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The funny thing was, it all started like their Donjon Master had predicted. Max and Lucas, off at the State university, the first one studying psychology, hoping to specialize in childhood protection, and the second one on a basket-ball scholarship, majoring in mathematics, were falling more and more in love everyday. Dustin, off to MIT, was acing school and dreaming of a job at NASA, studying wormholes and exotic matter, all while regularly coming back to Hawkins and taking trip around the country with Steve and his little league. So far, no relationship for him, but, as he had once confessed to his friends, he might not crave them the way they all did, and, he was slowly learning to be okay with that. Will was off in Chicago, studying architecture and meeting so many diverse people, in the big city. Mike, while he could have followed Max and Lucas at uni, had taken some time off. Hopper speech had landed, and the young man was learning, little by little, to live again. The pain, however, was still there, still heart-wrenching, and the place where it felt the lighter was when he was writing. So that’s what he did. He wrote. He wrote to his friends – to all of them, even Max and Lucas who were the closest and regularly came home, and to Will especially, not wanting to repeat past mistake (that’s what he said to himself, at least) and because, somehow, despite the distance and everything, Will was still his best friend, his constant, the one person it was the easiest to talk to. He helped Holly write her D&D campaign (and wrote stories to read to her, when the nightmares kept her awake, some nights). He wrote short stories he send out to magazines, and got a few of them published. Robin (sorry, Rockin’ Robin) had even read some of his work on her university’s radio show, and one of the literature professors, who taught creative writing, had, apparently, asked her who was the mysterious author, because he might know a starting publisher who could be interested by a novel in this tone and style. Mike had managed to keep his cool on the phone, but the moment Robin hanged up, he had danced and hugged his parents and his sister, and called Will and called everybody, and the following week-end, all of his friends made the trip back to Hawkins to celebrate with him. It had been a good day.
Mike was, as a matter of fact, writing, in his room, when he heard knocks on the door. He stopped, confused as if he even heard anything. When he was immersed in his stories, he could easily forget everything else and his mind was quick to play tricks on him – unless that was just a result of all the traumas he went through. But no, there they were, knocks on the door again. Mike stood up, still a bit confused. The rhythm of the knocks, the way they echoed in his heart…All in him screamed “Will”, but, no, it couldn’t be, right ? Will was hundreds of miles away, studying architecture and probably making out with some Trevor guy or something – for a few letters now (although, they did call a lot, but Will and he loved sending letters to each other, and sometimes, writing things was easier), Will had mentioned going to a underground queer bar and meeting guys. Whatever Mike had felt reading these, he had no right to. He couldn’t be jealous of his friends moving out with life. It was what he was trying to do to, no matter how slow and downright impossible that felt, sometimes…
He opened the door, his hand not on the handle clenched around a umbrella, just in case – trauma.
“Will ! Are you… Is everything okay ? Are you okay ? A…”
Mike, letting go of the umbrella, still eyed anxiously in the alleyway, as if a Demo could suddenly emerge from between the carefully mowed brains of grass.
“I’m okay, everything is okay ! I… Can I come in ?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course !”
Mike made way for his best friend and they soon ended up in his room sat on his bed, with some snacks – like good old times. Will had an easy smile on his lips, his hair having definitively abandoned the bowl cut and handsomely ruffled – no wonder he got guys in this queer bar of his – but there were dark circles under his eyes.
“So… Why aren’t you at school ?” Mike finally asked.
“I… I kinda dropped out ?” Will answered, sheepishly
“What ?”
His best friend chuckled.
“Can’t believe that got more of a reaction out of you than my coming out…”
“Please, I was shocked, we already went over this. Why did you dropped out of school, man ? Does your mom and Hopper know ? Does Jonathan ? And…”
Will laughed again, at Mike concern. God, he missed him and missed his friends so much…
“Well, Steve must suspect, as he his the one who got me from the train station to your house, but, other than him, no, you’re the first one to know.”
Something fluttered in Mike’s heart, but he ignored it, focusing on his friend.
