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foolishly young (and endlessly brave)
Despite what the general consensus may be, Michael James Wheeler had known he was in love with William Byers long before he and El ever broke up.
He can still remember it like it was yesterday.
The way the rain made his yellow button-up stick to his chest uncomfortably and his hair lay flat against his neck; the way his left shoe was tied just a tad too tight and the slight sting of his underwear’s edge bothered his skin; the way his hand ached for the hit he’d accidentally suffered the day prior and much, much more.
External things, too — inconspicuous and forgettable, but nonetheless held dear in his heart.
The humid smell of that early July, bad weather gracing their sky on a weekly basis; the sound of his shoes against the hard asphalt, resonating and following him like a shadow; the chip in the side of his wooden table, well-worn by endless days of joy.
His emotions, bubbling in his guts, the slow simmering of something.
The anger, the fear, the embarrassment, the anxiety, the guilt, the—
“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”
It’s not an insult, not an accusation, not even a statement. It is, at its most honest, shameful essence, a barf of everything that has been rotting inside of him lately, everything he’s pushed down with bloodied hands and hidden sniffles, everything that he’s ignored and denied and hid.
It all just comes up in a sharp cut that seems to split the image of him and Will he’s safekept in his heart since they were five. He can physically feel the way the space around them warps and bends, until there’s nothing left anymore but this endless distance between them.
He remembers Lucas and him separating at one point to make the search easier.
He remembers desperately following Will’s footsteps up to his door, banging against the wooden surface with the freneticness of a madman; begging like a dog abandoned by the side of a street, forever waiting and ever so hopefully devoted.
He remembers nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to touch — no flowers to dry between the thin pages of his memories.
It’s all my fault.
He remembers crying like a child lost in the large emptiness of the world, desperation piling and piling until his vision goes dark and his breath gets stuck in his lungs, trapped.
Turning around; cycling around the neighborhood again; knocking some more; breathing until it doesn’t hurt anymore; meeting with Lucas again to search the woods.
And, in between everything, a ray of sunshine grazing his heart.
A realization, an explanation, a revolution.
His hands gripping the cold handlebars of his bike; his feet planted against a section of wet asphalt; his yellow shirt stuck to his skin; his heart, aching and bruised of anger, of fear, of embarrassment, of anxiety, of guilt, of—
It hits him right there and then.
The arguably funniest part is that he’s not even surprised. There’s always been something about Will, ever since he first laid eyes on that lonesome figure curled up over the swing; ever since Will nodded in that tender joy of his, unknowingly swearing an oath of friendship that’d last through years and years; ever since Will smiled at him, his teeth gleaming in the morning light and his eyes crinkled in a warmth that felt all-encompassing.
For the longest time, days spent huddled together over a Dungeons and Dragons board, he’d attributed it to friendship; he’d look to Will to meet his forest green eyes and share a smile that seemed to carry more than his words could convey, that his hands could hold, that his heart could feel. He’d think about the friendship of a lifetime, of those rare bonds he’d seen shared briefly in grooms and best men, of a luck that would carry his tears and struggles and happiness on its shoulders.
But now… Now, Mike thinks of the feeling that’s always lingered in the little things: a drawing of their latest campaign, a note passed under their desks, a roughly-stitched plush that he was attached to, a band-aid over a scraped knee, a shared blanket during movie nights, a check-up when he seemed down, a wordless hug, a mindlessly held hand.
He thinks of every time he drowned that feeling, that he stuffed it under the pretense of friendship, that he believed it to be simply because Will was his best friend.
Now, though, he can taste it in the back of his throat.
The fear suddenly grows and grows, until its vines tighten around his throat; air starts coming in short and insufficient, almost like he’s forgetting how to breathe; his hands tremble with the anxiety of a lifetime and his throat hurts like he’s swallowed a thousand needles. He has to stop and kneel on the hard, unforgiving ground, throwing up everything he’s eaten in the past days until the ache in his stomach starts to abate.
His vision gets blurrier and blurrier.
He’s not sheltered. He knows what it means. For Will, for El, for his entire family, for himself. He knows the word, knows its vocals and consonants, has heard it more times than he can count, but he’s never felt its meaning so deeply.
It’s terrifying, more so than any monster they have ever encountered, because this is not something he can defeat, something they can pierce through and make disappear in a cloud of particles; it’s not something that he can put to rest, leave behind one day until its shape is a blurry memory. There’s no supernatural force, flamethrower, or gun strong enough to defeat it.
Because this is simply him.
And it terrifies him beyond bounds and reason, because he’s been told it’s wrong, shameful, distasteful, a disgrace, but…
He thinks of Will. Will, who’s sweet and kind and selfless; Will, who’s the best person Mike’s ever had the honor of meeting; Will, who makes the world brighter by simply existing in it; Will, whose eyes crinkle when he smiles; Will, whose smile casts an ever-bourgeoning light over every dark corner of Mike’s world.
Will. Will. Will.
How could loving Will ever be a mistake?
Because, after all, that’s all there’s ever been, all along.
Love.
Mike is pretty much content with going to the grave with his secret.
It’s something that he had to grow into, this acceptance. Re-learning how to breathe during sleepless nights, keeping his hands by his sides when they are aching to reach the other, forcing his eyes to never wander, swallowing truths that beg to be spilled, letting his heart speed up without feeling the need to throw up — they are all lines of a performance he had to learn, one that shall dance with him until death.
It wasn’t easy at first: for months, he’d tried to keep up the facade of being truly in love with El; it wasn’t difficult because of her, specifically — he’s realized that, in another life where he could indulge in a woman’s softness without the bitter taste of betrayal bubbling up his throat, he and her could’ve been truly happy — but the unmistakable guilt that would make his limbs tingle in the moonlight was destroying him from the inside, scratching out his skin until he felt paper-thin, lost in an ever-growing self-loathing that threatened to drown him if not careful. It made him snappy and angry and mercurial, aimlessly searching for a state of being that could make him feel safe and failing to do so. It felt like a mounting pressure that would inevitably crush one day.
Then, El broke up with him.
It felt like the heaviest failure of his entire life: every struggle he’d faced to put brick over brick in hope of building something that would last, a wall that would protect him from the harshest of storms, suddenly fell like a house of cards in the blowing wind.
