Chapter Text
“I honestly don’t see the point, Nancy,” Mike argues, rubbing his brow 3 minutes into the phone call. If his older sister has a knack for anything, it’s pissing Mike off.
“Well, I do.” Nancy insists, firm and immoveable. “For the past two years, Steve, Robin, Jonathan and I have been hanging out in that house. It’s really nice, trust me. And this time her uncle’s out of town for a week.”
“So you want to invite me along to join your orgy?” Mike quips.
He can hear the eye roll over the phone. “No. We leave that up to Steve and Jonathan. And it’s not an orgy Mike, it’s a get together. I’ve already called everyone else–”
Mike’s eyes widen and he grips the phone with both hands.
“Who is ‘everyone else’ ?” He asks.
“You know, Lucas and Max and Dustin. Oh, and Will too!” His sister lists, excitement tinting her voice. “And I already promised them you’d come, but they were a lot more compliant than you.”
Mike knows it’s not possible to punch someone over the phone, but if he had the opportunity, his older sister would have a black eye the size of Mercury.
“Nancy, I really can’t come. I have class and I need to study.”
“Bullshit. You’re on spring break, Mike. Isn’t this prime partying time?”
“No, it’s prime studying time. I have finals after this!” Mike reasons.
Nancy doesn’t budge. “Luckily for you, the house is massive so you can study far, far away from us.”
Mike grits his teeth and shuts his eyes in resignation. He can tell his sister isn’t going to leave this alone. She’d probably call him every day, even after spring break is over. And Mike just wants to be alone. So he caves.
“Fine. I’ll come. When is it?”
Nancy takes a couple of seconds, like she’s checking a calendar. “March 14th.”
Mike sighs. “Can you give me the address?”
The rest of the conversation is filled with Nancy chirping off details and timings. Mike wants to strangle her. Affectionately, of course. By the time goodbyes are said, Mike is thoroughly exhausted, trudging back to his room.
He flips around and throws himself on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling. The sun is fading, hiding beneath the horizon, painting his room a beautiful shade of yellow. He watches the light lay on his desk, lighting up the medieval texts piled up to the roof. It catches on his chewed up pen, almost out of ink. I really need to replace that, Mike thinks. He’s said that a thousand times before, but never has gotten around to it. The story always ends with him chewing on the end of the pen, trying to force more ink out.
He sees it catch onto photos of his friends, posted notes. He sees it catch onto the painting on the wall, giving everything a beautiful orange hue. El’s painting.
Mike turns his head away immediately, looking back up at the ceiling. From the age of 5, ever since his mom lied to him about the last piece of bacon, Mike Wheeler has been the self-proclaimed arch enemy of lies. ‘Friends don’t lie’ had been spewed out of his mouth so many times he can’t even count, and when they were little, he made his friends swear to never lie to each other. He’s pretty sure Dustin and Lucas went behind his back, but Will is still loyal. He hasn’t broken his promise.
And, hypocrite he is, Mike just spat out a platter of lies to his sister. Mike doesn’t need to study. He knows all the stuff anyways, so the finals are basically a free ride for him. There’s another reason he doesn’t want to come.
He doesn’t want to see everyone.
Make no mistake, Mike loves his friends, would die for them if the occasion called for it (and it has, numerous times) but he can’t stand the sight of them growing. Moving on. Walking ahead of time, while Mike is trapped in it, in limbo, unable to move, speak or even breathe. Ever since El left, it feels like he’s just floating. Like he’s in one of her baths, his senses being stripped away from him.
He does feel the occasional joy, when his mom sends him a picture of Holly, or when someone does something stupid at lunch, but it always vanishes quicker than Mike can grab onto it, to try and pull himself out of the pit. It’s always overshadowed by a dark cloud, a cloud that Mike can’t even begin to explain, a cloud that scares him so much that all he can do is hide and pray it doesn’t swallow him whole. But Mike can feel that it’s close. So close.
Grief is, quite frankly, shit. Mike doesn’t like it at all. It rots him from the inside out, making him this hand puppet, forcing him to talk and walk and feel things he doesn’t want to feel. He’s no stranger to grief, Mike and it have met many times before. But they were small brushes, not completely consuming like this.
Mike forgets to inhale sometimes, like the feeling has a vice grip around his throat, stopping him from living, from being who he wants to be. It traps him tight, wrapping its poisonous grip around him, spikes protruding from every painful finger. The occasional beat of a song, the color of a shirt, the shade of hair, drives a spike deeper into it, draining him of blood.
Mike’s not sure he can bleed anymore.
