Chapter Text
Mike is starring at the painting.
His eyes follow it, like it’s a natural instinct, tracing the intricate brush strokes with his thumb as his gaze wonders over the same place, like if he just stares hard enough at the carefully crafted image, makes sense of the thought out mixed shades, he’ll understand.
It’s futile as always.
He groans a little and rolls the painting back up, tucking it safely into his bedside drawer.
“Mike, breakfast!” His Mom’s voice calls from downstairs, the distinct smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon sifting through the small crack in his bedroom door.
“Coming!”
Mike looks into his mirror, throwing on a woollen jumper to combat the December cold. He pushes his fingers through his short curls, doing the bare minimum to look presentable, before making his way downstairs.
Will is at the breakfast table, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he politely talks to Holly about the picture she’s drawing and sipping from a steaming mug.
Mike avoids his gaze.
He takes a seat next to Nancy, who shoots him a small smile, which he just about manages to return, and stifles a yawn as he reaches for the box of cereal, losing himself amongst the usual bustle of breakfast as he pours his milk, careful not to spill it.
For the millionth time, Mike wonders if it would be better to just say something. Anything. Because anything is better than silence.
Hey, your hair looks good today.
Hey, how’d you sleep?
Hey.
Just that simple word
Hey.
It seemed so easy, and yet, it sat like a knife edge on the tip of his tongue, slicing the guilt deeper into his flesh when he insisted it stay there.
Because the truth was, the only person making this so hard, was Mike.
True, they hadn’t cut off communication completely, but compared to their once seemingly unbreakable bond, they might as well have.
Anytime they glanced at each other, it was rushed and never mentioned, anytime they crossed paths, there was an exchange of plastic smiles and nothing more, and anytime they spoke, it was out of necessity.
“Mom wants to know what you want for dinner?”
“Anything, I’m not fussed.”
“Cool.”
“Have you seen my sweater?”
“On the line.”
“Thanks.”
Yeah. Those kinds of conversations were riveting, and only made the cavity in Mike’s chest an even deeper, colder place for that guilt to reside.
Because despite this cavern that been cracking between them, Mike had meantwhat he said in the upside down, about being best friends.
He remembers the relief washing over him, like an absolution of his fear, when Will had smiled, warm and glassy eyes as he had nodded his head.
It was both the most exhilarating and most terrifying feeling to be close to Will again, those few days from California back to Hawkins, something precious and delicate that he felt could shatter at any second if he only made the wrong move.
And somehow, he always seemed to do just that, when it came to Will.
Somewhere in between that summer and Will’s subsequent move to California, Mike had taken a shovel to their steady grounded friendship and dug, dug, dug into a pit of self destruction until he was almost buried alive within it, so damn close to losing him completely.
Somehow, amidst that worry, he had clawed his way back with desperate, pleading hands, back to something that felt like their friendship.
The year or so after Lenora had been easier, a gradual, but honest re - building of their mutual care and understanding of each other, seeds sewn back in that god forsaken van.
But the doubt, the guilt, had stuck, an insistent rot clinging to his skin, and so the new foundations they had so carefully constructed began to crumble under the shaky earthquakes of his own shame.
It was that, that had him pulling away, jumping at minor touches, glancing away at that familiar, heart aching smile, insistence that he was busy whenever Will had asked.
It was a strange, viscous cycle - the fear of losing him, causing him to distance, trying to dull the inevitable wound it would create, the shame over creating it, and the doubt that it wasn’t fixable, making it three times as necessary to back off just to avoid that fucking hurt.
It’s been two years since their defeat of the upside down and everything in it, two years since he had lost El to the void, and finally being able to heal ever since - but Mike has never felt the weight of helplessness so heavy.
Will was now staying with his family while renovations were happening at Hop’s cabin, and as they were both home for Christmas break, Mike’s Mom had kindly offered to host Will and Jonathan for the next few weeks. Though Mike had spent time with Will and the rest of the party, spending time alone with him was an entirely different ball game.
He and Will used to plan some absurd version of his current reality, back before Dustin and Lucas had joined their party, whisper late into the night about how amazing it would be to live together.
They would play games all day, and snack on their favourite sweets, laughing and giggling way past bed time, insisting they would never sleep.
Ironically, they would fall asleep soon after.
Sometimes, during the latest, most vulnerable hours of the night, Mike would relay those moments in his mind, the times when Will needed him, like he had never needed Lucas or Dustin, the times he could put his arms around him, sleep in his room, flash him a smile, and know that only theyhad that closeness.
He’d always enjoyed it, hadn’t dwelled on it as a kid, just found a bracing warmth and comfort in having such a bond with his best friend.
In recent years though, he had been dwelling, thinking every interaction through far too much, ever since…
”I- I don’t like girls-“
“And I- I had this crush on someone-…”
“Mike? Michael!” His Mom’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts as he mindlessly moves cornflakes around his bowel.
