Chapter Text
This is a very brave fable of a young boy.
This is a very brave fable of a young boy|
This is a very brave fable of a young|
This is a very brave fable of |
This is a very brave fable|
This is a very brave|
This is a very|
This is|
This|
This is shit. Where the hell would I even be going if I started the story like that.
Mike sits at his desk, pulling his hair. He lets out a groan of frustration, scooting back the box he was using as a make-shift chair.
He had just moved in to his own apartment, a tiny, two bedroom, one bathroom, on the second (top) floor of the only apartment complex in Hawkins, Indiana. His dad just about kicked him out when he told his parents that he was taking a gap year (or two) to focus on writing.
Mike had moved in just last week, half his furniture either sitting at his parents house or nonexistent. To be fair, unfurnished was way easier for the wallet, considering Mike worked part time at the library and was still getting a monthly allowance from his parents.
Over the past 18 months since graduation, Mike has written many stories, entering a couple into local short-story contests, and ending up winning one or two. Whether or not those stories were reminiscent of the "Great Hawkins Earthquake" is up for debate, but they were definitely a coping mechanism. Also in the past 18 months, Mike has gone through his friends all moving away, his sister rarely visiting, and a shit-ton of hearing Holly play D&D with her friends, including Derek Turnbow, who, now, is basically the younger brother Mike never had.
But now that he's living by himself? Everything is quiet. It's nice, having time to be alone, but he definitely misses the background noise of the laundry machine going or the TV chatter coming from whatever Ted was watching.
Mike leaves his room to get a snack, he had totally neglected breakfast and lunch due to the God-awful attempt at writing a new story. Theres been a lot of those terrible attempts recently.
It was 3 in the afternoon, and Mike was sitting alone on the carpet, staring at the record player that played The Smiths all throughout the tiny room. Yogurt bowl in one hand, cigarette in the other. He'd never been much of a smoker, not until his friends all moved away. Not until he left, it was an emotional goodbye, the worst one of all. But the worst part? Mike hasn't gotten a call from him in about 6 months.
Mike takes a long drag of the cigarette and eats a big spoonful of the blueberry-stained yogurt. William, William it was really nothing. The song plays in the background of Mike's thoughts, fogging up a little, just like his eyes are from the smoke.
What the actual shit. There's no way the world isn't out to get me right now.
Anytime he'd listen to The Smiths he'd metaphorically get a punch to the stomach, but that didn't stop him.
Yogurt bowl empty and cigarette put out, Mike laid back on the gray carpet, staring at the white ceiling, letting the music consume him. At least it's some noise.
It's so empty here. I wish it felt more like a home.
Mike closed his eyes, falling asleep as another song fills his head, too exhausted to recognize it.
——
Ring! Ring! Ring!
Mike woke up on the floor to the sound of the phone on the wall.
Who the hell has my number? And why're they calling me at- Mike looks at his watch, the one made to look like a calculator. 11:45? Shit-
"Hey, this is Mike Wheeler, who is this?"
"Hey, Mike."
Why was he calling. How'd he get this number? It's him, Mike could recognize his voice from a mile away, no amount of static could have made Will Byers' voice a mystery to Mike.
"Will?" Mike's brain fogged, remembering the last phone call they had. It was unsuspecting, Will signing off with "I'll talk to you soon, okay?" Which was obviously a lie. Why is he calling me. Oh God, is everything okay? "Will, hi. You good?"
"Yeah- So, this is super random and super awkward to ask, but the hotel here is currently closed, they had some sort of bed bug issue," Wait, the hotel here? In Hawkins? "Um. I called your mom, got her new number in the phone book, she said you moved out and gave me your number."
"You're here. Like, here, as in Hawkins?" Mikes hands were surely shaking, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat.
"Yeah. I'm on a week trip with my- um, my boyfriend," Hold up. Boyfriend?! Oh God, I know where this is headed. "And you know how my mom and Hop moved away a few months ago, so we don't really have a place to stay. You were my first option, everyone else from the party isn't here anymore, so, um, could we come stay with you for the week? If not that is okay, I can go stay with Mrs. Henderson or something, but I also have been wanting to talk to you."
"Yeah. You're welcome here anytime, Will," His voice was moving on autopilot, still in shock about Will Byers having a boyfriend. "I live in room 7 on the second floor of the apartments near Main, you know where that is?"
"Yeah. Thanks again, Mike, this means so much. I can't wait for you to meet Carlton, I think you guys will get along.”
Mike knew the tone in Will’s voice a bit of doubt, he was definitely unsure about them meeting, but Mike shook it off.
"Awesome," Mike replies through gritted teeth. What kind of fucking name is Carlton anyway. Sounds like he should be a big red dog or something. "See you soon, Will."
Mike stand by the phone, frozen. Will is coming here. With his boyfriend. From college. What the hell?!
Mike takes a few minutes to make his apartment presentable, rearranging the boxes to not see like they've been sitting there for a week, unmoved. Mike changes into more comfortable clothes. Sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes start to sting with tears, and another wave of nausea washes over him. He rushes to the bathroom and vomits into the sink.
God, that's pathetic.
After filling up water and swallowing 3 Tylenol pills with shaky hands (full circle moment, am I right?), there's a knock on the door, quiet and patient. Mike walks over, hand on the doorknob. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.
Will freaking Byers. He looks so- old? Handsome? Different.
"Mike! Hey!" Will stand there awkwardly, waiting for Mike to stop staring. A beat passes, then Mike flings his arms around Wills body, wrapping him in a hug. Will lets out a noise of surprise, but hugs back immediately. Everything is so familiar, but so different. Will notices how Mikes hair smells like smoke and mint shampoo, and how he doesn't really seem to want to let go.
"It's so good to see you," Mike whispers, pulling away slowly, eyes meeting Wills. For a second, it felt normal, but he cough from the tall guy walking up the stairs, a small suitcase in hand, snapped them out of it.
"Mike, I'd like you to meet Carlton, Carlton, this is my old friend, Mike."
"Hi," They shake hands, firm handshake, and Mike meets his eyes. Well, clearly Will had a type. Are you kidding me?! This guy's basically me, but hot. "Nice to meet you, man."
"You too, thanks for letting Will and I," he pauses, pulling will closer by wrapping an arm around his shoulder, "stay with you."
Will and me, but whatever. Someone clearly didn't listen in 5th grade.
"Anytime. Uh- come in."
This is gonna be the longest fucking week ever.