Chapter Text
It’s New York, it’s 1994 and Mike just broke up with his ‘New York boyfriend’ of 2 and 1/4 years (yes, he has been counting), Mitch. Fucking Mitch. Look, Mike would love to convince himself that Mitch was the problem, not him- Like the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ type shit, but Mitch was the one that broke up with Mike. Mikes roommate doesn’t have to know that- Even though they’re like best friends, she doesn’t have to know everything right? She should probably know this though…whatever she’ll find out eventually.
“Michael.” Chelsea, his roommate, kicks the couch where Mike has face planted in.
Mike has his face smashed into one of the cushions like he’s trying to suffocate himself. He groans into the fabric. “Hm.”
“That is not a response,” Chelsea says. “That’s a sound.”
He flips over dramatically, squinting up at her. “What.”
She crosses her arms, weight shifting to one hip. Suspicious already. “Why are you moping like someone died if you broke up with him?”
Mike squints harder. “Can I not be upset about things?”
“No,” she says flatly. “Not like this.”
She gestures vaguely at him. At the mess of limbs and blankets and self-pity. “This is not how the dumper behaves, Michael. Unless there’s something you’d like to share.”
Her eyebrow lifts.
Fuck.
She looks like Nancy when she does that. Acts like her too — all sharp instincts and zero patience for bullshit. Mike’s pretty sure Chelsea could solve murders if she felt like it. He’s also pretty sure she’s clocking him right now.
He sits up and drags his hands down his face, elbows resting on his knees. “Uh.”
“Uh,” Chelsea repeats.
“Uh.”
“You’re a very difficult person Michael Edward Wheeler.”
“Jesus, Chels, the full government name? Seriously?” He gasps sarcastically, as if he were offended.
“Seriously. Grow up, man.” She flicks him on the head and walks into the kitchen. In times like that he thinks she’s also a bit like Max. Which makes sense, because Max would absolutely flick someone for being annoying, she did it a lot to him specifically.
Nancy x Max He thinks to himself, Mancy? No, sounds too much like ‘manly’. Nax? No, Mayler? No. Fuck what—
“Earth to dumbass!” Chelsea claps, “lost in thought?”
Mike nods.
“Care to share?”
Mike shake his head.
“Right. That’s what I thought. Now snap out of this sad little,” she’s waving her hand around again, “thing, and order something for dinner. It’s your turn-“ Mike’s about to ask, Chinese? But before he can speak, Chelsea snaps, “Say Chinese again and I will end you.”
So Mike orders pizza instead- the common man’s choice.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
It’s the weekend and Mike has nothing to do. He would usually be out with stupid Mitch but stupid Mitch dumped him but he dumped stupid Mitch. He’s decided to just watch The Empire Strikes Back for what feels like the millionth time. He can recite the words.
Luke stares at the horizon, longing for something he doesn’t understand.
Mike snorts softly. “Yeah. Same.”
He’s halfway through when, “MIKE!” Chelsea barges through the door with excitement.
He jumps and looks around just in case he missed the fact that their apartment was on fire or something. It wasn’t. “Jesus shit, Chelsea, what?” He hisses back.
“You know Cass, right?”
Cass is Chelsea’s best friend.
Mike blinks. “No, Chelsea, I’ve never heard of your best friend of eight years.”
Chelsea’s beaming and Mike’s a little bit worried. Worried for himself, actually, because whenever Chelsea’s face does that it’s not a good thing. “Okay, so you know how you’ve been moping ‘cause you”, she chucks her bag down to make bunny ears with her fingers, “broke up with Mitch right?”
He sighs- the movie kinda helped him forget about stupid Mitch, “Yes.”
“Well,” Chelsea jumps, squeals, and claps her hands then takes a deep breath and runs to sit next to Mike on the couch, legs crossed, facing him, “I was talking to Cass about this whole situation—” Mike isn’t mad; Chelsea tells Cass everything, “And she had an amazing idea!” She emphasises the word ‘amazing’.
“Continue…?”
“Oh my GOD,” Chelsea squeals, again.
