Chapter Text
Echoes of laughter filled the halls, fingers jerking in the direction of Mike. Mike Wheeler, a name nobody cared about until they saw him. The thoughts that kept him up at night, the things he whispered to his reflection, and the hands that held buckets of sin. The same hands that were engulfing his ears to block out the noise. He peeked up from the ground he had been staring at and saw an opening. Without second thought, he dashed through the crowd of people and down the hallway, unaware of his destination, just knowing he needed to get out.
The locker-lined walls disappeared without warning—the school suddenly becoming open air. Mike looked around, confused, but finally able to catch his breath. Blinking slowly, he looked up to notice how flowers began to wilt, and trees began to fall. Whispers surrounded him. Words were unidentifiable, yet increasingly taunting.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Mike began to scream, hands finding themselves over his ears once again. He tried to close his eyes, but all he could see was the world growing, or rather dying, at his mere presence. "Please, please! I'm begging you to stop-"
Mike rose suddenly, gasping and panting as an annoying ringing noise filled the air he was so badly trying to breathe. He opens his eyes, wincing at the initial burning. He reaches up to rub them, clearing his vision of any previous tears. He looks around, no longer seeing the halls of Hawkins High School or the dying scenery that surrounded it. He glances at the subtle flow of the curtains, noting that the AC vent is open and on high. He flicks his tongue against his lips, tasting toothpaste and the tears that had streamed their way into his mouth. He reaches his hands down to feel his bed, slightly soaked with his sweat (a problem he wouldn't worry about until later). Amongst feeling the sweat, he's also overcome by the smell that had been the product of it. But that didn't matter to him.
What matters is that he was in his room. He was safe; nobody was yelling at him, nobody had seen the person he was. He was still plain and simple-
"Mike! Turn your alarm off!" Nancy yells as she's beating on his door.
Yep, this was definitely his real life.
He ponders for a moment before noticing that Nancy's knocking is getting increasingly louder. Right as he reaches over to his phone to press stop, his door is barging open, and his once quiet room is now full of her voice.
"Dude, seriously!" She began, "How do you listen to that for five minutes?" She questions, hands flying up, then back down to her sides. And if that wasn't enough, her hand flies back up to her face, covering her nose. "Mike, this is horrible, you smell like shit!" She groans.
"Well, maybe if you don't storm into my room, you won't have to deal with my smell," Mike says matter-of-factly, proud in his statement for a moment before he glances back up and sees the face Nancy is making, which totally reeks of cringe.
"I seriously cannot deal with this today," Nancy sighs with an eyeroll before glancing around the boys' room, "Please, clean yourself or your room or just anything, really." She finishes. Before Mike can even respond, he hears the door close shut, not quite a slam, but also nothing that shows care or compassion. It can't be that bad, Mike thinks to himself. He lifts his arm and goes to sniff himself, nose instantly scrunching at the smell. Fuck it's bad.
-
A concerning amount of time had been spent lingering in the bathroom. Of course, a well-needed shower was taken as well as the brushing of teeth and hair—all that jazz.
However, Mike couldn't peel his eyes away from the mirror. Although he hated looking at himself, there was something so annoyingly addictive about staring into his reflection. His eyes were glued to his pale skin and the way it sank in around his ribs. Or the way, no matter how small a size he purchased his jeans, they always hung loosely around his waist. And as he lifted his hands to grab his top, he looked at how weak his hands were, shaking at the light weight of a sweater.
Part of him knew that the way he looked was abnormal, but no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to find it within himself to fix it. The most he could do was sigh before turning off the light and exiting the bathroom.
Much to his liking, it was the weekend. This meant playing games, reading comics, and enjoying a break from the noise. Or at least that's what he had hoped. As soon as he found himself under his comforter, lights dimmed, and the room cold, he heard the familiar ringing of his phone. He waited it out, listening as the line continued to ring until it ultimately shut off. Once he had thirty seconds of silence, he let out a sigh of relief, cuddling into his blankets again. His eyes began to flutter shut, then the ringing filled the air again. Groaning, he picked up the phone and hit answer.