“Yeah?” He answers.
“I was just saying that your Father isn’t going to be here-“
“Not that we notice if he’s gone.” Nancy mutters under her breath which makes Mike smirk a little.
“And Murray will be staying here.”
Both Nancy and Jonathan snap their heads up to each other, which goes unnoticed by everyone else at the table.
Mike wonders what that’s about as he gives his Mom a nod and returns back to his cereal.
“Mike, are you feeling alright? You’re looking a little pale.” His Mom asks worriedly.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
He doesn’t know when lying became so easy.
In truth, he was fine, fine in the way that if you took him to the doctors and they examined him, they would send him away with a scolding for wasting their time.
But doctors didn’t examine emotions, and to be fair, neither did Mike.
“Well it’s supposed to be dropping to almost minus ten degrees in the next week, so I want all of you to bundle up. I don’t want you getting sick. It’s gonna be cold.”
Will’s pencil slips from his fingers and Mike hears him mutter a quiet dammit as his pencil drops off the page and mucks up the drawing, disrupting the quid pro quo.
“Sorry, sorry I’m so sorry..” He desperately murmurs as he instantly tries to remove the pencil off the countertop.
“Oh don’t worry about that, I have cleaning supplies that’ll scrub that right off.” His Mom assures Will with a kind smile.
Mike stares resolutely down.
He knows the second Will lost focus, could practically feel his palpable fear from across the table, though it seemed no one else could.
It was strange, to know someone so well and yet be so disconnected from them, like recognising the way to ride a bike, gripping the handle bars and pushing the pedals to the ground, but crashing as soon as you started to move.
Still, the sentence rings in his head.
It’s gonna be cold.
Mike suppresses a shudder.
The winter he had been thirteen years old wasn’t a time you could pay him to re-live.
He had never known a fear more primal then that winter, watching as such a horrible, bone chilling force over took his best friend, helpless to do anything to save him.
“Mike, Mike look!” Holly exclaims, grabbing his hand from across the table.
Mike swings his gaze towards her, plastering a smile on his face.
“What’s up, Holly?”
“Look what Will’s helping me draw!”
Mike swallows as Will looks away, muttering something about it not being that good.
“Pass it here.”
He was drawing Holly. Her blonde hair shaded to look as if it was catching the light, bright, hyper smile along with all the vibrant colours that made up her clothing up to the shoulders.
Mike works up the nerve to glance in Will’s direction, only to find him already looking back. “It’s awesome, Holly.” But he’s not looking at her when he says it.
She grins. “Will is awesome!”
Yeah, he really is.
But he cant tell him that. He can’t tell Will anything, anymore.
Not through any fault of Will’s, but through fault of his own.
Mike has never been a word person, and especially when it came to Will, his actions were his words, his care, his reassurance, their closeness - was all told in touch.
He had traded such a sacred thing for a shadow, a glimpse of what they once had.
Will had become that of an acquaintance, someone he would smile at in class, wave at in the hallways, arrange to meet up and have a coffee with, but would never actually go through with it.
That’s just how they were now.
Will gives him a slight smile and nod, and Mike passes the picture back, their fingers brushing as he does.
Panic shoots up his spine and he drops his spoon, the loud clatter alerting everyone else.
“What is with you today?” Nancy frowns.
Mike clears his throat, feeling far too hot all of a sudden. “Nothing I’m- I think I’m just gonna go lie back down for a bit.”
He doesn’t wait for anyone’s response before bolting upstairs back to the safety of his room, finally able to exhale the air that had been sitting heavy in his lungs.
He pushes his fingers through his hair, releasing a pained groan as he begins to pace in a fruitless attempt to rid the nerves clinging to his skin.
Get a grip, man! He scolds himself angrily.
Jesus, a singular brush of Will’s fucking hand and he’s ready to collapse to the floor like a wounded animal.
What’s wrong with him?
”What isn’t wrong with you?” A cruel voice that sounds like a combination of his own, his Father’s and Troy’s, echoes in his head.
Mike winces and takes a seat on his bed, burying his face in his hands and letting out a slow, steady breath, trying to ignore it.
Pretty impossible to, when he knew it was right.
Nonetheless, he grabs a random comic from the huge stack on his bedside table, and starts thoughtlessly flicking through the pages until there’s a knock on his door.
He sits up with a frown and places the comic down on his bed. “Come in?”
A moment later, the door swings open with a small creak, and Will steps cautiously inside the room, posture a little fidgety, like he had to consider opening the door at all.
Mikes palms begin to sweat.
“Hi.” Will says.
Hey, Will.
They’re the words he wants to say, and he wants to smile while he says them, and invite him inside to read the comic with him and shut the rest of the world out.
“Hi.” He says instead. “You need something?”
