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For a long time, things are normal.
It’s easy to forget, when the barrage of life doesn’t stop. When bachelor’s degrees become master’s become doctorate’s. When everyone is moving all across the country like pieces of a chess game and one day Will wakes up and realizes he doesn’t know where so-and-so is right now. The distractions seep into the cracks of life and slowly but surely push out the dark, dark memories of a place few call home anymore.
1999 brings change and fear, but that of the normal variety. Steve and Robin become fervent believers in the apocalypse that will surely be brought about by the switching of clocks to the year 2000. They call it Y2K, and no amount of explanation from Dustin cures them of their paranoia.
For Will, the change is much more real and much more affecting. Jonathan, after working with a film studio in New York for the last couple years since his graduation from NYU, has decided to move to Boston to work a much higher-paid position with much more creative freedom. He and Nancy are going in on a brownstone on an apartment in the south end as ‘roommates’.
“I don’t want to live with some stranger,” Jonathan had explained to Will, definitively keeping his eyes averted. “Nancy and I live well together, we already know that. It’s smarter than taking a risk.”
“You call each other literally every day,” Will pointed out skeptically.
“Not any more than you and her brother,” Jonathan retorted, before clapping his mouth and shuffling away from the conversation regretfully.
It was true. Mike and Will are, if anything, closer than they’d been in Hawkins. After the events of their junior year, it had been Will that he turned to for comfort, Will that he sought out in those dark moments of crushing distress. Now, with a thousand miles of distance between them, it was still the same. Simply over the phone rather than in Mike’s bed.
In fact, as he walks into his apartment fresh off a run to the market to grab ingredients for his dinner with Lucas and Max that evening, the ring of the telephone silences the goings-on of the crisp October day outside.
Will knows it’s Mike. He can always tell, somehow.
“Hi,” he says after removing it from the receiver, so confident in his guess that he doesn’t even introduce himself.
Sure enough, the decades-old familiarity of Mike’s voice is what greets him. “Hi,” he says, and Will can hear a grin on his mouth. That’s good. There were years where it felt like Mike had completely forgotten his humor, his quickness to laugh. “What’s going on with you?”
“Just got back from Union Square,” Will explains, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he goes to put the groceries away. “Gotta get cooking soon but I have a little bit of time. What’s up?”
“Oh yeah. That’s tonight,” Mike says airily, seemingly avoiding Will’s question. “You in charge of the cake?”
“No, he’s got some pretty specific requirements so he practically begged to do it himself,” laughs Will. He places the food in the fridge, mentally computing how long he can give himself to talk to Mike before he actually has to start preparing stuff. “But I’m sure Max has a few surprises up her sleeve. We’re gonna make it a special night, don’t worry. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
“I wish I could be there,” sighs Mike, but again there’s the airiness from before. As if he were putting on a facade of affectedness. Like he’s hiding something.
Will pauses, quirking an eyebrow. “What?” he demands.
“What?” comes the forcedly innocent voice of Mike Wheeler.
Will leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “There’s something you aren’t telling me,” he insists, hating that even as he’s interrogating his friend, he can’t stop the fond smile from spreading across his face and into his voice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“Mike,” Will insists. “Come on.”
There’s a sigh of acquiescence on the other end of the line. “Alright,” Mike says, sarcastically defeated. “Hey. The number’s still 507, right?”
Will raises his eyebrow. “My apartment number?”
“Yeah.”
And suddenly, a chill of understanding races down Will’s neck and spine. He claps a hand to his mouth before dragging it down his face and racing over to the window. “Mike,” he says, voice dropping into something serious and urging. “You’re kidding.”
His worst fears come true a moment later when he makes contact with the glassy phone booth across the street and sees the unmistakable flop of dark hair accompanying a frustratingly corny grin.
It feels like the week he got food poisoning only ten times worse. “You’re kidding,” he repeats, barely above a whisper.
The tiny Mike-shaped figure offers a wave. At the same time, the voice on the line says, “Couldn’t be more serious if I tried. I’ll be inside soon.”
“Jesus Christ,” mutters Will as the connection clicks to a halt.
It’s only a few seconds later that he sees something that nearly brings him to his knees. Another figure, dressed in sharp business attire, is walking up the sidewalk. He’s got flowers in his hands and a cheery disposition on his face.
He may as well have been punched in the chest. “Jesus Christ,” he repeats, before pushing himself away from the mirror and dashing back to the receiver.
He punches a familiar number in and only has to wait through a singular round of ringing before it goes through.
“Hello?” Max asks, her pleasant and relaxed tone standing in direct contrast to the genuine hurricane currently gathering in Will’s chest. “This is Mayfield AutoParts. How can I help you?”
“Max,” whispers Will. “I messed up.”
He can almost hear her disposition change. “You messed up?” she demands. “How?”
“Mike is here. He’s in New York about to walk into my apartment. Did you know he was coming?” Will asks desperately. He glances fervently at the door, convinced that at any moment all sides of his world are going to come crashing in on him at once.
Max sucks in a breath. “No. No, I didn’t. I’m sorry Will.”
“It’s fine, it’s just that Carl apparently got off work early and is headed home with a bouquet of goddamn roses and…and…” he exposits, trailing off at the end as the panic threatens to overtake him.
He hears Max curse. “Shit,” she exclaims. “Okay. Okay. It’s been a slow day, so I’ll just let Lacey cover until closing. Lucas and I will be there as soon as possible. Just. Probably cakeless.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Will promises, already sorting through ways to get Lucas his birthday dessert despite the quickly gathering chaos. “I love you Max. Thank you. Thank you.”
“I love you too,” she affirms. “Now go juggle your boyfriends.”
It should strike fear in his heart, but coming from Max, he can’t help but feel comforted. A fraction of the anxiety is lifted as he hands up the phone and composes himself, tugging on his shirt nervously and mentally bracing for the coming impact.
Thirty seconds later, there’s a knock on the door, followed quickly by a muffled, “Oh, I didn’t realize you were Will’s roommate.”
He wraps his arms around himself. Watches as a key twists in the lock and the door swings open. Tries to appear as excited and normal as possible.
“Hi,” he offers apologetically to both men on the other side of the doorway.
“Will,” exclaims Mike happily, wasting no time in clearing the distance between them and wrapping him in a tight, encompassing embrace. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming sooner. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I guess I didn’t think about the logistics. I’ve just stayed over so many times that I figured it wouldn’t be an issue.”
“It’s fine,” Will offers gently, unable to resist lingering in the hug for just a moment longer, his nose bumping against the fabric of Mike’s sweater. “I’m happy you’re here.”
Now comes the moment of truth. Before Will can explain to his friend, though, Mike opens his mouth again.
“I met your roommate in the elevator,” he explains, gesturing behind him at Carl. “I thought the flowers were for a girlfriend, but I guess they’re just to spruce your place up. Unless she’s coming over later. Or he’s heading out.”
Will grimaced, eyes finding Carl. He hopes he conveys the apology well enough for the man to understand.
“Um,” he says quietly. “This is Carl. He…well, he isn’t giving the flowers to a girlfriend. He’s giving them to me.”
No flicker of understanding shines behind his friend’s eyes.
Will sighs, disentangling himself from Mike’s arms and walking over to Carl’s side. “This is Carlton,” he says hesitantly. “And he’s…he’s my boyfriend.”