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It was a few years after Will started at NYU that he met Carlton in his favorite little gay bar in the West Village. At the time, he hadn’t really been looking for a relationship. He had moved out of Hawkins a few years ago, away from all the memories of arguing in the rain and going crazy in his best friend’s basement and he had realized Mike was his Tammy a long time ago, but that didn’t make moving on from him any easier.
The bar was warm with body heat, a pleasant contrast to the unusually cold September air outside. Will had never liked it cold—not since he was thirteen and the cold was used to take control of him, to take away his autonomy, something he had fought so hard to gain back. But here, sitting on a stool at the bar, Will had never felt more free. Here, in New York, far away from all the horrors of Hawkins, Will could be his own person. No one knew him here; he had the rare opportunity to be a different person.
Though, if he was being completely honest with himself, Will had no idea why he was here in the first place, or why he continued to come to this bar every Thursday night. He had never enjoyed drinking. Lonnie had ruined it for him; whenever he drank, he worried he would become like him: harsh, cruel, and yelling slurs at a five-year old boy who just wanted to color with his new crayons.
But even though Will rarely actually ordered a drink, he came to the bar just to feel like himself, to feel like he had a place he belonged, a community. It was a miracle he had never been kicked out for taking up space and never ordering anything, but it helped that he came on the least busy night of the week and that he had befriended the bartender, Marty.
On this particular night, there were only about ten people in the bar, including WIll. A group of five was tucked in a table in the corner, laughing loudly, while three others sat alone, staring off into space at their respective tables. Will had always loved coming on Thursday nights because it was so serene, if, albeit, a little sad. Will had his sketchbook out, making a sketch of the only other person at the bar counter, sitting three seats away. He was pretty good looking, Will noted, as he began to draw his nose. It looked a lot like Mike’s; it had the same hook to it, but none of the freckles that had made Mike’s so endearing.
Stop it, he told himself as he shook the thought out of his head. The last thing he needed was the thought of Mike spoiling his good night. Not that Mike could ever truly spoil anything; he always had a special place in Will’s heart, one that Will doubted would ever fully go away, no matter how distant they were growing, but Will didn’t need another reminder of Hawkins. This bar was sacred to him, and he wouldn’t infect it with the sadness and pain he was trying to leave behind.
A movement from the other side of the counter caught Will’s eye. He glanced up from his sketchbook to see the man he was drawing making his way over to him. Slamming his sketchbook shut, he offered a small smile to the man as he slid into the seat next to Will.
“Hi,” he said, grinning in a way that made Will’s stomach flutter. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Will agreed, knowing he would only end up drinking about half. He watched as the mystery man ordered two beers, Marty winking at Will while sliding the drinks down the counter, landing in Will’s hand.
“My name’s Carlton,” he said, grinning again. Even in the dim lighting, Will was easily able to pick out all the similarities between him and Mike. The gentle curl of his hair, the curve of his chin. Will couldn’t tell if he was imagining it or not; sometimes he could swear he saw Mike walking down the street, but it was never him.
Will stopped scanning Carlton’s face for similarities. It wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on Mike, his Tammy, who he had hardly even spoken to since leaving Hawkins. He had never meant for them to drift apart—not on a conscious level, at least. He blinked a few times, ridding the image of Mike from his eyes.
“I’m Will,” he said, avoidantly taking a sip of beer, not sure how to hold a conversation with someone he had just met. Conversation had never been his strong suit; it was why Mike usually did the talking for both of them when they were kids.
“So, you’re a student at NYU, right? I think I’ve seen you on campus,” Carlton said, eyes glowing in the dim lighting.
“Yeah, I’m a Studio Art major. What about you? You’re at NYU?” Will asked, slowly becoming more comfortable in the conversation.
“I am, yeah, English major,” Carlton said, making Will’s blood run cold. He shoved the thoughts of another person he knew who was an English major out of his mind.
“What’s that like?” Will asked, genuinely curious. He pretended his interest was due to wanting to get to know the handsome person sitting in front of him, pushing away the truth.
It was disturbing to Will that his mind kept going back to Mike, Mike, Mike even after all these years. He had left Hawkins so many years ago, and hadn’t been back since his parents moved out to Montauk. He hadn’t seen Mike in almost as long; save for Lucas, Mike had practically cut off all contact with the Party once they graduated. And it had hurt at the time, more than it should have. But Will had thought the pain had finally subsided. So why, why know, was Mike infecting Will’s mind like a virus? Why now, when he finally had a shot at being with someone else?
