Archive of Our Own ^beta

Michael Wheeler had a problem.

Sure, if he came out with it and just said what his troubles were his friends would understand. His family, selectively, could. However, Mike didn't feel convinced.

It was stupid, unbearably stupid, but irrationality was a difficult pill to swallow and dissolve. 

Mike's problem was Will —

In a way.

Not that there was... anything wrong with Will.

Mike had no problems when it came to Will. He couldn't, physically and mentally couldn't.

Will was happy, doing the best he had in years — and Mike was focused on keeping Will this way. He wasn't going to fail Will again.

Not if Mike could help it, anyway. But, Mike's problem begins in a stupid spot.

Will was queer.

Out and open.  

And, Mike wasn't against queer people. He was very supportive of his friend. Encouraging, even. It's just... well.

Mike was queer, too.

Like Will.

Exactly like Will, as far as Mike knew, actually.

There were no feelings of attraction toward women for Mike, and there hadn't been when he was actually dating a girl.

He didn't get Fast Times, didn't care for horror movies that were weirdly sexual regarding the women casted (Not like he watched them often. Well, he did, to an extent, but not those horror movies, only Will really liked horror movies in their friend group. And he was, thankfully, of the 'same mindset' as Mike.), and he only felt that fluttery feeling when watching movies like Rocky Horror's Picture Show or Top Gun, even, at one point.

Back to The Future, if he felt like embarrassing himself by admitting that.

(Mike actually hadn't even been interested in the movie at first, Frank N Furter wasn't appealing to Mike neither had been Rocky Horror himself. Dustin wanted to watch it because of something that happened with Susie, before they broke up, Mike wasn't paying attention, and thus forced the entire party available at the time — Himself, Lucas, Will, Max, and Mike — to watch it with him because it'd be weird if he just sat alone listening to a strange musical. Mike didn't care for musicals. He bite the inside of his cheek so hard he swallowed blood because of Brad. Twice. In the same sitting. It was a rude awakening. At least he could look the Party in the eyes after Top Gun.)

When Mike was Dungeon Master during one of their campaigns, Mike was aware he'd always been a little too okay flirting with the Party. But, he wasn't ever the one to start it in the first place — Mike just had a tone, it wasn't his fault.

Now... was Mike open about this like Will was? No.

God, no.

The thought of telling someone, even Will, made Mike feel nauseous in a way he didn't think possible.

Mike being queer felt so obvious when he figured it out, and he figured it out very, very late. So late that he came to the conclusion not too long ago, laying in bed, wide awake, with his thoughts forming spirals inside of his head — creating a small, very large-scale, hurricane of unwanted emotions that just kept tumbling out.

It was so stupid.

He should have known.

Not feeling a spark when he kissed a girl, when she flirted with him, or even feeling grossed out by the idea of doing anything... date-y? 

So obvious.

Except, he didn't know.

In fact, Mike was so unaware of his attraction, or lack there of, that when he figured it out? His entire relationship toward Will made so much sense.

So much added context for the good and the bad, Mike had wanted to scream — to cry. He wanted to claw a dimensional hole just to go back in time and strangle his younger self for being so damn stupid. To apologize to an even younger version of himself for becoming so damn stupid. Most importantly, Mike needed to find a way to apologize to both Jane and Will without ruining everything.

Looking back, the idea of being emotionally vulnerable to a romantic partner, a girl, shouldn't have made him so cagey. It shouldn't have felt like every act of physical and non-physical intimacy was an obligation — something he had to do even if he didn't like to do it — he was socially forced to fulfill. 

Mike should have wanted to spend time with Jane. Not just... make-out with her the entire relationship.

He didn't know he was pretending, though.

So, yes.

Mike had a problem, but it wasn't actually about Will and it wasn't even about Mike being queer. It didn't even have anything to do with Mike's feelings for Will.

Mike's problem was irrational, and stupid, and made so little logical sense even Mike understood that it should not be that big of a deal.

Mike didn't think anyone would believe him if he came out.

That the Party would immediately call his bluff, claim that he was lying about his 'affliction' and was confused. That they'd tell someone, like his parents.

That he was just copying Will in some sick attempt to...

To do what? Mike didn't know.

That's the fault to irrational fears. Mike knew it was stupid, but what power did he have to put it to bed?

The moment he even thought about it, coming out, his palms would get all sweaty and he could feel his eyes dilate —  nothing but running away, mentally or physically, could calm him down.

Avoidant, is what Mike thinks Nancy would call him.

She'd probably be right.

All Mike knew was that he thought it was normal. Normal to wish, or pray, even, that he could spend the hours spent with his girlfriend with his best friends instead. Best friend, singular, even more. What boy wouldn't rather spent time with boys, who liked the things he liked, instead of a girl?

Mike did.

And, it was about here where his dad might've been onto something.

Yes, Ted Wheeler was a Raegan voter. Yes, he heavily disapproved of the 'queer life style.'

But, he was too absent to really... care.

Both of Mike's parents had made it blatantly obvious that they suspected that Mike had felt more than just friendship toward Will over the years. Well, obvious to anyone but Mike. Apparently. Mike would've liked them to have at least sat him down and told him what he was feeling wasn't normal. So many issues could have been solved, been prevented.

At least his mom let him cry in her arms whenever he lost Will.

This was all very nice. Cool, even. Good.

It feels great to know that he wouldn't be sent to conversion therapy at the first instance of his outward queerness. Amazing that, in theory, Nancy was the one family member he could count on, without a doubt, not being directly homophobic. That his friends would, at least, listen to Mike coming out before dismantling him to his rawest form.

That, despite his unfiltered and unrestrained attraction toward Will, his performance of attraction toward women was convincing.

It definitely does not make his throat constrict or his skin itchy.

There is no burning sensation behind his eye-lids.

And there was no impulse to crawl into his bedsheets and lay there until he starved.

The sarcasm is clear.

Hopefully.

Mike could vividly imagine his friends calling him stupid for even worrying about this. For accepting that this was the only possible outcome, despite everything proving otherwise. To grow up, stop being a coward.

Well, no, not really.

The voice telling him to grow up sounded suspiciously like a Mike Wheeler just shy of twelve years old, if not younger.

Everything else, though? That wasn't a younger Mike reaching out from beyond time and space.

Mike's internal Max voice was mean, he concluded years ago.

Still, none of this could compare to when his internal Will voice got mean. Mike deserved it, late at night when all his thoughts kept him up at night — if Will wasn't upset with him in real life, he was at least upset in Mike's head. Mike didn't know why Will still spoke to him, Mike wouldn't have — Mike sucked.

It's not my fault you don't like girls.

Will deserved a best friend that wasn't inexplicably in love with him, but Mike was greedy. So, he'll stay as long as Will allowed him to. He wasn't going to run away again.

But, Mike felt stuck. Well, not stuck — in a loop.

He knew his problem. He knew, hypothetically, what he should do to fix it and how stupid he was being.

He knew, that even before he put a name to what he was feeling, that what he felt for Will was astronomically different than anybody else.

That Will was different than his other friends, his ex-girlfriend, or other boys Mike suspiciously wanted to pay attention to him.

Mike should have figured it out when Jane kissed him before she and Will moved to California. He knew he hadn't wanted her to forgive him, hadn't really wanted to get back together with him — he was just following Lucas' lead.

When Will told Mike he wouldn't join another party, Mike had felt more than he had throughout his entire relationship with Jane. Mike should've known then.

Part of him did, Mike reasoned. He couldn't be completely mean to himself.

Reasonably, this was more than likely the root of Mike's issues.

Mike always hated lying, so when it felt wrong to even write to Jane that he loved her? Like a piece of him was being torn every time he tried? He knew something wasn't right, but he was too fucking scared to piece it together himself.

So, he, obviously, brought this up to Will when he was allowed to — because Will wasn't scary, Will understood Mike when Mike couldn't understand himself.

Usually.

All of Mike's attempts didn't go nearly as well as he could have hoped.

When Will pushed Mike to tell Jane he loved her had stung, like he had been betrayed, but Mike didn't understand why yet. All Mike wanted to hear was for Will to tell him to end it.

End the relationship that weighed so bitterly on Mike's soul. It wasn't fair of Mike to have wanted, he learned. So, Mike had said he loved her as Jane fought for her life.

Will wanted to keep Jane happy, so Mike tried his best to oblige. To fulfill the task Will had given him, play the role Mike had earned.

Jane was pissed at him after the pizza dough freezer, and Mike already knew why.

It wasn't what Jane wanted to hear either.

Mike tried to bring the topic up to Will again after burying Brenner. A lot of it Mike had blocked out, he couldn't remember if Will shut him down again or if they were interrupted. All Mike knew that nothing he wanted to say was said, so nothing changed. Mike still didn't understand what he expected to happen — he didn't understand a lot of his impulsivity — but he had to move on. To swallow that pill. To accept that's just what happened when Mike tried to be vulnerable. 

He pushed it to the corner of his thoughts, pretended like it was normal to be relieved when Jane finally, finally, broke up with him. Boxed up what made him scared and blindly threw himself to the wolves, pretending like he was a person and getting possessed, for lack of a better term, whenever things got too emotional.

It...

Was not good.

He's trying to be better. Desperately.

But, sometimes Mike found that bad habit all over again.

Mike could practically envision Will finding out about where his problem started. He knew how guilty Will would probably feel, how upset he'd be that he unknowingly caused this amount of mental torment on Mike — but what if Mike was right? What if being scared was protecting him from the worst outcome?

It was an ever rotating battle that Mike may never win or lose at. 

And, for the thousandth time this week (A generous number.), Mike found himself freaking about this particular subject matter.

For a reason, this time.

—.*.—

The party recently graduated, for real this time, after defeating Vecna — again. And they wanted to celebrate.

And by, 'For real this time,' Mike means they'd graduated. Twice, technically. Just, the first time... wasn't real.

…Let him explain.

Steve and Robin had taken over the WSQK radio station, and promptly turned it into the Party's headquarters. Max had been labeled comatose after using herself as bait for Vecna. Eddie's death weighing heavily on everyone. Mike had gotten Jane back.

Mike had loved Jane — or, rather, Eleven, as he solely called her — and that's how it always was.

It felt... right.

For once.

That's where he should've realized something was wrong.

When Mike was a kid, he didn't understand what people meant by butterflies and fireworks when it came to girls. So, to finally feel fluttery at the sight of Jane?

Mike should've understood what that change meant.

Mike hadn't, though.

He had written it off, accepted that it must have always been there. Jane was the one, and he'd been a complete idiot in California.

Mike was only just confused before.

It was something he grew out of, his dad was right. He just needed to find the right girl.

Mike just had to follow Lucas' example, who seemed to inherently understand what boys who liked girls were supposed to do. But, he still felt like everyone was in on this big joke. Why wouldn't he when he always thought he felt that fabled feeling for boys? For —

Vecna was smart, smarter than Mike, and Mike thought he understood that. Mike would soon learn that bottling off his emotions, to the point he couldn't feel them anymore, was not a viable protection against Vecna's curse. Mike had never seemed to be in the crosshair — he had to have been doing something right. So, no matter how unintentional it started, Mike got lost in avoiding his problems.

And he created a blind spot.

(If Mike didn't see the hallucinations that weighed on everyone's neck like a guillotine because he didn't know what scared him... how could Vecna?)

The appearance at the Mac-Z was planned, of course it was.

The Demogorgon's attacking the party was planned, why wouldn't it be?

Will's powers... planned.

Known.

Theorized.

All things Vecna couldn't have known about, but he had anyway.

Vecna had already been watching, long before the Demogorgon attack on the military on November 3rd. He had been bidding his time, slipping into their minds subtly and with ease. 

Mike should have known.

Hindsight clawed at the inside of Mike's brain.

Mike couldn't sleep, he had nightmares that had seemed so normal when he woke up.

He hadn't minded getting used to the bitter taste of coffee early in the morning. Insomnia was only normal, he was traumatized and tired.

Mike had been used to having the occasional nosebleed — nothing was new, so, logically, it made sense that Vecna's tricks managed to slip by unnoticed. Mike had let Vecna in.

Everyone had. Not just Mike, not just the Party.

Hawkins had been taken hostage, mentally and physically.

The chill lingering at the back of their necks became a comfort.

Mike had played a huge role in the Party's fight against Vecna. He had helped form most of their plans. He helped form most of their plans directly. Indirectly, too. All Mike's brain seemed to do was point of holes and problems, develop ideas and theories, and come up with the most inane hypothesizes that he'd be surprised to find were right.

But, the worst theories always had a way to bite Mike in the ass — proven far too late to have been any real help, far too crazy to have been worked into a backup plan. Because, well, Mike had called it.

That spring, when Mike had gone to California, Vecna was bold. Incredibly bold. Jane and Will had been in California, there was no one in Hawkins left to stop him — so he got sloppy.

Vecna took his time to toy with his victims before he proudly displayed his 'work' to the entire town, and the Party had figured him out.

Had stopped him before he killed more people.

Or, at least, they thought they did.

The Party had only found a weak spot, a loop hole to exploit, and sent Vecna packing to lick his wounds. A weak spot, yes, but there had to have been more to that.

Mike had known this. 

So, Mike ignored the issues that troubled him.

Vecna and the Upside Down were more important to figure out.

It didn't take a genius to consider that the Upside Down had been set to November 6th, 1983, for a purpose. Mike certainly wasn't one, that was more Dustin than anyone else. Paired together with Vecna — One — and the way he murdered innocent people? Trapped them in their minds, forcing them to adhere to his reality?

The Upside Down, the Hive Mind, the serial killings, and even Vecna's retreat could all be accounted for and backed up.

It was a hypothetical, a theory crafted entirely by Mike during a fever in the summer.

No one took it seriously. Not even Mike, once he'd recovered.

But, no one could create a detailed argument against it. How could a single man (Less than a man, if Mike was honest.) be so powerful? Because, why couldn't Vecna recreate a version of their world in their heads, and use their minds against them? Vecna sitting on the ability to trap an entire town, and the military, in a mass-hallucination? So cohesive, so realistic, that they couldn't tell right from wrong? Real from false?

It sounded insane, just like how a fever dream should.

No wonder Vecna had to outsource to children.

The day Holly began seeing Mr. Whatsit — an imaginary friend, everyone else claimed — Vecna's plan had been set into motion.

Mike had been worried the first day he heard about Mr. Whatsit. Why would Holly have an imaginary friend now?

He tried to bring up his fever-theory from months prior, but it hadn't made sense anymore —

It gave him a headache to even try. Terrible migraines.

Mike didn't know why, but he didn't... care. 

Mike had tried to move on.

When Holly began having nightmares because of Mr. Whatsit, Mike couldn't help himself. It was an instinctual, etched into his bones, kind of suspicion that surpassed his known memories. But, Mike had come off too strong, too overbearing. Holly would get defensive whenever he questioned about Mr. Whatsit.

So, Mike let his mom take the brunt of Holly's new-found psychological issue.

And then Holly had been kidnapped. Suddenly, the game was afoot.

Another one of Mike's issues begin here — his predictions, his theories, his thoughts always seemed to be proven right.

It made him sick. Had Mike helped Vecna rather than protected the Party?

Would Vecna had known about Will's powers if Mike stayed silent, or did he already read Mike's mind?

Would he have stayed away from the zones that Hopper and the military swept through had Mike not been part of the planning?

It was stupid, Mike knew this. He wasn't the only one affected — but he was always right, so it wasn't so stupid anymore.

Had Vecna been planning it since the beginning, or did Mike help him form his plan? Was Holly put in danger because of Mike's stupid plans?

Mike would never know, Vecna was dead and he could not answer. Mike wished he could cast 'Speak With The Dead.'

What Mike could do, however, is try to piece together what was real and what was Vecna.

He pinned the timeline of events down as best as he could through testimonies granted to Mike by the Party.

Irregularities had become obvious seven months post 'earthquake,' but theoretically could have begun forming just two, maybe three, months later.

Vecna's magic had reached different people at different times, affected them in different ways, made them lose pieces of themselves at different paces.

The symptoms were different for each of the Party, some completely unaffected from the usual signs of Vecna's influence. 

Proving what facts were fabrications had become the hardest part.

The individual stories began lining up at the Mac-Z.

Specifically during Vecna's intrusion.

When Will gained his spell slots.

Will had powers.

A real-life Cleric, or rather, a very homebrew Cleric-esque class that was not a Wizard.

The difference was important, Mike assures.

Wizards learned. Vecna learned.

Will hadn't — hadn't needed to.

And, Will was too special to settle for generic.

So, Mike rewrote the rules —

Warlock.

A homebrew variant of Cleric and Wizard, crafted specifically by Mike's hands, that couldn't be attributed to a dead man.

And —

Mike had made his thoughts on this statement very clear. The Party was already sick of it, he's sure.

Once Will — Will the Warlock — unlocked his powers, that's when everyone fell into Wonderland.

Everything before had just been the rabbit hole. It had been creeping up on them slowly — each Party member acting oddly, not like themselves. Like a set of writers who lost their characters mid-way through a book — they had their names, their faces... but the details refused to line up. Strangers knew details they weren't supposed to, the Party picked up habits that weren't their own.

It was like an infection, dissimilar to the Hive Mind but functioned the same, building itself foundations before Wonderland sank it's teeth into soft of their necks. 

The symptoms of Vecna's curse had no longer been scary. Mike had returned to himself — became the friend he was supposed to be, who he wanted to grow into, and fulfilled his role like an actor in a play. Mike had cared, not like he had in California or the summer before, but he could let himself care outwardly. There was no impulse to play pretend, to act like how he shouldn't, or reason to fear what he felt. 

Once they fell further and further into Wonderland, the less suspicious everything seemed. It all just clicked. The Party was on the same page, and defeating Vecna wasn't this monuments task. Melvald's sold milkshakes, and the Party liked getting lost in the woods.

And then it was like a switch flipped, deep inside of Mike's brain, and he was already hard-wired to accommodate it.

Mike stopped having ideas, he stopped crafting theories. Mike became useless. Mike had let himself be useless. No one batted an eye.

It wasn't cold in the Abyss, it was a warm yellow. The Mind Flayer didn't mind it warm. Vecna had gotten his head chopped off, they came back to the right-side up, and Eleven — not Jane — had disappeared alongside the Upside Down. Mike had been the only one to see her. Max could see, Dustin was happy, and the Party continued to go to school. Something was wrong, Mike could feel that it was wrong because everything felt like it was losing shape, but it had to have been nothing.

