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The first glimpse of freedom away from Hawkins had been a sigh of relief for Will, one that had been bubbling and boiling up in his chest since 1983. He had bid his friends, his family, one last heartfelt goodbye before packing up and being swept away to New York City to live with Jonathan, halfway through the summer after graduation. It was a bit sooner than he would have liked, as he had been preparing to live out the rest of the summer cherishing his final moments of childhood with the rest of the party, but the fresh start was long overdue.
New York was big. Big, loud, and overwhelming. Busy streets, busy cars, and busy people all moved through the city like a tsunami, one Will was unprepared for. He tried to chastise himself for it––after everything he’d been through, how could he possibly be afraid of loud honks and the passing glare of a disgruntled city-dweller?
But Jonathan was there to guide him through it all. They worked together, brothers, to navigate their new bustling, bright life. Will supported Jonathan’s endeavors at NYU, acting occasionally in his short films (he didn’t know why Jonathan insisted on having him, when the acting program at the school was certainly churning out better actors), and Jonathan provided him with critique and advice on his art projects once he started his first year of college at a SUNY. They decorated their small apartment together, had a running list of the best local coffee shops, and wrote letters back home to Joyce and Hopper, giving them advice on potential neighborhoods to consider as they prepared for their big move North.
Being so far away from Hawkins was… amazing. It provided Will with a freedom he had never known. Every time he looked out of his small bedroom window down onto the cramped city streets below, every time he took in a breath of sewer-smoke air, he felt like he was a different person. Sometimes he would wake in the middle of the night, a nightmare of red skies having shaken him awake, and be afraid he’d be right back where he started, lost and broken in the middle of the woods in a small town in Indiana.
But he was safe here. The city streetlights seeped through the curtains in his room and cradled him back to sleep.
Despite the comfort he had found in his new life with Jonathan, there were things that Will knew were never going to bring him peace. He missed his friends dearly. He knew Max and Lucas had travelled out of state together to pursue college degrees together; they were happy and they were in love. He knew Dustin had gotten into a highly-regarded S.T.E.M. school across the country for Physics. He was still the top of his class there. And Mike…
Well, he honestly wasn’t sure.
Mike hadn’t been able to move onto a college life like the rest of them. He had opted to stay at home in Hawkins, hole up in his room, and commit to writing stories with his every waking second. Will thought that after all they had been through together, Mike was going to make more of an effort to stay in touch, especially given he had nothing better to do. He thought he might have learned his lesson after what happened in California, or after they almost died together… or after he told Mike the truth about his feelings. But Mike rarely called first. Answered Will and Jonathan’s calls even less. And on the off chance that he would pick up the telephone, he kept conversations brief.
Mike told him he was happy. Will wasn’t so sure. But after the first month of Mike’s reluctance to speak with him, after countless nights Will was kept up, pacing around his room, wondering what he’d done wrong this time, Jonathan sat him down and told him it wasn’t worth it. He needed to direct his energy and attention towards people who mattered. People who cared.
So, he did.
He took it upon himself to shove Michael Wheeler out from his brain, once and for all. Childhood friendships and love confessions be damned: he would not spend one more second pouring his affections into someone who couldn’t reciprocate them.
So, he drowned himself in schoolwork and pushed himself to make new friends. At art school, he was safe. He met girls who wore black lipstick and gave each other tattoos in the middle of the night, boys who kept their hair long and pierced their ears, and everyone in between. These people spoke to him kindly and praised his masterpieces and invited him to parties. They never excluded him, never spoke down to him.
He had even met a boy. One with soft eyes and softer hands, who liked to take care of plants and listen to quiet music and who wanted to treat him right. He asked Will to the movies and he asked Will to dinner and he was… nice. Things between them were nice.
But it had been two months since they had met, and something still wasn’t right. Will tried to swallow the tension and smile––he said yes to every date, insisted that he paid for their meals at every restaurant. He filled pages of his sketchbooks with his profile and promised he would come down to meet his mother sometime soon.
But sometimes, he would see the boy from the corner of his eye. He would turn his head a certain way, move his arm at a certain angle. And Will would mistake his tall, lanky figure, his deep brown curls, his long, curved nose… for someone else.
