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The storyteller is vital.
Just like the heart is for the body, he keeps experiences alive, lets oxygen flow through them. He makes sure memories are preserved and stories get their deserved attention. Without his voice, the characters are just as vibrant and special. But they fade. And he won’t let them fade.
He can’t.
They gave him too much. Just like he makes sure they never die, they give him air to breathe, joy to feel, tears to cry. He loves them too much to ever let them be forgotten.
It’s his duty, his sacrifice. Taking himself out of the picture so he can paint it.
Like the person behind the camera, he was always there. But they forget. Because the photo he took will shape the memory, when all recollection fades. His face will be forgotten but theirs will be immortal. Yet he will forever know he stood next to them when he put the camera down.
Mike Wheeler has always told stories. But he became a storyteller when he needed it most.
When he didn’t know where else to turn or what else to do.
That’s when he buried himself in paper and ink. When he started asking more questions and avoided answering others’.
And eventually, that was when on his way to the grocery store, head high looking up at the clouds, chasing no particular thought but a million racing ones, he bumped shoulder-to-shoulder into Joyce Byers.
“Mike! I’m so sorry. Didn’t see you there,” she laughed nervously, putting a large, rolled-up and plastic-packed mattress from her arms onto the ground.
She practically beamed when she scanned him head to toe. He tried to cross his arms to cover the sauce stain he knew was still there on his Hellfire longsleeve. He opened his arms briefly to push the glasses up his nose. His nose must have been glistening in the sun like a gem, only infinite times less beautiful and all the more oil-covered. Embarrassing.
“Hey Joyce,” he said, hesitantly.
Although he could never manage to really avoid her, he made sure it was at least weeks at a time that he didn’t have to face her. It was easier. Hopper he couldn’t avoid, he was present in this godforsaken town like a watch dog on its territory, but Joyce, Joyce at least he could avoid, dodging her usual routes and all that. He told himself it was for everyone’s own good. He avoided many of his friends, from time to time. Controlled exposure and research. Hear about their lives, make mental notes, write it down later. Think about it in bed, alone. Instead of his head spinning mid-conversation. Easier for everyone.
Especially with Joyce.
“How have you been? You know, Will asked what you were up to when he called me the other day. He said he hasn’t heard from you in a while.” She tilted her head, expression getting slightly worried.
At the sound of his name, panic rose in Mike’s chest.
“Oh, everything’s fine, don’t worry. So much going on, you know. I’ll call him soon.” He squeezed his crossed arms a little tighter.
Joyce leaned on her mattress.
“Preparing for the move?” he pursed his lips.
“Hopper told you, huh?” she smiled sheepishly, then sighed. “It’s easier the second time. Not quite so far away, too.”
“I can imagine.”
“So you talk to Hopper? Regularly?”
He knew what she was asking and he got more fidgety by the second.
Most of his friends knew to leave him alone by now. He’s dodged enough of their questions to lose most of their interest, reported the same old dull Hawkins days over and over again so there wouldn’t be any interesting news to share. But Joyce never stopped asking. It was like she was trying to poke into his soul, and lure something out even he wasn’t yet aware of.
She was so concerned. She loved him. He knew. But precisely that scared the hell out of him.
“Occasionally,” he corrected.
Joyce nodded, her brows drawn together perpetually. “Good, good.”
They stood there, and Mike rocked back and forth on his toes. He tried to open his mouth, think of an excuse to go, but Joyce continued.
“I’m sure it helps if you both talk about El. Makes it a little easier. Less alone.”
He took a deep breath, as quietly as possible. His gaze fixated his shoe, then the nearest storefront, anywhere but her eyes. “Sure. Of course. It does.”
“You know, just because we’re moving doesn’t mean we’re not still here for you. You can call us anytime. Or visit. We’ll have a nice extra bedroom, I’m planning to make it a guest room. You can show up anytime. Talk to Hop, go meet Will in New York, you know. I’m sure he could show you around a little. He keeps talking about all the amazing opportunities, he even mentioned how there are so many writing jobs he didn’t know even existed and that you—”
Mike coughed loudly and Joyce stopped, patting his back.
