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Mike has been to New York exactly three times before this.
Once, when he was nineteen, tagging along on a trip Nancy paid for because she felt guilty about leaving him behind. Once in his late twenties, for a conference his boss swore would open doors, and instead just reminded him how many of those doors were already closed. And once, when Will graduated from NYU, where Mike stood in the back of the crowd pretending he wasn’t memorizing the shape of Will’s smile.
This is the first time New York feels personal.
The venue is tucked into Greenwich, brick, ivy, and soft white lights strung everywhere like someone carefully curated romance just to prove a point. It’s small. Intimate. Very Will. Mike hates how right it all feels.
He smooths his tie for the fourth time. Dustin nudges him with an elbow.
“Relax,” Dustin mutters. “You look like you’re about to be executed.”
Mike snorts. “Feels about right.”
Dustin studies him, frowns. “You sure you’re okay, man?”
“Yep,” Mike says immediately. Too fast. “Never better.”
Dustin doesn’t buy it, but the music starts before he can push.
Mike turns.
And there’s Will.
He’s forty-one, but god, he looks younger. He doesn't look like he is shouldering the weight of the world, like he finally gets sleep that isn't plagued with visions of vines and shadows around every corner. He’s softer around the edges in a way Mike has never been, lines near his mouth that show the smile that Mike hasn’t seen since he was 12. His suit is dark blue, tailored perfectly, and when his eyes find Mike’s across the room, his smile flickers. Just for a second. Like he’s nervous.
Jonathan steps forward, hand warm and steady on Will’s shoulder, and Mike has to look away before he does something visibly unhinged. Of course, Jonathan is giving him away. Jonathan, who left. Jonathan, who built a life that makes sense.
Mike stayed.
When Will reaches the altar, Chance is already there, broad-shouldered and calm and infuriatingly grounded in his crisp brown suit that looks perfect next to Will. Will’s hands in his like this is the most natural thing in the world.
The officiant talks about love, history, and how perseverance made this possible. Mike barely hears it. All he can think about is the fact that when they were seventeen, this wasn’t even an option. When they were twenty-five, it was still a fight. When Will first fell in love with Chance, he had to do it knowing the law might never catch up.
And now it has.
Now it’s legal.
Now it’s beautiful.
Their first kiss as husbands feels like a dagger to the chest that tears Mike open. He would prefer to be flayed if it meant he didn't have to see this, to see Will, his Will, experiencing such joy and pleasure from another man.
Now it’s too late.
When it’s time for the speeches, Mike stands on legs that feel like they belong to someone else.
He clears his throat. The room quiets.
“Hi,” he says. “I’m Mike. Uh. For those of you who don’t know me, I’ve known Will since we were like five.”
Will smiles at him, so open and trusting.
God.
“We grew up in a town where… there wasn’t a lot to do,” Mike continues. “So we made our own worlds. And Will was always the one who made them brighter. Bigger. Better.”
There’s laughter. Mike presses on.
“Will has this way of loving people that makes you feel like you matter. Like you’re worth staying for.” His voice cracks. He recovers as best as he can and gives the nicest look he can to Chance. “And Chance… I don’t think I’ve ever seen Will more himself than he is with you.”
Chance nods once. Respectful. Careful.
“So,” Mike finishes, lifting his glass, “to Will and Chance. May you always find home in each other.”
Applause. Cheers. Will mouths thank you at him.
Mike downs his drink immediately, the sharp sting of rum numbing his throat as it goes down.
By the time the reception is in full swing, he’s lost count.
Nancy hugs him. Robin squeezes his hand. Lucas gives him a look that says please don’t implode tonight.
Max finds him at the bar.
He’s leaning forward, elbows on the counter, staring at a drink he hasn’t touched in a while. No baiting. No sarcasm. No half-hearted jab meant to get a rise out of her.
That’s what scares her.
She slides onto the stool beside him.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on,” she asks, “or am I supposed to guess.”
Mike exhales. “You always guess wrong.”
“Yeah,” Max says. “But you usually argue with me about it.”
He doesn’t.
She studies him more carefully. The slack posture. The hollow look. The way he keeps glancing toward the dance floor like he’s bracing for impact.
“Mike,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”
He shrugs. “I’m fine.”
She winces. “Damn, that bad?”
“I thought I’d be better at this,” he admits, eyes still on the glass.
“At being best man?”
“At being happy for him.”
Max follows his gaze to where Will is laughing with Chance, unguarded and radiant.
“You are happy for him,” she says. “You’re just also miserable.”
Mike swallows. “I stayed.”
Max doesn’t argue. She just nudges his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Mike looks at her like he doesn’t believe that’s true anymore.
That’s when Will finds him.