At the end of the day, all nice things must come to a pause. As holiday break approached, Jonathan arranged flights back to Hawkins for the two of them.
Will wasn’t ready to go back. It wasn’t the calm, warm circle of New York City he had burrowed himself into holding him back. It wasn’t his new friends, or school. It wasn’t even Hawkins. But he couldn’t pinpoint it. His chest tightened as he packed his suitcase alongside Jonathan. His fingers trembled as they dropped into a taxi and drove to the airport. His throat was painfully dry as they exited the plane and stepped out into the Indiana winter air.
It was only when they entered the parking lot that his shoulders dropped. Max, Lucas, and Dustin had travelled with Joyce and Hopper to greet them at the airport. He took his time hugging each one of them with a soft ferocity. But the air was tense. His friends shared awkward looks behind his back as he climbed into Hopper’s truck. And Will knew why.
Mike’s absence was louder than the volume of the radio as they drove from the airport into town. His absence was louder than the sound of construction outside of the restaurant they shared a dinner at. His absence was louder than the thick drops of rain pelting at his window as he fell asleep later that night in his childhood bed, cold and shivering.
There were many things about this town that should upset him, scare him. But Mike Wheeler stood out amongst them all.
☆
Will shoots up from his bed. He hears the ticking of the small digital alarm clock on his bedside table. Rain falls upon the roof, faintly. His eyes adjust to the dark shadows shrouding his room.
He groans and grabs a pillow from beside him, shoving it over his face. While he is glad that he hasn’t had a nightmare, he knows it will take him hours to fall back asleep.
Will twists. And turns. Pulls blankets over his body. Shoves them off.
And hears a knock.
Will sits up and swivels his head around his room. He looks to the left; there is no hallway light coming from the crack underneath his bedroom door. He looks straight ahead; nothing has fallen off of his desk. He looks to the right––
A shadow sways in the frame of his window.
Will immediately jumps out of his bed and scrambles for a weapon at his bedside table. He emerges victoriously with a sharpened pencil and wields it above his head, chest heaving. He takes a small, calculated sidestep away from his bed, towards the window.
“Whoever you are,” Will speaks, hoping the intruder can hear him from the other side of the glass, “my dad is a police officer. He will, like, fuck you up.”
The shadow waves an arm above its head wildly.
The words, “I can’t fucking hear you!” come from its mouth, muffled by the rain.
Will drops his arms to his sides. He takes a step forward. He squints his eyes.
“Are you kidding me?” he whispers to himself.
Will lunges across his room and throws the window open. One soaked-to-the-bone Mike Wheeler stands, inches away from him, backpack held above his head. He is trying in vain to shield himself from the rain. He looks ridiculous.
“Hey!” he says. “Can I come in?”
Will blinks, sick to his stomach. He stares at Mike.
A black curl of hair is plastered to the center of his forehead. He is wearing glasses––ones Will does not recognize. His sweater is sticking to his shoulders. He is severely underdressed for both the rain and the cold, with only a thin pair of jeans gracing his skinny legs, and a pair of beaten-up Converse barely holding themselves together, muddy on his feet.
He is out of breath, and he is drenched, and he is beautiful.
Against his better judgement, Will takes a step back, gesturing for Mike to come inside.
He watches as Mike struggles to fit through the window, long frame bumping against the walls and backpack falling to the floor with a wet thump. It takes him a minute, but he eventually lands on his ass. Will bites back a laugh.
“Smooth,” he says.
Mike starts to untie his shoelaces. “Shut up,” he smiles.
Mike’s presence is at once warm and familiar, and cold and distant. Will wants to reach out and pull him into a hug. He wants to grab him by his sleeve and slap him right across the face. Instead, he watches how delicately he unties his shoelaces, nimble fingers shaking.
“Here. You look cold.” Will swiftly takes his sweatshirt off and hands it to Mike. “Remind me why you thought it was a good idea to go outside, in the middle of the night, during the winter, in Hawkins, while it’s raining, with no umbrella and no coat?”
Mike laughs, a slight shake in his voice, and takes the sweatshirt. “Uh, I guess I’ll know for next time?”
He takes his glasses off before moving to take off his sweater. He grabs the bottom of the wool with his wide palms and sticks the tip of his tongue out in concentration.
