Chapter Text
PROLOGUE:
Random town in south Michighan, 1995:
Mike’s heart pounded fiercely as he waited at the bar for a drink. He hadn’t spoken a word yet, hadn’t even met anyone’s eyes except the bouncer’s when he’d first walked in.
So many men.
Men he’d never seen before. Men in makeup, men in dresses, men wearing scarcely any clothing at all. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to act casual, to blend in.
But he didn’t feel like he belonged here in the slightest.
“Hey, handsome,” a man’s voice said. Mike’s head snapped up, his heart nearly exploding from his chest, only to realize it was just the bartender. “What can I get for you?” The bartender chuckled at Mike’s startled reaction.
“Uh-uh, gin and tonic,” Mike stammered, the first drink that popped into his head spilling out in panic.
The bartender laughed again, raising an eyebrow. “I like a traditional man,” he said, turning to mix the drink.
The bartender was shirtless, his skin dusted with body glitter and poured into a pair of tight black leather pants. Despite himself, Mike’s gaze kept drifting to the prominent bulge, only to tear away each time in self-loathing. The man’s dark hair was neatly slicked back with gel, and small hoops glinted from his pierced ears.
Mike had never seen a man with piercings before.
Mike let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping back to the bar top, unsure what to say or how to hold himself.
“First time?” the bartender asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he got Mike’s attention again.
“Huh?” Mike blurted, then caught himself. “Oh- uh, yeah,” he admitted with an awkward chuckle. “Is it that obvious?”
The bartender’s gaze traveled slowly over him. From behind the bar he couldn’t see below Mike’s waist, but the dark jeans, sneakers, plain white T-shirt, and unzipped hoodie screamed outsider in this crowd.
“Hate to be so blunt with fresh meat, but… yes,” the bartender teased, shaking the mixer with practiced ease while his eyes stayed locked on Mike. “You look like a straight guy.”
Mike forced another laugh. “W-Well, y’know,” he stammered, cheeks heating, “I-I don’t really like to… put labels on… things…”
The bartender arched a brow, amusement deepening as he finished the drink and slid it across the bar. “I see,” he said, “On the house, handsome.” He capped it with a quick wink.
A flush of heat surged through Mike. “Oh- thanks,” he mumbled, glancing around the room, still at a loss for what to do next. He didn’t even want the drink; he’d only ordered it because he had to order something. Walking up to a stranger - a man - and starting a conversation felt impossible. He was terrified, painfully out of place.
Yet beneath the fear, curiosity burned. He needed answers.
“Hey,” the bartender said, leaning in a little closer. “What’s your name?”
Mike scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… Mike.”
“Tristan,” the bartender replied, offering his hand. Mike took it, surprised by the warm, confident grip. “Look, my shift ends in about thirty minutes, but I can probably duck out earlier. Maybe we could hang out?”
Mike’s panicked again. “Oh- uh- ”
Tristan laughed softly, eyes kind. “Nothing dirty,” he clarified. “I just mean talk. You look like you could use a friend in this place.”
Mike hesitated, then studied Tristan again. The guy was undeniably cute, and the idea of having someone - anyone - to talk to sounded like relief. He felt so awkward here, so alone. Maybe talking to someone who understood, someone like him, might finally help.
“Yeah,” Mike said, the word slipping out before he could overthink it. Why not? he told himself. You drove hours to get here. You finally worked up the nerve to walk through that door. Don’t waste it standing around like a ghost.
“I’d like that.”
Tristan’s smile widened, warm and genuine. “Good choice,” he said, tapping the bar lightly. “Stay right there, handsome. I’ll be quick.”
The bar was massive. Three other bartenders hustled behind the counter, slinging drinks under pulsing lights even on a Wednesday night. Tristan vanished into the back for only a few minutes before reappearing beside Mike with a jacket on, no longer behind the bar but right there in the crowd, close enough that Mike caught the faint scent of citrus and sweat.
“Ready?” Tristan asked, tilting his head toward the exit.
Up close, Tristan was shorter than Mike but built solid, shoulders broad. His eyes were a striking, almost unreal blue, the kind that pulled you in if you stared too long.
“Ready,” Mike replied. He hadn’t touched the gin and tonic once. He left it sweating on the bar and followed this near-stranger out without a backward glance. He couldn’t believe he was doing it. This wasn’t him at all.
He loved it.
Tristan guided him through the throng and out a side door into the cool night air. The alley behind the club was quieter and they emerged onto a side street that was lined with shops and streetlights.
Tristan led them toward a brightly lit corner gas station, its neon OPEN sign flickering against the night.
“Need fuel,” Tristan said with a grin, holding the door open for Mike. “And I’m starving. Grab whatever you want, I got it.”
Inside, the lights were harsh after the club’s dim glow. Mike trailed Tristan down the narrow aisles, watching him toss things into a handheld basket: a bag of sour gummies, bag of chips, two bottles of water, a couple of chocolate bars. Mike hesitated, then added a small bag of pretzels.
At the counter, Tristan added a pack of Marlboro reds and paid, flashing the clerk a quick smile (who was eying Tristan like he was a disgusting bug on the ground). Bags in hand, they stepped back into the cooler air and settled on a low concrete ledge outside the station, far enough from the pumps to feel private.