“Thanks, thanks,” he waved her off, slid his hand through dark, oily curls. And took a step backwards, leaning forward. Hoping she wouldn’t notice his fast breathing, the fear in his eyes and the tears holding back.
“Sounds great, really. I’ll give you a call. Have a good move, Joyce. Tell me if you need help, okay?” He moved in to hug her, anything not to let her see his face, and she seemed surprised, but squeezed him tightly, the touch of a mother.
“Take care, Mike.”
And he practically ran away.
As soon as he closed the door to the basement behind him, his breath got out of control. He wasn’t sure what part of the pulse was a result of his sprinting home and which the panic attack, but he wheezed, and he locked the door, and he stumbled down the stairs into his office chair, the type writer clanging when he brushed against the desk with too much force.
Joyce’s voice kept echoing in his head.
Will asked what you were up to
Go meet Will in New York
I’m sure he could show you around
He said he hasn’t heard from you
The sound of his name created vivid pictures of his face in Mike’s mind. Will talking about him. To Joyce. To new friends? What would he say?
His face appeared before his inner eye, smiling widely at him, bumping his arm, the touch sending shivers down Mike’s spine. He breathed harder.
As he always did when this happened, he tried to replace his face. Tried to recall those memories of El, the taste of her lips, the feel of her touch, the sound of her laugh. And it worked. To an extent. He felt guilty and horrible and he propelled himself right into this profound grieving, this ugly quiet sobbing only he could hear, but that was the goal. And he felt like the scum of the earth for even doing this.
But he was convinced this was what he should do. He should be grieving El. And he was grieving El. Whatever strange feeling arose when he thought of his former best friend, for some reason he felt like he should be replacing them with thinking about El instead.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew he was making both worse. He knew he wasn’t grieving El as El, that he was misusing her memory. And he knew that each time he replaced those thoughts of Will, they came back, again and again, and haunted him worse each time.
So he felt like he was dying, on that office chair. And the tears just kept streaming out his eyes, and the sobs were buried in his beloved shirt, and his gaze darted towards the door every few seconds, his ears trained, to make sure no one, absolutely no one could hear.
The storyteller is alone.
He needs time and quiet to write his stories. To build them from the ground up, polish them, to really focus on his own words and thoughts.
But the storyteller needed inspiration. And that could only come from others. His own life was sworn to his cause, so in order to get a glimpse outside, he had to hear what others had to say, see what others were seeing, immerse himself in their vivid lives.
So when Dustin asked Mike to ride to Boston with him for his first research conference, naturally he said yes. Even when he found that Lucas and Max would not be coming, because it didn’t matter. He knew his friends better than anyone. So he knew what would be important to them. Never in a million years could he say no.
He would have said no, he realized, if Dustin had told him the whole story. He would have imagined any excuse that wouldn’t have left him too hurt, that seemed inevitable enough to justify his absence in something so crucial for him, but he would’ve had to.
Because at the doors to the university gymnasium stood Will Byers.
And the smile Mike had imagined and overwritten a million times was right in front of him once more.
His heart actually stopped for what seemed like a whole minute.
Dustin ran past him to throw himself at Will, and they hugged, and Will closed his eyes but then he opened them again, and he beamed at Mike over Dustin’s shoulder, just like Joyce had beamed at him just a few weeks prior. Love. A mother’s love, a friend’s love. They loved him.
And Mike couldn’t look at them. He was a monster.
His feet felt like a thousand tons when he dragged them across the asphalt, wondering why he didn’t leave marks, why the weight of all this dread didn’t push him into the ground and made him disappear from the face of the earth.
“You’re alive,” Will’s voice said as he got closer in what felt like an entire odyssey worth of effort.
“Of course I am.” Mike said. Dustin patted Will’s shoulder as he let him go, and Mike saw Will twitching as if he wanted to move to hug him next, but then he stopped. Like waiting for permission. His beam faded to a light glow, brows slightly furrowed, and he looked a little like his mother.