“CHELSEA!” Mike snaps, “focus.”
“Sorry, right, sorry, I’m excited! So Cass knows this guy who like just moved to New York right?”
“R-right…?” He thinks he knows where she’s going with this, but he shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
“He’s never been here before, obviously, and Cass wants to set you two up!”
“He just moved. I’m sure he wouldn’t want that.”
“No, no that’s the good thing! He asked Cass to set him up! And, you know, I just thought…” She nudges him.
“You’d what, set me up with him?”
“Yes!” She claps again, “Like a blind date!”
“A blind date?”
“Come on, Micheal, surely you know what a blind date is?!”
“Chelsea, I’m not that dumb. Of course I do. I’ve just never done that before…” He looks down at his lap, where he’s fiddling with the drawstring of his pants.
“No time like the present!” She’s full of joy.
“I’ll think about it.”
Mike stands up and Chelsea pulls him back down. “I know what that means, Micheal. It means you’re not gonna. So I need an answer right now..”
Fuck it.
Mike groans and rubs the heels of his palms on his eyes. “Fine.”
Chelsea cheers. “Seriously!?”
Mike nods.
Her face lights up like she’s won the lottery. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god — okay, I’m gonna go call Cass!”
“Tell me one thing about him,” Mike says desperately.
“That defeats the purpose!”
“Just a name?”
“I don’t know his name that’s why I’m calling Cass! Hush!” She snaps.
He groans. Why did he agree to this? It’s the 90s! What if this guy’s, like, a murderer or pedophile or something? No. Cass wouldn’t be friends with anyone like that. But what if she doesn’t know?
He smacks his hand on his head. “STOP!”
“Hm?” Chelsea puts the phone down.
“Talking to myself, Sorry.”
She chuckles, “Maybe don’t do that in-front of Will.”
Will.
Jesus fuck he hasn’t heard that name in years. I mean, sure, he used to think about Will — like a lot — but that was before Mitch.
Stupid Mitch.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
All of Mike’s memories begin to start flooding back.
When Mike asked Will to be his friend and he said yes.
When he and Will would play D&D, even before they knew how to actually play the game.
When he and Will would have sleepovers and try to stay up late but failed miserably every single time.
When they used to hope they could live together so they could hang out all the time.
When Will disappeared.
When Will died.
When Will came back to him.
When he and Will would hang out almost every day after school and sometimes go to the arcade but eventually always end up in Mikes basement either playing more games or just enjoying each others company while Will would draw and Mike would build LEGO.
When Will started having more episodes.
When he found Will trembling and pulled him away from Dustin and Lucas because Will was his.
When they went ‘crazy together’.
When he found Will on the field.
When he missed Will at school, and found himself staring at his empty desk.
When he spent his days just talking with a traumatised Will who seems to calm down around Mikes presence.
When he held Wills hand and Will didn’t pull back.
When he would sleep next to Will like a guard dog.
When he watched Will fall to the ground and seize.
When he ran after Will as doctors flooded around him and Will was screaming — a scream that broke Mikes heart. That Mike would never forget.
When he slept next to Will every night in the lab and didn’t bother to tell his parents where he was because Will’s more important.
When Will remembered no one except Joyce and him. Not even the chief, who brought him back from literal death.
When he (not even Joyce) noticed that Will was different and, well- almost gone.
When he held an unconscious Will up while Joyce grieved Bob.
When he told Will that meeting him was ‘the best thing he’s ever done.’ Because it was.
When Will came back to him, again.
When he encouraged Will to dance with a girl at the ‘Snowball’ even though it was Mike who really wanted to dance with Will…but there were too many people.
When he basically ditched Will all summer for a girl he didn’t even like like.
When he was at the cinema with Will and noticed the sudden change in Wills demeanour.
When he realised that he fucked up with El, but whatever because Will was still there.
When he didn’t realise that he was ignoring Will.
When he saw Will in that fucking ridiculous purple wizard costume and thought it was cute but Lucas can never know that.
