Chapter Text
October 26th, 1987, Will
Will the Wise. It was a name that, in all fairness, he hadn’t come up with on his own— that claim belonged to Mike, who was a lot more comfortable speaking that highly of Will than Will was himself. But even so, Will had always thought it at least sort of fit him. Will knew there were many things he wasn’t the best at (things people like his father never let him forget), but he was definitely good at… thinking? A lot. Be it good or bad. And in most cases, he’d considered it to be good.
But lately, he’s thinking maybe it’s not so good. Maybe he thinks too much. Maybe he thinks so much, he sees things that aren’t really even there.
Or maybe Mike Wheeler is insane.
If Mike Wheeler were insane, that would explain why his behavior seemingly cannot be interpreted the same as your average person, or at least in a way that brings you to any sort of logical conclusion at all. Because Mike does a lot of confusing things, things that would lead Will to almost begin thinking things that sound entirely insane himself.
Maybe Mike really meant it literally when he said they could go crazy together. Because this last year and a half living with Mike feels like it has him well on the way.
“Oh, good lord. Will, I’m sorry, but Holly must be off playing somewhere again. Would you mind going to let everyone know breakfast is almost ready?”
A rare day he wakes up in time to make it to the kitchen first and look what happens. He’s going back to letting Jonathan set the alarm, he thinks, but what he actually says is, “Sure, Mrs. Wheeler,” before pushing his chair back and heading to the staircase.
He’s being dramatic, he reminds himself. He and Mike are closer than they’ve been in years, both in proximity and in their friendship. Of course he doesn’t mind waking him up, or, well, he wouldn’t mind waking Mike up if that didn’t mean going into his room. He and Mike hang out all the time now— but not really in his room. Not if Will can help it. And not even for the… obvious reasons a person might be reluctant to hang out in somebody they like’s bedroom, but for a much worse reason, much worse because it’s something Will did entirely to himself.
He knocks. “Mike?”
Maybe he can get out of this without actually entering the room.
He knocks again, louder. “MIKE???”
There’s a groan, and before Will even gets a chance to spit his message out and hope the other is conscious enough to hear it, a grumbly “come in” follows.
Will sighs and looks up to the ceiling as if asking some entity he doesn’t believe in to give him strength, then he turns the doorknob and walks in.
And there it is, the very thing Will has tried to avoid being in the same room as all this time— the painting he, himself, created and gave to Mike in probably one of the more ill-thought-out moves of his lifetime. Because not only did he paint an, upon reflection, probably oddly meaningful painting for his straight best friend he likes who dates his now-adoptive sister, but he also gave all the credit to her in an attempt to cheer him up and mend the two’s relationship. So it’s not only a reminder of the overly bold move Will made, but the fact that Mike only has it on his wall because it reminds him of Eleven.
Or, at least, that should be the case. And it probably is. …But why is it among practically an entire art exhibit Mike has of Will’s artwork on his walls?
Mike groans and stretches, looking up at him without actually sitting up, then collapsing his head back onto the pillow and squeezing his eyes closed again. “Morning.” He winks an eye open at the alarm clock by his bed and asks, “What are you doing up already?”
“Well, that’s just what happens when I stop leaving it up to Jonathan to set our alarm,” Will says, smiling a little as he walks farther into the room.
“Yea, but we stayed up so late last night.”
“I know… but you’re also forgetting I slept through like half the movie. I mean, we’ve rented Holy Grail probably 10 times, Mike. Dustin and Lucas aren’t even coming to movie nights anymore.”
“Oh, I forgot to invite them,” Mike grumbles so offhandedly, Will wonders if he even caught it.
“What?”
“I forgot, that’s why they didn’t come. Although, those assholes probably would say they’re not coming unless we rent something new anyway.” Mike pats the corner of his bed, clearly telling Will to sit, Will’s eyes glancing to it, then to the side as he unfortunately starts thinking again.
“But they didn’t come last time either.”
“Yea, well, they’re always busy and shit anyway.” His patting of the mattress begins growing more impatient until Will finally gives in and takes the few strides over to sit down.