“Sorry for the secret,” Dustin said, and he seemed happy, so happy. “But I thought you’d both be surprised this way.”
Will nodded, agreeing. And he smiled at Mike, but he still hadn’t moved to hug him hello, and the seconds passed and now it would be awkward, he figured. More than it already was. So Will just smiled, and Mike tried so hard to pull the goddamn corners of his mouth up, up, up already.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Will said and laughed, and he watched for Mike’s reaction and Mike wondered how much he was aware of. He knew Will’s intuition was uncanny and he cursed every little bit of his own knowledge and Will’s godlike skill right about now. But the way he laughed, the way he said it, it sounded less like a joke, and more like a question.
So Mike shrugged. And he could’ve slapped himself for that tone, but he said “I’ve been busy” and his gaze darted to Dustin as if to caution him. Dustin frowned, but he stayed quiet, and Mike hated that his happiness was stained ever so slightly, tainted by a frown, caused by Mike’s stupid little action born of pure panic.
And even Will frowned. And now Mike was responsible for bringing two glowing moods down, so he stared at the floor and prayed once again, this time for a tear in the ground into the upside down, a demogorgon respawning and dragging him with, anything but being responsible for all of this. He shouldn’t have come. It would’ve hurt them less.
But here he was, and he sighed, and then he teared at the corners of his mouth so hard they had no choice but to oblige.
“But I’m happy I made it.” He heard himself say. And was rewarded with Will’s smile, and it felt like a thousand suns exploding in his chest.
When they went inside, Dustin had to leave to prepare his poster.
So Will and Mike decided to get in line for some coffee. Mike felt the strain of the long drive tear on him, and he was grateful for the instant smell of relief from the little coffee cart in the corner. All around them, important-looking people in suits, but they talked just like Dustin when you asked him to explain and he happily obliged. Posters of graphs and formulas and words even Mike had never heard of. It was impressive. It was huge. It was…a future.
And amidst it all, he could feel Will next to him. Despite his panic, despite the time passed, his presence was so familiar, so calming, like he was his sun and he orbited around him, reveled in his warmth.
When he felt Will that close next to him, and he got the faintest smell of the detergent he still used when he moved, he ached. Because he realized he had missed him.
God, how much he had missed him. His face haunted Mike every night, but is was nothing compared to his actual presence, to the real person, flesh and blood, right next to him. Alive, with a heartbeat, the real Will. Like he’d always known him. Just different.
Mike breathed in and out, deeply.
“How is everything?” he finally asked and it felt like a giant weight off his shoulders.
Will turned and smiled, and his attention was addicting, a precious good to hold.
“Good,” he said, his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
He looked so nonchalant, so good. Mike was suddenly aware of how messy his hair must look after such a long drive. Of how his shirt fell against his torso. He wasn’t afraid of stains anymore — he wouldn’t embarrass Dustin on a big day. But he was embarrassed himself, suddenly self-conscious of his unkempt curls that hadn’t seen a hairdresser in so long. Of the dark glasses sitting on his nose. He didn’t care much how he looked when he bought them, but now he did. And he wondered about if they even suited him, if he could’ve taken the seller up on that offer to look for a more modern frame, whatever that meant.
Will looked like he’d taken offers like that. Gone was the shy little kid with the bowlcut (that Mike had always adored nonetheless, never getting why Will was ever laughed at until someone had explained to him). Will was a grown man and he had style. And poise. Mike would have guessed he came straight from the New York big city life, even if he didn’t know.
And he looked at him.
Mike almost couldn’t take it, had to fight the urge to look away again.
“The city’s great,” Will continued. They took a step forward in the line, three pairs of people separating them from the relief of caffeine in their systems.
“I actually thought of you the other day. A friend told me about the fantasy book they’re writing, and I told them about you. I think you’d get along. There’s so many people with so many cool ideas, I bet you’d love it.”
