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It had been about 15 months since the Byers’ moved in with the Wheeler’s, and Mike was starting to lose it.
Don’t get him wrong, he loved the Byers’, and he would never complain about having them around considering how hard the past few years had been on them — but, God did he miss silence (before the middle of the night, that is).
The Wheeler house wasn’t small by any means, but it did become slightly cramped when you crammed three extra people into it who all equally needed their own space to exist. They never fussed though, the ever-so-loving people that they are, and were just happy to have a roof over their heads. And a very loud dinner table to attend to for every meal.
The house had become too much for Mike during the summer, with the heat and the quarantine and the endless complaining from Ted Wheeler about the heat and the quarantine; he was all worn out.
And it’s not like El was around much either, being hunted for sport by the government and training to break into a highly secure facility and the upside down and all.
At least Will was around, right? Living with your best friend was every kid’s dream, and here Mike was taking it for granted. Well, partially. It was fun at first, so much that he could handle the hustle and bustle of a joint household, but after a while — 16 months to be exact — you find that you start to run out of things to talk about, and you have to acknowledge how strange your friendship has become.
They weren't awkward or anything, and things weren’t bad, just weird, and they had been for a while. Ever since Lenora, Mike thought.
But who was Mike Wheeler if he didn’t ignore all of his problems?
Extra people in the house meant Karen Wheeler had to lock down her place as stone cold Captain of the Wheeler-Byers ship, leaving Mike to be drowned out by everyone else’s more pressing issues (“When’s dinner?”, “Is the AC on?”, “Why isn’t the TV working?”)
Mike could usually fend for himself just fine, he wasn’t a child. He could get up and dress himself, he could brush his teeth fine, make food, even do his own laundry if need be.
There was one thing, however, that Mike just couldn’t bring himself to do, that he was sure he needed most of all: Give himself a haircut.
Not that his hair was extremely important to him or anything — he cared about his appearance, of course, especially as a growing young man in high school — but it was getting to a ridiculous point.
It had been about eight months since his last haircut, which his mom had done the way she had his whole life like the Renaissance woman she is. But with the chaos of two families under one roof, he had given up asking and it had never even popped into her head.
He was always quite put together, and he missed feeling maintained. His hair was almost longer than Nancy’s (it wasn’t, he was being dramatic, as he does).
His breaking point was a normal night in late August, approximately two weeks until school started.
The smallest things will set you off if you let them all build up is something he had come to learn, but not something he had come to properly deal with.
He had just finished a long shower — one where the water was not too warm as too not overheat yet not too cold as to not freeze to death — and he was looking in the mirror like looking into his reflection long enough was going to do something about the tangled mop on his head that he hesitated to call hair.
He ran his bony fingers through it and called it a night, flicking off the bathroom light and heading in the direction of the kitchen to get a glass of water before hiding away in the comfort of his bedroom for the night.
He whistled a made up tune as he hobbled down the creaking stairs, arms swinging by his sides.
Usually his dad was plopped onto his La-Z-Boy in front of the TV. Mike almost worried that one day he and the seat would fuse together and become a La-Z-Boy-Man-Mutant-Creature: La-Z-Man, if you will.
This is the reason Mike almost jumped out of his skin like a cat being sprayed with water when he turned the corner into the kitchen and found Ted Wheeler standing by the fridge.
“Jesus, dad.” He grumbled, clutching his chest.
The older Wheeler just rolled his eyes, giving his son a look up and down that Mike couldn’t read, stopping at the very top of his tall frame.
“You know, you and Holly could match hair at this point, son.” He said, deadpan, grabbing a soda from the fridge before waddling back to his spot.
On any other day, maybe even this morning, Mike would have brushed this off with a roll of his eyes and let it go.
But right now he was tired and thirsty and he hated his hair and he couldn’t take it anymore.
His father’s most likely harmless comment had gotten to him and pushed him over the edge, and he had to do something about it.
Unsure of where his mom kept all the “fancy” stuff for cutting his hair (a.k.a. the proper tools), he resorted to rummaging through the drawers to find a pair of kitchen scissors and decided they would do the job fine.
He ran back upstairs to the bathroom, careful not to cause a ruckus, and shut the door gently behind him.
Mike sighed, staring at himself in the mirror once again. This time, however, he was determined. That feeling faded almost immediately when he realized he had no idea where to even begin.
He tugged at his hair, running his fingers through it frantically as if he was in search of something in his scalp.
He supposed he would just wing it, the way he did everything else.
The first thing he decided to take a shot at was his bangs. He missed those the most.
He brushed some hair over his forehead — shielding his eyes from the tragic site in the mirror — and brought the scissors up to what he believed to be a reasonable length for bangs.