“You guys aren’t fighting or anything, are you?”
Mike looks up at him, the perfect picture of confusion, as he always so unhelpfully appears to be. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
Will frowns, staring straight into Mike’s eyes for a second, before looking off again as if trying to solve a puzzle in his head. Well, he basically always is these days. The puzzle is Mike. It’s like a million pieces.
Mike expels a slightly annoyed sounding breath before muttering, “I mean, not a ridiculous question with the way Dustin is acting these days, I guess.”
“Ugh,” Will replies, more in concern than annoyance. Admittedly, he always sort of takes Mike’s side in arguments with Dustin, but he doesn’t get as fed up with him as Mike or Lucas. He just feels worried. He hopes he isn’t wondering why Mike hasn’t been inviting him. Although, if so, welcome to the club, Will’s wondering the exact same thing.
Will’s eyes land, like some sort of horrible compulsion he gets upon entering this room, once again, on that goddamn painting. He’s not sure if he lingers a little too long, or it’s just too long a stretch of silence, but suddenly he hears Mike let out an awkward cough and feels him quickly tapping on his arm, hanging onto it loosely at the end.
“Um. Can you hand me my pants please?” He points to where they lie in a pile on his floor.
Right. Will is always so relieved that Mike doesn’t sleep shirtless, and completely forgets to worry about the damn pants. His face heats up and he turns away quickly, Mike’s hand falling as Will leans over to grab the pants and drop them somewhere onto him without actually looking. He knows there is nothing to see, Mike is under the covers, and honestly, even if he weren’t, it isn’t like Will hasn’t seen all their friends in their underwear when changing for gym. Still. He no longer wants to be in this room, sitting on the bed of the only half-dressed boy he likes who just caught him staring too long at the stupid painting he basically confessed his love through.
Will stands quickly and clears his throat, saying, “Oh man, I forgot I’m supposed to be letting everyone know about dinner- I mean breakfast, anyway, cause your mom asked me to. That’s what I was supposed to be coming in here for, so,” he continues rambling as he walks toward the door, “so just, after you put your… p-pants on, come down to dinner- why do I keep saying dinner? Breakfast, when you’re ready, and I’ll go tell my sister and your mom. No. My mom. I don’t have a sister. Okay, seeya down there.”
Will opens and slams the door a little too quickly, leaning his back onto it after as if he had just barely escaped with his life.
Honestly, maybe they aren’t going crazy together. Maybe he’s just going crazy all on his own.
October 26th, 1987, Mike
This is driving Mike crazy.
Because how did he manage to finally get Will back in his life, in his house even— going from thinking he’d lost him entirely to having him closer than ever, their friendship fixed, Mike had apologized for… mostly everything he needed to apologize for, and yet, now that he’s here, Mike feels like he cannot stop weirding him out.
He knows maybe he’s too overzealous about their friendship, but when they’d settled everything, Will seemed just as happy as he did for them to finally be back to normal. But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Mike is failing at being normal. He tries. Tries extra hard with Will. But somehow it just doesn’t come naturally to him.
He remembers when he first begged for Will to move in with them. Well, it wasn’t so much begged as just insisted. When he’d basically alerted their mothers to the fact that Will would be moving in, Will seemed just as eager as he did— even willing to stay in his room. He’d said it would be like a sleepover. However, now, Will barely spends any time in his room. And when he does, he feels like… things get weird.
Mike sits with his long arms sprawled out over his knees and looks across the room with a dead stare he finds himself stuck in a lot these days. His eyes jerkily scan the painting Will had been staring at, looking specifically at his and Will’s characters. Will the Wise and Mike the Brave. His brow twitches, face falling into an almost imperceptible frown. Something about that name annoys him right now.
Suddenly, his door flies open, loudly hitting the wall as Nancy steps one foot into his room.
“JESUS CHRIST, DO YOU KNOCK?!”
“Will was literally just in here, I already know you’re decent.”
“No you don’t!”
She raises an eyebrow, then rolls her eyes and says, “I’m just letting you know I’m done in the bathroom so you don’t yell at me or try to blame me for being late again.”
