Chapter Text
Will received a strange letter in the mail today.
Not strange as in unfamiliar. In fact, Will had been slowly, unwillingly getting accustomed to the now-familiar feeling of emptiness in his chest every time he checked his mailbox on the first floor of his dorm. He’d received no correspondence for about five months.
The year is 1990 and Will has been a student at the Pratt Institute in New York for a year and a half, working to become someone respectable, he hopes. Becoming an artist was something that he had dreamed of since he was a child—something that everyone had told him since he was a child—so he decided to follow in Jonathan’s footsteps to New York, albeit tentatively. Jonathan was off making his weird experimental films at NYU, creating meaningful masterpieces under the guise of metaphors. Will thinks this, at least, is how he knows Jonathan has found his purpose. For himself, being a comic book artist seems childish in comparison. He figures he doesn’t even need to go to college to learn the principles of design, but here he is anyway.
Will made his way back up the stairs to his dorm, fumbling with the key as his hands shook involuntarily. He paused a moment to ground himself. He shouldn’t be afraid of a letter that he should’ve received five months ago. Unless something terrible has happened. Will waved this thought away.
The lock gave way and Will entered the small room, moving to sit at the desk to the right of his bed under the window. He stares at the unopened envelope, slightly wrinkled from its pilgrimage.
Will Byers
200 Willoughby Ave
Brooklyn, NY 11205
And in the top left corner Mike Wheeler’s name and home address was printed. Will takes note that the return address is the same address of his childhood home in Hawkins.
Another deep breath and he opens the letter.
Will,
I know I haven’t written in months, and I hate to preface this letter this way, but I’m sorry. I figured I haven’t been as entertaining of a pen pal as I would like to be anyways. Being the only one still stuck in Hawkins is pretty lame.
Aside from that, I thought I’d tell you that I have been working on something special, and I want you to be the first one to see it. As you know, I’ve been writing a lot, and I think I’m close to finishing my first novel. It’s not anything huge, so don’t worry about setting aside time for reading it. I think you’ll like it–which brings me to my next thought: maybe you would like to illustrate the cover for it?
Let me know as soon as you can and I will send you an excerpt from it. Oh, and don’t feel pressured to do it. Either way, I’d let you read it first. Consider that your initial fee. (That was a joke. I’d never rip you off.)
Hoping to hear from you more often. I promise to do something interesting for once to write back on.
Mike.
For a moment, Will sat unmoving until he noticed the setting sun as the orange-yellow beams of light shone on the reflective surface of his metal lamp. He stood up and closed the blinds.
—
A week passed and the opened letter laid on Will’s desk untouched. Part of him was angry at Mike for asking him for a favor after five months of not speaking. He spent most of that week harboring those thoughts, but the longer he dwelled on them, the more his mindset shifted. He couldn’t let his anger overshadow the spark of hope that he hated to admit was flickering. Mike’s letter had found him in a rough patch in his college career, but knowing that Mike was feeling down made the sadistic side of him smile a little.
Sadistic was the wrong term. Jealousy was something closer. Will admitted to himself that he envied that Mike could create something and he couldn’t. And this wasn’t one of Mike’s campaigns or scenarios–this was huge. Will was frustrated that Jonathan and Mike happened to have already done great things while Will felt stuck. His frustration increased at the fact that Mike’s letter had seemed so casual. Will couldn’t place the feeling, but maybe he just missed knowing every little thing Mike was doing or creating. But they’re not kids anymore. They didn’t have time anymore to spend every waking moment with each other, because they had gone separate ways. Hell, Will didn't even remember what Lucas, Dustin, or Max have been up to recently.
Will picked the letter back up and read it over again quickly. Mike hadn’t asked him how he was doing, which pissed him off slightly, but he had to remind himself that he needed to just get it over with and respond before he forgot about the letter completely. Will grabbed his stationery and began to write.
—
Mike wasn’t sure why Will had suggested that he fly out to New York, but he found himself on a 6:00 AM flight to JFK Queens on a Tuesday in mid December. The only thing he was sure of was that his mother had been practically begging him to get out of the house, and at the mere mention of Will, she bought him a new tan winter coat and handed him a wad of cash. Will’s letter had reached him earlier in November, and they had decided on winter break to meet up. This was bad because Mike had already planned on backing out of the deal when he reread pages of his novel. It wasn’t that he hated what he wrote, but he doubted his decision of showing Will first out of his friends. The worst part is that he knew why.
