Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fall Semester

1991

“I guess I just hated the ending.”

Mike flinches. He sees a few nodding heads in the circle, his heart dropping. Although, he should probably be used to it by now. 

Professor Coleman clears her throat. “Remember class, constructive criticism. Workshops are not helpful or encouraging if we just start listing everything we didn’t like about the story.”

Oh, great. So she didn’t like it either.

It was nearing the end of the semester at Indiana University. Intermediate Creative Writing Seminar was a brutal endeavor that Mike had to go through to make progress on his degree. The class met two times a week. Each week, everyone read two short stories, written by someone in the class, and each lecture they would spend the entire hour giving feedback. Because there were 16 students in the class and 16 weeks in a semester, each student had to write two stories. It was Mike’s turn this week and his story was not getting much love from his cohort. Pretty much every workshop class he has taken, he has been met with the same feedback and yet still can’t bring himself to fix it. Like Sisyphus rolling that stupid fucking boulder up the hill. 

He looks around the workshop. Everyone’s desk is arranged in a circle. With each passing minute, it felt like the circle was getting smaller, tighter. Like a noose around Mike’s neck. 

“There was a lot that didn’t make sense to me,” one student starts. “Why was there so much emphasis on the relationship between the paladin and the sorcerer if the relationship between the paladin and the mage is what actually saved the day?” 

“I would argue the relationship between the paladin and the mage didn’t even save the day,” another student jumps in from the other side of the workshop circle. “Frankly, the paladin was all but narratively useless half way through.”

“It may have been more compelling to explore the relationship between the sorcerer and the mage instead,” another says, flipping through the printed copy of Mike’s story.  “Neither the sorcerer nor the mage had a satisfying resolution. They seemed close, but they didn’t get to say goodbye to each other. Even after fighting the dark wizard together.”

Mike squirms in his seat, dissociating as he reluctantly writes the feedback in the margin of his own printed copy. His eyes flicker to the clock that has been restlessly ticking for almost an hour now. Only a few minutes until the end of class. He tries to breathe and calm his nerves, but clock noises only make him more nervous, for obvious reasons. 

“Alright class, as always, lets finish off with some positives,” Professor Coleman looks around expectantly. 

Nobody says anything. Nothing but the taps of pencils and feet and clock ticks and the sound of Mike’s pulse in his ears. A couple students in his cohort who are well known to always say something positive suddenly had no thoughts. Everyone avoided eye contact. 

Professor Coleman, who was also sitting in the circle directly across from Mike, finally meets his eyes. She smiles tightly. Sympathetically. 

Next academic year, Mike will be working on his senior thesis, which basically includes writing an entire book under the supervision of an academic advisor. Professor Coleman was to be his. Fortunately for Mike, she was a published fantasy author, exactly what Mike hoped to become. Unfortunately for Mike, she had really grown to hate his work. 

“I think it was a really strong concept,” she says. Mike had taken several of her classes. He knows her well. And he knows if that was the best thing that could be said about your work, your work sucks.

Professor Coleman dismisses the class. Every student quickly gathers their copies and rushes out the door, but not before some of them not-so-subtly crumble up and throw away their copy in the trash can by the door. 

“Mr. Wheeler, let’s talk.” Professor Coleman says to him, before he can escape. Mike tenses up, having expected this.

He approaches her desk. The real one, not the one she was sitting on temporarily while in the workshop circle. She says she likes to sit in the circle so she can be on the same level as the students and only now did Mike understand why. With her positioned across from him now, lacing her fingers together like a disappointed parent, he was truly daunted. 

“I’m afraid that you have a bit of a writer’s block,” she begins. “All your stories have the same issues. Although you may change the setting, there is never quite as much heart as I would want. The action is always good-”

Mike wonders why she couldn’t have said that during the painful minute of silence-

“-but these characters never have strong resolutions. It’s like you’re afraid of giving them a happy ending.”

Mike frowns, suddenly frustrated. “So a story is bad just because it has an unhappy ending?”

“Of course not. But the story has to present it as such. And it has to make sense, given what we know of the character. Their motivation. Their history. Their arc. Your endings feel like you are purposely forcing something bittersweet, just for the sake of it. But you can do better. I believe that.”

I believe. 

Fuck. His eyes start to burn. He nods, hoping it wasn’t obvious. 

Professor Coleman looks at him, expression unreadable. She pauses, just long enough for Mike to wonder if she is waiting for him to say something, and then holds her hands up.

“I have an idea. Next semester, try taking some sort of mixed media elective. Like art journalism or painting or digital art forms. You need to get some inspiration from other types of story tellers. See how others express emotion in their work.”

Mike internally groaned, knowing this would mean he would have to drop some other class to make room for it in his spring semester. 

“Okay. Thanks Professor. I will.” 

***

Christmas Break

1991

The party was back in town for the holidays. With Mike living in Bloomington during the school year, he only got to see Lucas and Max during winter and summer. They still lived in Hawkins. Dustin went to school out of state, but either worked as a camp counselor or had an internship during summer months, so Mike only saw him at Christmas. 

And then there was Will. He also went to school out of state, but since Joyce and Hopper moved out of Hawkins, he didn’t even come back during the holidays. He was either with them or in New York City to visit Jonathan. Mike was still in touch with him, but they had not truly hung out since graduation. 

This is the sole reason that when Mike walks down to his basement in Hawkins, where he knew Lucas and Max and Dustin were already waiting for him, his heart leaps to his throat when the first person he sees is Will. 

“Will!” Mike exclaims, rushing forward to hug his best friend he had not seen in so long. It felt like exhaling after being forced to hold your breath. Will’s arms tightened around him and he breathed out the sound of Mike’s name. It tickled his ear and he felt warmth rush through him.

Mike pulls back, suddenly feeling nervous and a little overcome with emotion. He takes in the sight of Will fully. His hair was different, his signature bowl cut replaced with a longer look. One where his hair swooped up and down on both sides, framing his face. His smile was wide and all consuming. He wore a yellow shirt with a blue jacket, the combination of the two colors complimented by the sparkling green in his eyes.  

“Wow, fuck us I guess.”

Mike’s mind snaps back to the present and he turns. Max was staring at him with a quirked up eyebrow, arms crossed. Dustin and Lucas were trying to look offended but mostly looked as if they were about to burst into laughter. 

“Yeah seriously dude,” Dustin says. “You know you also haven’t seen me in a year either, right?”

Mike chuckles, but the noise comes out stuttering. He truly hadn’t noticed them, as if his vision tunneled the second Will came into view. 

It had happened before, that tunnel vision. Like that day on the swings when Mike asked him to be his friend. The day in the hospital after Will was found. The day Will revealed his true form as a sorcerer. 

That last memory rushed into his head, loud and persistent and unwelcome. The memory of Will kneeling there, blood dripping from his nose, the white of his eyes receding back to its normal position. Fire and dead soldiers and demogorgon bodies surrounded Mike, but all he had seen was Will. 

Mike pushed the memory away. He tried to reject most memories of the supernatural events that occurred in Hawkins over the years. Especially those few days in November 1987 when the world was ending. The days leading up to El’s death, when it felt like the world actually did.

“I just- I just wasn’t expecting Will is all.” Mike says, going to hug Dustin. 

“Yeah he wanted to surprise you or something,” Lucas says, getting a tight hug in as well. 

“So what are you doing here, Byers?” Max says. “You didn’t even tell us. Is everything okay?”

“It’s better than okay! I just wanted to give the news in person. Mike-”

Will meets his eyes, his smile wider than Mike had ever seen. “-I’m transferring to Indiana University! There’s a great art program there. A couple of professors I had at my old college actually moved there, so I’m sort of following them. They actually asked me to continue my education with them and my mom said it’s important that I maintain my professional relationship with them because they can give me opportunities when I graduate and-” 

Will starts explaining how most people who major in studio art end up moving to New York City, but struggle to find a job unless they have connections with people in galleries, but Mike had already stopped listening at this point. 

He couldn’t believe it. Will was moving to Bloomington. For the first time in years he would be close to a friend again. Someone who actually knew what Mike had gone through in Hawkins. 

Mike had found it almost impossible to make new friends in college. If he had to guess, he would suspect the same to be true for Will. When people in his cohort weren’t trashing his writing, they wanted to know about Mike’s life. The most interesting thing to ever happen to him was stuff he couldn’t talk about, even if he wanted to. He tried playing D&D with a few of them, but they all really couldn’t care less. He wondered sometimes if that’s why everyone hates his stories so much. Most of, if not all, his work was in some way inspired by his favorite game.

He felt hopeful. Lighter. Will would be with him. Mike wouldn’t have to feel so alone anymore. 

***

“I’m taking a comic art class in the spring if you want to try that!” Will exclaims.

It was a few hours later. The party was packing up their D&D binders after a short one-shot campaign Mike had lazily written a few weeks ago on a night he couldn’t sleep. He actually wrote it for Holly to play with her friends and was planning on giving the plans  to her for Christmas, but he wanted to play it out in completion first. Max complained that it was too easy. Mike made a snide comment about how that just means she wanted to spend more time with him, which shut her up. 