“Well,” Carlton began, “It’s a lot of reading books. Most of them are pretty great, so I’m not a big fan of my literary criticism class; I don’t really have much to criticize about them.”
Will laughed lightly, suddenly put at ease. There it was; the thing that would separate Carlton and Mike. Mike would have loved to criticize books. He would have loved to call them simple or stupid like he had done with every book they read in middle school.
He’s not dead, Will, he reminded himself. He was acting like Mike had died instead of just grown apart.
“Anyway, what’s being an Art major like? I don’t think I know anyone else who does it.”
Will thought for a second. “Well, I spend a lot of time working on projects for my Senior Studio. It’s pretty draining, having to be painting all the time, but I enjoy it,” Will said, hoping Carlton wouldn’t ask for any additional details.
“What do you paint?”
Will tried to keep himself from grimacing. “Mostly just me and my friends from high school. I’ve been painting them for so long, it’s sort of like muscle memory at this point. I paint my family a lot—my mom, brother, stepdad, and my sister,” he explained, regretting the mention of El.
“You have siblings?”
Jesus, he’s inquisitive.
“Yeah.”
“That’s cool. I have an older brother, but I always wanted a sister. Do you get along well with yours?” Carlton asked innocently. Will felt bad for resenting him for the comment; there was no way he could have known about what had happened, how he had no idea whether his sister was dead or alive. But Will felt his eyes well up and his throat constrict as a single tear rolled down his face.
“Oh, God, sorry, did I say something wrong?” Carlton asked worriedly as he placed a hand on Will’s shoulder.
“No, you’re fine,” Will choked out. “My sister died a few years back.”
Carlton’s eyes widened with sympathy, but he said nothing.
“Sorry, I just made things awkward, didn’t I?” Will laughed a little bit, attempting to shrug off his pain.
“No, of course not. I’m sorry I asked. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Will smiled slightly. “It’s okay, really.”
The two sat in companionable silence for a second, Carlton’s hand still resting on Will’s shoulder. It was comforting, to have someone show that they cared. The last time he had felt comforted like this, he was sitting on an upside down couch in Hopper’s cabin with—
“Maybe this isn’t the greatest time,” Carlton began, cutting off Will’s train of thought before it could cause him too much pain. “But I really like you, and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out sometime?”
Will's stomach did a flip that didn’t feel like butterflies, the way he had felt with his childlike crush on Mike, but it didn’t feel bad either. And he had to admit, he missed feeling comforted by someone’s touch, he missed feeling warm and mushy inside every time that someone opened their mouth.
“I’d love to,” Will said, receiving an encouraging smile from Marty, who had been not-so-subtly eavesdropping on their entire conversation.
“Do you want to go to Alexei’s? Tomorrow night at seven, maybe?” Carlton asked, removing his hand from Will’s shoulder and fidgeting with his sleeve, as if Will was going to take back his agreement if he suggested the wrong restaurant.
“Sounds good,” Will agreed, taking one last sip of beer. “I do have to leave now though, my brother invited me over for a movie night at his apartment.”
Carlton nodded. “Of course. See you tomorrow,” he grinned as Will turned to leave a bar, the feeling in his stomach that he had when he was talking to Carlton was beginning to feel more like nausea than excitement.
Will knocked on the door to Jonathan’s apartment and stood waiting outside for a few seconds before knocking again, not sure Jonathan had heard him over how loudly he was blasting The Clash. Will could hear it from outside, and was immediately plunged into a fit of nostalgia when he recognized Should I Stay Or Should I Go playing inside.
“Hold your horses, I’m coming,” Jonathan called, opening the door and wrapping Will up into a tight hug.
“Good to see you, it’s been a while,” Jonathan said, slowly releasing Will.
“It’s been a week, Jonathan,” Will sighed.
“But you never call,” Jonathan insisted.
“Yeah, because I saw you last week.”
Jonathan sighed. “Fine. Come on in.”
Jonathan’s apartment reminded him so much of his childhood home that whenever he set foot in it, he would forget that he was in the middle of New York City. Jonathan shared Joyce’s interior design taste, and he was transported back to Hawkins whenever he came over.
Jonathan flopped down on the couch, turning on some sort of artsy movie that Will was sure he wasn’t going to like.
“So, how’s the first month of your senior year been going?” Jonathan asked, eyes glued on the screen but clearly still interested in what Will had to say.
