Work Text:
Dear Will,
It is November the 6th once again. Mike hates this day for two reasons now — it is the day Will was taken, and the day El died. He is flipping through old photos and binders in his basement: DnD character sheets, polaroids from middle school, Will’s drawings…
He wants to write this letter. He will never send it to Will, but he has to write it all down. So it’s out there, so it’s not in his head anymore.
Remember the talk we had while climbing that freaking tower in the UD? I did not say the things I wanted to.
I should have said this:
I have loved you for years, ever since we met on the swings. I didn’t know it was love, but now I know. I know because I look into your eyes and I see it there. It is warm, it makes me feel safe. I don’t know what will happen next, but I hope we survive this and talk it out. I am sorry I was so afraid to say anything, I was not ready, I still am terrified. But you were so brave today, you inspired me.
“Friends? No, thanks... Best friends.”
This awful half-joke still haunts him. And it’s been a while, a long while.
Man, Will looked so hopeful. Mike loathed himself as soon as he said it. And then he thought, well, it is for the best: Will can move on and have a great life outside this homophobic town. And Mike can have a happy ending with El and the waterfalls, right? Right?
Instead of saying any of it, I made a stupid, cruel joke. Will, I am never going to make it up to you. I lost you that day, I let you go. I’ve been trying to convince myself I was doing it for you, to free you. I knew I was a horrible friend, and I didn’t want you to be tied down with me, I didn’t deserve you.
The real reason I did it was this:
I hated myself, and I couldn’t imagine a version of my life where I was happy. So I hurt myself and it felt right. I hurt you in the process, too. It felt wrong.
Will, I will love you forever. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up. I talk to you as if you are here. I miss you so much.
Will is in New York now, he is studying art. He sends Mike a letter every month: he writes about his friends, galleries, museums, Jonathan’s new movie. Mike rereads the letters to the point that he has them memorised. He writes back and keeps lying. “I am working on this story.” — a lie. “I love being home with my parents.” — a lie. “I enjoy peace without any Vecna bullshit.” — a lie.
Goals used to be so clear — defeat the evil bastard, save the children, save the world, finish high school. Now what?
Truth is, every day feels like limbo. He wakes and stays in bed for an hour or two. He eats because his mother reminds him to, returns to his room, reads until the words blur, naps. He sits through a film with Holly, misses most of it, goes to bed, stays awake, hovering in a dull, dreamless half-sleep.
Friends don’t lie. I lied to you a lot. I am not okay. I love you and I am not okay. I have two thoughts in my head —
One: I want to hug you and never let go.
Two: I want to die in misery.
I am picking the second option because I missed my chance, and it is too late for the first.
Will, promise me to be happy. Thrive, shine, become a famous artist, don’t let anyone tell you what to do and who to be. I hope you find the love of your life, cause God knows it’s not me. You deserve the best.
I miss you and I miss El. Part of me is glad it turned out this way. Some people are just meant to be depressed losers and die alone.
I’m sorry you won’t read this letter. I’ll burn it as soon as I’m done.
Please don’t remember me as that stupid teenage boy who was terrified of feelings.
Love, Mike.
“Mike, phone!” — his mother’s voice is calling from upstairs.
He picks up the receiver, absent-minded. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mike! Just thought I’d call because, you know, today is the day…”
Will’s voice brings him back to the real world. His eyes begin to water. In a matter of milliseconds, hot tears are streaming down his cheeks. He is gasping for air.
“Mike? Are you crying? Oh, Mike, I’m sorry! I miss her too.” Mike is unable to get any words out.
“Do you want me to hang up? Maybe call you later? Or do you want to talk about it?”
Mike takes a deep breath. Please, Will, don’t hang up.
“Neither,” Mike manages.
“Okay, listen, I am here for you. Man, it’s been a long time, what’s it been, 2 weeks? Since we talked, I mean. I miss you.”
Is it what a heart attack feels like?
“I was just writing you a letter,” he confesses before he can change his mind.
“Were you? Can’t wait to read it.”
“Not gonna send it, though.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, Will.”
His voice gives out. He sits down on a chair near the phone, his knuckles white around the receiver, fingers locked so tight they ache. Unwanted tears are spilling out, humiliating, blurring his vision. Air stutters in and out of him. He hates how it sounds — all squeaky and wheezing. He can’t stop for a while. When he calms down, Will is still there.
“Wanna hear the letter?”
“Sure.”
Mike reads it out loud. He doesn’t think, doesn’t pause — just gets through it as fast as he can. Will never interrupts.
When Mike finishes, Will exhales.
“Are you busy tomorrow?” he asks.
“No.”
“Just wait for me, okay? Promise me you won’t do anything you might regret.”
“Will, please, don’t. Don’t come. It’s okay. I feel better now. I am not gonna kill myself or anything. It’s cool.”
“Fuck you, Wheeler. I want to see you, like, right now. So don’t tell me what to do.” A beat. “I fucking love you, you piece of shit.” Now Will is the one crying.
“You do? I thought—”
“Of course I do, you moron! God, I want to punch you so hard.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Please come and punch me. I deserve it.”
“Yes you do!”
* * *
When Will comes to Hawkins the next day, he doesn’t immediately punch Mike. He hugs him. Then he punches him. Then he hugs him again.