Then, he found solace in her decision. His guilt abated slowly until he could think rationally, without feeling an overwhelming surge of emotions rising from his guts, for the first time in what felt like forever — he realized, then, just how long he’d spent blinded by a billowing cloud of smoke.
Slowly, he learnt how to look in the mirror without feeling a soul-deep shame, how to let himself feel, how to accept his feelings as natural, as his own. It’s still a work in progress, of course: some days he wakes up and dejectedly stares at his ceiling, wondering why he couldn’t just be born normal, but moments like these are farther and farther, spaced in what feels like a peaceful sunny day.
In the middle of everything, of course, there’s Will.
There is, there has always been, so much love inside his body for Will. It makes his fingers tingle with the breathtaking need to touch, his eyes inadvertently search for the unmistakable feeling of home that only he can bring, his heart beat a thousand melodies that only sing his name.
It’s a growing creature, this little thing he’s nurtured ever since before he was even aware of its existence; it grows and grows and grows every day, every minute, every second — inexorably and relentlessly. It has carved itself a place inside his body, living nestled among his ribs until it’s as essential as his own heart.
He almost blurts it out sometimes, overwhelmed by all the love he’s cultivated for Will; it bubbles up his throat unexpectedly and begs to be let out, to be allowed to dance under the beating sun, but Mike always swallows it down.
He couldn’t do that to Will.
He’s not particularly scared that Will would hate him or something: no, he’s always been too kind and selfless and everything good that there’s in the world to genuinely break their friendship over this.
(No matter what Mike may think, sometimes, during sleepless nights; no matter how he could imagine Will’s beautiful face crumbling into a disgusted frown; no matter how he could almost hear that word from his honey-like voice.
No matter that still, irrationally, he will always be terrified that Will would never want anything to do with him anymore.)
But just because he wouldn’t mean to, it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t. Will, with his infinite selflessness, would blame himself for being unable to feel the same about Mike, would carry the burden of being unable to reciprocate his ever-burning feelings, would try to do anything to make Mike happy. It would always linger in their relationship, a shared ghost they’d pretend not to notice; in every word, in every movement, in every second spent together — this transparent wall, unclimbable and unbreakable.
So this — this is Mike’s act of love for Will. Swallowing down his daydreams that end with their entangled legs, the taste of summer cherries he’d chase in his mouth, the shared glances over the kitchen table during family dinners, the silent laughters over them clumsily dancing in the refrigerator’s light, and the love, alive and burning and growing and shared — he swallows down his own heartbreak and the hopes that keep lingering, unimpeachably eternal.
The point is, Mike is pretty much content with going to the grave with his secret.
Or, at least, he used to think so, because, truthfully, foolishly, selfishly—
Will is smiling, his face flushed a lovely red, as he leans the slightest bit into her, with that soft carelessness that speaks of intimacy. On his side, too close to him, Robin Buckley shares a long look with him until they start giggling again, leaning against each other.
Mike hadn’t contemplated the possibility of Will getting a girlfriend.
“Holy shit, Byers, you gotta wake up as soon as possible because, that thing you did? Mind-blowing. Revolutionary. Amazeballs. Wondrous. I will literally keep listing synonyms for amazing until you wake up because I need you to tell me everything.” Robin’s voice bumps along the thin walls of the Squawk.
It’s been a few hours since Will syphoned Vecna’s powers to snap the Demogorgons’ necks, just enough time to round up everyone and reconvene at the radio station; just enough time for Robin not to shut up for a single moment.
If Will, unconscious as he is, hadn’t been here, Mike would’ve left a long time ago.
But the amazement of the last couple of hours still hasn’t died down and it feels like such a tender affair when Mike thinks that Will did this. He can’t fathom the thought of leaving his side right now, not providing the modicum of comfort he can offer — not when Will went above and beyond to protect them all.
Then again, he probably saw the girl he has a crush on in danger and—
“I’m gonna get a cup of coffee,” he murmurs to the room at large, Robin and Joyce barely acknowledging him. He makes his way up the small kitchen, heading for the thermos of coffee Joyce had prepared when they first arrived and pouring himself a generous cup. It’s lukewarm at best, but gripping the white cup between his hands is the best distraction he can afford.
He stares back at his reflection in the dark liquid.
He’s not sure why he’s so affected by Robin. Truthfully, at first, he’d thought she was cool: she had this effortless air of easiness to her that spoke loudly of self-assurance, one that bittersweetly reminded him of Eddie; she’d tease Steve and joke with Jonathan, she’d share knowing glances with Nancy and make Dustin squeak with indignation by ruffling his hair, a rare but familiar sight they’d lost after last year.
She’d fit perfectly in their little clique and he could understand why Steve was so fond of her.
Will adored her as well, he’d shyly admit: her effortlessly stylish clothes and her striking jewelry, her elite music taste and her teasing jokes; he’d never lose an occasion to greet her, striking up a simple conversation about anything at all. Mike thought that Will admired her in that sort of older-sister way and that alone made her alright in his books — Will’s opinion has always been, after all, the one he trusts the most.
Then again, as the past few days have shown him, he was wrong.
He doesn’t know when or why Will and Robin got so close, so comfortable with each other to the point of sharing glances and inside jokes with the intimacy of a years-long friendship, but one thing is glaringly evident.
They have feelings for each other.
It’s the only possible explanation for the endless giggles, smiles, reddened cheeks, and everything that comes in between.
And—and it’s weird, right? Mike is allowed to be upset because Robin is so much older than Will and who even knows what kind of experiences she may have had before him, what expectations she may cultivate for the younger man.
As a friend, a strictly platonic figure in his life, he has every right to be worried and distressed, to second-guess Robin’s intentions and disapprove of their relationship.
It’s not even about Mike’s own feelings. Not even about that little voice in his head that says that Will should be with someone who gets it, someone like—
There’s a commotion coming from the stairs, one that sees him abandoning his cup in favor of long, eager strides, his heartbeat resonating in his ears.
Under, Joyce and Robin are crowding Will’s figure over the sofa where they had laid him to rest, except he’s now sitting up, his back resting against the plush fabric.
He all but runs to his side, pushing Robin away with his body in a way that he hopes seems accidental. “Will!”
Still a bit out of it, his eyes take a second to find him but once they do, they soften with the intimacy of a lifetime and Mike suddenly forgets how to breathe, so helpless in the face of something so beautiful that it feels like something inside of him breaks and mends simultaneously.
