Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler was pissed.
There was a blatantly obvious correlation between him being mad and Will being distant, he didn't even know what he did wrong. This was so rare. After Lenora it was weird, but— that's been cleared up for at least a year now. Mike scraped his food across his plate, scavenging for his last bite, despite his appetite having been gone.
The seat next to him was empty for the fourth day in a row. Was Will mad at him? Mike had no clue, Will was keeping a secret, and Mike sensed it.
He had unintentionally been staring at Nancy for a little too long, detached from reality, thinking about what in the world Mike could've done to upset Will enough for him to avoid him for days. Mike thought she sensed something wrong, because the moment he looked away, she spoke.
“Mike?"
Mike swallowed, grunted in response, and kept chewing. He swallowed and pushed his plate forward and looked to the vacant, cold chair next to him. Why was Will avoiding him?
"Mike?"
Truthfully, Nancy's voice was the last thing he wanted to hear, she wouldn't get it. She didn't have a best friend anymore, she had a boyfriend, a boyfriend who literally lived with her.
"What?” Mike mumbled. He pushed his plate forward, so stridently he accidentally spilled Holly’s water on the table. Shit.
“Mike!” His mom exclaimed. Holly squealed, and glared at Mike, wrapping her hands around her book that the water was creeping toward.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it was an accident.” Mike scrambled to stand up to grab more napkins from the cupboards. “Honey, awareness?” His mom said, as she lapped up the water with her own napkin.
“Mom, it's okay,” Nancy said. “Accidents happen.” She helped clean up the water that had slowed down its rapid stream on the table.
Mike stood next to his seat while his mother and sister cleaned up the mess that could've been avoided if Will was just here. “I'm going up,” he said, picking up his plate with cold food he barely even ate in the first place.
There was a protest for him to stay and clean from Holly as he had made a mess, and deserved to have to clean the kitchen for that instead of her, but he really didn't care. He didn't understand how his family could be so casual about Will being absent. Well, I mean he could, because all the Byers were gone tonight, but not yesterday— or the day prior, or even the day after that, just Will.
Tonight all the Byers were at El’s and Hopper's cabin, that wasn't the issue, that was normal. Every couple days they have some sort of disjointed family dinner. He knew Will didn't mind too much, he was still essentially siblings with El, but it didn't mean that Mike could wish just a little bit he was here. Is that weird?
Will had been missing from dinner for four days, with stupid Robin at stupid WSQK. Mike didn't mind Robin, she's funny, and kind, and cool, cool enough that Mike didn't mind she was around on occasion. She's a good leader. But something pinched in his chest. He shoved the feeling down before it could turn into anything.
He scampered up the stairs and entered his room, he didn't bother turning on a light or anything, instead he shook off his pants, putting on some matching Star Wars pajama bottoms he shared with Dustin, Lucas, and Will. His mom had insisted on getting them for the four of them a couple of months ago, thinking that it would be a small act of light in whatever prison this town has turned into.
He pulled off his top and absentmindedly picked a shirt out of his closet, it was a little small, but in the scramble that is his mind right now, he could not care any less. He sighed, at least he felt a little bit more relaxed and refreshed than he had previously inside the own personal hell a Wheeler’s dinner is.
Mike huffed and plopped down on his bed, stumbling over clothes overflowing from his laundry basket that he hadn't bothered to clean yet.
Will was on Mike's mind a lot more recently. It would be only a few days before he would've been missing only three years ago. This time of year was always rough for Mike, he never said it out loud though, as it most definitely was worse for Will. That was his excuse anyway.
Mike was annoyed. This is normal. Steve is always worried about Dustin and stuff, whether he's up to discussing it or not. And Lucas is worried about Max, but that's… different.” He caught himself in this jumbled confusing tumbleweed of emotions and groaned, loudly.
There was a knock on his door, and before Mike had the opportunity to think of responding, Nancy emerged.
“Mike, what's wrong?” She asked softly, but with genuine concern that Nancy wouldn't allow him to blow off.
“Nothing, leave.” He huffed.
“No. I'm serious. You're acting weirder than you usually are.”
Mike ignored the comment. “I'm fine.” He took a beat, “do you know what Robin’s doing tonight?”
“Robin?” Nancy responded, a small resemblance of shock resonated in her voice. “I think she mentioned something about a date to Steve, I don't know who with though.”