“Ugh, okay, got it.”
She goes to shut the door, but suddenly all of Mike’s brain cells leave him, and he decides to ask, “Nancy?”
“What?” she turns back, still seeming in a rush to get out.
“Do you think I have, like… too much of Will’s art in my room? I mean, he’s a great artist, so of course I’d want them in here, but, like… if one of your friends— uh, I don’t really know of what friends you have. Steve, for instance. If Steve had this much of your artwork in his room, would you find it weird? Well, you’re not an artist. Your articles or something, I guess.”
Nancy slowly shuts the door partially behind her and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Well, firstly… I think if anyone had my articles plastered all over their walls, they would look like a bit of a psychopath. That’s a little different from artwork. Secondly, Steve is my ex… so yes, I would definitely find that weird.”
Mike rubs his temples, realizing, yea, that probably was not the best comparison.
“But that’s just because… I wouldn’t want to think he still had feelings for me like that.”
Mike freezes, face dropping as static feels like it fills his head.
“But obviously, Will is a different story.”
Yea. Obviously. Right.
“I mean… could you have a little less? Maybe. Like, it doesn’t ALL need to be on your wall-”
“It’s not.”
“What?”
“It’s not all on my wall, I have a folder in the basement too.”
“...Okay. Um. Well, these ones are kind of big, I guess.” She gestures to the large troll picture on the wall, then, of course, to Will’s painting of their D&D characters.
“Okay, but that one’s sort of from El, to be fair.”
Nancy turns and stares at the painting again for a second, then turns back to Mike with a raised eyebrow. “El likes D&D?”
“Well— no.”
She sighs, eyes rolling a bit before meeting Mike’s. “Well, it seems like you don’t want to remove any of them. And I don’t think Will would care. Anyway, hurry and get dressed, mom’s yelling for everyone to come to breakfast.” And she shuts the door.
Unhelpful, Mike thinks. He wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. He doesn’t feel like he gave her all the information needed to actually provide him with a helpful answer, but then, he also isn’t really sure what all the information is.
Whatever. He grabs his pants and gets up, roughly shoving his legs into them and tripping multiple times.
October 31st, 1987, Will
“You and Mike got any plans tonight?”
Will swerves slightly on his bike, catching his balance again before asking, “What do you mean?”
“For Halloween. Isn’t it like, ‘the best night of the year?’” Lucas asks, in what Will thinks must be a mocking Mike voice, possibly back from when he absolutely would not let go of Lucas and Dustin inviting Max to trick or treat with them.
“Ah,” Will replies, catching up to him while he thinks for a moment. “I totally forgot, actually. Mike didn’t say anything to you?”
“Nah, you’d know sooner than me. I thought maybe you guys were having one of your movie nights or something.”
Will does not know why this is so embarrassing. They’ve literally always had movie nights. Maybe it’s the wording. One of your movie nights. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that Lucas knows they are having movie nights without them. But Will doesn’t know why that should be embarrassing to him, when he’s not the one choosing that. And he doesn’t even have any logical clue why Mike would be.
“Hey, um… about that. Sorry we forgot to invite you.” We. Right. “I think Mike assumes you’re always at the hospital, and, you know… he and Dustin don’t always get along these days.”
Lucas shrugs. “I mean, I am always at the hospital. It doesn’t bother me. Plus, you guys live together. It makes sense you’ll do stuff without us.”
Right. Right, it makes sense. Will does not need to overthink this. Even Lucas, totally normal Lucas, confirms that it is a totally normal thing to do.
“Yea, I guess so.”
“And, anyway, I guess I’m on Dustin duty since he said he had some idea he wanted to talk to me about. I might head over there later if I’m not too exhausted.”
“I don’t know how you aren’t always exhausted.”
“I don’t know how you aren’t, man, you live with 20 people, and one is Mike.”
Will rolls his eyes with an open-mouthed smile, as if Lucas were insulting Will himself.
“Don’t tell him I said that.”
“I’m telling him.”