Mike swallowed hard. He knew Will meant it. And he probably thought it would make Mike happy, excited even to hear this. But the dread culminated like weight above his head again, his stomach churning.
“How cool,” he smiled politely, “I’m sure they’re way better than me, though.”
Will looked actually saddened. “Don’t say that.” A short pause. “My boasting about your epic campaigns would sound a lot less impressive.”
That made Mike laugh. Actually laugh for a second.
“You’re boasting with DnD?”
Will joined and nodded.
“You’re kidding me,” Mike continued, but Will shook his head.
“I’m actually not.”
“And no one laughed?”
“No, they didn’t.”
“So what they say about the city is true after all.”
Will looked so serious when he responded. “It is. Trust me.”
Mike gave him a weak smile.
Then it was their turn for coffee.
They talked some more, next to the coffee cart. Will told him stories about his new friends, about his studies, his favorite cafés. Mike kept answers to his questions short, but he tried shooting him down less than he usually did their friends, scared to disturb the mood, the actual flow of their conversation. The smile on Will’s face.
He was grateful. A little relieved.
A lot relieved, actually.
The pictures in his head were updating to a new Will, a real Will, a lot less scary Will, although a much more intimidating one. A really good-looking one. A happy, free one.
He was like a magnet, and Mike was pure, helpless, plain metal, drawn to him without a choice.
Dustin came running for them when they were laughing at a joke Will told.
He looked pleased, seeing them. “We’re starting in a minute, you should come by my poster before there’s no more room.” And Mike would have believed Dustin was going to draw a crowd in the blink of an eye.
Of course, Dustin was brilliant. Mike couldn’t stop smiling as he listened to his stories about his research, answering questions. It was so nice, smiling on his own, no force required. He looked for Will again and again, and found him smiling, too. But when he wasn’t looking, he felt Will’s gaze burning into his side, and Mike’s breathing stuttered, his heart beating faster each time.
After Dustin finished, Mike and Will started clapping, and immediately seized after noticing no one else did, sticking their heads together, giggling in embarrassment. Dustin grinned widely though, and no one looked actually annoyed. Mike’s blush came less from the embarrassment, and more from feeling Will’s breath on his cheeks for a split second, his mind freezing.
They went up to Dustin when every other question was answered, and asked him some more. He explained in a way they would understand effortlessly, and that’s what Mike was even more impressed at. When they were done, Mike patted Dustin’s shoulder. “Good job,” he said. “This stuff is amazing.”
Will nodded in agreement.
Mike and Will moved on, listening to more or less interesting talks and posters and explanations around the conference, never leaving each others’ side. At the end of the day, they could confidently agree Dustin did it best, and so they announced to him when they got drinks afterwards, and then went to retire to Dustin’s tiny dorm room.
“It’s okay, I’ll take the floor,” Mike immediately announced.
“My roommate is out of town,” Dustin said, “he said we could use his bed.”
“Perfect, so Will can take it,” Mike concluded, and thought the matter done, avoiding a panic. He would sleep by Dustin’s side of the room, since he was his guest.
But then Will said “Nonsense,” and Mike really, really wished he hadn’t started arguing.
Dustin sighed. “You two decide amongst yourselves, I’m going to the bathroom.” And then he was gone, and they were left alone.
The dorm had two single beds, two closets, two desks. A mini fridge under what Mike assumed to be Dustin’s desk, covered in tools and paper classwork. Some decoration on the walls. A lot of postcards from Hawkins, a picture of Dustin’s mother with their new cat.
Will turned to Mike. “You’ve had a longer ride, you should take the other bed.”
Mike shook his head. “I’m fine, really. I took the basement floor plenty of times when you all stayed over, remember? Bet that was way colder and more uncomfortable than this.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Yeah, when we were twelve. Don’t tell me you haven’t woken up with back pain at least once by now, or I’ll feel old.”
Mike laughed. Will looked at him with a smile, and something he couldn’t quite decipher. As if he was waiting for Mike to say something, something specific.
