Chapter Text
April 7th, 1986
Outside the Wheeler Basement. Hawkins, Indiana.
5:13 P.M.
“Okay, this is just… weird.”
There was a chorus of aggressive shushing. Lucas rolled his eyes dramatically from where he leaned against the frame of the Wheelers’ basement door. Will slapped his friend's knee lightly, then peeked back around the corner, hands pressed against the brick wall, eyes carefully watching the empty driveway.
“I’m just saying!” Lucas hissed, voice cracking. “Breaking into Mike’s house without, you know, Mike… It’s weird! Can we all just admit that it’s weird?!”
“Are you going to stand there and whine like a goddamn pussy, or are you going to be helpful?” Erica snapped. She kneeled in front of the door, carefully wiggling a bobby pin around in the deadbolt. Will suppressed a snicker.
“Of all the things we’ve done, Lucas, I think breaking and entering is pretty low on the weirdness scale.” Dustin, elbows deep in his backpack, pointed out.
Erica made an incredulous noise, “Well, if someone had remembered to get Mike’s key, maybe you’d be doing less breaking and more entering. And I could be at home, instead of saving you dipshits, again.”
Will shot a glare over his shoulder at Lucas’s sister. The effect was slightly diminished since she wasn’t looking at him, and he wasn’t particularly good at glaring. “We were rushing out the door! I was distracted.”
Pausing her lock-picking, Erica turned to Will, hands on her hips. She scanned him up and down, “I’m sure you were.”
Will flushed beet red and turned back to the driveway.
Erica’s insinuation wasn’t entirely inaccurate, even if it was a little uncalled for. It had only been eight days since they got back to Hawkins, and his relationship with Mike was… confusing, to say the least. They were talking now, a lot actually. Well, Mike talked a lot, mostly about El, or the impending apocalypse, or Vecna, and Will did a lot of listening. That was always how it had been, though. Their world had been turned upside down again and again, and Mike always needed to talk things through to understand them. Will had always been more internal. But for the first time since last summer, when Will had something to say, Mike listened back.
But for Mike, “listening” - especially to Will - meant endless streams of gentle touches, soft words, and intense eye contact. Behaviors that were achingly familiar (and sorely missed) but less helpful to Will’s mental stability. It also didn’t help that the Wheelers had offered Joyce and her sons a roof over their heads.
Mike was everywhere: in the den watching Will draw; in his room, letting Will borrow his clothes; in the kitchen, eating cereal at 2 A.M., offering to sleep over in the basement if Will was having one of his nightmares.
It was all perfectly normal and incredibly overwhelming, and Will’s heart was on a constant pendulum swing between worrying about the end of the world and trying not to spontaneously combust every time his best friend smiled at him. So, yeah, he was a little distracted.
“Open sesame, dickheads.” There was a click behind him as Erica successfully picked the lock.
Dustin grinned, “That’s our Lady Applejack!” He, Erica, and Lucas slipped in through the door, and with a last look towards the empty cul-de-sac, Will followed.
If Mike never had to touch another jar of peanut butter in his life, he would die a happy man.
He stood, empty-eyed, at the PBnJ station of the disaster relief center, and spread another knife full of peanut butter onto a slightly stale piece of white bread.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like volunteering at the crisis center. On most days, he actually quite enjoyed it. He liked helping people. He didn’t mind the monotony of folding clothes, sorting donations, or handing out blankets. It gave him something to do other than stare ominously at the ash clouds in the sky and worry about his friends. It made him feel useful, like someone who could be relied on; like he wasn’t going totally and completely batshit crazy.
But everyone had their limits, and apparently Mike’s was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for five-and-a-half hours straight with Steve “The Hair” Harrington.
“Hey, you got another Smucker’s over there? I’m almost out.”
Wordlessly, and failing to school his scowl of annoyance, Mike slid another glass jar of jelly to Steve. With a sharp pop, he opened it and gave Mike a sideways glance.
“You good, dude?”
“Phenomenal.” Mike squished his sandwich together with slightly more force than necessary. Purple jelly oozed out of the sides, staining the paper towel below it.
He could feel Steve’s careful, quiet gaze on the side of his face. Mike picked up another piece of bread.