“As for why… I… I’m not doing as good as I though I was ? Like, yes, I needed the change of air. After all the trauma I – we – lived, here, in Hawkins, I needed to not be reminded of my worst nightmares and even worse memories every single day, I needed to see the world wasn’t limited to this, this town, these memories. I needed to, also, I’ll admit, meet other people like me. Other gay people. Other queer people. And I met so many of them, and learn so much about myself and about this “queer culture”, and, honestly, Mike, it’s so… enriching and deep and creative ! Even for people who aren’t queer, it’s so… But anyway ! Not the point. I still want that. I still want to live anywhere but in Hawkins or any town that looks like it ! I want to live in a big city, where I’m more free to be myself, and everything, but… Hawkins is still part of me, I can’t escape it. I thought I could fake it until I made it, but…”
“Will…” Mike murmured, feeling his eyes tearing up.
It still didn’t explain why Will left school, but it didn’t matter. Mike hugged him, tightly, and Will hugged him right back.
“Together.” He mumbled
“Together.”
They stayed like that a while longer, then dried their tears :
“Anyway, it’s… I was with this guy, Trevor, you remember him ? I mentioned him in one of my letters. He is very nice, and very hot too, and… We got along very well. He is funny and caring and loves video games and comics, and I made him read your published short stories and he found them astonishing – his words, not mine, although they are mine too – and… I’m sure you’d like him !”
Pretty sure I wouldn’t, said something deep (not so deep, actually) inside of Mike.
“Anyway. Things developed between us, and there was that one time I slept at his place, and I had a nightmare, and he worried, so I… Well, I couldn’t explain everything you know, but, I tried giving him the brief redacted version of it all, and, I don’t know, somehow, he thought I was talking about sexual assault in my childhood, which after reflecting upon I can understand why, and gave me the contact of this guy who run talking group with people who suffered things like that. He even drove me to one, so I went and at the end of it, one of the member thanked everyone and said something like how not even the most well intentioned shrink in the world could understand – really understand – even half of what the group did. It send me spiraling a little. I love the big city, like I said, and meeting new people and new queer people, but, each time these new friendships start to become something more, something deeper or something that could be romantic, it suddenly feels like there is a big glass between me and them, me and the rest of the world. And nobody can see it, except for me and all the sound are dimmed down, the touches are dimmed down, the joy, the love… All the good thing suddenly feel muffled, distant, and cold… ”
“Yeah… I… Not the same way you do, obviously, especially given the fact I’m living a bit like a recluse here lately, but, yeah, I feel it too, this glass-like feeling… I know Nacy feels it too. Did you know that her, Robin, Steve and Jonhatan meet once a month in Robin’s weird uncle house ?”
Will chuckled.
“Yeah, I know. I… It’s their own talking group. Their trauma is…similar and linked to ours, of course, but still, it’s not quite the same either. They were older. They weren’t the party.”
Silence fell for a bit, until Will spoke up again :
“And, also, it turns out… I don’t like architecture all that much. I know it pays well and all, but… I don’t know, I love drawing so much and I’m good at it, but doing it with buildings only feels a bit reductive, to me, and I think I’m getting fed up of this feeling…”
At that, Mike laughed.
“Okay, so, first of all, you could have started with that before introducing the heavier stuff – basic writing rule. And second, no shit. I saw you face when you choose architecture. I could have told you you wouldn’t like it. In fact, oh wait, I did !”
Will laughed too, before shoving his friend, and, soon, they were sprawl on the bed cover, out of breathe, still laughing a little.
“So, what do you want to do, now ?”
“I don’t know…”
“Liar.” Mike replied, not accusatorily, or disappointedly – quite one the contrary, a smile was still dancing on his lips – but very matter-of-fact.
“Urgh, fine…”
Will turned on his side, and Mike did the same. They were now face to face.
“But promise not to make fun of me.”
“You know I wouldn’t. Not with something like that.”
“I know, I know. Just making sure. I… I’d like to be an illustrator.”
At that, Mike smiled – big.
“Yeah ? That’s so awesome, dude !”