But he didn’t. He looked back at Will, then to the bed. And he bit his lip.
But then Will did.
“We shared my bed plenty of times.”
And there it was. Mike thought he was going to faint.
El. El. He tried to imagine El. And he hated himself again for trying. But this time, it didn’t even work. It was like his memory was temporarily erased, like a piece of the tape was cut out and missing. He didn’t remember sharing the bed with her, like he’d tried to recall. Didn’t remember how her kiss tasted like.
He just saw Will, living and breathing across from him, felt his warmth and saw his eyes and remembered the times they fell asleep together as children, waking up with his head on Will’s shoulder. He remembered when he fell asleep with his head on Will’s lap in the hospital, when the hive mind was torturing all the life out of him. How he sat by his bedside for endless hours, waiting for a sign he was still alive and breathing.
He just saw Will.
And he nodded.
Dustin barged in then, his hair wet from the shower.
“Come on, I’ll show you the bathroom. I’m so beat.”
Mike’s back was touching Will’s.
Dustin had just shrugged at their decision, like it was nothing to note. For Mike, it was the thing of note.
He was staring at the ground with eyes wide open, a faint street light from outside painting silhouettes of the dorm room in front of him. Across, he could hear Dustin start to snore. But all his tiredness was blown away entirely.
Will was laying very still, his face against the wall. Will had always preferred to face the wall, and Mike had always understood, and felt like it gave him a job. The wall was safe, and he was close to the door. If anything happened, he would protect Will.
He didn’t really feel like that anymore. He knew Will could take care of himself. That he was taking care of himself, better than he was, let’s face it. He didn’t need Mike anymore.
But he still chose the wall. And it felt like everything was still as it used to be, in some tiny way.
“Are you asleep?” Will’s voice was a whisper.
Mike shook his head.
Will shifted, turned on his back. Mike felt Will’s shoulder on his own back.
“I really thought you didn’t want to see me anymore.”
The words hurt Mike like a knife to the chest. He could feel his eyes water up, but he pushed it away, like he was used to.
“You know that’s not true,” he responded with a whisper, his voice earnest.
A pause.
“Do I? I really wasn’t sure, Mike.”
He shuddered at the sound of his own name in Will’s voice.
“You avoided a few of my calls and then you never called back for months, I—”
Will took an audible breath. “I kind of thought you didn’t need me anymore. That I was gone and you were getting by so well without me that you realized we were never supposed to be friends outside of Hawkins or all this—” he hesitated, “all this horror that we saw.”
“Or,” Will continued, “that, you know. That you decided it wasn’t okay, after all. That you just pretended while I was there.”
That alerted Mike, and he shifted too, until he was shoulder to shoulder with Will, his other shoulder hanging off the bed, so that they could even fit next to each other on the small mattress. His leg was now touching Will’s, and his head was next to his, and then he turned to look at him, and found him staring at the ceiling, his hands joined on his stomach.
“That what wasn’t okay?” Mike asked, slowly.
Will looked at him briefly. Then stared back at the ceiling. “You know.”
Mike’s breath stuttered. “No.” he said, earnestly, tried to really emphasize it.
“No, never. I wouldn’t. Come on, Will.”
Will shrugged, but it wasn’t that he didn’t care, it’s that Mike saw the profound doubt in his eyes even in the low light, and he hurt deeply seeing it.
“How was I supposed to know?” he asked. “We never talked about it. Not after we climbed that radio tower.”
Mike swallowed. “I—” he hesitated, “I know.”
He knew very well. Knew how much he’d been avoiding the topic. Not in his head. It was playing on repeat over and over and over, and each time he tried to push the thought and Will’s face aside, trying to replace it, not knowing what to do with the confusing feeling. The panic, the flutter, the hope-like thing he didn’t understand, didn’t get the meaning or the tugging and tearing at all his heartstrings of.
But he’d been avoiding talking about it. In fear that his confusion would show, that he’d have to reveal the turmoil that was going on inside him, that he didn’t understand, was too scared to try and understand, if he was very honest. He was afraid the real Will, not the picture in his mind, his warmth and his real Will-ness would tickle it out of him. Would make him confront it. And he had done anything to avoid letting that happen.