He started cutting, and the noise felt like nails on a chalkboard. Surely cutting hair was not supposed to sound this intimidating… he did have to remind himself he was using rusty old kitchen scissors as opposed to scissors made specifically for hair. This was doomed from the beginning.
The wet hair dropped onto the ground below him with a silent thud, and he was too afraid to open his eyes.
He was right to be.
He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the jaggedy and uneven mess he had made on his forehead. He had completely messed up his bangs; in some places they were too short, some too long, and he was certain he could make out a zigzag pattern from the way he was forcing the scissors through his hair.
This made his problem worse, nevermind fixed it, and he hadn’t even gotten to the rest of his head yet.
He decided he couldn’t do this alone, which was something that took a lot of courage for stubborn old Mike Wheeler. But he couldn’t live like this.
He put his hand over his forehead as if that made him look any less suspicious, and snuck out of the bathroom where the massacre had occurred.
Mike tiptoed down the stairs of his house and made a beeline for the basement door. There was only one person in this house who was gentle and coordinated enough to help him with this (other than his mom, who would probably tell him to go to bed if he knocked on her door like a sick toddler asking to cut his hair at this hour).
He knocked gently, but with enough force that whoever was down there would hear.
He waited in anticipation as he heard the light flick on and footsteps climb the basement stairs.
Mike didn’t realise he was holding his breath until Will opened the door, in all of his messy-headed, tired-eyed glory, and his body relaxed with a sigh of relief, replaced almost immediately with guilt.
“Mike? Are you okay? What time is it?” He muttered, eyes adjusting to the light still.
“Hi, Will. Sorry if I woke you, I'm just… having a situation right now, and I need your help because you’re like the most precise person I know, and I don’t wanna wake up my mom.”
Will nodded, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Mike hadn’t actually expected him to say yes, which in hindsight was stupid, Will is the kindest person Mike knows; he wouldn’t dream of turning someone down in a time of desperate need.
Mike didn’t say anything, just lowered his hand from his forehead.
Will Byers was kind, and loving, and gentle, but he was also a little shit.
His hand flew to his mouth at lightning speed, concealing the laugh that rose to his throat immediately upon seeing the catastrophe that was Mike’s hair. His eyes creased as his shoulders twitched with laughter, and Mike wasn’t amused. At all. Not even in the slightest.
“Alright, alright. Laugh it up.”
Will wiped the tears in his eyes and calmed down, the smirk staying plastered on his face.
“Sorry, what did you want me to do?” He asked, trying not to erupt into giggles every time his eyes landed on Mike’s head.
“I need you to fix this, obviously.”
Will furrowed his eyebrows at the boy in front of him, still grinning.
“I don’t know if I’m exactly qualified considering my hair looks like I’ve used a bowl as a guide my whole life.”
Mike grinned for the first time tonight.
“Hey, I like your hair! And plus, you’re an artist, you probably have the steadiest hand in this house. That and I don’t trust anyone else with this glorious mane.” He said, raising his hands to his face as if he didn’t look completely ridiculous right now.
Will looked at the ground, smiling, and Mike didn’t notice the way heat rose to his already pink-tinted cheeks. Or maybe he did, and dismissed it like the oblivious teenage boy he is.
“If I do this, do you promise to never try and cut your own hair again? For all of our sake?”
“You have my word.”
Will smiled, putting his arm out as if to say “lead the way,” and so Mike did.
He walked awkwardly back up to the bathroom, Will’s soft footsteps following behind him.
They made it to the bathroom and Mike cleared his throat, before running back out again. Will just waited patiently, leaning against the counter and staring at his feet.
Mike returned moments later with a stool for him to sit on, forgetting he was actually quite tall and that it would be impossible for Will to give him a decent haircut while standing or sitting on the counter.
He put down the stool, followed by him plopping himself on it.
Will pushed himself off the counter, approaching Mike. He scanned around for the scissors that committed this violent act of assault on his best friend’s head, and grimaced when he found them.
He picked them up off the counter, snapping them open and shut a few times.
“Mike… really?”
Mike shrugged, “It was all I could find.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Will replied, with not a hint of malice behind his voice.
He grabbed one of Nancy's hair ties that was sitting on the counter, “I’m just gonna…” He trailed off, as his hands waved frantically around Mike’s head, trying to figure out how to go about this.
He eventually sucked it up and went for it, running his fingers through the damp mess and parting it in two. Mike sat silently, looking up at his friend.
“Tell me if I hurt you, yeah?”
Mike nodded.
Will fixed the hair to the top of his head with the hair tie, before whipping around to find a brush, or anything that could get the knots and tangles out.