“Hey,” Will says, touching his arm. “You disappeared.”
“Did I?” Mike asks. “Weird.”
Will doesn’t smile. “Mike.”
There it is. The voice. The one that used to pull him back from the edge.
“You wanna step outside with me?” Will asks. “You look… not great.”
“Wow. Brutal.”
“Honest,” Will says. “C’mon.”
Past the hedges that frame the patio, the city hums. Traffic. Voices. Life moving on without either of them.
Mike leans against the railing, breathing in cold air like it might sober him up.
Will stands close. Too close. So close that he can smell his cologne, something expensive that feels wrong to be on Will.
“You okay?” Will asks quietly.
“You asked me that last night,” Mike laughs, sharp and ugly.
“And you keep not answering.”
Mike looks at him. Really looks. The ring on Will’s finger catches the light; it’s a stamped silver band with a shining aquamarine in the center, and Mike can’t shake the fact that it just doesn’t feel like the Will he knows.
“I’m happy for you,” Mike says. “I mean that.”
“I know,” Will says. “But that’s not the same thing.”
“You don’t need me anymore,” Mike whines out, slightly slurring over his own words.
Will exhales, slow. “That’s not—”
Mike kisses him.
Will tastes sweet, like the cake that Chance fed him earlier that night, and like the strawberry chapstick that he watched Will reapply 20ish minutes ago.
It’s clumsy. Desperate. Years too late.
Will freezes, then pulls back hard.
“Mike, stop,” he says, breathless. “I’m married.”
The word lands like a slammed door.
“You don’t want me,” Mike says stupidly. “You don’t even see me.”
“That’s not fair,” Will says, voice shaking. “I loved you. I loved you so much. But that was a long time ago.”
“Did it ever stop?” Mike can’t look Will in the eyes.
“Yes,” Will says. Firm now. “It did.”
The door opens behind them. Music spills out.
“Please leave,” Will says softly. “Before this gets worse.”
Mike turns to go, but is stopped when Jonathan steps directly into his path.
Jonathan doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The look on his face is enough to stop Mike cold.
“What did you do,” Jonathan says.
“I was leaving,” Mike mutters.
Jonathan’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. “You hurt him again.”
Mike flinches, caught. “I didn’t mean to.”
Jonathan exhales sharply, like he’s been waiting years to say this. “You never do.”
Will’s hand lifts, instinctive. “Jonathan—”
“No,” Jonathan says immediately, not looking away from Mike. “You don’t get to cushion this.”
“Jonathan, really—,” Will tries to butt in, annoyed that his brother is still trying to fight his battles.
Mike’s jaw tightens. “I loved him.”
Jonathan steps closer. Close enough that Mike has to hear every word.
“And he loved you,” Jonathan says. “For a long time. Longer than he should’ve.”
Mike swallows.
“You stayed,” Jonathan continues. “You stayed in Hawkins waiting for something to come back, and you called it loyalty instead of fear.”
“That’s not fair—”
Jonathan cuts him off, voice low and lethal. “El is not coming back.”
The words hit like a gunshot.
“She didn’t come back after high school,” Jonathan goes on. “She didn’t come back in your twenties. She didn’t come back in your thirties. And she is not coming back now.”
Mike’s eyes burn. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Jonathan says flatly. “Because the rest of us figured it out. We left. We grew up. We built lives that didn’t depend on someone else choosing us.”
Silence stretches, thick and suffocating.
“And Will,” Jonathan adds, softer only by a hair, “he spent years thinking he wasn’t enough because you couldn’t let go of a version of him that only existed when you were kids.”
Will inhales sharply. “Jonathan—”
Mike clenches his fists and grits out, “That’s not fair.”
“No,” Jonathan cuts in, voice low and lethal. “What’s not fair is that he spent years thinking something was wrong with him because you couldn’t figure your shit out.”
Jonathan finally turns to Will, then, voice gentling. “You don’t need to protect him. You already did the hard part.”
He looks back at Mike, all steel again.
“You don’t get to stand here on the happiest day of his life and make him feel like he owes you something because you never moved on.”
Mike’s voice breaks. “I just wanted him to need me.”
Jonathan’s expression doesn’t soften.
“He did,” he says. “And then he learned how not to.” He straightens. “Leave. Now. And if you care about him at all, you won’t come back in.”
Mike nods. Once. Twice. He turns and walks away into the night, shoulders hunched like he’s finally carrying the weight of all the years he refused to unpack.
Jonathan watches until he’s gone.
Then he turns back to Will immediately.
“You okay?” he asks, already scanning him, already grounding a hand at the center of his back.
Will nods, but it’s shaky. “I didn’t want it to be like that.”
“I know,” Jonathan says. “That’s why I stopped it.”