Please don’t ask. I don’t want to talk to you. Please just turn around and shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Steve sighed, then looked down at his watch. “We were supposed to take our break, like, twenty minutes ago. You want a water or something?”
Mike stared down at the bread in his hand. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”
They moved over the gym wall. Mike collapsed onto a flimsy camping stool. Steve grabbed two water bottles from the cooler and sat on top of it, tossing one to Mike.
For a few blissful moments, they sipped their waters in silence.
If Mike was being honest, he didn’t mind Steve all that much either. He wasn’t as stupid and annoying as everyone pretended, and had proven to be frustratingly reliable. He was a good friend to Dustin and had saved their asses countless times. But he was still Nancy’s ex-boyfriend, and while Nance was an annoying, stuck-up pain in the ass, she was still his sister, and the Wheelers were nothing if not loyal.
“So, got any plans for your birthday?” Steve wiped his mouth off, glancing back at Mike, who narrowed his eyes.
“How did you know it’s my birthday?”
Steve shrugged, “Nance mentioned it.”
“Since when do you talk to Nancy?”
He shrugged again, this time more aggressively. “Since we traveled into an alternate dimension to kill an evil wizard? I don’t know, dude.”
Mike gave Steve one of his famously withering looks and took another sip of water.
Surprisingly unaffected, Steve soldiered on, “So, any plans?”
“Yeah,” Mike scoffed, “I was gonna take a stroll through downtown, admire the tanks and toxic dust clouds, rent a movie from Family Video. Maybe I’ll stop at Starcourt Mall while I’m at it.” He rolled his eyes impressively, “No, Steve, I don’t have plans.”
Steve brandished his waterbottle at Mike reproachfully, “Hey, it's not my fault, Vecna or Henry or whatever-the-hell his name is is obsessed with exploding every job I’ve ever had. If I were still at Scoops, you’d be getting a free sunday; so wipe that look off your face, Wheeler.”
Affronted, Mike opened his mouth to say something definitely rude and probably offensive, but was interrupted by Nancy power walking towards the sandwich station. She was digging through her purse and pulled out the keys to the station wagon as she came to a stop in front of the pair.
“Mike, it’s five-fifteen, you ready to go?” She glanced over, “Hey Steve.”
Steve smiled, “Hey, Nance.”
Mike rolled his eyes so aggressively that he wondered if they were going to pop out of his head. He stood up, stretching, “Yeah. I’ll grab Will.”
He turned his head to the first-aid station, where Will had been sorting bandages for the last hour, but it was empty.
Mike’s stomach dropped, and dread rocketed through his chest, ice cold.
‘Now that I’m here, in Hawkins, I can feel Him… He’s still alive.’
His head whipped around the gym, searching. But no, Will was nowhere. He wasn’t by the donations or the cots. He wasn’t at the billboards or passing out blankets. Mike’s heart hammered out of his chest. Waves of memory washed over him: whimpers over the Supercom, a body being lifted from dark water, Will frozen in the center of the football field, screaming in a pumpkin patch, bathed in sunlight in Hop’s cabin, trembling in fear.
He desperately looked for a flash of plaid, the flicker of a familiar, shy smile. All day, all week, he had kept one eye on Will, no matter where they were. It would be too easy for him to slip away, out of Mike’s grasp again, into one of the yawning gates or the jaws of some lurking demogorgon. Mike couldn’t risk losing him again. He couldn’t.
‘He’s not going to stop. Ever.’
He had looked away for maybe thirty minutes, too tired and nauseated by the stench of peanut butter to focus on anything but making sandwiches. Just thirty minutes-
“Oh, Will already left. Argyle picked him and Jonathan up earlier. I think they went to help Joyce with something.”
Mike whirled on Nancy, “And he didn’t tell me? Are you sure?”
Both she and Steve were staring at him as if he’d grown another head, or was yelling in the middle of a crowded room, which Mike realized he had been.
Nancy carefully shouldered her bag, “Yes, Mike… I watched them leave in that stupid pizza van myself.”
Mike took a step back from her. Rubbing his chest idly as his heart slowed down. He still felt dizzy with panic, but his logical mind was starting to catch up with him again.
“Oh. Um, okay.”
