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Growing up, Mike could still picture it too clearly—his father planted in his chair, voice loud and certain, like the world bent to whatever he decided was right. Ted would talk about how being gay was a sin, how those people were sick, broken, something to be afraid of. Mike had been a kid, feet barely touching the floor, listening and absorbing more than he ever wanted to.
Now, Ted was out of his life, and most days Mike felt lighter because of it. Free, even. But there was still this ugly knot of guilt that never fully went away, like cutting his father off had somehow made Mike the bad son. Like he was betraying something he’d been raised to believe, even though he knew—knew—it was wrong.
He had lived so long buried under that shame. Shame his father handed him without even realizing it. Shame that taught him to flinch from his own feelings, to doubt them, to keep them quiet. Even now, in his forties, Mike still didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand how anyone could look at love—real love—and decide it was something hateful. Something evil. Love had always felt pure to him. Terrifying sometimes, sure, but never wrong.
And yet his father’s voice still haunted him, sharp and cruel, like it had been carved into his skull. "I’m telling you, Mike. Those... those queers are dangerous. Don’t associate yourself with that kind of people." He could hear the way Ted spat the word, like it burned his tongue.
Mike liked to think he’d changed over the years. He had changed, he told himself. He was kinder, more open, more willing to listen. But sometimes, late at night, doubt crept in. Sometimes he caught himself snapping, shutting down, retreating into silence—and the thought hit him like ice water.
What if I’m turning into him?
The idea terrified Mike more than almost anything else.
Will never hesitated to tell him the truth. He would cup Mike’s face, look him dead in the eyes, and say, “You’re nothing like your father. You never have been. You never will be.” Mike wanted to believe him every time. Most days, he did.
He knew he was more like his mom—like Karen. Gentle where Ted was harsh. Loving where Ted was distant. And he was grateful for that, deeply grateful. But there was still that small, stubborn what if lodged in the back of his mind.
When mike had first come out to his family, it was....a rough one to say the least. Mike had remembered the night like it was yesterday. He remembers the fear, the panic attacks. He remembered hiding behind his mom like some scared little kid as Ted screamed slurs and insults.
----
Mike paced the length of his bedroom like a trapped animal, carpet worn thin beneath his feet. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. His chest felt tight, like something heavy was sitting on it, pressing down harder every second he waited.
“You can say it,” he whispered to himself, voice barely there. “You can say it, Mike... just go down there and say it. Mom, Dad, I—”
The words died in his throat. His lungs hitched uselessly as panic surged, sharp and blinding. He dragged a hand through his hair, nails scraping at his scalp like it might ground him, like it might keep him from coming apart.
He’d already told Nancy. That had gone better than he ever could’ve imagined. They weren’t as close as they used to be—not like when they were kids—but he’d still been terrified she’d look at him differently. That she’d pull away. Instead, she’d listened. She’d believed him.
Still, this was different.
Downstairs was his father.
“Mike?” Nancy’s voice came from the doorway. “Mom’s calling—everything okay?”
She stepped into the room slowly, like she already knew the answer. Her brow furrowed when she saw him, eyes soft but alert, taking in the way his shoulders shook.
“I—I think I want to come out,” Mike said, the words tumbling over each other. “But—” His breath caught painfully in his chest. Suddenly the room felt too small. Too hot. “I can’t—I can’t breathe.”
Nancy crossed the room in two quick steps. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” she said gently, taking his hands in hers. They were ice-cold. “You’re okay. Breathe with me, yeah?”
Mike nodded, though panic still clawed at him. Nancy inhaled slowly, exaggerated, patient. Mike tried to follow—but his breath came out sharp, uneven, a gasp instead of air. His vision blurred at the edges.
“That’s okay,” Nancy said quickly. “That’s okay. Just try again. I’ve got you.”
Again. And again. Each breath felt like forcing air through broken glass, but eventually the pressure in his chest eased. His heartbeat slowed from a frantic pounding to something closer to normal.
Nancy squeezed his hands once more. “There you go.”
Mike swallowed thickly, blinking hard. “I want to come out to them,” he said quietly. “Tonight. I just... I’m scared.”
Nancy nodded, understanding written all over her face. “That makes sense.” She hesitated, then said, “If you decide to do it tonight—no matter what happens—you won’t be alone. Okay?”
That was enough. It had to be.