“No, no. Uh-“ Will rubs a hand up and down his sweater covered arm, an anxious movement that Mike recognises from when they were kids. “I just wanted to check on you.”
Mike’s frown deepens, and he wills his hands not to shake as he rubs his palms against his pyjama covered thighs. “Check on me?”
“Yeah.” Will nods and clears his throat a little. “You were acting kinda weird at breakfast. And I know you told your Mom you’re not sick but I just- thought I’d check.”
Acting weird? What the hell did that mean? He was acting perfectly fine, wasn’t he?
Mike’s eyebrows crease as he considers the sentence, and his skin starts to tingle with a slight heat as a familiar fire guarded wall settles around him, ready to burn everyone in his periphery.
Will stands at the entrance to his bedroom, starring at him, and it does nothing to cool the sudden anger he feels at Will’s words.
“I wasn’t the only one acting weird.” He bites out.
Something like hurt flashes across Will’s face but it’s gone too quick for Mike to be certain.
He takes a step back, holding his hands out like he was trying to douse the flame of Mike’s words with the shy movement.
Somewhere in him, Mike wants Will to bite back, wants to see heat stroke his hazel eyes to life and his cheeks flush with fury. Ask him, What the hell do you mean by that, Mike?
He aches for it, that spit and simmer of their words, hurled like weapons, fuelled with pointless agitation, desperation within the undertones, tossing the blazing torch back and forth until one burned the other too bad to pass it back.
Except, Mike had never been burned by Will.
If anything, he just lets the match engulf them both.
Will doesn’t even simmer. He just keeps his hands there, like a shield, bracing against Mike’s futile anger, none of the fight Mike’s come to expect in his eyes.
Instead, he just looks tired, a resigned defeat written across his features, like he’d seen this coming.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” He answers, quiet. “I was just checking.”
Will turns to leave.
And Mike watches, just watches him walk away, just sees the loss of him play out all over again in his mind.
It’s as though Mike’s been doused under ice cold water, the frozen notions of doubt and fear causing the flames to die in an instant.
He shoots off his bed, adamantly shaking his head.
“Will, wait.”
Will turns back around, and now Mike’s standing, they’re a little closer.
“I’m sorry.” He forces the words out, looking anywhere but his face. “I’m fine, really. Just- haven’t been sleeping that great.”
Something like a smile tugs at Will’s lips. “You up reading comics again?” He gives a slight nod towards the comic lying on his bed.
Mike huffs a laugh. “C’mon, that was a thing I did when I was thirteen.”
“So, what’s keeping you up?”
Mike snaps his gaze up.
You.
The fact that I can’t sleep without dreaming about you.
He shrugs. “Not sure.”
Will gives him a sympathetic nod. “Well, y’know where I am.”
Mike smiles, a small, uncertain thing, but it’s there.
It’s only when Will turns to leave again that he remembers his Mom’s words.
It’s gonna be cold.
“Hey, about that.” He says, making Will turn back to face him.
Mike bites his tongue as he considers how the hell to word what he wants to say.
“Are you okay in the basement?”
Will nods his head, still looking confused.
Mike sighs a little frustrated. “But will you be okay? I mean- my Mom said it’s gonna get cold..”
Will gives him a smile that Mike doesn’t even need to examine to know it’s forced. “I can handle a little cold.”
Mike gives him a hard look. “You don’t like the cold.”
Will shrugs. “Who does?”
”Will.”
It takes a few seconds, but Will deflates, smile slipping from his face.
“Okay, it’s not the best. But I’ll be okay. I’m already staying here rent - free Mike, I’m not gonna complain about the basement being a little cold. I’ll live.”
‘Typical.’ Mike thinks. ‘You’re scared of feeling like somethings invaded your body again and you still think you’re being a burden.’
It hits him then, this is the first conversation they’ve had in… how many months?
Too many.
His heart beats painfully in his chest and his palms are still sweating and sure it was nerve racking as fuck but he’s missed this.
Even after all this time, Mike knows how to approach this, so he thinks for a moment, trying to weigh out both a soft but direct response.
Mike takes a breath, grips the handle bars, and sets his eyes in the right direction, hoping he won’t crash and fall to the ground in a matter of moments.
“Well, I’m not saying you can’t handle it.” He answers carefully. “But if it gets too cold, you can always stay in here.”
Will’s eyebrows shoot up. “You mean in your room?”
“Yeah.” Mike nods his head. “It’s warmer upstairs.”
Will pauses for a few moments.
“I’ll- think about it. I mean- I don’t know.”
Mike gives him what he hopes is a comforting look.
“Well, do the same thing tonight, and if you change your mind, just knock. I’ll be up.”
Will nods back. “Alright. Thank you.”
Mike gives him one final nod and Will exits his room.
Mike sits back on his bed, and releases a breath much calmer than before, a considerable weight lifting off his chest.
For the first time in a long time, he actually smiles.