“I know you are.”
“Hey,” Will says, glaring a bit as he starts to slow down, almost at the Wheeler’s driveway.
“HAVE FUN AT YOUR MOVIE NIGHT,” Lucas shouts back as he speeds ahead toward his own house.
Will narrows his eyes even more as he comes to a complete stop, shouting, “WE’RE NOT EVEN HAVING A MOVIE NIGHT,” before getting off his bike and walking it up to the house.
October 31st, 1987, Mike
“Hey, how was Max? I wasn’t sure if you’d be back in time to do anything for Halloween, but I rented The Exorcist if you wanna have a movie night.”
Will stands frozen in the doorway for a moment, before walking in, slinging his backpack over a chair, and joining Mike at the table.
“Yea, I mean… same as always, unfortunately. Lucas seemed a little better, at least.”
“That’s good. It’s nice you always try to go with him.”
“Yea, I just… he’s there so often, and I know it must be really hard on him. I don’t want him to always have to go alone.”
Mike flips his pencil back and forth, eraser tapping repeatedly onto the table as his mouth twists into a small frown.
This is fine. There’s nothing Mike should mind about this. He likes that Will is nice enough to do that kind of thing, and surely he would for Mike too, if Mike were somehow in Lucas’s situation. That small part of him that always sort of wants to ask, “do you like Lucas more than me?” is practically dead by now, by the way, because Mike has obviously matured a ton since then. And if he reminds himself of that painting, that he’s supposed to be the leader, supposed to be the heart, anytime that less mature version of him pops up, so what? That was kind of the point, wasn’t it? But if he also sometimes does the same with the custom Mike the Brave figure Will made him, well… he doesn’t need to think as much about that.
“Um.” Will says, a bit nervously, making Mike realize he has been silent other than the tapping of his pencil for way too long. “I was gonna say especially since he has to listen to the same song over and over again, but I guess you’re not exactly that much better off.”
“Ugh.” Mike says, turning the dial on the radio even lower than it already was. “Robin has terrible taste in music. I’m almost off-duty though. Honestly, there are hardly ever crawls on Saturday anyway, I feel like I sat here listening to this for no reason.”
“Come on, I don’t think it’s that bad. And she’s funny, at least.”
“...Uh-huh.”
“So…” Will begins moving the zipper on his (well, Mike’s, most of the clothes Will wears since being quarantined in Hawkins with only a backpack are Mike’s) jacket, the way he nervously does sometimes. “You rented Poltergeist? Wanna watch it in the basement when you’re done?”
“Shit.” Mike drops his pencil on the table. “I forgot Holly said some friend is coming over and she wants to watch a movie in the basement.”
“Oh… um, is it a sleepover, or just for the movie?”
“I don’t know, my mom hardly gave me any info. Sorry. But if it is a sleepover, that’s fine, you can sleep in my room. And we can watch the movie in the living room, my dad goes to bed early on Halloween anyway; he’s paranoid if trick-or-treaters see him up he’ll have to actually interact with them.”
Will does not respond. He looks worried, which, in turn, makes Mike worry. Was Nancy wrong the other day about the amount of Will artwork in his room, could he not be wanting to stay in there because of it? But is it suspicious if he removes some just for this? Suspicious of what, he’s… not sure.
“...Will? You okay?”
“Oh. Yea, I was just… hoping your parents wouldn’t mind horror movies in the living room.”
Mike presses his mouth into a straight line and shakes his head, staring into Will’s eyes with an ‘are you kidding me’ expression. “They won’t care.” They probably won’t even notice. His parents don’t notice most things, especially his dad. It’s sort of the one saving grace Mike has found in dealing with him his entire life.
Will laughs a short laugh that Mike can’t determine whether or not is genuine, and brings both hands up to rub down his neck, another nervous gesture Mike has found he does sometimes, different than the Vecna-detecting one though, thank god.
“Okay, that works for me then. Do we have any other good Halloween movies? We can just have a marathon til Holly is done in the basement.”
Mike frowns.
“Uhh... I can check.”