Will turns. He cannot bear to look.
He walks back to his bed, listening to the shuffling of Mike rearranging his clothes.
“Sorry to ambush you, man, this was kind of a last minute decision.” Mike’s voice is muffled from underneath the sweatshirt. Will perches on the edge of his bed and looks back just in time to see Mike’s head pop out.
Will nods slowly. “Last minute. Huh.”
Mike stands awkwardly in front of the window, shoes and backpack cast aside on the ground. His fingers twitch, like they do when he is nervous, glancing over the rims of his glasses. In the dark of the room, Will’s peachy sweatshirt looks grey.
“Yeah, I mean,” Mike starts to wipe the rain off of his glasses, “not last minute, I guess. I thought I should come see you. Um…” he puts his glasses on. He trails off.
Will brings his knees up to his chest. “How kind of you, Mike.”
Mike flinches at his own name. The air is thick. Will’s heart is trembling in his chest. Shadows cast across Mike’s face, darkening his eyes, and Will almost wishes he could see them clearly.
“So, uh, Will, how are you?” Mike asks, leaning back against the wall. He gazes frantically across Will’s room, scanning for inconsistencies. Avoiding Will’s eyes.
“Fine. I’m fine. Great, actually.” Will answers. With each passing moment he grows more confused, angry. He feels tears start to well up in his eyes. He blinks to push them away. “Thanks for asking, Michael. How are you?”
A rhetorical question. Mike looks straight at Will with the same deep brown eyes he remembers falling in love with. They make him sick.
“Will, I…”
Will rolls his eyes. He stands up. Mike looks so far away, from the other side of his room. So small, cowering against the wall, drowning in his sweatshirt. He almost feels bad for him.
“Nice of you to finally feel the urge to acknowledge my existence after four months.” Will bites. His throat trembles. “I’m humbled.”
Mike shifts uncomfortably. “It hasn’t been four months. We’ve called.”
“Interesting.” Will scoffs. “You think exchanging one sentence of conversation every three weeks is considered ‘calling’. That explains a lot, actually.”
“Will, look, I’m sorry,” Mike says. He finally pushes off the wall, taking a small step forward. “I came here to apologize, okay?”
Will crosses his arms. His vision is blurry. “Great. Have at it.”
Mike has stepped into a patch of moonlight. He swallows. Will watches his throat bob.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend,” he starts. “I know we haven’t talked. And I know it’s my fault. I should’ve tried harder. A lot harder.”
“So, why haven’t you?” Will shoots back. He lets the venom creep into his tone: he wants it to overpower the tremble in his lips. “Four months and barely a word. And I know you haven’t been busy. So what the hell is it?”
Mike opens his mouth to respond, but Will doesn’t let him.
“What could possibly make the idea of speaking to me so revolting to you?” He continues, moving forward. “Are you mad at me? For moving away from Hawkins, for chasing something better?”
Mike shakes his head. “No, Will, I––”
“Are you upset that I’m not here to give you advice about El anymore? Upset that you’ve finally had to stop using me to feel better about her?” Will comes to a pause in the middle of the room.
Mike runs a hand through his hair. “That’s not––I’ve just had a lot to think about, I––”
“Or,” Will’s voice rises above Mike’s, “have you come to the realization that you’re disgusted with me?”
He spits his words out. He feels a tear roll down his face.
“That it’s not worth spending your time talking to someone like me.” He looks Mike straight in the eyes.
“Someone gay.”
Mike’s mouth snaps shut. He stares at Will’s face. His gaze feels heavy on Will’s skin, as his eyes dart to his forehead, nose bridge, eyebrows. Will tries to hold back a sob, but it breaks through his teeth, shaking his chest. He feels pathetic.
“That’s it, isn’t it. That’s what you’ve needed time to think about. How to cut my stain out of your life.”
Will drops his head and covers his face with his hands. He sobs into his palms, trying in vain to keep quiet. He feels his shoulders heave and suddenly everything feels too much, too close, he needs to rip his hair out and tear his clothes off and wash his skin off with acid, he needs to scream and he needs to keep his mouth shut, he needs to get angrier and feel more pain and he needs to throw and rip and break and––
Mike’s arms circle around his shoulders.
