Work Text:
When Will had called him in tears, Mike hadn’t so much decided to drive up to New York. It was more like he blacked out while murmuring words of comfort over the phone and then woke up on the highway early the next morning with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and a burning sensation in his stomach.
What am I doing?
He hadn’t even told Will he was coming. What if Will didn’t want to see him? What if Mike’s presence would only remind him of the horrors of the past?
It’s only been a few months. It’s not like you haven’t talked to him at all and you’re suddenly trying to worm your way back into his life after months of assholery. It’s not like in California.
He wouldn’t have called if he didn’t want to talk.
So yeah, it was probably okay for Mike to be driving down, but what if it wasn’t? He should’ve at least given some warning, some explanation. Where was he even supposed to sleep that night? With Will and his boyfriend Carlton? As if.
It was okay. He would find a hotel. That he could afford. In New York. At the last possible second. It was doable. It was fine.
What if he’s different? What if he’s changed?
Hypocrite. Imagine how he felt when you came to Lenora.
This isn’t like that. It’ll never be like that ever again. I’m not going to hurt him anymore. I’m not oblivious. I’m gonna be careful. Gentle. Like I used to be. Before everything changed. Before I started to be too careful, because I was so scared of everything. Before I tried to run away and hide, like a coward. Before I left him alone.
He was passing through a quaint coastal town, now. The boardwalk was beautiful, but mostly empty due to the chilly late-November weather. The street he was driving down was clearly a center of activity, full of souvenir and surf shops, tiny local seafood restaurants, and ice cream parlors that reminded him pleasantly of Scoops Ahoy.
Mike rolled down his window and breathed in, slowly. The car was getting stuffy, and he was tired of his music and the hum of the engine and the sound of his own thoughts.
He wanted to pull over, and ideally to vomit, but he doubted his body would be able to do that for him just yet.
He saw a flower shop. Yes, a motherfucking bitchass fuckass flower shop. Florence’s Flowers, it was called. How lame was that?
He was really, really, really tired of his own thoughts.
You’re pathetic, Mike. Did I mention that?
Will does not want flowers. You do not need to stop and purchase flowers. You can find any other place to park and stretch your legs.
Once again, it was not a conscious choice. He simply found himself parallel parked on the side of the street and walking into Florence’s.
Once again, what the fuck am I doing?
Will doesn’t need gifts, he needs emotional support. Actually, he probably doesn’t even need that. I’m probably wildly overreacting. He probably doesn’t need me for anything at all.
For some reason, Mike didn’t find these thoughts to be comforting. They only increased his misguided conviction. He walked out with a small bouquet of yellow lilies - a nice, safe, casual, platonic, just-thinking-of-you-and-that-time-in-the-airport-when-I-brought-my-girlfriend-flowers-and-brought-you-nothing-and-couldn’t-even-hug-you type of flower. It was definitely going to send the right message.
Mike slammed his car door shut, frustrated with himself, and sat staring out the front windshield for a few moments. The town was nice, truly - he just wished he could appreciate the scenery without the irritation of his own racing thoughts. Accepting that he wasn’t going to calm down, he shifted the car into gear and resolved to keep moving.
He stopped only thrice more on the road to New York - once to pee at a gas station, once to pee at a Wendy’s, and once to pee and eat three cheeseburgers at a different Wendy’s.
He had the address to Will’s apartment, which he shared with three roommates. The one Mike had heard about in the most detail was of course Carlton, but the two girls they lived with, Sal and Lindsey, both sounded nice. Mike suspected that Sal and Lindsey were actually a couple, but Will always danced around the details of that dynamic - and the details of his own dynamic with Carlton - whenever he talked to Mike on the phone. Even though he had come out to everyone, Will still seemed pretty uncomfortable discussing queerness even as a concept. Mike supposed that was understandable - he, for one, was absolutely scared to even think too much about words like “gay” or “lesbian.” They’d only ever been weaponized, used against them as insults by Troy and his goons in middle school and Andy and his goons in high school. The fun never ended. Even when Will had come out, he’d never said “I’m gay.” He’d said, “I don’t like girls,” and hoped that everyone could figure out the rest. Everything was still so hard and complicated. Why was it like that? Mike wished Will knew that whatever words he used, for anything, he was still Will. Mike wouldn’t see him any differently. Unless he wanted to be seen differently in some way or something.
What?
I don’t know. I mean clearly all he wants now is to be friends, if even that. I just want him to know how much I love and respect him and how brave I think he is and how proud I am of him and how much I wish I could be brave and honest like him -
Stop. You can’t do this right now. I can’t do this right now.
Anyway, Will seemed reluctant to divulge too much about the relationships in his life. The only information Mike had been given, really, was that Will and Carlton started dating recently and were keeping it a secret from everyone except Sal and Lindsey.
I don’t know if he’d even want me telling you yet, Will had said, and I probably should’ve asked, but . . . I was scared to, and . . . I just thought that you’d . . . I thought you should know. I also told Robin, by the way. That’s it so far. Probably it for a while.
That was the second-to-last call. The one before . . . before last night.
Mike climbed the steps to the third floor of the apartment complex, lilies in a vice-like grip in his left hand, paper directions to Will’s apartment in his right. The blank numbness that had overtaken him between Will’s phone call and his drive to New York was once again covering him like thick gauze. He was acting without thought. This was good, honestly. Thoughts were scary. He rang the doorbell.
A young woman with curly blond hair poked her head around the door.
“Hey!” she said brightly. “How can I help you?”
“Hey,” Mike said, slotting his hands into his pockets. “I’m looking for Will Byers, is he here? I’m one of his friends from high school.”
I’m one of his friends from high school. I’m holding flowers. I came here unannounced and I woke up at 4:00 AM to do it and I look like shit.
“Oh, Will? He’s out with Carlton right now, I think they’re at Julius’.”
