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The world is on the verge of ending, the probability of everyone he's ever known dropping dead in a matter of hours sky high, and all Mike can think about is Tammy.
Well, no exactly true. He's also thinking about the end of the world and death, but his brain has so helpfully put that aside to mull over whomever the fuck Tammy was.
Mike's not stupid. Tammy is a methaphor. A placeholder name. Will's 'Tammy' is a boy, a boy who isn't like him, apparently. A boy whom he's pined over, aching and cried over, no matter what Will says about it being some 'crush.'
Mike knows Will like he knows the sky is blue, or that the sun is a bright yellow deadly laser. From the fidgeting of his hands, the silent resignation in his pretty hazel eyes that always seem to fill with tears, when Mike can do nothing to stop it. For some reason, Will is lying to himself. Or perhaps just to them, to soften the blow.
'Tammy' isn't a crush. Will is in love with a boy who can't return it, devastatingly so. Even as he smiled he'd looked heartbroken, accepting but ruined.
Mike would like to find out whoever the hell this boy is and bash his head in with a shovel. Preferably until the metal dents so bad the tool becomes unrecognizable.
Logically, he knows this kind of thing isn't a choice. Will can't choose whether or not he likes boys, and his 'Tammy' can't either. It's just so— stupid. Completely and utterly unfair.
Mike had known since he was five years old that Will Byers deserved to have everything he could ever want in the world, and he acted accordingly to get him that. From art supplies to comics and issues, Mike would pour out all his allowance to get him whatever he'd seen him eyeing through the windows of stores, or on the shelves in passing. Took pride in how Will would light up, then turn pink, with that worry in his eyes as he scolded Mike for spending all his money, quick to reassure him with both his hands in his that it doesn't matter because what Will wants, Will gets.
And perhaps, in recent years, that mentality has been sitting as a back burner in Mike's mind. He hasn't been that same overeager boy ready to put all the treasure in the world at Will's feet at any given time in a while, suppressed this part of himself in order to seem even a little normal. But it certainly pushes at him now, a restlessness in his clenching fists and steady feet.
This isn't something he can change, and he hates it. There is no way to give Will the boy he wants. No way to force someone to rewire their heart to let Will have it.
A voice in his head tells him he wouldn't even want to.
He glares down at the floor. He would, if Will asked. He would find some way to reprogram the boy his best friend loved into loving him back, and he'd loath to the entire time. But he would do it. Because Will asked, with a sad flutter of his lashes and teary eyes. He'd die trying, if Will wanted.
Whatever Will wanted, he would get, if everything was up to Mike. After everything and even before everything, Will Byers deserved the best this fucked universe could give him.
In his peripheral, he sees Will staring down at his hands, fingers intertwined in an imitation of being held by someone else's.
When this is over, he tells himself. When Vecna's head is fucking severed and burned on a pike and Will is safe and free from this hell, he'll ask about the boy.
He'll ask with a resentment for whoever it is brewing and growing stronger with each second that passes in his heart, and he'll get a name, and he will honest to god try his hardest to get Will this boy he wants.
And he will resign himself into hating his best friend's lover for the rest of his life, knowing of all the pain he caused him, if only to keep him in it. If only to keep him happy.
"You okay, man?" Lucas asks from beside him, eyeing his fists.
Will deserves the world and I would give it, even if it kills me, he almost says.
"Yeah," he says instead, gaze steely. "Let's get this bullshit over with."