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Summary
“So,” he said carefully. “Who is it?”
Will’s hands faltered.
The plate he was drying wobbled dangerously, his fingers tightening around the edges just in time to keep it from slipping and shattering on the floor. His heart jumped with it - or maybe it was the question.
“What?” he asked, too quickly. “Why- why are you asking me that now?”
Mike didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on the sink, on the steady stream of running water over his hands.
“Because we’re best friends,” he said. “And… I don’t know. I thought maybe we should talk about it. Like we did before. You know. With me and Eleven, before we broke up.”
Will swallowed hard, wishing he could open a hole in the floor and crawl into it right now.
“It’s different,” Will said, low enough that only the two of them could hear. “Talking about you and El was… easier than talking about this.”
It's the '80s, and summer has arrived in Hawkins. Time to put on your shorts.