“Julius’?”
“It’s a bar - I’ll give you directions, let me go get a pen.”
A bar? Will? My Will? At a bar?
Not my Will, actually. That’s technically incorrect terminology. So sure, he could be at a bar.
“I’m Lindsey, by the way,” the woman called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the apartment and Mike hovered awkwardly in the doorway.
Lindsey returned swiftly with directions to Julius’ on a piece of paper, which Mike stacked on top of the one with Will’s address.
“Mike,” he said, shaking Lindsey’s hand. “Thanks for your help,” he added as he turned to go.
“No problem,” Lindsey replied. “Oh, and Mike-”
“Yeah?”
“If you see him, just . . . he was acting weird yesterday. I’d appreciate if you could check up on him. He doesn’t talk about stuff, you know . . . a lot . . .”
Mike gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “That’s what I came here to do,” he said. “To make sure he’s okay.”
“Yeah, awesome. Thank you,” said Lindsey gratefully.
Funding Julius’ wasn’t difficult. It was loud, and bright, and scary, and somehow still seemed excessively sophisticated. If Mike had thought it strange that Will would be in a bar, he found it extra strange that he had chosen this bar.
He began to have a sneaking suspicion that Will hadn’t been the one doing the choosing.
That’s stupid. You don’t know anything about him or his life anymore. You don’t get to see him every day. He’s growing, and changing, and branching out, and that’s good. Maybe bars are his scene now. Maybe fancy bars with gold toilets are his scene now. Maybe going to fancy bars with gold toilets with stuck-up guys named Carlton is-
Stop.
He made his way inside, shocked at how easy it was. Maybe the stars were aligning, and fate was in his favor, and he was meant to be here tonight.
You wish.
He saw Will’s slightly tousled brown hair from a mile away. He was sitting at the bar on one of those spinny little stools, very very close to another guy who Mike unfortunately had to assume was
Carlton.
Mike’s heart pounded. He willed it to slow down, to be quiet, but it had never listened to him before, so why should it start today?
Actually, that wasn’t true. He used to be pretty good at controlling his emotions. Telling stories. Feeding himself comfortable lies. Calming down. Behaving normally.
When did that all go out the window? Did it ever?
He approached Will from behind with equal parts excitement and dread. Will turned around and locked eyes with him when he was just a few feet away, and Mike swore he saw a million emotions flicker across his cleric’s face within the span of a second - confusion, disbelief, hope, relief, fear - he was so close, and then he stopped. Because Carlton was talking.
“You’re still doing it wrong,” he was saying. “You’re cute, but you’re wrong.” He laughed, and the sound made Mike want to punch a wall. Then, Will laughed amicably along, slightly forced, slightly strangled, and Mike wanted to blow up the entire fucking building. That wasn’t Will. That wasn’t his laugh. Something was hurting him.
Stop being crazy. He’s not your Will anymore. He never was. He’s always been his own person, and now he’s a different person, and that’s okay too. He’s fine. Look at him. He’s completely fine.
The way his voice kept breaking on the phone indicated otherwise.
“Here, I’ll show you,” Carlton was saying, taking something from Will’s hands. It took Carlton a solid ten seconds to realize that Will was no longer paying attention to his demonstration and had turned back around to see if Mike was really there.
Yeah, it’s me, Mike thought defiantly.
I’m here. And I’m holding flowers. And I’ve been up since 4. And I might be about to murder a real human being. Sue me.
“Mike,” Will breathed.
Mike’s murderous thoughts instantly dissolved into a pile of warm slush.
Carlton finally turned his oblivious ass around in his stupid little barstool and followed Will’s eyes over to where Mike stood.
Mike gave Will a smile and a hesitant little wave, before looking Carlton dead in the eye and walking over the rest of the way, closing the distance between them.
He stood there glaring for what felt like a sufficiently intimidating amount of time.
“Hey,” he said softly to Will, finally breaking eye contact with Carlton.
“Hi,” Will squeaked.
Carlton cleared his throat. “Erm, care to introduce me to your friend here?”
Will swallowed. “Um, Mike, this is Carlton-” he looked to his left questioningly, waiting for confirmation, and Carlton performed some mixture of a hand-wave and a shrug. Do what you will.
“-my . . . boyfriend.” Will smiled as he said it, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was true.
“Carlton, this is . . .”
Will turned his head and stretched out an arm, gesturing to Mike. Mike could’ve sworn that Will spent a few seconds just looking at him, up and down, seeing if it was really him, taking him in for who and where he was now.
“Mike. This is my friend Mike.”
Mike had been acting fairly normal and nonthreatening so far, so he was pleased to note that Carlton already looked very upset.
I haven’t even done anything. He already looks like I ran over his dog with a monster truck.
The feeling of triumph didn’t last for long, because unfortunately, Carlton was actually kind of scary. Mike did not want to be in trouble with this man.
He tucked the bouquet of lilies surreptitiously behind him and went in for a very normal, bro-like one-armed hug.
“Good to see you, man,” he said to Will.
“Yeah, you too.” Will grinned. It seemed genuine.
“So, what brings you out here?” Carlton asked, sipping his drink in a very intimidating manner.
“I was just looking for Will.” Mike tried to keep his voice calm and even. Carlton didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing Mike was scared. “I thought maybe we could . . . catch up? I guess? There’s been a lot going on, and I miss talking to him.” Mike looked over and elbowed him playfully in the shoulder.
Will flushed and looked away.
Oh, yeah no, it’s still him.
Same old Will.
Thank god.
“Obviously I can come back another time if I’m interrupting your date,” Mike added quickly, “or we could all hang out somewhere together! Just let me know what you want to do,” he said, addressing Will.