November 1st, 1987, Will (2:30 AM)
“Will? Will.”
Will lets out an, “mm?” and cracks open his eyes that had apparently closed again without his permission.
“I don’t think Holly and her friend are coming back upstairs. We should probably just go to bed.”
Will groans and digs his face into the throw pillow, knowing it’s probably mussing his hair even more than it had been from his sleep.
He knows what that means. It’s not just ‘go to bed,’ it’s ‘go to Mike’s bed.’
They were on their third movie, and he’d been determined to basically watch movies indefinitely until he could get back into the basement and avoid sleeping in Mike’s room, but The Evil Dead did not keep him awake as successfully as Poltergeist or American Werewolf in London. That was Jonathan’s favorite movie, but it didn’t really interest him. He wonders briefly where Jonathan is if the basement is still unavailable, then remembers he has a girlfriend that lives here, so sharing a room isn’t exactly the nightmare for him that it is for Will.
“Too tired to get up,” Will mumbles, a last ditch effort to maybe just be left to sleep on the couch.
“I can help you. I mean, we could sleep here, but we probably don’t feel like dealing with my dad in the morning.
Will likes how now it’s ‘we’ either way, so there’s basically no escaping sleeping with Mike somewhere. Here wouldn’t be so bad, but then Mike is right, Will really doesn’t wanna deal with Mr. Wheeler in the morning, or most times, to be honest.
He groans and nods his head, which is still planted mostly into the pillow. Agreement or not, however, he can’t bring himself to move.
Mike must take this to mean that he’s fallen asleep again, and having received at least a nod as permission, he scoots over on the couch and wraps his arms around Will’s waist. “Come on, Will, let's go.”
Will startles and grabs his shoulder, his first instinct to push him away, but sitting up quickly reminds him he actually maybe is exhausted enough to need help. He has no idea how Lucas makes that bike ride to and from the hospital every day.
He halts his movements and keeps his hand on Mike’s shoulder, blinking hard to try to get his bearings both physically and mentally.
Mike pauses and looks down at him, one hand on Will’s arm now to steady him, while the other still unfortunately lingers on his waist.
“You okay?”
There is a very small part of Will that wants to say no and just let Mike help him all the way up the stairs, hand holding onto his waist the entire time. After all, Mike loves being helpful, right? Even if everything else is being misread by Will because of his feelings, which he knows it is, there is no misreading that Mike likes being needed, because he literally told Will about it.
…Well, he told Will he wants to be needed by El. His girlfriend. Right.
He finally looks up into Mike’s eyes, and he knows he fails to hide it for a second. Mike looks so innocent and concerned, and Will just feels… shame.
“Yea, I’m okay,” he mutters, averting his eyes as he manages to bring himself to push Mike’s shoulder away, Mike slowly backing up and letting go, the hand on his arm still steadying him a bit as he does.
“Alright, let’s go.”
Mike stands and, oblivious as always, still holds his hand out in an offer to help Will stand up.
Will stares at it.
It’s not fair that he should be having to make these kinds of decisions. It feels like there’s never one that’s right, no matter what he does. As long as Mike is clueless and kind enough to put him in these situations, Will will have to worry about hurting him either way. As long as Mike and El are together, he’ll have to feel like he’s betraying someone either way. And as long as he loves Mike, he’ll have to feel shame either way.
So he takes his hand, because there’s no stopping that.
Mike lets go only once they get to the steps so he can put a hand behind his back to steady him.
He actually laughs a bit at this, genuinely. “Mike, I am not going to fall down the steps.”
“Well I don’t know, Will, you seem really tired!” he sort of whisper-yells in response. Pretty much the most Mike will ever yell at him.
“I am, but not, ‘fall down the stairs’ tired.”
“Well, okay, whatever you say,” he gives in, removing his hand, but Will can feel both of them still lingering behind him until they make it all the way up.
“You’re ridiculous,” Will says off-handedly as he walks into Mike’s room.
Mike sits on his bed and rolls his eyes, only sighing loudly in return.