Afterwards, Mike explained his professor’s suggestion, which he had hardly thought of since she did.

“It would probably be exactly what your professor is looking for,” Will continues. “Comic books are stories in a different medium than what you’re used to, so you’d learn a lot.”

“Would I have to be good at drawing though?” Mike was not the artist Will was, clearly. 

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s a lower level elective, so you wouldn’t be graded on artistic talent or anything. I’m only taking it for fun and because a professor from my old school is teaching it. I would think that it would be an easy addition to your schedule.” 

Mike shrugs. “Good enough for me.”

“Even if it’s bad you could draw something inspired by one of your stories. Drawing an OC would get you a ton of good feedback in that class.”

Not my OCs probably, Mike thinks. His cohort sure loves to remind him how shallow and uncomplex some of his original characters are. Considering the fact that some of them are based on himself, it’s not exactly the feedback he likes to hear. 

“Any drawing I do would be a crime against art I think.”

Will laughs, loud and bright. The sound takes up the entire basement. Mike’s heart lurches. Did he always use to laugh like that? 

“Well I’d love to draw something based on your work. Could I read something you’ve written recently?”

The question made Mike tense up, a cold wave of insecurity sending shivers down his spine. He tries imaging Will in that workshop circle, avoiding eye contact and unable to conjure anything positive to say about something he wrote and he starts to feel a little sick.

But why? Will wouldn’t judge him. Hell, he’d probably sing his praises for the entire campus to hear. That’s just the kind of person Will was. 

What story would he even give Will to read? So many were inspired by El in some way. Mike could hide his grief in a group of strangers, but Will would know the truth. He would immediately recognize the stories for what they were, tragic retellings of the day Mike lost her. He could see Will’s sympathetic eyes now, begging Mike to talk about it.

Nope. Fuck that.

Mike swallows thickly. “Yeah, maybe.”

Will’s expression falters for a moment, clearly having expected him to immediately agree. Mike turns away. 

***

Spring Semester 

1992

It was the first day of classes. Introduction to Comic Art was in a building Mike had never gone to and therefore didn’t properly estimate the amount of time it would take to get to. In the grand tradition of every first class of every semester he had been in college, he was late. 

Mike slips into the small lecture hall. The tips of his ears and nose were red from the cold outside. His eyes find Will immediately, but he is sitting in the front row. Mike curses internally and for a moment considers if it was even worth it to sit by him. He silently walks down the lecture hall steps to find his place next to Will as the professor continues to go over the syllabus for the semester. 

“-and your final project will include creating a full comic strip. I recommend pairing with someone with complimentary skills. Usually one person is more in charge of the story, while the other is in charge of the drawings.”

Will looks at Mike and matches his grin, already thinking the same thing as him. Mike was happy they had so easily slipped into a routine together, already finishing each other’s thoughts. Will didn’t even look surprised that Mike was late, he knew him that well. 

After going over the syllabus, the professor does a short lecture on the history of comic strips, highlighting the most famous comic artists and their preferred styles. Mike finds it interesting, but he can’t help but have his attention be completely captured by Will. 

Will’s eyes were glowing with joy and reverence while listening to the lecture. He was scribbling notes like his life depended on it, all while Mike was keen to just listen. They weren’t getting tested on this or anything, right?

Will is clearly in his element. Mike thinks back to some of the letters they exchanged over the years when Will would give him an update on his life. He was always gushing about whatever class he was taking. The professors were always geniuses, the assignments always fulfilling. 

It is only now that Mike was starting to realize just how much Will had meant it. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe him, but Mike had always wondered if Will had been exaggerating for the sake of having something to say. Mike does that often when his mother asks him about college.

Mike loves writing, but these days it felt like something he had to do for survival, rather than something to bring him joy. He wakes up each day feeling like he is drowning and the only way to breathe again is to write something down. As if that would expel the toxins inside him. 

The fantasy worlds he created in his mind were the only places he felt truly known. Mike the Brave in all his various forms, fighting a fictional evil again and again, but still ending up alone. Mike wrote his stories to make sense of this constant storm in his heart. He forced his pain onto the page, only for a circle of judgemental college kids to tell him how fucking repetitive and boring and unfullfiling his work was. And Mike just wanted to yell at them boo-hoo! The knight doesn’t always save the kingdom and sometimes the magic of the world is taken from you and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Reality feels like a weight crushing him, forcing him to be something he never wanted. He wasn’t Mike the Brave in real life. He wasn’t a knight in shining armor that the kingdom needed… as much as he wished he was. 

The lecture ends and the professor comes over to greet Will. 

“Mr. Byers! I’m so thrilled you were able to make the transition to this program. It’s so good to see you again.” The professor thrusts out his hand.

Will grips it tightly, shaking. “Hi Professor Vance! It was all thanks to you I was able to transfer in the first place! Fantastic lecture by the way.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, son. I can’t wait to see what you create this semester. Your work is like a ray of light-”

“-oh stop, no-”

“It is! The way you see the world,” Professor Vance holds a hand over his heart. “It’s just beautiful. Hopeful and radiant.”

Mike watches them interact. Professor Vance asks about his holidays, about Mrs. Byers and his stepdad, about what he’s been painting recently. Will happily chats and Mike is once again completely taken aback by him. Mike’s eyes are glued to his best friend. The boy he thought he knew, inside and out.

He’s always quiet. The memory of Lucas’s comment about Will in the fall of 1984 jumps back to Mike.

But Will wasn’t quiet anymore. He was loud. His hands gesticulated wildly as he told Professor Vance of his current projects. He was grinning so wide his teeth were showing. Mike's heart pounded in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t place was begging to be acknowledged, but all Mike felt was shock.

When did he become so… happy? And confident?

Since 1987, it has felt like Mike has been in a maze the world created. A trap that he thought everyone else was in too. But Will had clearly found the exit. What had Will done that allowed him to escape?

Mike frowns. He should be happy for Will. He is, but….

But…

Why couldn’t Mike feel this way too?

***

“Do you have any idea what kind of story you want to do for the final project?”

Mike was over at Will’s dorm. Because Will was a transfer student and hadn’t been there in the Fall semester, he unfortunately got a poor choice of rooms. It was in a building on the outskirts of campus and clearly had not been refurbished since the year it was built. The room smelled vaguely like mildew and the heater was broken, so the boys had to keep their coats on indoors. Will didn’t have much stuff and he had only barely begun to unpack. The walls of the dorm room were bare. His art supplies were strewn haphazardly across his desk and his various flannels were in a mess on his bed. 

Mike had brought over his Super Nintendo game console and they were currently playing Final Fantasy IV, sitting crossed legged on the dingy carpet. 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking a bit about it,” Mike lies.

“Well let me hear it!” Will says, not turning to look at him. His fingers rapidly click the game controller buttons as he squints at the tiny screen they were huddled in front of.

“Uhhhhh- well remember that-” Mike’s mind is blank. He’d have to make something up on the spot. ”Remember that campaign we did as kids, the one where we had to escape through the sewers and you cast fog cloud to save the whole party?

Mike can hear Will’s smile in his response. “Of course.”

"Well, I was thinking we could do a comic strip that retells that story. But maybe instead of saving the whole party, the fog cloud spell backfires. And the heroes are the ones who get disoriented, not the monsters. And the spell makes them think that everything they thought was true was actually a lie. And the monsters end up killing all of them, but one of them manages to escape. Then that hero can go on and tell the story of the dangers of magic and the-”

Will pauses the game suddenly, interrupting Mike, and faces him frowning. “What?”

 Mike looks back, confused. “What?”

“That’s a horrible ending.”

Mike scowls at him, unpausing the game to get back to the fight sequence they were in. The game surges back to life for a moment before Will pauses it again. “Mike, come on. Don’t you even remember what that campaign was about?”

“Yeah, of course I do, Will. I fucking wrote it.”

“Then you can’t be serious. That campaign was all about the power of trust and the importance of friendship. I didn’t cast fog cloud so I could get away alone. I did it so everyone could. We went on that journey together, so we all deserved to win.”

Mike presses his lips together. “Well that’s the thing about Dungeons and Dragons. When the party wins, the dungeon master technically loses." 

Will leans forward, causing Mike to instinctively lean back. “You were just as much a part of the group as anyone else. You’re our paladin. You’re more than just a story-teller you know.”

Mike clicks his teeth. “Sounds like I’m a pretty bad story-teller.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Although that was a bad idea, though.” Will nudges him, making Mike smile. 

“So what’s your suggestion?”

Will throws up his hands in mock exacerbation. “Mike! You don’t have to rewrite the story at all! Let’s do a comic strip of that campaign, exactly as it happened when we played it. Fog cloud saves the day! Our heroes are victorious!”

Will smiles at him. The words Professor Vance said to Will ring in Mike’s ear. Your work is like a ray of light. Hopeful and radiant.