Carlton cleared his throat. “I think that maybe you should come back another time. Shouldn’t he, Will? Maybe you can stop by the apartment tomorrow.” Mike hadn’t exactly been asking for Carlton’s opinion, and he didn’t appreciate the way he’d answered on Will’s behalf, but other than that his proposal seemed reasonable enough.
Mike really, truly got up to leave. Really, honest to god, he did. But when he saw the sheer visceral panic in Will’s eyes, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Will uttered a single sound of distress that echoed for what felt like centuries in Mike’s brain. It sounded almost like a word, like the word don’t, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was not a sound that Mike was going to leave unanswered. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going to leave him again.
And yeah, I’m not crazy.
I’m not doubting myself anymore.
Something is wrong.
Mike thought back to their conversation on the phone.
“I just, I just . . . I thought if I came here, and I made all these friends, I would finally feel like I belonged. And I started to, for a while, you know? Because I found all these people who were like me. And, and, they’re like me, but they don’t know me, they don’t know anything about me, and I know that’ll come with time, but- but . . . these people, they know exactly who they are, and they’re so confident, and I . . . I don’t know what I’m doing, and I just feel like I’m doing everything wrong, all the time, and like they expect me to know what I’m doing and know everything about myself and I don’t. I miss how things used to be. I don’t even know where I’m supposed to be or what I even- what I even want anymore, and I - I just don’t feel like I can do this.”
“Will. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I- I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Will, I . . . I get it. I know how you feel. I mean, probably not exactly how you feel, but like . . . I’m having trouble moving on . . . too. I’m really sorry you’re having a hard time, but I’m also kind of relieved I’m not the only one? Wait that’s actually so selfish and stupid, nevermind.”
“No, Mike, it’s not.”
“No, but it is though, and I don’t think I’m ever quite going to be able to compensate for the sheer volume of selfishness and stupidity that you’ve had to deal with from me for the past few years just in general, so.”
“Mike, I . . . I-”
“My point is, you belong anywhere you want to. Don’t let anybody tell you that you don’t. Don’t let anybody tell you what they think you’re supposed to be doing, or- or what you should be feeling, or how you’re supposed to be living your life.”
“But at this point, I . . . I feel like they know better than I do.” He’d whispered it, like he was scared to admit it. “Like- like Carlton, he, he’s so confident about his identity and he knows so much about it and about everything and I feel so clueless, and, like, childish, and I just don’t have any time to figure out how to be- god, I don’t know, nevermind.”
Mike had been heartbroken that Will was struggling this much. He deserved all the happiness in the world. But mostly, he felt personally offended that Will was laboring under the delusion that things were hard for him because he was weak or clueless or immature. He wasn’t. The sad truth was that he had probably grown up faster than almost everyone around him. Ignorance was not, and had never been, a problem for Will Byers.
For Mike, on the other hand . . .
“Will, that’s all totally okay. I mean it sucks that you feel so pressured, but . . . I hope you know that it really is okay not to have everything figured out yet. Or even anything figured out. You’ve seen and felt more than most people are ever going to be able to comprehend. Cut yourself some slack. The world won’t leave without you, I promise. We’ll all be here for you.”
There had been a few shaky breaths on the other end of the line.
“I . . . I told Vecna I wasn’t afraid anymore. Afraid of myself. And that’s true, you know, I- I’m not scared of who I am, I finally feel like me, and I figured out how to overcome my fears to fight him, but . . . I mean, I never learned how to feel like myself in the . . . the context of a . . . normal life. Like, an adult life. Does that make any sense? God, it’s so stupid. I just . . . I figured it all out when I needed to fight, but now that I just need to live my life, I- I need to figure it all out again. I knew who I was when I was fighting him. A sorcerer. I liked that version of me. I had control over something. I knew I wanted to stop him, and I knew how. And now that he’s gone, I . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m complaining to you about all this, it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.”
Wrong, Will. So very wrong. I can and will do something about it. Try and fucking stop me.
“You know what, Carlton? I think I’d like to stay and hang out here for a bit,” Mike said. “I’ve been curious about the gay bars and queer culture in New York for a long time now, and I’d hate to miss an opportunity to enjoy all this, you know? I mean, like, who knows when I’ll be back here? We just don’t have stuff like this back in Indiana.”
What the hell am I doing? Why am I just talking? I’m just out here saying anything, aren’t I? Jesus.
Carlton looked surprised and irritated. A little taken aback. Perplexed. Irked. Ruffled, even. Mike gave him a nice, friendly smile and pulled up a seat next to Will.
Will, for his part, was looking at Mike with shock, confusion, and awe. At least, Mike hoped it was awe. He wished he had more time to analyze Will’s intense reaction. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that he had just matter-of-factly said “gay” and “queer” and then implied both intellectual interest and personal stakes in those things. Will had never heard him talk about that stuff before. Because he never had. He’d never talked about it. Ever. He just. He hadn’t. He’d never talked about it. He had never. Talked. About it. And certainly not in any explicit terms.
“You know, I’m kind of an expert in the ways in which queer counterculture has manifested in the various neighborhoods around here, and in other nearby cities too. I didn’t, uh-” Carlton looked Mike critically up and down - “know you were interested in that stuff. But I’d be happy to show you some places, share some history . . .”
First of all, buddy, you don’t know me at all. Do I look not interested in ‘that stuff’? Am I not gay enough for you? Do I not look like I would thrive in the intensely competitive field of being a gay person? Jesus christ, dude.
“Yeah, no, I’m- I’m very interested. And I do appreciate the offer. I, uh-”
Come on, Mike. Say something smart and gay and nerdy and alt and post-punk.
I don’t actually know anything about queer culture. I’ve never even said the word queer before today. Think, think think-
“I’ve been curious about all the art and film projects coming out of here, but I’m most interested in music - particularly the hardcore scene. There’s a lot of bands rising to prominence that are breaking gender norms and writing music about nontraditional relationships, and I just think that’s really cool. If I get a chance, I’d love to go to a show while I’m here.”