Everything else blurred together until it was graduation day, their final day as a party —

Or so Vecna wanted.

Wonderland began to fall apart.

The cracks formed at different times, for different reasons, all branching from the same stem — Vecna.

Reasons why those cracks managed to exist, and break Wonderland apart, were still up in the air as far as the Party could figure out. Jane hadn't found her way to the Abyss. The Mind Flayer likes it cold. There were some things they still couldn't share about their times trapped in Wonderland, Mike included. And, this might be why they haven't fully pieced together how much they could lose of themselves before they... broke.

In both ways.

Graduation day had been the final burst of energy before death came knocking.

If not for Wonderland's trance, there would have been no way for the Party to have found Vecna. The Abyss was dark. Foggy. So, so cold.

The children Vecna had kidnapped were vessels, yes, but not vessels in the way Wonderland had portrayed. There was no secret governmental conspiracy for powered children — they were fuel. Small, weak-minded bodies that worked as insulation for Vecna's grand plan.

Will hadn't been kidnapped randomly.

Vecna had found him, found out about Will. He was similar, special — all the things Mike had believed Will to be — and powerful. That night in the woods, when Jane had recognized Will, had been the day Vecna had been alerted to Will's special constitution. Jane had been drawn to Will in the void, but hadn't realized what it mean — couldn't. She hadn't even registered that 'Henry' had seen.

Mike could never blame her, but he knows she blames herself.

The intoxicatingly sweet air of Wonderland had convinced the Party to bring Will exactly where Vecna had wanted him.

Will's powers had been innate, Mike wasn't wrong, but the connection to the Hive-Mind had only given him additional benefits. Vecna's benefits. 

Vecna wanted Will because he was powerful.

Vecna wanted Will to become his body.

Vecna wanted Will.

Steve was the first to find his way out of Wonderland, to understand what he was experienced couldn't have been real.

(Mike could never be sure if what Steve saw, or how be broke free or why, was similar to what Mike experienced — similar to what Mike felt his mind becoming. The numbing salve of needing to just... give up, give in.

If Vecna had planned a little more, didn't let himself get sloppy, Mike wasn't sure if he'd have ever woken up. It was such a stupid mistake — hitting Mike with the unbearable pain of losing Will, knowing he'd lose will, felt like Mike's mind was going to tear itself to shred before he even understood what was happening. It felt like falling face-first into a glass ceiling, hitting the concrete underneath him, and every breath that followed was a searing pain that reminded him how wrong everything was. Like finally rolling his saving throw.)

When Steve had broken free of Vecna's Trance —

He'd screamed.

Simple. Stupid.  

To escape from Vecna's mind, Camazotz, something had to tie them to the physical realm. Music, people, things. But Wonderland wasn't like that.

Yes, there was importance in people, but the entire trance relied on the overarching silence of the Abyss to keep from distracting the caster. From distracting Vecna.

The spell on the Party diminished significantly the moment Steve was out of Wonderland, breaking Vecna's focus.

Will had been missing his left eye by the time Mike fell out of Wonderland.

Mike hadn't been the last to wake up, but he wasn't one of the first. Steve was clutching his battered left arm, Robin was wobbling a little funny, and Jonathan was on the ground. It didn't look good, especially when Vecna was pissed. There were hundreds of theories rolling in Mike's mind — all about Will. A Demogorgon got him? He had sacrificed it to give them a fighting chance before passing out? Hundreds and hundreds of variables could have been at play.

But, it wasn't the time for Mike to spiral, not then. He focused on getting to action, on rounding the troops.

To strategize, to lead.

Everything blurred together in a bloody pool at the soles of Mike's feet.

His body felt foreign, his voice wasn't what he'd remembered just hours ago during graduation, and Mike, honestly, had no fucking idea what was going on. He was not in the position to make decisions, but no one else could do it — could handle it — except for Mike. He had to.

Out of everything, Will was always in focus. In his memories, in his feelings, in the nightmares Mike has that kept him from falling back to sleep. Will, eye socket empty and bloody, crumpled on the ground like Jane's letters — Not dead, Mike's brain latched onto that like it's single life-line.

Will couldn't be dead with his chest heaving and writhing his entire body against the floor-like darkness that encapsulated them all.

That single thought kept Mike grounded, kept him breathing. He pressed forward. 

There was stumbling, there was pushing, and Mike tripped over concealed rocks that looked just as dark as everything else.

He remembered shouting actions, phrases, slapping at Lucas' face for a moment to try and wake him up from Vecna's trance. Lucas wouldn't wake up, but Dustin did. Soon, Mike had gotten to Will, pressed his hands against him to check that he was still breathing, and felt the moment Will's shuddering stopped and his remaining eye rolled back into place.

Felt Will wake up.

They couldn't stay still for long.

Mike had never been so horrified.

Mike's flares did nothing but light the battle field, to do anything but keep them in the shroud of darkness that seemed ever present in the Abyss.

He remembered Nancy's bullets flying, unhelpful for anything but a distraction from silence. Dustin screaming, and Mrs. Byers crying. Blood poured from Will's nose, screaming, as he fought — Each member of the Party taking turns having to distract, wretch Will free from vines, and attack — Vecna, overpowering him and his connection to the Mind Flayer.

The Mind Flayer, which had been the Abyss.

Time molded in on itself, slow and paced like forever, nothing like Wonderland.

When Vecna died, it wasn't peaceful like when Mrs. Byers got to chop his head off in Wonderland.

It was honestly horrific, he fractured apart like glass only to explode into a puddle of gore, coating the surrounding area in a sheen of red, glossy chunks.

The Abyss wasn't silent then, like a dog-whistle, it howled and shrieked, vibrating the insides of the Party's skulls as if it was trying to break glass. Mike remembered the pressure building, the way blood coating his upper lip as his eyes rolled back and his body fought to keep itself together. The way tentacle-like vines surrounded their feet, trying to stop them running from this. With Vecna dead, Will wasn't going to have powers — killing Vecna in his home turf had been an incredibly stupid play. Everyone but Mike knew this to be a fact.

Mike knew Will's powers were innate.

They didn't have to suffer for long.

The dark of the Abyss, the Mind Flayer, began to writhe and contract, separating like stretch marks underneath their feet and above their heads. 

Mike kept himself locked on Will.

Literally.

They weren't in Wonderland anymore, it wasn't impossible — didn't feel impossible — to touch Will anymore. Mike hadn't understood what that mean. But, when Will couldn't move because it took everything in him to keep an exit open?

Mike would have crawled through hell on his hands and knees with his skin peeling off his bones if it meant getting Will back safe and sound with him.

Coming out from Wonderland, Mike was half-convinced that he was having another PTSD episode. It just felt so real, so jarring to be back.

How did Mike even know what being back was, or what it meant? It couldn't matter.

Not until they found themselves back in the Right-Side Up. 

Nancy kept screaming questions, Jonathan cursed more than he could finish complete sentences, and Steve couldn't fight anymore. His left arm bent in odd angles, limp at his side, and his right clamped down on a particularly bad wound. Dustin looked wrecked, muttering — or, at least it sounded like muttering, everything sounded like it was underwater to Mike — about probabilities and physics as if he'd piece together something to save them.

Lucas looked as dazed as they all felt, having been the last of them to escape Wonderland, dragging his sore limbs at the pace of everyone else.

The Abyss hadn't just been the Mind Flayer, Mike was wrong in his original assessment, it had been it's own state of existence — not exactly a dimension, they could never know for sure — but it still wasn't yellow. 

Still dark, still cold, but there was a sun. The sun glowed like a moon, and no matter how long Mike stared up into it, it didn't move. Stagnant like there wasn't a rotational pull. Not one that mattered.

The kids were with them, safe.

When the Party had woken the kids up, it was strikingly obvious they hadn't been forced to endured what Will had. They were shaken, scared at the world the woke up to around them, but overall not incredibly traumatized.

Which was good.

Getting out and keeping the kids, and Will, safe was all that needed to matter.

Mike wasn't all there when they got to the ground. Nor had he been when they couldn't hear the Mind Flayer screaming in agony anymore or when they figured out everything they knew about the Upside Down was a fabrication. Whether or not the orb in the Upside Down was exotic matter hadn't mattered in the end, they stuck to the bomb anyway.

Will hadn't been awake by the time they found Jane, exhaustion from his overworked battery, blood loss, and adrenaline had passed him out, and Mike had to keep a hand on Will's pulse to keep himself from panicking that Will bled out. Kali was dead, Vecna hadn't lied to them about that, but Murray had suicide bombed a chopper, Jane — Not Eleven, never Eleven — was okay, and Hopper was stumbling behind her, hurt. Mrs. Byers was practically turning gray right in front of their eyes, but they had to go. They were running out of time, and they could not take the main entrance.

Will didn't have an eye, everyone was injured in someway or another, and every second spent in the Upside Down was getting more and more dangerous.

They didn't know how much of Wonderland, and the days leading up to it, was real.

The Party couldn't trust that Mr. Clarke and Erica could spin a convincing enough lie to avoid being imprisoned by the military long-term. Had no idea if anyone on the Right-Side Up was even caught, let alone okay. But, they couldn't risk getting caught by the military... again. For all of their sakes, but for both Jane and Will's sake the most. Will didn't have a fucking eye. But, they couldn't open a steel plated gate from inside the Upside Down, and they could hear Demogorgon's and Demo-bats. Searching. Hunting.

Jane decided to try something risky.

Mike thought opening a gate would be harder, provide more of a struggle, but Jane always had the ability to... surprise him.

Regardless, they got to the Right-Side Up. The Upside Down imploding from underneath them, the red portal sealing without any added input.

Steve admits, as soon as he could get the words out, that Will hadn't been the one to tear out his eyeball. He hadn't lost the eye because Vecna controlled him through it, Vecna had torn it out himself with his branch-like claws, and reached for his own. The eye of Vecna. To house himself inside of Will's body, killing the original 'host,' because Will's body was built for powers like Vecna's — and the Abyss was cold.

Henry Creel hadn't been Vecna.

Technically.

The Party, with the Upside Down gone and Vecna dead, may never find out where the eye of Vecna had come from, but they knew Henry Creel couldn't have been the origin... because he'd found it within a rocky cave, inside of a researchers bag. They may never know how the Mind Flayer became connected to Vecna, nor how it reached the Right-Side Up if the Abyss was it's original home — because Dr. Brenner couldn't draw. The Journals that Dustin thought he found didn't exist. And, all of this, was extremely dangerous information to sit on.

Dr. Owens had been at the WSQK once the Party got back to Headquarters, speaking softly with Vickie and Max, the military nowhere to be seen. Mike realized that their collective memories of Max had been the most twisted out of everything, when they left her with Vickie, the Max they understood could see — but the Max they came back to could only see light, may never skateboard again, but her personality hadn't been lost. Dr. Owens took notice of the large group immediately, expression grave, almost sad, when he found Will within the group, unconscious and held up by Mike, who shook like a leaf.

The Party broke into groups. Some getting Will settled down on the couch, other's taking care of injuries, and the injured being taken care of. Hopper disappeared into the basement, they didn't know where Erica and Mr. Clarke were.

Dr. Owens hadn't come there to just check in on the group, but Mike was too exhausted to listen. He knew, fundamentally, that it was important subject matter that attributed to Will, the military presence, and Jane. That he was promising he could take care of it, that Jane didn't have to worry about Will, and Mike didn't have to be the only one with his head above the water anymore.

Giving the children back to the military was a difficult decision, but they didn't have a way to just... return them to their lives without a mass freak-out from the government. They compared notes about what had happened in the past three days, because it was still November 6th, 1987 when they woke up. Argued on facts that didn't add up, threw up when their bodies settled into the fact they were safe and realized what had just happened to them, and celebration didn't come for a while. All too scared they were back in Wonderland. Mike, himself, had to ask Jane for confirmation that they were actually broken up, like they had been since California.

(Jane had laughed at him, brighter than she had been in months, and said, "Obviously."

Mike probably should've been upset, he might've if he was younger and stupider, but relief had flooded his system.)

The implications of Vecna's deception didn't come until later, also.

The morning before had been orchestrated, and with no one acting like themselves... well, Will had, technically, been forced to come out. The exact outcome he had tried to avoid. It took a week or more before he brought it up, no one quite sure if they imagined it but didn't want to push and discuss it if Will hadn't wanted them to actually know. The second conversation was different, it wasn't set like a stage play. Will didn't preface it by saying he was just like them, didn't have an entire monologue, and there wasn't a mention of a 'Tammy.'

There was a lot of crying, a lot of guilt, and a lot of anger toward the newly departed. But, one thing stayed the same —

Will was loved.

—.*.—

Hawkins was slowly returning to normal. The military had left, the lockdown was lifted, and new families had moved in while others moved out. Ted Wheeler spent a majority of the past eighteen months in a coma, and the Byers had become the owners of shiny, brand-new housing, thanks to Dr. Owens' governmental compensations.

(Mike cried when he realized that they wouldn't be moving back to California.)

And... this was all to say, they graduated again. For real, this time.

Well, 'they' excluded Max and Jane (Who either was in a 'coma' for over a year and failed all her classes before the 'coma,' or was a literal fugitive for most of her life and was dead as far as the government was concerned.), as they couldn't graduate. But, they were still celebrating like they were. 

This brings us back to Mike Wheeler's problem. 

They're celebrating finally being done with Hawkins High and Dustin managed to convince Steve to be cool and hook them up with alcohol. It was a big, important event in their life. A big, normal important event that didn't involve the end of the world. This should be exciting for Mike.

Keyword: Should.

It felt like reaching the end of an extremely long chapter of a book that was even longer. It made everything feel so real. Settled, like Vecna was really dead for real this time. And he was, the threat was no longer looming like it had been three years prior.

Mike could act his age.

He was terrified of getting too drunk, his lips becoming too loose, and admitting something he hadn't meant to, but he felt oddly liberated at the idea. Had plausible deniability for anything he may say or do while inebriated with his friends. Friends, who have gone through hell and back with him. They'd at least forgive him, eventually. There was no big D&D campaign instead of a party with the popular kids — there were no popular kids who wanted to hang out with them.

Which, thank god.

He didn't need to be drunk and queer in front of the teenagers who bullied their entire friend group all through school. Not that he was actively going to be queer, Mike just knew his brain shut off near Will. He stops thinking, he starts acting on impulse, he starts getting all... giddy. Not the best combination when he lives inside of an extremely homophobic town, but it wasn't anything new — even Mike had to admit that much.

Honestly? Mike should've figured it out when he followed Eddie around like a lost puppy, growing his hair out in an attempt to earn approval from the older, very much older, classman who was into all the stuff Mike was.

Mike knew, at least subconsciously, that Eddie wasn't like everyone else — wasn't like who Mike thought he, himself, was — because it was blatantly obvious Eddie was queer, down to the clothing choices he made and his stark anti-conformity stance, because conformity was killing the kids (When Mike put that together, conformity killing the kids, with his own queerness, a lot of what Eddie stood for made sense.). Mike had wanted to be like him, still wants to be brave like him, and yet couldn't figure out what that meant until long after Eddie was dead.

It might be because of Eddie being dead that Mike feels he'd be most comfortable coming out to Eddie. The impossibility of it softening the irrational fears the gripped him. That, at least on some level, Eddie would be kind enough to Mike to not completely tear his world apart if he thought Mike was just joking around, or worse, wrong. 

For all of Mike's talk about being terrified of coming out, he stopped trying to smother himself. Mike wasn't hiding, per se, he just... couldn't be the one to bring it up.

Couldn't verbalize it first.

If Mike brought it up, and no one else even considered it? Then, clearly, Mike must have been lying.

Sometimes Mike wonders if someone had figured him out, sometimes he's scared of what that might mean, but every time he's almost certain they know it becomes blatantly obvious they didn't.

It's the small things. Dustin or Lucas asking for back-up when it came to discussing girls, Nancy teasing Mike about a girl looking in his direction, Will whenever he tries to relate to any conversation regarding attraction, Robin, and whenever Jonathan tries to make fun of Mike whenever he walks in on a movie night, or even Max, sometimes, can make him feel small. Jane's more reserved, but Mike has seen her consider, or even support, the comments made by everyone else. Mike doesn't know what to make of it.

He knows his options, and he knows which one he makes while sober.

He's horrified of what he'd decide while intoxicated.

Sick at the thought.

And... maybe if Mike had confided in someone — literally anybody, Mike's not picky when it comes to hindsight — when he first started his path to understanding his conflicting emotions, before he even considered that it meant he was queer, the mere idea of any of this wouldn't be as harrowing as he'd let it get.

But, Mike didn't and now he doesn't have a paper trail of evidence that'd convince anyone to believe him.

He needed to get his head together, and fast.

It was the weekend after graduation, college applications had gone out, and the Party was going to have fun.

The planned get-together was today, tonight, in an hour and a half. Mike, of course, needed to get dressed and be there an hour early as they were hanging out at Will's for the weekend. Mrs. Byers and Hopper had gone out for the weekend, unaware of their son's plans with his friends, at Jonathan's insistence. Jonathan had plans elsewhere because it wasn't going to be a large party. They were still outcasts, even if they wanted a large party... no one would show up. It was just something for them to blow off steam and pretend like they were regular teenagers.

And Mike didn't know what to wear.

Well, no, he knew what he could wear. Mike understood what clothing looked nice together, and what made it look like he finally gave Holly the go-ahead to give him a make-over.

Nothing felt right in his closet. It all felt performative. Like he was still in Wonderland, getting ready for a future that he knew would kill him.

It was nothing new. Most days, Mike would wake up and immediately assume that everything Post-Wonderland had just been an extremely nice dream to cope with his life being over. Even as he remembered where he was, what day it was, the feeling followed him for the next few hours, sometimes never leaving.

He keeps putting off buying a new wardrobe.

—.*.—

Mike ended up with a pair of old, baggy jeans, frayed at the knees, that he'd definitely stolen from Will (Who stole them from Jonathan.) well over a year ago. They weren't heavy, and they were loose enough that he could cuff them at a decent height if the summer heat became too unbearable. Mike had teased the idea of just wearing one of his various band t-shirts, but they just made him look like Jonathan and Mike wasn't sure if he particular liked the picture that painted in his head.