He has to kickstart his brain into working before he does something embarrassing.
“Mike,” Will breathes, relieved. “Are you alright?”
“Am I alright?” he parrots incredulously, a small grin bending his lips. “Are you?”
He blinks. “I think so.”
“Sweetie, are you sure?” Joyce presses on, suddenly reminding Mike that they aren’t alone in the room. “Does anything hurt, at all?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, hello, little Byers,” Robin’s raspy voice comes from his left and he has to fight the sharp impulse to carry Will somewhere she can’t reach. “Nice of you to join us again in the land of living. Now, will you explain to us how the fuck you did that? Because let me tell you, when that Demo-thing snapped midair I thought about a lot of possibilities but the fact that you were the one to do so? Not one of them, really. How long have you even—”
“I think,” Mike cuts in, sharply, too sharply, “that maybe you should let him take a breath before bombarding him with questions.”
The silence that falls over the room feels entirely too telling. Tense and thick with confusion and it makes Mike want to disappear, trying fruitlessly to gather some assurance by hugging himself, his fingers twisting in his sweater.
“Sorry, dude,” she concedes, throwing her hands up in the air, and Mike has a few moments to enjoy the bitter feeling of satisfaction before Will speaks up.
“No, no, it’s alright, Robin.” He sighs, looking away slightly embarrassed. “If you really want to know, I guess I just thought about what you told me and… It helped, truly.”
Robin gives him this big, big grin that makes her face light up in the shallow light of the room with an innocent joy that even Mike can’t deny; Will, in turn, shares something lighter but no less tender and breathtaking and—
And Mike?
Hopelessly devoted and equally foolish, aches and aches and aches.
There are upsides to the probable end of the world as they know it, Mike realizes in the few minutes he can spare to think in the following days.
It makes everything seem smaller, more insignificant, and prone to being lost in the undeniable grandeur of the universe.
It also makes him realize the importance of everything he has and everything he could have; as Nancy avoids a swipe from a Demogorgon by centimeters, as Dustin runs faster and faster from vines that promise death, as Lucas and Max hides from a pack of Demogorgons that would have no pity, as El’s nose and eyes and mouth bleed on and on, pushing the limits of what should be possible for a human—
As he watches Will, again and again, fight with bloodied hands and sharpened teeth against a fate that someone like him would never deserve—
He realizes that there’s a holiness in affection and care and love that makes everything shine brighter, that makes the world spin, that is the start and end of everything.
And, as they all take a stand against death, he promises himself to try. To be more honest. With everyone he cares about, with himself, with Will.
The end of the world also makes him braver.
It makes Mike, foolish and young and hopeful, promise fervently to a deity he doesn’t believe in that if they make it out alive, he will tell Will everything.
If they make it out, Mike will tell Will he’s in love with him.
A few weeks and a dead overachieving monster later, Mike accepts that yeah, he’s not telling Will shit.
He had gotten out of the Upside Down with the most truthful intentions, started working on gathering the courage to actually say the words out loud, and on finding the best moment to do so, but then, again and again and again—
“They are at it again,” Lucas murmurs amusedly from his spot on the sofa of the new Byers-Hopper household, Max leaning against his side as she hums along to a pop song playing on the radio.
“Robin and Will?” she asks, needing some indication now that her vision’s mostly gone — she sees some lights and shadows, but nothing more; the Party is still adjusting but they’re getting the hang of it, Mike likes to think.
Then again, he wishes she would shut up sometimes.
“Yeah.” Lucas nods, even though she can’t see him. “They are exchanging movie tapes.”
“I see,” she says thoughtfully. Then, “And, real quick, how pissed does Mike look right now?”
“Hey!”
“Eh, could be worse.”
She hums. “What a shame.”
“I hate you.”
“Right back at you, Wheeler.”
“C’mon, guys,” Dustin interrupts, a hand inside a pack of chips he’d scrounged from some dark corner of the kitchen. “I think they look cute.”
Mike follows his gaze until it clashes against the two figures leaning over the kitchen island. Robin is talking animatedly about whatever movie it is that she’s showing Will, who’s listening carefully to every word she says.
They often do this. Stepping into a corner of the space they’re all sharing to build a little world of their own, talking in low, indistinguishable voices about some grand mystery they seem to be hiding. They’ve done so ever since they came back.
“They do this all the time, it’s annoying,” he murmurs, scowling as he crosses his arms. There’s again that awful feeling of anger swirling painfully in his guts, one he has no right to.
Max arches an eyebrow, sending him a sharp look. “Really? Reminds me of something.”
“They don’t do this all the time,” El pipes up from her spot on the floor where she’s painting her nails a deep purple. “Robin literally arrived five minutes ago.”
“Really, what’s your problem, man?” Dustin asks and, well… Isn’t that a question?
“I do not have any problem with them,” he wholeheartedly lies.
Max snorts. “I know you have problems with Robin and I can’t even see. So what is it? Jealous you’re not getting his full attention anymore?”
It feels entirely too cruel even though he knows none of them mean anything by it, could never even imagine the true reason he’s bothered by it—
Which is that Robin’s too old, of course. No other feelings involved.
“Mike doesn’t like her because he is territorial,” El adds, with that carefully slow tone she uses when trying new words.
He needs an out, now.
Everything — Dustin’s genuine curiosity, Max’s teasing, Will just a few feet away — feels too much, like he’s being skinned alive as they poke and prod at his exposed nerves, tender and bleeding.
He jumps up suddenly, his heart beating awfully fast in his throat. “I need to use the bathroom,” he excuses himself pitifully, shuffling away as fast as he can without looking up from his steps.
He closes the door behind him, leaning his back against it and taking deep breaths to contain his emotions.
Swallowing them down. Always swallowing. Sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing he ever does.
There’s a gentle knock at the door, resonating briefly over the aquamarine tiles. It’s too tentative to be one of the girls, too soft to be Lucas’ or Dustin’s, and Mike hates himself a little bit for the way it makes his body unravel. “Yeah?”
“Mike?” Will’s muffled voice comes through the door. “Are you alright?”
Mike doesn’t answer straight away and Will doesn’t press; it makes him feel things: this freeing kindness that seems to entirely belong to the other man. It’s another reminder of the little space in-between his chest he safeguards for him.
