Archive of Our Own ^beta

Finally, a movie night.

The plan was simple: gather the Party in Mike’s basement, watch some mindless movies, and pretend for a few hours that the world wasn't falling apart. It was supposed to be a dumb, easy distraction for a group of friends who had survived the impossible and barely kept themselves together.

Sure, the guys spent time together at school, sometimes after, too. But even though they were all back together after Will’s return, something between them felt different. Maybe all the resources of their friendship had been drained in the never-ending fight for survival. They only had enough strength to pull each other out of trouble, but now that things had become relatively quiet, everyone was drowning in their own private grief.

Dustin was still mourning Eddie, carrying that loss behind his jokes. Lucas spent almost every waking hour at the hospital by Max’s bed. The doctors said there was little hope, but no deterioration either; she was stuck in the limbo between life and death, unable to move either way. Mike was dealing with his own mess—his relationship with El had crumbled as the long distance made him question everything he thought he felt. It seemed like they had finally called it quits. And then there was Will, who was forced to cope with his struggles in complete solitude. He could support Mike, Dustin, and Lucas, but none of his friends had a clue what was actually going on in Will’s soul. There was no room for his feelings in this crowded house that wasn't even his.

The day before, Jonathan, who lived in the Wheeler house with the rest of the Byers, had rented several videotapes for them. They were going to watch Aliens and Back to the Future.

"Already going?" asked Will.

"Yeah, have fun."

Jonathan was only too happy to leave for the whole night. Even his own family was sometimes too much for him, and now that there were eight people living under one roof, it often became unbearably loud and stuffy. He didn't say where he was going (To a friend's house? To the computer club? Was Nancy going with him?), but Will was happy to finally hang out in the basement with the whole Party, like in the good old days.

Right when Will was moving the chairs closer to the TV, he heard the phone ringing in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Mike showed up on the stairs.

"Hey, Lucas is not coming," said Mike.

"Wait, why?"

"He’s been at the hospital again, for Max. And you know, he doesn’t feel like coming, he sounds really exhausted."

"Oh, I get it. Is there any news about Max?"

"No, nothing. Do you need any help around here?"

"No, it’s almost done."

"Okay."

Mike went back upstairs. Passing through the kitchen, he glanced at the boxes of popcorn—caramel and salted. It was too early to put them in the microwave; there was still almost an hour before everyone was supposed to gather. Mike went back to his room and flopped down on his bed. An open comic book lay nearby, but he didn't go back to it immediately. Mike stared at the ceiling and fell into thought. Lucas wasn't coming—so what was the point? They were supposed to get together, the four of them, like they used to. But he couldn't really be angry at Lucas—deep down Mike knew nothing could ever be the same. And yet it seemed that if they got together again in the basement of his house, just to have fun, then somehow, magically, everything would work out. It all started in the basement, so maybe that's where it would end? But Mike knew that the basement had nothing to do with it.

After returning from California, he had thought a lot about his relationship with El. He acted like a jerk, that was true. But time had passed, and he had already let it go. The breakup brought a strange sense of relief; he no longer had to torture El and himself with questions about love or feel guilty for not being able to say it back. Now, different thoughts were occupying his mind.

Why, during those eight months apart, did he miss Will more than he missed El? Sure, they were best friends, but it felt... different. And what was even weirder: now that he and Will were literally living under the same roof, they didn't spend their time together like they used to. Mike was up here in his room; Will was down there in the basement. Maybe with so many people in the house, they just valued their personal space more. Or maybe some inexplicable awkwardness had crept into their friendship. Their conversations became dry, and their glances became short. Somehow it was bothering Mike. They used to talk about anything; why was it so hard now just to be around each other? Mike pushed those thoughts aside and went back to his comic.

Dustin was due in about fifteen minutes when a sharp static noise came from under Mike’s bed. They had abandoned their walkies ages ago, using them only for emergencies. Mike tossed the comic aside and pulled the walkie out.

"Mike, do you copy?"

"Yeah, what’s up? Is everything okay?"

"Umm kind of... But not really. How do I say it… Well, I guess I got some sort of food poisoning. I can’t really leave the house, you know what I mean…"

"Man, are you for real? Exactly on a day we're supposed to hang!"

"It’s not like I planned it or something. Trust me, I'd rather be watching movies with you guys than stuck in here."

"Lucas isn’t coming either."

"Why not?"

"Max. He just doesn’t feel like hanging out right now."

"I’m sorry for that. Any news about her?"

"No."

"Look, man, I’m sorry. Maybe we just do it next week?"