When he argued with Will in the rain and did that stupid fucking thing where he doesn’t think before he spoke and called him out: ‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!’ It stings every-time he thinks about that.
When he realised he fucked up with Will and biked through the night rain to find him.
When he was banging his fists on the Byers’ door, apologising too Will, who wasn't even there.
When he was running through the woods to find Will had just destroyed Castle Byers. Castle fucking Byers. Mike knew the story behind Castle Byers so he knew he fucked up bad.
When they were trying to get the Mind-Flayer out of Billy and he (only later) realised he couldn’t keep his eyes off Will when he was talking to Max.
When he was getting all defensive over El because he was sure people were clocking him even though he had just realised it himself.
When he yelled that he ‘loved’ El and everyone shut up.
When he could see Wills expression go from neutral to broken within seconds of him saying that.
When El came out of her room and he wanted to take it back so bad but he couldn’t because now she was actually present.
When that fleshy version of the Mind-Flayer broke through Hoppers cabin and Jonathan put his arm over him and Will.
When he- for a split second- realised him and Will were pressed against each other.
When that thing planted itself in Els leg.
When Jonathan had his fucking hand inside Els leg and he saw Wills horrified, scared, and just incredibly broken face and wanted to give him the biggest hug ever but couldn’t, under the circumstances.
When El kissed him and told him she loved him but he couldn’t kiss or say it back, let alone change his facial expression which, he thinks, looked like a combination of confused and disgusted.
When Will flirted with him for a millisecond and he blushed like a cartoon character.
When he hugged Will for what felt like the last time ever and wanted to tell him that he loved him.
When he watched Will leave and wanted to chase after him and tell him to stop and that he was sorry and he loved him so much.
When he was reading Els letters and she said that Will was painting for a girl he liked and it was almost like Mike had deflated at the thought of Will not liking him.
When he arrived in California and gave Will that fucking half hug bullshit.
When he shared a milkshake with El and noticed that Will kind of had the same look as a kicked puppy.
When El was dragged onto the roller-rink by those rude ass fucking girls and Will tried to explain the situation to Mike but his dumbass didn’t believe him.
When he realised he had been looking at Wills lips for too long.
When Will asked a completely platonic question and Mike freaked out and answered like a fucking idiot and obviously crushed Will.
When him and Will were talking about getting El back, and how Mike fucked up, and Will’s history with the doctors that took El, and their knees bumped and Will flirted with him, again, and he felt his fucking face burning so he had to look away before he did anything ridiculous like kiss Will because he couldn’t feel the same way as Mike...right?
When Jonathan told them about his idea to escape the house and actually do something about finding El.
When he sat on Wills bed while Will packed his shit and he apologised to Will for being such a fucking dickhead at Rink-O-Mania and flirted with him a few times so they were even.
When he noticed Wills eyes sparkle and the corners of his mouth lift after Mike apologised, because he had so obviously hurt Will with his previous words.
When he protected Will as they were being shot at.
When they were helping a dying man and in the moment he realised they were actually going ‘crazy together’.
When they were digging a grave for this estranged agent man who died in their arms and he looked at Will- not once, not twice, but three times. Will was looking back but he wasn’t moving this head like a fucking idiot.
When they sat on the top of an old junky car and just talked about how shit this whole thing was.
When they spent hours on end together in Argyles van — that had been, basically, permanently hotboxed.
When Mike figured out that Suzie could help them find El, and Will started singing that stupid ass song that made Mike giggle.
When Mike went to Suzie’s house and was shot by a yellow arrow but it was okay because Will was with him.
When he was talking to Suzie and could feel Will’s warm gaze looking at him from behind.
When he was worrying about El and Will gave him that painting.
When Will said Mike was The Heart.
When he said to himself fuck it and let himself stare at Wills lips as he talked and talked.
When he found El but couldn’t find it in himself to kiss her like a normal heterosexual boyfriend should, and instead pressed their foreheads together before he looked at Will again.
When El was informing them about what was happening in Hawkins and he saw Wills whole body tremble with fear and he just wanted to pull him in and hug him really tight, but, again, he couldn’t — under the circumstances.
