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Only about 45 percent of dreams are remembered by the adult mind. Many people don’t even seem to remember their dreams at all. But even when these dreams are remembered, and they turn into something to recollect, sometimes they’ll never leave. And always be in the back of your mind.
Mike never seemed to remember his dreams at all either, it seemed whenever he fell asleep he would only see black, nothing more, nothing less. He would wake up knowing the hours passed, but nothing would remind him of what happened during them.
Tucking himself into bed, perfecting every wrinkle on his comforter that he deemed annoying on his skin, and takes one heavy huff as he turns on his side, seeing the deep darkness cover his room, eyelids now feeling heavy.
The truth is, he's had his lights off for an hour now, begging for the night to wash over him and take him into slumber- but nothing had worked. He counted sheep, he meditated, read a book- he still felt as awake as before, maybe even worse. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, something was on his mind.
….
Someone was on his mind.
He dramatically grabs his fleece red and blue blanket, pulling it over his head. It was cold, about 45 degrees Fahrenheit outside, with his room not feeling much different. The heater must’ve turned off a couple hours ago. The comforter helps trap the heat in his bed, which gives him a final push to feel a form of sleepiness. As the seconds turn into minutes, he finally falls asleep.
He doesn’t normally dream, and if he does, he only remembers patches of it, the colors, the basic silhouette of someone. But it's never vivid.
He's in front of a house. It's large, made out of brick with a white roof. It has two stories, the porch covered by a small roof, supported with 4 beams under it. Mike stands at the door, looking down, seeing he's wearing a dark blue sweatshirt with black jeans and a pair of Converse. Nothing out of the ordinary, so he didn’t think much about it. Without realizing it, he presses his finger to the doorbell. He hears a muffled version of the bell inside, hearing a small amount of shuffling inside the house.
As Mike waits, he sees to his left an opened garage, fit for two cars, but as he studied it more, only one car was at least visible to him, but what covered the area where another car should have been, an empty black void stood there, like imagining it wasn't possible. The door creaks open, feeling the heat from the house breach out into the cold outside. He whips his head back around, surprisingly seeing his best friend, Will Byers.
Although this seemed further in the future, Will still looked the same, His tender hazel eyes locking onto him, his soft brown hair in subtle waves on his forehead, his skin still as sunkissed as before. He wore a pale yellow sweater, and a pair of light brown jeans. He still wore his matching watch, even though it seemed like it had been years since they last met. Mike felt the wind knocked out of him, a pit in his stomach formed, butterflies form- the whole nine yards. His face flushed into a soft pink.
“Oh- ah… Hey.” A wave of awkwardness goes through Mike like a tsunami, gripping onto the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Both of them stare for a moment, not knowing what to say. The air was cold, the harsh breeze didn’t make anything better. It was weird. They normally could just look at each other and nothing would feel wrong or awkward. He hated this.
“Hey, uh- What are you doing here?”
He wipes his nose, feeling the cold nip at his face. “I.. I don’t know.” He admits, looking down. He sees the dark wood panels under his feet, he’d rather have them fall apart and send him into the abyss than stand here for another minute not knowing what to do.
“Uh, I’m making tea right now, you can come in, uh, if you want.” Will asks, crossing his arms, seemingly chilled from being outside. Will turns to the side, inviting him into his home. Mike can’t even look Will in the eyes anymore, he's stuck to keeping his head down. He walks in, seeing the warm lights cover the house. The walls were painted in pale yellows and light beige, with several pieces of art all around his walls, all including the initials W.B. He lifts up his head to study one of them, a dark scenery with a boat at sea, the waves splashing against the boat's walls, a gripping tale of tragedy and an endless fight with nature. It reminds him of another painting he's seen before.
He gently moves his hand up, seeing how he could trace every brush stroke with Will's own hands, wishing he could guide him on how he created the idea.
“These are incredible.” He observes, turning his head back around to will, only to see he's moved himself to another room. He follows to where he could hear a tea kettle whistle, now seeing a homely kitchen, with mahogany cabinets with dark blue accents on the tableware. He pours the boiling water into two mugs, and places tea bags into each of them.