Carlton nodded sagely. “Any particular artists you’re interested in?” he asked, staring Mike down like his entire worth as a human being was dependent on the answer.
Mike took a deep breath.
“Well, The B-52s of course - I mean, who doesn’t love Rock Lobster? And the Pet Shop Boys make some pretty great driving music; I was listening to them on the drive up here. But honestly, if I could see anyone live, here, in New York, in a massive audience of queer people crammed into a tiny venue in like a shed or something somewhere, like I’ve been dreaming for a while now . . . it would have to be The Butthole Surfers. I collect records, and they made my favorite of all time, so, it’s no contest, really.”
Carlton blinked. Then he blinked again.
Yeah. That’s right. Did I pass?
Will was looking wildly back and forth between them. Mike was worried he might be in distress, but when he looked closer, he saw that the corners of Will’s slightly open mouth were tilted up. He was greatly enjoying himself.
Okay, good. Will’s good. I’m good. What do we do now?
Then Carlton made the unfortunate decision to open his mouth again. “If you really want to go to a hardcore show, allow me to recommend, erm . . . investing in a slightly more appropriate outfit. I mean, do you own anything that’s . . . you know . . . ?”
Um, no? I actually don’t fucking know. Why are you criticizing my clothes? Are you telling me my librarian-ass glasses and my argyle sweater vest aren’t gay enough for you? You’re like reverse Troy. This is ridiculous.
“Oh, and you mentioned an interest in the film industry?”
Shit. Fuck you, Carlton.
“Um,” Mike gulped.
Carlton sipped his drink with a sinister smile.
Calm down. You can do this.
“Well there’s a lot of great indie films coming out right now, both from small professional groups-” what the hell is a ‘small professional group,’ Mike? “-and college students.” Yes, good, you know about that, stay with that. “I’ve seen and read that film students are focusing on LGBT rights and queer culture a lot right now, especially at New York schools, like NYU itself. Their cinematography program is, like, insane. Super cool stuff coming out of there.”
Will had perked up. Johnathon.
“Well, that’s certainly . . . something,” Carlton replied.
Mhmm.
“Ever since I was a child,” Mike began, “I knew I didn’t quite fit in, and I wanted to grow up and travel to a big, faraway city where I could find other people who wanted to push beyond the constraints imposed by society.” He couldn’t stop, at this point. It was a reflex. Years of work, years of lies, suddenly turned on their head. “I always hoped that things could be different, because I knew that I was different, and I didn’t want to have to just force myself into the cocoon of normalcy, or try to fit in with my friends. No, I wanted to truly see and understand myself, and that meant finding other people with similar experiences. I wanted to venture daringly into the realm of outcasts, and to express myself freely and fully. I wanted to push boundaries.”
Carlton’s nod of approval made Mike feel a lot more sick than triumphant. He got dizzy, in a very bad and scary way, and he was about to excuse himself when Carlton said, “That’s the right attitude. Taking chances. Committing to change with courage and curiosity.”
The alliteration, oh my GOD.
And then he added, “Right, Will?” and
oh god, I’m sorry, but that tone. There was DEFINITELY a tone. Maybe an undertone, or a sub-undertone, an under-undertone-
but whatever it was, Mike knew that it ought not to be used on Will Byers.
Mike was already about to say something, probably something crazy, when it got worse.
Because Will said nothing.
“Right, Will?” Carlton said, a little more insistently. He ran one finger, just briefly, under Will’s chin.
Mike almost screamed, threw up, and died right on the spot. He was going to end this man.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” Carlton was now asking. “Is this guy stressing you out?” he gestured vaguely to Mike. “Want me to kick him in the nuts?”
I say kick away,
Mike thought about himself.
Stop this idiot - hi Mike - from reproducing and infecting the world with his unique brand of idiocy.
What am I even doing? This isn’t going to end well, I can tell it’s not going to end well, this was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come here-
“No, he’s fine,” Will said. “He’s great. But you’re being kind of weird. Are you okay?”
Mike tried really, really hard not to focus on the way Will’s voice had sounded when he said ‘he’s great’. He remained totally unaffected by the tiny lilt, slight breathiness, and dreamlike quality of that statement.
“I’m being weird?” Carlton scoffed. “You’re the one who won’t even talk. What, are you scared you’ll embarrass yourself in front of him?” Carlton glared daggers at Mike again.
Now this was ridiculous. Will could never be embarrassing. He was capable of feeling embarrassment, sure, but Mike firmly believed that nothing he did was ever actually embarrassing. Except maybe dating this douchebag. And even that . . . Mike was positive that Will had a good reason. He trusted his judgment, absolutely and unequivocally.
He was gearing up to punch Will’s boyfriend in the face nonetheless.
“No,” Will replied. His voice was quiet, but it was hard and sharp in a way Mike had never heard before. “Not in front of him. He doesn’t judge me.”
Mike inhaled at the same time as Carlton. The sound shook the room.
“Well damn, Byers,” Carlton said, laughing. “Who knew you were such a little slut?”
What. The. Actual. Hell.
“Mike walked in, said like three sentences, and you folded instantly. I mean yeah, he’s hot and all, but like, get it together. Believe it or not, you don’t have to start pining after every guy who’s nice to you. Not anymore. You have actual choices now. You have me. You don’t have to accept being second-best. You don’t have to be desperate and just take what you can get.”
How -
Why -
Will told him. Will told Carlton about me. I was the unrequited childhood crush. The embarrassing and traumatic bonding story. The tale of pity and woe. The necessary obstacle on the way to true love.
I had almost forgotten what my role was here.
But it doesn’t matter. Because I didn’t forget . . . what I just heard. What Carlton just said. He just called Will a slut.