A distant thought of his, that Will’s smile is a ray of light as well, races around Mike’s mind without invitation. 

“I’m not sure…” Mike says. “Isn’t that not… interesting enough?”

“You want to write a sad story just to make it more interesting?”

Mike chews on his bottom lip. “I guess because it just seems more realistic.”

A silence stretches between them. Will’s face softens and Mike knows he has him all figured out. Will always understood him.

Another memory roars to life inside him. You understand me. Better than anyone.

Mike severs his gaze from Will and unpauses the game. This time, Will doesn’t stop him. 

***

The semester continues. Mike and Will are sitting across from each other at the library. Will was sketching something for his Renaissance Art and History class. Mike was writing an essay on foreshadowing for a Literary Analysis class.

The two boys often met up to work on assignments together. Even if they didn’t talk, Mike far preferred it to what his life was last semester, which included sleeping in and procrastinating assignments until the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep. Will had impressively tight schedule habits he was committed to rubbing off on Mike.

“Does this look alright?” Will says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

“Yeah,” Mike says back.

“Mike, you didn’t even look.”

“I don’t need to, everything you make always looks good.”

Will doesn’t respond for a moment, which prompts Mike to look up. He had been expecting more of a protest. Will was staring at him, giving him what could only be described as…puppy dog eyes.

Mike sighs. “Fine.”

Mike had been trying to avoid looking at Will’s work, afraid that it would conjure more insecurity to fester inside him. This was a stark contrast to how he acted when they were kids. Innocent and untarnished by supernatural events. Back then, Mike would always ask Will to show him what he’d been working on. Mike kept binders of Will’s sketches, and decorated his basement with them. He used to look to them for comfort. 

These days, he feared what emotions that Will’s art would manifest. Fearing what Will would force him to confront. He knows how much inspiration Will finds in his friends, so Mike couldn’t bear to envision what memories would haunt him at the sight of Will’s art.

Will turns his page around hesitantly and slides it over to Mike, who was bracing himself. Mike didn’t know anything about Renaissance style art, save for the few times Will had shown him famous sketches done by di Vinci and other artists he couldn’t remember. Based on his limited knowledge, it appeared like Will nailed the anatomical accuracy that is (apparently) a key characteristic of the era. However, it was what he had drawn that took Mike’s breath away. 

It was a picture of El. Just her face, turning over a shoulder to look at the viewer. She wore a gown that would be fitting of a noble lady in the Renaissance period. Her hair was the length it was in the summer of 1985, grown just above her shoulder.

She was smiling in the sketch. The corner of her lips was quirked up that subtle way she did. Her skin looked soft, even on paper. Her brown eyes were full of kindness. 

Mike stares at it, his own mouth parted in surprise. It felt like he was really looking at her.

What was most surprising to Mike, however, was how happy it made him. 

The second he recognized El on the page, he braced himself for misery. He waited for that anguish and pain and heartache he had been used to, as if he was standing under a dark cloud waiting for the lightning to strike. He waited for memories of her death to bring back the feeling of drowning, to fill his lungs with nothing but the thought of losing her. 

But the way Will had captured her in this piece…it conjured happy memories instead. Thoughts of her wide smile when she tried out Ted Wheeler’s La-Z-Boy for the first time. Thoughts of her at the snowball dance, of her on the bed at Hopper’s cabin when he used to yell at them for not leaving the door open.

Mike realized it had been so long since he thought of El in a positive way, in a way that didn’t make him sick or make him angry or make him sob. 

It was a sobering realization that however similar he thought he and Will were, there was this key difference between the two of them. Mike did nothing but capture pain in his work. All Will did was capture joy in his.

Tears began to trickle down Mike’s cheeks, but they were a welcome occurrence. A reminder that crying can sometimes feel like happiness overflowing within you, rather than a method of carving out the thing you hate from inside.

“You like it?” Will asks, quietly, like he is afraid of interrupting Mike’s thoughts.

Mike wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah.” He says, handing the paper back to him. 

“God, I forget this feeling.”

Will tilts his head, intrigued. “What feeling?”

Mike laughs, the sound coming out strangled. “I don’t know. The feeling I had when she was around. Like magic is real.”

Will smiles. “Magic is real.”

Mike smiles back. He knows that. Will is a living reminder of that too. Perhaps that is what he had really forgotten. “I miss her,” he says.

“Me too.”

***

Will successfully convinces Mike that they should do the original ending of the fog cloud campaign for their comic strip final project. So, Mike goes through his old D&D notes and begins to write the campaign as a short story that they can reference for plot threads and dialogue in the comic strip. Will begins to work on the sketches for each comic panel.

Mike is also in the Advanced Creative Writing Seminar this semester, taught by Professor Coleman again. When it gets to his turn to be in the workshop hotseat, he turns in this short story.

When he comes into class the following week, he is full of dread. He sits down in his usual seat, as much in the corner of the room he can manage with the chairs in a circle, and braces for impact. 

“Who would like to start us off today?” Professor Coleman says, jovilly.

Multiple students raise their hands. Mike prepares himself for the endless barrage of thinly veiled insults.

But it never comes. 

The class loved it. 

“I thought it was so beautiful how the sorcerer loved his team so much that he refused to leave them behind.”

“I loved how the fog cloud spell was foreshadowed earlier in the story. The sorcerer makes a comment about how he wishes he could hide from the world’s judgement, and then ‘hiding’ is exactly what allows him to save the people who never judged him for who he truly was.”

“The relationship between the paladin and the sorcerer was so compelling. It really came full circle when the paladin being in danger is what triggered the sorcerer to use fog cloud.”

“The ending just made sense. It felt like we were building towards it the entire story. It was very emotionally satisfying.”

Mike couldn’t believe it. The praise kept on coming. Rather than Professor Coleman seeking positive comments like it was pulling teeth, now she had to specifically request constructive criticism so Mike would have helpful comments to edit his work. But the class had hardly anything negative to say. 

Afterwards, Professor Coleman ushered Mike to the front of the class.

“Really well done, Michael. That comic art class must be quite the inspiration to you.”

Not really, Mike thinks. He enjoys the class well enough, but all it has done is confirm art is not where his true talent lies. That’s all Will.

“Yes, it has been very enlightening.”

“Thrilled to hear it. Keep up the good work.”

***

Mike walks to Will's dorm room after his last class of the day, hopeful that he’ll want to grab some dinner. 

When he arrives, Will is clearly dressed up for something. He is wearing a blue button up shirt and… shit. Is Will wearing an earring?

“Mike! I wasn’t expecting you. Come in! Come in!”

Mike awkwardly enters, now worried he was overstepping. “Yeah, sorry, just wanted to see if you wanted to grab something to eat.”

Will grins at him, fiddling with his hair to get that perfect swoopy look that reminds Mike vaguely of Leonardo DiCaprio. 

“I’d love to, but I’m actually going out tonight. I’m meeting some friends at Bullwinkle’s Nightclub.”

It was a lot of information for Mike to process all at once. First, he now had to reckon with the fact that Will had only been at this school for a few weeks now and already had friends. Plural. 

The second piece of information that rattled Mike was that Bullwinkle’s Nightclub was famously a gay bar.  

His heart begins sinking inexplicably. He starts fidgeting with his hands.

“Oh- gotcha. Yeah. Cool. Next time then,” He stammers. 

Will didn’t seem to notice his distress. And why would he? Mike shouldn’t be in distress. Will can have other friends. Will, an gay man, can go to a gay bar. 

“Wait! You should come with me!” 

Mike freezes. Is that even allowed? No, that was as stupid question. Don’t ask that-

“Is that even allowed?” 

Will laughs. “Yeah of course. It’s an inclusive space. As long as you’re respectful, straight people can go.”

For some reason, that explanation made Mike feel even worse.

Mike shuffles on his feet. He is thinking of a ways to politely decline, but Will is persistent. He grabs Mike’s shoulders.

“Seriously, Mike. Come! You have got to loosen up. When’s the last time you did something just for fun?”

Mike doesn’t know the answer to that question. All he knows is Will is staring at him with those green eyes, shimmering with a joy Mike hadn’t felt since Will fell back into his daily life over Christmas break. Mike figures drowning himself in that particular shade of green was better than the blackness of that void, haunting his dreams, unable to be forgotten. If he left now, there would be nothing to keep him company but repressed memories and half written stories begging to be finished.

What about the story-teller? What happens to him? Will’s voice in his head-

Find out, Mike thinks. Finish the story, please, he begs himself. 

“Fine! Fine. I’ll come.”

***

The club is loud and crowded. So crowded in fact, that Mike distantly has a thought that he is surprised there were so many gay people in Bloomington, Indiana. Although, he supposes that half the people here could be dragging their friend along with them the way Will was with him. 

The only lights on were colored strobes. The one above the bar was a dark blue, reflecting from the shining black counter like an ocean at night. There was a checkered dance floor off to one side, illuminated by a yellow spotlight that moved side to side, creating an effect that seemed like the lights were beaconing the patrons to dance alongside them, like the sun calling plants to its shine. Occasionally, the yellow spotlight moved and interacted with the blue above the bar, creating a deep green when the two colors touched. 