He made the mistake of locking eyes with Steve, who, instead of looking at him in confusion, like Nancy, had a gentle, curious expression on his brow. Something about it made Mike feel like he was completely see-through, like Steve Harrington could read his every thought and fear, and intimately understood them. It was such a horrifying notion that Mike’s previous panic began to slip away, replaced by burning self-consciousness. He looked back at Nancy, “Um, yeah, I’m good to go then.”
She blinked, slowly turning around, “...okay.”
Head down, Mike followed Nancy out of the gym, refusing to acknowledge Steve’s eyes boring into the back of his head.
“You kind of freaked out back there. Are you alright?”
Nancy glanced at Mike out of the corner of her eye as she turned out of the high school parking lot. Mike just looked out the window, watching the billowing clouds of ash and pale, floating particles.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” The lie sat between them like a third passenger in the car.
Mike could see the flicker of Nancy’s fingers in his periphery as she tapped them against the steering wheel. She had her investigative reporter face on, her brow furrowed, jaw clenched. Mike knew she wasn’t done asking questions yet, and they still sat in silence for a mile or so while she thought.
Nancy reached out and turned down the Tiffany cassette Holly always insisted on listening to in the car.
“You’re allowed to be worried about Will.” She said, finally.
Mike shifted in his seat, “I know.”
“We’re all concerned for him - and El. I can’t imagine how much worse it is for you.”
He looked at her sharply, his face scrunched and defensive, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nancy looked at him carefully, brow arched, “That El is your girlfriend, and Will is…Will. You’ve always been…” She turned back to the road, searching for the right word, “protective of him.”
Mike crossed his arms and sank lower into the passenger's seat, “so is Jonathan.”
“True. But it’s different with you two.”
‘Our son with a girl?’ ‘He was probably killed by some other queer.’ ‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!’ ‘What about us, Mike!?’
“No, it’s not!” He said sharply. “It’s not. If Dustin or Lucas were being possessed and stalked by an undead psychopath, I’d be worried about them too!”
“I know! I know! Jesus, Mike.” Nacy spread her fingers in surrender, “I’m just… All I’m trying to say is that you can talk to me, or Jonathan, or even Steve.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to the window. Nancy continued, “You don’t have to be solely responsible for keeping him and El safe. You aren’t solely responsible.”
Then why am I the only person who ever gives a shit? As soon as the thought came to him, Mike knew it was unfair and untrue. Maybe at one point, he was, but now there was a small army of people who knew about the Upside Down, who cared about Will and El as much as he did, and were probably better equipped to handle potential danger than he and his noodle arms.
Who had been there when Mike couldn’t even bring himself to send a letter.
It didn’t make it any easier, though.
Make what easier? He ignored himself.
“Whatever.”
“Mike…”
“I get it! Okay?! I get it.”
He reached down and turned up Tiffany, ignoring Nancy’s sigh of defeat and the guilt that ate at his chest
“Lady Applejack to the Goon Squad, I have eyes on Birthday Boy, T-minus two minutes until arrival, over.”
“Copy that, Erica. Also, I resent that call sign.” Will knelt on the back of the couch, peeking out the curtain of the basement window as he held the walkie to his mouth. He could see Lucas’ house in the distance and the glint of the windshield of the Wheelers’ station wagon passing it.
“Just the facts.”
Will rolled his eyes and then turned back to the rest of the room. “They’re almost here, guys! Places!”
Just like they had practiced, everyone erupted into movement. Lucas ran and flipped off the overhead light. Dustin ducked behind the stairs, and Will grabbed the lighter he had stolen from Argyle’s van and lit the cake on their DnD table. In a minute and a half, the three of them were pressed up against the stairs and listening carefully as the telltale sound of Nancy pulling into the carport echoed above them.
Will couldn’t help the smile that flickered on his face in the dark, even if his nerves were nearly shot. It was so simple, throwing a surprise party for his best friend's 15th birthday. It felt so… normal. Like something they would do before all of this had started, before California, before the Upside Down, before Vecna. Will felt almost drunk on the reverie.
The carport door closed above them, then the sound of voices and footsteps echoed down the stairs. He heard Mike’s quick, long stride tear through the kitchen, impatient, and Nancy’s lighter footsteps just behind him.
