isn't happening.” I just laugh. “It's happening.”

“None more of that or I'll have you two in different rooms.” Victor says sternly before shutting the door behind him. I think I'm red too, because my head feels like it's about to explode from heat. I laugh a bit in disbelief. “Will…” he takes his hand in mine. “Yeah?” he squeezes. “I love you.” he says, like he's certain now.

I chuckle again. “I love you too.” I whisper softly. Mike smiles- no he glows. “I love you, i love you, i love you.” he says, faster now, time after time. I know from what El told me, it was really difficult for Mike to say I love you, so I've really won the jackpot here. I laugh in the most free way I've ever laughed. “Okay, okay, stop.”

“I can't!" He's smiling the widest mike smile ever. “I love you.” I roll my eyes and try to bite back my smile when he drops his head on my shoulder. “Me too.” I whisper. I can feel his breath on my neck when he says, “I'm in love with you, you, Will Byers.”

…

Most of the ward watches Eds pile his bags into his mothers shiny fancy car. Me, Mike, Kaylee, Vickie, Victor, and Parker are at the front. Ed's face is literally unreadable, so this shouldn't be too emotional. Kaylee as her arms crossed, pretending not to care but I can see the glisten in her eyes. Mike is now giving eds an awkward hug since his hands are finally free. “Take care of yourself” I can hear him mutter.

Vickie hugs him, Victor gives a handshake, and Kaylee lets it all loose and nearly knocks him to the floor. “You were my first friend in this place, you know.” she chokes. “Who said we were fuckin friends?” she smacks the top of his head and walks back inside. 

“Will, come, I have to tell you something.” I slowly walk over to him. I wasn't ready to embrace him, but I'm the only one who hasn't. Luckily he didn't want me for that purpose. “Look after Mike for me, the fuck ups my friend too.” he whispers, low enough  so mike wouldnt be able to hear. “Yeah, okay. Cya Eds.” Although I thought he couldn't feel any emotion, he pulls me in for a hug too.

We watch him climb in the seat beside his mother, and just like that he's gone. Mike squints, watching his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Kaylee is probably practicing her model walk again, with the new edition of streaming mascara. Then, everyone is gone, like Eds was just a leaf in the wind.

…

Today, we are using instruments. I have never known how to play anything but Mike knows a bit of guitar which I find fascinating. I watch him carefully. “Do you know how to play anything?” Victor speaks from behind me with a hand on my shoulder. “No, I'm really good at listening though.” It's true, I'm probably the most musical one in my family despite having no knowledge of instruments. “Alright then. I'll leave you to listen."He leaves me and Mike side by side.

Mike plays every breath you take and I can tell almost instantly. When he's finished I clap a bit and he whispers in my ear “I love you.”

Jesus, I thought I was getting better.

Backwards and forwards with time. 

I'm small. My hands are tiny and I can't see over the kitchen bench. I'm in my house and it's different, different like when I was six years old. It's warm so I'm guessing it's late spring or maybe even summer. Mike is there with me, coloring on the kitchen table. The crayons are all shapes and sizes, sprawled everywhere. Our colouring isn't exactly neat either, but I guess that was what it was like. He's got dirt on his face and grass stains on his palms from when we were playing outside earlier. 

Mom walks into the room. She looks much younger too. “Exuse me, Mrs Byers?” Mike asks out of nowhere. “Yes baby?” She turns around and joins us at the table with a glass of cold water. I watch as the cold condensation leaks around the rim of the glass. “Can me and Will have a sleepover? Maybe?” Mike fidgets with his hands. Mom shakes her head and laughs. “You boys had one just last week!” Mike sighs and continues with his colouring. 

“That is, unless you boys have a good excuse.” Mike's face lights up again, and his eyebrows crease as he thinks. “Because we love each other.” I blurt out, face still focusing on my coloring. I look up when I realise how quiet it is. Mike leaps out of the chair and stands on his tip toes to hug me in my chair. “Yeah! We do!” i hug him back.

Mom grins and says “That's a pretty good reason, and how could I say no?” Mike's smile could tear the whole house down. “Thank you, thank you! Will! We can go to sleep really late and do shadow puppets and you can draw a spaceship for us to live in! And, and then we can…”

Mike's excited voice trails off into the distance and I smile so hard I feel as if my teeth are going to fall out. It feels so unreal that Mike loves me like this again, and that he claimed he always had.

“Will?” I gaze around and I'm in the art room again. “Yeah?” I say in an out of breath sort of way, when I should try to sound normal. “Are you okay?” Mike asks. “Yeah. I'm fine.” 

…

I'm with Honeyhill today. She told me that borderline personality disorder is one of the hardest, and most deadly to live with. She also told me I have the highest highs and the lowest lows. I am on the way out of here, but i need to understand the recurring feeling will stick with me forever. She said it's a big help having someone to guide you through it and keep you steady. I told her I already found that someone.

I asked if me and Mike could get out around about the same time. “Mike is a bit behind. But he seems to be doing amazingly better since you arrived." I really don't want to leave Mike alone in this place. I think that could set him back by a lot.

“How can I help him get better faster?” “You need to understand. He's not getting better forever.” I want him to though, Mike never deserved any of this, not one bit. “I know that.” I respond. “I think he's still carrying something. Maybe something from his past that needs to be set free. Do you know what that is, Will?” 

something from his past that needs to be set free. 

Maybe those long three years he disappeared. I can't think of anything else. “Yes. But I don't know if he will talk about it.” she taps her pen on her clipboard time after time echoing like a drum in my head. “Mike wants to write, correct?” “I guess so.” “Maybe you can find something in his writing.” The idea makes me stand from the couch. “Thank you doctor.” I leave for the door.