This type of grief is torturous, and sometimes, while his roommate dozes off, Mike wonders when it’s going to stop. People say it’ll never stop, but Mike ignores them. Because this has to stop. It has to. Because the grief he feels is a cocktail of destruction and devastation.
Unimaginable misery, longing for things to be different, dreams and this guilt for a reason he can’t quite place, all mixed into one and served to him on a daily basis. It’s toxic. It’s deadly. It might just kill him if he takes another sip.
But Mike downs the drink every day, has been for the past 4 years. Because he deserves it, because it’s his punishment. And maybe he deserves another.
So, Mike gets up and starts to pack. He pulls his suitcase from under the bed and opens his closet. He starts to throw stuff in, not even bothering to fold them. He can feel water peeking out from his eyes. He rubs them violently with a pair of blue socks before throwing them in, and shoving the feeling down.
He downs the drink silently.
—----------------
Mike has been in his fair share of smelly vehicles, but that taxi might just be at the top of his list. A mix of marijuana, molly and something else he doesn’t even know floated around for hours. Mike thinks he ought to get his blood tested just for sitting.
But he pays the man and watches him drive off. He then swivels around to face the house. Nancy wasn’t wrong. It is massive. Like almost Turnbow House massive.
Mike manages to stop himself gawking at the real estate and picks up his suitcase, pushing the door open. His sister is waiting for him on the stairs, hands wringing. She looks just like their mom.
When she catches sight of him, Nancy envelops him in a tight hug. Mike hugs back very lacklusterly.
When she pulls away, she looks disappointed. Mike doesn’t even flinch.
“You’re late. Two hours to be exact. Almost everyone is here.”
“Yeah, I know.” Mike admits shamelessly.
Nancy scoffs. “You could’ve let me know. I was worried about you.”
Mike shrugs. “I’m fine, Nancy.”
Nancy narrows her eyes, ever the detective. She then gives up, retreating upstairs, shouting about rooms or something. Mike absentmindedly yells back a ‘yeah sure’ before a sound outside catches his attention.
He shuffles over to the small window next to the door peeking outside. There’s a car, in decent condition but not new by any means. There’s a guy in the driver’s seat, arm over the side shouting something. The person he’s shouting to must be very funny, because he throws his head back in laughter before driving away.
Mike watches him drive out, before his eyes zone in on the other person.
It’s Will.
Mike’s body freezes up. He practically throws himself away from the window. Serendipitous timing, because right then and there Will Byers walks in, backpack over his shoulder, and a suitcase in his hand. He notices Mike almost immediately.
“Oh. Hi Mike.” Will announces, a lovely smile on his face.
It thaws Mike out a little.
“Hi.” He replies, waving dorkily.
Will then strides towards him, dropping the suitcase and giving him a hug. Mike is stunned for a moment, before he wraps his arms back around Will, giving him the occasional tap.
When they break apart, Will starts to look around.
“Nancy wasn’t kidding when she said this place was nice.” Will jokes. Mike nods, while releasing a practically non-audible ‘yeah’.
There are few awkward seconds between them, all of which Mike wants to personally obliterate, before Will starts up again.
“So, do you wanna go upstairs or…”
Mike startles awake, moving for his stuff.
“Yeah, yeah sure.” He responds as he waits for Will to move up the stairs. When they reach the second floor, there are about 8 or 9 doors in front of them.
“I guess we won’t be short of rooms.” Mike jests. Will acknowledges him with a gesture of the head.
“So we don’t walk in on anything, do you wanna just listen before we enter?”
Will nods. They get to it.
After about 7 doors, they get to the end of the hallway. Mike presses his ear to the door on the left side. It’s quiet.
“Got one.” Him and Will echo simultaneously. Mike turns around to realise that their rooms are opposite each other. Convenient.
“I’m going to retreat to my lair now.” Mike says and he immediately wants to punch himself in the face.
But Will doesn’t pick up on it, and says,
“Yeah, me too. Hopefully I won’t find any dead mythical creatures in here.” He then retreats into his room, closing the door. Leaving Mike standing outside his, like an idiot.
He goes in, throws his stuff on the floor, and tosses himself on the bed.
It’s going to be a long week.
—-------------
About a few hours later, when the sky starts to make its blend of pink and yellow, Robin, declaring herself master of the house, announces that they are all going to a bar. Jim’s or Jake’s or Josh’s, Mike isn’t quite sure what the name is. Steve and Nancy declare themselves designated drivers, with Nancy giving Jonathan a brief look.