Honestly, Mike had thought the buildup was gonna take a little longer. He’d thought the tension was going to continue escalating for another several minutes before he actually did anything stupid. He looked down in surprise. His fist kinda hurt. He looked up. Carlton’s nose was bleeding. And not in the badass monster-killing sorcerer kneeling on the ground with his hair slightly disheveled and his skin still wet and his shirt stuck to him and his hands hanging limp at his sides and his eyes boring into your soul kind of way that so frequently featured in his dreams at night.
He just looked . . . like a twerp. An angry, scared twerp. With a quite possibly broken nose, and a trail of blood going down his clean white freshly-pressed button-down shirt.
Mike was escorted not-so-gently off the premises before Carlton could retaliate.
Will followed him immediately, staying as close to him as possible.
Carlton yelled “SLUT!” again.
Mike flipped him off.
Will started crying.
Carlton laughed cruelly, loud enough to be heard on their way out.
Mike punched the wall with his already-throbbing fist.
Will cried harder, tried to say his name, to get him to stop and calm down, but it was pained and choked and sickened and beaten-down and afraid.
Mike screamed.
Will grabbed his now-injured hand, running his thumb gently over the intact part of Mike’s split-open knuckles as he stumbled out and away from the wall.
Mike allowed himself to be led back to the apartment.
Will kept tracing a thumb across his knuckles.
Mike thought about it really hard until it became a spaghettified abstract concept in his mind, and his breathing slowed, and he calmed down.
Will turned his key in the lock and opened the door, holding it for Mike.
Mike walked in, disoriented, and had to be led the rest of the way to Will’s bedroom.
Will explained that Lindsey and Sal were in the other room and had probably already gone to bed.
Mike nodded wordlessly and let Will guide him to sit down on the ottoman where he presumably slept.
Will said to wait while he grabbed some antibiotic ointment and bandages.
Mike said okay.
Will said I’m back.
Mike said I’m sorry.
Will said don’t be.
Mike said I am though.
Will said I know.
Mike held out his hand.
Will cleaned and bandaged his knuckles.
Mike looked down and tried to sit still.
Will said why are you here.
Mike said I don’t know.
Will said how do you not know.
Mike shrugged and held out the bouquet of yellow lilies.
Will took them and put them in a vase, kindly refraining from comment as he had for the entire evening.
Finally, they were both seated on the ottoman, staring numbly at a blank beige wall.
Will took a deep breath and said, “How- how did you know all of that?”
“I just stuck with whatever little pieces of information I had and hoped for the best. I’m actually very deeply uneducated in the queerness department, but Carlton didn’t need to know that, now did he?” Mike gave Will a smug grin. “Not that his opinion matters at all. But it was fun showing him up in his own field.”
“But, you- you were so confident, and- and- I mean you must have read a bunch of books about peoples’ experiences, or watched a documentary, or done research or something-”
“Yeah. Or something,” Mike said.
Will inhaled sharply.
Mike let the silence drag on for a while. “I actually did watch a documentary, sort of,” he admitted once he was satisfied with how far the flush had crept up Will’s neck.
“Has your brother told you yet? About what he’s working on? I don’t want to spoil it if it’s a surprise, but for the sake of honesty . . .”
“Wait, Johnathon? He’s making a movie about . . . about . . . ?”
“The LGBT rights movement in New York. Yes. And also capitalism, as I’m sure he’s told you. He’s got multiple projects going. Dual wielding, you know?”
“H-how . . .” Will stammered. He seemed to have a lot of questions, but he finally settled on, “How did you know about this before I did?”
“Well, he told Nancy all about it, and then she was talking about it to me at dinner because she thought it was cool and she knew it would piss off our dear father.”
“Oh, that . . . makes sense,” Will said.
“I watched clips from it with Nancy. Interviews, recordings. She said that Johnathon said something about you too, I’m trying to remember what it was because I know it was good! It was, um . . . oh yeah! It was basically like, ‘I hope when Will sees this he’ll know that I’m proud of him and I think he’s cool as hell.’”
“But I’m just- I’m- I’m- I’m not,” Will said desperately. Then he burst into tears.
“I don’t know anything about any of this stuff, and I can’t even talk to people about it. I’m scared to even say the words, Mike. I wasn’t ready for any of this. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He was gasping for breath now, tears streaming down his face, and Mike’s heart was in pieces on the floor.
“Will,” Mike said, putting one hand on his back. “You don’t have to know anything, or be any certain way, or do anything you don’t want to do. People like Carlton who think there’s a right way to do these things, and that you have to meet some set of requirements in order to call yourself something or be part of something or- god, I don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
He looked to Will, who didn’t seem like he was going to start talking any time soon. Mike decided to keep going, and see if he could dig himself out of the hole.
“I was making it up as I went along, Will. I was just taking what little I knew and making it sound like I knew a lot more than I did. And I guess I’ll be the one to tell you that that’s all any of them are ever doing. If they won’t tell you, I will. I promise you, everyone is just talking out of their asses. Truly. People know themselves, at best, and when they say something is true, it’s everyone else’s job to believe and respect that. But once they start trying to assume stuff about other people, and tell them how they should be doing things . . . that’s not okay. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. I don’t want that for you.” He paused, sighing. “I shouldn’t have tried to compete with Carlton. I was just feeding into his stupid, messed-up idea that there’s only one right way to do things, one right way to define yourself.”
Will tried to say something, but all he could do was lean into Mike’s shoulder and cry.
Mike placed a tentative hand in Will’s hair and began slowly running his fingers through it. He kept talking. Will’s breathing slowed as he spoke.
“It’s all just words, Will. If the words work for you, if they make you feel safe, if they make you feel like you . . . then use them. If they don’t, then don’t. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. I just . . . I don’t want you to be scared.”
Will had calmed down enough to sit up a little. He said, “That helped a lot. I just . . . I still don’t understand how you know so much about this. Like . . . like personally.”