“You really think so ?”
“I’m writer myself, dingus ! What do you think ?”
“Well, in fact, you may have inspired me.”
Mike suddenly stopped.
“Wait, really ? Me ?”
“Yeah. I mean, you’re doing creative work, with no college degree and you’re making it work ! I mean, Jonathan’s studies and career plan is also creative and inspired me as well, but… Yeah. You’re still the heart of the group, Mike.”
“I thought it just meant I was the most worried of the party…” the young man tried to downplay, with a chuckle.
His best friend saw right through it though. He patted his shoulder.
“You’re way more than that, Mike. Always have, and always will be. The heart is the reason the entire group holds together, and move forwards as a unit, fighting off all the bad guys in our wake.”
“Ironic, given how I’m the one still living in my parent’s basement…”
“Your body maybe, but your mind… Your mind is everywhere. With all of us, in all of your letters, in all your stories – the one already written and the one yet to come – and in all of the worlds you’re creating. Worlds in which other kids and teens and maybe even adults, like us, will find a home, a safe-place, a shield, a sword.”
“Will…”
“No, Mike, you’re our heart and our anchor. Our light in darkness, the solid ground under our feet when the world turn to dust around us. The party would crumble, without you. Hell, I would crumble, without you.”
A teary smile made his way to Mike’s face, and he surrendered. Surrendered to the compliments, surrendered to his friend’s love and care. It felt good. He often struggled to accept it, but, still, he couldn’t deny how good it felt.
“Okay, okay, fine… But in that case, as your biggest inspiration, I have a request. A demand, even !” Mike said, with his Donjon Master voice.
Will laughed.
“Do tell, do tell.”
“That you illustrate the covers of all of my future books !”
Will’s face brightened.
“You’d…You’d want me to do that ? There surely are more qualified artists out there that could…”
“Ah ah ah. Not negotiable. I want to see “Cover by Will Byers” on every damn thing I’ll ever publish from now on !”
Will laughed and they spend the next hour talking about drawing style and Mike’s writing and…
“Wait, wait, wait… Hear me out… On the side, we could make like a illustrated children book together ? Drawings, by Will Byers. Writing by Mike Wheeler.”
“That’s… That’s actually so good ! We could do it on trauma ? Like, in a metaphorical way, of course, but, you know…”
“We could ask Max for her input, as a childhood psychology major !”
“We’d put Black characters, and disabled characters…”
“At least one with cleidocranial dysplasia !”
“Obviously !”
“Hidden hints to D&D !”
“Hints of queerness, too ! And I could…”
Will kept going, but Mike’s ears couldn’t hear a word. Suddenly, his entire attention was focused on his friend’s face, the way it lit up, the way he smiled, the way his lips… Oh.
Mike shot up and sprinted to the bathroom, Will’s voice on his heels. He threw up in the toilet, tears on his face. He was in love with Will Byers. Oh, holy mother of God… Shit ! Fuck !
“Mike ? Are you okay ?”
“Fine, fine… Maybe… I don’t know… Something I ate, probably… ”
Good news : Will was gay. Bad news : Will had no feelings whatsoever for him. He used to have a crush on him, yes, but that was a long time ago. Oh, fuck…
He throw up some more.
“Are sure you’re okay ? And, please, you’d tell me, if there were any disgusting Upsidedown-looking slugs coming out of you, right ?”
Mike cracked a laugh. They might not be completely healed from all their traumas – was that even possible, total healing ? – but, at least, they could laugh about it together.
“No slugs, no slugs…” he reassured.
But the slugs made him think about the Upside-down, and then El, and then how he was betraying her by loving someone else. He threw up some more, and the rest of the afternoon was spend on the couch, watching one of the movie Jonathan was berating all of his friends to watch.
