Chapter Text
August 1985
The cusp of summer has always been a peculiar time. The usual anticipation of change lingers in the air with the occasional humidity of late summer clinging to Mike’s skin, though the summer of ‘85 gave ‘change’ a whole new meaning. Mike is standing off to the side, watching his girlfriend haul boxes into the van that is bound for Lenora. Once again, he is stuck in a game of chess against his emotions. In a few minutes, he is going to lose his first girlfriend, but he doesn’t feel anything. He is supposed to feel something, right?
Max once forced Mike and his friends to watch Anna Karenina at Starcourt, a romantic drama. When the main couple separated in the end, it was fraught with tragedy, hurt, and lots of emotional strain, so why has Mike’s heart gone quiet?
Box by box, the van is being filled. Mike spaces out on his friends, becoming dewy-eyed, clinging to each other for dear life. He snaps out of it when Eleven pulls him into a hug, her cheeks stained and eyes irritated with tears. He doesn’t understand why she is crying; it’s not like they are never going to see each other again, there is still the promise of a next time.
He can’t help but feel guilty. He silently wishes that somebody would insult or pinch him hard, so he can at least share the same feeling of despondency as his girlfriend. The fantasy is never fulfilled; he just wraps his awkwardly long limbs around his partner, trying to soothe her, though he feels increasingly uncomfortable. Her hug feels like pressure, like someone is pulling him under cold and dark water.
His attention gets pulled away at the front door swinging open, his best friend, Will, steps out with a big stack of boxes in his hands, his limbs shaking under the weight. This is just the escape Mike needs from the awkward situation. “Let me help you!” He shoots Eleven the most distraught look he can conjure up in the moment and steps up to the porch.
Will flashes him a quick smile, avoiding eye contact as Mike begins to take a good portion of the boxes to himself. “Thanks.” Will manages to wheeze out, “Is that it? Nothing else left in the house?” Mike questions, looking into the house that is now scraped of all the old and far memories of their childhood. “Yeah, my mom is checking the house out for the last time.” Will confirms while stepping down to the sidewalk.
“Cool.” He responds, following Will, who is making his way to the U-Haul. Together they place down the final boxes, Will wiping sweat from his brow. “I guess this is it, we are off to Lenora,” Will concludes as Mike turns to him. “You nervous? About Lenora, I mean.” Mike inquires and mirrors Will’s movements, giving him his full attention. They both sit down on the edge of the U-Haul. The smell of cardboard and dust takes over their senses. Mike accidentally knocks into an old closet, making one of the doors swing open slightly. “Piece of old shit…” Mike mutters under his breath while slamming it shut, making Will laugh quietly at the display.
“I guess… but change isn’t always bad, besides, it is about time we get out of this town that has historically not perceived my family that well.” Will smiles, the sunburn on his cheeks looking more prominent.
“Yeah… Hawkins isn’t gonna be the same without you guys though. I mean, I am thrilled that you and El can finally start a more peaceful life, but… I don’t know… what’s Hawkins without half of our party? You gonna join another party in Lenora?” He asks Will, concern written all over his face. Huh. Maybe he can feel emotions after all.
Will beams at him once again, “Not a chance.” He reassures Mike, his voice cracking just a bit under all the thick emotion, which is just the remedy Mike needed to wipe the troubled expression from his face. They look at each other for a beat, and Mike can’t keep himself from seeing the little boy he once befriended on the kindergarten playground. Yes, they had grown up since meeting each other nine years ago, but Mike still remembered that day on the swingset. How misplaced and lonesome Will had looked, swinging alone amid all the joyful children. Befriending Will is the best decision in his short-lived life after all, no matter how many years have passed since then.
“Will, we are leaving!” The moment gets shattered by Joyce calling out to her son. The boys nod and stand up, walking together to the front of the house, where the waterworks have started. All the kids are huddled together, embracing one another for the last time.
“Wait,” Will calls out to Mike, holding a piece of paper out to him. Mike’s features wash over with surprise, “What’s this?” He asks hesitantly, carefully pulling the paper out of Will’s hands.
He turns the page around to be greeted by a drawing clearly made by a child. It depicts a paladin and a sourcer holding hands, smiling. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Will, whose face has flushed. “I found it under my cupboard while cleaning out my room… It’s the first sketch we made of our D&D characters for our first campaign… I want you to have it.” Will concludes, his face looking more hesitant as he rambles on. Mike nods and puts it in his backpack, which is flung over his shoulder. “Cool, thanks!” He smiles and looks at Will one more time before he gets pulled into a hug by Eleven.