Mike went quiet. He understood the question.
“Because I think a lot. Way too much. Anything to avoid actually talking, or acting, or being honest, or doing anything useful. And I’ve had plenty of time to intellectualize the crap out of this.”
“. . . What is ‘this’?” Will asked, barely above a whisper.
Mike steeled himself and just started talking, because Will deserved it, even though it was far too late coming.
“My unique brand of utter confusion, delirium, and insanity regarding you,” he said honestly.
Will was still sort of leaning against Mike’s shoulder, so he could feel it when he stopped breathing. The perfect stillness of his chest was so sudden that Mike almost jumped.
“Mike . . .”
“Will? Is it . . . are you okay?”
“. . . Mike.”
“Will.”
“When? H-how? I-”
“Probably always. I’m just stupid, and selfish, and shallow, and a coward, and I was given about a million and a half better opportunities to talk to you about this, and I didn’t, and I’m sorry, Will, you’ll never know just how sorry I am. I hurt you and I’m sorry. I had so many chances. I just didn’t understand, and then when I did understand, I didn’t want to understand, just because it was never a convenient time to understand, which is the most selfish thing in the entire world, and-”
Will had put his hand on Mike’s, effectively shutting him up with just the slightest touch. He breathed in.
“You’re not any of those things,” Will said, so sincerely, looking at him so earnestly and lovingly and understandingly, that Mike finally inched a little closer to believing him.
“Besides, you’re way braver than me,” Will added with a new tone of bitterness. “You can say the word- the word ‘gay’ without flinching.”
Oh, Will. I’m not brave. I’ve never been brave. You have no idea. How do I explain?
“Okay. Will, look at me.” As if he wasn’t already looking. He did eventually turn his head a bit though, to stare at him head-on, and it was at that point that Mike realized his hand had stayed in Will’s hair, absentmindedly stroking, for the past several minutes. The cringiness of his own actions hit with a physically painful force. He also didn’t stop. Sue him.
“Will . . . I have a skill. A terrible, awful skill that I really hate sometimes. Most of the time. Basically all of the time. And that is an ability to confidently and convincingly say whatever the hell I want to whomever I please, under one condition.”
“. . . What condition?”
“As long as it’s not the truth.”
They sat and looked at each other.
“Will, it is easy for me, it is so goddamn easy, to pretend to be someone I’m not. It feels so safe and so simple. I just say whatever makes sense, whatever fits into the story that everyone is writing in their heads, the story I’ve been writing in my head. I can delude myself, and I can delude everyone else, too. I have delivered-” Mike paused, feeling the sickening weight of this statement - “-a lot of bullshit monologues in my time.”
I love you on your good days.
I love you on your bad days.
I love you with your powers, I love you without your powers, I love you for exactly who you are.
You’re my superhero.
It’ll be easier if we’re a team.
Friends.
Best friends.
Ever since I was a child, I knew I didn’t quite fit in, and I wanted to grow up and travel to a big, faraway city where I could find other people who wanted to push beyond the constraints imposed by society.
“I’ve just never given anyone the whole truth. Because I didn’t have it, and then I didn’t like it, and then I didn’t think anyone else would either.”
Will shifted to where his entire body was facing Mike, and his hands were on Mike’s shoulders.
“What if I asked you?” he whispered, tilting his head to look up at Mike. “What if I asked you for a non-bullshit monologue?”
Mike’s heart caught in his throat.
“What if-” - Will took in a shuddering breath - “-what if just this once, you told the truth? For me?”
The response was obvious. For you, anything.
Why hadn’t it been obvious before? Why had he never been brave enough? Why had he never managed to do anything actually difficult to show Will how important he was?
Because I didn’t think he actually wanted it. I didn’t think he would really want the truth, with all its pitfalls and complications and unanswered questions. I thought it would only make things worse for him.
“Will, I . . . I . . .”
God, you still can’t do it, can you?
You’re pathetic.
“Don’t think,” Will whispered. “Just talk. Just talk to me. Please.”
“I love you,” Mike blurted. “And you know that, obviously, because we’ve been best friends since forever, but the specific mechanics of that have been extremely confusing for a very long time now and I had no idea what I even wanted, because what I wanted kept changing, so I kept creating more and more made-up rules to decide what to do in any given situation, and the rules were stupid and they were just fucking terrible rules and they hurt you and they weren’t just for my actions either, they were for my thoughts too and suddenly my mind wasn’t my own anymore because I hijacked it, and I got so good at lying to myself that I couldn’t tell what was real anymore and I was just stuck feeling like I didn’t really care about anything because I had made it all up in my head, but then I couldn’t identify which parts were true, or even which parts I wanted to be true, so I tried to step back and just look at things objectively and logically but then I didn’t trust myself anymore because of all the lying so I just overanalyzed everything and still ended up not letting myself feel real feelings even though I was really trying to.”
Mike was gulping down great lungfuls of air, choking and sputtering, and Will held onto him. Will was looking at him, really looking at him, and hearing the whole truth, as best Mike could tell it, and he wasn’t looking away or backing off or going anywhere.
“It’s so easy, Will,” he gasped. “It’s so easy to brainwash yourself. You sit and think whatever thoughts come naturally, see, and then you just handpick the ones that you like, the ones that make sense, and you think more thoughts about those thoughts, and you create as many thoughts related to those as you can, build on them in as much detail as you can, like a web, like spores. It becomes an automatic function, running in the background. You weave yourself a little safety net. And then one day- one day-” Mike was choking again, hot tears running down his face, one of Will’s hands leaving his shoulder to brush them away.