“Yeah,” he says, turning around to open the door, just to get a glimpse of Will — he’s always been greedy like that, wanting more than a boy like him is supposed to have.
As always, Will looks stunning.
His eyes, framed by the longer strands of hair, twinkling in the natural light, a kaleidoscope of green and light brown dancing in his irises; the lovely flush that enlivens his face and its sharp corners, that still seem so new, catching his eyes; the curve of his lips, soft and slightly chapped by the winter cold.
There’s this aching desire in Mike, something so ancient and tenderly new at the same time, to do something. Something risky and foolish, but something that exists loudly, that kicks and pushes inside his ribs like a trapped bird.
It makes him reckless, sometimes.
“You’re…”
Robin’s chattering voice reaches his ear from the kitchen and it feels like a punch to the guts, like another reminder of the infinite space that dwells in between. It makes something bitter and ugly twist in his belly, something that forces him to take a step back.
He gulps, his hold on the door knob tightening. “Shouldn’t you be with Robin?” he spits. “Wouldn’t wanna leave her alone.”
There’s a fierce indignation sharpening his eyes now and something that looks awfully like hurt too. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone.”
He steps back, turning around to head towards the others again, but right before he disappears from his view, he throws a last inquiring glance over his shoulder. It feels like extending a hand, hoping the other person will meet you halfway.
Mike, terrified of betraying a years-long match of poker he’s staked his life on, turns away — his eyes, his heart, his soul.
Afterwards, loneliness is all that remains.
Robin and Steve’s new stint together involves the new arcade that opened near Dustin’s house, shiny with new games and neon lights; it has become, in the recent weeks, a meetup place for everyone where they can catch up and play, more often than not ripping off Steve’s benevolence.
Case in point, that’s where Mike and Will are on a cold Friday afternoon, the slight sting of December making its way inside through the cracks of the door; they are going through an intense match at some combat game Mike hadn’t heard of yet — one that Will is winning.
The screen flashes with the end of the match, blocky letters crowning ‘Willthewise’ as the winner.
Will flashes him a smile. “Told you I’d win.”
“Beginner’s luck,” Mike retorts, rolling his eyes.
“Not sure how that works.” He hums, falsely thoughtful. “Especially if we consider the fact that it’s the first time we’ve both played.”
“For all I know, you could’ve snuck in yesterday to train.”
“Really, Mike?”
“Or maybe you already played in Lenora, you know.”
“I’m starting to think that you may be a bit paranoid,” he expresses with false concern, failing to suppress the soft smile that bends his lips in something so breathtaking that it aches.
Mike chuckles as he involuntarily leans just a bit closer, helplessly taken victim by the inarrestable gravity force that Will Byers is. “Hey, I’m expressing a valid concern.”
“I think you’re just a sore loser.”
He gasps dramatically. “No, I’m not! I’m just saying that—”
“Hey, Will.”
Interrupted, they both turn to the source of the voice to find Robin standing behind them, her green work shirt gracing her curves and her usual name tag missing.
“Hi, Robin,” he greets her, stepping away to give her a quick hug. It makes him feel cold, like the brief departure of Will from his side has brought the shallow heat of the arcade away with him.
Mike, already annoyed and slightly pissed, simply grunts in lieu of saying hi, which makes Robin seemingly notice him. About time.
“And little Wheeler,” she adds as an afterthought.
“Already off work?” Will asks and, oh, isn’t it interesting how his knowledge of her shifts makes something in Mike boil?
“Yeah, dingus there just came to take over for me since, you know I have—” She stops them, shifting her gaze to the other. “That thing.”
“Yeah, I know,” he concedes, a small, secretive smile crossing his lips. Mike bites down his lip, annoyed at being excluded from whatever secret they’re sharing.
“Well, I gotta go… But if you wanna catch up tomorrow afternoon I’m free,” she adds and—
Before Will can answer, Mike drapes an arm over his shoulders, bringing him closer as he sends a glare her way. “Sorry, but we’re hanging out tomorrow.”
“You are?”
“We are?”
“Yes,” he states firmly, without hesitation, as he tightens his grasp slightly, something bitter taking his heart in a grip. “We are.”
“Okay,” she drawls, evidently confused. “No worries. We can always do—”
“We have to leave now,” Mike interrupts her. “Dustin and Lucas are waiting for us.”
“Uh, sure,” she says, her gaze quickly traveling from one boy to the other. “I guess I’ll see you, then.”
“Yeah, we’ll see you.”
“Uh, Mike,” Will starts once the little bell over the door has rung, signaling her departure. “What was that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lies, finally releasing the other boy. “C’mon, let’s go play with the others.”
There’s something building in Mike, a familiar burning twist in his gut that only grows stronger as he recalls the way they seem to share secrets that Mike hasn’t been aware of, the genuine excitement that oozes from Will whenever she’s in his proximity, the casual way she’d proposed to hang out, like it’s something they do often, like it’s a given.
It grows and grows until it becomes a flame that burns him from the inside, one that makes his limbs tremble with the desire to mark Will as his until there’s no doubt left and his fingers tingle with the sheer force of his anger.
It makes him incredibly pissed off, because who does she think she is?
She’s not right for him: Will needs someone that is more on his wavelength, more attuned to what he’s been through. Where was she when Will disappeared? was she when he was writhing in despair in that damn hospital? When he was relentlessly made fun of all during elementary and middle school? When he wanted a break from his parents’ endless fighting?
One thing is certain: she wasn’t there.
Mike was.
Mike, who relentlessly searched for him for days, who always stayed by his side, who stood up for him and comforted him when their words got to him, who always opened his door for him and gave him a bedroom to sleep in. Mike, who should be by his side and go out with him on dates and share that effortless closeness and who Will should date—
With the wisdom of hindsight, Mike doesn’t know how he could’ve been so oblivious — about his own feelings, no less.
He’s jealous.
He’s jealous of Robin Buckley: her closeness with Will, her effortless flirting, the things they share in common, her artsy personality, the glances, the giggles, the moments they share.
Above all, he’s jealous of the fact that she can. Be close to him, hold his hand, fix his messy hair, go on dates, kiss him, know him in such an intimate way that Mike can only dream of.