"Hi, hello, what do you want?" Mike said, not even attempting to hide the annoyance that had overcome his body.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you just wake up?" a small voice spoke out, sending chills down Mike's body.
It was Will, his Will.
Air found its way trapped inside Mike's throat at his failed attempt to swallow the saliva that had begun to pool in his mouth, resulting in a quick second of choking before he realized the small situation. By not checking the caller ID, he failed to see who was calling him, and therefore just spoke to his best friend as if he were the worst person ever to exist. He fought back the urge to throw his phone and tug at the roots of his hair, deciding to let out a sigh of self-loathing instead.
Oh fuck that sigh sounded targeted.
"Hey, it's fine! I can call back later. Bye, Mike." Will's voice was rushed and plaintive. To this, Mike did throw his phone. How in the hell did he manage to screw up a sub-five-minute phone call? Hell, was the call even a minute long?
Mike's hands flew to his face as he fell back onto his bed, groaning at his stupidity. The whole reason people save contacts is to know whose calling, idiot. This day seriously couldn't get any worse. His thoughts had already been a mess—potentially hurting his best friend's feelings didn't make him think any higher of himself. Why did Will even call in the first place? Was his voice that soft and sad before or after Mike had been an accidental dickhead?
There was only one way to truly find out.
In a few quick movements, Mike found himself swinging his legs off his bed to walk towards the floor where his phone had landed. But of course, as he rounded the corner of his bed, his foot caught the frame as his body flew forward, hitting the ground with a hard thud.
If any more care had existed within him previously, it had fallen with him.
He stretched his body, reaching out in front of him, his arm shaking from nerves, or maybe it was the lack of care towards his health—he didn't know—and grabbed his phone. His fingers wrapped around it, bringing it closer towards his face as he noticed cracks in the screen. He clicked the power button, but there was no response. He clicked again and again, pressed it down and held it, clicked again—all resulted in nothing.
What was that about this day not getting any worse?
Mike could scream, but that might alert everyone in the house and warrant the need for questions. Maybe he could punch a wall? Maybe not, then he might not get his phone fixed, as there would be a bigger problem. Where are his scissors? Should he just chop off all his hair? No, that would get rid of his only redeeming quality and also his most prized possession.
After pushing his frail body off the ground with a sigh and wandering around his room deep in thought for a while, he settled on the easiest solution: biking to Will's house.
Easiest might be a generous word, especially once he got not even five minutes into his forty-five minute bike ride and it started pouring down rain. The skies were insanely clear when he left his house—the rain was entirely unexpected. Except, it really wasn't unexpected, as noticeable clouds were growing closer in the distance; Mike just failed to pick up on the fact.
Unlike any logical person, Mike continued to make his way to the Byers' home on his bike, the drive somehow managing to become much less than the typical forty-five minute stretch. How he was barely able to pull himself out of bed to shower and get dressed earlier, but was able to bike nearly twenty miles in pouring rain, was a mystery that could never be solved.
He was crazy. That had to be the solution. Not the type of crazy people romanticize in a 'romance' novel, but the type of crazy that people get locked up and medicated for. Was he supposed to be this determined to reach his best friend? Biking through the rain as it grew stronger, attacking him like needles to the skin and sending shivers throughout his bones. Not caring about how it became serious in an instant, the branches slowly cracking as thunder pierced the tree branches.
Crazy, he had to be.
His bike tires rolled into the Byers' driveway, pebbles bouncing off the familiar rubber. Mike threw his bike to the ground and ran onto the small wooden porch, stopping at the door. He had twenty miles of biking, yet didn't once consider what he might say. Is he going to apologize for his tone? Or maybe he should apologize for showing up unannounced. Or what if Will had tried to call him, and he had missed it? Should he apologize for that? A million and one possible apologies spilled out of the filing in his brain.
Okay, it's simple: he'll raise his hand to knock on the door, ask to see Will, and just go with the flow. That's all he had to do. He inhaled, taking a deep breath before exhaling at one final attempt to calm his nerves. Okay, you got this-
"Mike?'