“I’m going up to my room.” That was Mike. He’d paused in front of the closed basement door on the way to the stairs. Will’s nerves spiked; he sounded tense, almost upset. Was this a bad idea?
“Alright,” Nancy said. “Do you mind running downstairs and switching the laundry first?”
There was a loud, dramatic sigh, “Why can’t you do it?”
“Because it’s not my laundry; don’t be an asshole.”
“It’s not mine either!”
From beside him, Dustin groaned, “Jesus Christ, Mike.”
“Just do it, Mike!”
“God fuckin- fine!”
The basement door opened, and heavy footsteps stomped down the stairs. Lucas placed his hand on the light switch, and Dustin turned to Will, holding up three fingers.
Three.
Two.
“Why does it smell like candl-”
One.
“SURPRISE!!!”
“Holy shIT!”
Mike fell backwards on the steps, long limbs careening out like a newborn giraffe.
“Happy birthday!” Dustin grinned, and was quickly echoed by Will and Lucas. Mike stared at them from where he lay on the stairs, dumbfounded. He blinked.
“Holy shit, hey guys.” By the time he’d finished speaking, a broad smile had dawned on his face. He sat up, eyes darting across their faces, then to the cake on the table. “Holy shit!” he laughed.
Lucas and Dustin launched into happy chattering. Instinctively, Will reached out a hand to help Mike up. He grasped it tightly and rose to his feet. Mike’s palm was warm and dry on the inside of Will’s wrist, and as he stood, they locked eyes. Will caught some strange emotion on Mike’s face, something like relief, but a little intense too, like fear. Mike didn’t let go immediately, and Will felt a flush spreading up his neck.
Suddenly, Mike turned to see Nancy coming down the stairs, and he dropped Will’s hand as if he had touched a hot pan. He moved past Will quickly, towards the table, not meeting the other boy’s eyes. Will tried very hard not to feel hurt. He succeeded. Mostly.
The next few moments passed in a slight blur. Dustin led them in Happy Birthday. Mike blew out his candles, then chose his preferred slice (the one with the most icing, as always). Will didn’t catch up until Nancy was passing him a piece of cake with a smile. Dustin rambled in between bites.
“Your mom made a cake too, for after dinner - she invited us to stay and eat, by the way - but since it's the end of the world and all, we” he gestured at everyone in the room “thought getting one for ourselves wasn’t too crazy.”
Mike had just shoved cake into his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from responding, “thaf’s graeh!” he swallowed thickly, taking a drink of the milk Nancy had brought down. “Thanks, guys.”
Lucas spoke up, “After dinner and stuff, we were thinking we could sleep over or something, watch movies, maybe play video games, orrr…” he looked over at Will, expectantly. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on him. He felt a bit ill.
“I, uh - if you wanted to, um…” Will scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Mike was watching him with open, patient eyes.
‘What, did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?’
Will swallowed. “While I was in Lenora, I… designed, um, a campaign for us, uh, all of us, to play- only if you want to, though! It’s short - um only a few hours, if not we can just binge Star Wars again or somethi-”
His voice broke off as Mike smiled - grinned, actually. “That sounds awesome! We haven’t played together in so long, it’ll be great!”
Will made a noise of surprise that could only be described as a squeak, “Really?”
“Totally!” Mike nodded. He set his plate down, “We played with Hellfire Club while you were away, and it’s great…” Mike looked to Dustin. Suddenly, there was tension and electricity in the room that couldn’t be ignored. Both Dustin and Lucas had looked down at their plates, and an unsettling sadness, an open wound of grief, felt only by the three of them, bled into the air. Mike swallowed thickly, “It was great, but it wasn’t the same without you.”
Will looked down at his lap and dug his fingernail into the paper edge of the plate in his hands. He felt like an idiot, a giant, fucking idiot.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… if it's too much, we don’t have to. I, I don’t want to-”
“No. Don’t” Will looked up sharply as Dustin interrupted him. His friend's eyes were firm and determined. “Eddie would never want us to stop playing DnD, not for anything. Especially not because… especially not because of him.”
Both Lucas and Mike nodded firmly. Will blinked in surprise. “Okay… if you’re sure.”