By the time they sat down at the dinner table, Mike’s anxiety came roaring back. His knee bounced uncontrollably under the table. He barely touched his food. All he could think about was Will—how tired he was of hiding, how badly he wanted to stop pretending in his own house.
Fifteen minutes passed in painful, meaningless small talk.
Mike glanced at Nancy.
She gave him a tiny nod.
“Um—” Mike’s voice cracked instantly. “Mom? Dad? I—I have something I need to tell you.”
The room went quiet. Mike stared at his lap, fingers twisted together so tightly they hurt. “I think that—no. That’s not right.” He cleared his throat, heart hammering. “I... I know that—”
His lungs seized again. He forced the words out before fear could take them away.
“I’m gay.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Ted’s chair scraped loudly as he shifted, jaw tightening. His face hardened, anger filling his eyes in a way that made Mike’s stomach drop.
“No,” Ted said flatly.
Mike flinched.
“Michael Wheeler,” Ted snapped. “You will look at me when I talk to you.”
Mike hesitated before lifting his head, his hands still shaking.
“My son will not be a fag,” Ted continued, voice rising. “Starting tomorrow, you’re going back to church. We’re calling a minister, and we’re getting this—this disease—out of you by any means necessary.”
Fear burned in Mike’s chest. “Dad—it’s not a disease—”
“I DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS WHAT IT IS!” Ted roared, slamming his fist down on the table. The sound made Mike jolt violently, breath tearing from his lungs.
“This is who I am,” Mike said, voice shaking but desperate. “I’m gay. And I’m in love. I have a boyfriend.”
Ted went eerily still.
“Get out.”
Mike stared at him. “Wh—what?”
“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”
Karen shot to her feet instantly, moving in front of Mike like a shield, one arm pulling him protectively back. “TED,” she snapped. “We are not calling a minister, and we are certainly not kicking him out for who he is.”
Ted scoffed, eyes blazing. “Oh, so you’re defending this queer now?”
Karen closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself. Then she opened them, calm but unyielding.
“Mike. Nancy. Go upstairs,” she said firmly. “I need to have a conversation with your father.”
Mike hesitated, chest tight, fear still buzzing through his veins—then let Nancy guide him away, his father’s anger burning into his back the whole way up the stairs.
Before Mike really understood what he was doing, his hands were already moving. A small bag lay open on his bed, clothes shoved inside without care, fingers clumsy and shaking. His heart wouldn’t slow down. Every sound in the house felt too loud, too sharp.
Downstairs, voices rose.
Ted’s anger cut through the walls, loud and jagged, words slurred together by fury. Mike froze, standing still as he listened, breath caught in his throat. Then Karen’s voice followed—steady, furious in a different way.
“You will not talk about our son like that,” she snapped. “He is not broken. He is not sick.”
Mike squeezed his eyes shut, chest tight. Hearing her defend him only made it worse somehow. The guilt, the fear, the overwhelming need to get out before his courage ran dry.
He grabbed the bag, pushed his window open, and climbed out into the rain.
The night was cold and loud, rain coming down hard enough that it stung his skin. He slid the window shut behind him and carefully made his way down the slick roof, nearly losing his footing as water streamed beneath his shoes. When his feet finally hit the ground, he didn’t stop—he ran.
The street was empty, lit by flickering streetlamps and the shine of wet pavement. Rain soaked him through in seconds, hair plastered to his face, clothes heavy against his body. His breathing came too fast, too shallow, panic creeping up his spine as tears blurred his vision. Every sound made him flinch. Every shadow felt like it might follow him.
Just get to Will’s, he told himself, over and over. Just get there.
By the time he reached the Byers’ house, his hands were shaking so badly he had to pound on the door with his fist to steady himself. “Will?” he called out, voice breaking. “Will, are you home?”
The door opened, spilling warm yellow light onto the porch—and Joyce stood there.
“Mike?” she said softly. “Honey, what are you doing here? It’s late...”
Her expression shifted the moment she really looked at him. Rain and tears streaked down his face, his shoulders trembling, his whole body soaked and exhausted. Joyce’s heart clenched. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Mike cry like this.
“I—my dad—he—” Mike tried to speak, but the words collapsed into a sob.
Joyce didn’t hesitate. She pulled him into her arms, holding him close, warm and solid and real. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, rubbing his back. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”
She guided him inside, the contrast immediate—the house warm, dry, filled with the quiet hum of life. It smelled like coffee and laundry detergent and home. Joyce kept her hand on his arm like she was afraid letting go might send him shattering.