They ate quietly for a moment, legs stretched out, shoulders almost but not quite touching.
Tristan glanced sideways, studying Mike’s profile “So,” he said, voice casual but curious, “are you out?”
The question landed softly, but Mike felt it like a jolt. He chewed slowly, buying time, staring at his sneakers.
Mike let out another small, nervous laugh. “No,” he said quietly. “No one knows.”
Tristan’s smile softened. “So… I’m the first?”
Mike huffed another laugh, cheeks warming again. “Yeah,” he admitted, glancing sideways. “You’re the first.”
Tristan leaned back against the concrete ledge, popping a gummy into his mouth as he studied Mike. “When you walked into the bar tonight,” he asked, “what were you looking for, exactly?”
Mike shrugged, “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess… I just wanted to see if any of it felt like me.” He paused, exhaling. “But…”
“You weren’t expecting that,” Tristan finished, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
“Not at all,” Mike said, laughing softly, the sound lighter now.
“It’s not for everyone,” Tristian said. “But you showed up anyway. That takes guts, Mike. Real guts.”
Mike smiled faintly. “Thanks,” he murmured. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for me.”
Tristan reached over and rested a reassuring hand on Mike’s forearm. “It’s hard for all of us,” he said gently. Then, with a playful grin, he added, “Though let’s be real; everyone around me knew I was gay the second I popped out of my mom.”
Mike burst into laughter, the sound surprising even himself, tension easing from his shoulders.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Mike said once the chuckle faded, voice softer now. “I guess I just feel… lonely sometimes because of it.”
Tristan gave his arm a small squeeze before letting go. “There’s more of us out there than you think,” he said. “You’ve probably met queer people before. Maybe even been friends with one and never knew.”
Mike’s heart stuttered, picking up speed again. He stared down at his sneakers, scuffing one against the concrete. “Well… I did,” he admitted quietly.
“You did?” Tristan asked.
“My best friend,” Mike said. The words felt heavy and difficult to say “Or… I guess we’re not really best friends anymore.”
Tristan went quiet for a moment. Then, softly: “What’s his name?”
Mike kept his gaze fixed on his sneakers. “Will,” he said softly, a private smile tugging at his lips.
Tristan’s voice was gentle. “And do you miss Will?”
Mike closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Will’s face. Those warm hazel eyes, his wide, bright smile, the small freckle just above his upper lip that Mike used to tease him about. “Every fucking day,” he breathed out, the words heavy with truth.
“Then why don’t you call him?” Tristan asked. “If you miss him that much, just call.”
Mike shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. “No. We don’t… we don’t do that anymore.” He swallowed. “We’re not close like that. He lives in New York now. He’s got a whole life there.”
“So what?” Tristan pressed, not harshly, just matter-of-fact. “I bet he misses you too. Can you imagine how happy he’d be to hear your voice out of nowhere?”
Mike let the question hang in the air, picturing it: Will’s voice on the other end of the line. The last time they’d spoken had been back in March; Mike calling to wish him happy birthday. They’d talked for nearly an hour, catching up on anything and everything. It felt almost like old times.
But that was over two months ago now. Early June was pressing down with humid Indiana heat. Over two months of silence, and that had become the pattern over the last five years. Sporadic calls and visits from Will growing rarer with every passing year. Mike couldn’t blame him for staying away. He was the only one still stuck in Hawkins, roots sunk deep while everyone else had scattered.
“Maybe,” Mike said finally, lifting his eyes to meet Tristan’s steady gaze.
Tristan studied him for a quiet beat. “Did you ever love him?”
Mike’s heart lurched hard against his ribs. “Uh-” He swallowed, heat rushing to his face. “He’s… my best friend.”
Tristan tilted his head. “That’s it?”
Mike was silent for a bit, then “I don’t know,” he admitted at last, voice barely above a whisper. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the pavement again. “I…I think he had a crush on me when we were teenagers,” he said, “And… I guess I just didn’t see it. I don’t really know…”
Tristan didn’t push, just nodded slowly. After a moment he nudged Mike’s shoulder with his own. “That’s okay,” he said. “Sometimes it takes showing up to a gay bar and spilling your guts to a random bartender to figure it out.”
Mike huffed a surprised laugh. “Yeah. Apparently.”
“You still have his number?”
Mike nodded.
“Then maybe the next brave thing isn’t walking into a bar,” Tristan said, popping a candy into his own mouth. “Maybe it’s calling him and seeing what happens.”
Mike fell quiet for a moment, turning the idea over in his mind. “You’re probably right,” he said at last.
Tristan grinned, nudging him again. “Of course I’m right.” His voice dropped into playful territory. “You just gotta grow a pair, handsome.” He paused, eyes tracing Mike’s face. “And for what it’s worth, this Will guy’s lucky as hell. He’s got a sexy best friend pining after him.”
Mike’s cheeks burned, but this time the smile that followed felt easy, almost shy. “Yeah,” he murmured, ducking his head. “You should see him. He’s… something,” Mike smiled to himself, pictruing Will’s smile.
Tristan watched him. He knew. It was so obvious.
Mike loved Will.