“One day you start to feel trapped. So you- you try to cut it away. You try to cut through it and get out, but it’s woven all around you, it’s too thick, it’s impossible- and you can’t get rid of it because- because it’s just a free fall, there’s nothing underneath it, and you know you’re going to break when you hit the ground, and you keep cutting anyway because you just wanna be free but- but- it hurts, it hurts so bad, it’s like having to destroy a part of yourself, like sawing off your own leg, and then once you’ve ripped the truth out from under yourself you’re lost in the air and you can’t see or hear or feel anything properly and all you know is you can’t go back, you don’t want to be trapped again, so you stop trusting anything that goes through your mind because you can’t go through that again, you can’t be all wrong again, but you can’t rely on your own thoughts because what if they’re all made up and they’re all wrong and it’s all a lie again.” And then he was sobbing and retching and repeating “it’s all a lie- it’s all a lie-” while Will held him and rubbed slow circles on his back.
“All a lie, it’s all a lie, Will. Will- Will- it’s all a lie. It’s always a lie, Will. Will, please-”
but of course, all Will could do was hold him.
It took a while, but Mike calmed down enough for Will to sit him up so he could see the complete love and acceptance on his friend’s face.
Will said, “Thank you, Mike,” and pressed their foreheads together. “Thank you, thank you thank you,” he whispered softly. “That was beautiful. You’re beautiful. You’re okay, it’s gonna be okay. I’m so sorry.”
What the hell do you have to be sorry for, Will?
Mike couldn’t do a whole lot but stare tearily at Will. Luckily, he seemed to sense Mike’s question.
“Whatever you might think,” he said softly. “It was never just you doing this to yourself. I mean, I get that it was you, and you were fighting yourself, and I know how hard that is. But also . . . someone else was in there first.” He lightly tapped a knuckle against Mike’s temple. “Probably lots of someones. Lots of someones with lots of expectations and opinions and standards. A whole society. A whole world. And in your case, an additional dimension.”
Mike laughed through his tears.
“It was never just your fault. It’s hard, Mike. It’s so hard. And that sounds horrible and I’m so sorry you’ve been hurting so badly. And- and, I lied too. About the painting. El didn’t commission it.”
“I know. I found out last year. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”
“And then I lied again. About . . . about you being my Tammy. You’re not Tammy Thompson. You’re not. Saying that didn’t change anything. It didn’t make it any easier.”
“I’m sorry. I hurt you, I’m sorry, I- I know it must be disappointing,” Mike said brokenly. “You asked for the truth and the truth is that I don’t even know what the truth is and I haven’t for a long time.”
“Not at all,” Will murmured, tracing his face. “It was real, it was a real part of you. That means so much to me.”
Mike swallowed. “I want to figure this out. But everything I said to Carlton was a lie. I don’t know anything about . . . about who I am. I just have all these feelings I don’t know what to do with, and I’m worried they’re all going to be fake again, and I’m going to hurt you again, like I hurt both you and El before, and I couldn’t stand it if that happened, and- Will, what is it?”
Will was smiling gently. “I have an idea. It won’t fix everything. You need time to figure things out on your own - I mean, not on your own necessarily, but like, for yourself. I need that time too. It’s okay that we don’t really know what we’re doing. But I wonder . . .” he looked away, suddenly bashful. Mike’s heart fluttered as he wondered what could possibly be coming next.
“I wonder . . . I mean, I know you’re having trouble figuring out what’s real, and your mind doesn’t really know . . . but I wonder if maybe, um . . . if your . . .” Will was bright red. “If your body . . . might?”
Mike gulped.
“Not in a weird way, or anything,” Will said. “Just. Sometimes when I’m around you, I . . . my heart starts beating faster or my face feels hot, stuff like that. That’s unhelpful and embarrassing, I’m sorry,” Will said, putting his face in his hands.
“No! No, it’s, um . . . relatable,” Mike said awkwardly.
Will’s head jerked up so fast Mike thought it might launch off his body, hit the ceiling, and explode.
“. . . Really?” he whispered.
“H- yeah,” Mike said laughing. “Really. Also, do you ever get, like . . . sometimes I used to see you and I’d get distracted from everything else that’s going on around me and I’m just, like, staring, and I’d want to stop but I literally couldn’t.”
“Yes!” Will said, throwing his hands up. “Exactly! Thank you!”
“It’s SO FRUSTRATING,” Mike groaned. “I’ll be trying to do homework or work on a poem or a whole epic novel or some shit, and I’ll be minding my OWN business, and you won’t even BE THERE, and then my brain will just be like, HELLO, IT’S WILL BYERS-O’CLOCK-”
“When in reality it is like THREE IN THE MORNING and I’m TRYING TO SLEEP but instead, NO, I get THE MIKE WHEELER FLASHBACK CHANNEL playing for NO REASON-”
“YES! Or worse, the Will Byers IMAGINARY FUTURE SCENARIO CHANNEL which is always so exciting and entertaining except it also SUCKS because I used to literally schedule time for sitting down and creating imaginary future scenarios with El as part of my regular programming so now I can’t tell if these thoughts are coming naturally or if it’s ALL ANOTHER FABRICATION.”
“It’s all a conspiracy, I’m sure of it,” Will said firmly. “They knew we would be too powerful if we could actually concentrate on anything besides each other, and if I could stop wishing I was someone else, and you could stop relentlessly brainwashing yourself and then beating yourself up for doing it after.”
Mike nodded. “You’re so right. It’s all a setup.”
It got very quiet. They were both flushed, and dazed from the exertion of tears and laughter. Their foreheads knocked together again.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever think about, um . . . kissing?”
“More than I would like to admit. Probably a criminally insane amount. Since we’re being honest and everything.”
“How do you feel when you want to, um . . . kiss someone?”
“You don’t have to say ‘someone’ anymore, Mike. You know it’s you. It’s always you.”
“Do you feel like your heart is exploding? Like it’s beating out of your chest?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel weird and tingly all over?”
“Sometimes. A lot of the time.”
“Do you . . . want to? Right now? Or is it just me? Or is it even me at all?”