Once Will is in here, he once again remembers he has no idea what the fuck to do. Now more than ever. He can’t believe he happily replied, “It’ll be like a sleepover!” when initially asked to live in this room. But that was before the painting had been put up. And that was before… Mike had confused him. Almost every day for 18 whole months.
“You can just borrow more of my clothes. There’s basically hardly any distinction at this point anyway,” Mike laughs, and Will tries to join him in a way that seems natural.
“Listen, I have some of my own clothes.”
Mike gets up and starts digging through the top drawer of his dresser. “You don’t need your own clothes.”
“Oh, what, you don’t like my clothes?”
Mike doesn’t answer. Will tries not to think about it too much.
Finally, he walks over and hands him a neatly folded white T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
“And from the dresser instead of the floor pile even?” He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels this compulsion to make jokes. Maybe he feels like if he keeps everything lighthearted that he can’t get too nervous? That he can’t overthink anything? Or maybe that Mike won’t have the chance to say anything that would need overthinking.
“Yea man, only the best for you.”
He holds them awkwardly while Mike goes and grabs a T-shirt for himself, then nearly lets out a sigh of relief when he sees Mike also grab a pair of pants. It’s short lived though, when there’s a second of awkward silence as they just stand there holding the clothes, suddenly remembering they have to actually change into them. Eventually, Mike clears his throat and turns to face the wall, then starts lifting his shirt up.
“UM, I need to use the bathroom, so I’ll just change while I’m in there, I’ll… be right back.”
Mike quickly drops the hem of his shirt. “Oh, yea, cool… dude.” And Will can tell he’s relieved too.
“Cool.” Will quickly turns and leaves the room, having to remind himself not to slam the door shut behind him and wake everyone up.
He wonders, was Mike relieved because he knows about him and is uncomfortable changing in front of him because of it? But if that were the case, would Mike really ask him to stay in his room? He tells himself probably not. Hopefully not. Mike can never know. It would change everything, everything that he was lucky enough to get back. Things might have been confusing lately, but he can’t let that get to him if it means ruining their friendship. It’s all just in his head anyway.
Walking back into the room, he sees Mike already changed and sitting in bed, letting out a big yawn and a stretch, which turns into reaching his arm to point toward the light switch.
“You wanna turn that off when you come in?”
“Oh. Yea. Um,” Will pauses, realizing this might sound like a stupid question, maybe suspiciously over-paranoid, as they used to share beds all the time as kids, but he remembers Mike sleeping on the floor when he was possessed by the mind flayer, and wonders if maybe that’s the appropriate thing to do now. “Where should I sleep?”
Mike just pauses and stares, looking almost like he thinks Will is an idiot for even asking.
“Will, where else even would you sleep?”
“I don’t know, I mean you’ve slept on the floor at my house.”
“Yea, dude, but my bed is a whole lot bigger than yours, so just turn the light off and come get in bed.”
“Okay, okay.”
He tries to do that as if it’s normal, as normal as Mike made it seem when he said to, as normal as Mike is acting like this whole situation is, because it is normal— for normal people, this is normal.
But he knows his limbs are moving like a robot and he’s thankful the light is off as he makes his way over to the bed and gets in, immediately curling up faced away from Mike, at the very edge, and covering almost his entire person with the bedspread.
Mike is silent for a moment, and Will can feel him staring even though he’s facing away, until he hears the covers rustling and knows he’s lying down too.
“Goodnight, Will.”
“Night,” Will whispers back, not out of respect for everyone sleeping, but because that’s all he can get out.
“Oh, wait, I need to set the alarm. For The Squawk.”
“Oh.”
“Watch out,” Mike warns, with not nearly enough time for Will to actually do so, before he leans over him and reaches for the nightstand, where of course the alarm clock has to reside. Will has 0 time to consider what a normal reaction to this might be, and 0 wherewithal to actually enact it even if he did. His whole body tenses up, and he knows that it’s noticeably so. If by some chance it weren’t, the sharp intake of breath surely would have alerted Mike to it anyway. His instinct says to back up, but he’s already pushed as far back into the bed as physically possible. And there’s certainly no escape in any other direction, as it feels like Mike is in all of them. He’s leaned onto his elbow on one side of Will, stretched across his back to reach across the other side, where he’s awkwardly jabbing his finger into the buttons from afar instead of just picking it up so he can back away some.