"Okay, talk to you at school. Over and out."

The walkie clicked and fell silent. Mike stared at the plastic box in his hands as if it had personally insulted him. The evening that was supposed to bring them back to normal had crumbled to dust. But you know what? Screw it. The VHS tape was already in the player, and Mike really wanted that stupid popcorn. He deserved a break, he deserved a movie and some snacks, even if the world was ending and his friends were dumping his ass. If Will didn’t mind, they could just hang out together. They didn't have to talk anyway.

Will was finishing tidying up the basement. It used to be a place of chaotic freedom—scattered dice, pizza boxes, messy blankets. But now, Will felt an urge to make it proper. He straightened the cushions and hid the clutter, as if organizing the room could somehow organize the mess in his own head. So he gathered the scattered clothes and threw them into the closet. Once he was done with his chores, Will just sat down on the sofa. It was a shame that Lucas wasn’t coming tonight. The more the merrier, right? Too bad the real fun wasn’t going to happen, at least not today. To keep himself distracted from moody thoughts, Will began reading the movie synopses.

Mike appeared on the stairs, looking a little gloomy, with two bowls of popcorn in his hands.

"You are not gonna believe it."

"What?" Will asked.

"Dustin isn't coming either."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they're both not coming."

"How so?"

"Dustin got food poisoning and probably is shitting all over his room right now."

"Oh..."

"So I guess it's just us."

"Seems so. Do you still wanna hang?"

"Yeah, why not? The movies are already here and I don't have much to do anyway."

"Okay. So, we've got Aliens and Back to the Future. What do you think?"

"Whatever you want really. Um, though you know what, let's watch Back to the Future, I'm kind of sick of all the monsters."

"Yeah, me too."

They both smiled a bit sadly. Will took a cassette tape out of the box and put it in the video player. Mike placed two bowls of popcorn on the table.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Coke maybe?"

"Okay."

A minute later, Mike returned with two glasses of cola. They sat down on the sofa and turned on the movie.

"Salt or caramel?" asked Mike.

"Salt."

He wanted caramel, though. But Will knew that this was Mike's favorite flavor, and it wasn’t hard for him to give in.

It was about fifteen minutes into the movie. Mike got comfortable, stretching his legs out on the sofa. He balanced a bowl of popcorn between his knees, popping handfuls into his mouth. He liked Back to the Future. It was great when mad scientists built cool time machines for fun adventures instead of performing experiments on your girlfriend (okay, ex-girlfriend) and the whole world. When Mike first watched this movie, he wondered where he’d rather go: the past or the future. If they went back, could they change anything? But if he chose the future... He was terrified to find out that they had lost. That they had lost even more people they loved. Or what if there was no future for them at all? Maybe it was a good thing they didn't have a time machine. Better to just watch how Marty handles it.

Meanwhile, Will looked down at his bowl. Salt. Well, that was what he had asked for—or rather, what he had settled for. Why did he always have to be the accommodating one? Why did he have to push aside his own needs and starve himself of what he really wanted just to be "good"? He was tired of being sensible. He was tired of the salt. For once, he wanted the sweet stuff.

A hand dived into Mike's bowl of popcorn—Will scooped up a whole handful and dumped it into his own bowl.

"Man! What the hell? You have your own popcorn."

"I want some of the sweet too."

"Could you just ask? Give me some of yours then."

Mike moved closer. They exchanged a few more handfuls of popcorn, and somehow it felt much better. They both laughed at each other's greediness, and that simple act of sharing seemed to break the ice a little.

Returning to the movie, Will popped one salty and one sweet piece into his mouth. He felt better now. But suddenly there was another challenge—he was sitting so close to his friend that it was getting harder to focus on the screen. Did Mike really need to move that close? It was hard to be alone with him, especially when the relationship between them was so unclear. Sometimes they would chat warmly and laugh, and in those moments, Will even felt like Mike was looking at him with a particularly warm gaze. But more often, they would just exchange a few words and go off to do their own thing. Will didn't even know what Mike was doing up there in his room.

Of course, he tried to talk to him. But Mike usually avoided those conversations. It broke Will's heart. If their friendship was falling apart like this, how could he hope for anything more? Sometimes he tried to hint to Mike about his feelings, to initiate closer contact, but it led nowhere.

Just like with the caramel popcorn, Will felt slightly outraged. Why did he never get to have what he wanted? Why was he undeserving of happiness? If he wanted Mike, why could he never have him? Who said he couldn’t? Maybe he should try again–just one last time.