The tiny bit of sanity he had left within him fell out of his mouth as it slightly parted at the sight in front of him. Will was standing there, hair messy and thrown all over the place, with wire-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. A large, amber sweater hung off his shoulders, accompanied by relaxed black pinstripe lounge pants. He looked so-
"Good god Mike, you're drenched!" Will moved out of the doorway, "Come inside, you're gonna get sick."
Mike said nothing before stepping into the house, immediately consumed by the warmth of the Byers' home. It smelled like snickerdoodle cookies and freshly lit candles. He looked at Will's face, illuminated by the small bit of light peeking through the light brown curtains.
This is what home feels like.
Mike noticed how Will's mouth was moving, but failed to pick up on any words that came out. He just followed behind Will like a lost puppy, and they ended up in the bathroom. Will grabbed a towel at some point and ran it through Mike's hair, Mike leaning into the comfort that the cotton offered him. "Why did you bike through the rain? Did you not see the clouds?"
Mike looked down at Will, meeting his wonderfully hazel eyes. "No," he responded, "I didn't think to look in the sky." And although stupid, it was at least the truth.
Mike typically wasn't good with that concept—being honest.
Will's movements halted for a second, cheeks dashing with a tint of red, as they made eye contact before he broke it to look back at the mess that was Mike's hair. "Did you forget you have a car? That you can drive?"
"Oh"
Will laughed at his response, wondering how he gained such a clueless friend. Mike smiled at the warm, inviting laugh that Will had possessed. He knew his day was bad before, but that all seemed like a distant memory. Being here, in the warmth of his best friend's presence, made everything feel right again. He knew they had that effect on each other; that's why they were the way they were. Will could call Mike whenever he wanted, and Mike wouldn't hesitate to drop plans for him.
Speaking of, why had Will called him earlier? Was something bothering him?
"Hey Will?" he hummed in response, "Why'd you call earlier?"
He pulled the towel away from Mike's hair and tossed it into the laundry bin. "I just needed some help with the biology homework. We have a test on Tuesday, no?" Will pulled the glasses from his face and wiped the lenses that collected the water that had leaked onto them. He put them back onto his face, pausing for a moment before looking back up at Mike, "Wait, don't tell me you biked all the way here because of our phone call?"
The rain tapped the glass of the small in-shower window; that being the only noise to fill the silence that seemed to drag on for years.
Mike shuffled awkwardly before clearing his throat, "I didn't mean to answer with an attitude! It's just I was having a bad morning and I hadn't checked the caller id before answering the phone and I assumed it was Lucas, or maybe Dustin, and then you just hung up and at some point totally unrelated to the call I threw my phone and now it doesn't work, and so I-" his rambling was cutoff by the sudden warmth of Will's hand over his own.
"Mike, calm down, it's okay."
There it was, the calming nature of Will's voice that made him forget the nightmares he had this morning and the way he looked at himself in the mirror. All Mike could think about in this moment was Will.
"I just care about you—about your feelings," Mike finally responded, short of breath.
Silence found its way washing over them again before Will cleared his throat and drew back his hand, Mike's being hit with the harsh cold once more.
Mike looked down at the ground as he listened to Will speak, "I'm gonna go grab you a change of clothes, okay? You can shower or whatever you want, but I'm not going to let you ride home in this storm." Mike nodded his head, eyes still glued to the ground.
He noticed that Will hadn't left the room yet, and when he looked up, he saw an amber sweater being pulled over his head. Mike had never been so thankful to not see Will's face, because if he did, that meant Will would see his and see how his eyes widened at the surprise of muscle he was hiding underneath baggy clothing and how his face grew red. When in the world did it get so hot?
The sweater had come off Will's head and landed in Mike's lap. His face was just as red as Mike's, if not redder—mimicking that of a tomato. "I-I'm pretty sure this is your sweater anyway, so you can j-just wear that," he whispered, "I'll be back with pants and stuff."
And before he could even process a thought, the door was closed, and what once was Will's presence was now just an empty bathroom and an echoing heartbeat tapping inside Mike's chest just as the rain tapped on the glass.
This was going to be a long night.