Chapter Text
It’s been nearly three years since Will Byers left everything he had ever known.
It wasn’t like it was easy. It wasn’t. It had taken him almost two years to establish any form of social circle.
For the first eight months he’d spent in near solitary, only leaving his pathetically small apartment to work in the equally as pathetic establishment he’d been unlucky enough to call his place of work. His mother called him three times a week, regular as clockwork- every Monday, Thursday and Sunday with an occasional quick check up on Tuesday mornings. That was nice. It brought him a sense of comfort. A reminder he wasn’t really alone. Jonathan did visit sometimes, though considering they only lived a couple hours each way away from eachother, it wasn’t nearly half as much as he craved. Really, being honest with himself, those first inital months so far away home absolutely sucked. He wanted nothing more to be home in his mother’s arms, surrounded by all of his friends, to see El again. But that didn’t happen.
He didn’t visit home until it had been nearly a year and a half after he left.
Life in the big city got easier after that, when he found his new friends. Leaving only to come back was like this weird breath of fresh air he reckoned he needed. The people he met weren’t anything like the friends he had in Hawkins, but they were something. They were nice. Normal. Plain, even. He guessed if he really tried, a couple of them held somewhat of a little resemblance to those at home. Though, he couldn’t even say that any more because of none of them were home in the way he thought of it. The last he heard, Max and Lucas lived together just thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. Dustin was studying his big, fancy Phd making his new girlfriend Anna proud- because apparently he had one of those now. And Mike, well, he didn’t know. He couldn’t pry an answer out of anyone if he tried. He thought maybe it was for the best. He knew he needed to move on, and well, that’s what he did.
His boyfriend, David, was a pretty new addition to his life. They’ve only been dating for a couple months, having met in a gay bar just outside of Manhattan on a night out with his friends. He’s nice, if Will does say so himself. He’s tall, with black hair and dusting of freckles over his admitedly bony nose, and he’s all gangly limbs for the age of 21. He’s soft spoken and doesn’t really speak much at all, but when he does, he’s kind and smart but when it whittles down to it, it’s about as vanilla as vanilla can be. He would never admit it to anyone at all, but there’s not an ounce of passion between them. David thinks so, but Will just can’t seem to find it. He thinks he’s probably slightly hung-up on Mike, but he prefers not to think of it. If he does, he’ll probably do something he doesn’t want to and he simply can’t. He can’t abandon the life he’s built for an infantile crush he had on his childhood bestfriend. He couldn’t do it. He’s as his mother would say- made his own bed and now he has to lie in it.
That’s exactly how he’s in this situation right now.
In a dingy, sticky, over-whelmingly loud bar with David, sipping shitty, rubbing-alchol esque drinks quicker then the bartender can even make them, as he feels the suffcoating weight of his boyfriend’s hand heavy on his denim jacket clad shoulder. David is trying to say something in his ear, but it falls deaf. He’s not listening. He’s floating in and out of conciousness he thinks, or maybe it’s the vodka cokes impairing his critical thinking and the smoke machine blurring his vision. David pulls him lightly by the shoulder.
“Are you okay, honey?” He asks, sweetly, far too sweetly. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like kindness in a blanket of hate and he can’t stand it. He nods back with a half assed smile he knows is phalf assed, but he can’t muster anything else up. Poor David looks worried, but rather then questioning, he just hails the bartender for another drink for the both of them with a shaky squeeze to Will’s shoulder. He’s alone for a brief minute when he leaves, and it feels as though he can finally breathe okay. His ears pop. When they do, he perks up at the introduction of a song it seems he hasn’t heard in forever. There’s a low hum when the speakers fire up, and then the song tinkles throughout the night club. It’s certainly a weird choice, but isn’t like he’s complaining. He’s always loved the Cure- it’s always been something that has reminded him of godforsaken Mike Wheeler. A tear wells in his eyes. He quickly swipes it away before David gets back, and he’s never been so thankful for his blatant ignorance before.
He can’t stay sat down for some reason. It’s like the song sparks somthing in him. He almost falls off the seat as he glances towards the DJ booth.
His heart stops.
He doesn’t see the DJ. He doesn’t see anything else in his view except him.
It’s him. It really is.
It’s Mike.
It feels like he’s going to burst into tears. He’s running, pushing through the dense matter of people before he can even take a second to think. He’s wrapping his arms around Mike. He knows there’s tears spiling down his cheeks and he knows he’s going to regret this tomorrow morning. Now he’s there, it clicks that, shit, what if Mike doesn’t even know who he is? What if he’s just hugging a random person right now? what if? What if? His heart starts racing when the person he prays is a Mike who remebers him pulls him back from the spot on his chest. It is Mike, thankfully, but his face is scrunched up all ugly and Will’s chest tenses.
“Fuckin’ Will?” Mike shrieks and it almost sounds like a sob. He yanks Will back by the shoulders and envelops in a bone-crushing hug once again. Will doesn’t breathe, he doesn’t even think. He’s there. With Mike. What, the, fuck?