***
Dear Will,
We talked on the phone yesterday – still glad your mom hasn’t killed you from dropping out of school, by the way – but, as you well know, some things are better in writing than voice only. The other day, when you came to tell me you about your plan for the future, you mentioned how rich and interesting queer culture is. I wanted to, maybe, if that’s okay and if that’s respectful, dip a little into it, see what part of that richness I could use, in my own writing. Afterall, fantasy is a genre made by and for outcasts, and what are queer people if not outcasts ? I want them – and you – to feel seen and heard and represented in the stories I write, even if only through metaphors and coding. I know I wasn’t always the most tactful, around your queerness, and it’s something I don’t want to repeat, and definitively not on a larger scale, hence why I’d like to do some more research.
Hope you’re doing well,
Your Mike.
***
The phone picked up after 3 rings only. Mike had chosen his timing with the precision. Still, his heart was beating like crazy in his chest.
“Hopper.”
“Hi Chief. It’s, uh, Mike.”
“Hi Mike. Sorry, but Will and Joyce are on their monthly mother-son date.”
“I know. Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh. Is everything okay ?”
“Yeah, yeah ! I just… I… It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have called !”
“Hey, kid ! Wait, wait ! It’s okay… Is it about El ? About moving on, maybe ?”
Damn, when did Jim Hopper, of all people, became so good at reading others ? And while drunk, at that ! Even through the phone, Mike could hear he had a bit too much to drink. While he and Joyce were very happy together, they still had their trauma, their healthy and unhealthy coping skills. And Hopper still had lost a second daughter, a little more than two years prior.
“Y…Yes, it is.”
“Please, go ahead.”
So Mike did, talking about El, how he missed her, how sometimes he still felt like he was betraying her by simply living, how angry he was sometimes, at her – no matter how unfair it was – at himself, at the world. How afraid he was, to love again. How even more afraid he was to never be able to love anymore. How guilty he felt, because he might have fallen for somebody else.
***
Dear Robin,
This is going to be very weird, and could have been a phone call, but bear with me, please. I know you helped Will a lot, and today, I am the one coming to you for help. Next time you’re at your weird uncle’s place, could we, maybe, have a little chat together, over coffee or something (my treat) ? I can drive to Philly with Steve. I won’t infringe on your little reunion, of course, but, if before or after it, you’re free…
Hope you’re doing well,
Love,
Mike.
***
“You’re awfully silent, Mike.” Max stated.
The young man had been invited to the little flat Lucas and Max had started renting a few month ago, when the dorms had to be evacuated because of a bedbug problem.
“Sorry, just a little tired.”
“Stressed about the editor’s response ?”
The young man nodded. It wasn’t just that, but it was definitively part of the issue, so, technically, not a lie. Max was looking a little suspicious, though. Damn psychology !
“If he says no, I could throw a basket ball in his face.” Lucas provided, only half joking.
He had done so with one of Max’s teacher who had taught an entire class on how homosexuality was wrong, and needed to be cured, before branching out on how Black people were all genetically programmed to be criminals and thugs.
Mike smiled.
“That will be a little bit harder to mask as a regretful incident…”
“Meh, I’ll manage. Plus, what are they gonna do ? Expel their most talented player ? I think not !”
Lucas’ eyebrows were dancing on his forehead, making all of them laugh. But, suddenly, Mike turned serious again :
“Do you think… Do you think something is wrong with me, if I start questioning things about myself ? Things I always held as true and normal and the only way to be ?”
His friends exchanged a look.
“No. Why would it be ? Do you want to talk about it ?”