“It's chamomile. I hope you don’t mind” He commented, gripping both of them in his hands. To be honest he's never really had hot tea, outside of seeing his moms compartment in the cabinet. Will holds the two mugs, gesturing to Mike to grab it, which he gladly complies. As Will loosens his grip on the handle, Mike wraps two fingers around the bottom of the handle, and for a moment, their fingers touch. He feels the warmth around Will's fingers, an impulsive thought made him wish he left his hand to linger just for a couple seconds more. The teabag was still in the water, the essences slowly leaving the bag, swirling around with steam rising out from the mug.
“Thank you” He mutters, keeping his eyes locked down onto the teabag, watching it slowly circle around the water. They paused for a moment. Letting their own thoughts and quick conversation subside. It was unfortunately unpleasant for both of them. Will's eyes now stay locked down onto his mug as well, grabbing a small stirring spoon from his utensil drawer.
He seemed to be living well financially. His house was neatly furnished, fruits lay in a bowl on the counter, and they had one of the newer tvs- a new model 45 inch tv neatly placed in his living room, surrounded by a bookshelf with several older paintings and books held near to him… including one of his old D&D binders.
“You uh- You have a really nice house. Pretty large.” Mike tries to continue the small talk, but still feels the need to keeps his eyes off him. Will continues to stir his tea, taking gentle sips between each tense second. He has a small warm smile across his lips, one Mike hadn’t seen in awhile. It was angelic, sweet, calming, and it made him feel at ease- a soft pink tint covers his cheeks.
His mind quickly brushes away those thoughts- He shouldn’t feel this way. But even as his mind raced, his eyes were still on Will. They were always on Will.
“Yeah, thank you.” Every word they said to each other made the room feel smaller, every word was filled with tension and unease. “Do you want to go sit down?” Will asks calmly. Without an answer, he drifts himself to his couch seat, placing his tea cup on the coffee table. It was clean and tidy, with a small stack of magazines and coupon clippings on top. Mike follows, sitting in the armchair next to the couch, still holding his tea. He hadn’t had a sip of it yet, just waiting to see what Will does.
“How have you been?” Mike blurts out, a performative smile plasters his face, but Will could see right through the facade. He presses his lips together, before sighing.
“I’ve been fine, Mike.” He sharply replies, crossing his arms together. Mike’s taken aback, he sets down his tea, mirroring Will's pose.
Will's distant look turns soft once more, turning his gaze back to Mike.
“How have you been? With El and everything.” Mike's skin crawls at the mention of El. He didn’t know what to say now. Did he even know himself? They had talked a bit outside of his profession, but they never mentioned it, let alone reestablish their relationship. Honestly, they haven't been good since the early summer of 85’. After they broke up at Starcourt, nothing really felt the same. Or- he didn’t feel the same.
“We're doing good actually. Yeah- we’ve been good.” These lies fell out of his mouth like tar, he didn’t even know what he was saying. He knew he was lying, but why couldn’t he tell Will? His best friend, someone he trusts, someone he-
“That's good to know.” He stops Mike in thought, his gaze falls back to Will's face, seeing a blank expression. Although a slight grimace seemed to seep through the cracks.
“So what about you, did you go to college for art like you said you would?” Mike glosses over the previous silence. He fidgets with his hands, trying to lose any eye contact with Will. His eyes now wander to the wall behind him, seeing some newly done paintings dry by the window. They were dull, all pictures of empty forests at night, or a ship lost at sea. They were almost depressing, like he has something lacking in his life- or something isn’t right. He turns his head back to Will, still in the same position, and the same face.
“Yeah, I finished my major in fine arts. I really like it.” A small smile flashes on his face, seeming to break the stern look he had before. Mike smiles, a genuine smile. He looks back up at Will, now keeping his eye contact with him.
“Well you must’ve sold some really good paintings to buy a house like this.” He flirts, now keeping his eyes locked on Will. He gave him a small smirk, trying to break the basic small talk. He wanted it to be like a conversation they could have anytime- He wanted to make Will smile, and laugh, or just have a genuine conversation with him like friends. Best friends.