He’s so jealous that he spends the whole afternoon and following evening picturing their airy apartment overlooking the evening background of an artsy city, their twin daughters running around holding a paintbrush and whatever ridiculous thing Robin’s interested in. They’d call uncle Jonathan to babysit them on Friday nights as they enjoy their ridiculously enjoyable date that Will would plan because he’s a gentleman, coming home late with wine red cheeks and a sort of settled happiness that they’d share with their kids as they kiss them goodnight and—
Oh, fuck. He has a problem.
It all comes crashing down a week later and it is unequivocally and completely Mike’s fault.
In his defense, he had tried very hard to ignore the greedy jealousy shimmering under his skin whenever he as simply as thought about Robin; he did, truly, but it’s a feeling that keeps growing and growing until—
“Back To The Future is not overrated,” Will states, closing the wooden door behind with the back of his foot, his arms carrying a few movies tapes and an old, ratty blanket they scrounged up from the garage.
“It sorta is,” Mike complains. “I mean, yeah, the science part is cool and all in a way that is innovative, but the concept of time-travel is overused, you know?”
He rolls his eyes, cocking his head. “Fine, I admit it’s a trope very used but that doesn’t mean the movie’s not good!”
“I’m not saying that.” Mike pauses as he observes Will putting down what he was carrying over the kitchen table. “I’m just saying that they could’ve made something more original.”
“C’mon, Mike,” he says, scrunching his eyebrows in that adorable way of his. “It is original. The props, the characters, the relationships—”
“What, the fact that his mom is trying to sleep with him?” he interrupts him, a small chuckle resonating in the empty room.
Will smiles back, pushing his shoulder with his own in a way that makes Mike’s heart skip a bit. “Shut up.”
Their eyes interlock for a few seconds and maybe Mike is foolishly young and helplessly hopeful, but it feels charged, like there’s a thousand and one confessions to be made, like something tender and sweet and tooth-rotting growing, like they’re sharing something that feels awfully like—
The footsteps of someone coming down the stairs reach their ears, breaking whatever moment they may have been having; Mike turns around lazily, surely expecting Jonathan, but…
“What are you doing here?!”
Robin Buckley blinks taken aback. “I had to give back some magazines I borrowed from Jonathan,” she says apologetically. “What about you, little Byers?”
“Oh, we’re just having movie night with the guys,” Will explains after throwing a questioning glance at Mike’s coldness. “They stopped on the way to buy some snacks.”
“What are you planning to watch?”
“Oh, I was trying to convince Mike to rewatch Back To The Future, but I’m not sure I’m being successful,” he jokes, throwing an amused glance his way that Mike can’t find it in himself to reciprocate.
“Wait, I love that movie!” she exclaims, finally taking the last steps toward them, until she’s too close. Flickers of annoyance burn deep in his stomach, making the unreasonable need to push her away tingle his fingertips. “Isn’t it the one where the mom’s trying to bang her own son?”
“That’s really not the focus of it but yeah, that’s the one,” he indulges, sharing a bemusedly little smile.
“Awesome,” she chirps. “Man, I haven’t seen it in so long—Wait, do you mind if I watch it with you? I mean, I can pitch in with the snack money and—”
That awful feeling grows and grows, crawling along his throat with its bitterness and heaviness, like a mouthful of poison, until it overpowers his other sense, until it burns, until Mike simply can’t keep it in, and—
“No!”
Will’s head snaps toward him. “What—”
“I said no!” he repeats. “It’s a guys night, she is not welcome.”
“Mike—” Will tries, before getting brusquely interrupted.
“Plus, why is she always around? Don’t you have a home? Friends to hang out with that aren’t Will? Someone else to bother?”
Robin simply stares at him for a few seconds, an emotion that is awfully similar to hurt coloring her dark blue eyes — one that makes a small, almost unnoticeable spark of guilt shine through his jealousy
“Damn, sorry, dude,” she starts, her voice too subdued for someone as brisk as Robin. “I didn’t mean to impose, you know? It’s, umh, difficult to understand social cues and all that, so sometimes I can’t tell when I’m welcome or not… But I’ll leave, little Wheeler.”
“Good—And don’t call me that!” he scoffs, crossing his arms defensively.
“No, Robin, stop,” Will starts, his voice even-keened and steady in that lovely way of his when he means to comfort someone. Mike just wishes it wasn’t for his girlfriend. “You’re always welcome, I don’t know—”
“So you’re taking her side?” he snaps.
“Mike, what are you talking about?” Will demands, a little tremor at the edges of his voice betraying his own agitation. “I’m not taking anybody’s side.”
“Yes, you are!” he sneers. Feeling unreasonably hurt, he needs to leave before he does something he’ll end up regretting. “Fine. If she stays, then I’m leaving.” He turns around, wasting no time in turning the door open and joining the cold air of December as it makes its way under his jacket, prickling his skin.
“No, Mike, wait,” Will says, his voice increasing in volume as Mike speeds up, wishing desperately that he’d stop following him.
“Mike!”
He can’t even picture Will anymore, not without Robin next to him — tenderly holding his hand as she shows him a new mixtape she’d thought he’d enjoy. It feels like a punch to the gut, being deprived of that simple joy he’s fed his heart for years.
“Mike!”
Can’t even hear Will saying his name, not without Robin’s raspy voice piping up with a sweet “Will”, tainting the memories he plays like his favorite song — safeguarded for a breath and a lifetime.
“Mike!”
Can’t even think of Will, not without the knowledge that he’s so deeply and ridiculously in love with someone’s boyfriend.
“Mike!”
This time, Will reaches for his arm, keeping it in a somewhat tight grip lest Mike runs away; unable to delay a confrontation he’d avoid for a lifetime, he turns around.
“What?” he asks, frosty at the edges.
Will seems speechless for a moment, like he wasn’t actually expecting Mike to talk to him. “What was that?”
“What was what?” he retorts, playing dumb in the futile hope he’ll drop it.
“Oh, you know, just you blowing up on Robin’s face for no reason!”
“I did not—” he starts, but Will interrupts him.
“And, you know, the way you’ve been super rude with her for what, months now?”
Their voices seem to be the only sound around, resonating through the empty street behind the Byers-Hopper house, one they haven’t got around to build something on yet. Mike despises it, wishes desperately there was something else to focus on — anything. Pathetically enough, he can’t drag his gaze away from Will.