When he was force-fed Hawaiian pizza (which he hates, by the way) and saw Will crying and hugging Jonathan, wondering what Will was upset about and why he wanted to be the one hugging Will in that moment.
When he sat next too Will while El was saving Max.
When he needed to tell El he ‘loved’ her- even though he didn’t, and he ended up needing to be persuaded by the person he’s actually in love with which he knows is insane and pathetic.
When they arrived at Mikes house and was greeted with laughter and hugs by Dustin and ‘welcome backs’ from everyone else and a mild freak out from his mum.
When they talked on a flipped couch in Hoppers cabin about how El’s mood had changed and Mike was secretly worried that she knew he didn’t mean it when he said he 'loved her'.
When they went outside to greet some more people he had been separated from and Will rubbed his neck — which is never good.
When they walked to a field and watched Hawkins crumble and Mike was too close to Will.
When they stared at this new, hellish version of Hawkins and all Mike wanted to do was grab Wills hand.
When Will (and Jonathan) started living with him (and the rest of the Wheeler’s) and they could see each other all the time just like they wished for as kids.
When he and Will would sit next to each other every meal, even if he did get weird looks from his dad.
When they would ride their bikes together.
When he was called a ‘queer’, a ‘fairy’, a ‘fag’ and really just a bunch of homophobic shit for hanging out with Will all the time but, fuck them they’d be with Will all the time if they knew how amazing he was as well.
When—
“MIKE!” Chelsea snapped, “Fucks wrong with you?!”
Can Chelsea read minds?
“Huh?” Mike replies.
“Huh?” Chelsea mimics him, “Seriously?! You’ve been staring into the distance for like a good minute or two! What the fuck? You falling in love with this stranger already?”
A minute or two.
Mike blinks like he’s just come back from underwater. “What! No! That’s…that—no.” He spits out, too fast, too defensive.
Chelsea narrows her eyes. “Alright, Michael, what the fuck.”
“Last name?”
“What?”
“What’s his last name.”
Chelsea scoffs, she looks confused, “I don’t know, why?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She tilts her head, studying him like he’s a math problem she’s already solved. “Mike? Why do you need to know his last name?”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice dips, quieter than he means it to.
“Mike—”
“I SAID I DON’T WANT TO, OKAY?”
The words crack through the room louder than intended. He’s never yelled like that before. Mike freezes the second they leave his mouth.
Chelsea does too. Her shoulders stiffen. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something sharp back — but instead, her eyes start to water.
“Oh,” she says softly.
Fuck.
Mike’s chest drops straight into his stomach. “I—shit. Chelsea, I’m sorry.” He stands up so fast the coffee table rattles. “I shouldn’t’ve yelled. I’m sorry, I’m just—”
He pulls her into a hug before she can step away. She hesitates, then melts into him anyway, which somehow makes it worse. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, quieter now. “I’m really really sorry.”
Chelsea sniffs. She never cries. Not when her boyfriend dumped her. Not when she got rejected from that internship. Not even when her grandmother had that health scare last year. Seeing her cry feels like Mike has committed some kind of crime.
She pulls back and wipes her face with the heel of her hand. “Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you tell me—” she sniffles again, “—one day?”
Mike doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods first.
“One day,” he says finally, forcing a small smile.
She nods too, like she’s filing that away. Then she exhales hard, shakes her head, and mutters, “God, you’re such a fucking idiot.”
“Yeah,” Mike says. “I know.”
She laughs weakly. “I’m choosing dinner tonight.”
“I figured,” he groans. She’s probably going to pick some tofu bullshit.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The date is arranged.
5PM.
Clint’s.
Friday the 27th.
Five days.
Five fucking days.
Mike tells himself not to think about it. He fails immediately. Because in five days, Mike Wheeler will walk into Clint’s and possibly see—
No. Stop. But his brain doesn’t listen.
Will Byers.
Will Byers who gave him that painting that still hangs above his bed.
Will Byers who said everything without saying anything.
Will Byers who loved him first.