Will immediately pulls Mike over to the bar.

“Aren’t you two a little young to be here?” the bartender asks when they both sit down on stools. The man was shirtless sans a denim vest and sported long curly dark hair. When he raises his eyebrows at the two boys, Mike swears he sees Eddie Munson reincarnated. 

“Maybe,” Will says. “But they let us in didn’t they?”

Mike can tell Will is attempting to sound confident, which he usually excels at these days, but in this very moment his question does come off as a genuine one. His inflection at the end is tinted with some obvious naivete. The bartender laughs.

“I’m just messing with you kid. I literally couldn’t care less. What can I get you?”

“Um-” Will looks panicked.

Mike leans in and whispers in his ear. “Is this your first time in a bar?”

Will whispers back. “Yeah duh, I’m not 21!” 

Mike snorts, his nerves dissipating. He couldn’t believe he entertained for a moment that Will would feel more at home in a place like this than Mike did. It makes him feel exponentially better that they were both newbies in this situation. 

The bartender places two glasses in front of them, filled with a light red liquid. Mike points suspiciously at it. 

“What’s that? We didn’t even order anything.”

The bartender’s left eyebrow quirks up. “Clearly you guys have no idea what you’re doing. These are vodka cranberries. I’m starting you two off with something simple.”

“Works for me!” Will exclaims, putting down a credit card on the counter. “Keep the tab open!”

Mike leans in again. “What?”

Will shrugs and whispers back. “I don’t know what a tab is either, but I think I’ve heard it in movies.”

Mike smiles, endeared at their lack of awareness. He holds up one of the glasses. “Cheers.”

Will grins at him, his white teeth reflecting some of the blue light from above them. Mike feels a bit lightheaded looking at Will, which confuses him. He hadn’t even taken a drink yet. 

“Cheers!” Will responds. They clink their glasses together and take a sip. 

It tastes good. Sweeter than Mike thought it would be, but it burns in his stomach as he swallows. Mike chugs the whole thing and slams the cup down on the bar. 

“I’ll have another.” 

The bartender obliges, but holds out a hand in a stopping motion in front of Mike. “If that was your first drink ever, you better pace yourself, kid.”

Mike rolls his eyes. He’s not a kid. He chugs the second drink too, which was even sweeter than the first, and lets the effect wash over him like a wave. Better this than drowning in his own stupid fucking thoughts. He looks back at Will, who had only taken a few sips. Mike frowns.

“You don’t like it?”

Will shakes his head in protest. “No, no, no, I do! I’m just meeting some friends here, remember? I can’t get too drunk before they get here.”

Mike pouts. He had actually already forgotten that. He pushes Will’s glass closer to him. 

“You’re the one who dragged me here to ‘have fun’ and ‘loosen up’. Now drink!”

Will looks at him curiously, and only then did Mike realize how close they were. At some point since sitting down, Mike had scooted his stool close to Will. While pushing Will’s drink closer, he had leaned his entire body in. Of course, this was mostly so Mike could hear Will better over the noise of the talking patrons and the music. Mike realizes his hand is also balancing himself on Will’s shoulder. He doesn’t remember doing that either.

Mike can see every speck of color in Will’s eyes. He could see the complete absence of blemishes on Will’s skin. He can start to see some color rising to Will’s cheeks. Mike’s eyes chase every detail he can notice on Will’s face.

Wow, alcohol takes effect quickly. Mike didn’t think only two drinks could do this. 

He makes no move to lean back, like the alcohol was weighing him down. Or pulling him in. Will clears his throat. 

“D-do you want to go dance?” Will says, pointing at the checkered floor with the moving club lights. He smiles sheepishly.

“Um, I-” Mike starts. It didn’t sound like his thing, so he was a moment away from declining, until a new song started on the speakers. A bass, followed by a few keys of a piano. 

Under Pressure. David Bowie and Queen. 

The air between Mike and Will, which was thick with something Mike couldn’t place, suddenly buzzed with a different kind of energy. The two boys grin at each other and shriek with delight. 

They love this song.  

Will downs his vodka cranberry and they leap from their seats, running to the dancefloor like children. 

The yellow lights above them flash orange for a moment, reminding Mike of the time he wanted to dye his hair a bright orange. That decision was fueled by none other than David Bowie himself. And listening to David Bowie’s voice on the speaker now, Mike can’t believe he let Nancy talk him out of that. 

Mike looks to Will, who was mouthing the lyrics along with the song. Will reaches out and brushes Mike’s hair with his fingers. 

“I’m so glad Nancy talked you out of that orange mohawk idea.”

“I was just thinking about that!”

“How could you not! I think about it every time I hear David Bowie!”

Mike laughs, louder than he probably had all year. He jumps up and down with Will, who had gone from lipsyncing to full chest belting.

Can’t we give ourselves one more chance? Why can’t we give love one more chance?

Everyone on the dance floor is jumping with them, singing louder and louder as the bridge of the song reaches its full volume.

“Why can’t we give love! Give love! Give love! Give love! Give love-”

Will had moved closer to him. He is spinning in circles with the music. Mike can’t look away.

Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word. And love dares you to care for-

Will is losing balance, reaching out, holding his hands on Mike’s shoulder to keep from falling over, like Mike had done to him at the bar. 

To change our way of caring about ourselves-

Someone bumps into Will’s back, forcing him even closer. 

This is our last dance-

Mike reaches forward to meet him half-way. His veins feel electric, his head swimming. He places his hands on Will’s waist to steady himself.

This is ourselves-

Will smiles at him, eyes a little glazed with drunkenness and affection. Of course he’s a lightweight, Mike thinks fondly. His chest feels tight. They were so close to each other.

Under pressure. 

The song fades back out, quickly as it came, with those famous bass and piano notes. Mike looks at Will, eyes roving over his flushed cheeks and those beautiful green eyes that reflected blue and gold from the lights around them. He can smell the vodka cranberries on his breath. 

Mike feels a pressure in his stomach, his chest, on his back pushing him forward. Will looks back at him softly, with a slight furrow in his brow like he can’t believe what he is seeing. Mike’s eyes flutter shut, like the dance floor and the strobe lights and the sight of Will’s slightly parted lips were suddenly too much to look at. 

His mind is moving slower than his body. He starts to lean in, so much so that he felt a ghost of a breath against his mouth-

“Byers!” A loud voice yells. Mike’s eyes snap open again and Will is suddenly being ripped from his grasp. 

He watches Will turn to the voice Mike doesn’t recognize. It is a boy around their age. He was taller than Will, had dark hair like Mike, and was grinning at Will like he was the entire world. Mike frowns.

“Carlton!” Will exclaims, pulling the stranger into a tight hug. Mike takes a step backwards, accidentally bumping into someone behind him. He can feel the effects of the vodka cranberry wearing off. The scene before him is incredibly sobering. 

Why? Will warned me he was meeting friends here. This shouldn't be such a surprise.

“I’ve missed you!” The stranger named Carlton says. 

“Well that’s your fault for not going to class.”

Carlton waves him off. “Whatever, the professor is probably thrilled I’ve been ditching.” Carlton leans into Will’s space. Every inch he gets closer, Mike feels the pressure in his stomach build. Carlton puts his mouth by Will’s ear, so close his bottom lip is touching the metal of Will’s earring. He lowers his voice, but Mike hears him anyway. 

“You were the only reason I was going to class in the first place.”

Will giggles, actually giggles, and playfully shoves Carlton away. But as soon as there was space between them, Will was closing it again to say something back.

Mike doesn’t stick around to learn what it was. He turns around on his heel and leaves.

His face is hot. From the bar, or the drinks, or the dancing and singing, or another completely unrelated reason that was building a fire in his chest, like someone on a lost island making a rescue signal begging to be found…he didn’t know. He just knew he had to get the fuck out of there.

He feels stupid and he doesn’t know why. He feels like he was reading a book, desperate to know the end, only to find the pages ripped out right before the finale. He feels like he did when he wrote his own stories, his heart wanting some happy ending for Mike the Brave in all his different worlds and physically unable to do so, not even knowing what that would look like, scratching black lines over that ending until his paper tore. Before he crumpled it up and threw it away and wrote only what he knew. Only what he deserved.

Mike the Brave, learning he wasn’t that brave after all.  

***

Mike decides to go home for a few days. The events at the bar the night before had shaken him. He woke up with swollen eyes and a painful heartache and a confusing migraine. He chalks it up to the drinks he had and forces it from his mind. 

He doesn’t have a car, so he has to take a few long bus rides to Hawkins, which takes up an entire day. It was all last minute, so his mom didn’t know he was coming until she received a call from him using the central Hawkins bus stop payphone, after which she promptly picked him up. 

Karen Wheeler could clearly sense something was bothering her son, but luckily for Mike she didn’t press. Mike dumps his bags in his childhood room, which was still predominately intact, and goes to sleep. He hopes this time he will feel better upon waking up. 

