Chapter Text
It was 3:28AM when Mike laid in his room awake, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours now. It was pretty dark, considering the illuminating light of the clock on his desk was right in his face.
His mind had been running on usual worries and thoughts— If Vecna were to attack during homeroom, what would he use as a weapon? If El doesn't call tomorrow, what would be the earliest he could call without making it seem like he was trying too hard?
And, if Will Byers went missing in the middle of the night, how long would it take for anyone to notice but him?
Sighing, he thought about grabbing the next volume to his current comic book read, but he instead rolled over and looked at the empty mattress beside him.
The loudest thought in his head.
Will was again missing from the room.
It became quite common these past few weeks. Which, if Mike had to be honest, sucked. They used to talk about everything. Talking used to be like breathing to them.
Now Will doesn't go to him at all.
Mike shifted again, pulling the blanket closer to his body. Shutting his eyes tight, all the memories from before came back to him.
He remembered how it was back then: Two small boys under a fortress of covers, their own little world. Will had called the torch the "brightest flashlight in the world," and it illuminated the vibrant panels of their comic book under their chubby fingers, passionately creating a world of their own. But the best part was the rebellion. Whenever Mike's mom would call out, "Boys! Go back to sleep!" they'd instantly kill the light, but as soon as they put their books down, they'd plunged back into their fantasy world with suppressed giggles.
He wonders when it all started going wrong.
Will was his best friend, but maybe he was thinking about it more than he should.
The thought was putting a squeezing feeling in his stomach he didn't like. Everything would go back to normal eventually.
He thought about visiting El tomorrow. Everything felt like the way it's supposed to be with her. He knew how to hold her hand, how to kiss her, touch her, and tell her he cared for her. He smiled at himself.
But something reminded him of the scene at the airport. He shifted on the bed.
Is that why Will began getting distant with him? He pulled the covers off his upper body.
It wasn't his fault. Will should have said something. He pursed his lips, pushing his long hair away from his face.
I need to cut my hair. Where is Will?
As if right on cue, the door creaked open, and Mike recognized the silhouette of his friend's body. Mike sat up.
"Oh, did I wake you up?"
"No, no, I was just going to the bathroom," Mike lied.
Will nodded. Mike began to get up, the coldness of the floor creeping up his bare feet and body. He knew Will had nightmares before, he's also had some himself in the past, but he knows Will was literally in the upside down, so his memories were more vivid. He wanted to ask him if he still got any to let him know he could talk to him about it.
Instead, he said, "You could... wake me up, you know. If you don't want to be out there alone."
"I wouldn't want to interrupt your sleep." He said, shrugging his offer off.
"But...something is interrupting yours."
"It's fine Mike, I promise."
Mike cursed at himself, but decided to not push any further, and left for the bathroom.
The light instantly hit him, and he covered his eyes with his arm.
He walked over to the mirror and looked at himself. He desperately needed a haircut.
_____________
Mike abruptly woke up from the aggressive pounding on his door.
"Mike, you're going to miss breakfast!" His sister called from the other side of the door.
The sun shone through the cracks of his blinds as Mike groggily stood up from the bed, still half asleep, and rubbed his eyes. He looked over at the floor, but Will was already gone.
The smell of bacon hit him before he reached downstairs.
"Good morning, sleepyhead." His mom smirked as she continued flipping pancakes.
"Hi, mom," he responded, and grabbed the orange juice from the fridge. The mornings were usually the same everyday — completely packed, the sizzling of food where his mom was cooking, Holly adding an unnecessary amount of maple syrup to her pancakes, his dad nose deep in his newspaper, Nancy chattering with their mom, and Jonathan coming in later as if Mike didn't hear him practically every night sneaking into Nancy's room. Will sat in the same spot he's always sat in. For a second, Mike thought he looked like they did when they were just kids.
Mike grabbed his plate of pancakes with his cup of orange juice and sat down across from Will.
He was already dressed for the day — jeans, his regular collar shirts, and his hair still looked damp from a shower. He didn't look up when Mike sat down.
He'd meant to talk to Will and ask him about last night. Despite nothing being like before, before who knows when, Will was still his best friend, and he still cares for him.
They were silent for a moment.
"So," Mike said clearing his throat.
"Uh—Mom's making these pancakes way too big, right? Like... when did pancakes become the size of frisbees?" Mike grabbed his fork and picked up a pancake, huffing a small laugh.
Will looked up with a small smile. "Yeah, uh, she's been doing that lately."
The clank of his fork fills the silence that follows.
Mike scanned the kitchen for a second, focused on the normal scene and noises of the weekend. Nancy was usually out of the house, along with Jonathan, who most of the time is accompanied by Will. Where they go, Mike has no idea. The only time Mike seems to interact more with Will is with the party, or while they whole gang is planning and scheming on the best way to blow Vecna to pieces.