“Oh, okay, cool.” Mike exhaled, relieved even though he knew he shouldn't care that much. Will and Robin have been hanging out too much and it was weird. Mike had noticed the way Robin would grip Will’s shoulder while she was bent over, crying laughing over something Will had said. Truthfully, it bothered him. More than he could ever admit. Not that he cared. He didn't. It was just—weird. That's all.
Will was funny, but not that funny, not shoulder-grabbing funny, or no he was funny but not that funny. Robin of all people? Will is funny.
Nancy looked at him, likely expecting more of a real response than what Mike cared to provide. It wasn't that Mike was envious of Robin, he didn't really care for going on dates, and there wasn't anyone that he was interested in going out with right now anyways, but there was a twinge of jealousy within Mike’s core, gnawing at something he couldn't really place.
Holly burst into the room without warning and pulled Nancy away from the enveloping darkness that was Mike’s bedroom. “Nancy! Nancy! Look at my Lite-Brite!”
He sighed and sat up in his bed, pondering. Will was driving him nuts, it wasn't that Will was doing anything wrong either, something was there that Mike couldn't place.
He stood to shut the door that both of his sisters failed to shut, and just as he laid his hand against the wooden frame to shut it, he felt the rattle of the front door opening and closing, and felt the invisible chaos that the Byers family created.
Mike hesitated, and in the hesitation, he heard Jonathan's voice, and subsequently, his footsteps that swiftly shuffled up the stairs. Mike decided to leave the room, he'd use the excuse he was thirsty or something if anyone had asked.
Mike caught himself. Why did he need an excuse to go downstairs, in his own house, to potentially speak to someone who lived with him? Mike froze at that thought, just as Jonathan pushed by him on the steps, interrupting whatever he was processing. Mike glanced over his shoulder to gruff at him, but held his tongue, looking down the rear of the steps instead.
Will was standing there, staring at him.
Mike’s stomach fluttered, just a little.
Will was wearing an enormous coat, his mom always did the most, a precautionary measure in case Vecna were to strike him down walking down the street of all places. Mike knew Will didn't really need it, but privately, he shared the same reassurance Joyce had.
Will's face was pink from the cold. There was no reason to be flustered, it was the only real logical thing, it was cold outside. An unplaceable sharp chill ran up his spine. The dim entryway light caught the swirls of chestnut in his eyes.
Will looked away and pulled his coat hood off, and a light popping crackle came from the static that snagged onto the messy tufts that was left at the crown of Will's head. It didn't look bad necessarily, it wasn't the first time he had seen Will with messy hair, far from it even, hell, they've shared a bed before and woken up next to each other and—
Mike’s stomach tightened.
He was gawking at this point, he hadn't moved in like, forty seconds, at least, his best friend just looked nice, that was all. Will started to take off his outer layers, Mike resumed his descent down the steps.
“Hey” Mike said, leaning against the railing. “How was dinner?”
“Fine, my mom made a stew of sorts, pork or chicken I think” Will responded.
“Gross.” Mike said. “Or I mean, your mom is a good cook just… pork stew? That's not a regular on my personal menu, is all I'm saying, but there's nothing wrong with liking it if you like it, it's just not my favorite thing ever but, um, yeah.” He rambled. “Sorry.” Will smiled and let out a sound of amusement. “It wasn't great, it's okay. I won’t tell my mom” He smiles, his breath was still elevated from the rush of cold.
“Yeah,” Mike awkwardly added. Mike couldn't read Will’s expression. He wasn't looking back at him but it was clear Will was intentionally trying not to look back at Mike. At least, Mike assumed so? Will was attempting to affix his coat to the ever growing collection of winter gear the families shared.
“Here,” Mike said, adjusting the rack to accommodate Will's addition. Their hands brushed on top of each other. Jeez, he is really fucking cold. Even in the brief moment, Mike’s pulse jumped, and his breath escaped him, stuttering without permission.
“Thanks,” Will said, finally looking back at him, still pink from the cold, but now that he was closer, he could tell it was a lot closer to red.
“Here, why don't we get you warmed up” Mike said, pulling Will toward the now empty warm kitchen, rubbing his shoulders.
Mike opened a drawer and started to dig through. The drawer had softly jingled and clattered as it opened, containing infinite stories from trinkets inside. “Do you want cocoa? Or something else like tea, because we also have chamomile, earl grey, and a lot of jasmine.” “Mike, no it's fine, I’m fine.” Will responded, stepping back.