That was a bunch of hopeful thinking. The next day, Holly learned he was visiting and all but pulled him out of bed, already pestering him about something.

“Mike, I need help making a character sheet again.”

Mike groans. “How many times do we have to go over this?”

Holly is full of energy. She bounces around him as they venture to breakfast together. 

“I still don’t get it! How do the stats work? Why do we have to roll to get the stats? It's basically just random then!”

“It’s not fucking random-”

“Langauge!” Ted Wheeler chimes in while pouring coffee. 

“It’s a very calculated game design-”

“Alright. No game talk at the table,” Karen interrupts. “You’re visiting for a few days. Let’s have a nice meal together.”

Mike sighs, secretly happy that his mother stopped the conversation. He was happy for all of two seconds before she opened her mouth again. 

“So how’s Will? You must be so happy you have a friend with you in college.”

Memories of the night before flash into his mind. His mouth, inches from Will’s…

“He’s fine,” Mike says, his pulse in his throat as if he was living that moment again. Holly and Karen exchange a look. 

“Is everything okay between you? I thought you too were still so close…”

“I said he’s fine, Mom. We’re fine. There’s nothing to tell.” Mike stabs his fork into the sausage on his plate and doesn't look at them again. 

When they’re clearing the table, Mike tries to escape before Holly can corner him. To no avail. 

“Mike, seriously. I need help.”

“Do none of your friends understand it either? You guys can read the manual, you know.” Mike tries to walk around her, but she stomps her little foot and glares at him. 

“Please, Mike. I need you.”

El needs you, Mike. And she always will. Will’s voice in his head, again.

Holly looks up at him, her anger dissipating into genuine desire, with a touch of desperation. All she wants is her brother to help her with something that means so much to the both of them. Mike sighs.

“Okay.”

They go down to the basement together and Mike walks her through how to make a character sheet. The memories of the nightclub all became a distant drum in his temple. He grounds himself with the sound of his younger sister’s laughs. He soothes his heartache with the feeling of being needed by someone he loved. And, like he always had, he forgets his worries by escaping into the world of Dungeons and Dragons. Mike the Brave leading Holly the Heroic.

***

A few days later he was back in his dorm room. The trip home was a much needed respite. He got to see Lucas and Max, though third-wheeling their perfect relationship gets tiresome rather easily. 

He hears a knock on his door while unpacking. Before he opened it, he already knew who it was. 

“Hi Will.”

Will looks at him, concerned. “Where have you been? I’ve been coming by every day to see if you’re here. I even asked your RA if he had seen you, but nobody had.”

Mike steps out of the doorway, so Will can enter. “I went home for a few days. Sorry for not telling you.”

“Okay…” Will says. “Are you alright? I was really worried when you just disappeared the other night.”

God, how does Mike even explain this to him? Sorry I freaked out for some reason. You got really close to me on the dance floor and then seconds later was flirting with someone else and I was-

What?

“Yeah I’m fine. I just got a bit too drunk I think. I started to feel sick.”

Will didn’t really look satisfied with that answer. Understandably, considering he knew Mike had only had two drinks that night. Maybe Mike can pass it off like he’s a huge light weight. It was his first time in a bar too after all.

Mike is about to suggest they play some Final Fantasy together, mostly to help Mike shake off the weird feeling that is creeping back into his chest, when Will’s eyes spot something behind him. Mike turns to follow his gaze.

The painting of the party fighting the red dragon. The one Will had given him in the van in New Mexico. It was hung up on his dorm room wall.

“You…still have that?” Will says, as if he is in a trance. He walks forward and reaches to run his fingers along the canvas. Will’s eyes start to glaze over as he admires his work. 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Will shrugs, absentmindedly, like he didn’t have an answer to the question. He stares at the painting for a few more moments before turning back to look at Mike. He smiles so sweetly it almost knocks Mike off his feet. 

“I guess... I just didn’t know if you would still like it after…”

He trails off. Mike nods his head, beginning to understand. 

“Yeah, I mean- it definitely makes me sad to look at. I don’t really know why El ever saw me in that way.”

Will freezes, his smile dropping. Mike continues.

“It barely made sense to me then, but it especially doesn’t after she… you know. I just wish I could have been that to her in those last moments. Maybe I could have convinced her to stay.” 

Mike grows somber, but Will says nothing. Mike had expected him to give some words of encouragement, like he so often does, but he fell silent. He was avoiding Mike’s eyes, looking from the floor to the painting and back again. 

Mike curses himself. He was being so insensitive. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong! The painting is amazing! You did such a good job!”

He hoped that would perk Will back up, but it didn't. Will looks even sadder than he did a moment before. Mike likes to think he knows Will pretty well, and he can see so many things happen inside Will all at once. Thoughts racing in his head, words on the tip of tongue, and finally… some sort of resignation. 

Whatever he is about to say, he clearly swallows them down again. The emotions on his face melt away like snow in the spring and he smiles at Mike.

“You don’t have to make sense of it. You just have to believe that’s how El saw you. There was nothing you could have done.”

He doesn’t know what Will is thinking, but Mike feels the absence of words unsaid, like a black hole in space, pulling him to a truth he isn’t yet ready to face.

***

Spring Break 

1992

In mid-April, Mike and Will have a week off from school. Will was taking the time to go visit his brother in New York City, while Mike travels home to Hawkins again. 

For the first time ever, Dustin’s spring break is aligned with Mike’s, so he is also back in town. Mike is relieved to have someone with him alongside Lucas and Max. He now has a third-wheeling partner. 

The semester had been going well for Mike. His stories were getting much better feedback than before. He could tell Professor Coleman was no longer dreading being his academic thesis advisor next year.

He was running one of his stories as a one shot campaign with Lucas, Max, Dustin, and Holly. Holly was playing the part of a cleric. Mike explained that with Will gone, they really needed some magic in the group. There was no complaint from the rest of the party to include her of course. Max had a favorite Wheeler child and it was definitely not Mike. She and Holly were so attached at the hip, Mike thought that even Lucas was getting jealous at the lack of attention from his girlfriend. 

Holly throws her D20, and the party tenses up, watching and waiting as it flips over a few times before landing on a 19. The group cheers.

“That’s a hit!” Mike exclaims. “The orc stumbles backwards off the edge of the volcano, taking the dark stone with him. The connection between the dark stone and the village is severed in a plume of fire and ash. Congratulations heroes! You have saved the day!”

Holly and Max high five. Lucas and Dustin chest bump. 

“That’s probably the best one shot you’ve written in a while,” Max notes as they begin to put the figurines away. 

“I bet I know why,” Dustin says coyly. 

Mike makes a face at him “Oh yeah?”

“Duh. Will is helping you, obviously. This campaign has his scent all over it.”

Mike shrugs, unable to deny it. Will has been helpful in keeping Mike on track with his stories. Every time Mike even entertains a bad ending in a first draft, Will immediately shuts it down as if the characters were real people Will couldn’t stand to see gone. 

“I’m so happy you guys are so close again,” Lucas says, which throws Mike off. 

“What do you mean? We’ve always been best friends.” 

“Yeah but it's hard to be long distance best friends,” Dustin explains, gesturing pointedly between the three of them. “It’s just nice to see you happy again.”

Mike frowns. “Okay. Thanks I guess.”

“Yeah, Will was always the friend you liked the most,” Lucas presses on.

Holly giggles and Max elbows her. 

“What? That’s not…true,” Mike protests.

“No it totally is! You talk to him differently than us. You care what he thinks more than you care about what we think for sure,” Lucas continues, clearly oblivious to Mike’s uncomfortable squirming. “Remember the summer of 1985 where Will was mad at us and you made me bike to his house with you in pouring rain to apologize?"

“Well, I-”

“Oh, that summer was also when you and Will were basically on a double movie date with Lucas and I when we all saw Day of the Dead!” Max chimes in. Holly shoves her, laughing like a maniac. 

“Okay! Whatever! I was friends with him first, sorry.” Mike frowns, feeling far too perceived at the moment, like the party was blinding him with an interrogation flashlight. 

Dustin laughs. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just saying I’m happy he’s there for you.”

Mike nods, avoiding the looks of Max and Holly, who were trying not to laugh again. He doesn’t say anything else, but he can’t help but think…me too.

***

Spring Semester 

1992

After Spring Break, and Will returns to campus alongside Mike, he can’t help feeling like he had done something to anger Will. 

Will wasn’t the kind of person to get angry, but there was now some distance between them. Mike only saw him when they were in class together or working on their final project, but even then Will often would just tell Mike in passing that he was behind on other classwork to get out of it.  

One week ago, Mike had actually gotten to class early. He went to sit in the front row, where Will usually was, only for Will to be the late one that day and for him to choose to silently find a seat in the back of the class. 

Okay, Mike had thought. Will is shy sometimes, he wouldn’t want to make a scene walking down the steps when class was in session.