For most of the flight, Mike dwelled on this, but eventually he closed his eyes. When he awoke, he ushered himself along the crowded aisle and into the airport. He felt his stomach drop a little when he took in the sheer amount of people surrounding him. The only other place that he had traveled to was Lenora, but that was just a small town in California. Nothing compared to the already overwhelming and bustling airport he was in now. Thankfully, Will and Jonathan had promised to pick him up at the gate.
Mike stood for an agonizing few minutes near the gate scanning for the two brothers while attempting to balance his new coat on his arm while holding his suitcase steady. His other hand clutched a heavy briefcase containing stacks of papers, hopefully still somewhat organized.
Mike continued to marvel at the heaviness of the briefcase despite him hastily emptying a quarter of its contents out of last-minute hesitation the night before.
“Mike!”
His head snapped up, searching for a familiar face as it landed on Jonathan calling out his name trailed by Will. As the two walked forward to greet him, Mike straightened himself up, trying not to drop the coat already slipping off his arm again.
“Let me get that for you,” Jonathan said as he reached for the coat in an awkward motion that resembled a half-thought-out side hug.
Mike shot Jonathan a quick smile and turned to look at Will. He hated that his heart stopped for a moment, but he played it off as general nervousness which was only natural after being so aloof for the past year.
Mike pushed his thoughts aside before any new ones could form as he drew in a sharp breath and greeted Will. He felt that they had stood across from each other for a fraction of a second too long as they hugged. Mike gave Will one hard smack on the back for good measure before he let go.
“Hey,” Will responded curtly, although not impolite—more out of breath than anything. The air was anything but stuffy in the freezing airport.
“Well, show me the way outta here,” Mike expertly segued as he comically rubbed his arms up and down as best he could with his briefcase in hand. He doesn’t like that Will hasn’t shown much of any emotion, so he played his gestures up a little. Mike doesn’t know why he does this because it only ever makes things more awkward.
To his dismay, Will spoke again only to note that Mike should put his coat on as he takes Mike’s suitcase from him. The party turned to leave after Mike had shouldered on his coat over the pressed collared shirt he wore. It was now 8:25 AM and he felt like he had just flown in for a job interview rather than a cordial visit to an old friend.
—
The cab ride was uncomfortably long in the city’s traffic, and Mike was itching to get out. Once they stopped by the hotel, he opened the door and whipped around to the trunk to grab his briefcase. He found himself clutching to it like a lifeline in the past few hours of the morning. Jonathan took his suitcase as they made their way inside the hotel.
“Thanks for guiding me through this hellscape,” Mike said earnestly to Jonathan and Will as he checked himself in at the front desk. The clerk smiled and handed him the key.
“You’ve barely set foot outside of the airport, but you’re welcome I guess,” Jonathan replied with his usual sarcastic cadence.
“I don’t think you understand. I haven’t left my house in weeks, so hopping from a cab to a sidewalk is a big step for me no matter where I am,” Mike phrases this like a joke, but he knows it's true.
The three walk to the elevator and Jonathan leaves the suitcase with Mike, finally ending the juggling of Mike’s possessions between them.
“I’m trusting you, Will, to not let him get lost, okay? I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you two tomorrow, probably,” with that, Jonathan left Mike and Will alone.
“He’s got a film to work on,” Will said almost immediately, “Well, he thinks he does, but break just started. I don’t know why he insists on starting early. He’s even called me over a few times for opinions.”
Mike exhales an “mm” for lack of better response as the elevator door opened and they stepped in. Every time Will spoke, Mike didn't know how to respond. He treasured each interaction like he would if some popular kid in high school talked to him. Not necessarily because he wants his approval, but because his presence feels out of place. It’s silly.
The pair arrive at Mike’s room and they both assume this is where their morning ends with each other. Mike unlocks the door and shuffles himself and his belongings in and hangs in between the gap of the hallway and door frame.
“Catch you later around 1:00?” he asks, for confirmation rather than a suggestion. They had planned out their first day in a previous exchange.
Will nodded and handed Mike a slip of paper, “It’s my number. Call me before and I’ll come back to get you.”
And with that, Will left Mike to his own devices until 1:00 PM. Alone again in a small room, contemplating—just like what he’d been doing in Hawkins not even twenty four hours ago. It’s what he had been doing for a year.
Mike opened the briefcase and spread out the contents on the bed which have been mildly tossed around on the inside. He slipped his glasses out of his breast pocket and began to thumb through the stacks of paper. He would be occupied for a few hours.