A thin, short-sleeve button up had to do.

Looking into the mirror, Mike guesses he looks like himself again. His hair had grown past his ears again, touching his shoulders. Curly — semi-healthy — having long since parted with the family hair straightener.

He looked thirteen again, and a thick pool of discomfort sat at the bottom of his stomach. This was all so stupid.

Mike looked tired, he could see the remnants of sleepless nights sutured into his features like battle scarring, and pale. He thinks his clothing washes him out, but that could just be the inconsistent lighting that his dad continued to put off fixing despite how often his mom complained. One of his striped sweaters could balance the outfit out, make him feel less like he's wearing someone else's skin, but it was far too warm out for that.

All of Mike's jackets were too heavy, or Eddie's. A small portion of his wardrobe had been Eddie's, a gift from Wayne a while after the funeral (He'd given Hellfire Members a lot of Eddie's things, Dustin got most of it.).

He didn't wear them often. Mike didn't know why today was one of those days he wanted to.

The idea comforted his nerves, just a little bit — maybe. It was going to be the first time he'd be drinking, really drinking, and maybe the — still present, but very faint, like it had been baked into the lining — smell of cigarette smoke soothed him.

But, Mike knew Will didn't like the way cigarettes smelled.

So, he sucked it up.

Mike grabbed a thicker, dark-blue sweater from the back of his closet and held it at his side. He'd throw it on once he got inside of Will's house, instead of on the bike ride over. 

He walked downstairs, said goodbye to his mom, glanced at his dad, and narrowly avoided both of his sisters who'd surely attempt to monopolize his time because Mike couldn't have nice things. Nice things like pretending he wasn't going to have a crisis the moment he got home from this small get-together.

And, honestly, it's not even close proximity to Will that is enough to turn Mike's brain off.

One second he's five minutes down the road, the next he's walking unannounced into the Byers household — spare key already placed back in it's hiding spot.

Mrs. Byers had shown him where they hid the key. It's not like Mike wasn't allowed to use it.

But, Mike had convinced himself he'd be normal about it — use it with caution.

This was not normal about it. It wasn't even cautious or thought-out.

He was behaving weirdly with this knowledge. Very, very weird.

Half of Hawkins already thought Mike was a creep — he wasn't! He swears.

Mike didn't need Will, or god-forbid Jane, to be creeped out with him just strolling in like he lived there.

He just... had a crush. A very mind numbing, world-altering crush that went back further than Mike could reasonably pin-point.

And, even as Mike's mindlessly scolded himself? He's already drifted to Will's door, barging into his room without a second thought to knock.

"Woah!" Will squeaked, peering up from the seat at his desk, positioned oddly around his sketchbook in a way that could not have been comfortable. "Oh — Hi, Mike. You're early."

For the most part, Will hadn't changed in the last eighteen months — he liked the same music, still wore yellow, and gave Mike his artwork when Mike felt confident enough to ask for it — but, he'd started dressing darker. It reminded Mike vaguely of Jonathan's old High School friend, Samantha. Not goth, like her or Susie's older sister, but definitely not what he had been wearing less than a year ago. Or, maybe it was goth?

Mike hasn't worked up the nerve to ask Will about it. He's suspicious that Max had something to do with the change, despite not being able to see the change she caused.

They'd gotten close.

Blindness solidarity, Max had claimed once.

Jane laughed at Mike when he even slightly mentioned this to her, that was enough for him to bite his tongue and look away. Will had been growing out his hair too, it no longer could classify as a bowl cut.

The cut — the way it was styled — made it very obvious Robert Smith was the main inspiration.

It was messy on purpose, crimped, and that definitely added onto the gothic undertones. Mike hadn't realized how much he missed Will's longer hair until it came back.

"What?" said Mike, dumbly. He blinks once, twice, and then seems to register where he was. "No — Yeah, no, I thought... well, I was already... and I was dressed, so..."

Will, confusedly grinning through furrowed brows, like Mike was deeply amusing, breathed a laugh, "Okay? Think yourself a spot to sit, then."

Mike's brain clicks into motion, like he was wired to follow orders.

Stepping further into the room, he spares a glance, or three, at the door. Should he close it?

Mike let himself ponder, just for a second, before mechanically walking over to the bed.

(Hopper's 'three inches' rule must have finally gotten lasered into his brain.

Hopper wasn't even going to be home today.)

Half-way perched, Mike leaned against the side of Will's bed. 

Will's desk and his bed shared a contact point of the same jutted square section of the wall that had driven Will mad at first. The room wasn't large, just a little bigger than Mike's, but undeniably Will's. Posters and vinyl record covers covered the walls, artwork made by Will filling the gaps. There were shelves that housed books, but a majority went to various art supplies Will had gathered throughout the years. The room was lived in, messy but organized chaos that was close enough to clean that Mrs. Byers left Will alone. 

Mike half-way perched on the side of Will's bed, just shy of making contact with Will's desk chair. The bed and the desk were both pressed up against the same jutted square section of the wall, cohesive, and let Mike watch easily as Will flipped through his sketchbook to a new, blank page before Mike could see what he had originally been working on.

It had taken time for Will to be comfortable with art again after losing his eye.

"Working on horrors beyond my comprehension?" Mike jokingly asked, a smile already pulling at his lips.

"For you, maybe." Will side-eyed him. "What classifies as within your comprehension? Rainbow Brite?"

Laughing, "Alas, that may be too complicated... last time I tried Holly almost decked me. I've been officially scared off the Rainbow Brite ship, it's for my best interest."

Will snorted, and shook his head, leaning over the arm of his chair to pick up a pencil he must have dropped in his shock of Mike just walking into his bedroom without knocking. Truthfully, this was a habit Mike had picked up when Will was still living with him, his brain hasn't caught up to the change.

Mike hadn't been yelled at for it, yet.

"That's too bad. Well, next time you and Holly get into a fight, remember my bets on her." Will applied gentle pressure to the blank page, sketching absentminded lines. "I've never seen you win a fight, I've heard about her holding her own against eleven other children."

Will laughed as Mike sputtered out a comment in his defense. Holly was, what, a handful of years younger than him? He could beat her in a fight. He was taller, stronger. Her older brother, a boy no less. And she, apparently, lost the fight she was in. She was not the glaringly obvious candidate. None of these arguments changed Will's mind, set on antagonizing Mike, they just seemed to make him laugh harder. Mike's head felt fuzzy.

He crossed his arms, Mike was not pouting.

"What? Would me agreeing that you, an eighteen year old boy, could beat an eleven year old girl in a fight make you feel better?" Will asked, a smile still gracing his lips.

Mike flushed, embarrassed that this is where the conversation had gone. "No."

"Good, 'cause I'd be lying anyway." and Mike wished he could kiss that smug grin off Will's face. "Well, at least you'd be distracted about why you were originally upset."

Groaning, Mike pressed the small of his back into Will's mattress, tilting his head back in a dramatic show of discontent. His arms fell uselessly to his sides before his elbows dug into the freshly washed sheets and comforter that laid nicely against Will's mattress. He kicked at the wheels of Will's chair, his lips turning upward at the disgruntled squeak of surprise that escaped Will.

"I'm starting to think you like my little sister more than me."

Will laughed, loud and bright. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

"Will...!"

Any whiney argument Mike had fell silent as a pencil smacked into his nose.

His jaw fell open, slack. Will, to his part, had a vaguely guilty expression plastered on his face by the time Mike dropped his head to look at Will. 

"...It wasn't supposed to go that high," Will admitted, fully turned to look at Mike now. Embarrassment etched into his skin, face a flushed red-pink that made his eyes stand out.

The color matching of Will's acrylic eye was just as impressive as the first time Mike had seen Will with it in. It looked just like his natural hazel-green, Mike knew it costed a fortune. Will had been self-conscious about how obvious it was that he was missing that eye, Will was still self-conscious about it, but Mike just thought Will looked pretty regardless. Reminded him of Bowie, Will had smiled when Mike had told him this and then Mike couldn't stop thinking about watching Will's pupil dilate.

Mike swallowed at the thought.

Moments like these were why Mike found himself reading through a dictionary more often than any teenage boy should. He spent so long, way too long, growing up wishing he could point to what he felt on paper and just have someone else make sense of it for him — and the English lexicon, sometimes, proved fruitful. His gaze fluttered down to the carpet, where the pencil in question laid still, as if it'd disappear if it didn't move. He takes a breath, tilting his head back toward Will without following the movement with his eyes.

Mike smiled, dragging the bottom of his tongue against his lip to curve his amusement into something softer.

"Am I a dart board to you, Byers?" asked Mike, a teasing tone to his voice.

His eyes flicked back to Will, who had a deeply unamused frown forcibly planted on his face. 

If Mike didn't know Will well, he'd be worried he'd upset him. His face was still too flushed to be upset, hands steady instead of shaking, and he'd only huffed and pressed the side of his head into the backrest of his chair. Sometimes Mike was worried he had upset Will with his mindless socializing.

Of course, this worry only manifested in the deep corners of Mike's room late at night where he couldn't reach Will to ask.

Will turned onto his side, nudging his face further into the plush of the chair, and held his hand out toward Mike.

"You don't move when you're supposed to." Will's fingers were still unsteady, have been since he got taken, but his hands didn't shake as much now with the threat of the Upside Down gone and buried. "Give it back."

"I come all the way over here, early, mind you... and then I don't even get a please after you attack me?" Mike crosses his arm, tutting in disapproval. He shakes his head. "What is your mom going to say when I have to go and complain about you?"

"That I'm a very nice boy and you should be grateful I'm in your life," Will said plainly. His eye tracked as Mike tilted his head, a pout taut on his lips. Will huffs again. "Oh, please, dear Paladin... I'm in dire need for my pencil to return to my hands, and you're right there, next to it. Aid me in my quest to complete my sketches?"

Mike ignored how a flush burned at his cheeks.

"O', to assist would be naught but my humble pleasure, Will the Wise." Mike's bones creaked, protesting the movement of him reach down to the floor, but he pressed onward for the treacherous task of retrieving Will's thrown object. "For I am bound unto mine oath, lest I be set upon a most rigorous path."

Mike ended up on one knee, the pencil cradled in both of his hands, squished between Will's bed and Will's desk chair, like it was some kind of mythical offering.

Mike's head was down, eyes boring into the floor like it was the puppeteer controlling him. He's made it weird, hadn't he?

"How kind," Will's voice carried an odd tilt. He carefully maneuvered the pencil from Mike's outstretched hands. "You've gain one inspiration due to this act of generosity, Mike."

Mike hesitated before standing, the buzzing of lights background noise, tilting his head to look up at Will watching him.

The first and only thing Mike's brain can latch onto is how Will's pupil is dilated to near black, Mike swallows —

Bowie...

—.*.—

They couldn't stay chatting in Will's room forever because, unfortunately, there were very social plans happening within the hour, and Mike, coming early, signed himself up to help make sure the house was ready for a group of new graduates.

There wasn't much work to be done, truth be told. Mrs. Byers, while not nearly as detail oriented as his mother, was adamant on keeping the house visitor-worthy.

By the time Dustin comes storming in with Jane hot on his heel, holding a heavier load of alcohol than Dustin, Dustin's already full of complaints about Steve hovering again. It's fond exasperation, told by the smile that plays his lips when he mentions how many times Steve said to be responsible. Jane smiles, teases Dustin, and assesses the damage caused by Mike and Will (Her words.). 

Jane instructs the boys to gather the alcohol and rearrange it in the kitchen, making cups and mixers easily accessible.

Lucas and Max arrived together. Max, white cane in one hand, Lucas' hand in the other — laughing, scheming, and just ready to be done with Hawkins. They all were. Max didn't braid her hair anymore, couldn't, because she'd cut it short to her jaw in the spring after she woke up. Said she'd wanted to look more Joan of Arc. Mike thought the hair cut suited her, but missed getting to braid her long curls.

The night started off slow.

They gathered in the living room, TV humming in the background as it played a movie picked at random for something to look at as they hung out. The ceiling light was turned off, the only lighting provided by the myriad of lamps that Mrs. Byers kept buying — something about atmosphere. For the first half of the night, Jane played various mix-tapes put together by Jonathan over the years until the Party forgot there was music in the first place.

They'd ordered a few large pizzas with their pooled pocket money, the boxes idly placed around the room as they slowly forgot that they had ordered food in the first place. Every so often someone would get up and go back to the kitchen, refilling their cups, and come back marginally worse than when they left.

Dustin, Lucas, and Max were the more experienced drinkers, because of course they were, while Jane, Will, and Mike were less-so convinced. Jane, actually, wasn't really part of that category — she was eager to give it a go.

The Party sat in a circle, some on the floor others in chairs and none further than five feet of the other. Dustin, annoyed with Mike's reluctance to get up and find his own drinks, decided to have a little fun of his own.

"This is so gross." said Mike, covering his mouth with his free palm, trying not to gag on the vodka creation Dustin decided to punish him with. "What the fuck did you give me?"

"Use a straw, dumbass," chided Max. "How are you such a pussy?"

Mike made a face at her.

"If you used this opportunity like a normal teenager, maybe you'd get a better mixed drink." Dustin rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad, I tasted it before I handed it to you."

"It's, like, you just threw straight vodka in here, mixed it with some other mystery alcohol, and called it a day."

Dustin scoffed, then threw a look at Lucas. "Because that's basically exactly what I did, Michael. You're a big boy. Pace yourself."

"Just don't throw up on the carpet," Will warned. "I don't think I could convince Jonathan to clean it up for me, and I don't want to do that either."

Well, obviously Mike would clean up his own vomit, clean up any vomit, really. Mike wouldn't mind. Why would he make Will do that?

Just when Mike decided he should voice this, he's cut off.

"Maybe you should carry around a water bottle," hummed Lucas.

"Or," Max interrupted. "We play some party games."

Will looked at Mike. "I don't see how that affects Mike drinking water."

"Why am I the only one being told to drink water? Dustin's the one who keeps getting up to get more."

"I wanted to see a fucked up Wheeler," said Max. "I'll get my fucked up Wheeler."

"I'll just not respond to you." Mike pressed backward into the small couch he and Will shared, tucking his legs underneath him awkwardly, leaned far closer to Will than he needed to be. "Weren't we just going to watch movies. Do we have to play games? What would we even play?"

He was genuinely asking, to be fair. Mike hadn't ever gone to a party himself. He knew Max had with Lucas — and Lucas definitely partied — but were party games... real? He'd only ever seen them played within movies, or TV shows, never in practice with alcohol involved. And, well, the only alcohol party games he ever saw depicted?

He did not want to see how that ended out with how his life has been going.

"We know Dustin can handle his alcohol." Lucas rolled his eyes. "You've been busy every time I've invited you out to a party."

"And busy I was. Is staying home a crime?"

Mike, truthfully, hadn't been busy. Not every time. But, most of the time, he'd refuse an invitation because he'd already have plans with Will.

Max groaned. "Yes."

Even if he didn't have plans with Will, Mike wouldn't have wanted to go anyway.

Half of Hawkins thought he was a creep, and the other half are prone to beating him up because he was weird.

Mike wouldn't say he was at fault for any of it, he just had an energy.

"How about drinking every time Mike finds something to complain about?" Jane giggled from where she sat on the floor, back against the couch, squished between Mike and Will's legs. She playfully shoved Mike's knee away from her. "You should learn what fun is."

He didn't really mind it, though. It cut down the population of girls showing an interest in him down to less than single digits.

"We'd be in the hospital come daylight," said Dustin. "There'd be no survivors but Mike, since he'd be the only one not drinking."

If that made the creep rumors worse? Then, well, Mike didn't have much to say in his defense.

Mike splutters. "I'm starting to feel targeted."

"Well, go back to being oblivious." grinned Max. "I need to catch you unaware. It'd be no fun teasing you otherwise."

He looked at Will, silently begging for any form of back up.

Mischievous hazel eyes looked back. 

"Never have I ever tried to fight a Demogorgon with a candle stick."

"What — seriously? Will!"

The Party cackles and the only reprieve Mike gets is Will having the decency to look moderately sorry, hiding a large smile plastered on his face behind his cup. 

For a few seconds too long, Mike couldn’t pull his eyes away from Will. Slightly tipsy — he wanted to kiss him. The repetitive motion of drinking had kept his hands busy, and the conversation — about nothing in particular — was barely noticed. Mike huffed, finally tore his eyes from Will's, and took a much larger swig out of his cup than he should have.

Mike barely swallows it down before his taste buds catch up to him.

"I forgot," Mike wallowed, his voice rough with complaint.

Jane lit up at the sight of Mike inconvenienced.

"Don't tell me you took a giant gulp like you had water in that cup." Max had forgone any kind of sympathy. "Wheeler."

"Don't look at me," said Dustin, throwing his hands up in mock defense. Lucas shook his head disapprovingly. "That was entirely his fault."

Will leaned into Mike's space. His voice soft, concern wedged between his laugh and a teasing lilt, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Mike swayed toward Will, his face burned. "Just remind me to murder Dustin later."

The joke landed, Will's face scrunched up to account for the smile that stretched across it. A breathy giggle escaped him, and Mike just watched.

Will teased, "I think that's against Party rules."

Mike pouts.

"Where's a notepad?" Dustin half-stood up. "There's no point in playing if we aren't keeping score."

Jane sounded delighted, "Are we actually playing?"

"'Course," said Max, proudly. Her smile sharpened. "Never have I ever hated the idea of someone new joining the Party."

"Max." Mike breathed.

"Drink it, Wheeler." She stuck her tongue out in Mike's direction. "The rest of you better bottoms up, too. Don't think you can con me."

Mike, for his part, did not forget what was in his cup this time. He took a much smaller sip, and he would be doing so for the rest of the game.

Hopefully.

What he did not do, if later asked, is watch Will smile, roll his eyes, and lift his cup back to his mouth with parted lips.

"That's four points against Will's one, write that down, Dusty-bun," Max grinned when she heard Dustin splutter obscenities her way. "Thank you."

"Should Dustin even keep score? He's going to cheat." Mike blindly placed down his cup, distracted by the sight in front of him. "Have Lucas do it."

"What — Hold on!" Dustin scoffed. Mike forced his eyes to meet Dustin's. "I'll have you know, I'm a paragon of integrity. Your accusations hurt me."

"Is this... a competitive game?" asked Jane, leaning her head against the couch cushions to look up at Will. "You win because you force everyone else to drink?"