“Will, no. You're freezing!” Mike exclaimed, shocked that Will would even consider denying, he loved to drink hot chocolate with Mike. He loved to. No. He loves to, we love to.
“Mike, seriously I'm fine, I'm not that cold, it's just my hands, I was just outside, I'm fine.” Will protested.
“No! You're not! Dude you're literally freezing!” Mike reached out and grabbed one of Will’s hands and cupped it between his own. “Do you want me to warm you up this way!?” Mike was getting louder than he wanted to be, acting on impulse to the point he didn't even process what damage he had done.
Will looked up at his eyes and looked down at their hands, Mike stalled, refusing to drop them until he got a response. Will’s hand was light — it always had been — but in this moment it felt heavy as ice, Mike was subconsciously trying to melt it. “Mike, quiet down. I'm fine, you don't need to alert the whole neighborhood– or my mom…” He trailed off, gently attempting to pull his hand away. “And it's just my hands. I'm warm enough everywhere else.”
Their eyes were still locked, and he swore he saw pools of pink beginning to bloom beneath Will’s skin.
“Dude no, you’re freezing, like you’re way too cold, don’t scare me like this!” Mike exclaimed, it had come out a lot harsher than he intended, so much that Will pulled back. “Mike I’ve told you, I am fine, please just stop, leave me alone.”
In all honesty, Mike was hurt. Why was he suddenly not allowed to help or care for someone he cared for so deeply. It really did not help, for it contributed to what bullshit this evening had been. How could he be so irritated and bothered by his absence, and just as easily agitated by the boy he'd been secretly pining over for months.
“I'm sorry,” he finally dropped his hands, Will dropped almost immediately, but Mike hesitated and lingered there, now empty with regret “I just, I get worried sometimes you know? And I know you hate it, I know you hate how your mom does it, I just care, you know?” He kept his eyes on the floor, watching Will’s feet stifle back
“No, Mike. I don't know, because you don't know, none of you guys do! You don't understand what it's like being like me, I'm cursed. I'm cursed with an impending hell outside your house and it's my fault! Just go Mike, you don't get it, all of you baby me and treat me as if I am porcelain, just go, I can handle being cold.”
Mike was shocked, he felt a rolling wave of sorrow shuffle through his entire body, and tears were starting to fill his tear ducts. “Will, I care about you because you're…”
He doesn't finish.
Will turns around to leave to the basement, his temporary ‘shared’ bedroom. It really was just Will’s at this point, Mike had heard Jonathan trying to be quiet sneaking to Nancy's room nearly every other night.
“Will, please don't go. I hate when we fight.” Mike pleaded, he was so quiet.
Will paused, only for a second, Mike wasn't even sure he did, “Yeah,” Will responded, his voice hitched in his throat. He continued down the hallway into the basement.
Mike was mortified, scared even, he just cared for someone, and somehow that was always the problem.
He stood still in the kitchen for a long time, trying to avoid allowing a tear to trickle down his cheek. He took a steady breath in and out, and slowly began to pace toward the foyer, and up the steps.
Each step was somehow even more slow and emotional than the next. Trying to avoid tears for rolling, proof of his damaged heart physicalized and real, immortalized in that moment.
Mike’s hand rested on the chilling metal of his doorknob, twisting it slowly. Soft and quiet giggles leaked from Nancy's room. It was so hard to not allow himself to be jealous.
He rolled into bed and stared at his window. Moonlight seeped in his room, illuminating reminders of the fight that had happened minutes earlier. The gold glinting off of a trophy they had won, one of Will’s robots that had been left in here— God— years ago at this point. A certain deep crimson.
He tried not to look, he really did, but closing his eyes wouldn't help anyways. This night was already the beginning of something restless, so he stood up, and unpinned the painting from the wall. It was so beautiful. Mike grazed the canvas, fingers landing on the Thessalhydra that occupied a third of the piece.
Everything about it was so sincere and perfect, every intention behind each brushstroke was something unfathomable by Mike, he could hardly use a pencil to do anything but write words. If he allowed himself to dwell, it’d only make it worse. Eleven was part of this too. He realized, and that's weird. Reminiscing on his ex-girlfriend to cope with a fight he had with his best friend.
Mike rolled the painting back up and tucked it into his drawer in his nightstand. He didn't understand why he was like this. He slumped back into bed, facing away from the window this time. He didn't know how he'd fall asleep tonight.