Chapter Text
It had been three years since they graduated from Hawkins High. Will had moved away right after graduation, Dustin had gotten accepted into his dream school, Lucas had started training to become one of the next greatest basketball players, and Mike—well.
Mike had turned the basement of his childhood house into his own personal space. He’d spend hours every day locked inside that basement, writing down his secrets, greatest desires, thoughts, and feelings. Ever since that day at the WSQK in 1987, he had been double-guessing his sexuality. When he watched Will come out and be vocal about not liking girls, it sent him into a spiral. He had always known there was something different about him—he’d always had a feeling. He'd always known he felt something different toward Will, but he ad always thought it was just because Will was his first friend, his best friend.
But after hearing Will talk about how he had a crush on a guy he knew would never like him back, Mike wished he could be just as brave as Will. Even when El had said her last goodbye to him before she sacrificed herself, he still hadn’t had the courage to tell her that he loved her. Because the truth was, he didn’t. He didn’t love her, but he couldn’t accept it.
—
The next day, he got a call. It was an unknown number. He picked up the phone, not knowing what to expect, but when he heard Will’s voice on the other side, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.
“Hey, Mike!” Will said. The last time they had talked was about a year ago at Christmas, with the rest of the Party.
“Oh—hi, Will,” he said back, trying not to sound too excited. “How are you?”
“I’m doing good! I was just calling to invite you to the wedding,” Will said through the phone.
Mike’s heart dropped. Wedding? What wedding? Will was getting married? To whom?
Before he could continue spiraling, he heard Will’s voice again. “Sorry, that made it sound like I was the one getting married. What I meant to say was I’m calling to invite you to my mom and Hopper’s wedding.”
Mike let out a sigh.
“Oh, okay. When is it?” he managed to say.
“May 23rd. It’s at Hop’s old cabin in Hawkins. They wanted to have the wedding somewhere that was special to them,” Will said.
Mike froze. They were going to have the wedding at the cabin? It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with it—the cabin was in great condition—but he couldn’t help wondering why they’d choose a place that reminded him so much of El.
“Okay. Yeah, I’ll be there,” Mike replied, thinking that was where the conversation would end.
He was surprised when he heard Will talking again.
“Mom wanted me to tell you that you can bring a plus one if you want to.”
Mike didn’t know what to say. The only person he wanted to go with was the person on the other side of the phone call.
“Are you bringing anyone?” he asked stupidly. He couldn’t believe he’d said that.
“Oh. Um, yeah, actually I am. I’m—I’m bringing my boyfriend, Jayson.”
Mike felt a wave of sadness wash over him. He didn’t think Will would actually be coming with someone.
“Cool. Make sure to introduce me to him at the wedding,” Mike said.
“Yeah, okay,” Will replied.
Then there was a moment of awkward silence.
When they finally hung up, Mike walked over to the couch. He sat down, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He knew it was going to happen one day—Will was going to get a boyfriend—and he thought he’d be okay with it. But this… this felt like a punch to the stomach.
Mike finally stood up and walked over to his desk. He opened the first drawer and shoved his hand to the back, searching for something. His fingers brushed against hard plastic, and he grabbed onto it. He pulled out a small knife with a plastic cover. He took the cover off and placed it on top of his desk. Then he carefully rolled up his sleeve. He looked down at his wrist, at the scars from a couple of days ago that were starting to heal.
He picked up the knife, closed his eyes, and cut himself, letting out a small cry.
He had started doing this to himself around two months after Will moved away. He thought the only way to cope with his feelings was to slowly cut away at himself until there was nothing left. This had been going on for three years, and not once did anyone suspect anything. It made him wonder if anyone would even notice if something happened to him—if anyone would even care if he was gone.
He glanced over at the clock. It read 9:49 p.m. He usually wouldn’t go to sleep this early, but he figured that if he didn’t want to risk hurting himself more, he might as well just go to bed.