But after class, Mike had gone to talk to him, only to be brushed off and told he was late for something else. 

This lasted a few weeks. Mike tried to accept it, telling himself that Will probably did have a lot of work to catch up on, but this drop in Will’s presence in his life was bringing back a writer’s block. 

He was currently sitting at his dorm room desk, fingers brushing over his typewriter keys. His third and final short story for Advanced Creative Writing Seminar was coming up. His last one, a retelling of King Arthur and Merlin, had also received nothing but positive feedback from his workshop. After that and the fog cloud campaign story, he felt even more pressure than usual to deliver one last time. 

But with Will seemingly avoiding him… it felt like the words couldn’t come. He had an idea of a story, but he couldn’t envision a climax. His mind was stuck on the rising action, like a record scratching right before the chorus of a song. 

He has felt this absence of Will in much more extreme ways. Mike liked to remind himself of this fact to avoid spiraling too deep. Will has gone missing and been possessed by other worldly evils. He has been trapped in alternate dimensions. He’s been in a coma, trapped in Vecna’s mind, just out of reach. He has moved out of Indiana, multiple times. Mike should almost be used to it by now, should be thankful that this time Will had disappeared from his daily life he was at the very least safe and within only a few miles of Mike. However, strangely, now more than ever he felt desperate to make sure Will could never weasel his way out of Mike’s life again. 

If these last few years had anything to show for what Mike’s life would be without Will by his side…Mike didn’t want it. Mike didn’t want to go back to the way things were last semester. He couldn’t. 

This is our story. And it starts with getting Will back. His own voice in his head this time, strong and assured.

Mike sat there for what felt like forever, no progress made on his work, that he barely even noticed when the clock indicated he’d be late for Introduction to Comic Art… again.

“Fuck,” Mike says aloud, grabbing his bag and racing out the door. 

The trees on campus were in bloom, the weather getting a little warmer than before. Mike biked across campus and distantly noted that it smelled like a rain storm was coming. 

The lecture hall is full of conversation when he enters, rather than just one voice speaking. He scans the room and realizes everyone is paired up and clearly discussing their final project. Professor Vance must be giving them a lecture period to get ahead of the assignment. Hopping down the steps, he finds his place next to Will. Mike’s heart is racing, nervous for the cold shoulder he assumes he is about to receive. 

To Mike’s delight, Will smiles at him, wide and genuine. 

“Late again, huh?” Will teases.

Mike exhales in relief, thankful that it seemed like everything was alright after all. Missing Will had taken up too much of his mental energy.

“Oh, what? You wanted me to be on time?” Mike responses, eliciting a small laugh from Will that made Mike’s chest flutter.

A comfortable silence falls between them. Will continues the sketches while Mike plans the next set of comic panels and dialogue. 

About 40 minutes into the class, Professor Vance comes up to talk with Will. Mike doesn’t pay too much attention to it at first. This is a usual occurrence after class. He always has something to say about Will’s work. As it turned out, Will was in another one of Professor Vance’s classes, Advanced Studio Art. More often than not they are discussing assignments in that class rather than this one. 

“Mr. Byers, I was very impressed by your last canvas work.”

Mike can feel Will beaming next to him, but he keeps his attention on his own work.

“Thank you, Professor. I was worried the color scheme wasn’t quite as eye-catching as the last one, but I am glad you still liked it.”

“Oh, yes. Frankly I look forward to any piece of yours that features the character of the knight.”

Mike feels Will freeze next to him. He looks up, as Professor Vance continues, clearly unaware of Will’s sudden tension. 

“I adore your portrayal of him. I know you were concerned how it felt a bit on the nose, but the heart on his shield…I mean it makes me smile every time I see it.”

Mike frowns. Will’s face had gone pale. Mike could see Will’s eyes flickering over to the side, to steal glances of him. Once Will knew Mike was paying attention, he started fidgeting with his hands. 

“The presence of the knight in all your work, it’s just spectacular. There’s a quiet reverence there, a love and admiration that makes your work so easy to connect to. I’m not sure what this knight means and represents to you, but I hope it continues in your future work. Having a consistent detail like that in your pieces, that is something that will ground your passion for art.” Professor Vance finishes his praise. Will forces a smile and nods tightly. 

Mike’s vision goes cloudy. Flashes of memories blind him and he can no longer see Will looking at him. He can feel the heat of the desert sun and the movement of a van racing through New Mexico.

That’s what holds this whole group together, heart.

And if she pushed you away, it’s just because she’s scared of losing you, just like you’re scared of losing her. 

She needs you Mike. And she always will.

These memories fade, replaced with another. The feeling of tension before a battle. The feeling of Will, crying in front of him, looking at Mike and begging for him to understand something he didn’t.

I had a crush on someone, even though I know…I know he’s not like me

Another took shape. The cold air. The burn in his lungs from climbing a radio tower. The lack of light in the sky. 

You still think we can be friends. 

And another, the worst one. The sound of rain. The sound of Will yelling at him.

I guess I did. I really did. 

The painting was never from El. It was Will. The crush that Will had, it was Mike. The person who saw Mike in that way, a knight in shining armor with a heart on his shield… it wasn’t El. 

It had always been Will. 

Mike can hear him now, begging him to look at him../ but he didn’t. He grabs his bag and runs out of the lecture hall. 

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, like an iron hot poker pressing into his chest. Betrayal? Anger? Sadness? Confusion? 

And worst of all, a feeling he knew he felt, overshadowed by the others, but clear and present and horrifying…the feeling of relief. The feeling that… he had wanted the painting to be from Will all along.

It is pouring rain outside. Mike grabs his bike, not caring for the water getting on his backpack or his hair sticking to his face. 

Everything is a blur of rain and tears as he bikes back to his dorm. But he doesn’t get a moment of peace, a moment to think through his thoughts and make sense of the weight in his stomach because suddenly Will is there too. He is drenched in rain like Mike is and breathing heavily. He must have chased Mike through the storm. He bursts into Mike’s dorm room, tracking mud onto the carpet.

“Mike, can we please just talk, I don’t want things to be weird between us-” 

“How the fuck could you do that to me!?” Mike shocks them both by yelling. Will’s pleading face goes hard and he stumbles backwards, like Mike’s words physically pushed him. He looks like he is about to ask a question, but Mike just keeps yelling. 

“Why did you lie to me? I’ve been so fucking confused all these years. I kept asking myself over and over, how could the El that saw me in this way be the same El that left me. And you’re just sitting on this information that she never needed me. You made me feel stupid! You made me feel like our relationship meant something, but apparently it didn’t!”

The words were coming out before Mike could think of what he actually wanted to say. He felt angry, so he leaned into it, making no room for anything else. He was flaming some fire inside him, one he didn't even know was there. 

“El never thought I could save her! She didn’t need me at the end, she never fucking did!”

“Oh my God, shut up!” Will snaps back and Mike almost chokes. “How dare you make this about just you! You treated me like shit that summer, remember that?”

“I-”

“I sacrificed my feelings so you could repair your fucking relationship! What I did was selfless and now you’re throwing it back at me like I did it just to spite you? Get over yourself!”

Will is pacing back and forth, throwing his hands up. Mike has never seen him this angry. 

“I only lied to you so you could finally have the guts to tell your fucking girlfriend you loved her! Oh no! Lock me up!” Will yells sarcastically. “I lied so you could feel better in your own shitty relationship!”

The rage is back. “Don’t say that about us!” Mike screams. Everyone in the dorm could probably hear them now. Will doesn’t back down. 

“Oh, really? You treated her like shit too! When she broke up with you, all you did was lay around complaining about how girls are another species instead of going out and fucking apologizing! And when she was bullied in California, all you did was make her feel like a monster!”

Mike’s heart sinks.

“You never understood her or what she went through! Only I did! Why she ever implied that you did is beyond me-”

“Fuck you!”

“-all that for you to still not say you loved her in the end! The only time it fucking mattered you still couldn’t say it!”

“Yeah, well, you couldn’t tell me you loved me either when it mattered!”

Will’s eyes widen and he falls silent. Mike does too. Why did he say that? Is that really what he’s mad about? 

They stare at each other for a moment, nobody saying anything. The door to the room was wide open and Mike can see some other students awkwardly walking through the hallway and looking in, but Mike doesn’t care. He keeps his gaze level with Will’s.

“Get out,” Mike says finally. 

Will looks for a moment that he is going to apologize. For what specifically, Mike doesn’t know. But he turns around and strides right out of the room, allowing Mike to slam the door shut.

Mike looks at the painting on the wall. He looks at it until his face burns and his vision becomes blurry from the tears. He rips the painting off the wall and cries. 

***

Nancy was visiting him. Mike suspected that she was actually visiting their parents, but since Karen could clearly tell something was wrong the last time they spoke on the phone, she sent Nancy to check on him.  