He guides Will toward the doors. Inside, the music swells back into place like it never left.
Chance is waiting just inside, concern written plainly across his face.
“Everything okay?” Chance asks, eyes flicking briefly to Jonathan, then back to Will.
Jonathan answers before Will has to. “He’s gone.”
Chance exhales, tension draining from his shoulders. “Thank you.”
Jonathan nods once. There’s a quiet understanding there. Two people who love Will in different ways, aligned on the same thing. Chance reaches for Will’s hand. Will squeezes back.
Jonathan pauses, then adds quietly, “He won’t do that again.”
Chance meets his eyes. “Good. Because tonight isn’t about him.”
Jonathan almost smiles. Almost.
Will looks between them, something easing in his chest. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did,” Jonathan says immediately. “That’s my job.”
He nudges Will forward gently. “Go. Dance. Be happy. I’ll be right here.”
Will hesitates, then leans in and hugs him, quick and tight.
“Thank you,” Will murmurs.
Jonathan watches him go, watches Chance pull him close, watches Will laugh again, for real this time.
Only then does Jonathan let himself breathe.
Chance doesn’t say anything at first.
He just reaches for Will’s hand again, thumb brushing over the ring like he’s reassuring himself it’s real. Will lets himself lean into it, lets the noise of the reception blur into something distant and unimportant.
“You good?” Chance asks quietly, forehead pressing to Will’s temple.
Will exhales. “Yeah. I think so.”
Chance hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t push. He never does. Instead, he nudges Will gently toward the dance floor. “Come on. We didn’t get married to stand around all night.”
Will laughs, a little watery. “You’re right. That would be tragic.”
They dance slowly at first, barely moving, just swaying together to David Bowie while the city hums outside and their friends orbit them in loose, happy clusters. Chance’s hand is warm at Will’s waist. Familiar. Safe.
“I’m sorry,” Will says suddenly.
Chance pulls back just enough to look at him. “For what?”
“For… that,” Will gestures vaguely toward the doors. Toward the thing that already feels like it’s slipping into the past. “I didn’t want tonight to be messy.”
Chance studies him for a second, then smiles, soft and sure. “Hey. I married all of you. Even the complicated parts.”
Will’s chest tightens. “You don’t hate him?”
Chance considers that. “I don’t like how he hurt you. But I don’t hate him.” A beat. “I don’t need to. I have you.”
That does it. Will laughs and cries at the same time, pressing his face into Chance’s shoulder.
“You’re really my husband,” he murmurs, like he’s still testing the word.
Chance grins. “Legally and everything. New York approved.”
Will snorts. “Took them long enough.”
They dance again later, faster this time. Will laughs when Chance spins him clumsily. Jonathan watches from the edge of the floor, arms crossed, finally letting himself relax. Robin cheers too loud holding Nancy’s hand as she wipes at her eyes. The night keeps moving.
At the end of it, when the venue starts to empty and the lights dim, Will slips his hand into Chance’s as they step outside together, city air cool against their flushed faces.
“Ready?” Chance asks.
Will nods. “Yeah. I am.”
They leave together.
Mike’s hotel room smells faintly like cheap detergent and regret.
He kicks off his shoes. They hit the wall harder than he means them to. The silence closes in immediately, thick and suffocating. He stands there for a long moment, suit still on, tie crooked, as if he doesn’t move, he might disappear.
He thinks about Will laughing.
About Chance’s hand on Will’s back.
About the way Will looked when he said I’m married.
Mike sinks onto the edge of the bed and stares at the carpet. He pulls out his phone without thinking. No missed calls. No messages. Of course not.
They’re probably back at their place by now, he thinks. Kicking off shoes. Pouring a drink. Touching each other like this is allowed. Like this is theirs. Like Chance has any right to touch Will, to make him his when he should be Mike’s. It should be Mike who is the one taking Will apart piece by piece, watching him fall apart so that Mike can put him back together again.
The thought shatters him.
He folds forward, elbows on his knees, hands fisting in the fabric of his pants, and the sound that comes out of him is ugly. Broken. Thirty years late.
“I stayed,” he whispers to no one. “I waited.”
The room doesn’t answer.
He thinks about Hawkins. About empty streets and the house that never stopped feeling too big. About checking his walkie that's sitting in his bag. His phone. Every day. About believing that waiting meant something.
About El. About Will. About all the people who left and built lives that didn’t include him.
Mike presses his forehead to his hands and finally lets it all spill out, sobs shaking his shoulders as he imagines Will curled into Chance’s side, safe and loved and done waiting.
The city keeps moving outside the window.
The world has moved on.
And Mike Wheeler is alone in a room he can’t afford, mourning a love that was never going to come back for him.