Work Text:
September, 1987
While trapped in Hawkins, the Byers had been living in the Wheelers’ house for sixteen months, and although their situation was cramped and chaotic, over time everyone adjusted, making it work the best they could.
Will, one day, was alone in the bedroom of his best friend, searching through drawers for clothes to wear. In the time they’d been stuck in this town, he had been able to buy a few essential clothing items of his own; however, between the lockdown limiting shops’ stock, Joyce being unable to work her job, and laundry access being shared with seven other people, his small collection wasn’t enough to get him through every day. Luckily for Will though, Mike, months ago, had given him full permission to wear anything of his, whenever he needed. The two boys had known each other nearly their whole lives - sharing clothes in such a dire time was no question at all.
The air outside carries a slight chill for the first time this season, and so Will carefully rifles through a drawer of sweaters to pick out something comfortable and suitable for the day. He surveys his options, noticing a nice-looking teal fleece tucked in the back corner of the drawer. As he reaches to pick it up, Will’s fingers find something he wasn’t expecting: paper. He lifts the fleece to reveal a stack of half a dozen letters underneath, all of which are folded in half but noticeably addressed at the top to him, to Will.
Gently, Will pulls the papers out of the drawer with curiosity. He unfolds them silently and takes just a glance, quickly being able to make out when these letters were written - during his months away in California. Flicking through, he sees that some of them are clearly incomplete, some have smudges and words harshly crossed out, but what all of them have in common is that they were never mailed, never even mentioned to him.
Will’s eyes dart over the pages, only just stopping himself from reading their contents. He knows he shouldn’t look. He could never dare break his best friend’s trust. The thought of Mike finding him snooping, the hurt or anger that may follow, makes his heart pound with anxiety. He shouldn’t. Though of course, Mike had allowed him to go through these drawers, surely he couldn’t be blamed for coming across something so haphazardly hidden. And as his mind all of a sudden flashes back to those days in California, the hard months he spent barely talking to Mike at all, he can’t help but wonder - why were these never sent? What could’ve been worth the fights, the rift driven in their friendship by the separation?
Filled with guilt but unable to resist, Will quickly begins to read the letters. He reads and reads, his hands trembling slightly as a smile crosses his face. The words on the page stun him, both with confusion and glee. There’s a strange vulnerability there that he hasn’t heard from Mike in a long time, as if the act of writing letters brought forth the deep feelings that phone calls were able to hide.
“I wish you hadn’t left me”
“I really miss you”
“Our other friends just don’t understand me like you do, you know?”
“I saw some sunflowers today, they made me think of you”
“Hawkins just isn’t right without you around”
“I miss your laugh”
“You always made me feel special”
And then one in particular ending with, “love, Mike”.
Will’s heart begins to race again, this time with a flutter of delight and warmth filling his cheeks. The words seem almost… intimate? Dare he say, even, romantic?
No, no, that’s just wishful thinking, there’s no way it could be true, right? They’re best friends, Mike loves him as a best friend. He’s reading too much into this. A total creep for even entertaining the possibility. The possibility that the boy he’s been in love with forever may in fact return those feelings. He tries desperately to push the thought down, to crush any sliver of hope before it can crush him, but the words on the page in front of him nag at his mind. “Love, Mike”. Could it really be possible?
Will doesn’t want to get ahead of himself assuming things, doesn’t want to risk their lifelong friendship when he knows he could be wrong. But in the following weeks, the words make him see his friend’s actions in a different light. Mike’s soft, endearing tone of voice reserved only for him, the gentle looks of support, the complete lack of physical space between the two whenever they’re together. Signals that make him consider for the first time that, maybe, he really could be loved.
The feelings gradually snowball until, at the first chance he gets to talk to someone like him about it, he just has to ask, “how obvious?”. How obvious were the signals? How obvious does it have to get until he can safely take a real chance at love? And the unsaid question that he now allows himself to truly consider - could Mike really love him back?