“Good,” Will replied simply. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I have a date tomorrow.”
Jonathan sat up straighter and turned to look at Will.
“That’s amazing, Will,” he said excitedly. “With who?” Jonathan asked, as if he could possibly know anyone Will would be going out with.
“His name is Carlton,” Will said. “He’s an English major.”
Jonathan narrowed his eyes so slightly that anyone who didn’t know Jonathan as well as Will wouldn’t notice.
“What?” Will asked sharply.
“I didn’t say anything!” Jonathan insisted, raising his hands in defense.
“What is it, Jonathan? You don’t even know him, how could you possibly have found something wrong with him already?”
Jonathan frowned. “It’s just…are you sure you’re not using him to try and replace—”
“Seriously?” Will asked, slightly offended, although he knew that Jonathan may have had a point. “Jonathan, that was five years ago. Just because he’s an English major doesn’t mean I’m trying to find another Mike.”
Jonathan sighed, gluing his eyes back to the screen. “Fine. If you say so.”
“I do.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Will.”
Will smiled sadly. “Thank you for looking out for me. I appreciate it, I really do, but I can make my own choices.”
“Okay. I trust you,” Jonathan replied simply.
Will called Max before his date. Max was much more excited than Will had been expecting.
“Oh, this is awesome! You finally got over Wheeler!” she said loudly over the phone.
“Wait, what?” Will asked.
“You were obsessed with him for such a long time, I’m glad you’re moving on.”
“Woah, wait, Max, I’ve been over him for a while now. Like, a long while.” Will insisted.
“Mhm, sure. And you’ve never dated anyone until now?”
“Yeah,” Will replied slowly. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You couldn’t date someone until you got over him.”
“Jesus, Max, I’ve been over him for such a long time.”
Max stayed quiet on the other end, but Will could tell she was biting back a laugh.
“Maybe I’m going to regret asking this, but do you know how he’s doing?” Will asked reluctantly, bracing himself for Max’s laughter.
Instead, however, she just sighed. “Not really. Lucas could probably tell you more than I can, but last I heard he was still writing but he wasn’t really loving the University of Chicago.”
Will sighed. “I hope he’s doing better.”
Max groaned. “Why are we still talking about Mike? You’re going on a date tonight, Byers!”
Will smiled. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Will’s first date with Carlton was pretty similar to their meeting at the bar; it was a lot of getting to know each other and Carlton lightly brushing Will’s fingers, sending adrenaline through Will. It was nice. Really nice. It wasn’t something Will thought he would ever have, not until he met Robin and Vickie all those years ago.
As the days went on, Will found himself spending more time with Carlton. They’d have picnics in Washington Square Park, stealing kisses when no one else was around, and spending more time at Will’s bar where Marty would stare at them fondly as they held hands and as Carlton stared fondly at Will as he drew him.
Will felt great whenever he was around Carlton; he was easy to talk to, and seemed to genuinely care about whatever Will had to say, even if it was something as silly as Will explaining one of the Party’s old DnD campaigns.
Even so, it wasn’t what he had been expecting from having a boyfriend. He thought it would be like fireworks every time they kissed, jolts of electricity every time they locked hands. But it wasn’t—it left something to be desired. A spark was missing from their relationship, but maybe it was all just in Will’s head. Carlton seemed perfectly happy, so Will pushed his feelings aside. Maybe this was it. Maybe Will had just built up the idea of having a boyfriend in his head so much that nothing would ever live up to it. He shouldn’t be greedy, shouldn’t expect anything more from Carlton. After all, this was the first time he had been somewhat happy in a long time.
As September gave way to October, leaves turning from green to yellow, Will found himself spending more time in his bar—his and Carlton’s bar. He was usually there three times a week, still never ordering anything more than the occasional beer. It was warmer than being outside, and usually a good place for Will to do some sketching or planning for future projects.
On one of these October days, Will was sitting, sketching out a flower that was beginning to look more like a Demogorgon head than the spring blossom it was supposed to resemble. Suddenly, he was startled by cold hands on his shoulders. Whipping around, he saw Carlton with a bright smile on his face.
“Hey,” Will said, smiling and bringing Carlton in for a kiss. “You seem like you’re in a good mood.”
Carlton nodded. “I finally finished this awful book we were reading for my Literary Criticism class. I think it was the first one I’ve read at NYU that I’ve ever hated.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re done with it,” Will smiled, bringing Carlton in for another kiss, relishing the sweet moment they were having together.