Mike looked back at Will, his eyes were soft again, wide and dark and a little excited. “We’re sure.”
10:56 PM
“I wish I could see you.”
Mike smiled softly into the darkness of his backyard. He looked down at the ground and fiddled with one of his shoelaces.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Hop has been watching me all day, so I don’t sneak out.” He could hear the frown of annoyance on El’s face over the Supercom.
“Were you planning on sneaking out?”
“Me and Will talked about it. But he said it wasn’t safe.”
Mike raised an eyebrow, “You talked about it?”
“Yes. It was Will’s idea. He changed his mind.”
“Oh.” A breeze whispered through the trees, oddly cold for early April and carrying the scent of rain. Mike felt the air pressure change slightly. He stretched his jaw to pop his ears. “That seems pretty… rebellious for Will.”
“Well, he did change his mind.”
Mike exhaled out of his nose in a quick laugh, “True. Mrs. Byers probably would’ve gone apeshit, not to mention Hop.”
“Yes,” Eleven agreed, “And I don’t want to make Hopper angry. He is… having a hard time.”
“Oh?” Mike frowned. A spike of worry tingled in his chest.
“He said it was like the soldiers.”
“The… soldiers?”
“Yes. When soldiers come back from the war, they have a hard time being… normal?” There was a tilt in El’s voice, like she wasn’t sure that was the right word. “Russia was like the war. And now he is home.”
“Oh. Like PTSD?”
There was a pause, “pee tea… SD?”
Mike nodded, even though there was no one else in the backyard. “It’s an acronym, like TV for television. P-T-S-D. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
Another pause, this one longer. Mike could tell El was working through each of the words he said, picking out which ones she knew the definitions of. Then, “‘disorder?’”
“Yeah. D-I-S-order. It means a couple of things. Usually, uh,” Mike looked up to the sky, clouds were rolling in from the south, but a few stars still glimmered in the dark. “Something that isn’t right. Out of order. In medicine, it means, like, a… sickness? That’s not the right word. It means something isn’t normal in your head. Post-traumatic stress disorder is when, like, after you’ve experienced something traumatic, your brain gets all messed up and doesn’t know how to tell if you're safe or not.”
This time, El was quiet for so long that Mike pulled the radio away from his face and checked to see that the battery light was still green before she spoke.
“I have… trauma.”
Mike blinked. “I mean, I guess so. If you want to call it that.” Mike suddenly felt uncomfortable. He pulled his knees closer to his chest. The cold of the concrete stoop he sat on seeped up through his jeans. “You… you should talk to Hop about it. He’ll know more.”
“But you have known me for longer, Mike.”
He swallowed. “That’s true. I guess.”
Mike could tell El was waiting for him to say something else. But no words came to him. Just quiet, bubbling anxiety. Finally, she sighed, “Hop says I should go. The army will start to listen.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, El.”
There was a moment of space, where they both knew there was something else he was supposed to say. It passed.
“Goodnight, Mike.” Then, “and Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks.” He breathed in and out slowly. “Goodnight.”
There was a click on the other end as El turned off Hopper’s radio. Then static. For a breath, Mike listened to the white noise, looking into the darkness of his backyard. Then, he collapsed the Supercom’s antenna and stood up, ignoring the feeling of relief in his chest as he went back inside.
Will rolled over, half asleep, as the basement door creaked open. Mike’s silhouette was outlined against the desk lamp and cast long shadows against the paneled walls.
“Oh. It’s you.” Will murmured, pulling his blankets to his chin and settling further into his mattress on the floor. He couldn’t see Mike’s smile, but he felt its warmth. “I thought you were Lucas. He went to get pajamas.”
“Yeah, sorry. Did I wake you up?” Mike’s voice was quiet in an attempt not to rouse Dustin, who was fast asleep and snoring softly by the stairs.
Will shook his head, “No.” He watched Mike lean down to untie his sneakers, then followed his movement as the other boy crossed the room and sank into the couch with a deep sigh, leaning his head back towards the ceiling. He tilted it slightly to look at Will through tired, half-lidded eyes, the long line of his throat bathed in warm lamplight. Will decided it was best that he inspect the leg of the coffee table.
“How’s El?” He asked the wood.