Will Byers who he fucked up with.
Will Byers who…doesn’t know Mike’s gay.
Will is a common name. Mike repeats it in his head while walking home from work, Radiohead blasting so loud his ears hurt. It still doesn’t mask the thought of Will.
Will, Will, Will.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
For the past couple of days, Mike’s kept to himself. He’s cut out Chelsea, he very rarely leaves the apartment, let alone his room, and he feels useless. How can one name effect him like this? It’s such a common name and Mike is such a common asshole.
Chelsea has obviously noticed the change in Mikes demeanour, and has consulted him about it but Mike’s closed himself off. He knows Chelsea’s just trying to help. Even though she can be a pain in the ass, she’s still his best friend and no matter how much shit she’d give him- it’s always satire.
Mike knows she cares. He just doesn’t know if he does.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Mike’s lying flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling, counting cracks and pretending that qualifies as thinking, when his door opens without a knock.
“Mike.”
He doesn’t move.
“Michael.”
Still nothing.
Chelsea clicks her tongue and steps fully into the room. “Jesus Christ, do you hear me or are you dead?”
Mike groans, eyes still glued to the ceiling. “What.”
She exhales sharply through her nose. That alone should’ve been a warning. “Got something to tell me?”
His stomach drops. Does she know?
“What are you talking about?” He sits up too fast, heart pounding.
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she slowly reaches behind her back. Then she throws a dress at him.
It hits his chest and slides into his lap. Mike blinks. Looks down.
Oh.
“Oh, shit,” he breathes. “Chels—”
“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t you fucking ‘Chels’ me.”
He lifts the dress. It’s smaller. Obviously shrunk. Ruined. “I washed it,” he says stupidly. “I just—I didn’t notice—”
“That was my grandmother’s dress, Mike.” Her voice is shaking, loud and sharp all at once. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to trust you with that?”
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I’ve just — I’ve had a lot on my mind—”
“Oh my god,” Chelsea laughs, but it’s not funny. It’s bitter. “You always have something on your mind lately.”
“That’s not fair—”
“No, what’s not fair is that I asked you to do one fucking thing.” She steps closer. “One. And you couldn’t even do that because you’re too busy disappearing into whatever the fuck is going on in your head.”
Mike opens his mouth. Closes it.
“You know what?” she continues, voice rising. “I don’t even care about the dress anymore. I care that you’ve been acting like I don’t exist.”
“That’s not true—”
“You snapped at me,” she cuts in. “You don’t talk to me. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You stare at walls like you’re waiting for them to talk back. And every time I ask what’s wrong, you shut me out.” Tears spill over now, unchecked. “I’m your roommate,” she says. “I’m your best friend. Or at least I fucking thought I was.”
Mike’s chest feels tight. “Chels, I swear, I didn’t mean—”
“But you did,” she says. “You did mean it. Because you don’t care right now. Whatever this is”—she gestures wildly at him—“it’s more important than me.” That hurts more than anything she’s said so far. “I’m staying at Cass’,” she says, wiping her face angrily. “I need space from you. And honestly? You need to figure your shit out before you drag anyone else down with you.”
She turns toward the door.
“Chelsea—”
She stops, hand on the handle, but doesn’t look back. “Don’t call me until you actually know what you want to say,” she says quietly. “Because I’m done guessing.”
The door slams and the apartment goes dead silent.
Mike sits there, the dress still in his hands, his brain finally catching up to what just happened.
Her grandmother.
Her birthday.
Her trust.
“Oh my god,” he whispers, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathing hard. “What the fuck’s wrong with you, Michael?”
First Will.
Now Chelsea.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The apartment feels wrong without Chelsea. Not quiet — wrong.
Mike keeps expecting to hear her keys in the door, her shoes kicked off, her voice yelling about something stupid like the radio being too loud or him leaving cups everywhere. Instead, there’s just this hollow, echoey silence that makes everything he does feel too loud.
He sits on the couch. Stands up. Paces. Sits again.
He stares at the door for a while like it might open if he concentrates hard enough. It doesn’t.