“Will!” she called gently. “Mike’s here.”
She turned to Jonathan. “Can you grab a towel, please?”
Jonathan nodded and disappeared, returning moments later with a towel, which Joyce wrapped carefully around Mike’s shoulders, drying his hair like she’d done so many times before.
Will appeared in the doorway then—and stopped.
Concern flooded his face as he crossed the room and pulled Mike into his arms, holding him tightly, like he belonged there. Like he always had.
“Your dad took it badly, didn’t he?” Will whispered, voice barely audible over the rain tapping against the windows.
----
Mike had lived with Will and his family for a few weeks after that night. For a while, he had felt like he was imposing. But he had never forgotten how she had welcomed him, how she had held him when he was soaked and trembling in the rain, or how Jonathan had quietly made room for him. Their kindness had been something he could never fully repay, something he carried with him long after he moved into his own apartment with Will.
Now, sitting in their small but cozy living room, Mike’s thoughts drifted back to those nights, and the familiar ache of memory tugged at him.
“Hey.”
Will’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. Mike looked up, smiling softly, warmth spreading through his chest just at the sight of him.
“You okay?” Will asked, concern softening his features.
Mike nodded, though the tension in his shoulders lingered. “Yeah… I’m okay. Just thinking.”
Will smiled back, stepping closer and sitting down beside Mike, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “Yeah? You wanna tell me what you’re thinking?”
Mike’s arms went around Will’s waist automatically, holding him close. “I was thinking about the past,” he said quietly. “About that night I came out... and how far we’ve come. How far the world has come since then.” He let out a small sigh, shrugging, though his worry was still there.
“I guess today just makes me nervous,” he admitted. “What if...what if they don't legalize gay marriage?”
Will’s expression softened, a shadow of the same fear crossing his face. “I get it. Honestly, I'm scared too,” he said, voice gentle. “But things have changed so much since we were kids. Not perfect... but better.” He brushed a hand over Mike’s cheek, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That gives me hope. Hope that tomorrow, we could walk into the courthouse and... finally get married.”
Mike let out a quiet laugh, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “God, I hope so,” he murmured, before turning his attention to the TV and flipping it on.
It wasn't until that night when everything changed.
“As of 6:15 tonight, the Supreme Court has legalized gay marriage nationwide,” the newswoman announced, a bright, triumphant smile lighting her face. “Thousands of families and couples are celebrating tonight, and tomorrow, courthouses are expected to overflow.”
Mike froze. The words hit him like a wave, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. He could barely breathe, his chest tight, heart hammering in his ears. The reality of it—the freedom, the possibility—was almost too much. He felt a warmth rising in his chest, a mix of disbelief and joy, and all at once he realized that the world he had feared might never exist... was finally here.
Will, sitting beside him, reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. Mike looked at him, eyes wide, and finally let himself grin. “They did it?” Will asked, his voice small, like he was afraid the answer might disappear if he said it too loudly.
“Yeah,” Mike said, barely able to keep the smile out of his voice. “They did.”
Will let out a shaky sniffle before he could stop himself, his hand flying up to his face as a breathless laugh slipped through. His eyes were glassy, but he was smiling—really smiling, like something heavy had finally been lifted off his chest. “So... we can get married?”
Mike turned toward him, his chest tight in that familiar, overwhelming way. More than twenty years together—years of stolen glances, careful hands, love kept quiet and safe and hidden. And now, finally, they didn’t have to be careful anymore.
“Yeah,” Mike said softly, like it was something sacred. “We can.”
It wasn't until the next day when their families and friends had all come over in celebration. And for their wedding, of course. "Congrats you two!" Joyce spoke, pulling both of her boys into her arms. "I'm so happy for you both.." Tears filled her eyes slightly as she kissed their heads. "You two deserve all the happiness in the world.." Will had simply blushed, biting back a grin. "Thank you, mom.."
Joyce gave them one last smile before pulling away.
Karen froze the moment she saw them.
“Oh—oh my God,” she breathed, one hand flying to her mouth as she hurried toward them, her smile already breaking into tears. “I can’t believe it. You two are actually getting married.”
She laughed through it, shaking her head like she might wake up any second. “I’m so proud of you, Michael,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “After everything you’ve been through—with your father, with the way you grew up... I—” She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as tears spilled over. “I am so proud of the man you’ve become. Of the person you chose to love. Of the future you’re building.”