After watching Jonathan fight with Robin over the aux, they finally arrive at the club. Mike hasn’t been out a lot in Rhode Island, to his roommate’s chagrin, but he had been out once or twice. He spent most of the time sitting at the bar, watching everyone dance.
And now he seems to be mirroring his behaviour, watching everyone take to the floor, doing some of the shittiest dance moves he has ever seen. But Lucas isn’t half bad, and neither is Max. Dustin is another matter entirely, appearing to do some kind of weird mating dance.
However, Mike decides to be pro-active, he chooses to not sit there like a slug all night long.
He chooses to get wasted.
He’s probably on his 6th drink by now, the taste barely even registerable to his tongue. He’s probably doing this for all the wrong reasons, but his friends are having fun. So why shouldn’t he? Then, all of a sudden Madonna comes blaring in and ruins his entire night.
Mike orders another drink.
He probably looks like he’s shot his liver when Will comes over, and sits on the stool next to him. Mike would usually keep quiet, staying low and out of sight. He never wants to bother Will.
But the alcohol in his system says otherwise.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” He shouts to Will, trying to be heard over the music.
Will turns to him, takes in his current state, and smiles a bit. “Got tired. And besides,” he gestures to Dustin. “I don’t think Dustin needs my help anymore. He’s a natural.”
Mike makes Will jump in his seat with how hard he starts laughing, pounding the bar with his fist. It’s a miracle he manages to swallow the rest of the drink. He slides it back over and asks for another.
Will looks at him with something weird in his eyes.
“Do you get wasted often?”
Mike turns back to him just as he receives the other drink, taking a premature sip. He starts to choke, but waves Will off when he moves to slap him on the back.
“Nah,” Mike coughs. “But when the opportunity presents itself, I see no point in saying no.”
Will makes a hmm in the back of his throat. Mike, stupid as always, presses on.
“Do you get wasted often, Will the Wise?” He asks drunkenly, spilling his drink all over himself. He pinches the fabric of his shirt and tries to collect the drink on his fingers, placing them in his mouth.
Will shakes his head, clearly amused. “No. I don’t really like being drunk. It’s weird.”
Mike nods, pursing his lips like a duck. He takes another comically large sip, almost downing the drink in one go. Will looks incredibly concerned.
“Aren’t you worried that you’ll destroy your liver or something? I don’t know if any of us are matches.” Will proposes, humorously trying to get him to stop.
“Nah. Doesn’t even matter. My best bet is Nancy, and I’m pretty sure she would not give a cube of her liver.” He leans in close to Will, like right next to his ear. “She needs it.” he whispers, “For her journalism.”
He then pulls away, nodding profusely like he just told Will the secrets of the universe. Will appears to be at war with himself, trying so hard not to break into laughter.
As Mike gulps the rest of the drink down, and waves his arms around for one more, Will grabs him, and pulls his arms down. Mike’s attention is immediately taken away.
“Hey,” he soothes, “I don’t think you’ll get on that transplant list if you keep drinking like that, Mike the Brave.”
Mike scoffs, but it comes off like a raspberry.
“No,” he insists. “No, I’ll be fine.” When Will’s face shows slight admonishment, Mike does not back down, inebriated beyond what is normal.
“Come on, Will. I can bribe you.”
“I don’t submit to bribery.”
“I can buy you a drink. You’re probably so annoyed from hearing that. I bet you get that a lot.”
Will goes bright red but it blends in with the lights. Thankfully, Nancy Wheeler steps in and saves the day.
“We’re leaving.” She announces, hands in her pockets.
“Why?” Mike whines. “I’m having fun.”
“Because, Mike. If I have to see Steve flirt with one more person, I will chug a whole bottle of vodka and kill us all.” She looks to Will, hoping that he’ll back her up.
He understands the mission.
“You’ll get the rest. I’ll deal with him.” Nancy nods happily and walks off.
“Hey!” Mike objects. “I am not something to deal with. I’m not like crack or something.”
Will stands up.
“And what would you know about crack, Mike?” He questions, arms crossed.
“I’ve seen things, Will. Really strange things. You wouldn’t believe the shit people get up to at Brown.”
“You can tell me about it when we’re back at the house.” He then moves to throw Mike’s arm over his shoulder.
Mike pulls away, like a child being robbed of their favourite toy. “I don’t wanna leave! They’re actually playing good music for once!”
But Will’s grown surprisingly strong, and suddenly has Mike’s arm over his shoulder, and his arm around Mike's waist, holding him up.
“Mike. Let’s go.” His face is very close to Mike’s. Mike shuts up.
Will walks them out of the bar. Mike does not protest once.
—----------------------
Thankfully, the lights are low, Mike’s bed is very soft, and Will Byers is very gentle.
