Chapter Text
It was late afternoon, and Will had been hunched over his desk for hours. He stretched out, feeling every ache and pain. He needed to get out of the apartment.
“Jonathan, I’m going to the bookstore, you need anything?” Will called through his brother’s closed bedroom door.
The door opened just enough to reveal a sliver of Jonathan’s sleep-deprived face, creased frown lines and dark eye bags. He’d been editing his movie non-stop for days, finally arriving back at the apartment they shared this morning to crash.
“Uh, no, thanks. Nancy is arriving later, so I’ll go out in a bit for groceries. You out for dinner tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll be back late.”
“Nancy’ll probably have arrived by then.”
“Sure, I’ll do my best not to disturb you two.”
“I didn’t mean that. Just that she’ll want to see you too,” Jonathan said, his face earnest.
“Okay. I won’t be too late, then.”
Jonathan and Nancy had been talking. A lot. Jonathan claimed he was getting her opinions on his movie, but the conversations had been going on long before filming began. That she was coming to stay for the premiere was a good sign. Maybe they’d stop dancing around the issue and start dating again.
As Will walked up 9th, he spotted several of his own posters. Since graduating, he’d found his niche in designing for indie artists. Musicians, filmmakers and authors he’d met at art school and around the West Village came to him to help promote and publicise their projects. He was making enough to live in New York, to pay rent in their West Village apartment, and enough to support Jonathan while he worked on his movies. After everything Jonathan did for Will growing up, it felt good to take care of him.
It was finally Fall in New York, Will’s favourite time of year. The stifling heat of the city dissipated into flame-colored foliage and cosy nights in. The weather was still mild enough to go out without a coat, but not so hot that everybody felt like they might suffocate on the subway. Will didn’t feel the cold much anyway, so he enjoyed the cooling temperatures.
The latest zine he’d collaborated on was going on the shelves today, and Will wanted to grab a few copies to send to his friends. Robin had already called to beg him to save a copy for her. Dustin and Mike might not have the same personal interest in this project, but they assured him they wanted everything he created.
It was there, dead-centre on the shelf. The front cover was a collage of news headlines about the AIDS crisis, arranged around a black triangle. Inside, Will found his contributions: a portrait of Colin, a dear friend who passed away last year, and a full-colour depiction of the AIDS Memorial Quilt. He flipped to the back page to read the list of contributors, recognising almost all personally. All except one: M. Valiant.
This writer had slipped unnoticed into the scene. Short stories, bound like zines and sold in the same bookshops as the authors Will designed for. Stories of gay romance; dragons slain; knights and wizards saving each other and falling in love; fantasy allegories for modern issues; happily ever afters. Will had fallen in love with these stories and with the writer. He’d bought every one he could find. When he’d asked around, nobody knew who the writer was, or even how he got his zines to the stores. It was a mystery only Will seemed to care to solve.
And, now, they were sharing credit on a zine.
Grabbing seven copies of his zine, Will scanned the shelves for more Valiant.
“He hasn’t released anything new,” a voice behind him said.
Will turned to see Carlton, his arms crossed, face smug, leaning on a table of books.
“How do you know who I’m looking for?” Will asked.
“You ask every time you come in.”
“And you still don’t know who he is?”
“Nope. They’re delivered by different people each time in plain boxes.”
“And who do you send the cheques to?”
Carlton laughed. “I don’t send shit. That’s for the owners to do. Sorry, man, I really don’t know who he is. If he ever comes by, I’ll get his autograph for you, though.”
“Thanks.”
“For a price.”
Will rolled his eyes. There was always a price with Carlton. “What’s that?”
“A date. With you.”
“We tried that, remember?” Will said. “It ended. Badly.”
“I’m not the same person now. I think we’d work out this time.”
Will was less convinced. “Just the zines for now, thanks. I’m not dating at the moment.”
Carlton scoffed. “Yeah, right. That’s why you’ve got a plus-one for Jon’s party?”
Of course he knew about that. Carlton was a gossip; he somehow knew everything about everybody. Except for the one person Will wanted to know about.
“That’s not… He’s a friend. An actor in Jonathan’s movie. I’m not— We’re not… a thing.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.” Carlton rang up Will’s zines and pushed the bag towards him. His expression softened. “If any more Valiant stories come in, I’ll set one aside for you, okay?”
From the bookstore, Will walked the few blocks to Lucas and Max’s place.
Lucas, after marching shoulder to shoulder with Will and Max in protests throughout college—and after bailing them out and being bailed out with them—decided to go to law school. He had been interning with a public defender’s office in Brooklyn, but, now that he was in his final year, he was spending most of his time at the library. Max was getting her Masters in Psychology, and doing her clinical practice in St Vincent’s Hospital. Despite how busy they were, they insisted on hosting Will every Wednesday night for dinner at their apartment.
“Will!” Max threw her arms around him.
He hugged her back, lifting her off the ground as he did.
“Hey, get your hands off my woman,” Lucas called out from inside the apartment.
“I’m not your woman. Not officially,” Max shouted back.