“She’s good. Cooped up and restless, but good.” Mike responded. Then, after a moment, “she said you hatched a plan to sneak her out of the cabin.”
Will smiled, “Yeah. I thought it could be a good surprise. But then I realized we would have to drive, and I didn’t know anyone with a car who would be willing to cross Hopper.”
“Argyle would’ve.”
Will looked up at Mike and raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, then immediately spill to my mom or somebody by accident.”
“True,” Mike admitted. He shifted around, swung his legs up on the couch, and pulled his quilt up to his chest. Will heard the old couch springs squeak as Mike turned to his side to continue facing him. The couch was perpendicular to Will’s mattress, so he was mostly looking at the curly mop of Mike’s black hair and his slightly furrowed eyebrows.
“Do you wish she were here?” Will asked carefully.
“I…” The quilt rose and fell as Mike sighed, “Yes and no, I guess.”
Will waited patiently, knowing Mike wasn’t finished. With more groaning couch springs, he turned over on his stomach, wrapped his wiry arms around the pillow, and rested his chin on the threadbare arm of the couch. The furrow on his brow deepened. “We’ve barely seen each other, with, you know, Rink-O-Mania and Project Nina, and now she's hiding out with Hop.”
Will nodded, curling slightly tighter into himself. Mike continued, “So, yeah, I miss her and everything…”
But…?
“But I… really liked hanging out with you guys tonight. Just you guys.” Mike’s eyes flicked over to Will’s. It was just dark enough that Will couldn't tell where his pupils ended, and his irises began. “Maybe that makes me a shitty boyfriend, I don’t know.”
Will thought for a while, “I don’t think so.”
“Really?” Mike seemed genuinely surprised.
“Yeah.” Will tilted his head a bit more to make more meaningful eye contact with Mike. “You’re allowed to be your own person. Just because you want to spend time with other people besides El, doesn’t mean you…” Will looked back at the table leg, clearing his throat, “It doesn’t mean you love her any less.”
Mike was quiet for a long time. As Will inspected the grain of the coffee table, he couldn’t help but realize how quiet it was in the house, how close he was to Mike, how dim the light was. The Wheelers’ basement had always equated safety in his mind. It was just as much home as his house off Mirkwood, or Castle Byers. Its paneled walls and shag carpets cradled him. The ever-present smell of lavender laundry detergent, mothballs, and WD-40 was as familiar as the smoke of his mother’s cigarettes or the scent of colored pencil shavings.
He had never, truly, felt afraid here. Even when it felt like the Mind Flayer was everywhere, some naive part of Will had always believed that He couldn’t reach him here. Like the dusty basement had a Protection from Evil enchantment cast on it, and if he was here, he was invisible to the Demogorgon, the Mind Flayer, and everyone.
This safety, the intimacy that came with it, swaddled the two boys as they lay head to head. It made Will feel calm. It made Mike feel brave.
Outside, fat drops of cold rain began to fall from the sky and slapped against the windows, echoing in the drain-spouts. Neither of them seemed to hear it.
Will looked back towards the couch, half expecting his best friend to be asleep, or staring somewhere into space, lost in thought, as was his favorite pastime. Instead, Mike was still watching him. His dark eyes were sharp, intense, and focused, as if he were deciding whether or not to say something important.
Will blinked, “Are you okay?”
Instead of answering, Mike’s eyebrows drew together. “Can I ask you something?”
You just did. Will decided against being a pain in the ass, “yeah, of course.”
Mike nodded, watching him carefully, then, “Have you ever been in love?”
Oh, fuck.
Will went white as a sheet.
‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!’
Mike Wheeler realized he was a giant, fucking, idiot.
“Shit,” he scrambled, sitting up slightly and leaning on his elbow, “you-uh, don’t have to answer that. Sorry, I just want to- I mean, if you don’t want to talk about that, um, it’s fine.” Jesus Christ, not what I meant to say. “Not ‘that’ like, that. I don’t think that. I just mean, like, you’re the only one of us who doesn’t have a girlfriend. Um, yet, of course. Heh.” Holy shit, shut up, shut up, shut up. STOP TALKING. “So, you don’t have to talk about this, you don’t have to talk about this. I just could use some advice, and I don’t want to ask Lucas ‘cause of Max and, uh. Sorry. Shit. Sorry.”