“You know, in another world you could’ve rocked a ponytail.” He said, turning back around to face Mike.
Mike laughed in response, “Long hair was Eddie’s thing, definitely not mine.” Will smiled, softly brushing through Mike’s hair, taking it slow as not to tug too hard and hurt him.
Mike was sure if the bathroom light wasn’t so bright and he wasn’t so distraught at what he had done to himself, he could’ve fallen asleep right there. Being taken care of was nice.
“No, I’m serious, it would’ve looked sick I bet.”
Mike just rolled his eyes, playfully for once, and let Will do his thing.
He had eventually successfully gotten all of the knots out, meaning it was time to cut. Will scrunched his nose up, thinking for a second.
“Okay, I am not qualified for this. If this goes horribly wrong and I ruin your hair for the foreseeable future, it is not my fault, you asked for this. Clear?”
“Roger that,” Mike said, nodding in agreement at the panicked boy. Will took this as a sign to start cutting, taking a deep breath in before grabbing the old kitchen scissors again and going in. He grabbed a piece of hair at the side of Mike’s head and began to cut, the sound making him cringe with every snip.
Mike tuned it out, used to the foul noise from earlier. He just wanted to feel like himself again.
Will continued to cut, not exactly sure what to classify as a good or bad job considering he had nothing to compare it to and had never cut hair before.
Mike shivered with every touch, Will’s calloused fingertips sending electricity down his spine. Will just assumed his hands were cold, they usually were.
At some point he finished the underside of Mike’s hair, and carefully undid the hair tie from the top, letting it flop down on all of his hard work.
“Great… one layer down, one to go.”
The second layer was the same thing, Will grabbing Mike’s face carelessly, with a boldness Mike had never seen in him before, and Mike coughing to hide the fact that he was extremely flustered for some reason.
“Why so desperate for a haircut, anyway? You’ve been fine all Summer.”
Mike looked up, Will’s voice snapping him out of his trance. The boy shrugged.
“I don’t know, school starts soon, I guess that’s one reason. I wanna look at least semi-presentable.”
“You looked fine to me, you always look fine. A—And I’m sure El does, too.” Will faltered near the end of his sentence, making Mike frown slightly. Again, he didn’t know why.
“Yeah, I—I guess it’s nice to look cool for her too, y’know.” He muttered, the bathroom had suddenly become very hot.
“Well, I bet she thinks you look awesome all the time.”
“Yeah, well, she kinda has to,” Mike grumbled, just loud enough for Will to hear, and the room fell into silence once again.
He continued working as more and more strands of Mike’s hair dropped to the tile beneath them, like leaves falling off trees in the fall.
“Alright, I’m gonna fix whatever happened to your bangs now. Then we’re done, and you can kick me out of your house forever if you so please.”
Mike snickered, blowing stray pieces of hair out of his face.
Will brushed his wonky bangs down in front of his face and lined up the scissors, much more confident with them now than he was a half hour ago.
He began to trim them, evening out all of the pieces that were too long or too short to make a blunt line across Mike’s forehead. Once he had finished he absentmindedly tucked some of the hair behind his ear, doing the same on the other side. Mike just watched him, almost in awe at the focus on his face. He could see all of his moles so clearly this close up.
Will stepped back, getting a good look at his work.
“I mean, if art doesn’t work out I could always become a barber.” He joked, smiling proudly at himself.
Mike turned around, making eye contact with himself for the third time tonight.
His eyes widened in delight as he brought a hand up to mess around with his fresh haircut. He knew he was right to trust Will, because Will never let him down, and he would be an idiot to think he would start tonight.
“Dude, this is impressive. Seriously.” He chuckled, looking up at Will again.
“It’s nothing much.”
“No, you saved my life. ”
“Dramatic mu—” Will was cut short by long arms wrapped around him awkwardly. Mike was — for some reason — hugging him. He didn’t want to complain, he was just taken aback.
Will mirrored Mike’s actions and wriggled uhder his grip to hug him back, shutting his eyes as he breathed in the other boy. All he had done was help his friend fix his hair, but he would take what he could get. Mike wasn’t the only one who realized that things had been a little off for a while, which made this really, really nice.
“You’re a good friend,” Mike muttered into Will’s shoulder, lingering for a second before letting go.
Will nodded, his face evidently flushed.
“Yeah, It was— It was really nothing. Goodnight, Mike.”
And Will was gone, slipping out of the bathroom and downstairs like he was never there in the first place, leaving Mike to his thoughts (and with a killer new haircut).
Mike tucked his own hair behind his ear this time, the way Will did minutes ago, contemplating taking the scissors to it again just so the boy in his basement could come back and save the day again.