“Still no ring?” Will asked.
Max shook her head and dragged Will into the kitchen area of the studio apartment. “Nope, not yet.”
“Hey,” Lucas yelped. “You said you wouldn’t marry me until you’re qualified.”
“True. I’m not doing all that work to get your surname on my certificate.”
“Like you’d take my name anyway.” Lucas put down his wooden spoon to hug Will. “Hey, man. It’s three bean chilli, by the way. With cheesecake for after.”
“Sounds great. I brought you guys a copy of the zine.” Will produced one from the bag and gave it to Max.
“Amazing, thanks.”
Like Will, she scrolled through it to find his art first, stopping to show Lucas. They sat together at the little kitchen table and read the contents. Many of the artists, poets and writers were familiar to Max and Lucas, too, so Max read aloud to Lucas whenever she found a piece written by a friend. She was about to flip past an article when Will stopped her.
“Wait.”
‘Smalltown America: One Boy’s Story’, by M. Valiant, caught his eye.
“Who’s that?” Max asked.
“I don’t know. That’s the thing,” Will said. “I wish I did.”
“Food’s ready,” Lucas announced, bringing three bowls to the table.
Max whisked the zine away just in time to avoid a spill of chilli from ruining it. There was a flurry of grabbing spoons, sharing guacamole, tearing up tortillas, and pouring wine.
“What are you wearing on Friday?” Lucas asked. “Is it dressy?”
“It’s a movie premiere, Lucas. It’s dressy.”
“It’s an indie movie, Max. The rules might be different.”
“I don’t think there’s a dress code,” Will said. “Jonathan is wearing a suit, and I’ve got a shirt with a blazer over nice pants. Wear what you like,”
“Do you know Dustin is coming?” Lucas leaned across Will to grab a bowl of chips.
“He is? Last time I spoke to him, he wasn’t sure if he’d get time.”
“Yeah, he thinks he’s ahead in his research, so he’s taking a few days off. He’s driving down with Steve and Robin.”
Will’s heart lightened at the mention of his friends. He missed them. Life in New York was better when they were here.
Max grimaced. “Robin wants to go to the Roxy.”
Will loved nights out at the Roxy, but the roller rink always made him think about El. Max knew that. “We can go, I don’t mind. Do you think Steve and Dustin will be comfortable there?”
Lucas shrugged. “They can deal with it. Remember that sports bar they took us to in Boston? If we can deal with that, they can cope with one gay nightclub.”
Max groaned. Will laughed. The sports bar visit in question had been during a winning game in an otherwise bad season for the Boston Red Sox. Steve tried to explain the game to Will and Max, but they left more confused than they arrived. The copious amount of celebratory beers they’d been bought didn’t help their understanding.
“I thought you were a jock,” Will teased Lucas. “You should have been right at home.”
“Yeah, Lucas, remember your basketball career?”
“Hey, I won a championship!”
“It’s a team game, but sure, you won it,” Max said.
“So, Dustin, Steve and Robin are coming down from Boston, and Nancy is flying in from Chicago," Will said. “What about Mike?”
Mike had taken a job in the same finance company as his dad after college. He lived a few towns over from Hawkins. Will got a letter from him every few months and a phone call every few weeks, but they seldom talked about his life. It seemed like Mike didn’t want to.
“I don’t think so,” Max said, her tone conciliatory. “He doesn’t get a lot of time off, and we’re trying to get him to come for Christmas so…”
She trailed off. Everybody trailed off when they talked about Mike.
He took El’s death the hardest. He struggled to move on with life after the horrors of the military takeover of Hawkins and Henry and the Upside Down. Will, Lucas and Max talked about their trauma; together, they worked through it. They turned to each other when nightmares woke them, or flashbacks gripped them. Max majored in Psychology so she could better understand herself and others like her. Will expressed himself through his art. Lucas channelled his frustrations into helping other people. Mike shut himself off.
He stayed close to Hawkins. He told them that El was still out there somewhere. It was a reassuring fantasy—something to help them while they grieved—but one by one, the rest of them had let go of that hope and moved from denial to acceptance. Maybe El was out there, living her life in secret, but the question would drive them mad if they didn’t relinquish it.
Max squeezed Will’s hand. “You should send him one of the posters you designed for Jonathan’s movie. He’d love to see it.”
“Yeah, I'll do that.”
After they ate, Will helped Max to wash up before Lucas dished up cheesecake, and they all squeezed onto their tiny sofa to watch Beverly Hills 90210. They all claimed not to care about the show, but somehow, they all knew every detail about the plot and characters. When the credits rolled, they’d dissect the episode and try to predict storylines. That night, though, Will cut it short.
“I have to go,” Will said. “I told Jonathan I wouldn’t be too late.”
“Can I walk you home?” Lucas asked, pressing a tupperware of leftover chilli into Will’s hand.
Will shook his head. “It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Over a decade since my last abduction, Lucas. I promise I’ll be okay.”
Lucas smirked grudgingly. “That’s still not funny.”