Still, it felt like they were tip toeing around each other all the time.
This happens, Mike had concluded, after Vecna is dead, everything will be normal.
He focused on finishing his pancakes, half-listening to his father complaining about something he read in the newspapers, Nancy talking about something he only half-cared about, and Holly showing Will her drawings.
It was the most ordinary it could get with Vecna currently being on hiatus.
Sometimes they were still on the move, but Mike knew they knew how to deal with it. They always did. Maps, walkie-talkies, bikes, schedules. Action made things make sense.
Talking didn’t always.
He took another bite, then glanced around the kitchen. Nancy was leaning against the counter now, his dad had folded his paper and was reaching for more coffee, and Holly was arguing with their mom about whether syrup counted as breakfast.
Mike pushed his chair back, casual. “I’m gonna call El,” he said, like it was just another part of his routine.
"You barely finished your breakfast, Micheal!" His mom called out.
Mike retraced his steps, grabbed the giant pancake, stuffed it in his mouth, and went back upstairs.
As the silence died down when he reached upstairs, he immediately felt a rush of relief. He closed his door and reached for the walkie-talkie.
"Hello? El? Are you there? It's Mike." He waited for a response, but there was only static.
"El? Hopper?" Static.
There was a click, then a pause.
"Mike?" It was her voice.
He smiled without thinking. "Yeah. Hi."
"Hi," she said more softly. "You called."
"Yeah, I said I would." Mike leaned on the frame of his bed. "So... how have you been? What have you been up to? Besides...you know, the important stuff."
El laughed softly. "The important stuff?"
"Yea like, training, learning things, being a superhero."
“Just figuring out stuff. Reading, drawing… I like that. Hopper is very strict about everything. He thinks I can't handle much.” She said with a smile in her voice.
Mike nodded empathetically, even though she couldn’t see him. “Sounds nice. I’ve been… mostly the usual. Trying to keep busy.” He chuckled. “I even organized my comic shelf again. That’s how exciting my week’s been.”
El hummed, clearly amused.
“And boring in a good way.” He paused. “I’ve been thinking a lot about… just ordinary stuff. Like, what we’ll do after all of this.”
El’s voice softened. “Like what?”
Mike smiled. “When it’s all done… I’m taking you on a date. Somewhere normal. No monsters. Just us. Pizza maybe? Like that awful first one, but actually good. Or maybe a movie.”
El laughed lightly. “I’d like that.”
“Me too.”
There was another pause, then she asked, “When will I see you again? When will you guys visit?”
Mike froze for a moment. This was sort of a situation that grew into an uncomfortable thought in his mind. After the argument at the skating rink and though he apologized later in his room to Will, being in the same room with the both of them began to feel unnatural. El was his girlfriend, and Will was his best guy friend. Those were two completely different things.
Mike's finger hovered over the button on the walkie.
"Uh-I'm not sure yet," he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck. He grasped for a safer, less personal reason. "I mean, soon. I'm sure Will misses his mom."
"We all miss you guys. I miss you."
He smiled. "Yea. I miss you too."
They stayed on the phone for a while, talking about their life, little things, what they'd do when they see each other again, reassuring each other and silly jokes. Was it normal to still feel like there was still a piece of him missing?
El made him feel complete, but not in the way Mike thought he would feel when he finally got a girlfriend. He hated himself for feeling this way, El was so good to him. Maybe too good for him. Maybe someone not made for someone like him.
But El loved him, and he knew how to love El, he knew that. He'd go to visit her, and everything would be okay.
Surprisingly, night came by fast. There was only the faint noise of the mumble from the television where Mike's dad was watching tv and his mom putting Holly to sleep.
He walked out of the bathroom, turning the lights off and drying his hair with a towel, though water still dripped on the ground. He walked towards his room where Will would be. He unconsciously began walking slower and stopped at the door.
He heard the rustling of his mattress, the folding of his cloths, and the drawers opening and closing. He waited outside the door for a second, too aware of the person that was inside his bedroom.
It was all so easy before, so easy, that it made Mike's head hurt how they went from wishing they'd live right next door to each other to whatever this was.
He had apologized, just like any argument they had before, so what was so different about this one?
Shaking his head, he entered the room.
He kept his eyes focused on the comic books scattered across the floor, avoiding eye contact with Will. The room felt small.
Say something. Just say anything. This is too weird.
Will cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence, but still not looking up. “I, uh… I washed your laundry. Yours got mixed with mine again. Sorry.”
“Don't worry," Mike said, voice too loud in the small room. He cleared his own throat, softer this time. “It's cool."
Will nodded "Cool."
He hit the lights off and climbed into bed. He heard the weight of Will's body falling onto his own mattress beside him, the awkward conversation dying.
How has this become harder than fighting monsters?
He crept deeper into his covers and shut his eyes and let sleep take over. What is it with the word cool?