Mike buried his now beet-red face in his hand. God, he was an idiot. Will was literally the only person in the group who hadn’t gotten a girlfriend yet. And of course, Mike just had to ask him a question that would rub that in his face. And of course, he fucking phrased it in the worst way that made him sound like he was calling Will gay, which he wasn’t. Will got enough shit from everyone else in Hawkins; he didn’t need to hear that idiotic nonsense from Mike, too. Not again.
Mike didn’t dare look up, “I didn’t mean it like that, Will, I promise. I was just… wondering.” He peeked out from between his fingers.
He expected Will to be angry or hurt, but instead, his face was a flaming red, and his mouth was wide open and gaping. He looked… embarrassed.
Embarrassed?
Holy shit, Will’s been in love.
“Wait. Holy shit, have you been in love?”
Will’s eyes went wide as saucers. The desk lamp hit his face at an angle, turning the hazel irises glass-bottle green. The gears in Mike’s head started turning. Did he know this mystery girl? Was it someone in California? El mentioned Will maybe liking a girl in Lenora, right? Why hadn’t Will told him? Had Will told El and Jonathan? Did she like Will back? Was she good enough for Will? Certainly not.
But Will loved her anyway.
Mike suddenly felt a bit nauseous. Probably too much birthday cake.
He focused back in on Will, who still looked slightly panicked, but somehow found words to respond, “um… no?”
Mike blinked. Oh.
“Oh. Um, okay.”
There were a few moments of silence while Mike’s brain rebooted. He watched Will’s face slowly return to its usual color. Will shifted uncomfortably, “...why do you ask?”
Mike looked down at his hands. He had shattered the quiet intimacy that provided him the courage to ask in the first place. Now he felt too large for his skin, every noise too loud, every light too bright. Will’s gentle eyes were no longer curious but searching and closed off.
His fears still pounded at his chest, though, and now that they’d seen a glimpse of release, there was no holding them in.
“I just… I wanted to know what it felt like for someone else. What it’s supposed to feel like.”
At some point during Mike’s panicked monologue, Will had fully sat up, Mike’s spare duvet draped around his shoulders. Now he pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms and the blanket around his shins. When he looked at Mike, his eyes were cast in shadow again, and his expression was cautious. “You… don’t know?”
Mike shrugged, “I don’t know if I… don’t know, if that makes sense.”
After a beat of silence, Will slowly nodded. Then he buried his mouth in between his knees, his voice muffled by the duvet, “What about El?”
Mike sank back down into the sagging couch, “I love El. I must? Right? I said I did. I can’t imagine my life without her, and I care about her so much.”
Will waited for him to continue silently.
“But… I don’t… I’m not always sure I’m in love with her.” Mike drew his blanket up to his chin, curling in on himself and not looking at Will. He spoke his next words to the empty container of cheese puffs on the coffee table. “Sometimes it feels like I say things and do things because it's what a person in love should do, not because I want to. I care about her, and I want to keep her safe and for her to be happy, and I try to show her that, but sometimes I don’t think I’m doing it right.” He glanced up at Will, “Sometimes I feel like I’m roleplaying ‘Mike Wheeler, who's in love with El Hopper’ instead of just… being in love with her.”
Will considered this for a long time. A million emotions flickered like candlelight across his face. They moved so fast that Mike couldn’t decipher them, and he got the sinking feeling that Will wanted it that way.
That was a new development since California. In all their years of being friends, Will had never lied to Mike. No once. He never quieted himself or hid his emotions, never concealed how he was feeling, or pretended everything was okay when it wasn’t. Mike had always known this vulnerability was a gift, a unique privilege that only he had. Will hid from everyone else, Jonathan, his mom, even Dustin and Lucas, but never Mike. Will had never lied to Mike, had never needed to. But now it seemed like Will was lying to him every day.
Will’s trust was a privilege, and somewhere between the missed calls and unsent letters, between rainy days and roller rinks, Mike had lost it.
He pretended like it didn’t hurt. He often failed.