He tries distractions. All of them.
He puts music on — too quiet, too loud, wrong song, wrong everything.
He puts on a movie — turns it off ten minutes in because he’s not actually watching it.
He starts cleaning — gets halfway through the kitchen and gives up because none of this matters if Chelsea doesn’t come back.
He keeps thinking about calling her, but he doesn’t — because she told him not to.
So instead, he thinks about Will — which feels mildly fucked up, because Chelsea just walked out on him and his brain still finds a way to circle back to Will like it’s a reflex he can’t unlearn. A default.
By the second night alone, he hasn’t slept.
He lies on his bed staring at the ceiling, counting cracks again for no particular reason, replaying Chelsea’s words, replaying Will’s face from years ago, replaying every single moment where he could’ve done something different and didn’t. “I fuck up everything,” he whispers into the dark, “Why do I fuck up everything?”
The clock ticks.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
He starts timing his breathing just to feel like he’s doing something.
By Friday, his nerves feel like they’re buzzing under his skin.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
He almost forgets it’s today.
Almost.
Until the thought hits him like a brick: Tonight.
Mike sits up so fast he gets dizzy.
Tonight.
The blind date.
Clint’s.
Five PM.
Possibly Will. Possibly not. Probably not. Definitely not. Except what if…?
He groans and flops back onto the bed, dragging his hands down his face. “I can’t do this,” he mutters.
But he gets up anyway, because all he’s done these past few days is just pathetic. He’s just pathetic.
He stares into his wardrobe like it might give him answers. It doesn’t. It just stares back, almost judgemental.
He pulls clothes out. Tosses them onto the floor. “This is stupid,” he tells himself. “It’s just a date.”
A blind date.
With a guy named Will.
Who might be that Will.
He exhales weakly, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m actually going insane.”
He changes outfits three times. Four. Five.
Chelsea would’ve helped. Chelsea would’ve made fun of him — in a friendly way, of course.
Chelsea would’ve told him when to stop overthinking.
The thought makes his chest hurt.
He settles on the outfit eventually — casual pants, plain shirt, flannel, leather jacket. He looks fine. Normal. Like someone who hasn’t been unraveling for days.
He stands in front of the mirror and practices smiling.
It feels wrong. Weird.
He practices introducing himself.
“Hi, I’m Mike.” Too stiff.
“Hey, I’m Mike.” Too awkward.
He groans and drops onto the bed again, staring at the ceiling. “What if it is him?” he whispers. “What the fuck do I even say?”
Sorry?
I didn’t mean it?
I meant it too late?
I’ve missed you?
I loved you?
I…love you?
He sits up abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stop.” His heart is racing. His hands are sweaty. He feels like he’s about to throw up or cry or possibly both.
At 4:30, he panics.
At 4:31, he can’t find his keys.
At 4:32, they’re in his pocket.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Pull it together.”
He locks the door carefully this time. No slamming. He doesn’t want the apartment mad at him too.
The taxi ride is torture. He stares out the window, watching the city blur past, his reflection ghosted in the glass. He barely recognises himself — dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight, lips pressed together like he’s holding something back.
Common name, he tells himself repeatedly, Just a coincidence.
The taxi slows.
Clint’s.
His stomach drops. He pays the driver, steps out onto the sidewalk, and just…stands there.
He could leave.
He could get back in the taxi. He could walk away. He could pretend this never happened.
But the taxis already gone.
His hand hovers over the door. “Don’t be a fucking coward, Michael.” He whispers.
Mike finally pushes it open.
The noise hits him first — voices, laughter, clinking glasses. Normal life happening around him while he feels like he’s about to explode.
He scans the room quickly, automatically.
Bar. Tables. Booths.
He doesn’t see Will.
Relief and disappointment crash into each other so hard it makes him dizzy.
A waiter approaches. “How can I help you, sir?”
Mike swallows. “I—I’m here for a blind date,” he says, still eyeing the room, “his name’s—”
He stops.
Time slows down.
Because across the room—
Will Byers is staring straight at him.