“It’ll be okay, I’ll find time to visit.” He utters to her as she pulls their foreheads together. The feeling of emptiness takes over him once again. Perhaps it hasn’t really hit him yet and needs time to process it all. Truth be told, the last few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions and events all happening simultaneously. The fights between him and Eleven, Billy, Hopper, and now the big move. It was a lot for everyone and Mike is notorious for saying the wrong things or not saying anything at all in pivotal situations. This is the perfect example of the ‘pivotal situation.’ Mike is choosing to stay quiet.
Eleven pulls away and walks to Max, hugging her tight. Mike stands there once again, not knowing what to do until Will approaches him and pulls him into a hug. It must have been at least a year since they last hugged each other like that. Like the world was about to end, and they were the last people standing, like there was a vast flood and Mike was the only tree around that Will could cling to before getting sucked away.
With his eyes wide for a second, he quickly melts into Will’s hug, gripping his back just as tight. They stay like that, still and wrapped around each other, Will’s hands trembling around Mike’s waist. When they eventually pull away, Mike notices that he is crying, as is Will, a few of their shared tears dropping down to the collar and shoulder of his gray and blue shirt. Mike pulls Will back right away, into the same tight hug he was in just a second ago. Mike takes advantage of the moment, quickly wiping his tears, praying that no one noticed.
Of course, he is not ashamed of his emotions, but rather surprised that his friend could pull the outburst of tears out of him, rather than his girlfriend, whom he likes or… loves very much. “We will call every day, I promise. I will write.” He declares, observing that Will is just as, if not more shaken up than he is. He feels Will nod against his shoulder before pulling away. He takes one good and final look at Will before he backs into Jonathan's beat-up car before drawing his attention back to El, who is pulling him into another hug.
She kisses his cheek, “I love you.” She whispers and pulls away while Mike nods at her sentiment. She smiles and walks to the passenger side of the U-Haul, next to Joyce, who is looking at her with those kind eyes she has had since Mike was a small child. He can feel his legs slowly going numb as the cars start to drive away from the now former Byers’ residence. He knows the feeling far too well– the feeling of loss and regret.
Regret? He isn’t sure where that came from; he said proper farewells, helped them pack… hugged Will, hugged El. Weird. Maybe it’s the flash of guilt that hits him. Why did he feel more affected by Will’s hug rather than El’s? She is his girlfriend, the person he his supposed to have strong feelings of affection towards.
The others left in front of the house start to move towards their bikes while Mike is still standing there, his eyes following Jonathan's car, where Will is sitting, as it disappears into the distance, away from Hawkins, away from Mike.
“Mike! You coming?” He gets broken out of the trance by Lucas’ screaming. He blinks twice and puts back on his ‘not-caring’ face. “Yeah… yeah.” He mutters under his breath as he turns around and walks to his bike that is a size too small for him.
As the others roll away, he stands there, bike between his legs. He looks back at the brown house, feelings of bittersweetness taking over him. It's really over. Another phase of his life is complete, or is it? Will was supposed to be a permanent presence in his life. Will understood him better than anyone. Every look, every quirk, every feeling.
They had grown up together in the now soulless house. That revelation he had come to earlier, when he was watching Joyce paint over the growth chart of Mike and Will on the doorframe of Will’s bedroom. In that very house, they planned their first-ever campaign, plotted a revenge ploy against Troy and James that never got fulfilled. When he asked Will ‘What would Hawkins be without him around?’ he was being sincere because in reality he had no idea. Currently, there is only an echo of the now-empty Byers house behind him. He isn’t comfortable with change; in full honesty, that’s the thing that scares him the most. He sighs and pedals away, back home, this time taking the longer route. He doesn’t dare to look back.
He drives by the kindergarten where he and Will met for the first time in the Fall of ‘76. Both of the swings are empty, slightly swaying in the wind, as if the ghost of the carefree memory is still haunting the ground. He stops for a moment and just stares. Love echoes in his mind while he recalls the distant memory. He quickly breathes out, as if something heavy had hit him in the chest.
Love? He can’t even say the word out loud to his girlfriend without recoiling internally. He can’t think this about his best friend, about a boy.