…

I practically run down the hall and burst open the bedroom door. Thank god Mike isn't in here, or getting his notes would be much harder. I open the desk drawers in search of them. Nail polish, books, pens, a few bracelets, ten fucking blades shoved at the back. I wince and shove them in my pocket for disposing later. Finally, a neatly staked pile of notes. 

I don't care if it hurts, I want to have control. It's quieter now. less screaming inside my head. Told me I’m weak and I don’t deserve to be seen. I told him I was trying anyway.

No wonder he’s getting set back. Who said he was weak and didn't deserve to be seen? I never remember saying that. “Hey- what are you doing?” MIke asks quietly as he walks over to me. I try to answer, but the words come out wrong. “I—I just wanted to see.” he laughs a bitter laugh. “I told you you can't go through my shit.”

I hold up the papers, shaking slightly. “You keep writing about dying and control and being pathetic, and you think I’m not going to worry?” His jaw tightens. “You weren’t supposed to read that.”

“I found blades in your drawer.” That stops him cold. He swallows hard, eyes darting to the floor. “You shouldn’t have seen those.” “Then don’t hide them where I can find them,” I snap. How are we supposed to be together if we always come back to fighting with each other? “You don’t get it.” “Then make me get it,” I whisper. “I write it so I don’t do it. So it stays on paper instead of inside me. But sometimes… sometimes the paper isn’t enough.”

His eyes meet mine, and he turns around and plops onto his bed. “I can't stop it.” Why does Mike, my Mike of all people do this to himself? Physically make himself bleed. I sit beside him.  “We can't keep fighting like this Mike. I hate it, I really do. I also hate how you do this to yourself, so please let me help you stop.” He looks at me with big puppy eyes. “I hate it too. I'm sorry for starting a fight.” I take his hand in mine. “It's okay. No more alright?”  “I’ll try.” 

“I think, maybe part of getting better is telling someone what happened. What really happened.” he squeezes my hand but his eyes stay glued to his bedsheets. “Okay. Can I tell you?” Wow, this is much easier than I thought. “Sure.”

Then, I don't stop him. I let him pour it all out.

“It started when we had that big fight. It was like you said, i would stare at my ceiling all day. Then i started to…you know. Because i felt like its what i deserved for saying all those things. When my mom saw she screamed. My dad called me weak like a girl. They sent me to fucking therapy would you belive it?” i nod, telling him its safe to keep going. 

“It was living hell, so after 6 months of nothing, not a sign that you wanted it back, I ran. I ran away from it all hoping it would stop, but it only made things worse. I remembered Eddie lived in that weird house trailer thing by the lake and lived with him for a whole year. He showed me all sorts of pills. Don't blame him though, it was entirely my fault. It felt so good to just not remember.” 

He starts to gulp back tears I can tell. I squeeze. “And- and then, i tried to kill myself but Eddie walked in mid wrist slit. He totally freaked and called the police. I was out for 3 days and when I woke they had my parents and Nancy there. Holly was too young. They said they missed me but I wasn't so sure, so I ran. Next thing I knew I was here.” 

“So I tried to escape again but I was always brought back. One time I even pretended fully to get free, and I did but guess what happened?” he laughs, trying to mask his tears. 

“I was so scared, Will… scared that if anyone really knew me, they’d leave. That I’d be alone.” “You’ll never be alone,” I whisper fiercely. “Not while I'm here. I love you.” He laughs through his tears. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You didn’t do anything,” I murmured, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You just… are you. And that’s enough.” He swallows, still holding my gaze. “Even with everything?” “Especially with everything,” I say, voice low but steady. “I want… I want to be with you, Mike. All of you. All the dark and the light.”

He hesitates, lips trembling, then nods slowly. “Yes… I want that. But I’m scared I’ll mess it up.” I squeeze his hand, smiling softly. “Then we’ll do it together. Step by step. So… will you… be my boyfriend?”

He laughs, a little choked, and it’s shaky but full of relief. “Is that even a fuckin queston? Of course I will. You have no idea how bad I've wanted to hear that.”

…

The neon hum outside flickers against the glass. It's late out, and Victor let us go out since Vickie was with us- and Robin. We've gone to a reshow of Stephen King's IT. Eds would have liked this. We walk up to the cashier who is probably younger than us by a year or two. The cashier, bored, leans on the counter while we step forward.

“Double date?” He asks, ringing out some tickets. Vickie understands the assignment almost immediately and hooks onto Mike's arm. “Yeah! This is my…” She trails off when she realises it isn't needed. Mike's expression is as blank as a bit of printer paper. The cashier looks over at me and Robin. She clears her throat and wraps an arm around my shoulder. Jesus this is awkward.

Once the sweet smell of popcorn wafts around us, we make our way to the theater. We find some seats at the back away from anyone's view. Robin and vickie are humming like a beehive, and have probably forgotten we're here too. 

“Hey,” Mike murmurs, leaning close so only I can hear. “That thing with the cashier… that was weird, right?” I grin. “You mean Robin pretending she’s my girlfriend?” He nods, trying not to smile. “Yeah. You didn’t seem too into it.”

“I didn’t want to make her look bad,” I say, squeezing his hand gently. “Besides… I’ve already got someone.” Mike glances down, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah? Lucky guy.” “Very,” I whisper.

The screen lights up, and for a while, we just sit there, his thumb tracing slow circles over my hand, Robin and Vickie laughing a few seats down. For the first time in a long time, everything feels okay. Not perfect. It’s never going to be perfect- that’s just the way life is. But we have each other, and we are going to get through this together.

Maybe we were just crazy.

Maybe it was the nineties.

Maybe we were just boys, interrupted.