Their legs were almost touching–just an inch to go. Should he touch Mike with his hand? Maybe put his hand on Mike’s knee and pretend to reach for his bowl of popcorn? No, that was stupid, they'd already shared some. Will moved slightly on the sofa, as if to get into a more comfortable position.

Yes! Now their knees were touching. And Mike didn't even mind, he didn't move his leg. A small success, worth celebrating with three pieces of caramel popcorn.

Will put his hand on his own thigh, thinking about his next move. Now he could casually touch Mike's leg with his hand—just because they were too close, not because he was some kind of creep. Gathering his courage, Will began to gently rub his own leg, lightly touching Mike's leg with the back of his hand. Will froze, afraid of Mike's reaction, but everything was fine. So Will gave it another try, and then another. Why was he doing this, anyway? What was he hoping for? Even if Mike wouldn't push him away, they were unlikely to hold hands or kiss like in a romantic movie. It wasn't too late to stop—

And at that moment, Mike suddenly pulled his leg back. It was over. He didn't say anything, didn't even look at Will, but his posture became more closed, and he moved a little further away from Will.

Damn, this was embarrassing. Mike stared at the screen, his face frozen in an unreadable expression. Was it irritation, apprehension, disgust maybe? Of course, Mike didn't think of him that way. After all, they were friends, they had known each other their whole lives, and Mike would never... What a disgrace.

Will sank into the sofa, his throat going dry. A couple of sips of cold Coke made him feel better. Thank goodness at that moment, the DeLorean was roaring along at 88 miles per hour, transporting Einstein the dog exactly one minute into the future. Otherwise, Mike, and possibly the entire Wheeler family, would have heard his heavy gulps.

Will leaned down to put the glass on the coffee table, his mind still spinning with “Shit, shit.” He kept his head low to avoid even accidentally looking in Mike's direction. Distracted, he placed the glass too close to the edge. It teetered and tipped over.

In a desperate reflex, Will lunged forward. His fingers actually closed around the glass just inches from the floor—he caught it. But he had leaned too far. Gravity took over, dragging his upper body down. He fell forward, landing hard on his hand and shattering the glass under his own weight.

"Oh damn! Are you all right?"

"Shit!"

A dramatic scene unfolded on the floor. Broken glass mixed with popcorn, and in the middle of this chaos was Will's hand. A piece of glass was sticking out of his palm, and blood was oozing from it.

Will hissed and flinched in pain. Mike immediately jumped up to him.

"Let me see. Oh shit!"

Mike's eyes widened in shock. Blood had already begun to drip onto the floor. Mike quickly gathered himself, scanned the basement, and ran to the closet. Opening it, he pulled out a random T-shirt, crumpled it up, and handed it to Will. Will threw the T-shirt over his aching palm, trying not to touch the sharp piece of glass, his eyes filled with panic.

"Let’s go! We need to stop the blood, first aid kit is in the bathroom."

The two of them rushed up the stairs.

"Should we call somebody?" Will mumbled, trying not to leave red drops on the carpet in the hallway.

"Come on, I’ve got you."

Mike opened the bathroom door for him. The soaked T-shirt landed into the sink, blood now dripping freely onto the white enamel and running down the drain. Mike turned on the cold water.

"Try to rinse it first," he commanded.

Will stuck his hand under the stream, and the water instantly turned a pale red. Meanwhile, Mike got out the first aid kit and looked through the supplies. He found bandages, antiseptic, scissors, a clean towel—that seemed to be enough. Will carefully tried to pull the shard out of his hand.

"Fuck!" The piece got stuck pretty deep.

"Let me."

Mike grabbed Will’s wrist, pulling his injured hand toward him. Will didn't resist, just turned away so he wouldn't have to see the bloody mess in the sink. A couple of seconds later, the shard fell into the sink. Will gasped from the sharp pain, his palm throbbing even more intensely.

Mike turned off the tap. The water stopped running, and the sharp click of the antiseptic cap echoed loudly in the small room.

"It’s gonna burn a little."

"Ouch!"

Will felt a sharp burst of pain. A moment later, a fluffy towel touched his hand.

"Here, press it down firmly. We need to stop the bleeding before putting on a bandage. Just hold it like this."

With a trembling hand, Will pressed the towel against the wound, tears already welling up in his eyes from the pain and shock. He stumbled slightly and leaned against the wall.

"Come on, sit here."

Mike pulled him by the shoulders and sat Will down on the edge of the bathtub, then sat down next to him. Mike carefully adjusted the towel (a small red spot was already beginning to show through), pressing it firmly against the wound.