This time, Will turned his head away. A small smile now plastered on Will's face. He tried concealing the smile, but you could still tell on his face he was flattered.
“Thank you, but I really haven’t sold many. My type of art style isn’t… appreciated as much right now. Abstract has gotten really popular. I prefer doing landscapes and portraits instead. They tend to come to me a lot easier.”
Mike smiles, gripping onto his mug. Blush crept onto both of their faces, and the awkwardness slowly came back. The tension seemed to subside for a minute, but both now seemed more shy than anything.
Will was fidgeting with his hands now, seemingly just as awkward as Mike.
“So, don’t tell me you robbed a bank just to afford this house.” he quips, a small huff of laughter falls out, Will now joining in with the teasing. He sets his cup down, stifling a laugh which leaves a sweet smile on his lips. The room felt warm, inviting now. Just like how it used to be. A more selfish part of Mike wished to stay in this room- it reminded of when they were younger, their constant banter, the sleepovers that ended in meaningless conversations they would have for hours until they both fell asleep- the midnight snacks they would make together while trying not to wake their families up.
“No, my partner, he’s a writer, he's actually published a couple children's books now.”
Mike felt his heart drop.
Partner? He says in his mind, the grip on his cup almost shattering.
“partner?” he repeats, now out loud for Will to hear. It felt like poison was layered on his tongue.
Will's warm expression now falls into an anxious stare. He tries to keep a content smile on his face, but it still returns back to a painful frown. He sets his cup down, seemingly bracing himself for what he's about to say next.
“Yeah, my partner. I have a boyfriend, Mike.” A sigh finishes his sentence, leaving only silence to fill the room. Thoughts were rushing through Mike's brain like a bullet train- It's not like he wasn't happy, or he was mad or grossed out, but just shocked. He began to think of what the man looked like, what his name was, how he treated Will, how Will felt with him-
“Mike? Are you okay?” Will questions, breaking his train of thought, with a couple quick blinks to bring him back to reality- or as close as possible.
“Yeah I’m- I’m fine but you know I just didn’t realize…” he trails off, his words leaving him faster than his brain could think. He takes a look around, now really trying to avoid any form of eye contact with Will- but it seemed to just make things worse.
Reluctantly, he turns his head back to Will, who is now looking more uncomfortable than ever. He pats his hands down onto his thighs before he stands up, trying to keep the silence from going any further.
“I have some of his work if you’d like to read it. I know you like writing too.” Will responds in a low tone, just enough so Mike could hear it and comply. He goes to the bookshelf to the left of the tv, right next to his old DND binder, gripping some of the old kept newspapers.
“He has done a lot for political research, so I don’t know if that interest you- but you can skim through them.” He hands them to Mike with a gentle grip on the papers. Mike placed them into his lap. He starts to skim through an article on the disappointing lack of research on the AIDS virus, and then another one on the erasure of queer men and women in the media, and more on gender studies and the lack of critical thinking and nuance in the community.
The man knew how to write a captivating article, with the way he structured his analysis, to the way he could keep you roped in- it was admirable, but it was annoying too. Mike mutters under his breath, rereading multiple passages over. He knew he was good, but why should he admit it? He could write better than that if he wanted to, so good Will could frame it for decades to come.
“Yeah he's not bad, I guess.” Mike sounds seemingly displeased, placing them back onto the coffee table with his cup.
“I mean I don’t think his stuff is groundbreaking, it's just fine. I'm shocked he gets work this often.”
Okay, maybe that was a little rude, but he was just telling Will how he felt. Or at least how he wanted to feel. Will scoffs, crossing his arms as he grabs the newspapers once again.
“C’mon Mike, why are you even here? Just to be rude to me, or giving me these confusing looks one more time before you fuck off and leave for half a decade?”
“I mean I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just telling you how I feel” He spits out- It felt like a lie, it was a lie. He knew how he felt, not just from this guy's writing, but this dormant burning desire that he's had for years.
“I want to be around you, I just don’t want to ruin anything!” His voice was loud, and more aggressive than he wanted it to be. He felt instant regret from his tone. He forces his face to soften as he looks back over to Will, his face now contorted into a mix of pain and melancholy.