Will tries and fails to steady his breathing as he impatiently watches the numbers on the clock move closer to the time he knows it needs to be set for. His eyes shift briefly up to watch Mike’s profile as he stares at the alarm clock in concentration, and Will just wants so badly to ask him, ‘what the hell are you doing?’
Surely, there had to be another way. Will knows how to set an alarm clock too, for instance. They just went over this recently. Mike knows this. What are they doing?
Finally, FINALLY, after what feels like forever, but is logically probably a somewhat normal amount of time for setting an alarm clock, Mike says, “There,” and sits back just a little, but remains still hovering over Will. Will’s hand starts shaking, and he’s about to ask… something. He doesn’t even know what. When Mike leans in toward his face, and… sniffs him??? Right at his bangs, then he backs up like it was nothing.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“You smell good.”
Will clenches his fist to stop the shaking, and replies with what he considers to be the most disarming response he can come up with in this moment. “I don’t smell like anything but shampoo, Mike. And we use the same shampoo.”
“Yea, you always smell like me since you moved in.”
What the hell. Will stares at him with a frown on his face. He’s sure it would be difficult if he could see him better. But part of him still wishes he could, just so that he could get ANY read on this situation.
Again, he makes an attempt to deescalate this. He swallows, and asks, very quietly, “So really, you just think you smell good,” completely failing to say it in any tone that indicates a joke.
“No, it’s not good on me, just you.”
“...You know, I think Jonathan uses your shampoo too.”
“Okay? But why would I ever be close enough to Jonathan to smell him?”
Will wants to ask why he’d be close enough to HIM to smell him, but he feels like there is genuinely no good answer to that.
“Sorry, I just—” he finally leans away from Will and drops back down onto the bed, closer than he originally was, but still far enough for Will to let out a shaky, yet relieved breath.
“I guess I just like it because it reminds me that you live here.”
Will hates that he has absolutely no control over the huge smile that spreads across his face at that.
“I like you living here. It sucked when you didn’t even live in Hawkins. But now you’re in my house.”
A laugh forces its way out of Will’s mouth and he reaches up to push Mike’s arm, knowing that he lingers on it a little too long after. “Go to sleep, Mike.”
Mike sighs and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and saying, “Yea, yea,” as if he really wanted to say more. Will can’t imagine what more there would be to say. Whatever it is, he feels like they shouldn’t. People could say all sorts of things they don’t mean to say at 3 AM.
But he still says, “I like living with you too.”
November 4th, 1987, Will
Will is positive that Robin is the coolest person he’s ever met. Well, his mom doesn’t like her, and he did just steal a bunch of drugs from the hospital with her, which it seems she may have done before, but all that aside, she’s awesome. She has a girlfriend, and she's able to talk openly about that with Will, and she… well, she basically gave him advice. He isn’t really sure what he needs advice for. He’s just been… very, very confused lately.
He isn’t sure if he’s crazy or what. But something feels… different. He just wants to know if he’s imagining it or not. If he is, he can move on. And if he’s not… well, he honestly doesn’t know then. But talking to someone like Robin makes him feel like there is something to do. Like he’s gonna be okay either way.
He hasn’t even told her. He thinks she knows, and surprisingly, there’s something comforting about that. Like when Jonathan… more or less told him he knew. Was it embarrassing knowing he was doing that bad a job of keeping his feelings for Mike hidden? Um, yes. In fact, it has probably been a big source of his anxiety since. (Luckily, he suspects Mike is at least marginally less perceptive than Jonathan. And he doesn’t have Robin’s “signals” checklist that Will does now either.) But that aside, it was just good to know that someone knew and accepted him.
Two people now, and he’s never even said it out loud. He thinks maybe he’d like to soon.
At least the obvious. That he does not like girls.