“Will. Please.”
He struggles at first, trying to pull out of Mike’s embrace. “No. No. Fuck you. I can’t. No.”
But Mike doesn’t let him. He tightens his arms around Will and rests his cheek on top of Will’s head and Will wants to punch him, Will wants to scream at him and watch his stupid useless face droop and he wants to tell him every single time he’s daydreamed about Mike picking up the phone and just talking to him, really talking to him, he wants to tell Mike every time he’s wished he could kiss him, and he wants Mike to cry and sob and he wants him to just fucking understand.
So Will drops his arms and collapses into Mike’s chest. His ears ring and his tears flow and his hands shake and Mike stands there, holding him.
“I’m so sorry, Will. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry.”
Mike repeats this mantra into Will’s ear, apologetic whispers sickly-sweet. Will feels Mike’s breath against his skin. It makes him shiver. He listens to his voice, the voice he could recognize in life and in death, the voice he’s known this life and will know in the next life and the next. Will lets Mike walk him to his bed and they break apart to sit, bed creaking quietly.
Will wipes his face with shaking hands. “Mike, I…”
“No, Will, please,” Mike interrupts. He reaches his arm out and wipes a tear off of Will’s chin with a sweatshirt sleeve. “You don’t have to say anything. I know. Just listen to me.”
Will grabs a pillow and holds it to his chest. He nods.
Mike takes a deep breath. “I’ve been a horrible person to you for the past few months, Will. I know that now, and honestly… I’ve, uh, always known it.”
He looks down at his hands.
“But… It’s not because I hate you. It’s not because I don’t want to be your friend, or because of something you’ve done, or any dumb bullshit like that.” He swallows. “And… it’s, it’s not because, you’re… you’re…”
“Gay,” Will interjects.
Mike nods. “...Yeah. Not because you’re, um. Gay.”
He shakes his head. Takes off his glasses.
“Honestly, Will, when you told me… that, it surprised me,” he says. “I kind of sat there not knowing what to do with myself. There were so many things, like, running through my head, things that I wanted to say, things I didn’t know how to say… I was, um, confused.”
Will exhales. “I understand, Mike, it’s weird, and you have to get used to it. You don’t have to––”
“No, Will, hold on,” Mike interrupts. He looks at Will.
“The thing is, I wasn’t confused because I didn’t understand. I was confused because… I, I did. I did understand.” He runs a hand through his hair, his foot starting to tap on the ground. “What you said all those months ago, about… about being different, feeling different. It’s something that I’ve had to struggle with. A lot. Obviously, I was a weird fucking kid. Still am. But, the thing is, I know that. And I’m not afraid of it, of, like, being a nerd, or being too passionate about silly things, or not fitting in.”
Mike pauses, opens his mouth, and closes it. He struggles to start speaking again. Will watches him silently.
“The problem is, there’s always been things about myself that haven’t made sense to me.”
Mike stands up, leaving his glasses on the bed, and starts to pace.
“Like, I know I’m a nerd. That doesn’t matter anymore. But there’s something else. There has always been something else, something lurking, something in the back of my mind, the back of my throat, my chest, that I haven’t been able to put into words. Something different, something that makes me different.”
Mike tugs his sweatshirt sleeves to fall over his hands. “And this thing, this feeling, it was fucking eating me alive, like, I felt it when I used to watch movies with my mom. Her stupid rom-coms. I felt it when I would catch Steve sneaking over to our house at night to make out with Nancy when I was a kid. I felt it in the sex-ed section of our biology class, I felt it…”
He pauses. He looks up at Will’s ceiling. “I felt it… um, every time El kissed me.”
Will furrows his brow. “Mike,” he says, fidgeting with a corner of the pillow. “If you’re here to talk to me about El, I––”
“No, fuck, I’m sorry, Will, I…” Mike runs both of his hands through his hair, aggressively, pulling at it. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. This is just… I don’t even fucking know what I’m saying, God, I don’t know…”
Will quickly stands up, grabbing Mike’s forearms and pulling them away from him. “Mike. It’s okay. Calm down, just talk to me. What’s the matter?”
Mike’s eyes are shiny. “Will, I am different. And it fucking scares me. It scares me so fucking much.”