***
And, just like that, it was November’s 6th again. They were all there, Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max, Robin, Nancy, Steve, Jonathan, Erica, Holly, Derek and all of the kids, Joyce, and Hopper, at the Wheelers’ house. It was a bit like Thanksgiving – there was food, drinks, a fire in the fire place, and lot of love – but way somber. It hurt as much as it felt good. It was necessary. Like pumping out a poison, no matter how painful the process. At the end of the meal, Mike stood up :
“On this dark anniversary no other soul on Earth can begin to understand, as we are gathered together, to mourn the people taken from us – among the dozens, I’m thinking, tonight, particularly, of Barb, Bob, Billy, Eddie, and, of course, the reason we are all here today, El Hopper. Their fate is unfair and unjust. Our own fate, as victims and as survivors, bound to live with the wound of their absence and hurt so deep in ourselves it might never heal by the same evil that took them from us, is as unfair and unjust as their. But we had a chance they don’t : we get to live. No matter how imperfect, how painful, how difficult, this life is, we get to live it. We owe it to them, to live it, the best way we can. I don’t know for you, but, for me, it’s, overall, been hell. I thought it would become easier, with time. It doesn’t. The grief, the pain, the sadness, the anger, they’re still there, they don’t just go away because it’s been three years. But they change, they evolve. And that’s what we have to do ourselves. That’s what it means, to live : to change, to evolve. It is hard, because, it means choosing a path. It means dwelling less on the could-have-been and moving forwards, taking the risk of making mistakes, and living new things and letting life add events and lessons and joys and pains in your mind. It may feel like forgetting. But it’s not. It took me some time to understand it, to deal with it. My entire being, body and soul, rebelled against this idea of moving forward for so long. I’m sure, sometimes, it still will rebel, trying to drag me back in the dark abyss of grief and pain. But it doesn’t change the fact that living new things, adding meaning to the days and the years, feeling happy and laughing, crying for something that isn’t them or what happened… It’s not forgetting, it’s living. It may hurt, it may feel uncomfortable, but that’s what we got to do, to honor them, and, frankly, to honor ourselves too. These memories, the good and the bad, won’t disappear. What we lived, good or bad and always, as a very smart man once said, chaotic, will never be erased or taken from us. This… No, no this, but us… Us, all of us, we are each other’s anchor. But this anchor, it’s a special one, a magical one, if you will. It doesn’t tether us to a single shore, it doesn’t freeze us in time until a crew deign raise it. No. It allows us to move, freely, without ever getting lost, without coming to close to the dangerous sandbank and cutting rocks, without capsizing. Ariadne’s anchor, if you will. We can safely make new memories, cry, laugh, make mistake, collect successes, love, dance… our anchor will still be here. We’ll still be here, we won’t forget, but we’ll evolve, we’ll change. It won’t be easy, of course not, there have been hard days, and there will still be hard days, but I… I… Oh, fuck…”
Mike had managed to give most of his speech without crying, but suddenly, it all felt too much. The Party embraced him and they sobbed together. Joyce and Hopper were crying too. Robin and Steve were hugging tightly, as Nancy was holding Holly, who was trembling like a leaf. Jonathan had one of his hand clasped in his mother’s.
A few hours later, Mike was in the garden, his eyes lifted towards the night sky.
Dear El,
I hope you’re seeing the same moon as me tonight, and thinking of us – fondly, not sadly. Funny. It’s not the first letter I write to you, so very far from it, but the beginning is almost the same as the first one.
It’s been three years now, and I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. I hope you’ve found your peace – and a few waterfalls along the way. I hate you’re not here. I hate I didn’t get to take you on a sightseeing tour around the world. There are so many things I whish I could have told you, and lived with you. So many things I wish I could have done better, too.
I was your first friend, and you were my first love (no matter how shitty of a boyfriend I was). It’s ironic, how easy it feels, telling you I loved you, now… Yes, loved… This time, I’m not taking it back. I’m not crying myself to sleep, so angry at myself, for thinking about you in the past tense. I still believe you’re out there, somewhere, and I still love you. But also, I loved you. Does that makes sense ? Sorry, I’m usually way more efficient with my words… We say “love” for a lot of things : we can love a person, a place, a book, a movie, a character, a pet, a song, a game… And even with a person, we can love them platonically, romantically, because they’re family, and probably a lot of other ways I still have to discover. When I write “I loved you”, it’s true, it’s sad and it’s beautiful and it’s in the past, and it’s a different form of love than when I write “I love you”, which is just as true, just as sad and beautiful as the other one, but very present. This love, El, will always be there, no matter what happens and what life throw at us I’ll always feel it, for as long as I breathe. This “loved”, however, allows me to free myself and let my heart love other people too. Well, not just any random other people… It’s… God, even just writing it, in a letter that will never be sent, makes me shake… But, it’s fitting you’d be the first one to know, so, here we go : I’m in love with Will. Yes, I know. Our Will. Your foster brother, of sorts. Funny, huh ? I’m sure you’d laugh. I still remember, when we boarded the truck, for our final trip to the Upside down, the cute and confused way you asked why was Will loving boys such a big deal… Yeah, you’d definitively laugh at me and call me stupid.