“Wait, hold on, sorry babe,” Carlton said, pulling away and staring at someone just past Will. “One of the guys from my class is here, I want to get his opinion on the book.”
Will nodded as Carlton walked away towards a table behind Will’s usual seat at the counter. Opening his sketchbook, Will began trying to draw, with little success. He was having terrible artist’s block. After a few minutes of staring at the blank page, Will turned around to see if he could gently coax Carlton into coming back so he could draw him. His eyes landed on the back of Carlton's head before drifting down to see the person he’s talking to, sitting in a booth and holding a bottle of beer, though he doesn’t seem to be drinking from it.
“Oh my fucking God,” Will said, trying to whisper, but he must have said it loud enough to draw attention to himself, because the next thing he knows, he’s locked eyes with Carlton’s classmate.
His hair is longer, curlier, past his chin but not quite brushing his shoulder. He’s dressed differently too—no longer in the striped shirts of their youth, but instead in a bright blue button up shirt tucked into a dark pair of jeans. His eyes are brighter than they were the last time Will saw him, his cheeks rosier.
If it had been anyone else from Hawkins, Will wouldn’t have recognized him. But it wasn’t anyone else from Hawkins.
It’s Mike.
“Will?” Mike asked softly, and Will felt his heart stutter.
“Wait, you two know each other?” Carlton asked, eyes darting between the two of them.
Will slides out from his chair, slowly and involuntarily making his way towards Mike, being guided by his heart rather than his head. “Mike? What are you doing here?”
Out of all the possibilities Will had come up with about him and Mike someday meeting again, in a gay bar a few blocks away from Will’s college was not one one of them.
“Getting a drink?” Mike replied, a questioning tone invading the statement.
“That’s not what I mean. I mean, what are you doing here?” Will asked, gesturing wildly as to refer to both the bar and New York.
“You had plenty of opportunities to call and ask how I was doing, and when you happen to run into me you suddenly want a detailed explanation?”
Will narrowed his eyes, trying to read Mike’s emotions like he used to be able to. Clearly, that talent had been lost to time and distance.
“I don’t owe you an explanation, Will, not after you stopped calling.”
Will threw his hands up in exasperation. “What the fuck are you talking about, Mike? You were the one who distanced yourself after El died, not me. I tried to reach out to you after I left, but you wouldn’t talk to me. You would only talk to Lucas. I was worried about you and you shut me out when we left.”
Mike sighed. “Let’s talk about this outside, yeah? Away from your boyfriend?” he asked, a bitter tone on the word ‘boyfriend’,
Will shot Carlton an apologetic look.
“Will, what is going on? I came here to spend time with you.”
Will closed his eyes in an attempt to make everything go away; the bar, Mike, Carlton, the last three years, but it was all still there when he opened them again, Carlton looking at him expectantly.
“I have to deal with my Tammy,” Will said.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Carlton asked, his anger apparent in his tone.
“I just have to deal with this. I’ll explain later,” Will said, turning on his heels, grabbing Mike by the arm and dragging him out the door into the chill of the October wind.
“Jesus, Will,” Mike said, stunned at Will’s somewhat excessive force.
“No!” Will exclaimed. “Don’t ‘Jesus, Will’ me. Not after everything. Not after you promised to still be my best friend and then disappeared when things got rough. Not after we haven’t spoken in for more than a few minutes at a time in years. And especially not after you show up in my city when you should be in Chicago and not after you show up in my favorite gay bar, of all the places in the city. So don’t ‘Jesus, Will’ me, because you have some explaining to do.”
Will hadn’t meant to explode on Mike, but it all came pouring out. Years worth of suppressed feelings were now laid out on the concrete sidewalk in front of them, and Mike was staring at Will with a pained look on his face.
Mike sighed sadly. “You’re right. I do owe you an explanation.”
Will’s eyebrows furrowed; he hadn’t expected to get an explanation out of Mike so easily. That was another thing that had changed. He wasn’t as stubborn as he used to be.
“Even before El died, we were distant. And that wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I was trying to suppress my feelings, and I thought that maybe if I stayed away from you, I’d be able to.”
Wait, what?
“I loved El—I still do love El. That’s not ever going to change. But what I realized, even before she sacrificed herself, was that I didn’t love her romantically. Not the way I loved you.”
Will felt his breath hitch.