His voice wavers. His gaze is so intense that it feels warm on Will’s eyes.
“I fucking hated those rom-coms, I fucking hated Steve, I fucking hated sex-ed, and worst of all, I fucking hated kissing El, Will, I hated it,” he shakes his head frantically. “Everything, all of those things, they made me feel so different. So––I don’t know, so far away, so disgusted, so sick down to my bones. They made me feel like I was someone else, like I was supposed to be someone else, supposed to be in someone else’s skin, because I didn’t feel like me at all. And I didn’t know what being me was supposed to feel like.”
Mike breaks away from Will’s grip and takes a step back. He looks at Will. At all of him.
“And I spent almost every single day of my life confused like that, not knowing what it meant. Feeling like I should be someone else, that I needed to change, that something was wrong with me.”
Tears run down Mike’s face, and he stands still, stuck in place. Will wants to reach out, touch him, say something, but he is confused, and his heart is pounding, afraid that he’s going to break Mike from his trance.
“And then… you said it. You said, ‘I don’t like girls’. You said those words, and it all came crashing down on me, Will.”
Will’s eyes widen. He feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs.
“Because that’s what I’ve been missing. That’s what I haven’t understood my entire life. That…” Mike laughs, still crying.
“That I… don’t like girls.”
Mike takes a step towards Will.
“Mike, that’s… I’m, I’m so, proud? Of you? Are you okay?” Will stumbles over his words. He doesn’t want to upset Mike any further. “I’m happy that I was able to, um, help you figure that out, Mike, I’m sorry that it upset you so much, I…”
Mike reaches Will and gently grabs his shoulders. His eyes are wider than Will has ever seen them.
“Will, I’ve… This has been plaguing and eating away at me for… as long as I can remember. But the only times, the only times that I haven’t been confused, or scared, or angry for feeling so different…”
He searches Will’s eyes.
“Were when I was with you.”
Will’s heart drops to his stomach.
He blinks. He feels Mike’s hands on his shoulders. They are warm.
He cannot hear his alarm clock ticking anymore. It has stopped raining.
They stand in a vacuum of space and time. It is silent.
“What.”
Mike starts to speak again, but Will can’t hear him. His blood is rushing through his ears like a whirlpool and he can hear his heart start to pound and his knees feel weak and why can’t he breathe and what––
“Will.”
Will takes a step backwards. He shakes his head. “No.”
A tear falls down Mike’s face, and he smiles. Weakly, sadly.
“No. Mike, no, you… you can’t, Mike, no. No. I can’t.”
“Will,” Mike says, sobbing now.
Will’s legs hit his bed and he falls back onto it. He frantically catches himself and sits, looking up at Mike, at his beautiful, tragic face, at the hair drying onto his forehead, at his trembling bottom lip. Will shakes his head, starting to cry again, with Mike.
“Will, it’s––”
“Don’t you dare fucking say another word Mike, do not.” Will’s voice trembles.
Mike suddenly, gently, slowly, softly drops to his knees. He sits in front of Will, on the floor, and he is smiling, and he is crying, and it takes everything in Will not to close his eyes, not to turn away, not to kick him, and not to kiss him.
“Mike, you can’t do this. You can’t possibly expect me to hear you say this. I can’t and I won’t and if you don’t––” his voice cracks and he lets out a sob––“and if you don’t fucking think I haven’t spent every single second of my life since kindergarten absolutely in fucking love with you, you are the most idiotic fucking person I’ve ever met, and I can’t do this, Mike, I can’t, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, I was supposed to forget about you, and––”
“Will––”
“No, Mike, no, I live in New York now, I have new friends, and there’s a boy and he’s kinder to me than you have been for the past three years, and he asks me what my hobbies are and he writes me poems and he is handsome and––”
“Will, I––”
“And I have fucking dreamed about you every night since I’ve left, Mike, every night in New York it has been you, infesting my dreams and it’s been you in the shadows of every corner, and I thought you hated me, Mike, you treated me like shit and I can’t forgive you, I––”
Mike grabs Will’s hands. His pupils are huge and black like the universe and he is still fucking crying, this dumbass, and he looks like a lost puppy and Will feels absolutely insane.