Mike didn’t trust himself to speak at first. He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight like he used to when he was a kid and the world felt too big.
“I love you, Mom,” he murmured.
Karen hugged him back just as fiercely. “I love you too, Mike. Always.”
The hours leading up to the wedding felt unreal—like he was floating through them instead of living them. Mike had faced monsters, alternate dimensions, and near-death more times than he could count, but this? This was the most anxiety-inducing thing he had ever done.
Not because he doubted it.
God, never because he doubted it.
He and Will had been in love for so long it felt like second nature. They shared clothes, shared beds, shared quiet looks across crowded rooms. Mike had been calling Will his husband for years now, half as a joke, half as a promise. But standing here, suit pressed and hands shaking, knowing that in a matter of minutes it would be real—legal, spoken aloud in front of everyone they loved—made his chest ache.
It felt like a locked door inside him was finally opening. One that had been bolted shut by fear, by Hawkins, by the eighties, by everything they’d survived.
“Oh, you look so handsome,” Karen gushed when she stepped into the dressing room, immediately fussing with his jacket and straightening his tie. “My baby,” she added, teary again.
“How’s Will?” Mike asked immediately, nerves flaring.
She laughed. “Just as nervous as you. Pacing, fidgeting, probably overthinking every word of his vows.”
Mike smiled despite himself. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”
Karen tilted her head. “And you? You ready?”
He nodded, fingers brushing the folded paper in his pocket. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I really am.”
Seeing Will stole the air from his lungs.
Mike didn’t even think—he just crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face into Will’s hair like he’d done a thousand times before.
“You look amazing,” Mike whispered, voice thick.
Will smiled, that shy, breathtaking smile that had always undone him, and hugged him back just as tightly. “You don’t look half-bad yourself.”
They decided to walk down the aisle together. No separation. No waiting. Just side by side, fingers laced together as the doors opened and sunlight poured in, the room filling with soft music and the quiet, awed murmurs of their friends and family.
Mike had never felt so seen. So sure.
When they reached the arch, Mike took a shaky breath and unfolded his vows.
“I remember the day I met you like it was yesterday,” he began, smiling through tears. “Kindergarten. I was alone—and I was terrified. I thought I wasn’t going to make any friends.” He glanced at Will. “Then I saw you. You were on the swings, all by yourself. And somehow... that made me feel less scared.”
His voice wavered. “I thought maybe—if we were both alone, then maybe we could be alone together..."
Will’s eyes were already shining.
“I asked you to be my friend,” Mike continued, “and you said yes. Days turned into weeks, weeks into years, and suddenly we were sixteen and I was standing in front of you, confessing that I was in love with you.” He swallowed. “I was terrified. Not because of you—but because of the world. Because it was the eighties. Because I didn’t want the kindest, sweetest boy I knew to ever believe the lies people told about us.”
A tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t bother wiping it away.
“But you didn’t just accept me,” he said softly. “You loved me back. And I’ve loved you ever since. I promise to love every part of you—your softness, your strength, your art, your heart—for the rest of my life.”
Will took a shaky breath, wiping at his eyes before laughing quietly. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to follow that,” he admitted.
He looked down at his paper, then back up at Mike. “I remember meeting you. I was so excited—because I finally had a friend. I ran to my mom at pickup and told her all about you. About this boy named Mike who wanted to play with me.” He smiled. “I think she knew even then that you were going to be important.”
His voice cracked. “Growing up, I was called so many things. And yeah—some of them were true. But that didn’t make them hurt less.” He paused. “And then the worst night of my life happened. I was taken. I was alone. And all I wanted was to go back to your house and play D&D with my best friend.”
Tears spilled freely now. “For so long, I thought I would end up alone. I thought I wasn’t meant for love. I didn’t think I’d get a happy ending.” He took a breath, steadying himself. “But here I am. Standing in front of the love of my life. Marrying my best friend.”
He smiled through his tears. “I love you, Mike Wheeler. More than I ever thought I was allowed to.”
The priest beamed. “You may now kiss the groom.”
Mike didn’t hesitate. He pulled Will into him and kissed him deeply—like a promise, like a lifetime, like every moment they had fought for had led right here. When they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, Mike laughed softly.
“I love you more than anything,” he whispered. “You’re incredible.”
Will laughed too, breathless and teary. “I love you too. I can’t believe it. We’re married.”