Will hesitated before answering, "Well, kind of? It's supposed to be more fun than play to win."

"That's because you're too nice," said Max. "Just say things you haven't done but know someone else has, Jane."

"Oh." Jane had a thoughtful expression on her face. "Never have I ever... built a radio tower-thing to contact a girl."

Dustin groaned.

Jane waited. "He is supposed to drink now, right?"

"Yes." Lucas smirked. "Hand over the point system, Dusty."

"Whatever, man." Dustin took a sip out of his cup. "Ha, ha, ha. I had one girlfriend, sue me."

Dustin leaned back, and leveled the room with a quizzical stare. His eyes lingered on Mike, then he grinned.

"Never have I ever snuck into the movie theaters, without me." Jane was the only one who didn't drink. Dustin raised an eyebrow. "You guys had an entire summer and you didn't take her out? Mike?"

Mike shifted uncomfortably, he couldn't help but glance at Will.

Will wasn't looking at him — Mike was on his left — but he wore a sheepish expression with his head tilted down to spot at Jane, hand fiddling with the long necklace sat around his neck. A nervous habit Mike had become accustomed to since Will began wearing it. Will turned to the rest of the room, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and — Mike reminded himself Dustin asked a question.

"What? Why am I the one in trouble? I went with Will."

Oh. Wait.

Hold on.

He was not supposed to say that.

Mike averted his eyes, vaguely registering the lights flicker, as heat spread across his face. "Jane wasn't even supposed to leave the cabin."

Truthfully, Mike didn't think him and Jane went on a date at all when they were together.

He hadn't wanted to, and Jane didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, okay. 'You went with Will.' No wonder she dumped your ass, dude." Dustin laughed at him. "You sucked."

"Thank you," said Max, years' worth of exasperation evident. "I can't believe I was the only one who saw it."

"Right? I can not believe I got back with him." Jane nodded, like Mike wasn't even in the room.

Will let out a breathy laugh, already staring at Mike by the time their eyes met. Mike could feel his face turn a shade darker. Will's teeth dragged against his bottom lip until it fell free, then pressed them together to conceal his amusement a second too late. Mike's eyes widen. His brain hits a wall, stuck on Will's mouth — he blinked, once, twice, and shook his head trying to play off whatever they were laughing at him about this time.

Bad idea. Mike whined and lifted a hand to his head to stop the room from spinning. Mike had to say something, get the conversation to move on.

"Never have I ever..." He practically forced the words out of his chest. Mike didn't care if it was lame. "Targeted me. In a game. Of... never have I — ever."

"That's not fair!" Dustin whipped his hand toward Mike. "He can't do that!"

"That's not even a fun one, that's just making us drink." Max leaned into Lucas, huffing. "Can we ban Mike from earning points this round?"

"All of you have to drink." Jane smiled. "I don't. I only 'targeted' Dustin."

"Woah, excuse you. I don't either. The defendants are found guilty and are sentenced to drink." Lucas winked at Dustin. "Relax. It doesn't even tie him for first."

Mike had to stop himself from inching his cup toward his own mouth.

Will shakes his head before bringing the cup back to his lips, displeased but light-hearted. Mike has to avert his eyes. Dustin and Max made exaggerated shows of annoyance at being forced to drink to Mike's lame prompt, but that felt more like white noise. Mike hears Will put his cup down and adjusts himself, playfully knocking his shoulder against Will — harder than he'd meant to — smiling at the older boy, trying to appear apologetic.

Will looked at him with furrowed amusement, and Mike felt a lot less sorry for making him drink.

"Will," said Mike, softer than he meant to. He giggled anyway. "Your fault."

Will raised an eyebrow.

"Mine?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That's not fair."

Mike belatedly notices he's still pressed against Will — honestly... he doesn't care. Moving felt like too much work, and he'd probably just jostle Will anyway.

"You can't always get what you want," Mike half-sung, half-slurred the lyrics to The Rolling Stones, grinning stupidly. He cradled his cup between both of his hands, idly counting the fibers of the carpet before looking back up at Will. "But if you try sometimes... you just might find — you get what you need."

Will laughs loudly, throwing his head back. 

"Oh my God." Will pressed back against Mike's shoulder. Slurred laughter followed. "You're drunk."

"Yeah." Soft. Mike thought about denying the accusation, but chose against it. He went with theatrical instead. "Surprise."

Will shifted against the couch, Mike followed.

Turning his head away, Will tried to cover up a snort. "Mike. Shut up."

Lucas' voice broke Mike out of Will's spell.

"Never have I ever said something stupid because I thought I had to."

Mike paused, squinting in Lucas' direction — confused. They were still playing?

Lucas had his eyes trained on Dustin, clearly waiting for the result he wanted, who grimaced and complained before taking a sip.

"Oh," Mike muttered to himself.

The question stung. It was all so stupid, looking back at it.

A half-hearted and bitter laugh clawed from the back of Mike's throat.

He felt Will jostle next to him, and looked up in time to be met with Will drinking on that question too.

Mike wondered what Will had said.

"What?" asked Will, looking around the room. "Is it my turn again?"

The next few rounds of Never Have I Ever weren't of much interest to Mike.

Dustin and Max kept targeting him, Jane egged it on, and Lucas smirked, taking score while drinking the least.

Lucas had won that game, of course.

The Party couldn't prove he cheated, he hadn't been getting hit with the prompts like everyone else had, so there wasn't really anything else for them to do about it.

Mike didn't remember when Will had slung an arm around his shoulder, but he wasn't going to be the one to call it out. Not when Will had gotten up a few times, coming back with full drinks or a few slices of pizza — Mike found out, on top of turning him clingy, alcohol made him hungry — and always sat back down, pressed against Mike as if he hadn't left.

Like he actually wanted Mike.

Will didn't. Mike knew that. It was the alcohol — but what was the harm in fantasizing?

Max roped them into a few more drinking games that Mike, gun to his head, couldn’t have named.

It was good for them — especially Jane. Once everyone crossed the line from tipsy to properly drunk, things became looser. More fun. The rules stopped mattering. Accuracy stopped mattering. Dustin and Max got too giggly to keep friendly animosity running, and like flicking a switch, the target on Mike’s back disappeared.

At some point, Mike grabbed the sleeve of Will's dress-shirt on his right arm and hadn't let go. Will didn't seem to mind it, maneuvering around the hold whenever he spoke with his hands, so Mike let his hand do what it wanted.

"You know what would be fun?" slurred Mike, half-nuzzled into Will's shoulder like a dog.

He nudged the back of Jane's head with a socked foot, having caught her staring at Dustin for a few beats too long. She hisses at him, batting his food away with her hands. Mike thinks it hurts.

Will comes to her rescue, pushing Mike leg away from his semi-sister with his own. "Oh no. What have you come up with this time?"

"Don't say it like... I have bad ideas," Mike complained. He pulled away — trying to get in a better position to keep Will from keeping his legs in check — before slumping back into Will, missing the warmth and giving up. "Realistic D&D — drunk edition. Every you drink in-game you — every drink you drink."

"That's so dumb, Mike." said Will, amused and smiley. "So, so dumb. Dustin would be so annoying."

Mike waved Will's arm around. "That's the beauty of it — he'd... be regulating himself, or else his spells fail."

He lied about giving up. As soon as Will decided Mike was really done, he tried to annoy Jane again — a pillow flings into his face from across the room.

The force made Mike's head bounce against Will's arm and the couch cushion. He doesn't even need to open his eyes to know Jane's wiping a bloody nose. Laughter sounds beaten out of Will, and he collapses into Mike — still half dead-weight against the couch from Jane's attack. Mike tries to be upset but Will was very distracting, a grin cracked across his face and soon he was laughing too. 

"You're so annoying." Jane tried to sound annoyed, but she was clearly struggling not to join the two in hysterical laughter. "Stop it! It's not that funny! Stop laughing about it!"

Will struggled to form a sentence over his choked gasps, "The — fucking... sound you made."

"I wasn't ready!" Mike's legs hinged at an odd angle to account for Will. "She attacked me!"

The way the two boys were positioned on the couch was awkward, their arms squished uncomfortably between their torsos, but Will's head was cradled into Mike's neck laughing against his skin —

So, really, this was extremely comfortable.

"You provoked me...!" slurred Jane, hand pressed into the couch cushion to give better access to lean over and poke Mike square in the ribs.

Mike tried to protect his side with his knees, sliding half-way onto his back completely trapped between both siblings.

The vowels came out too long, "Jane! Stop!"

Jane punctuated every word with another jab to Mike's ribs. "Then. Stop. Picking. On. Me."

"Okay! Uncle! I'm sorry! I'll stop picking at you and —" Jane cut him off, batting at his knees, "— Okay! I'll stop!"

—.*.—

There was trash everywhere, empty pizza boxes and turned over cups that had been discarded for new ones due to their collective drunken haze. Jane said she wanted a movie to be put on, Max asked the group what they wanted. Will said they should probably clean up first — Mike stumbled to his feet.

Dustin and Will helped Jane situate the room to make it more comfortable for a movie night, Max lamenting how awful it was that she couldn't help while pretending like she wasn't smirking.

Mike followed Lucas into the kitchen, balancing the empty cups and bottles on top of the pizza box Jane had forced into Mike's hands.

The fact Mike could walk at all, let alone carry so much trash, had to be it's own small miracle. He was completely, utterly wasted. Dustin's Horror-Mix had only been the start, because at a certain point Mike couldn't tell if he was drinking water or alcohol anymore. The thought made him grin, there was no way he'd remember anything come morning.

Lucas was saying something to Mike, and all Mike could do was giggle and nod. The incredulous look on Lucas' face meant Mike hadn't given a proper response.

"Sorry. What did you say?" slurred Mike, wobbling in place. "I wasn't listening."

"Dude, how much did you have?" It took Mike too long to register when Lucas had extracted the trash from his arms. "You sure you're good? You don't feel sick, do you?"

Mike shook his head, his brain screamed in protest. 

"Don't be so... worried. This is fun." The room spun, Mike braced himself against the kitchen cabinets inches away from knocking over an open bottle. Mike grinned sheepishly at Lucas, as if it'd distract him from Mike falling over himself. "Probably just — going to be water. For me. The rest of tonight."

"No kidding." Lucas wobbled too, but he was faring with his inebriation far better than Mike was. Practice, probably. "You should've said something. Like, it's fun. But, don't like — don't drink yourself sick because everyone is egging you to."

Mike's tongue was heavy in his mouth, too many questions to choose from to follow what Lucas had said. 

Is he hinting at something? Mike wouldn't be too shocked. Lucas was always observant, subtly pushing for solutions to problems he didn't know he was solving. Or maybe he did know, and Mike just gave him too much benefit of the doubt.

Whatever it was, Mike nodded instead of answering.

They cleaned up silently. Well, Lucas cleaned up. Mike pushed things around and then had to pretend like he didn't almost fall flat on his ass. Outside of the kitchen, the rest of the Party laughed at whatever movie had been put on. Mike thinks he was the one to pick it, he couldn't remember what he chose. 

Will's laugh was louder than the girls and Dustin. If Mike had been the one to pick the movie? Then he must've chosen correctly.

"Lucas?" asked Mike quietly, awkward and unsure. He didn't even know what he was planning to ask, just knew it pulled at his chest and balled up in his throat.

He studied the counter-top, it was a brownish-gray granite that was speckled with black. Had come with the house, but Mrs. Byers loved how it looked. Meshed nicely with the dark brown wood-finish on top of the cabinets. The counter-top was cold against his hands, soothing.

Lucas didn't respond immediately, pulling out new cups and sodas, closing half-full bottles of alcohol they hadn't finished. He hummed, "What is it?"

Words tangled in his mouth, "Would — would you think I... was lying if I said I liked... boys?" 

Mike swung his head toward Lucas, like he held the answers of why Mike asked that. His hands, latched on the counter-top, steadied himself from falling backward with the movement. Mike frowned, his eyebrows furrowed like Lucas had just asked him to solve a complex mathematical equation. Like he hadn't been the one to ask.

Lucas had an unreadable expression on his face, which didn't do wonders for Mike's internal anxiety.

"Mike?"

Despite what he'd claim to his mom and Nancy, Mike did know when he pulled the Puppy-Eyes routine. Mike could feel the pout that formed on his face, and the look of guilt that formed around his eyes. He just didn't do it on purpose. 

"I mean —" Mike didn't know what he meant, "— I just — Would you? Lucas?"

Mike pivoted, stumbling to lean back against the counter-top. He wrapped his arms around himself, lightly scratching at his wrists and pulling at his sweater sleeves to keep his hands busy, and watched Lucas as he waited for any kind of response.

His throat burned, a sick mix of alcohol and nausea.

"Okay." Lucas kept his tone carefully neutral and slow, like Mike was a startled woodland creature that just got tangled in a wired fence. "Slow down. Should I be worried about that?"

A frustrated whine escaped the back of Mike's throat.

"Maybe?" That didn't come out right. Mike grimaced and looked away, shrinking into himself. "No — I mean — come on. Doesn't have to be a whole... thing. You know what — forget it, it's a... stupid question, I'm sorry. Forget it."

"Wait — hold on." Lucas put down the bottle of soda he had been holding close to his chest. "That's not a stupid question, I was just caught a little off guard. It's okay."

Mike glanced at Lucas's direction, his vision too hazy to make out what face he was making at this angle. He didn't move, scared to, really, and waited.

"I trust you. I know you wouldn't lie to me," said Lucas. He sounded worried. Mike hated that. "Not about that. That wouldn't be something you'd joke about. It's against Party rules, anyway."

Mike looked back at the ground, the tight feeling in his chest hadn't gotten any looser.

He hesitated, "But, would you believe me?"

"That you... liked boys?" Lucas kept his voice level, soft. Careful, controlled. Lucas didn't want to say the wrong thing. "...Do you think I wouldn't?"

Voices in the living room giggled loudly, unaware of the discussion going on in the kitchen. Mike didn't remember why they had left the living room in the first place. Why they were even talking to each other. This wasn't a nice topic. He missed Will.

Leaving the couch was a mistake, Mike thought. He wanted to go back.

Lucas waited for Mike to respond, but it became clear Mike wouldn't. "How long have you... wondered about this?"

Mike swallowed, his mouth and throat suddenly very dry. 

"A while," was all Mike could get out.

"Okay." Lucas crossed the kitchen and leaned next to Mike. "Mike, listen to me."

Mike kept his eyes trained on the floor, staring intensely at the grout lining like it could provide him with the right line of dialogue that'd let him pass whatever skill check that got him out of this.

"You're my best friend, yeah?" Lucas leaned forward until he caught Mike's eye. He waited until Mike nodded. "I'd believe you even if you weren't sure, because you trusted me enough to tell me anything. And I know you, Mike, you're not stupid for asking. I promise."

Not stupid wasn't a descriptor Mike would ascribe to himself these days. Would Will be upset? Mike really shouldn't have asked Lucas anything, but he'd already dug his grave. Trust. Mike didn't think that word fit, either.

When Mike didn't respond quick enough, Lucas put a comforting hand on Mike's arm. "Mike, I promise."

Mike flinched, biting at his lip. "...Don't understand."

A pause.

"Understand what?" pressed Lucas.

"Why you'd... believe me." That sounded better in Mike's head. He didn't know what he was saying anymore, everything felt so hazy. He put a hand to his head, tears burning at the back of his eyelids. "I mean — I don't... it's so — so stupid, Lucas. Why would you believe me?"

Mike just felt so nauseous. His words kept jumbling up when he tried to speak. He didn't even know what he wanted to say.

"Half of you are —" Mike had to pause, trying not to vomit, "— convinced I'm not over Jane. I know — why would you... believe me?" Mike's chest heaved, the anxiety catching up to him now. He wouldn't cry, he couldn't vomit. "How could you not think I'd be lying?"

The chill of the floor tiles seeped through Mike's socks. They were too bright in contrast to the cabinets, Mike's decided. Maybe he could convince Hopper to change that when Mike sees him next.

Lucas might've said something kind or sweet, or maybe he was ripping Mike apart. He heard words. Maybe important. Mike needed out.

"Mike." Lucas held Mike's arm like he was a flight risk. "You can like both."

"But I don't."

He froze.

The words themselves sounded ripped from his chest, as if they were escaped convicts and his lungs had been their prison. Everything else had plausible deniability, this was too forward.

"Shit." Mike whispered. His head buzzed to the tune of the lights. "Shit."

Chest tight, Mike gripped his forearms.

Lucas says something, but Mike wasn't paying attention.

He ripped his eyes away from Lucas' face. If Mike stared hard enough at the tiles of the kitchen floor, maybe a portal to the Upside Down would form, swallowing him whole, and he'd get to pretend like this conversation never happened.

He'd just ruined everything. Mike knew that. He didn't know how it was going to be ruined, but he couldn't backpedal from this. Will's going to be disgusted that Mike even thought about him — that he could even have a chance just because Will happened to be queer too. Dustin's never going to show up at his doorstep on a random Tuesday afternoon talking nonstop about a new project they could do ever again because everyone would side with Will. Mike would want them to side with Will. He'd hate being chosen over Will. Oh god, are they going to think that because Mike couldn't keep Jane he went after her brother? Mike thinks he hears Dustin impatiently calling to the kitchen, Lucas might have replied. Max's voice was muffled by the sound of the TV. She probably said something rude, like she usually did. Max would never talk to Mike again.

Then, Lucas shakes Mike roughly.

Mike's eyes snapped up, watery.

"Let's get you a glass of water, then you can go back into the living room, okay?" said Lucas, softly. His expression carefully neutral, almost blank. "I'll bring the soda out. That sound manageable?"

And Mike takes a breath. Lucas wouldn't screw him over like that. Mike knew that, of course he wouldn't. He tried to respond, but no words came out.

Lucas understood him anyway. Mike wished Lucas wouldn't remember this in the morning.

Ignoring the way Lucas' eyes bored into the back of his skull, Mike pulled away from Lucas' hold, he stumbled toward the cups lining the sink.

Part of Mike just wanted to drink the last however many minutes away. He couldn't though, Mike knew he couldn't make everyone worry. If he made them worry then Lucas might tell them what he'd let slip. Mike couldn't handle that. So, he filled the cup up with water.

"Dustin, shut up!" Jane shouted from the living room, giggling at something stupid. "That's not funny!"