“Well, maybe I just don’t like her, have you thought about that?” he scoffs.
“Trust me, Mike. Everyone knows you don’t like her,” Will states, and it reminds him of every confusedly snide comment he’s ever gotten from the group about it; he remembers Max asking how pissed off he looked; Dustin wondering what his problem with Robin was; El saying he didn’t like her. It feels like everyone can see right through him, like they see every exposed nerve of his body, just waiting to be poked and prodded until he’s left alone, bleeding out in the middle of a street he doesn’t know.
“I just don’t get why,” he admits truthfully, as his eyes search desperately for a reason inside his. “You have barely ever spoken to her!”
“Do I need to have a reason?” he bites back, hoping that his hostility will drag Will away from his shameful truth.
“You used to like her before we defeated Vecna,” he starts, “and then it was like… a switch flipped inside you, and now you can’t even stand to be in her proximity!”
“Maybe I just fucking hate her, man! Have you ever thought about that?” he seethes, taking Will aback with the pure venom that drips from his words.
“I mean… But why?”
“C’mon, Will, what do you want me to say?” Mike asks, tired and spent in a way his youth shouldn’t allow. Why must love be such a draining, aching affair for boys like him?
“I don’t know,” Will admits, meek and softly dejected in that hopelessly lost manner such a kind soul like him should never be. “I just know that I care deeply about Robin for reasons you just—you can’t understand, and I want you to get along.”
And that?
That feels like a stab right through the heart, like someone has gripped a knife between rough fingers and dug straight into his chest; the void it creates just fills with fury and fury until it overflows into his entire body.
“Well, I’m sorry I’m embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend—” Mike starts, spiteful but cold, cold, and colder.
“Mike— What…” Will stammers. “Girlfriend, I—“
“But I’m sick and tired of this whole thing you’ve got going on and I’m sick and tired of you.”
There’s such irony, he realizes with a dread that freezes him from the inside, in the deja vu that hits him right there and then. It feels like retracing the steps of a lifetime, like he’s taken the wrong step on a tight rope he’s balanced on for years, like he’s reliving every emotion he’s ever felt since that damn day in the pouring rain — only to settle for a terrifying, aching, all-consuming guilt.
His ever-so-masochist eyes, unable to leave the utter devastation sinking on his features, track everything until it’s printed on his heart: the way his eyes brim with unshed teats, the way his lower lip trembles ever-so-slightly, the way his eyebrows break under the weight of the frown in between, the way his whole face crumbles for a second.
“Well, if that’s how it is then I won’t bother you anymore,” he declares with a bitter finality, but one that can’t make Mike forget the pure misery that has paled Will’s face a second prior. It’s something he knows, right there and then, he will never be able to do; this — this pain and helplessness and sorrow — is all his doing, a sin that will follow him into his darkest nightmares.
When he turns to leave, Mike can’t even find it in himself to beg for his forgiveness. His heart, bruised and torn, can’t stand another second of his own unmistakably cruel self.
Love, after all, is such a sorrowful affair for people like him.
Instead, what he does is run — from his problem, from his feelings, from himself, wishing desperately he could actually outrun everything that’s always followed him in his shadow. He runs and runs until his lungs burn with the effort, until his calves ache with the struggle, until he collapses in a heap in an unknown glade of the woods surrounding Hawkins.
He brings his knees up, hugging his legs as he wishes that curling up into himself would actually make him disappear; it doesn’t work, of course.
Time passes, or maybe it doesn’t.
He just knows that he needs to calm down, to relearn how to breathe, and accept that his feelings are nothing more than flowers grown in his ribcage — held beloved but forever unseen.
“Mike.”
He’s foolish — always has been. He’s grown a garden inside of his body that will never see the sunlight, that will only lay and prosper under a thick layer of dirt.
“Mike.”
Now, he demands other people not to step on the harrowingly beautiful composition he’s created, acts as if he has any right to anger in face of their unknowingly cruelty.
“Mike.”
Again and again, though, he is such a fucking idiot—
“Mike!”
Reaching deep into the depths of his brooding, a voice shakes him out of his reverie; he lifts his gaze just to meet El’s worried face, crouched right in front of him as she lays a hand over his shoulder.
“Mike, are you alright?”
“I—” he starts, but his words fall short soon after. His gaze settles on his own hands, observing their nooks and crannies with a weird sort of detachment.
“Will told me you guys argued,” she says. “He asked me to make sure you were alright. It’s late.”
That makes something achingly profound pulse in his chest, a bleeding wound that smells like childhood in its ancientness. It must show on his face, because El sighs deeply, settling next to him on the ground.
“Mike, you can talk to me.”
And there’s something to be said, about failed relationships and longstanding bonds, an undeniable truth that resonates in his body as he looks at El — that they linger. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing, maybe the ingredients were too much or too little, or maybe Mike should’ve never tried to put such a self-serving name to it, but the point is that he and El built something; something that, in a way or the other, was important to him.
So he thinks that he can be a little honest with her, feels like it’s not as daunting.
“I am not — alright, that is,” he admits, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions from overflowing. “El, I—I fucked up. Like always.”
She hums. “What happened?”
“I don’t even know! Everything was fine and then I…” He trails off, pondering over what words would be more appropriately true, before settling on, “I acted like a total asshole, okay?”
“That happens often,” she states with a sharp brutality. “Why did you act like an asshole today?”
And that?
That Mike can’t answer.
He can be stupid and masochist and mindless, but he doesn’t want to lose everything. He doesn’t want to lose his friends and the people he cares about, doesn’t want to be the town’s pariah or be unanimously avoided for the next few years. After everything they’ve been through, the idea of spending his life unable to bask in the rays of his friendships sounds unbearable.
“El, I—I can’t tell you,” he admits, that little pit of poignant emptiness only growing louder and louder inside of his body; a space of nothingness that separates himself from everybody around him.
“Why?”
El wouldn’t understand, would she? Wouldn’t understand the way that he is, wouldn’t understand why it needs to be a secret; she’d tell Max who’d tell Lucas who’d tell Dustin who’d tell—
“Because I can’t! It’d mess everything up and—”
“Is this about you liking Will?”
In the midst of the mess that keeps screaming and raging in his mind, it feels like a pin falling to the floor and drowning everything in a dreadful silence.