Will hugged them before he left, walking briskly down the dark streets to his home. Joyce fretted about Will and Jonathan’s safety in New York, but Will avoided the most dangerous areas and seldom felt unsafe. Once you’ve been the target of an interdimensional psychopath, muggers don’t seem that frightening.
Will was excited to get back and see Nancy. She was a reporter at the Chicago Tribune, and he enjoyed listening to her stories about life at the paper. The Wheelers were natural storytellers. From what he’d heard, Holly was the Dungeon Master of Hawkins High’s DnD club. Hellfire had never been resurrected, but when Holly and her friends got to high school, they built a new club in its place. It was still a refuge for outsiders; an inclusive place where students could feel safe.
He jogged up the stairs to the apartment and pushed open the door, calling out, “Jonathan? Nancy?”
They were there, clutching bottles of beer, sitting around the low, cluttered coffee table. Someone else was there, too.
“Mike?!” Will dropped his bag of zines and fumbled the tupperware, catching it before it hit the tiled floor and burst open. “Shit, sorry, let me try that again.”
He put the container of chilli into the fridge and picked up his shopping bag, setting it on the counter. Will turned to find that Mike was standing now, ready to greet him.
“Hi, Will,” he said. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”
“Are you kidding? It’s amazing.”
Will pulled Mike into a hug before he could do that awkward avoidance thing he sometimes did. Mike wrapped his arms around Will and held him for a second longer than a cursory hug would normally take. When he pulled away, Will looked at him properly for the first time.
Mike seemed smaller than Will remembered. Not shorter or thinner, just… diminished. His haircut aged him, as did the business casual slacks and shirt he was wearing. He looked more like Ted every time Will saw him. His glasses completed the resemblance. It was as though he was wearing a costume; a little kid, dressed up like his dad.
“You, you look good,” Mike said. “Well, I mean.”
“Thanks. So do you,” Will lied. “I thought you couldn’t make it. Lucas and Max said…”
“I drove to Indiana and twisted his arm,” Nancy said, getting up to hug Will.
She looked good. Her hair was long again, blown out and full of volume. Her structured suits had been updated with oversized shirts and sweater vests that gave her a softer appearance that suited her.
“I’m glad you did,” Will said, returning her hug. “It wouldn’t be the same without him. How are you?”
“Good. Work is full-on, but that’s how I like it. Chicago is great.”
“You met George Clooney yet?”
Nancy chuckled. “Not yet. Not that he’s my type.”
“Nor mine,” Will admitted. “It’s probably closer to Noah Wyle if I had to choose one of the cast.”
Mike stood by, fidgeting with his fingers, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. Will was so used to hanging out with people in his community that he forgot that some people weren’t used to him talking about guys that way.
“Sorry,” Will said. “How was the trip?”
“Fine, yeah. Fine,” Mike said, hand twitching.
“Longer than it should have been,” Nancy added. We just arrived.”
“We’ve got pizza on the way,” Jonathan said. “If you want to join us.”
Will wasn’t hungry, but he nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great. Let me dump my stuff in my room.”
“Cool, I’ll get you a beer.”
In his room, Will closed the door and leaned his back against it. Mike was here, and obviously not as happy about it as he claimed. Maybe he was tired from the travel, or overwhelmed by being in New York; he’d only been here a few times in the past six years, preferring to meet them in Montauk. Whatever, he’d taken Will by surprise, and he hadn’t prepared himself for seeing Mike. Will picked up the phone and dialled Max and Lucas’s number.
Max answered. “Hello?”
“It’s me, I’m home.”
“Lucas, Will survived the journey,” she called out. Will heard a muffled ‘haha’ in response. “Glad to hear it. See you on Friday?”
“Uh…”
“Will, is everything okay?”
“He’s here,” Will whispered. “Mike. In my apartment.”
“Oh. Oh. I guess he is coming, then.”
“What do I do?”
“Jeez, for someone who claims that was just a crush, you’re melodramatic.”
“I’m gay, Max, we’re dramatic by nature.”
“Tell me about it. Okay, first thing is to stop hiding out and whispering into the phone.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“Take a few deep breaths.”
Will gulped air in and out a few times. “What else?”
“Remember that you’re a cool, sought-after artist, a handsome guy that many equally handsome men want to date, and generally a more confident person than when we left Hawkins. And go back out there and talk to him. To everyone.”
Will hung up on Max and tried to compose himself. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. ‘Cool. Sought-after. Artist. Handsome. Confident.’ He felt like some of those things. The rest were a work in progress. He’d learned to fake confidence when he needed to; he could do that now. It was Mike, for god sake, his Mike.
Not his.
Under Vecna’s curse, Will had rejected his love for Mike. He convinced himself that it was just a crush and he had burned that bridge. Mike had helped him light the match. By the time Henry and the Mind Flayer were dead, and Will got his own memories back, it was too late. Any hint that Mike might return Will’s feelings—any signals—were overshadowed by Mike's guilt and grief over El.
“You can do this,” he told himself.