November 5th, 1987, Mike
How does Will always have a new girl he likes? Or at the very least, a new girl that likes him. Mike feels like he's never gone a year without seeing him involved with some girl. Girls asking him to dance, girls crying at his funeral, girls at his school in Lenora that he was apparently painting for, and now he’s practically glued to Robin of all people. Mike tries to be mature about it, he really does. But he finds himself snapping at her in little subtle ways constantly since this has been happening. She’s been right on a lot of things these past few days. But Mike kinda doesn’t want her to be.
Isn’t she way too old for him anyway? What is she, like 19? Maybe it’s one-sided on Will’s part, he thought. But somehow that kind of made him feel worse. The idea of Will pining over some cool older girl that isn’t even interested in him. And doesn’t even have good taste in music.
He talks to Will about her and thinks he does a great job of seeming perfectly normal.
“Your mom and Robin are getting along better.”
But there’s a part of him just wondering, does Mrs. Byers like Robin better than him?
After all, he did recently scream at her to get out of the bathroom or he was going to take a whiz on the floor... thinking she was Nancy in all fairness, but yea, he really doesn’t feel like that helps him any here. And Mrs. Byers saved her, apparently. Oh, Mike has most definitely lost.
Lost what? Uh, he doesn’t quite know.
November 6th, 1987, Mike
Mike may have gotten some things wrong. May have gotten... a lot of things wrong, actually. But he does have to wonder if there was a part of him that maybe, deep down, got something right as well.
Will does not like Robin, that much is clear. Upon reflection, he thinks maybe it should have been from the beginning. Maybe it also should have been clear that Will didn’t like all those random girls at school that were into him. And maybe…
Well, the girl he was painting for. Mike always sort of had a feeling. One that he never really let himself acknowledge. He never heard about another painting or saw one when he was in Lenora. He never heard about a girl in all the 18 months Will spent with him. This probably would have dawned a little more heavily on him if not for the vague, yet persistent worry that the only reason Will wouldn’t have brought a girl he liked up, is because he thought that it would bother him. And Mike might have asked, if hearing about it wouldn’t have bothered him.
But the person he liked was a boy. And the painting, it was…
“El?” Mike asks, walking into the kitchen where she’s collecting snacks to recharge her battery once they enter the upside-down. Which he knows is a thousand times more important than this, but… he just needs to know something.
“Did you commission a painting for me?”
She stares at him completely blankly for a second, before walking over to the refrigerator and opening it to grab a few things from in there too. “Painting?”
“Yea, a… dragon painting. With all the party’s D&D characters.” He feels a prickly wave of heat come over his face. Because saying it out loud, he realizes how outrageously stupid it sounds. Eleven has almost no idea what D&D even is. Meanwhile… Will had spent the summer before moving to Lenora begging everyone to play D&D with him. Mike still hates himself if he allows his thoughts to stray back to that summer. No wonder he felt as if he’d lost Will. He deserved to.
“Mike.” She sighs as she places a few bottles of Gatorade on the counter with a subtle hint of impatience. “Why are we talking about D&D again?”
Mike remembers their talk about this situation not being like one of his D&D campaigns where he can choose the ending, and he realizes he may have worn this subject out already, at least for the time being. He can ask more later.
“Right, I know. That’s… never mind. But can I ask just one more thing?”
She blinks and raises her eyebrows in a perfect blend of both patience and impatience, nodding in a way that tells Mike to go ahead but he better hurry up with it.
“We’re…” he presses his lips together and prepares to spit out maybe one of the dumbest questions he’s ever asked.
And Hopper comes barreling in, holding a bunch of bags and a rifle. “Come on, kiddos, now’s not the time for whatever this is, we gotta get going.”
El zips up her bag and puts her hand on Mike’s arm, saying, “Later,” and smiling at him, before walking out with Hopper. Mike takes an anxious breath and drops his shoulders, then follows after them.
Thinking back on it, he should have noticed it didn’t look sincere.
But Mike was too distracted. He was always too distracted by one or the other. El or Will. He felt like he never managed to focus on the right one at the right time. He’d regret it forever.