“What?! Where—How… Why would you even think that?” he stutters when the world starts spinning again on its axis.
“Mike,” she starts, awfully serious, “friends don’t lie.”
“El, I—”
“It’s okay. I’ve known for a while,” she admits, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“You’ve what? Since when?”
“Well, a few days before we broke up.” Mike observes her with the corner of his eye — she looks thoughtful but not angry. “It was all already weird and… When you said that you loved me, I could feel that it was a lie. I thought about why it felt like that, but I… I guess I just realized I’ve never seen you look at anyone like you looked—like you look at him.”
He gulps, nervousness making his body tingle. “You really… You’re not angry?”
“Angry?” she repeats, confused. “Well, it is a bit weird that you like my brother but I’m not angry.”
“No, not about—well, that too, but like… But, you know, that we’re both boys?”
“I have… noticed,” she says questioningly, tilting the words as if it’s a question rather than an answer, like he is the dumb one for asking. It hits him suddenly that, between growing up in the lab and her own social isolation, she’s probably not aware that it’s wron—
That it’s seen as wrong.
“El, this is…” he tries explaining. “People think that it’s not good.”
She stays thoughtfully silent for a second, before declaring, “That’s dumb.”
He nods. “People can be dumb.”
“Why would they?” she complains. “It’s just love.”
It makes something achingly tender inside him mend itself, something he hadn’t even known was broken.
It’s just love.
“Yeah,” he says, and they both knowingly ignore how his voice cracks. “I know it is.”
After a few seconds where Mike basks in the comfortable silence, El pipes up, “So what happened?”
“I acted like a total douchebag because I was jealous,” he admits, “I wouldn't be surprised if Will never wanted to talk to me again.”
“C’mon,” she starts, rolling her eyes. “I doubt that. Will will forgive you.”
“Maybe. I sure as hell wouldn’t deserve it, though.” He starts picking at the frayed ends of his sweater, his fingers numb from the cold. “You know, sometimes I think about when you said I was the heart and… I feel like I’m really not.”
The truth, shameful and conspicuous, is that he’s not the one keeping the Party together anymore — and truthfully, he hasn’t been the one to do so in a long time. If anything, he’s always the odd one out, the one that sticks his finger in the well-oiled wheels of their friendships, making it stutter and break, and it’s always Will who helps him repair it, who guides his awkward hands into this ancient machine until it starts spinning again.
“I have never said that.”
“Well, you didn’t really say it but, you know…” He stops after El sends him a confused glance, lifting her head. He tries again, “The painting.”
“What painting?”
“El, the painting you commissioned Will.” Her face keeps still, not lighting up with the knowledge that he was sure she would’ve already recognized. “Back when you were in California.”
“Mike, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she states, sure and steady, and it makes Mike dizzy with the implications.
“You—What do you mean?”
“I never asked Will to paint anything.”
“But he said…” he starts, before the realization clashes on him with the strength of a thousand waves, his stomach dropping. “He lied to me.”
“Why would he lie to you?”
There’s a part of Mike that wants to lie, that wants to hide behind the shield of obliviousness, that wants to turn his eyes away from what he’ll see, what he’s seen; it’s the same part of him that has pushed his love down and down, digging into the depths of the grounds with broken and bloody fingernails until it inexorably bubbled to the surface; the same part of him that screeches and kicks when touched, that has pushed Will away all those times, tender and defensive as a newborn — it’s the part of himself that is ashamed.
But he had promised, all those weeks ago, when he was high on success and hope and dreams, that he would start to be more honest with himself, hadn’t he?
So, he thinks.
“These past few months, she’s been so lost without you.”
About the almost imperceptible breaks in his voice.
“It’s just, she’s so different from other people, and when you feel different, sometimes you feel like a mistake.”
About the way he’d keep his gaze out of the window.
“But you make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all.”
About the weirdness of the painted subject, when El had never shown interest in his D&D activities.
“If she was mean to you or she seemed like she was pushing you away, it’s because she’s scared of losing you.”
He thinks about the emotions in his voice, bending his words around like every word had a deeper meaning, like it was something he’d thought over and over, like it was personal.
And it’s not like Mike suddenly thinks his feelings might be reciprocated just because Will poured some of his own self in a speech that he needed in that moment, it’s more about how—
“El needs you, Mike, and she always will.”
Hasn’t Will proved again and again that he cares about Mike? Hasn’t he stuck around even when anybody else wouldn’t have? Haven’t they proven that they need each other?
Need each other not to survive, but more like you need a comfortably familiar hug on a bad day, the warmth of a crackling fireplace in the harsh winter, or a guiding hand when you feel lost in the magnitude of life; need each other to feel better, to be better.
Of course Will is not going to let his feelings ruin the unmistakably holy bond they share.
It’s just love, isn’t it?
Today, Mike is cowardly and callous and scared; but he is also young and foolishly hopeful, and he thinks that, for Will, he can be a little brave, too.
“I have to talk to him, now,” he realizes with such a determination he hasn’t felt in a long time.
Hadn’t he promised, too, that he’d tell Will he’s in love with him?
“No, you don’t,” El answers.
“What?” He swirls around. “Why?”
“Because he’s still angry,” she says, throwing him a pointed look. “And you’re still vulnerable.”
He pursues his lips, realizing with a slight bitterness that she’s right. Will deserves better than a half-assed confession right after he’s treated him so badly. “So, what do I do?”
“What you’re doing is—“ she starts, “You’re going to go home and you’re going to go sleep. Then, tomorrow you can come back and apologize and talk about what you need to talk about.”
He nods. “I can do that.”
Then, she smiles softly at him, but her eyes shine with a sort of sharpness that reminds him that she’s pulverized literal monsters with her mind. “And if you hurt my brother again, remember that I know where you live.”
Undoubtedly believing her words, he can’t help but let out a laugh, leaning against her shoulder for support and a tender feeling of love — the right kind of one, this time — that warms his heart, affection burning gently in his veins. “You’re definitely spending too much time with Max.”
Awfully serious, “She’s only teaching me cool things.”
“Bitchin’, right?”
She smiles as well, resting her own head above his own, as chords of affectionate understanding that were once blurred by their respective insecurities ring in the air. “Yeah, bitchin’.”
At nine A.M. sharp, Mike Wheeler is ringing Will’s doorbell, no more than a few hours of sleep in his body but more than enough nervous energy to make up for it.