They were getting coffee together at a cafe near campus, sitting quietly in a booth next to a window that looked out over Main Street. It had been raining since Mike’s fight with Will, like all the clouds in the sky had decided life wasn’t worth living anymore and had to empty out their guts onto the town. Mike sat with his head in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid as steam rose around them. He could feel Nancy’s eyes on him, penetrating and unamused. 

“Can you just tell me what’s wrong so I can go back to Hawkins?”

Mike scoffs. “I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Nancy leans in. “Mike.”

He glances up at her. An unexpected and unwelcome rush of affection comes over him. They had literally fought interdimensional monsters together, but this was too hard to talk about? 

Mike groans and all his walls come down. He tells her everything, about what Will told him in the van in New Mexico and what Will said to him during their fight a few days ago. Mike at first was making eye contact, but when his eyes begin to sting he turns away. 

“-and I just feel so fucking guilty. And stupid. Will was right too, I didn’t even-” Mike chokes on the words, swallowing them as if they were bile coming up his throat. “I didn’t even tell her I loved her… at the end. I don’t even know why. It felt like it was… not enough, but too much at the same time. All I wanted to do was get her to stay but….I guess I just doubted that… that was the way to do it. But maybe if I had-”

“Mike, you can’t blame yourself. Eleven made a choice, it has nothing to do with you.”

“But I- God, I don’t know.” Mike puts his face in his hands, covering his eyes in shame. “I don’t mean to make it about me, but it did feel like it was about me. At least a little. Like if I was a better boyfriend or-”

“There’s literally nothing you could have done. She had so many people in her life that loved her and she still made that choice. You don’t have to understand it-”

“But she said I would!” Mike exclaims suddenly, dropping his hands to look at his sister again. “She said I would understand her choice and it’s been years and I still don’t! And it feels like….” Mike looks away. “It feels like I can never move on until I do.”

He feels raw and vulnerable. Has he ever been this honest about his feelings to his sister before? He doubted it. Nancy doesn’t say anything for a moment, but what she did say, eventually, is not what Mike had been expecting. 

“Did I ever tell you why Jonathan and I broke up?”

Mike frowns and looks at her confused. “No?”

Nancy looks out the window. She has a pleasant smile on her face, not one Mike would expect from someone thinking about an ex-boyfriend. 

“We just needed time apart, I think. We didn’t understand each other the way we used to. I needed to go out into the world and make something of myself and he needed to do the same.”

“Okay? But what does-”

“Just listen okay?” Mike falls silent as she continues. “We were staying together for the wrong reasons. We had this…bond. But the bond only existed because of what we went through together. Fighting the demogorgon, searching for Will and Barb. It brought us together, but… that’s not exactly all it takes to be in a relationship.”

Mike nods, beginning to understand. Another memory flashes behind his eyes- his voice in his ear.

It's not fate. It's not destiny. It’s just simple dumb luck and one day she’s going to realize that I’m just some random nerd that got lucky that superman landed on his doorstep. 

“But just because some insane circumstances brought us together-” Nancy says. “-doesn’t mean we did love each other you know? I did. Hell I still do! We see each other every few months.”

Nancy makes circles with her hands in the air, like she was searching around for her next point. “It’s not different from you and El. You went through shit together. You met when you were going through the worst time of your life, when your best friend was missing She had just escape that fucked-up lab, and you were there for her. But-”

Mike flinches, bracing for what was next. 

“-it’s okay that you didn’t understand her completely. She didn’t even understand herself completely. I mean for fuck’s sake!” Nancy threw up her hands. “You didn’t even get the chance to have a normal relationship! You didn’t get to go on dates, you didn’t get to learn about her hobbies because she didn’t have any! She was either hiding from the military or trying to stop the world from ending!”

Mike chuckles, but the sound is wet. He was crying again. He pushes the palm of his hands into his eyes to stop the tears. 

“It doesn’t mean you didn’t love her. It doesn’t mean she didn’t love you. She loved you and she knows that you loved her. And that’s all you need to remember about her sacrifice.”

Mike nods slowly, pieces in his heart starting to snap back together. He was raising his cup of coffee to his lips, when a question from Nancy threw him so completely aback that he almost fell out of his chair.

“Do you love Will?”

Mike sputters, hot coffee splattering all over his face and the table. He coughs for a moment trying to get his composure. “What?”

Nancy is hiding a smile in her hands. “Calm down, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant… you’re best friends right? You love him?”

“Well.. yeah.” Mike responses. It's true, but it feels… off. It feels like he did when he was arguing with El in California. 

I care for you….so much.

Those words didn’t feel right then. Nancy’s words didn’t feel right now. Mike feels like half of what he says doesn’t feel right. 

Mike lets those words roll around in his head. Best friends. They’ve been best friends their entire life. Yet, suddenly it doesn’t sound like enough.

Nancy gives him a sad smile. “It feels like in these years since… everything…that you’ve been isolating yourself.”

“Well, I go to a different college-”

“Not just that. You don’t…talk about your friends as much as you used to. It's like you're putting yourself in time-out because you’re guilty about what happened. But you don’t deserve that.”

Nancy takes his hands in hers and leans in, forcing Mike to look at her. “Remember what you said when Mom and Dad were in the hospital? You didn’t want to have any more regrets."

Mike nods solemnly. That wasn’t a day he liked to remember.

“And yet, here you are. With this huge regret that you couldn’t tell El you loved her. That you couldn’t save her with your words. But all that’s doing is preventing you from saying it to people you love now. Preventing you from being there for people who need you now.”

Mike presses his lips together, fighting a losing war against tears yet again. “Nobody needs me.”

“Will does. He said as much. And I can tell that you need him too.”

Mike rolls his eyes, a thinly veiled attempt to distract Nancy from the blush creeping onto his cheeks. “How do you figure that?”

“Let’s just say I heard a nasty rumor that you’re sort of a terrible writer without Will in your life.”

“What?!” Mike throws her hands down on the table as she bursts into laughter. “Who did you hear that from?”

“I may have run into your friends when I was in Hawkins. They say your mood is directly proportional to how shitty your campaigns are.”

Mike leans back in his booth, crossing his arms indignantly. “Man, fuck those guys.”

Nancy chuckles again, but waits for him to meet her eyes one last time. 

“Just go find Will, okay?”

It's Hawkins, it's not the same without you.

Mike looks out the window. The rain had stopped, the sun peaking through, scattering yellow across the clouds floating in a clear blue sky. He looks back at his sister.

“Okay.”

***

Mike wasn’t sure where Will would be. He went to his dorm room, but no answer. He went to the art building, but after almost an hour of aimless walking with the hope of running into him, he remembered something Will had mentioned to him earlier in the semester. He likes to sketch in the little park on campus, with a bench facing a small pond. 

Mike starts to walk there, his mind wandering. He begins to think of his King Arthur and Merlin retelling, that he had turned into his seminar class a few weeks ago. It had gotten incredible feedback from his workshop, but there was one comment that someone in his cohort made that had confused him at the moment.

Now it all suddenly began to make sense. 

In his story, Merlin is assigned as a squire to Arthur, who at that moment was only a prince. Prince Arthur believed Merlin could be so much more. He was no fighter, not like Arthur was, who had been training his whole life in the art of combat for the goal of leading the Knights of the Round Table. But Arthur saw something in Merlin, even when Merlin didn’t believe it himself. 

When the witch Morgana turned on the King and began to attack the kingdom of Camelot, Arthur told Merlin in passing that they needed something, someone, that could match her power.

We really need some magic up here.

Merlin unlocked his true power in a battle where Morgana was seconds away from killing Arthur. Merlin admits to Arthur that it was his words that helped him in that moment. Merlin had seen Arthur in danger, remembered all the joy he had found in Camelot by his side, and looked within himself to find the magic. If Arthur believed it so, so it shall be. 

The tides had turned in the battle for Camelot’s future. Now Merlin was the one on the frontlines, his powers new to him, but still able to rival Morgana’s. The climax of the story was a face-off between the dark witch and the sorcerer. The evil magic wielded by Morgana was beginning to poison Merlin. It was blanketing Camelot in darkness, reaching in every corner of the kingdom, attempting to turn the citizens to the dark side. Merlin was the last heart that had to be taken for Morgana’s spell to destroy the world. Arthur, fueled by the love he had for Merlin, killed the witch and saved the sorcerer from the brinks of death. 

“The story was beautiful," a student in the workshop had said, holding a hand reverently over her heart. “It was by far the most romantic thing you’ve ever written.”

That word had stuck with Mike. Romantic. He wasn’t sure that was really his intention. He didn’t agree with that student’s interpretation at the time. 

However, now, as he walked across campus to find his sorcerer and repair what was broken between them… Mike had a whole new perspective. 

***

Will was exactly where Mike expected him to be. He sat facing the pond, a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other. Mike had to approach him from behind, but Will must have sensed his presence because he wasn’t even startled by Mike sitting down next to him.

Will doesn’t say anything. He keeps sketching. A picture of a duck from what Mike could see, so he must be doing it fairly absentmindedly. A soft breeze whistled past them until Mike got the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry, Will.” 