“I love El, but when I lost her, I felt like I had lost a sister, the way I would have felt if Holly hadn’t made it out. But it was never like that with you. When you disappeared, I felt like I lost a part of myself. And I’ve been working every day to get that part back, but for a long time, I thought that if I just ignored my feelings, ignored how much I loved you, I could finally please my parents. I could make them proud of me. I could be the person that El and Hopper and my family wanted me to be.
“But it doesn’t work like that. And I know that now, but by the time I came to terms with it, by the time I realized that who I was wasn’t a bad thing, you were already gone. I was late, and I missed my chance. And I was all alone in Chicago, not far enough away from Hawkins to ever escape everything I went through, everything we all went through. And I finished my junior year, and I realized I wasn’t happy there. I was writing, but it wasn’t any good, because the person who was always there to encourage me, to inspire me,” Mike said, staring into Will’s eyes, “was 700 miles away.
“So I transferred. I came to New York where I could be far away from everything that hurt, and I enrolled in NYU and I was happier. I didn’t think you’d want to see me, so I didn’t call. But just knowing that at any given moment, you were only a few miles away, that was everything I needed. And then one of my friends recommended this bar to me because he thought that finding someone would make me just a little bit happier and help me get over you. And,” Mike said with a small chuckle, “Now I’m here.”
Will was quiet for a moment as Mike stared at the ground, anxiously fidgeting with his hands. “What would make you think I didn’t want to see you?” Will asked quietly.
“You never called.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” Will admitted.
“What would make you think that?” Mike asked, a small, sad smile on his face.
The two stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Only the sounds of honking cars and the fluttering of pigeon wings were audible.
“I missed my chance,” Mike said somberly, looking back down at the ground again. “I can leave now. You’re happy with Carlton—I don’t want to ruin that. So I’ll just…go,” Mike said, putting his hands in his pockets and turning to walk away.
“Wait,” Will called. “You’re wrong.”
Mike turned to look at him curiously.
“You’re wrong,” Will repeated. “I’m not happy. Not with him. Every time we’re together, I only see you. It’s your face I see when I kiss him. But it’s never you. It’s just…” Will trailed off, floundering for the right words. “He’s just an imitation of you. I’m never as happy with him as I was just being your friend, I never feel butterflies or fireworks. He’s not you.”
Mike sighed. “Even so, he loves you. I can’t do anything about that. I’m sorry I missed my chance.”
Will’s common sense seemed to leave his body for a moment, just as it has always done when it comes to Mike, because Will suddenly found himself heading back into the bar, with Mike calling after him. Carlton stood up from the booth looking at Will with concern.
“Is everything okay?” Carlton asked, but something about his tone suggests that he doesn’t want to know the answer.
Will was quiet for a moment, trying to coax his brain into coming up with a coherent way to phrase this. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.
“It’s him, isn’t it? The one you told me about from Hawkins who was your best friend? The one who broke your heart?”
“Carlton, I’m so sorry,” Will began, before he was cut off by Carlton.
“Hey, it’s okay. It didn’t feel like things were working out between us anyway. The second you locked eyes, I could see how much you loved him.”
“I really am sorry. I wanted things to work out,” Will insisted, wrapping his arms loosely around Carlton for a hug.
“I’m glad you’re getting a second chance. If it doesn’t work, call me. But based on the way he looks at you,” Carlton said, smiling weakly. “I’d say it’s going to work out.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Will said, squeezing one of Carlton’s hands before exiting the bar.
“What the hell, Will, what—” Mike began, his face flustered, but he was cut off by Will’s lips making contact with his. It’s rough and messy and desperate, and it’s everything Will has ever needed. He’s been waiting for this since he was twelve, maybe even longer.
Suddenly, Mike pulled away. “Wait, what about—”
Will shook his head.
“Sorry, I really didn’t mean to mess anything up,” Mike said, staring at Will with what Nancy had trademarked as his ‘sad puppy dog eyes’ when they were kids.
“You didn’t mess anything up, Mike,” Will said, cupping Mike’s face with his hands. “You have made my life so much better, ever since I met you. And I’m glad we got a second chance.”
This time, Mike is the one initiating the kiss, putting his hands on Will’s waist. Will’s hands found their way to Mike’s hair, lightly tugging at his curls the way he had always wanted to.
If only sixteen-year old me could see me now, Will thought through the haze of exhilaration. This was fireworks, this was the electricity, the spark, this…Mike, was everything he had ever needed. As long as Will had Mike, as long as he could live in this giddy, first kiss haze, he would have everything he ever needed.