"Give me your hand." Mike reached for Will’s other hand, guiding it to the wound. "Press the towel like this."

"Okay, okay."

They were both shocked.

"You good?"

"Yeah." Will wiped a single tear from his cheek with his shoulder.

Mike sighed loudly.

"Man, what was that?"

"Shit, I don’t know…"

"How do you even manage to dive off the sofa like that?"

"I’ve no idea, it just happened."

"Damn man, you should be more careful."

"I’ll clean it all up—"

"No, that’s not the point! Just be careful and don’t hurt yourself, okay?"

They both smirked. It seemed that the situation wasn't so critical after all.

"You awkward idiot!"

Mike nudged him lightly with his knee. Will smiled and nudged him back, so Mike nudged him harder. Will smiled nervously and exhaled—"Stop." The awkward image from the basement was still stuck in his head, and he didn't want to act weird anymore.

They fell silent. Evidence of the chaos was scattered across the sink: a bloody T-shirt, the cap from a bottle of antiseptic, and several drops of blood on the white tiles. Mike rocked nervously back and forth, rubbing his knees. He tried to make sense of what had just happened. Maybe Will needed to go to the hospital? In his rush to stop the bleeding, Mike hadn't had a chance to examine the wound properly. It seemed he had done everything right: the water, the antiseptic, the towel. One of the few advantages of constantly fighting monsters from the Upside Down was that he had learned to think quickly in a crisis. What a ridiculous night.

Lost in his thoughts, Mike didn't notice right away that their hips and shoulders were pressed against each other—there was barely enough room for two on the narrow edge of the bathtub. Only now did he feel the warmth where they were touching. Mike immediately stopped rocking, blood rushing to his cheeks. His first reaction was to get up and move a couple of feet away, but for some reason, he didn't. Instead, he stayed and sat with the feeling. It seemed like nothing special, just a lack of space. But wasn't that exactly what had just happened in the basement? Their legs had touched, then Mike had felt Will's hand, and that touch had seemed somehow... tender? No, it couldn't be. He was probably going crazy.

Will finally managed to steady his breathing. The wound still throbbed, but he had regained some of his composure. Who would have thought that an attempt at affection would literally cost him blood? Will smiled bitterly. He was a fucking mistake. He wanted to disappear. If he had known how pathetic he would turn out to be, he would’ve chosen to stay in the Upside Down.

"So, how’s the bleeding?"

"Better, I guess."

"Okay, come here. Let's do this over the sink."

Will stepped closer to the mirror, where the light was better. Mike reached for the bandage and scissors, then carefully took Will's injured hand. The towel was stained with blood, but now it was only oozing slightly. The cut was quite deep. Mike tried to move Will's fingers to get a closer look, but Will hissed in response.

"Sorry. Don't move. I'm going to have to clean it up a little, and then I’ll put the bandage on." Mike wet the tip of the towel with water. "It might hurt, but I'll try to be gentle."

"Don’t worry, I'm good."

And Mike really did try. With one hand, he held Will’s injured fingers, and with the other, he carefully wiped away the traces of blood around the cut. Mike could feel how cold Will's skin was against his own. Poor Will. For a split second, Mike felt a faint, almost unconscious urge to just cover Will’s hand with his own—to take the chill away. He looked up and met Will’s sad gaze. They looked at each other a little longer than they should have, and Mike hurried to look back down at the cut.

It was time to apply the bandage. Mike took it out and carefully placed it on the wound. He tried to be as gentle as possible, barely touching the cool skin, but his hands weren't really listening to him.

"Here, let me hold it," Will said, catching the loose end of the bandage with his other hand. His fingers brushed against Mike’s. Unlike his injured palm, this hand radiated a steady heat that startled Mike.

With Will’s help, the procedure went faster, and in a couple of minutes, the bandage was finished.

"Well, thank you. And I'm sorry, I feel so stupid right now."

"Why? It's okay. I mean, yeah, it was a little dumb, but hey—you survived."

Will smiled gratefully and looked at Mike. Wait, was that the same warm gaze from before? Or was Will just hallucinating from blood loss?

Mike looked away quickly, as if shaking off his confusion, and nodded toward the sink.

"Umm... I'm gonna clean up a little. You should go back to the basement, I'll be there shortly."

Will headed for the door, carefully holding his bandaged hand against his chest.

"Try not to break your neck on the stairs this time."

"Shut up, Mike."

Mike heard the smile in Will's quiet voice.