He felt so intensely guilty. He wishes could just take everything back now, rewind the 5 minutes. He fucked up his last chance to maybe salvage something of this moment. This reality. The one he doesn’t want. The one that can’t happen.
“Everything has been so weird lately, it's all felt so..” he pauses, not sure if he should even continue this. He should just leave, just stop himself from saying anything more.
“Different.”
He mumbles out, barely a whisper. His former argumentative tone now falls flat. He can’t even look at Will anymore. His face was flushed, his body felt like jelly. He hasn’t spoken like this in years, be truly vulnerable with someone else.
“Not even lately, it's been like this for months, years now probably.” Tears well up in his eyes, feeling a burning sensation go through his body like fire. His head was throbbing in pain, like a headache when you're sick, it's achy, and excruciating in pain. He places his palm in the middle of his forehead, the pain only getting worse. He takes several shallow breaths, feeling the pain slowly turn from daggers into a white hot burning sensation on his face. His tears slowly fall down his face, dripping onto his jeans.
“Will, I-”
He's interrupted by Will clasping his hands over his, stopping Mike's rambling in his tracks. He lifts his head up, the whites of his eyes now a light pink, damped from tears, feeling so… confused and- almost relieved?
“It’s okay, Mike.”
Will leans in, a small smile on his face. His face almost seemed basked in light, a gorgeous glow coming from him. He almost has a hesitant look at Mike. He seems a little regretful of what he was doing, but Mike couldn’t care anymore. The warmth from Will's hands is enough to warm him on a bitter cold winter day, enough to keep him fighting on. Mike grips onto Wills hands tighter, now leaning in closer to Will, their faces only inches apart. It was a bit of an awkward position, they both had their backs hunched over to reach each other, but the back pain would go away in a day, this would last him a lifetime.
He finally leans in close enough to feel Will's breath on his, the shaky exhales now being shared. Mike closes the gap, with a gentle but desperate kiss on Will's lips. His lips were soft, slowly moving, but enough to make Mike feel crazy. Wills hands let go of Mikes, traversing from his forearms to the nape of his neck, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. It felt like his skin was burning up, each kiss becoming more rough and hungry than the last. But as quickly as that fire went, the more painful it seemed to become.
This was something he shouldn’t have.
He can’t have.
Each gentle caress is now a painful slap in the face of what he's done. How he truly feels. How disgusting he is..
A reminder of who he is.
What he is.
He gasps in pain, lifting himself from his bed like he just got exorcized. His face was flushed, and his clothes were lightly damped from sweat. His breath was heavy, he was almost gasping just to keep his lungs working. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, feeling his curls coil from the humidity. He was still in the process of trying to catch his breath, gripping onto his bedsheets like it was the only thing keeping him stable- which quite frankly it was. His head was spinning, and the mix of being on the verge of hyperventilating and already having a headache now made his head pound about a hundred times worse, burning in agony as if someone just cut a knife into his skull. His mind was running at 1000 miles per hour. He didn’t know what to think. It didn’t even feel like a dream, he thought that was real, it felt real.
He didn’t know if he wanted it to be real or not.
The whole world now felt like it was spinning, maybe from the lack of oxygen running to his brain or from something he didn't want to admit. He remembers everything so vividly. From when he stood at that front door, to the final moment where he kissed- he kissed Will.
He kissed him.
He's always known something was up, the last time El kissed him, before they left for California, something was different. Maybe he knew that all along and just didn’t want to think about it. He still doesn't want to think about it, but now his brain has forced him into a conversation he dreads to even think about for a second.
What would his mom think, Nancy think, or god forbid- Will think? If he knew about how fucking gross he was. How he wanted to kiss guys- a guy, specifically his best friend, how would they look at him after that? He's been called a freak, sure, and a fairy several times before, but now if they knew this- these feelings, they would have actual evidence to back it up, not just bullying just to bully. Maybe if he just ignores it longer, doesn’t tell anyone, it’ll just go away. If he stays with El for long enough, it’ll go away. Everyone will see he can’t be- what he doesn’t truly want to be, but what he has to be.
He hears a loud beeping sound coming from his nightstand, it was already 7:00AM.