Chapter Text
Mike never thought a greyhound bus would be the height of luxury, but this was much worse than he could have expected.
He’s stuck on the farthest back row, sandwiched between a middle aged man who’s spent the whole trip coughing into the open air, and an elderly woman who’s currently snoring with her head on his shoulder. Which is fine. It’s almost 5am, and he gave up on the idea of sleep hours ago.
Mike sits wide awake, Walkman in his lap and headphones over his ears. He’s listening to the mixtape he made for Will when he was living in Lenora; the one he’d chickened out of giving him when he went to visit for spring break. It’s full of every song he listened to too late at night that first fall after Will moved away, laying restless in his bed until morning sunlight spilled through his curtains.
He’d thought about giving Will the mixtape again the night of their graduation, after the DND campaign. The whole party had laughed together over his mom’s lasagna, but then Dustin had brought up Stacey’s party again, harping on what a missed opportunity it would be until Lucas and Max agreed to go with him. They all tried desperately to get Will to come too, knowing Mike would follow if they did, but Will kept watching Mike from his side of the dining table and shaking his head softly at every attempt.
The rest of the party left as soon as they were done eating to go get ready, quietly plotting to ask Steve if he could help them get some alcohol to take along. Will helped Mike’s mom clear the table and then followed Mike back downstairs to the basement.
That was their space, always had been. Filled with Will’s drawings, remnants of their old science fair projects, costumes from old DND campaigns. It was the place Mike felt most like he could be himself. And that’s why he wanted to spend his night there, with Will, not at some party where it would be too loud to even hear Will talk. Where he may have to share Will with anyone else.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Mike said carefully, taking a seat on the couch and trying to act like this is any other evening. Any other regular conversation.
Will sat beside him, looking nervous. “Okay. What about?”
Mike could feel Will watching him. He kept his own gaze fixed straight ahead, watching the empty black television screen. “About what you told everyone. At the squawk. And then what I said, on the tower…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry I reacted that way.”
Will shifted beside him, flinching when the old sofa creaked. “Your reaction was fine, Mike, really. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”
God, he was doing this wrong all over again, Mike thought. He’d had no idea Will was gay, really, but finding that out hadn’t been what struck him speechless. It was Will confessing that he was already into someone, someone hopeless who could never like Will back. Someone who clearly wasn’t Mike. Because Will was everything good and light in the world; how could he ever like someone like Mike? Mike, with his cluelessness and stupid tantrums and inability to accept himself in the same brave way Will had. All of these thoughts had immediately crashed through Mike at the squawk, and he hadn’t been there for Will in the way he needed to be.
“No! I mean, we don’t have to talk about it more if you don’t want to, I just wanted to say that,” he took a measured breath, “I don’t see you any differently, really. I want to be your best friend forever. And I’m really sorry for whatever I did that made you feel like you couldn’t tell me this sooner. I hate the idea that you struggled with it for so long all alone.”
He hated that because he knew how miserable the feeling was. The mixtape in the drawer of the desk across the room was a testament to it.
Mike steeled himself and finally looked back over at Will. Fuck, had he always been sitting so close? There was barely an inch between them on the couch, and Mike had to tear his gaze away from the place where their knees were almost touching.
Will’s eyes really were the prettiest shade of green he’d ever seen.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Will said, then laughed a little. “At least not when it comes to all this. You can really be a piece of shit sometimes, but not with this. We’re okay, Mike. Really.”
Mike smiled, letting his eyes drop briefly to Will’s lips when he did the same. Sue him, he didn’t know how many more chances he’d get to see Will this close. Not with them both headed off to different colleges in the fall.
“Friends?” Mike asked, watching the mole above Will’s top lip. His favorite one.
“Best friends,” Will answered.
Mike let their eyes meet for the briefest of moments, just long enough to make sure Will seemed happy, before getting up and busying himself with finding a movie for them to watch.
The mixtape in the desk drawer stayed where it was, and so did the pile of unsent letters with it. Mike knew he could take it out. Give it to Will, confess all of his most depraved feelings, beg Will to forget about whoever his “Tammy” was and give Mike a chance to do better. But he didn’t. Will was clearly still a little hung up on whoever this other guy was, and in two short months he’d be packing up his entire life and leaving for New York with Jonathan. Off to art school, to bigger and better things that didn’t involve Mike and his fucked up feelings (and inability to express them). Yeah. That was for the best.
Will deserved so much better than Mike Wheeler was ever going to be.
Mike jolts out of the memory and back to himself as the tape comes to an end. The driver is announcing that they’re only one hour out from the New York stop now, and that they should start getting their belongings together.
Mike checks that his backpack is still safe between his feet and starts the tape over. He looks down at the photo and polaroid that he’s had clutched in his hand since they arrived in the mail yesterday.
Hey Mike,
I just wanted to check in. The first month of classes has been nervewracking, but I really like it here. Despite what everyone at home says, the people in the city are pretty nice. I already have some friends and we go out together on the weekends. Jonathan is settling in too, and Robin loves her job at a record store in our neighborhood. She brings home new vinyl for us to listen to all the time. I think you’d like a lot of the songs.
You’d like the city, too. It’s so loud and busy but there’s always something to see or do. Infinite adventures, and all that. When it starts to scare me, I just think of it like a DND quest. I know that’s silly, but it makes me feel better. I wish you were here doing it with me, though. I wish you and the rest of the party were here, too.
How are your classes in Indianapolis? I haven’t heard from you in a while, but that’s okay, I’m sure you’re very busy. I’ve heard English majors have a ton of reading and writing to do every single day. I’m sure it’s stressful. Write me back when you can!
Sincerely,
Will
P.S. I’ve included a couple pictures of me with my new friends! Those are my friends Jenny and Melissa with me by the big fountain in Union Square, and the guy hugging me in the second picture is Carlton. He’s my… well, we haven’t had the big talk yet, but I think he may be my boyfriend. Anyway. Hope to hear from you soon!
Mike shifts the letter out of the way and looks at the second Polaroid again. It’s Will in a pretty yellow shirt, standing at some lookout high up a skyscraper, beaming. His face is shining in bright sunlight, and his hair is being blown across his forehead by wind that Mike can almost feel if he closes his eyes and wishes hard enough.
But next to Will is some creep guy with dark curly hair and the ghost of a mustache on his upper lip. He’s got one arm wrapped over Will’s shoulders, grip digging in hard and rumpling Will’s shirt beneath his hand. Idiot, Mike thinks. Will hates being held tightly. It makes him feel trapped.
Mike scowls down at the picture and takes it tightly between two hands. He grits his teeth and rips at the photo until it splits in two, leaving Will smiling back at him in one piece and this Carlton guy in the other. Mike grins down at the photo of Will and slips it into his jacket pocket as the city begins to peek over the horizon. He drops the half with Carlton (really, what the fuck kind of name is Carlton?) onto the dirty bus floor and crushes it with the toe of his Converse.