Will places him on the bed gently, adjusting his arms and legs so he’s comfortable, before throwing a blanket over him.
“You’re so nice.” Mike tells him, having gone from excitable to sleepy in a matter of a car ride.
“Why, thank you.” Will replies. Mike can tell he doesn’t take it seriously. He tries to sit up.
“No, I mean it. You’re really nice. Too nice. To me. I don’t deserve it.”
Will pushes him down by the chest.
“Of course you do, Mike.”
“No, I don’t. You’re gonna have to believe me on this one.”
Will smiles, he then goes to leave but Mike’s wrist shoots out to grab him.
“Mike, it’s like 1 in the morning.” Will protests, but Mike is deaf to it.
“No. You can stay. Please?” Mike puts on his best puppy dog eyes. Will, as always, falls for them.
He sits back down on the bed, right next to Mike’s leg. Mike migrates downwards, now keeping a firm hold on Will’s hand.
“Tell me things.” Mike announces.
“What things?” Will returns teasingly.
Mike rolls his head on the pillow, trying to think of something. It then strikes him in the head like a lightning bolt.
“Tell me about Chicago.”
Will turns to look at him, his mouth slightly open.
“Okay. It’s really cold there.”
“You hate the cold.” Mike reminds him, shaking his hand slightly.
“I know,” Will snorts. “I know I hate the cold, Mike.” Mike shies. Will continues.
“Apart from the cold. I like it there. I like my school. It’s really nice, and the entire place is just beautiful. I’ve never been one for architecture, but the buildings, oh my god, the buildings Mike!”
“Yeah?” Mike questions, spurring Will on. The light in his eyes burns brighter now, it’s practically blinding him.
“Yeah! I mean, I love everything about the place. They’ve got art museums and good coffee shops and, well. It’s just great. My teachers are great too, there’s this one professor in my animation class, and she said that she could get me into the comic book industry if I wanted to. How cool is that?”
“It’s cool. Really cool.” Mike contributes, a big fat smile on his face. Will grins too, looking down at the bed.
There’s silence for a bit. Mike, ever the loudmouth, takes it upon himself to fill it.
“Is that where you met your boyfriend?”
Will’s head shoots straight up, eyes wide. He starts to open his mouth, but Mike cuts in.
“It’s fine, Will.” What, did he think that Mike would be mad or something? Mike is an asshole, but he’s not that much of an asshole. He squeezes Will’s hand tighter. “Tell me.”
Will calms down slightly. Mike can see that. His shoulders droop slightly and he can hear the barely audible breath he takes.
“Yeah. That’s where I met him.”
Mike nods.
“What’s his name?”
For some reason, Will takes a while to answer.
“Connor. His name is Connor.”
Mike hums softly, almost asleep, soothed by Will. But he fights to stay awake.
“That’s a nice name.”
Will laughs lightly. It’s like the room brightens up just a smidge. A low amber hue.
“Yeah, it is. He goes to Northwestern. It’s a thirty minute drive from my place. He’s studying engineering.”
“A man of science,” Mike buts in. “I’m sure Dustin would like him.”
Will laughs again. The room is yellow now.
“I’m not sure you can group in all science people like that Mike, but sure.”
Mike looks at Will, the alcohol removing all his inhibitions, letting him smile at Will so large, he’s afraid Will might reel away from him.
“Is he nice?”
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s really nice. We met at a bar or something, and I spilled my drink on him. He didn’t even get mad, he just said it was okay. I spent the rest of the evening apologising, and he just kept telling me it was okay. And then, when everyone was going home and the bar was packing up, he asked if he could buy me a drink. He had to beg the bartender, like on his knees and everything.” Will’s wearing another smile. It looks good on him.
“I told you. You must get that a lot.”
Will cracks up into laughter. Shoulders shaking, showing all his teeth, kind of laughter. Mike has always loved it when he laughs like that.
And for once in the past four years, Mike finally relaxes, turning his face onto the pillow, still on his back. Sleep crawls onto him, spurred on by the alcohol.
Will, observant as ever, takes notice of this. He gently detaches himself from Mike’s grip, slowly separating them. Mike doesn’t stir that much, so he gently rises from the bed, trying not to make too much noise.
Just before he closes the door, Will sticks his head back in to check on Mike. He still hasn’t moved.
“Goodnight Mike.” Will whispers. He then shuts the door behind him quietly, before going into his own room and getting ready for bed.
A few minutes later, somehow free from the bounds of sleep, Mike shifts in his bed, going to lie on his side.
“Goodnight Will.”