Will puts down his pencil and turns to him. 

The puzzle in Mike’s mind was solving itself in real time. The sight of Will and his beautiful green eyes and his sketches that made Mike felt happiness for the first time in years...it was all piling up like stacks of unfinished books, large and persistent and impossible to ignore.

“The whole thing with El..” Mike continues. “It just fucked me up. My relationship with her… it sometimes felt silly to me thinking back. We never really understood each other. Not the way other couples do. Not the way….” He trails off.

Not the way you and I do.

He is getting ahead of himself. He presses on, avoiding Will’s eyes, which were already softening in understanding. “I didn’t see her the way she wanted to be seen, I know that…but….”

Mike swallows, feeling the truth of what he was going to say already brewing guilt in his stomach. “But she never saw me the way I wanted to be seen either. She didn’t care about D&D the way I did, she didn’t find comfort in it the way I did. I mean how could she? I don’t blame her for it, but I can’t deny that we were just… never on the same wavelength, I think.”

Mike is fidgeting with his hands. His words burn his throat on the way out. “That’s why learning the truth about the painting… It was too much for me to handle. I was already… confused… about my feelings. And then suddenly it’s like every negative thing I thought about our relationship that I used to push out of my head when I thought about her…it was all coming up again. So I lashed out. It’s just so hard to think about. I didn’t want to make sense of it because if I did and I came to the conclusion that we weren’t the right fit for each other… I mean it doesn’t even fucking matter anymore. But it would feel like I was betraying her. Betraying us. Betraying what she was to me.”

Mike looks at Will suddenly, his head snapping up so fast it startles Will. “Because I did love her, okay? I did. I just…don’t know if I loved her in the way I….” 

Mike couldn’t finish his thoughts, but Will, like always, understood him. He nods. “I know,” Will says simply. 

Mike wasn’t quite done yet. He opens his mouth to continue, to say what he felt even if it seemed impossible, but Will begins speaking over him.

“Remember when we were climbing that tower in the Upside Down? I said I didn’t understand my feelings for the longest time?” 

Mike nods, again feeling guilt and regret bubble inside him. Will reaches out to touch Mike’s arm, which sends shock waves through him at the point of contact. 

“It was okay that I didn’t understand my feelings. And it’s okay if you don’t understand yours. I think you just need to accept that you won’t always understand yourself. And you just need to keep moving forward.“

Will paused for a moment. “I’m sorry for what I said too. If I’m being honest I think-” he looks down in shame “-I think I was angry at El. For not saying goodbye to me at the end. I was just taking it out on you because you did get to say goodbye. I never had the chance to tell her how much she meant to me.”

The guilt is roaring inside Mike. Here he is, mourning and obsessed over his last conversation with El… when at least he had a last conversation. 

“It doesn’t matter at the end of the day,” Will says. “El was there for me when I needed her. I hope she felt the same way about me. And you were there when she needed you. You were the first person to show her true kindness and she knew that. You loved her and protected her. And I know she loved you too. That’s all you need to remember. You can’t trap yourself in that void forever.”

Mike nods, holding Will’s gaze like a lifeline. “I think she represented something that I had once thought I would never be able to have. When she left, I was so afraid… that for a while there…” Mike says. “..I didn’t know how to live without her.”

Will look at him sadly, but still so encouraging. “I think you owe it to yourself to try.”

They look at each other for a while, both scared to make the wrong next move. It was up to Mike at this point, to ask the other question that was bugging him.

“Um,” he starts, looking down at his hands again. “Back at the squawk. It’s been a couple years, so maybe you don’t remember. But, you said you….had a crush.”

The corner of Will’s lip quirk up. “Yeah, I remember.”

“So does that mean…that you’re…like…over it?”

Mike’s heart is sinking when Will doesn’t say anything. He eventually forces himself to meet his eye, horrified to find Will trying not to laugh.

Mike smacks Will’s arm with the back of his hand. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not, I swear. This is just making me happy.”

“Watching me suffer makes you happy?”

“Yes.”

They laugh. Mike feels lighter, but his heart is still racing when Will finally answers his question seriously. 

“But, no. I’m not over it. I was way too far gone anyway.”

Mike’s hands begin to shake. “Do you think I deserve it?”

Will frowns. “Deserve what?” 

Mike’s voice is barely a whisper. “A happy ending.”

Will’s gaze is blinding. “Of course.” Will’s smile is everything. “But…it’s up to you to give yourself one.”

Mike’s eyes flicker to Will’s lips. His eyes did that sometimes. In the movie theatre, in that van, in school. He could never make sense of it, until now. Mike moves slowly, deliberately. He closes the gap between them, that gap that felt like miles and inches all at the same time. He reaches out across that space and takes Will’s face in his hands, pulling their mouths together. 

Those last puzzle pieces snapped into place. Will leans into the kiss, bracing one hand on Mike’s thigh. His other hand runs through Mike’s hair, like he did when they were in the bar together, but now unable to hold back. Mike moves his mouth tentatively against Will’s, feeling Will’s hot breath against his cheek. 

He parts his lips against Will’s and turns his head to side, deepening the kiss. The warmth and wetness from Will’s tongue makes his head start to spin. His hands, previously holding on to the back of Will’s head, moves lower. His touches become softer, his thumb brushing the smooth skin of Will’s cheek. He feels Will’s hair tickle his forehead as they somehow move closer together. He feels Will everywhere, his heart stuttering in his chest. 

Mike couldn’t believe Will had felt this way all these years and been unable to do anything about it. Mike couldn’t believe he went all these years unable to see what was in front of him the entire time. 

He thought of all those times throughout the years when he had felt the tiniest spark of something for Will. The sight of his body in the quarry, the same quarry he almost died in days later. The sight of Will dancing with that girl at the snowball, wondering why he felt jealous. The need to repair his relationship with Will before his relationship with El in the summer of 1985. The feeling of missing Will, more than he expected, when he had moved to California. All these moments he had repressed and finally 16 years of knowing Will later, he could finally be honest about what Will was to him. All the guilt and regret he harboured inside him melted away, replaced only with the feeling of Will’s lips on him, warm and certain.

Mike’s brain shuts down. He finds a rhythm with Will. Tongues and lips and a little bit of teeth when he starts to get too eager. Noses bump against each other as they adjust their heads. Coming apart only to come back together again. Over and over. 

They lost track of time, but Mike was okay with that. He wasted years wallowing in the darkness instead of looking for the light. He had wasted so much time trying to make sense of his feelings, but Will was right. He didn’t need to. He just needed to feel them. 

Eventually they pull apart, slowly but surely. They lean their foreheads against each other, catching their breath. Will had leaned in so close that his sketchbook had fallen on the ground, where it now lay abandoned. 

Mike’s hands drop from cupping Will’s face to lacing their fingers together in his lap.

“Sorry I was such an idiot this whole time,” Mike says, tightening his grip on Will.

Will laughs, the sound filling all the parts of Mike that were still a bit empty. “I didn’t say it.”

Mike grins, before leaning it for another kiss. “You didn’t have to.” 

***

Summer Break 

1992

Will was staying with Mike in Hawkins over summer break. Dustin was taking the summer off as well, so the entire party was back together. Because Mike’s basement was almost always in use, either by Holly or the party, Will had no choice but to stay in Mike’s room. This elicited no complaints from the two of them. They had a lot of time to make up, after all.

One day, the party was lounging in the basement. Lucas and Max were playing a card game. Dustin was reading. Mike was writing. Will was sketching. 

Will and Mike were sitting crossed legged side by side, so close that knees were overlapping. They kept taking peaks at each other’s work and whispering in each other’s ear. Mike’s heart was full. 

“Should we tell them?” Mike whispers.

Will raises his eyebrows at him and leans in, his breath tickling Mike’s ear. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

But God Mike was so ready. It wasn’t until their lips had touched that Mike realized how much he had been holding himself back. He wasn’t afraid anymore. 

“Hey, guys?” Mike says out loud suddenly. Dustin looks up from his book, mildly interested. Max, the competitive freak she was, was too engrossed in her card game. Mike could tell her ears perked up though. 

“I have something to tell you. I’m- uh….I’m. Well, I don’t know, actually.”

“Dude, what?” Lucas says, now giving his full attention. 

Mike looks at Will, who nods encouragingly. Mike shakes his head, trying to reset his brain. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m ….uh …” He grabs Will’s hand. Will squeezes. “-Will’s… boyfriend?” 

He phrases it like a question, realizing they had never actually said that aloud. But if Will’s glistening eyes and teeth-wide grin meant anything in response, he figured that was an okay thing to say. 

Dustin and Lucas’s eyes go wide in shock. Max slams her cards on the table and jumps up. 

“I fucking knew it! Didn’t I fucking tell you!?” She jabs a finger in Lucas’s direction. 

“It’s true, she did.”

They all started laughing. Mike was suddenly being crushed in a huge group hug. He assumed there would be many questions to follow, but all that mattered was Mike had finally become what he always wanted to be.

Brave.