“I’m sorry, I was a jerk,” is all he could muster to say and he bit his lip forcefully as if punishing himself.
Will hummed quietly, not content. He shifted, and Mike felt that he was turning to face the wall again and it scared him. Not in the way his thoughts scared him, this felt like the real Will right in front of him was slipping away. He was losing him with his dodging questions, with his half-hearted, half-truthful answers he had gotten so used to. Maybe the others still held on to him, maybe their friendship would survive superficiality, but Will slipping away, it felt so different. He couldn’t stand Will moving away from him. Their relationship had never been superficial like this. Mike had always been as honest as he could with Will, because it was Will.
Who else was there to be close to, who else was this important to him? Being close to him had felt as natural as breathing since kindergarten.
Ignoring him was like freezing whatever they had, no new interaction could stain what they had, so they would be immortalized, no real consequences. But this, talking to him and not saying anything, hurting him, this was unbearable. It put a stake right through the heart of their bond, and they couldn’t survive too many blows.
“Will?” Mike said, his voice light, and for the first time since they talked again, shivering.
He didn’t say anything.
“I could never not be okay with anything you are. You have to believe me.” Mike was swimming, fighting for his life, and he knew it. “You’re too important to me.”
It was quiet for a while.
“Because we’re best friends?”
Mike wanted to get away from here so bad. Again. Pushed into a ground, snatched by a demogorgon, or a Beam me up, Scotty-moment, he didn’t care anymore, just away. Away from this conversation, but not away from Will. Never away from Will. Just keeping him close, but not facing whatever the turmoil inside of him was, whatever this was turning out to be, what he feared it to be. What the sinking feeling in his stomach started telling him it was, what he’d been pushing down, down, down, deep down, in fear for his life. But he knew. He knew. Knew what it was. He was too afraid to even think it in his head.
How could he say it? Thinking it had enough implications, admitting it to himself was earth-shattering, life-changing, terrifying enough, how could he possibly tell Will? He hadn’t even thought of those consequences. Of what could go wrong. What could change forever.
Mike’s head was spinning and he felt dizzy, nauseous, afraid. His heart started beating uncontrollably and judging by Will’s shifting towards him and his worried look, he was starting to notice.
Mike was facing the ceiling still, but he pushed himself up, sitting, and Will’s warm hand placed on his shoulder softly. He was barely breathing.
Dustin’s snore still filled the room over Mike’s shallow panic, and Will was sitting calmly beside him, his face full of worry. He shushed Mike quietly and softly, stroking over his shoulder again and again, saying things he couldn’t hear in a soft whisper.
Tears started streaming out of Mike’s eyes and as soon as he noticed, he leaned over to Will, consequences be damned, he couldn’t think of them right now anyway, and sobbed into his chest quietly. Will embraced him, held him tightly, and Mike was surrounded by just him. His scent, his warmth, he was so real and so close and among all the panic, Mike had not felt so at home in such a long time.
He calmed down later into the night, and Will didn’t let go of him a single time. They were sitting on the bed intertwined, Will holding him, stroking over his back in repetitive, calming motions for at least an hour, and the moon had started to move across the sky to shine a light in Dustin’s small dorm room.
After all, Mike raised his head from Will’s chest, and he let go, hesitantly.
“Better?” Will asked, and the care was so deeply ingrained in his voice it almost made Mike melt away.
The panic subsided for something else, for a tickling, an anticipation, a longing when he looked at Will, still touching his back, his eyes wide and…sad.
It tickled all his insides, and like he had cried all the fear out, when he looked into Will’s eyes, they gave him courage to let the feeling be. Mike held his gaze, and he breathed calmly, and he felt all the stirring in his stomach, all this magnetic pull from Will, all the warmth from him, all the suns exploding in his chest and he let them be.
“Yeah,” Mike said. And they laid back down together, and Will didn’t let go all night.