"Okay — but, hear me out — " Dustin rang close behind her, "— it is, though."

They didn't know.

Mike drained his cup in one go, latching onto that thought. They didn't know.

Lucas kept his eyes trained on Mike as he returned to what he entered the kitchen to do. Mike couldn't look back at him. He thinks Lucas said one last thing to him. Mike couldn't tell — He was too busy trying to wipe the guilt and regret on his face into something neutral.

He stayed in front of the sink, staring into the drain, for far longer than he'd admit.

Mike filled his cup again — anything to keep his hands busy. He drank half of it before pouring it down the drain.

Mike needed out of the kitchen, needed away from whatever just happened. He couldn't just leave, Mike wouldn't. Nothing good would come out of that, he'd just disturb the others. He balled his hands into fists, desperate for them to just... stop shaking.

Tripping over his feet, Mike retreated to the living room like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs. Steps wobbly, laughter crashed against his skin like waves. He made it back. Survived. Jane seemed just as gone as he was, if not more, and Max might have been the most sober person next to Lucas. Mike tried to pretend like everything was fine, they didn't notice him at first.

His foot caught on air, Mike had to catch himself on the arm of the couch, his face inches from the cushion.

Will startled, "Don't tell me you kept drinking back there, Mike."

"Wheeler!" Max grinned. "Took you long enough! Weren't you supposed to be helping Lucas?"

"Was I?" slurred Mike, not really sure who he was responding to.

Dustin shook his head, "Jesus Christ."

Mike reoriented himself, slotting far closer to Will than he had meant to. The rest of the Party disappeared with the sound of something happening during the movie, the TV was too far away and too blurry for Mike to tell what was going on. He should've moved, it wouldn't have been weird if he had, but Will was comforting even if he didn't know there was something wrong.

Mike already figured out he was a clingy drunk, he did not need to learn it got worse when he was upset. 

He jumped when he felt Will nudge his shoulder.

Will didn't back away at the reaction, just stayed there, pressed against Mike, like he knew Mike needed it.

"You feeling okay?"

Will was warm, safe. Concern etched into the corners of his eyes, but Mike found himself distracted by the flush the alcohol gave him, visible even in the dim light. Mike could feel the ends of Will's hair tickle the edge of his face. It was almost enough for Mike to forget about the kitchen completely, but his chest constricted again and his eyes burned worse than they did with Lucas.

He had to look away. 

Mike folded into himself. "Like... I just chugged vodka — the entire night."

Will leaned close, murmuring something Mike didn't catch, then shifted against Mike — lifting his arm, letting Mike melt against his side like putty.

And — Mike could cry.

A tear slipped down his cheek, then Will's fingers tangled through his curls, coaxing more to follow. Mike had always been a silent crier, the alcohol didn't change that, but now his chest felt loose and hollow. He couldn't bring himself to wipe the tears away — not unless he wanted to alert Will, and he wouldn’t be able to handle that right now.

Not tonight.

Mike angled his head to where the tears wouldn't have been noticeable unless Will was actively searching for them, away from the party.

The jerky movement caused Mike's vision to swim — stars flickered across the shadows.

Will chatted with the rest of the room like Mike hadn't come back just to curl into his side, and everyone else decided to look over the Mike Wheeler-shaped elephant in the room. Mike didn't know what to do with his hands. He sighed and pressed his face into Will's shoulder, choosing to fiddle with the hem of Will's shirt and letting the hum of the TV overcrowd his thoughts — everything else blurred into white noise.

By the time Lucas strolled back into the room, fumbling with cups and bottles, Mike's face was still slick with tears that threatened to keep falling.

(Mike knew, even while incredibly plastered, that Lucas wouldn't antagonize him over what he'd said in front of everybody, but he stiffened when Lucas entered anyway. Will’s hand in his hair stilled for a beat too long before returning to its rhythm, and Mike told himself it was just his imagination.

And if, by the of the night, Mike drunkenly whispered to Will, "I'd never want to be the storyteller... 'M happy just being your Paladin..."

Well, that wasn't Mike's business, and certainly no one else's, either.)

—.*.—

Two weeks ago, Mike had woken up with the worst hangover he will probably ever experience. 

Two weeks ago, Mike had woken up wedged between the couch cushions and Will, drenched head to toe in sweat.

Two weeks ago was the last time Mike spent time alone with Lucas Sinclair, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

Mike had blacked-out.

It wasn't good.

The rest of the Party made sure to rip on him for that. Mike remembered pieces of the night in fragments — like, the exposure on a movie was too low, so all he had were subtitles to figure out what was supposedly happening on the screen — but, he didn't remember anything post the second or third game they'd played. 

Well, no. That's not entirely true.

Mike was avoiding Lucas for a reason.

The reason being Mike was half-convinced he'd said something very damning to Lucas.

The longer Mike didn't see Lucas, the less he felt the constant tug at his stomach and the easier it was to convince himself that he hadn't told Lucas he was queer. 

Mike had done the hard part — though he didn't remember how he did the hard part, or if he actually managed to do it at all.

But, now, Mike couldn't leave his house if he knew Lucas could be outside.

Waiting.

Mike felt like a caged animal.

With each crackle of the walkie, Mike had to brace himself to hear Lucas' voice telling Mike to just... come outside. To talk about what Mike had said at Jane and Will's house. It hadn't happened yet. Maybe Mike hallucinated the entire encounter. 

("Sorry, I can't. My dad has amnesia," Mike had theorized using as an excuse. "I have to help him pronounce his vegetables. Very important father-son time."

His dad didn't really have amnesia, Mike should probably clarify. He just didn't remember what happened when he was attacked. So, the Upside Down was kind of an... open secret in the Wheeler household that their dad didn't understand. It brought the rest of the Wheelers closer together, at least.)

Lucas wouldn't care.

Shouldn't.

Mike tried to convince himself of that. His body shook regardless. 

It was Saturday again, it was July. June was a fever dream that Mike could ignore.

Mike spent time with his mom, learning how to cook and taking the pressure of doing the household laundry off her shoulders. She didn't ask questions, and Mike was grateful for her. Holly seemed happy with his seemingly near constant presence, too. He would read while she drew, sat near each other talking about books they'd recently read, and helped her plan D&D campaigns with her friends. Mike ignored his dad.

Most nights, after dinner, Mike, Holly, and their mom would spend an hour just existing near each other before drifting off to their rooms for bed.

Mike's mistake was playing the part of a doting younger brother to Nancy. 

Nancy fucking Drew.

Apparently, Mike choosing to spend time with his family was suspicious. Why would Mike want to go shopping with Nancy?

He wasn't even avoiding the Party. She couldn't catch him on that. He spent time with Dustin, hung out with Max, and saw Jane and Will regularly like he always did. Sure, he wouldn't be caught dead alone in a room with Lucas, especially when he could see a certain glint in his eyes whenever they met, but he also wasn't avoiding Lucas. Mike was being better, he told himself he would be better — so, instead of locking himself up in his room and rotting underneath his bedsheets, he was hanging out with his friends and family.

He didn't understand why Nancy suddenly had a problem with this. Mike was doing fine. She couldn't worm anything out of him.

She tried, pressed all his buttons and pulled at his strings until he felt like he was coming undone, but he survived.

Nancy hadn't stopped trying to pry, though.

Apparently, Mike is self-destructive and too secretive.

He 'gets into his own head' and 'won't talk about what bothers him.'

Mike doesn't want to hear it from Nancy.

If he's guilty then she's guilty too, which strips her authority.

Mike didn't like the constant reminder that he was a terrible liar.

Not liar.

Actor?

No —

Well.

Maybe.

Anyway, despite it being Saturday again, problems kept popping up.

He missed yesterday, when hanging out with Will was the only thing Mike had to think about.

Jane and Max had cornered him in the safety of his own home. They told him, practically demanded, that the Party would be going out that afternoon and Mike had to get dressed because was the one driving — him being the only one with a license and access to a car, the last to be informed.

And now, somehow, he was behind the wheel of Nancy's car.

He had offered Steve, but the girls had quickly shut that offer down.

They liked Steve, they all did — hung out with him a lot because Steve wasn't leaving Hawkins anytime soon — but it was still Steve.

Not that it mattered. Even if they accepted Mike's tribute, Steve was busy — visiting Robin out of state.

(Out of state was a stretch, Robin was still a weekly presence in Hawkins.)

"No — wait, stop it —" Mike leaned across the passenger seat, pulling the door out of Max's hand, closing it, "— my car, my passenger. Go into the back."

"It's not your car." Max scoffed. "It's Nancy's — also, why do I have to sit in the back?"

"Mike, not that I mind being passenger..." Jane raised an eyebrow. "Why is Max sitting in the back?"

Mike... hadn't thought this through. 

"What do you take me for?"

He spluttered, looked around, like an answer would appear out of thin air, and settled at the two unimpressed girls staring down at him through the passenger door, window drawn down. His pulse skyrocketed, laying in the grave he'd just dug.

"Don't answer that. You're both sitting in the back." Mike settled on, eventually, grip tight against the interior handle. His face burned. "Not just Max."

Both girls held equally blank faces.

"So you hate us, then?" asked Max, carefully controlled.

Mike's jaw dropped. "What — no!"

Max's face scrunched up.

"He just likes the others more because they are boys." Jane rolled her eyes. "Men."

Jane didn't bother to wait to watch the horror spread across Mike's face.

Mike stared at his hand, white-knuckling the interior door handle, with wide eyes, and jerkily pulled away from the passenger door like it had burned him. 

"Whatever. Too bad for Lucas." Max huffed, pulling herself into the middle seat. "I'm either in the passenger seat or he's back here with me. Dustin and Will can fight over the front."

Jane's smile was obvious in her voice. "You think Dustin has a chance?"

"No." Max laughed. "Will could beat him up."

Both doors clacked shut in a way Nancy would've screamed at him for.

Mike doesn't look into the rearview mirror, he didn't need to know if he was being gauged for a reaction.

"Seat belts." said Mike, voice too rough.

They didn't know. Lucas wouldn't do that to him.

He needed to get his shit together.

"God knows we'll need them." Max fumbled for hers. "Why are we letting you drive, again?"

"Because it's your life's mission that I know no peace?" Mike offered. "Maybe you'd be in the front had there been any forewarning to this kidnapping."

"Is it kidnapping if you're the driver?" asked Jane.

"Not when it's Wheeler."

Despite how it seemed, Mike enjoyed spending time with Max and Jane. He didn't mind the constant ribbing. They were comfortable, so Mike was okay.

Mike's walkie crackles to life before they could pull out of the driveway.

"ETA? Over." 

Mike fumbles getting the walkie out of where he'd placed it in the driver's door.

"Just got in the car, Dustin. Update on Lucas? Over."

Mike paused, waiting for a response from Dustin or Lucas.

Lucas' voice comes in first, "I'm in the middle of something right now, give me fifteen. Over."

"He's so not dressed." Max groaned. "I told him when we were grabbing Mike."

Jane nodded solemnly. "Boys do not listen well."

"Then —" Mike ignored the girls, "— We're picking up Will first. Dustin, be outside in eight. Over."

"Got it. Over and out."

Okay, maybe Mike was a little peeved about being the last one told about going out this afternoon. Did they think he'd say no? Mike doesn't think he would have, getting the car from Nancy would have been less of a hassle had it not been last minute. But, was Mike going to complain? Probably, but that wasn't important right now.

Jane and Max entertained themselves, occasionally bringing Mike into their conversation but happy enough with him driving them to Will in silence.

It wasn't going to be a long drive anyway, and Mike could entertain Max complaining about not getting shotgun with ease. Jane spent the car ride talking about a movie Jonathan had watched with her the night before, Mike hadn't paid attention to the name, and that it had been sad. Jane thinks Mike would like it, Max makes fun of him for that and Mike couldn't help the smile that formed on his face. 

By the time they were parked and waiting for Will outside of his and Jane's house, Max began to feel bored. She complained about there being a lack of music, so Mike put a random cassette into the dash board.

Max did not like Mike's choice. Tears for Fears were overrated. Apparently.

Mike had to overrule Max's decision, as she was not up front.

Max wasn't very fond of this.

"I know Nancy has better music in here. I've seen it." Max stomped her feet again the interior floor. "The Big Chair wasn't even a good album."

Mike, exhausted already, wasn't going to dignify either with a proper response. "You wanted music."

"Yes, music. Enjoyable music." Max pleaded. "I'll take anything else. This is so overplayed."

"I cannot handle the music and drive at the same time, Max."

"We're parked, Wheeler. I'm blind, not dense. I can feel the car not moving." 

Mike put his head in his hands.

"It's — it's the principle of it." Mike sighed. "Not — whatever. You know what. No. I don't know what's happening anymore."

"Have you ever?" Jane pressed her knees into the back of Mike's seat. "You gave into going out today far too easily."

"That's a problem, now?"

A hand pressed onto the passenger door, fingers crossing the threshold comfortably without the barrier of glass.

Will's voice paired along with it. "You were left alone with them for like half an hour. How is there already a problem?"

Mike's face slipped out from his hands, snapping at an instant to the passenger window.

"Mike is being rude to Max," said Jane, like it was not a complete fabrication.

Will had an incredulous look on his face, somewhere between amused and exasperated. 

Remember when Mike didn't know if Will's choice of clothing was goth? This was one of those days where Mike was almost certain it was. 

"No! I was not!" More often than not, Will isn't wearing makeup — today was one of the rare days where he wore both eyeliner and lipstick. "It's the principle of the cassette player! Will!"

Mike didn't know how to keep his eyes still, where he could even look.

"Right." Will shook his head, hair sprawled out in every which way, oblivious to the effect he had on Mike. He tilted his head, crossing his arms, and leaned forward against the door, almost teasing. "Am I being banished to the back, too?"

Mike didn't have the decency to hesitate. "No."

A smile tugged at the corner of Will's lips, his eyes crinkle, and Mike has to do something with his hands. He finds Nancy's bedazzled steering wheel, Mike thinks Holly was the one who encouraged this change.

Somewhere inside the car, Max chided Mike — Jane laughed in response, and Will replied to it. He didn't know what he'd done this time, but honestly he couldn't really think about that right now — would Will's lipstick transfer onto Mike if he kissed him? Mike was itching to find out — as Will slides into the seat next to Mike. Unaware of how Mike's heart raced, Will adjusted the way his hand-me-down jacket from Jonathan pulled against the seat before closing the car door with more respect than Mike thought Nancy deserved.

It wasn't until Will started tugging on his seat belt that Mike returned to his body, "I'm officially off duty, Max take all your complaints to the passenger seat."

Mike pretended to adjust the rearview mirror, blatantly ignoring Will's surprised protest.

"I couldn't burden Will with that load." Mike flicked his eyes upward in time to watch a grin form on Max's face as he started the car. "I have too many to count."

"Yeah, Mike," said Will. "At least handle the complaints about you."

"You mean all of them?" He glanced in Will's direction, pulling away from the house.

Dustin didn't live far from Jane and Will's house. They'll probably get there before Dustin gets annoyed with how long it's taken them — impatient, Mike has learned ever since Nancy started trusting him with her car. Mike found himself keenly aware of how often he needs to remind himself that he's driving. Staring at Will was dangerous — for everyone involved, not just Mike.

Mike tightened his grip on the steering wheel, ignoring the way Nancy's rhinestones dug into his palms.

He should've just let Max have the passenger seat.

They'd gotten halfway to Dustin's when Jane pressed her arms against the driver's seat.

"You do not handle your alcohol well."

Mike frowned, "Excuse me?"

"I can kind of remember the 'party,' and you can not. You drank less than me." said Jane. "It's funny."

"I did not drink less than you." Mike slowed down to turn. He glanced at Will sorting through Nancy's cassette collection. "Dustin just gave you better mixed drinks."

Jane hums. "I think my point still stands, regardless of Dustin's favoritism."

"So you admit that he likes you?" Mike flashes her a smile through the rearview mirror, she does not see it.

"No!" Jane practically shrieks, thwacking a hand on Mike's head.

Mike presses against the car door, "Hey! Woah, no attacking the driver!"

"If we crash it's your fault," offered Max, unhelpfully. "There's no good karma in teasing a girl, even if it's true."

Jane gasped, and all the pressure applied to the back of Mike's seat vanished. "Max!"

Mike thinks he hears Max half-ass an apology, sounding entirely unapologetic for being right.

They don't ruminate on this topic for long. Will interrupts the two girls whisper-shouting at each other by throwing his head back.

"Okay, what do you guys want?" Will held up two cassette cases. "Blondie or Bowie?"

With the exasperated sigh of a teenage boy who knew the answer, and that he had already lost the war, Mike softly said, "Bowie."

As Max tried to beat him to the punch, "Blondie."

Jane answered a beat late.

"Doesn't Nancy carry the Beatles?"

Mike fought a smile. "I'll allow it if it's George Harrison."

"It's the Beatles," said Will. "You're going to get John-Paul and you're going to like it."

"You say this like it is a bad thing." Jane blew a raspberry at them. "It is not."

"I am not going to listen to four grown men beg to hold my head." Max threw her head back against the car seat. "Jane, go with Blondie."

"Does Nancy even have a mix with that song?" Mike glanced down at the collection of cassettes that piled on Will's lap. "I didn't think she liked that one either."

"You just want George." Will rolled his eyes. "Either come to a decision or you all lose out to me and what I want. I'm being generous."

You just want George, Mike mouthed with a snarky attitude.

He is, objectively, the best Beatle. He knows Will knows this. What do the rest of them have? Nothing.

John's dead, and Mike's more than willing to scorn a dead man to win an argument.

Why was Mike even invested in this?

He eyed the pavement like it had an answer.

This was stupid. Mike didn't even like the Beatles.

"Come on, you know you want Bowie." Mike nudged his elbow at Will. "The girls won't mind. Max is just being difficult on purpose."

Mike wouldn't mind Blondie either, to be frank. He's also just being difficult on purpose.

Max didn't need to know this.

Jane deadpanned. "I do not want to listen to David Bowie."

"So... Blondie?" Will gave Mike a sheepish smile.

"Stop asking Mike." Max padded at Will's seat like a referee. "Play the album already."

"I am okay with Blondie," said Jane.

Mike playfully huffed. "Fine. Go with Blondie."

The conversation moved on from there, drifting from topic to topic as the four of them got distracted by their own interests. It was comfortable and, as Dustin got picked up and they headed for Lucas, Mike forgot his earlier worries.