El is the one to answer the door, still clad in her pajamas as she rubs her eyes; she takes one long look at him and closes the door on his face. Taken flat-footed, he wonders for a few minutes if he should knock again until the door opens.
This time, it’s Will that stares back at him before he closes the door behind him, taking a few steps further. “We going?”
Mike stares at him dumbly, confusion piling up inside of him before Will takes pity on him. “El said you wanted to go for a walk?”
“Oh, yes,” he hurries to say, mentally thanking her. “You can follow me.”
For a few minutes, they walk in silence along the borders of Hawkins before Mike finds the courage in himself to start. “Will, I’m sorry about yesterday, I shouldn’t have reacted like that, it’s just—”
“Mike, it’s okay,” Will interrupts, shaking his head. “I mean, I wish you could be nicer to Robin, but I can't expect you to like everyone I hang out with.”
He turns to Will, surprised by such a simple out, but… The morning rays bathe his face in an ethereal light, softening the edges of his face into something achingly young; they make his eyes shine in a kaleidoscope of greens and browns that makes Mike dizzy with their beauty; they make his skin gleam with a lively flush that enlightens the full redness of his lips, its arches and curves calling Mike’s name.
It makes him want to feel things, do things, say things, and the speech he’d painstakingly curated over the night suddenly dissipates into thin air; there’s just him and Will, and all the words that keep bubbling up his throat — the words he can’t hold back anymore, won’t push down anymore, doesn’t want to stop, and—
Mike utters the only truth he’s managed to scrounge up in his short years of life, the start and the end of everything that has ever happened, the thing that burns his heart and keeps it beating nevertheless. “I love you.”
For a second, everything stops, suspended in a stillness born out of his own feelings, and it makes Mike dizzy with the implication, nauseous even.
Then, soft and almost imperceptible, “What?”
“I’m in love with you.”
He gulps, trying to understand what emotion is painted over Will’s face but failing to do so, pure stupor over a layer of something entirely unreadable being the only thing he can identify.
He moves his fingers, bends and relaxes them, trying to get awareness flowing through them again.
“I’m in love with you,” he repeats. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and I mean like years, okay? I don’t even really know when I started liking you like that, I mean, it must’ve been before I got with El, but I… I repressed for so long, and I mean that I had no idea until one day I just realized.”
He lets a bitter smile stretch his lips as his memories play in his mind like a low budget movie. “And then I was so ashamed, so scared of my own feelings that I did my best—I promise, that I did my best to make them go away and to make them disappear because I thought they were wrong… “
“But I’m not ashamed anymore,” he promises, fervently taking a step further because he needs Will to understand it, couldn’t let him live the misguided belief that Mike is scared of something as simple as his feelings. It’s just love, right? “I’m not sorry for loving you: that’s probably the best thing I ever did for myself, because, Will, you’re amazing: you’re the best person I have ever met, the person that understands me in a way that no one can even come close to, and I… I love everything about you — everything.”
“And I’m sure you don’t feel the same, I understand that; I know that you probably weren’t expecting this — or maybe you were, because other people saw it, but…” he trails off, trying to breathe as panic starts settling in facing Will’s dumbfounded expression, taking his throat in a tight grip. “The point is that I don’t want you to think that I need anything to change, because… Well, don’t get me wrong I want to, but just… Please, don’t be angry with me because I just couldn’t—”
Somehow, he thought it would be different.
It’s far from his first, second, or even third kiss; he and El had taken care of that, especially during that summer, and while it has never been terrible, he had then realized that the reason it had never been this amazing thing everyone raved about is that he had never been in love with El.
He’d then spent night awake imagining how it would be to kiss someone he truly loved, imagined breathtaking fireworks erupting in his chest to kickstart a new melody in his heart, healing miracles that would cure a lifetime of aches, excessive exchanges of spit that would reveal a new world for his soul to discover.
Kissing Will, he discovers, is nothing like that at all.
No, kissing Will feels like the natural progression of their relationship. It’s the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle falling into places, not to reveal anything life changing or unexpected, but just—
Will and Mike.
It satisfies that insatiable urge to crawl under his skin, to climb over the natural confines of their body, to be closer and closer until their bodies mix into one and he can’t tell where his own finishes.
Then, his brain comes back online.
Will is kissing him.
Holy shit, Will is kissing him.
“You kissed me!” he shouts after successfully detaching from him, his hands still on his shoulders after pushing him away.
“You wouldn’t stop talking,” he answers breathlessly, and it makes his stomach fill to the brim with butterflies, their wings tingling his skin.
“You…” he trails off, realizing he doesn’t know what to say.
“Me?” Will says jokingly, tilting his head, and he sounds so achingly happy that it genuinely hurts. There’s a smile stretching his lips that doesn’t seem to fade, one that lights his face with a puerile joy in a thousand different, small ways.
Mike, young and foolish, thinks he’d gladly spend a lifetime memorizing every single one of them.
“You,” he confirms, nodding, as a twin smile undoubtedly makes its way across his face.
He cups the back of his neck with his hands, feeling the heated skin and the soft hair that prickles his hands in a way he had been privy to, and drags him into another kiss, greedily wanting to feel that smile against his lips.
It’s tame and innocent and simple, nothing like the hours-long make out session he’d indulge with El, but it may be the best thing he’s ever experienced in his life.
“Mike,” he says, so sweet and tender, once they separate. “In case that wasn’t clear, I’m in love with you.”
He giggles, unable to resist the urge to as a bubbly feeling fills his inside until he feels like he’s about to explode. “That’s so embarrassing… You love me.”
Will scoffs, mouth slightly agape in surprise. “Shut up! You were the one that went on a long rant about me!”
He hums, falsely thoughtful. “I don’t recall.”
“Asshole,” he jokes, hiding his laugh with the back of his hands.
“You like me anyway,” he teases, just to steal another smile out of him. Will watches him for a second longer, before leaning his head on his shoulder.
Against his skin, he says, “I truly do love you, you know?”
And Mike, for the first time in a series of moments that will span for a lifetime, until they’ve returned to particles of dust that dance around in the universe, building constellations that speak of courage and foolishness and love, just smiles and says, “I know. I love you too.”
“And to think this all started because I was jealous of you and Robin.”
“You were jealous of what?!”