The night Will went missing, Mike’s father sent a clear message to Mike– “You see, Michael. You see what happens?” A few years ago, Mike didn’t understand what his father was trying to convey, but now…
Will was always thought of as the ‘weak queer’ by most of Hawkins. Yes, Will was quiet, rather resigned and sensitive, but weak? No way. Will is probably the strongest person Mike has ever known. From relentless bullying to being taken into the Upside Down when he was just eleven years old, and having to survive for a week all by himself. Nobody was there to lift him into their arms and give Will the care he deserved.
Even when he eventually came back, he was still being mistreated by those around him. The title ‘Zombie boy’ stuck, while Mike tried to defend him, his attempts were short of being enough. He could only be there for him, pledging to ‘go crazy together.’ And love makes you crazy, right?
Mike’s eyes widen once again. There it is again, the word love. He quickly starts pedalling again, further away from the swings that are swaying more aggressively now.
Memories of him and Will holding hands as kids flash through his mind. He remembers the euphoric feeling that he has repressed for so many years, too many years. He shakes the thought and picks up the pace. All this time it has been you…’ He shouldn’t feel this; he should feel utterly in love with his girlfriend, the girl who loves him, not have longing thoughts about his childhood best friend. He looks around, trying to find anything to distract himself from his inner turmoil, only to be greeted by the sound of a distant lawnmower.
His legs start to burn from the sheer exhaustion, but he has to persist; he has to drive faster, away from the thoughts, away from the floodgates of the tricks being played by his own mind. ‘You are a coward, just admit it to yourself already. Stop pretending.’ He breathes in and out, biting down on the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from screaming. The sunlight seems much more aggressive now, hitting Mike straight in the eyes. The drawing in his bags seems way heavier now, doubling in weight with each second that passes.
He haphazardly throws his bike on the front lawn and storms inside. He slams the front door, putting his back on the back of it and sliding on the floor, his chest heaving. He takes slow and calculated steps to the kitchen, where his mom is situated at and stops when he sees his father on the couch, asleep, the same frown on his face when he had warned Mike about turning out like Will.
He flicks his gaze to his mom, who has acknowledged his growing frown. He takes one step forward, tears threatening to spill, his legs going limp. His mother takes an urgent step to support him, pulling him into a tight hug. The only time his mother has seen him like this is when Will was thought to be dead two years prior. There he was again, losing Will.
They stay like that for what felt like hours. Mike doesn’t cry, he just stares at the fridge door where a picture of a younger him and Will is stuck with a cheap magnet that he and Will decorated in third grade. The children in the picture are grinning, half of their teeth missing, not having a care in the world. Simple. Why can’t his life be simple now?
He breaks away from his mom. ‘She would be so disappointed if she knew.’ A voice whispers in the back of Mike’s mind. “I’m going to my room.” He whispers and walks away, catching a glimpse of his mother's face, which has concern written all over it. He doesn’t care for it.
After what feels like an eternity, he reaches his room, collapsing onto the bed with a deep sigh. He stares up at the ceiling, like it has all the answers he needs. The only thing that does happen is Will’s voice playing back like a broken record to him. “You gonna join another party in Lenora?” “Not a chance.” The phantom of Will’s touch ghosts over his waist, where Will’s hands were placed not even thirty minutes ago. He recalls the quiver that went through Will when he hugged him back, his tears hitting his shirt.
He lets his hands wander up to the upper part of his shirt, expecting to find the same warm tears that were dotted on it, only to be met with dry fabric and a collar that was acting like a noose around his neck. He storms to his closet, opening it with such force that the hinges sound like they are crying out in agony. He undoes the first few buttons of his shirt, his fingers slipping away from the small buttons a multitude of times.
He looks up, and for the second time today, he feels like he is drowning. A deep pit opens in his stomach as he notices a binder, carefully stocked away at the bottom of his closet, a binder full of Will’s drawings he has kept over the years. He jumps back.
He sits down at his desk, resting his head on one hand, while the other frantically searches for a piece of paper and a pen. Having found it, he slams the piece of paper on the table with way more force than he intended, gripping the pencil so hard that his knuckles go white as he scribbles messily onto the sheet.
I am in love with you, Will Byers
I will not be acknowledging it.
Farewell, friend.
With love,
Mike
He slowly gets up, holding the paper out, as if it were burning, and walks to the closet. He pulls out the binder and puts the letter on top, a letter no one will ever see, not even the intended recipient.