Mike, truthfully, had no idea where the girls where leading him. It became clear that they hadn't told anyone else either when Lucas confusedly looked out of the car window before asking Mike where they were going.

They were twenty-seven minutes out from Hawkins before Jane finally reveals to the Party where she and Max had planned to take them.

"You want me to drive an hour and forty minutes to a mall?" Mike almost shrieks. "That's why you made me drive this way? What money do we have to go shopping, let alone a mall?"

"We're already half way there," said Max. Mike could see her, sat comfortably between Jane and Lucas, lazily leaning her head against Lucas' shoulder.

"No. No, we are not." Mike risked a stare at Will. "Did you know this was the plan?"

Will leaned against the headrest, flashed Mike a smile, and waved his hand around in a so-so motion.

"There is gas money for you." Jane offered.

"Oh, okay. There is gas money." Mike met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "What about the mall money. The money that none of us have because we don't have jobs?"

"Sheesh, Wheeler, relax." Max sat up straight and began fishing around in her pockets, pulling out a wallet. "I've got us handled."

She flicked the wallet open, and pulled out a non-descript card that Mike was certain not Max's.

"Is that —" Lucas paused, and then gasped. Max snatched it out of his sight, pushing it back into the wallet and forced it into her pocket. "— Harrington? You got a card from Steve?"

"Steve?" Dustin called out from the trunk. "He never lets me handle his card, even when he's watching me. How did you get him to give you — Maxine, did you steal Steve's card before he left? Does he even know you have it?"

"Well, duh, Dustin. I'm clearly the favorite child, of course he knows. How do you think I got it?" Max grinned. "And, you're all wrong. It's Daniel Harrington's. His dad. Not Steve's."

"That's worse. What do you mean you have his dad's card?" It took everything in Mike not to turn around in his seat and wrangle Max's wallet from her. "Why do you have his — does Steve know? How did you even get that."

At the same time, Will practically lit up, "You stole it from Steve's dad?"

Mike's jaw dropped open as he looked over to witness Will — pure delight stretched across his features — as he spun around to look over at the back, one hand on the middle console, the other pressed against the passenger seat.

"You didn't tell me that's where you got it!" Will laughed like it was Christmas. "Just that it worked!"

Oh, okay, so Will knew about the card. Enjoyed it, even. Okay. No, yeah, sure. Mike will compartmentalize that away for now.

Dustin was still fixated on the whole Harrington card situation. "Steve, like our Steve, gave you a card? What'd you do to deserve that?"

"Do I not deserve nice things?" Max whipped her head behind her. "Dustin?"

"His dad's card, though?" asked Lucas, a voice of reason. "Isn't he going to notice random charges?"

"Steve does it all of the time." Jane leaned forward to meet Lucas' eyes. "There is no reason to be scared to use it."

"Exactly! His dad isn't going to miss it for a week, and Steve gave it to me. We're not buying out entire stores, just... getting a few nice things for ourselves." Max spun back into her seat. "Unlike Dustin, Steve loves and trusts me."

Dustin shouted, "Excuses!"

"I don't know, Max..." said Lucas.

"She said Steve's okay with it," argued Will. "I see the issue as settled."

Will hadn't repositioned himself back into his seat and Mike's starting to get nervous with the speed the car is going.

"Will, sit back down." Mike carefully watched the road. Steering with one hand while the other grabbed Will's nearest shoulder, sliding down to his elbow, and sent mental daggers toward drivers — who started veering a bit too close — and the occasional truck. "You'll die if we crash."

"I'll die if we crash, Michael. I'm the one without a seat belt," Dustin, temporarily distracted from the card situation, scoffed. "Your complete and utter lack of concern is so fucking appreciated."

Mike's face flushed and he scowled into the rearview mirror. Dustin wasn't meeting his eyes, staring directly into the back of Mike's head instead with a deadpan expression.

"Jane can save you or something, dude —" Mike groaned, "— Shut up."

He hadn't even realized that his grip on Will's arm tightened, or that Will had shifted at all, until he felt a hand landing loosely on top of his, squeezing gently before drifting to his wrist.

"Huh?" Mike looked over at Will, dumbly.

And then he looked down.

Mike retracted, fast or slow, he couldn't tell, and muttered, "Sorry."

"Or, you can just watch the road," complained Max, thwacking the back of her hand against Mike's seat. "I don't think the card can pay for all of our medical bills."

That drags Dustin back into the argument, "That Steve gave you!"

Mike distinctly does not glance back at Will for the foreseeable future, instead focusing on the road and listening to directions from Jane.

He let's himself assess the rest of the car, glancing up once into the rearview mirror, only to find himself locking eyes with Lucas. Mike's confused at first, wondering why Lucas looked like he was trying to solve a particularly hard puzzle. Mike wasn't a part of the discussion at the moment.

"Because, unlike you, apparently —" Max groaned, tired of having to repeat herself, "— I'm trustworthy."

Then Mike remembers his previous concerns, and his eyes widen.

His eyes flicked to the road and stayed there. Lucas had to have known — and if he hadn't been sure, then everything Mike had just done confirmed it better than any hazy drunken memories could. Why else would Lucas be staring at him instead of talking about the card?

Fuck, Mike mouthed to himself. Maybe Lucas didn't know? It could have been a coincidence. Fuck.

"Will approves of the idea," said Jane, knees pressed back into Mike's seat. "And it was Steve who gave Max the card. None of you should be concerned."

Lucas speaks, "Yeah, but... what if he gets in, like, trouble?"

"His dad is an asshole," muttered Mike.

Softly, like he wasn't supposed to be heard, Will murmured, "Whose isn't?"

Mike fought the urge to glance over. He gently nodded regardless.

Just in case.

He didn't know if Will was looking at him.

"Okay, not to be the bad guy, but fuck Steve getting in trouble." Dustin pressed. "Max has his dad's credit card. Focus."

And the rest of the drive continues like this.

Someone, usually Dustin, says something stupid and the entire car lights up. Mike forces himself to pay attention to the road, and Will changes the music every handful of minutes. It all felt oddly domestic.

They've had to stop, twice, at the behest of Jane, Lucas, and Dustin because Dustin didn't have to use the bathroom at the first pit-stop when the other two did. Max didn't think the needed to take a pit stop, and Mike was more than willing to agree to this — but Will used those moment to slip out of the car and bring back treats. So, Max and Mike couldn't have been too upset.

—.*.—

The mall didn't look dissimilar to Starcourt, but it was definitely not another Russian front. Mike hoped, at least.

Since Max was the lady with the card, it was only natural that they'd circle her — splitting up into pairs only when they were sure they wouldn't be buying anything — and stick together most of the time they spent strolling the mall. It wasn't a big mall by any metric, they could enter and leave every store in less than an hour if they weren't just browsing. Max had gotten a little power-drunk being the wallet of the group this time, but it was Daniel Harrington's card. There wasn't much to do.

If Jane, or Lucas, or Dustin, or even Mike had gotten the card from Steve, they would have been a little annoying about it too. Max refused to pass the card to the rest of the Party for more than a few minutes, she didn't trust them not to end up losing it and getting them all and Steve in trouble with his dad. It was deserved, Dustin could misplace an entire frog-sized creature. 

Everyone seemed to have an idea of where they wanted to go — Will to the Wall, Dustin to one of the various electronic stores, and Lucas was more than happy to walk into any store and wait for something to interest him — Mike, not so surprisingly, hadn't had time to think about things he could want to buy. With or without his own money. Well, he did have one idea... but clothes shopping at the mall felt. Embarrassing. He hadn't brought this up to the girls. That didn't stop Jane from dragging him into different clothing stores with Max. Jane didn't care, and Max was more than happy to listen to Mike complain if it meant he was getting a 'make-over.'

Decidedly, Mike did not have a say in that matter.

And, by make-over, Mike really wasn't joking. Jane kept picking out flashy clothing, very David Bowie-esque, and pushing Mike to the changing room, barely letting him get his bearings straight. Max critiqued some of the texture pairings before they even reached Mike's hands, apparently he was particular. Max didn't explain how and why she knew this about Mike. Mike didn't even know if it was true.

Jane kept pushing forward.

"Mike, stop slouching — you are crumpling up the shirt and I can't see if it looks good on you." Jane manhandles Mike, spinning him around at all different angles. "There is no purpose in ruining your posture just to appear shorter."

"I'm not trying to appear shorter!" Mike argued, stumbling forward as Jane releases her grip on him without warning. "And I'm not slouching, it's the shirts fault, probably!"

Max leaned against one of the changing room doors, one arm crossed against her stomach, sipping idly on a soda she had Lucas run and grab for her. She tilts her head and makes a show of considering what Mike had said. Then, she aims a toothy grin in his direction. "It's habit at this point, he's been slouching like that since we were thirteen. Remember? You wanted to be on eye level with the rest of us so bad."

"It's just how I stand," Mike refuted.

"Relearn." Jane pressed more clothes into Mike's arms, gesturing behind him to the changing room he'd just walked out of. "Hurry up, we don't have all day."

Mike groaned, but still turned around. "You can't just dress me in anything you want. I'm not your doll."

"Jane, he thinks he has rights." Max stage-whispered. "What do we do?"

"Let him believe," said Jane. Mike could hear a smirk in her voice. "It does not change reality."

"I can hear you."

Mike shut the changing room door and took one last look at the outfit Jane had just been analyzing. It... wasn't horrible, actually. The pale colors didn't wash him out, but it made his hair stick out too much, and felt far more expensive than Mike had any right wearing. The mall the girls took them to had a lot of clothing stores like that, fancy. The clothes Jane had just thrown at him seemed more of the same, but she was finding a rhythm.

"Good," laughed Jane. "You struggle too much. Put the clothes on and you will not get hurt."

Jane had spent the last two years catching up on fashion trends, making Hopper take her out clothes shopping with Will, and finally finding what she liked. She'd grown into herself. Her hair was longer again, much longer than it had gotten to in California. She ditched the Byers-Bangs and brought back the curls she used to have when she ran away to Chicago.

Mike was glad, so he'll let himself be thrown around like a toy.

"I'm not struggling — I have justified concerns about what I put on my body." Mike has to figure out what end is which on the dress shirt Jane had picked out. "And Holly is going to kill me if she finds out I let you dress me up and not her."

"Then you should let her dress you up, Wheeler." Max tapped her white cane against the changing room door. "The ball is in your court."

"You should not be so scared of Holly. She has nice clothes." Jane hummed. "Pairs them better than you can. Nancy, too."

"I'll have you know, up until Nancy was in high school she begged me to —" Mike cut himself off.

That's embarrassing. For both of them, really.

"Oh, no, do continue." Max shuffled outside of the door. "I, for one, would love to hear it."

"You are fabricating life events," said Jane, convinced. "At no point did you know better than Nancy."

Okay, now Mike had to defend his honor. "It was a train wreck, every morning. She'd get upset whenever mom said she could help her, so Nance went to me instead. I single-handedly saved her middle-school career at the age of, like, seven."

"Bullshit!" Max laughed.

Mike tutted, "She'd deny it now, but Sodapop Wheeler was all my doing."

"Sodapop —"

Jane burst out laughing before she could even finish.

Mike huffed and rolled his eyes, pushing open the changing room door. Jane's next set of clothes were better than the last, if anything the pants she'd given him did more work than anything else she paired them with.

"I was really into the Outsiders — don't — stop laughing at me!"

At one point, Will found them pushing clothing into Mike's palms and threw some of his own additions into the pile. Lucas and Dustin had bad suggestions, Jane and Max both agreed, and were essentially banned from Mike's humiliation ritual.

There's a genuine moment when Mike asked if getting him a new wardrobe was the plan from the start, but the girls wouldn't answer him. They'd laugh, they'd smile, but they'd completely brush off the question like Mike hadn't said anything at all. He'd originally said it as a joke, but each time they refused to answer Mike got a little more concerned if that was the actual plan. Sure, he had been pushing off buying new clothes — but was his wardrobe really that bad? He didn't think so.

"I do not understand why." Jane shook her head, displeased with Mike as a whole. "You can look nice, you choose not to."

Mike stared at her, and then dropped his eyes down to his feet and back up again, arms raised in half-offended shock. First they kidnap him, and now they just insult him?

"I have nice clothing — Jane, I own good clothes." Mike sent a fleeting look at where the outfit he came in sat crumpled in the changing room. "I look nice when I wear my clothes."

"You definitely don't," said Max, loudly draining the last of her soda. "I don't need working eyes to see that."

Jane nodded solemnly. "It is unfortunately an eye sore."

It was when Jane and Max felt satisfied that they let him go free.

Despite Jane's best effort, Mike did not wear new clothing out from the store. They stayed securely in the bag. He returned to the comfortable clothing he had left home in that afternoon. His parents, and Nancy, did not need to know where he got the money to buy new ones from, nor when he had bought them in the first place. 

Mike thought they've spent far too much already, but Max was insistent that this was fine. The group had armfuls of bags. Mike was pretty sure Dustin was buying things just to tell Steve he bought them with his dad's money. He didn't think it was possible for the Party to be so interested in the mall otherwise. Mike, a moth to a flame, spent majority of their time at the mall at Will's side. It was only natural — a habit. Mike was more than happy to become Will's personal bag-carrier.

They spend time following Dustin around, listening to him explain certain electronics he's been eyeing for a while. He gets so engrossed in explaining radio waves to a store clerk, Will has to subtly grab Dustin's shoulder to zap him (Warlock. It's important to Mike that this is explained.) just to get Dustin to stop overexplaining.

Mike and Will were split off from the Party by the time they decided they were starving. The plan was to eat as a group, and they've been waiting for as long as they could, but they hadn't run into a Party member in the last half hour to try and round the group up. So, they went to the food court alone, half expecting to see the Party sitting at a table without them — the Party was still not to be seen.

It was fine, though. Between the two of them, they had enough pocket money to order something to eat and drink. Mike and Will would get something small to hold off on while they wait for the rest of the Party to find them, then the meal would be on the Harrington's. They sat across from each other at a table, most booths taken by much larger groups, chatting idly as they waited to be found, like children lost in a clothing store, a single tray spread out between the two of them.

For a moment, Mike was worried that Will's lipstick would just... wipe off once he ate anything. He's pleasantly proven wrong.

They've long since finished their food, having gotten up only once to refill their drinks, before they're approached.

Just, not by a Party member.

"Hi!" A high-pitched voice attached to a pretty girl cut out between the food court chatter. Mike certainly does not jump. "Sorry, I just wanted to... y'know, introduced myself. Are you both just hanging out?"

Mike and Will share a look, Will more curious than Mike, and then Will smiles politely at the girl.

And, maybe it's stupid that Mike's gotten instantly defensive when she's said a single sentence to the two of them, but Mike decides he doesn't like her. Okay, that's rude. He can't say he doesn't like her, but he isn't open to getting to know her. That's not stupid. He is, however, not particularly fond of the idea of Will — …and he's back in stupid territory.

Mike doesn't know what he opens his mouth to say, but it couldn't have been anything good and it must have shown clearly on his face.

"Well, it's not everyday you run into a guy wearing make-up," said the girl, half-giggling. She rolled on the balls of her heels, unconcerned, and Will nodded along. "It's kind of cool, in a way. Half the guys we run into here are too... I don't know, weird about it? 'Specially with friends who are cool with it. States like these, you know?"

They think it's queer, Mike finishes her thought process. It wasn't difficult to get what she was implying.

She stands there for a while, chatting with both Will and Mike, but her preference toward Will is made steadily apparent through her blatant flirting. And Will, too polite to humiliate her, allows her to continue conversing with him. There's a moment, briefly, where Mike believes she's finally done talking and ready to go back to the friend she came with, but she's only checking to make sure she hadn't left yet. 

Mike's not even sure what they're talking about anymore, Will's directed the conversation away every time it got uncomfortably close to anything involving plans and numbers. He doesn't even remember the last time he offered something to the conversation, having zoned out watching the girl try her hardest to get Will to show any interest in her.

"There you two are!" Dustin's voice comes from behind Mike, like a shining light of hope. "Shit, we've been looking all over for you two! You went to eat without us?"

Mike thinks he hears the girl squeak, he doesn't care. Spinning around in his seat, the entire Party is crowded behind Dustin, each member sporting similar shocked faces, sans Max, at the girl speaking to Mike and Will. Or, rather, speaking to Will. He doesn't understand why, Will's obviously a catch, and no one around here knows about 'Zombie Boy.' 

"Not really," Mike called to the group just a few feet away. "Just a snack a while ago. We tried finding you guys first, but we just decided it was smarter to wait here."

Jane blinked. "Sorry, are we interrupting?"

"What?" Mike tilted his head.

And then he remembered the girl. Mike turns back to her and Will, and she blinks at the group standing before her.

"Oh! Uh, no! Haha, sorry!" She flounders. "They said they were waiting for friends — I didn't — we were talking!"

"Holy shit, was Wheeler talking to a girl?" Max asked loudly, a wide grin evident in her voice. "That's new."

Mike's face screws up, disgust forming before he can think better of it, better of who could see it, and his head swings back in her direction. "Max, what the fuck."

And she can't contain the cackle that breaks free from her vocal chords. Heads swing in their direction and Mike's face turns beet red.

Will tries to hide his amusement, bringing a hand to his red lined lips, but it's written in the crinkle of his eyes.

"Guys, what are we talking about right now?" Dustin looked lost. "She was clearly not speaking to Mike."

"That would be entirely his fault," said Jane. Shaking her head. "You know what he is like."

"Maybe we don't discuss this while she's right there?" Lucas, the voice of reason, vaguely concerned.

"Yes, maybe." Will rolled his eyes at them, then looked at the girl apologetically, polite as ever. She stands a little taller, but she deflates again when he continues. "It was a fun opportunity to speak with you, I'm sorry we'll have to cut it short."

"No, yeah, of course." She smiles uneasily, nodding like she was convincing herself she agreed. "I'm just... gonna... go back to my friend now. Have a nice rest of your day. All of you."

It takes half an hour before the conversation drifts anywhere but the girl who found her fancy between the two boys sat alone in the food court. Dustin and Max being major perpetrators of steering it back before they could be free of it completely, Will's feet firmly crossed underneath his own chair. Dustin found it hilarious that neither of them bothered to learn her name, and then Jane and Max berated them for the same reason. They were right, maybe they should have exchanged names, but they weren't ever going to see each other again. Dustin looked at Mike like he grew two heads for this opinion. 