“Will, please, please, Will, I need this, I need you, please, Will, I want you, and I have always wanted you, and I understand that now, I’m so sorry,” Mike spews, “I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t understand, Will, I was so fucking stupid, please let me kiss you, I need to kiss you, Will––”
Will starts to laugh. He feels crazy, and he feels dizzy, and he starts to laugh, because what do you do when the only thing you’ve ever wanted sits itself right in your lap and says, here I am?
“Mike,” Will says softly, quietly, “I’m being serious when I tell you there is someone else, I can’t… how can I do this with you?”
Mike lets go of one of Will’s hands and wipes the tears off of his face, brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Will, I know there is someone out there who is better for you than I am, and I know he would never have done the things to you that I have,” he says frantically, “and I know he will love you, and I know you can love him, too, but Will, I am the only person in the world who needs you like this, I cannot be wrong about that, I feel it in my soul, I really fucking do. If I can’t ever know what it feels like to have you I will never be able to write another story again, Will, I’ll never know what it feels to love another person, I’ll never be happy.” He searches Will’s face.
“I will sit in my room and I will think about how badly I’ve fucked up and I will never be able to look at you, speak to you again. Because I don’t want anything with you if it’s not this,” he says, intertwining their fingers.
“Please let me prove it to you, Will, please give me a second, or third, or fourth or whatever-the-hell we’re on chance. I swear I will not let you down, ever again. I will love you the way we deserve. I will make you happy the way you deserve. I promise, Will, please. I need this. I need you.”
Will looks down at Mike.
Mike looks up at Will.
Will looks at the ground by the window.
Mike’s dirty-ass Converse left mud on his carpet. He kind of doesn’t care.
Will looks back at Mike.
Mike lets go of Will’s hands. He pushes himself up onto his knees. He gently takes Will’s face, holds him closely. Will closes his eyes.
Will feels Mike’s lips on his. They are soft. They press further into his own and Will forgets about the boy from New York and forgets about Hawkins and the fact that Mike’s jeans are still soaked from the rain and he presses back into Mike. He kisses him and it is too warm, Mike’s lips are too soft, too pink, too wet with tears, too beautiful, and it feels too perfect and it is exactly what he wants.
Mike’s hands are warm on his face. Will reaches out and holds the back of Mike’s neck, pulling his face in closer, impossibly closer, until he leans back onto the bed, and Mike leans over him from the floor, why the hell is he so tall, and Will is hungry, and Mike licks against his teeth and he could die, and nothing else has ever mattered to Will more than this, Will has never needed anything more than this.
Will breaks off of Mike’s lips to take a breath and Mike scrambles off the floor, landing on the bed next to Will. He says “Please” and his eyes are wide, and Will doesn’t know what to do except push his stupid beautiful chest backwards until he hits the headboard and Mike pulls him in, Will landing on top of him, and he kisses him again and Will could really just about die. It is perfect and messy and honestly, Will doesn’t even know if he’s doing this right, he’s never kissed someone like this before, but Mike is warm and his hands have landed on Will’s waist and he doesn’t seem to be complaining.
Will sees stars when he closes his eyes. Here is the boy he has always wanted, wanting him right back, soft, slick lips pressing against his, and he can feel their heat combining, and Will thinks, I deserve this. Will pushes his fingers through Mike’s tangled curly hair, and Mike lets him, and he deserves this. Mike kisses Will and Will kisses Mike, and he deserves this. He knows that now, and Mike is treating him like he’s the air he needs to breathe, and Mike is all he can taste and see and smell and it is truly beautiful.
Will breaks away from their kiss and Mike chases his lips, catching him in another one. Will laughs, grabbing Mike’s face to pull him away. He looks desperate, brows coming together and eyes dark and clouded and mouth hanging open, all for Will.
Will kisses the tip of Mike’s nose.
“Will,” Mike says, tightening his hands on Will’s waist. His eyes are stern. “I love you. I can’t believe it took me so long to realize it. I will never take you for granted again.”
Will bows his head forward, leaning against Mike’s forehead. He is silent. He listens to their breathing. It is synchronized.
“I love you,” he whispers back.
Saying it feels like a thousand weights have been lifted off of his shoulders.
And he deserves it.