Will is taller, and has an earring now. It’s pretty. He’s pretty. Just looking at him hurts. They are standing in the middle of Mike’s basement. The air is stale, dusty, heavy with untold stories, childhood dreams and echoes of laughter. This was where they grew up, where the rest of the world felt far away, where they used to feel safe.
“Why are you so stupid?” Will asks, holding Mike’s face in his palms. Mike stares at his hands, tugging at the long sleeves of his pullover.
“I don’t know, I am sorry.”
“I’ve lost track of what you are sorry for.” Will’s hands fall from his face.
Now Mike feels abandoned, unprotected, hollow. The tears come, his breath turning uneven as he presses his lips together like it might keep everything inside.
“I am sorry for being me.”
He sniffles and hides his face. He’s terrified that if Will looks at him long enough he is going to regret coming here.
“Don’t say that.” Will shakes his head. “You are the reason a lot of people are alive and well and, as you put it, thriving. You are the best person in the world.”
“And the most stupid?”
“Yes. You can be both.” Will takes his hands and squeezes them. He looks straight into Mike’s eyes.
“Listen, you are coming with me to New York. I don’t want to hear your reasons. I just want you to do it. You owe me that much.”
“Will…” Mike starts, hoping to be interrupted.
“Say yes.” Thank God.
“Yes.”
“Good. And I promise I am not doing it because you are depressed and suicidal. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why I’m doing it?”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
Mike blinks. Is he really going to say it?
“Because you love me?”
“Exactly. Now — can I kiss you?”
“Please.”
Now, this feels right. There are no fireworks, no heart attacks. Will’s lips are familiar, his breath is comforting. Everything clicks back into place. Maybe he has always been kissing Will, he just forgot about it. If this is Vecna messing with him, he’ll take it.
Will breaks the kiss, rests his forehead on Mike’s, inhales, and then— bursts into tears.
“Will! What is it? Have I done something wrong?”
“No, no, it was…amazing. I don’t know. It’s just a lot…” He tries to steady himself but fails.
“Okay. No rush. Let’s just sit.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Will slides down the basement wall, shoulder to shoulder with Mike, their knees touching. They are now sitting on a soft rug. Will grips Mike’s arm, eyes closed, breathing in and out, slowly. He leans into Mike’s side. Mike embraces him, holds him tight, strokes his back, soothing.
Will is so real, so present, so warm. Do I just get to be with him now? Like, every day? With my best friend? With my person?
“I’m sorry I’m freaking out,” Will says. “I just… I never thought this would happen. I figured I moved on, you know. But how could I?”
“Thank you for not moving on.” Mike chuckles. “I appreciate it.”
Mike rests his lips on the top of Will’s head. A promise. The world narrows to the sound of Will breathing and the weight of him in Mike’s arms. He might get used to this.
Will breaks the silence after a couple of minutes:
“Can I ask you something?”
“Fire away.”
“El…” Will stops. He can’t find the words.
Mike gives him a second and then says:
“I miss her every second of every day. She was everything to me. And so are you. Hopper once told me she would want me to be happy. I think I am finally going to let myself believe that.”
Will nods and gives Mike a soft smile, shoulders easing, eyes full of quiet reassurance.
“Remember Dustin after Eddie died? He thought… if he wasn’t sad and in pain, then he would somehow betray Eddie’s memory. Dustin called me yesterday morning. We talked about El. And about the day they found my body. About Max and Billy. And about Eddie, too. He told me that Eddie had asked him not to change — and Dustin promised. Then he did change. He shut people out. That was the real betrayal, he knows it now. So… yeah, I think this is the right thing, Mike. Let us be happy.”
Will reaches for Mike’s hand and laces their fingers together.
“Did you know El and I broke up?”
Will’s eyebrows shoot up.
“I definitely did not know that.”
“It wasn’t important at the time… No, I mean, it was important but not as important as everything else going on, I guess? And then El died.”
El died. Mike loved her, and she loved him. Trying to name what they were felt pointless now.
“Can I ask why you broke up?”
“We talked. She had a lot on her mind back then, we agreed to just… take a break? And then this break lasted for like a year and a half, so…”
“It must have been hard, Mike, I’m sorry.”
“It was okay. I think she knew…”
“Knew what?”
“About my feelings for you. That they weren’t the same as what I felt for her. She never said anything, but I am pretty sure she knew.”
Will thought back to him and El living together as siblings. She was so gentle with him, so kind. She saved him so many times. She fought for him before she even really knew him.
“I think she always saw right through me,” Will says. “She probably saw right through you too.”
Will puts his head on Mike’s shoulder.
“When I say I love you,” Mike whispers. “I don’t think it’s enough. I have no words. And I am the storyteller...”
“Do you still think you don’t deserve this?”
“I do think so, yes,” Mike replies. Will frowns. “I don’t deserve you, and I never did. But I will spend my life trying to become someone who does,” his voice is trembling. “If you let me.”
“Mike.” Will looks up at him. “I want you to be here, always. Right here, by my side, okay? I’ve been in love with you for so long that I don’t remember the time when I wasn’t. I want to be the first reader of your best-selling novels. I want us to grow old together. To build a home. To argue over what movie to watch on Friday nights. To gossip about neighbours, to adopt two cats. Maybe three? Don’t ever leave me.”
“Okay,” Mike says, smiling wide. “Cool.”
“Cool.”