Max helps pay for each of their lunches, the process of using a single credit card making it take much longer than it should have, but eventually they're well-fed and ready to continue out their days. The mall didn't have much left to explore, so Will offered the idea of driving around the nearby towns to see if there was anything interesting. 

The mall seemed to be the only worth-while sight in the next five mile radius, but the Party stopped at a few interesting looking shops before heading off to the next location. They spend the rest of their afternoon outside of Hawkins together like this. Mike was glad that Jane and Max decided to drag the Party out for an afternoon, despite it all being last minute. They won't all have easy free time once the Party enrolled in their first college semesters, so they had to take what they could get.

And this wasn't a horrible way to spend their summer free time.

—.*.—

The drive back to Hawkins was much of the same, except Dustin ended up squished between mountains of shopping bags in the trunk of Nancy's car.

Will put on a bunch of cassettes he had purchased at his multiple stops at the Wall over the afternoon, all of Nancy's sitting in the glove department long forgotten. Max is wearing two pairs of sunglasses, one she came out with sitting uselessly on her head and the other Jane had told Max to purchase perched on her nose like she was John Lennon. Mike wasn't going to give Jane's game away, so he pretended like he didn't notice.

Lucas mentions, briefly, about Erica's new idea for a D&D campaign. It had something to do with Fey and Fairies, anything but monsters like Demogorgon's and Vecna, and Mike knew regardless the campaign itself would be a masterpiece if they found time to actually play it. Erica had gotten bored of making up characters about a year and a half prior, and decided to learn how to Dungeon Master instead. She was good, extremely good — Mike felt the desire to be jealous.

But, as quickly as D&D is brought up, Mike's distracted by the set of notes that laid bound inside of his desk. Warlock. Mike was almost finished with polishing the class system that made it work, but the closer he'd gotten done the more he worried if Will would even enjoy the class to begin with. It was a gift, Will didn't have to like it. It's the thought that counts. He doesn't get long to ruminate on this, Will dragged him into an argument with Dustin over the quantum mechanics within Back to the Future that went on far longer than it reasonably should have. 

Traffic had began picking up by the time they'd left the mall, but they'd still sat over two hours just waiting to get close to Hawkins. 

Max gets dropped off at home first, and Dustin doesn't hesitate before he climbs over the seats to take Max's place between Jane and Lucas. Mike tries to pretend like he isn't smirking. Then the rest of the car makes it way to Dustin's house, and then soon they're pulling to the Byers-Hopper residence.

Jane climbs out of the car and makes a huge show of stretching and cracking her back, complaining loudly that Mike was an incredibly slow driver. 

"No wonder you crackle like those rock candies," she sighs, leaning against the car door. "You are always sitting."

Mike indignantly scoffed. "I do not crackle."

"You kind of do," said Will, smiling when Mike's head snaps toward him, unclicking his seat belt, cassette tapes back in the small store bag.

"Kind of?" Lucas raised an eyebrow from the back seat. "More like always. Your joints are loud, man."

Mike mouths their words back at them and undoes his own seat belt, pushing his car door open.

"First of all, I'm not always sitting," he argued. "That's a gross misconception of my life that you have. It's just most things I do involve having to sit down. And, that's not even why — it's not my fault I'm tall."

He doesn't notice the odd looks before he's out of his seat and rounded the car, hand mid-push opening the trunk. 

"What?" Mike asked, turning to Jane, who looked whole-heartedly unimpressed. She doesn't answer him, choosing to shake her head disapprovingly instead. Will rounds the car, a twinning look on his face. "What?"

"Nothing, Mike," amusement dances in Will's eyes. He crosses his arms and settles against the car, carefully controlling a smile playing on his lips. "Keep going."

Mike doesn't know what he did, and turning to look at Jane or Lucas didn't clue him in much more either. They were all fine less than a minute ago. He frowned, furrowing his brows, and hesitantly pressed the trunk all the way open. He twitched, glancing at Will who only seemed to get more intrigued by the minute.

It was reaching for the bags Mike knew were Will's that he finally understood why they were watching him like a circus animal.

Heat crept up Mike's neck from his collarbone to his chin.

"Okay. Ha, ha, ha." This wasn't weird, Mike wasn't going to let this become weird. He glanced at the bags and separated them based on who they belonged to. He pretended like he didn't notice everyone watching him, schooling his face into a neutral expression. Mike ultimately had the most, because Jane insisted that he should buy more than his closet could reasonably hold, Lucas the least. "Stare at me all you want."

Will tilted his head at Mike as Will watched him still pick up Will's assortment of clothing and music products, and raised an eyebrow. He held the small bag holding his handful of cassettes closer to Mike, challenging, watching Mike through his eyelashes. "You looking to complete the collection, or are your hands too full, Mike?"

Mike thinks he wants to get mad, at Will or himself, he wasn't sure, but an unwilling smile forms on his face anyway. He laughs underneath his breath, enraptured, and shuffles Wills' bags around his arms before snatching the smaller bag half-held out to him. Flushed, Mike refuses to meet his eye and walks briskly toward the front door, trusting Will to be following behind him. He can hear Lucas get out of the car, rounding walk to the back of the car, and ask Jane if she wanted help with her bags. She accepts the offer as Will's keys jingle out of his pant pocket.

Mike's on the porch first, standing to the side to watch Will as he inserts his house key into the lock, and it feels so domestic that his chest aches violently with want. The image of a world where Mike was allowed to do this — to just be with Will, even if he couldn't have him — forever crosses his mind, Mike could be happy with just that.

"I can carry my own bags, you know," said Will, playful annoyance tinged his teasing tone, stepping inside and held the door open for Mike. Warm light spilled out the door around him, mingling with the summer air, and Mike let himself imagine, just for a moment. "I might not have telekinesis, but I can handle a few bags."

Their shoulders brush as Mike journeyed inside, he pretended not to notice.

"Sorry, I'd be breaking my oath." Will propped the door open for Lucas and Jane, who were not far behind the two of them, as Mike walked further into the house. "Can't allow for that to happen, do you want me to spend the rest of my life an oathbreaker?"

Will laughed, "Are you saying you wouldn't seek penance?"

Mike's smile softened, grateful to be facing away from Will. Quietly, "No, 'course not."

Having to pass through the living room to reach the stairs, Mike can't avoid Hopper sitting on the couch, book in hand, already looking up at the teenager in thinly veiled annoyance. Mike stills, if only for a moment, before trying to continue on his way as if they didn't spot each other, but Hopper clears his throat.

"You're not allowed to move in here, Wheeler. Those better not be yours." Mike scowled at the ex-police chief. "Where are my actual kids? It's bad enough you already act like you live here."

"Hi, hello to you, too. My day has been going well." Hopper watched him, the unimpressed look Jane had learned from him stuck to his face. "Oh, thank you for asking, yes, we did have a fun time going outside today. What a great conversation, Hopper." Mike heard footsteps behind him, his shoulders relaxing instantly, and didn't bother turning around. "Will's right here."

"The bags are mine, Jane and Max had us go to a mall," said Will, rolling his eyes. Then he walked closer, just past Mike to properly greet his semi-step dad. "Hi, Hop."

Hopper looks between both boys, then to the bags in Mike's hands, with a quizzical expression, eyebrows furrowed. Mike doesn't even want to know.

Half jokingly, half serious, Hopper asked, "Do I want to know where the money came from?"

"Perfectly legal." Will smiled and then leaned back to look at Mike, head tilted, crimped hair falling into his eyes. "Come on."

Will walks toward the stairs, not bothering to check if Mike is moving to follow, the heels of his leather shoes clacking against the hardwood floor.

Hopper huffs, just before they were out of eye sight, rolling his eyes so loud Mike doesn't even have to look back to see. "Wheeler's not staying over again. I'll be making sure he goes home this time."

Mike scoffs, loudly, and doesn't even bother to hide it. Mrs. Byers would let him stay over if Mike asked, he knows that and Hopper does too. Will could just stay at Mike's, he's done it before anyway.

"He isn't —" Will half laughs, sounding a little embarrassed, "— still has to drive Lucas home."

As if on cue, Jane and Lucas come stumbling into the living room — each holding a bag or two — chatting about something inane. Hopper greets them with far more warmth than he did with Mike, and Mike and Will disappear upstairs.

Will's room is simultaneously messier and cleaner than it had been the day before. Art products are scattered across his desk, torn paper scattered on top of a thin coating of colorful pastels broken only by slight finger indentations, but his shoes are in a neater order and haphazardly placed outer shirts are back on their hangers. Will leans against his bed, elbows pressed into the mattress, mirroring Mike just a couple of weeks prior, as Mike places a few bags on the ground while others on top of his bed sheets. Will's light makeup is worn after an entire afternoon out at a mall, but Mike thinks it still looks really good on him. Mike faces the bed to lean, bracing himself on his forearms as he exhales, letting his head droop forward.

Will bumps his shoulder against Mike's. "Thank you for carrying my bags, Mike."

"Of Course," Mike turns to smile at him. "What else am I good for?"

He's met with a frown.

"Hey, that's not nice." Will touched Mike's shoulder. Carelessly, agonizingly slow, Will let his fingertips slide down Mike's arm — eye locked with Mike's — all the way until his palm covered the top of Mike's hand, and squeezed. "Don't say that about yourself."

"Sorry," said Mike, softly, suddenly so overwhelmed he wants to start crying, he has to turn his head away.

Looking down at their hands and the bedsheets underneath them, before Mike could second guess himself, his fingers curl to capture Will's underneath his palm. It meant nothing, he knew that, but Mike swallows nervously regardless. Silence overtakes the short moment, Will's thumb rubbing comfortingly against Mike's wrist, before they have to pull away from each other. Will squeezes Mike's hand one last time, and Mike's feeling a little light headed as they walk back down to the living room, shoulders pressed together, to Jane and Lucas waiting with Hopper. 

They all didn't stay in the living room for much longer than they had to. Both siblings follow Lucas and Mike to the door after Mike begrudgingly bid Hopper a good night. Saying their good nights, Lucas and Mike climb into the car chatting about the mall and how, despite using Daniel Harrington's credit card, it was a fun idea overall. They made fun of Dustin getting into a ridiculously heated debate with a store clerk over My Little Pony of all things imaginable, and crept into a comfortable silence as they drove back to their houses.

It's not until Mike is almost to their street, with Lucas in the passenger seat, that he'd realized his mistake.

Lucas was quiet, watching Mike, blatantly, without the decency to pretend like he wasn't. Waiting for the exact moment realization reared its ugly head across Mike's features before he could mask it away. The car rolled to a stop, more than five blocks away from their neighboring houses, and Mike's trapped. Lucas' thoughtful expression didn't falter even as Mike slowly turned to look back at Lucas, horror taking it's home in Mike's chest.

Lucas didn't waste another beat, "We need to talk."

"Lucas." Mike white-knuckled Nancy's bedazzled steering wheel, ripping his eyes away from Lucas, trying to keep his hands from shaking. "Please."

Mike couldn't keep the car stopped here, there wasn't even a stop sign. He listens to Lucas shift in his seat, the way his shirt ruffles against the skin of his arm and Nancy's leather, and Mike tries to pretend like this situation wasn't happening. He opens his mouth to say anything but closes it again, swallowing hard. The car starts rolling forward again, slower than before.

"C'mon, Mike," said Lucas, as gently as he could. Mike felt like he was going to pass out. "The longer you drag this out the worse you're going to feel."

Lucas doesn't speak as they miss a turn, and Mike wonders how long he can stay quiet before Lucas decides enough is enough. They pass by houses they've never been in while sitting together in suffocating silence, only broken by Mike's driving, and Mike tries to remember how to breathe. He knows Lucas is right, but he doesn't want to know that. 

Mike finally takes too long, and Lucas inhales to say something else, but Mike just can't.

He cut Lucas off, "Not in the car, Lucas."

Mike doesn't know where he's taking them, only thought in his mind being he can't do this at home.

Not where his dad is, not where his mom is, not where Nancy is. Certainly not where Holly could hear. Holly was an eavesdropper and a bloodhound, she'd sniff out something was wrong with Mike and he wouldn't even notice, not until she had the entire story to hold against him so he'd reach the snacks their mom hid in the top shelf. Mike would not have this conversation in Lucas' house, either.

They began reaching the edge of Hawkins before Mike figured out where his muscle memory was taking them, and it was as good of a spot as any. The sun was already setting and, luckily, the temperature that day felt more like it had in Spring. Hawkins hadn't rained in weeks, so the cemetery wasn't muddy.

Mike could feel Lucas' eyes on him as they got out of Nancy's car, but Lucas followed behind him without commenting on the odd destination. He knows Lucas already figured out where they were going, it wasn't hard. Mike kept walking until he found it.

He stared at the headstone, frozen, hands shaking at his sides. He could still run, couldn't he?

No, Mike reasoned. Lucas was faster than him, and Mike couldn't avoid Lucas forever.

Edward Munson, NOW AT PEACE.

Mike did this sometimes, when the thoughts racing inside of his mind became too loud to ignore. It was usually later, dark, when no one else could possibly see him laying down underneath the headstone like he was the one buried instead. It was better than the quarry. He thinks Eddie would understand, call it metal or something similar. Mike barely paid any mind to the dirt and leaves he'll have to wash out of his hair once they go back home, instead focused on the crunch of Lucas' footsteps in the dead leaves no one had bothered to clean up as he stepped to stand over Mike.

He shuts his eyes, partially to block out the sun from seeping into his retinas but mostly to miss the look of pity on Lucas' face as he came into frame. He tries to ignore the shame crawling up his throat and the nausea that came with it as he bites the bullet first.

The words leave with more force than he meant them to.

"I pretended to remember less than I do." Mike's hands twitch over his stomach, fingernails curling and uncurling into his palms. "How much did I tell you?"

"You asked me questions," Lucas said cryptically. Mike listens as Lucas groans, knees cracking as Lucas settles next to Mike on the ground. "...and then began panicking. I didn't — couldn't force you to... continue like that."

Dread pulsed in his veins, "How much, Lucas?"

"Okay," inhaled Lucas. He released a deep breath, like he was the one who had something to be nervous about. "You... wanted to know if I'd believe if you liked boys. If you were gay. Whether or not I thought you would be lying."

Mike bites his lip and thinks he tastes blood. His stomach twists threateningly, and Mike can feel his panic burning his skin — he's screwed.

"I said I'd believe you. You're my best friend, Mike." Mike tried to be reassured. "But, I... don't think that's what you wanted to hear. What you want to hear."

The soft summer breeze whistled through bright green tree leaves, if Mike strained his ears he thinks he could hear different birds chirping songs that he'd never make sense of. There could be others walking through the large cemetery, grieving lost love ones, oblivious to Mike having to own up to his own mistakes. Blood churns in his ears.

Lucas is patient, of course he is. Mike supposes he should be glad, but the guilt coiled around his gut held tighter.

"Why would you believe me?" Is all Mike could think to ask.

"You... kept asking that." Lucas sounded genuinely heartbroken. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

Mike hadn't registered tears forming until he opened his eyes to look blurrily at Lucas. He didn't know what he could say.

Mike had issues? They all did, he wasn't special. None of them could reasonably seek therapy for the trauma they endured, not unless they risked informing the military of how involved they were in terms of the Upside Down. He was handling it, it was fine.

"Because you shouldn't believe me. I dated Jane." Mike tried to articulate. "That means I like... girls, like Dustin — like you."

Lucas' brows furrowed, sad not angry. "But... you don't. Right?"

Mike's mouth twitched.

"That's... what you said to me," explained Lucas, softly. "When I said you could like both."

Mike tightens his arms around his stomach, taking handfuls of his shirt in a last-ditch effort to keep from spontaneously combusting.

He turned his head away from Lucas, blinking away the rogue tears and swallowing down his own guilt.

Mike spoke softly, so quiet he wasn't sure Lucas could hear him, and answered honestly, "I don't."

It wasn't the first time Mike had said those words, nor the second. Mike spent more time in the cemetery than he'd like to admit. The first night Mike had put a name to what he had been feeling, he fled the house while the entire neighborhood slept. Walked until the sun was coming up and found himself face to face with a gravestone. He understood Dustin when he has a bad week and ends up at Eddie's grave.

Comforting is the word Mike thinks would best describe what he felt coming to the cemetery at odd hours, pretending like Jane hadn't saved him when he'd jumped off the quarry, admitting the things that scared him out loud. Saying things at a volume he couldn't at home, safe. Mike felt sick.

"You were a kid, dude." Lucas sighed. "A kid in Hawkins, living with your dad. Dating Jane doesn't... it doesn't — disqualify you."

Nausea prickled needles into Mike's brain. "I was such an asshole, Lucas."

"You didn't know."

"...I think I did."

Tired. Mike is tired, and that seeps through the gut-wrenching shame of using Jane to be normal. Mike knew how that sounded, but it was either stop caring or throw up.

"I avoided it. Convinced myself I didn't, but I think I did."

"Mike..." Lucas whispered, pity most likely.

"Why do you believe me?" Mike asked again, watery but not as desperate as he was the first time he asked.

Lucas was quiet for a moment, thinking. Mike turned to look at him again. "Just tell me. I won't get upset, Lucas."

"I already thought you did," admitted Lucas. He at least looked apologetic about it. "Like boys, that is. I knew you didn't like Jane like that, at least not anymore. I just... didn't consider you never did... or that you realized it yet."

"That obvious, huh?" Mike's smile didn't reach his eyes, too busy fending off stomach acid creeping into his throat.

"...Just a little." Lucas humored him, mirroring Mike's uneasy smile. 

Mike turned away again, watching as the sky darkened ever so slowly. He tried to swallow the lump that sat in his throat, fear and shame gnawing at his bones.

They sat in heavy silence. Mike was out of his depth, this was a conversation he honestly never thought he'd have to have. Not because he didn't want to — he also did not want to, but that's besides the point — but, there wasn't any point when Mike was certain he'd die alone. Accepted it, pushed on.

"Shouldn't I feel better now?" Mike broke their shared silence to ask. "I was wrong. Isn't that good?"

Lucas shifts, leaning his arms on his knees to meet Mike's eyes.

"Am I the only one you've told?" He asked, thoughtful curiosity burning in his eyes. 

