Chapter Text
It’s not that he disliked Will Byers — the opposite in fact. As he paced around his room, clammy hands clutching a rolled up piece of paper, Mike tried to come up with all the things he could think of instead of his childhood best friend.
Love Will.
He unrolled the paper and stared at it the bottom of it again, and surely enough he was reading it correctly.
Love.
That wasn’t really a thing that they said to eachother. Sure, maybe Will had said it once when reuniting with Mike after going missing in seventh grade, but Mike was too shy to say it back after his older sister Nancy had told him “I love you’s” were only for family and boyfriends. Of course she had said “boyfriends” because she was a girl and that’s what applied to her, but that word stuck with Mike. Him and Will were close enough to be family, but they certainly were not boyfriends. All he could get out was a pathetic “I’m glad you’re okay”.
Mike set aside the page next to the growing stack. Him and Will grew up in Hawkins, Indiana, but Will moved to California after his stepfather’s job required them to. They had been sending letters back and forth, trying to keep in touch until Will moved back over summer break. They were able to talk over the phone sometimes but Will’s family wasn’t exactly well-off so it never lasted long. It had only been a year without seeing his face but to Mike it felt more like ten. Now it was June of 1986, and Will and his family were due to be arriving sometime that week.
He flipped through the stack of neatly printed letters, complete with drawings of the various things that Will had written about. Mike wasn’t sure why he saved every single one. As impressive as the drawings were, he didn’t pay any mind to them. There was something he was looking for.
From, from, from, from, from.
Every single letter. What could have possibly possessed Will to write “Love Will” when he had been writing “from” for a year? And in his last letter before he moved back to Hawkins too? It scared Mike.
He felt the heat creeping his chest and onto his cheeks. He thought about how “I love you” was for boyfriends. But of course him and Will weren’t boyfriends. That would be wrong. He wondered why Will had written that. What it would be like to say it back.
Mike sharply dug his fingernails into his arm, hoping to will the thoughts away. Distract yourself, Mike.
As Mike playfully chased his younger sister Holly and her shrieking friends up and down the basement stairs, it got him thinking.
Between his mother, 2 sisters, and family friends — who treated the Wheeler house like a gathering place — there were always girls in the house. Throughout his life his parents complained that they wanted all girls. He wondered what it would be like if he had been born one. How things might be different for him. How he could have gotten the one thing he really wanted. He dug his fingers into his arm again, harder this time, and refused to let himself think about it any longer.
“Alright guys I’m done, I’m old and weak y’know!” He crouched down with his hands on his knees, panting for dramatic effect.
“Oh, c’mon Mike! One more time!” The six year old whined. He sometimes did enjoy the company of his sister and her friends, but he hadn’t eaten all day and really was feeling weak.
“Sorry” he said, ruffling her hair. I gotta get some dinner, ’m starving.” Holly let out another whine as she smoothed her pigtails and joined her friends. Mike turned and headed up the stairs and when he looked back, Holly had already immersed herself in a fantasy world with her friends, so she couldn’t have been that upset about Mike leaving.
He shut the door behind him and poked his head into the dining room, where his parents were having dinner with a man and woman. He didn’t know who they were and he honestly didn’t care to.
“Mike, come join us, won’t you?” his mother, Karen, half shouted as she almost spilled her wine. She was always drinking when she was around her friends, and Mike wondered what was the point of having people over if you just wanted to be drunk the whole time. The couple across the table didn’t have drinks in their hands.
Mike sat on the edge of the table next to his father, Ted. There always seemed to be a big, freshly cooked meal in the Wheeler house. A large turkey, roasted potatoes, and multiple kinds of vegetables were spread across the table along with various drinks and an apple pie. Mike took only a handful of potatoes and a few green beans.
He picked at his food with a fork, knowing his mother wouldn’t allow him to leave until everyone else was finished. At some point during the dinner, the conversation had somehow shifted from family issues to politics to the AIDS epidemic. That disgusted Mike and he didn’t want to think about any of it, especially while eating. But he hadn’t talked the whole night so it wasn’t like he could just interject and change the subject, so he sat through it and tried to tune everything out.
The rest of the dinner was a blur to him. Mike heard his father say “deserved it” and “disgusting” and “faggots” throughout the night. He didn’t help his mother wash the dishes and instead went straight to his room and locked the door.
Mike slumped down onto his bed and dug his nails into his forehead, leaving marks. He didn’t know what bothered him more — the thought of AIDS or his father talking down on people — and it made him uncomfortable. Why was he thinking this way? He should have no problem with his father speaking like that. After all, he had done it all of Mike’s life and he agreed with the things his father said. Right?
He buried his head in his hands and tucked his knees to his chest, letting out a choked sob. Mike Wheeler cried himself to sleep that night.