Anyway, here it is, I said it – well, wrote it, but close enough : I love Will Byers. I love Will Byers !
Love you always, El
Your Mike.
“Hey, is everything okay ?”
Mike hastily put the letter back in his pocket, as Will approached.
“Hey. Yeah. Just…Thinking.”
“Good thoughts ?”
“Bitter-sweet. Like everyone, especially today, I think.”
“Yeah… Beautiful speech, by the way. Unfinished, but beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll admit, I’m curious, about the ending. If you want, of course. I… If you wrote it, you might want someone to hear it, even if it’s not everybody. So, if you want an ear, I’m here.”
“It’s… It was nothing really… And pretty selfish too, so…”
“I’m sure it’s not. Come on.”
“Well, I just wanted to… without forgetting anything… let life add a little good news over this sinister date… It wasn’t planned, or anything. My speech was already almost over when I got the letter yesterday, but… I kinda maybe heard back from the publisher and they’re very interested in my book !”
“Mike ! That’s awesome ! Oh my god ! Congratulations !”
And, despite everything, Mike couldn’t help but smile too. They embraced and laughed a little more, and then, the silence came back, as their faces turned to the sky. Mike breathed in, then out. Will did the same. For an second, their wounds didn’t feel as heavy as they usually did. Their shoulders brushed and, suddenly, Mike the Brave took over.
“I also wrote this, last night, as I couldn’t sleep.”
And, with that, he gave the letter addressed to Eleven to Will. His hands only began to shake when he let go of the paper.
Seconds passed. Longer than they should have felt. There was a weird ringing in the Wheeler man’s ears.
“Mike…”
Will’s voice was shaking and there were tears in his eyes.
“I… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have… Forget it… Just…”
Mike was already running towards the house, but his friend’s hand landed on his arm.
“Mike.”
There were still tears on Will’s cheeks, but he was also smiling.
“Will.” Mike replied, a little hesitantly.
“I love you too.”
“You do ?”
“I always have.”
“I thought it was just a silly crush…”
“It wasn’t. I wanted to convinced everybody it was – wanted to convinced myself too. But it wasn’t, Mike. It never was. I just can’t believe… I am not dreaming, right ? God, how broken am I, if the first thought that pops into my brain is : this is impossible, you must be in the Upside down, being manipulated by Vecna, once again.”
Mike smiled, sadly.
“It’s real, I swear. It’s real, although I can’t really believe it myself. Oh my god… I never dared to dream beyond that point, and now… Wow…”
Will’s hand cupped Mike’s face, fingers burying in his hair.
“Wow, indeed…”
“So, what do we do now ?”
“Well, if you’re okay with that, I’m going to kiss you.”
“Yes. Yes, please.”
Both leaned in. The kiss was sweet and chaste, but under their closed eyelid, fireworks imploded.
“And then, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
“Together.”
***
Later, when they came out to their family – blood, chosen, and trauma-imposed – and told the entire story, piling up good things on November 6th or 7th became a tradition among them. Jonathan revealed his selection in a big film festival, Robin came out to those who still didn’t know, Nancy announced her promotion to senior investigative journalist at the Herald, Max proposed to Lucas (yes, yes), Dustin, his first job at NASA, Steve, he and his wife’s pregnancy… And, year after year, good news after good news, nobody ever forgot El or Eddie or the Upside Down or anything that happened. Piling up good things didn’t made them forget. It didn’t make them grow distant, it didn’t make everything easy or simple or pain-free. Piling up good things – upon bad things and worse ones – just made the unbearable a little bit more bearable.