Now he was alone in the bathroom. The towel was probably beyond saving; he wasn't exactly an expert at stain removal. And anyway, it was too late to take it to the laundry. Mike rinsed the sink, put away the first aid kit, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

The last twenty or thirty minutes had been surreal. And not just because of the blood—or rather, not because of it at all. There was a strange tension between him and Will, wasn't there? At that moment, Mike felt scared. He had long feared that something like this would happen... He had to stop thinking about it; surely, he was just imagining things. Mike rubbed his face with his palms, snapping himself out of it, and left the bathroom.

Will was sitting in the far corner of the sofa, his bandaged hand lying on the armrest, while his other hand fiddled with a button at the bottom of his shirt. Mike sat down silently at the other end. Neither of them touched the popcorn.

"I paused the movie, but we've already missed about thirty minutes."

"It's all right, let's just keep watching." Mike stared at the screen.

Will could no longer focus on the film. His thoughts jumped between his aching palm and the tension hanging in the air between him and Mike. Mike was so caring right now, and for that alone, Will wanted to hug him so badly. It seemed like he needed to say something. He couldn't think of anything better than—

"I’m sorry I'm so much... trouble."

"You're not trouble."

"You know, sometimes I feel like everything I do, everything I... it all just ends in embarrassment."

What the hell! That wasn't what he meant at all. He really was a total embarrassment.

"Shit can happen to any of us, you're not any different," Mike said.

"Sometimes I feel like I am."

"Well, I guess I'm next."

"Next what?"

"The next one to get into some shit. Lucas is a mess, Dustin’s got diarrhea, and you’ve cut your hand. It seems like I'm the next one cursed."

"No, you’re not, Mike."

"I actually think I am. And I hope I just lose my freaking mind."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just tired of dealing with all of it."

"I know. We’re all tired."

"It’s not just... that."

"Oh. What is it then?"

"Well, it's nothing." Mike sighed heavily.

"People don’t usually want to lose their minds over nothing."

"Will... I don't know. With everything that happened with El, and... I don't know... it’s just been a lot."

"You know you can always talk to me, right?"

"Yes, but I don't know what to say to you. Because I don't even know what's going on myself."

"Oh, come on, whatever it is, we can figure it out together. You’re always there for me, and I want to be there for you too. I really care... Look, I don’t want to push you or anything, but I kind of miss us actually talking to each other."

"I kind of miss that too."

Will’s steady gaze made Mike even more tense.

"What?" Mike grumbled.

"Nothing. I just think maybe now is a good time for a talk."

"About what?"

Something snapped in Will. Maybe it was the pain in his hand, or the months of silence, or the way Mike was looking at him right now—closed off and defensive. All the frustration he’d been carrying inside suddenly broke through, demanding answers, demanding their old closeness back.

"About what’s bothering us. Honestly, I don’t understand you, Mike. I’m trying to, but you don’t make it easy. You’ve been weird for months, avoiding me—avoiding everyone. You barely talk during breaks, and when you do, it’s always ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘I don’t know,’ ‘I’m fine.’ I don't really know what happened between you and El—did she dump you again? And now you’re being weird again. I guess I’m being weird too, with this stupid glass and everything. But damn, I don’t understand you anymore. I don’t know if it’s my fault, maybe I’m embarrassing you. Because I see you being cold, and then normal, and then cold again. And now you’re saying you’re losing your mind, and at the same time, you're pushing me away when I’m just trying to help, trying to be your friend. You’re supposed to know everything about me—"

"Do I?? What do I know? Why don’t you share how you're doing and how you're feeling?"

"I’m feeling like shit!"

"Yeah? Then let’s talk about it!"

"What is wrong with you, Mike?"

"No! What is wrong with you?"

"Fine, forget it! We don’t have to talk. Just watch the film."

"I don’t want to watch it! I’ve seen it a hundred times. It's lame, it’s for goddamn kids! Fuck it."

Mike grabbed the remote—and the screen immediately went dark, cutting Marty off mid-sentence. An uneasy silence hung in the basement. Mike shook his head as if searching for something to say. Was he sorry? Did he want to apologize? Or was he looking for a way to ruin this evening once and for all? He went with the last option.

"I don’t know you anymore, Will. And I don’t even know myself. That’s the truth. So why the hell do you sit there looking at me like I owe you something? Like I’m supposed to fix everything? I can't! I have my own shit to deal with. Just stop making everything about you!"

The silence stretched on so long that it felt pointless to break it. Mike sighed wearily and moved toward the stairs. Away from this stuffy basement.