“Yes.”
Mike wasn’t sure which question Will had been answering when he said that, but then he felt Will’s lips against his own. And he couldn’t be sure if it was real, he couldn’t be certain - that was going to take some time after manipulating himself for years, but . . . he was pretty sure this was the new best thing he had ever done. It felt good.
At first, Mike’s mind wouldn’t go quiet - a million thoughts ran through it in the span of a second. When he kissed back (inevitably, inexorably, with obvious uncontrolled fervor that he realized was probably always meant to see the light of day), he heard Will gasp into his mouth. His first instinct was to worry that it was shock, fear, or even disgust that elicited such a noise. But he knew better, because he knew Will, knew him down to his very core. Mike hadn’t heard that sound before, but he had seen it, felt it, and he knew exactly what it was. He recognized it instantly, and recognized a vision of himself from inside it. He heard himself through Will’s eyes. It was intoxicating. He wanted to hear it over and over again, forever.
It was the sound of Will hurrying to catch up to Mike so they could bike side by side down the road. It was the sound of Will looking away and trying not to smile when Mike called him a sorcerer. It was the sound of Will squirming under Mike’s intense gaze when he asked if Will was alright and carefully studied his face for any sign of pain. It was the sound of Will leaning inevitably closer, almost in spite of himself, whenever Mike put a hand on his arm or his shoulder. It was the sound of Will telling Mike he was the heart, that he was meant to inspire, that he was meant to lead. Oh yes, Mike knew everything. He had always known, on some instinctual level, because he felt it too. He just wished it hadn’t taken him so long to understand. And once he understood, he wished it hadn’t taken him so long to admit.
What if this is all still fake? What if I’m making it all up? What if I actually hate this, and then I tell him, and then he hates me?
Will paused and pulled away. “Was that . . . did you . . . um . . . how was that?”
“I, uh . . .” Mike was having trouble formulating words because of the way Will’s face looked post-kiss, inches away from his own.
“I liked it. I really think I . . . I really liked it.” He laughed with some strange combination of exhilaration and relief.
“Okay, are you- are you sure? It felt good? Not, like, cringy and awful and weird?”
“Yeah Will, it felt good. It felt really good.”
Will smiled. “Good. That’s good.”
Mike nodded up and down an excessive number of times. “Can we do it again?” he whispered.
Will didn’t say anything this time. He just nodded and leaned in.
This time, as they kissed, Will slid a hand into Mike’s curls, tugging him closer, and then pausing a few seconds later with Mike’s face held up against his own. “Thoughts on this?”
Mike knew he was checking in, asking for a status report on how Mike was feeling. But, um . . .
“No thoughts, Will,” he panted. “No thoughts. Brain is mush. Sorry.”
Their faces were close enough that Mike felt more than saw Will’s grin. “So, good, then?”
Mike was overtaken by another bout of frantic nodding. Then he leaned back in, needing the feeling to continue. Will threaded both hands through his hair now, twisting gently, delicately. He barely felt it, and yet he felt it everywhere.
Mike snagged on something with his teeth, and Will gasped again. Mike had fully convinced himself that it could not get better than this. That he never wanted to hear anything else more than he wanted to hear this sound from Will.
Another filthy lie. He was dead wrong.
Because now . . . now, as the hands in his hair became a little more insistent, as his head was carefully maneuvered to a new angle, as a shiver raced down his body . . . he was beginning to hear something different. Will laughed. Just once. A low, barely audible chuckle that shook Mike to his core.
That laugh made his heart drop into his stomach.
That laugh was a warning.
Mike whimpered. He had a bad feeling about this, a terrible, awful, dangerous feeling -
Suddenly, he was pushed up against the wall where it met the side of the ottoman. For some reason, at first, he couldn’t stop moving. He squirmed and fidgeted, not in an attempt to escape, but in a ludicrous effort to get closer.
Will ran a hand down his chest, applying downward pressure, and he finally settled down, dissolving into oblivion.
Mike felt an overwhelming sense of bliss and triumph on behalf of both himself and Will. He had told the truth, the real truth, and he was learning and growing because of it, and Will didn’t hate him for it. Will, for his part, had determined what he wanted at that particular moment, and now he had it. Mike firmly believed this was the natural and proper order of things, that Will should have perfect happiness and everything he wanted in life, so by sensing Will’s happiness, his own was doubled. Will wanted to kill Vecna, and then he had Vecna’s powers. Will wanted to go to school in New York, and then he had a scholarship. Will wanted Mike, and then he had Mike against a wall, whining pathetically. It was perfect. It made perfect sense.
Wait.
That was a bad sign. A red flag. A clear indicator that he was making something up for the sake of convenience. For the sake of fitting more easily into someone else’s story.
“Will. Will, wait, what if- what if I’m all wrong again? What if I’m making it all up? It feels too easy. Too good to be true.”
Will paused and looked at Mike, smirking slightly.
“Michael, I’m gonna hold your hand as I say this. You fucking moaned. You’re a good actor, but you’re not that good. As a licensed expert who has made out with many people-” - they both chuckled - “-I don’t think you’re faking that.”
Mike was going to explode. Right here, in Will’s apartment. There were going to be a bunch of little Mike bits all over the floor. An absolute mess of Mike shrapnel. It would be a nightmare to clean up.
“But . . . but there’s more to it than kissing,” Mike said, sadness and fear creeping back in. “What if I’m faking that part? What if I’m wrong about something else? What if I’m wrong about everything all over again?”
Will’s expression softened, and he cupped Mike’s cheek. “I know it’s scary. That’s okay. Anything is okay, honestly. I know it’s gonna take time for you to trust yourself again. But you trust me, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well then. However long it takes, whatever I have to do . . . ” Will trailed off, leaning in close to Mike’s ear. “I am going to make sure,” he whispered, “that there is no room left for doubt.”