Will’s face settled into impassive pity, and Mike tried to ignore how disgusted with himself he felt. If 12-year-old Mike Wheeler could see you now…
Will’s face betrayed nothing when he spoke. He just stared at the floor next to his mattress. Even so, Mike could hear the softness and emotion in his voice, a tremble of anxiety. Will lied to Mike every day, but he wasn’t very good at it. “I’ve never been in love, so it doesn’t really matter what I think…”
“It matters to me.”
Will’s eyes shot to Mike. That was another thing, a new discovery that came with the new dishonesty. If Will met Mike’s gaze when he lied, the illusion would shatter. Mike would look into those eyes, more familiar than his own, and he would know. He’d know.
“What?”
“It matters to me- what you think.” Mike felt an errant and unexplainable flush creep up his neck, “maybe more than anyone else.”
“Really?”
Mike nodded, “Really.” He shrugged, “You’re my best friend. You're the best of us, Will. If you think I’m being a total idiot, you’re probably right.”
A crooked smile curled at the edges of Will’s lips. Mike had to tear his eyes away from it.
“Then can I be honest?”
Please. Always, Will. Always.
“Totally.”
Will scrunched up his face, his smile broadening, his nose crinkling, his eyes squinting into an involuntary wink. It was such a familiar, teasing expression, and Mike realized he hadn’t seen it in a long, long time.
“You’re kind of being an idiot.”
Mike slumped. “Shit.”
Will tilted his head, continuing, “These last few weeks, these last few years, have been confusing and insane for all of us. Throw relationships and puberty, and” Will cleared his throat, “girls into the mix… I think it's okay if we don’t have everything figured out. It’s not the end of the world if we make mistakes, if we can’t always find the words for how we feel.”
Mike opened his mouth to disagree, but Will gave him a sharp “shut up, you know I’m right” look that quickly silenced him.
“It’s not the end of the world.” Will reiterated. “We know what the end of the world looks like, now. And doing the wrong thing, or saying the wrong thing to the people we love,” Will glanced away, “isn’t it. It’s okay if you don’t have everything figured out, Mike. It’s okay if you're stressed out right now, and things are weird with El. It would be stranger if things weren’t weird.” Will wrapped his arms tighter around himself, “El needs you. But she’s strong, and she won’t shatter into a million pieces if you aren’t the perfect boyfriend 100% of the time.”
Mike couldn’t help but smile to himself. ‘I dump your ass.’ “Yeah… she’ll just dump me and go shopping.”
Will snorted, then looked up and caught Mike’s eye again. Once again, he was just in the right position where the lamplight fell across his face gently, illuminating only his eyes and casting the rest of him in shadow. The exhaustion that had been lingering in the periphery of Mike’s mind began to advance as he lay on the couch, and he felt his thoughts wander.
He thought many things in that quiet moment. He thought that this couch was surprisingly comfortable. He thought in this light, Will looked like a mysterious figure in the corner of a dark tavern, watchful, holding immeasurable secrets that Mike wanted nothing more than understand. He thought that Will Byers was his favorite person in the entire world. He thought that he really, really needed to go to sleep.
He realized he couldn’t, not until he asked one final question. He didn’t know how badly, how desperately, he needed the answer until now. He couldn’t imagine why - why he cared. Because he’s your friend. It’s natural to care about his opinion. Perfectly natural and normal.
“I know you said you’ve never felt it,” Mike said quietly, “but what do you imagine being in love should feel like?”
He half expected Will to turn away. To guard himself, to lie down and roll over with a sarcastic “good night, Michael,” and ignore him completely. Instead, Will just kept watching him. Mike’s heart thudded in his chest. Too much cake.
“Like the moment before a thunderstorm,” Will answered. His voice was sad, and Mike wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold his hand. Like he would have done when they were young. He didn’t. That wasn’t his place anymore. “When the clouds and the wind are all around you, and the air pressure changes, and you know the storm is going to break. But you don’t know when, and you’re too far away from home to run inside.”
Mike frowned, “That doesn’t sound… fun.”
Will’s glittering eyes disappeared into the dark as he lay down again. There was another long moment of silence. It was the first time Mike noticed the rain splattering against the windows. Against his will, he felt himself slipping into sleep.
Will’s voice was quiet when he spoke, like the edge of a dream.
“It’s not.”