The storyteller is whoever he wants to be.
The people around him showed him how. While he was following their journey, he hadn’t noticed he’d been on one of his own. He always thought of himself out of the picture, behind the camera, when all along, he’d been in the middle of it all. Someone else painted his picture as they saw him.
Through their stories, he learns to live his own. It took him longer than most. He didn’t know how to approach it, so he made sense of it in his own way, his own words, the stories he told of others. He always needed time. But he too, would arrive on a journey’s and and move on to new, own waters.
So when it was time to drive his car alone back to Hawkins, leaving everyone behind in their lives, he realized all this.
When the sun shone through the curtains in the morning and Dustin found them passed out, sleeping tightly in each other’s arms, he had smiled and let them sleep some more.
When both of them awoke, it was together, and Mike held on as long as Will would let him until they started another day.
Longing glances pumped through Mike’s veins like blood during their breakfast, and he found Will staring back, and finally freed of all this fear, he could feel the unmatched excitement in those tickles in his stomach, the light fluttering, the warm feeling. The pull, pull, pull. And he knew it was Will. It had always been Will. And Mike knew it was himself, too. And it finally made sense. The red string throughout all of this long story, this exhausting journey, he had found it. And it felt like the greatest reward. Like he had won the battle, not lost it all at the end like he feared.
The only thing left was to put it into words, put the story on paper, immortalize it.
His own story.
And like with his characters, he could only equip himself with all the tools he needed, all the courage for the final fight, and hope for a happy end.
When it was time to say goodbye, they left Dustin at his dorm first. Mike hugged him tightly, and Dustin hugged back, and in a way, he felt like they were going to be okay, no matter what. He would call him. Visit him. Tell him about what he’d been thinking. They would be fine, again. Dustin smiled and they laughed together as they said their goodbyes.
Mike brought Will to the train station.
They decided to walk from the dorm, and Mike would return to his car later. He knew they would have plenty of time to talk, this way. And he wanted that. He knew Will deserved that, too. He wouldn’t let him down again.
“Thank you,” Mike said at first. “For helping me last night.”
“Of course,” Will said immediately. Then he looked at Mike like he waited for an explanation, in a soft, curious way.
Mike bit his lip, the fear gone but it left behind a nervousness, a curious but nerve-wrecking uncertainty about what would happen next, a million possibilities open. It was still hard to speak.
“Was it anything I said…?” Will tried. He put his hands in his pockets again, this time of his jeans, and Mike realized he really liked this way that he realized Will covered his own nervousness with, this harmless facade of nonchalance. It suited him so well. It made all of Mike’s insides tickle, pulled him tighter into Will’s force.
“Yes,” Mike just blurted out, and as Will widened his eyes, he quickly falsely corrected “No!” And then grunted, frustrated at himself. Will smiled, absurdly, as if amidst his own nerves he was amused by Mike’s.
Mike stopped walking. They were on a sidewalk at the edge of a park, and a blackbird was singing on the tree over their heads. He faced Will, who buried his hands in his pockets even deeper.
“Will, none of what you said yesterday was why I avoided you. But you were right, I did avoid you and I’m sorry.”
Will’s gaze turned soft and sympathetic, but he still tore at the edge of his pockets, and he shifted a little uncomfortably. But he listened intently, and Mike wondered if his heart was pounding just as fast as his own did.
Mike sighed, deeply. “I—I was very confused. I think I only realized after all of it, all of the fighting was over. At first, I was so consumed by—” he stuttered, “by El’s death.”
He could see Will’s eyes get glassy.
Mike waited some time before he continued. But he felt relieved. Relieved that he could finally give El the weight she deserved, too. Without any of the excuses, any of the misuse of her memory, of his time with her. In doing this, he set her free.
“But what you said to us all, what you confessed, it— it changed me. Not changed, I think it’s always been there, but I never saw it, not in the way you did.”
Will was listening to him patiently, and if he was hoping or feeling anything, Mike couldn’t see it.