"Who else would I have?" Mike tried to answer lightly. "Steve?"

"Will," said Lucas, like the answer was obvious. "Or, I don't know — Max?"

Right, of course Lucas would think he'd tell Will. "Max would bite my head off and still managed to blame me for it."

"We both know she wouldn't." Lucas smiled. "She'll say she doesn't, man, but she cares for you, too."

"I know," Mike replied, softly, and nodded. 

And, as much as Mike would like to stay on the topic of Max, he could see Lucas itching for the question he actually wanted answered.

He didn't know how to get out of it.

"You don't..." Mike swallowed. "You don't think I'm saying this because of Will... do you?"

"What do you mean?" Lucas' face scrunched in confusion. "Because of Will?"

"It's stupid — Like, I don't know, copying him? With ill-intent?"

"Mike, you can't actually be serious?" Mike could feel the Puppy-Eyes routine forming. "It's — it's Will. You won't even let us touch him if he's upset. Mike. If you were harboring ill-intent for Will, you've been doing a very bad job."

"I've hurt him before." Mike shakes his head. "Horribly, and I didn't even mean it that way, Lucas. I don't..."

He trailed off, uncertain and guilt-ridden. Mike doesn't think he's ever told Lucas what he said to Will that day Mike had to chase after him, doesn't think he ever owned up to California. Mike knows Wonderland wasn't his fault, but he felt shame for that, too.

Mike's apologized to Will, one-on-one over the years. Multiple times. Mike still doesn't think it's enough.

"You're trying to be better now, though, right?" Lucas tilted his head.

His voice was too earnest, too breathy, "Of course."

Lucas nodded and smiled.

"Then I don't see why anyone should be questioning your motivations, Mike," said Lucas. "Not even you."

And... Mike supposes Lucas could be right. In the long run, at least. 

"What happened after I talked to you?" Mike wondered, feeling lighter than how he'd woken up. "I barely even remember that."

Lucas hummed. He pretended to think about it, then smirked at Mike. "I had you drink water, then you totally booked it out of the kitchen. I only half-expected to see you curled around Will, like you had been for half of the graduation party."

Mike's hands still shook, but he could find it in himself to be playful and not petrified. He buried his head in his heads and turned on his side, groaning. "You're joking."

"You know I'm not. I don't think you let him spend more than 10 minutes apart from you — it was cute how you clung to him, all giggly," Lucas teased. Then, more conspiratorial. "I think he thinks I did something to you, though. He's been giving me a look ever since."

"Oh, come off it. No he isn't." Mike rolled his eyes. "You're saying that like he's into me."

"What?"

The amount of genuine disbelief in Lucas' voice makes Mike turn back around, uncovering his face.

"There's no way — Mike, there's no way you just asked me that. Come on. Mike." Lucas shifted, sitting on his knees now. "Out of anyone, you should have been the first to see it."

"See what?" Mike asked, a little gobsmacked. "Bullshit. I know better than anyone he isn't. He could literally get anyone he wanted."

Lucas, honest to God, let out a fell belly laugh. "Well he got you, didn't he?"

"That's —" Mike spluttered, "— that's different!"

"Oh my God. He's never said anything to me, but come on. You haven't even considered it?"

The sun was going down, and yet Mike and Lucas made no move to leave the cemetery. No, instead here they are, debating the logistics of Will being interested in Mike, when not even a day ago Mike would've thrown up if confronted about this. What the fuck was going on?

It's dark by the time Lucas and Mike get back into Nancy's car. Mike should've spoken to Lucas sooner, it was already clear by now that Mike was stupid, but it was better late than never. Mike couldn't say he felt better, he may never fully get there, but the weight of his fear felt less crippling. Lucas threw on an album at random, one of Nancy's that Mike hadn't taken the time to learn, and made fun of it for the entire drive to the Sinclair's. Mike found himself laughing along. He missed Lucas, he noted as Lucas waved back at Mike from his house door.

Mike even has time to admit that Nancy might have been right before he pulls into the Wheeler driveway.

—.*.—

When Will moved out, Mike was terrified that their friendship might revert back to what it had been in California without the close proximity.

Which, if Mike had to repeat himself, was a stupid thought.

The Hopper-Byers house wasn't particularly close by any standard, but they didn't move out of Hawkins. It was a simple bike ride there and back, a lot like how it used to be in their old house, and, with everything that went on, Will was still a prominent fixture within the Wheeler household. With the distance, Mike found out that Will knew how to scale a house in the middle of the night. Mike was a constant sight at Will's house, to Hopper's chagrin.

Still, even with the proximity, the Byers' absence was felt every time his mom called the rest of the house down for meals. The table had been too full for too long to look that barren, but his dad seemed happy about having space to stretch out.

Today, though, Mike had ended up missing dinner.

His mom came downstairs to greet him, bags left in the car, only mildly concerned about why he looked like he had been playing around in the dirt. She sent him upstairs to clean up, promising to have leftovers ready for him by the time he was ready. Soft music playing behind a closed door was the only indication that Nancy was home, Mike was certain he'll never hear the end of having her car far longer than he should have come morning. But, that was later and not right now. Mike wasn't bothered, he grabbed fresh clothing without looking. 

Food was plated on the table by the time Mike made his way back down, clean, his mom flipping through a magazine at her assigned spot. If she noticed Mike feeling off, his mom didn't mention it. She asked about his day, mentioned what Holly had gotten up to when he left, and they avoided discussing his dad. His mom wondered how his friends were doing and eventually kissed the side of Mike's head and strolled up to bed. Mike took his time washing his plate.

His mom had already left the sink spotless, it felt rude to dirty it again. Mike didn't feel like bringing in his bags yet.

When he retired to his room for the night, Mike was ready to pass out, completely drained from the entire day, but sleep never came.

Mike tossed and turned in his bed trying to lull himself to sleep, but his mind kept racing. The subject matter was nothing new, but lacked the usual guilt.

Will. Will. Will.

Will let Mike drag him around by the hand when they were kids and allowed Mike to hover when he really had no business being there, but rarely reciprocated that level of need. Maybe Mike internalized that mixed-messaging.

Will had begun initiating contact more, sneaking into Mike's house at odd hours of the night, sharing his bed...

Whatever happened at the mall today.

And after.

Mike couldn't stop wondering.

It could have been minute thirty or hour three that Mike decided he had to something else. He pulled himself out of bed and padded across his room, sending a forlorn glance toward his bedroom door. Sitting down at his desk, lit ever-so slightly by the tiny lamp his mom had found in a yard sale, Mike pulled his Warlock notes out from habit. Not to work — just to have something to look at.

He doesn't know how long he sat there, eyes drooping, just that it was long enough to contemplate if he'd really need glasses in the future.

Mike jumped at the sound of knocking against his window frame. 

(The first time Will snuck over to the Wheeler's, it was only a month or two after he moved out, and Mike had been half falling off his bed, passed out. He hadn't heard Will at first and almost screamed when he saw a face on the other side of the glass. Will looked distraught, not all there, and it took a while before he admitted that he'd had a nightmare. Mike shouldn't have felt as elated as he did, he felt guilty about it afterward, but Will wanted to seek out Mike in the middle of the night. Later when Will had calmed down, he apologized about disturbing Mike. It was the stupidest thing Mike had ever heard.

Mike hadn't understood, not fully, why he felt giddy when Will snuck into his house at night — woke up in his bed in the morning afterward, Mike half-sprawled on top of Will — but it meant that Mike hadn't completely fucked up when it came to Will. That they were closer than ever and it wasn't going to start reverting back, not if Mike could help it.)

He's out of his chair, not bothering to confirm who Mike knew would be outside, tripping over his feet. He unlatched and pushed the window open with practiced precision, hand already past the threshold — helping steady Will as he slips inside.

"You didn't radio in after you went and dropped off Lucas," said Will, like he needed an explanation to be in Mike's room this late. "Is everything all right?"

Will wore the same clothing he'd been in at the mall. Dark pants and loose-fitting outerwear over a light yellow patterned shirt, Jonathan's old jacket thrown on top of everything. His makeup was faded, stained into his skin like he gave up half-way taking it off, and crimped hair combed through. Unlike most nights he'd climbed through Mike's window, Will didn't look visibly panicked.

But, the way Will leaned back to sit on the windowsill, head tilted and relaxed, backlit only by streetlamps, made Mike's chest tighten anyway.

How late it had gotten, Mike didn't know — stars just barely visible behind him — but he knew Will really should've been asleep by now.

"No, yeah... it's all good," said Mike, worried, only vaguely registering his hand between both of Will's. "Lucas and I — sorry. Were you waiting for that?"

"Figured you were busy, don't apologize," said Will, teeth on display as he tilted his head cheekily. "Are you both really okay?"

Veiled concern, Mike took note of. Lucas' previous statements hover in the back of Mike's mind like comic panels. The idea flusters him, warmth pulsed through his veins like blood. It was too dark for Mike to see Will's face clearly, shoulder firmly pressed against the window frame. 

Reeling, Mike nodded. "You know how I get."

"I should've walkied you before coming," said Will. He shook his head fondly. "Were you busy?"

"Couldn't sleep," Mike half-heartedly shrugged. He shuffled closer and leaned in, craning his neck so his forehead pressed against Will's shoulder. Shutting his eyes and bracing his free hand against the frame furthest from Will, Mike sighed. "I was just looking at D&D notes. I can show you tomorrow."

The late-night summer air wafts forward, the Byers' detergent mingling with Will's cologne clinging to his senses with each inhale. Mike asked, "Are you staying?"

"Do you want me to?" Will applied gentle pressure against Mike with his head as his thumb swiped across Mike's knuckles.

"Of course I do, Will..." said Mike, not bothering to mask his honesty. "'M sorry."

Will shook his head. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, Mike."

Mike's stomach flipped, as if hearing Will say that for the first time. It must have been the first time he'd ever heard it clearly. If Mike stayed still long enough, maybe he'd be able to hear Will's heart beating just as fast. Mike pulls back first, hand lingering before sliding out from where Will's held it, giving Will room to slip fully into the room from where he sat on the windowsill. He's opening his closet before Mike knows what his body is moving to do, pulling out sleep-worthy clothing to toss Will's way.

Will's jacket is thrown over Mike's abandoned desk chair, leather shoes kicked off near the window, and Will's unbuttoned his outer shirt by the time Mike turns around, clothes in hand.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in that shirt," said Will, absentmindedly undressing to change, like he's done a thousand times before, accepting the offering held out to him. "It looks nice. When'd you get it?"

Frowning, Mike looked down to see what he threw on earlier.

"Oh. Wayne gave it — it was Eddie's." Mike's hands find the battered hem of the shirt, nervous, adverting his eyes as Will slips on the spare shirt. "Do you — uh, do you want me to change? I know you don't like the smell of smoke, I didn't notice what I grabbed."

"Don't tell me that's why I've never seen you wearing that." Mike watched the way his curtains fluttered against the open window. "I'm not going to ask you to wear different clothes around me, Mike. That's stupid. Dustin wears Eddie's things all the time. How much of your closet are you hiding from me?"

"It's stupid when you say it like that," Mike flushed. A light was on in his neighbors window, but there wasn't any visible movement. "I only got a few things — it's not... a lot. Will, don't laugh at me. It was a reasonable concern."

The sound of fabric was loud against the silent night. "No — no, it's cute. I'm flattered. But I'm serious, Mike, I wouldn't have minded. I don't mind, I promise."

Cute. Had Will used that to describe him before? Cute. Mike didn't know, mentally short-circuiting. Cute.

Couldn't Will just electrocute him?

Mike feels like he'd been zapped anyway.

"That's — I — okay —" He covered his face with both hands, "— whatever. Loud and clear."

Will laughs at him, quiet enough to not wake the entire house, and Mike doesn't even hear him pad closer.

"Sorry, too much? Come back to me." Will gently pulled at Mike's wrists. Lips curved, soft.

An expression Mike had always written off as odd square on Will's face, and oh. 

How long had Mike missed it? A while, he's certain now. How long had Will known?

Mike wanted to kiss him, he wanted to cry. How long had he forced Will to wait because he was trapped inside of his own head?

He had to recognize the look on Mike's face — he didn't have to say it — because Will's eyes widen in surprise and Mike hadn't even done anything. 

"I'm sorry." Was all Mike could whisper out, staring Will in the eye. Shame, relief, guilt. Will's hands slipped from Mike's wrists to his elbows, and Mike pulled Will flush against him into a tight embrace. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

Will stills, the gentle grip on Mike's arms tighten as he processes Mike's mumbling. And then, after the moment of shock passes, Will lets go of Mike's arms — pressing his face into the warmth of Mike's neck, wrapping scrawny arms around Mike's waist holding on even tighter, shaking.

There's a gasping of breaths and tears boil over, wet against Mike's neck. This was real. He rocked with Will, back and forth, running a hand through Will's hair. 

"This is happening?" asked Will, trembling, as the tears slowed to a stop. He held fistfuls of Mike's shirt. "Fuck, I'm — I'm not making it up?"

"No." Mike pulled back, maneuvering Will's face to where Mike could see him. "No. I promise, I'm sorry. You aren't. I swear."

Will's face practically cracked into two, lit up by the cheeriest grin Mike's seen on him in years. 

"Are you okay?" Mike whispered, featherlight against the shared air between both teenagers. Mike wipes the tears off Will's skin.

Will's hands are pressed into the divots of Mike's waist as their foreheads press together, hands firmly placed on both sides of Will's face watching as Will ran his eye along Mike's face. His heart beat like Mike had just gotten done running a marathon, skin clammy and anxious, but the last thing he wanted to do was run.

A breathy laugh escaped Will, like he couldn't believe Mike's audacity to ask him that question. "Are you, Mike?"

"Yes." Mike nodded, eager to assure, desperation coating his words. "Yeah. Of course."

They fall back into each other before pulling apart, Mike’s hand trailing from Will’s face to catch his hand. Will completes the motion, hesitantly lacing their fingers together, like he wasn't exactly sure what Mike wanted. Then Will yawns and tugs Mike after him toward the bed, his mall clothes long forgotten in a neat pile on the floor.

Mike yelps, nearly tripping over himself, and Will laughs. A hand braces against Mike’s shoulder, keeping him from pitching face-first into the edge of the mattress.

"Careful —" Will smiled, bringing his hand back to his face, wiping the last of remnants of his tears away, "— what are you even tripping on?"

"Air." Mike gave Will's hand one last squeeze before peeling open his comforter. "It's very a solid material."

Will rolled his eyes, unimpressed, and climbed underneath the covers first. He watched Mike as he waited to be joined.

This was a scene Mike was well acquainted with, much more than he thought he perhaps should have been for what their relationship had been. 

So stupid, was his last thought before he propped himself on top of the mattress, just underneath the cover but not yet laying down. Will's eye never drifting away from Mike.

He twitched, a question on the tip of his tongue that made Mike feel like his heart was lodged in his throat. Could he have hallucinated their entire conversation? No, Mike knew he hadn't, but the fear was irrational for a reason. The remaining feeling of Will's hand entwined with his felt scorching, throbbing with each pulse of his heart as if they were connected into one.

Mike hesitated, bracing himself on both hands and knees, and could feel the Puppy-Eyes routine seeping onto his face like he was about to do something bad.

"Can... I use my inspiration point?" Mike whispered, hovering gently above where Will laid on Mike's bed — heart hammering so harshly he was certain Will could hear.

Will's face turns pink in the dim light, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He tilts his head in a teasing manner. "You have advantage, what would you like to use it for?"

Mike swallowed, his nerves sent alight by the mere thought of what he wanted to ask for paired with Will looking at him like he was allowed.

"I want to kiss you," said Mike, so quiet he could’ve convinced himself he didn’t ask. "May I, Will, please?"

"Critical success," said Will, mirroring Mike and watching the other's mouth. "Take your action."

Mike brought a hand to Will's cheek, warmth breaking through the lingering dampness of shed tears, and leaned in slowly — he had a lifetime ahead to look forward to, he didn't need to rush this. The kiss itself was gentle, chaste, yet firm-pressed. Mike wasn't going anywhere.

They broke apart only for Mike to plant a softer peck on Will, then press his lips to one cheek, then the other, and then another. A kiss for every wrongdoing he had done to Will, every apology owed, and every one he would still need to make.

By the time he pulled back for real, he was panting, and Will didn’t seem to be faring much better.

"I'm sorry." Mike's not apologizing for kissing Will, he knows Will understands that. "I should've figured it out sooner, Will."

Will licks his lips before a sad smile graced them. He shakes his head. "You weren't ready."

"I could have been," said Mike. Will raised a hand to cup his cheek. "I could have been."

"I'd rather have you here now, Mike, than have had scared you off too early. We both understood things too late, it's okay."

Mike's face crumpled, his eyes glinting under the weight of years of suppressed want. Will's thumb brushed along his cheekbone, and Mike gave a wordless nod.

He slumps down beside Will, one arm tucked underneath his neck, face pressed into the side of Will's head like how he knew he'd end up anyway. "Hopper's going to kill me."

"Ah, no." Will adjusted their position into something more comfortable, running a hand along Mike's back. "He knew what he was signing up for when he fell for my mom. He'd be stuck with you regardless."

Stuck with him regardless. Mike couldn't stop the elated smile that broke across his face, afflicting his words with something akin to honey. "Yeah, he would... I swore an oath, swore myself bound to you — that's on him."

They didn't talk much more after that — chests warm and wound so tight they felt as if they might burst — listening to one another's breath as they lulled each other to sleep.

By morning Will wouldn't have slipped back out the window. Holly would already be standing in Mike's doorway, having caught them again, rolling her eyes and racing downstairs to set an extra plate on the table. Their mom would notice almost immediately and shake her head fondly — it happened so often it had become routine. Nancy would see it before their dad did, who had been sitting at the table long before she left the bathroom, and make a note to call Jonathan and let him know his brother was safe and sound.

But the night hadn't yet turned over to make space for the sun. Both teenagers still had an entire day to realize how far past friendship they'd let themselves go before noticing they weren’t, and had the rest of their lives to go over their miscommunications that lead to this taking so long. Paintings and letters, ex-girlfriends and compulsory fears —

The trauma that comes with living through the worst and surviving it.

So, Mike had a problem.

It was irrational, and haunted only himself.

But he was working through it, one step at a time. And he wasn’t alone.