“Will, I—”
“At the risk of sounding totally stupid and getting all of what you said wrong and maybe you didn’t even mean me, whoever that Tammy is that you said, and maybe this is very embarrassing right now but—”
He saw Will laugh, and shed a tear and he halted, confused once again, not sure what to make of this.
“Will?”
“Go on,” Will said, and he gave him a smile as the tear rolled down his cheek, “It’s okay, I promise. Just please, go on.” Mike then felt it was his turn. Will had given him permission, assured him he would be safe, would be fine, but it was still his place to say it, say what he had been thinking and pushing down all this time.
Mike breathed slowly. “I tried to push it down all this time that I’ve been avoiding you, but I think I understand it now. I was so afraid of myself, of this, and I don’t know how you even did this all by yourself, and then just went ahead and told everyone, because Will, I am so afraid.”
He actually started to shiver. Will looked at him sympathetically.
“But the way you—” Mike took a deep breath, “The way you held me yesterday, it all made sense. And I’m not so afraid anymore.”
“I don’t know how to say this, you probably already know if you’re not absolutely blind like I was, but—”
Will nodded. Another tear followed. But he smiled. And another tear.
Mike held his gaze, and an own smile tugged at the edges of his lips as he gathered every piece of courage he could find in himself. He moved closer to Will, one step, then two. It was so easy. It felt so right. He was pure, helpless metal in the presence of this man, this magnet, and he embraced it, gave in to the pull, to all the longing, to his warmth.
He stepped closer and touched his face with the back of his hand, so lightly, but he had never touched Will this intimately.
Mike was so close he could feel Will’s breath stop and just in that moment, as his finger still tickled from the touch of his cheek, he moved it to the back of Will’s neck and then pulled him closer, laying his lips on his.
A thousand suns and firework exploding.
Mike had never once felt excitement like this before in his life. All of his body hummed, gone was the anxiety, the fear, replaced by all this good, all this warm and all this buzz. It felt so right. He wanted his body to touch all of Will’s, to melt into one with him, to never let him go.
Will leaned into the kiss. When Mike lifted his lips from his, Will pulled them together again, and the kiss got more heated, more passion as Mike realized this was, that had been here all along. They were hasty, fast, hungry, like they’d been starving all their lives, and it hurt a little when they accidentally bumped each other’s teeth, but Will laughed in between their kiss, and Mike smiled into it in turn. Will held him so tight, just like tonight, but he didn’t hold back anymore. He held all of him, his body and soul and his whole being, it all belonged to Will.
They parted after a long while that Mike had wished could have been forever, and Will left a freezing cold where he left, an immediate longing to have him back, to keep him for good.
Mike brushed the tears off his cheeks with his fingers, and Will fixed the dark curl that had fallen into Mike’s face back to the rest of his hair. They smiled at each other, warmly. Free.
“I wish you would’ve talked to me way sooner.” Will finally said, and he still smiled.
“I wish I did, too.”
“You had me worrying over nothing, Mike. I was so scared!”
Mike laughed, so lightly like he hadn’t in such a long time.
“Didn’t you listen to me? I was fearing for my life!”
Will chuckled.
“Well, we never had to, did we?”
Mike shook his head.
They looked around, and just as they did, the blackbird spread its wings, and took off. He flew over their heads, until he landed on a tree across from them, joining another of his kin. No one else was in the street this morning.
Will turned to Mike to kiss him again, pulling him by his waist, and Mike took all of it so gratefully.
Then Will turned around, and started heading back to where they came from.
“Where are you going?” Mike called, running after him.
“We’re going home,” Will announced, “I think we both need to say goodbye to someone. Properly.”
Mike caught up to him. He almost couldn’t believe what he heard, but he felt the grief come back, pure and strong and finally right, on its own, how it should be. And he nodded.
“You’re right. Thanks.”
“And after, I’m showing your my room in New York. No discussion.”
Mike laughed, and he followed Will.
They were beaming.
Will loved him.
And Mike loved him back, the way he deserved.