Chapter Text
1992
Mike thought he was doing pretty well in college. Sure, his first year he struggled to get used to course work and had to deal with the inevitable freshman year friend group implosion. But by his junior year he thinks he’s got the hang of it. He’s taking a class on Tolkien this semester, so at least that class will be a breeze, and he has some friends he hangs out with. He even got a few of them to play DND. Sure, it's not the same as the party, but these friends also hadn’t found monsters from another dimension and been in wormholes.
He tells himself it's a breath of fresh air, getting to feel like everything is normal. Like he isn’t thinking about his first love disappearing and being replaced by rubble, or imagining her touring the world and how she’d love Niagara Falls. Like when he closes his eyes he doesn’t see all the times his best friend was thrashing on the floor from the pain of being burned alive, or when he finally got to get back at the man who changed his life forever that one night in November.
Instead, Mike pours his thoughts into his creative writing seminars. Writing stories of far-off lands where everyone knows of magic and gods. Writing stories of other universes where creatures hunger for everything and nothing. Writing about the power of music, the power of home, the power of love.
A new friend, a guy who saw him writing one night in the library, is the only person Mike allows to read his stories. Once Halloween passes, Mike can’t help but get stuck in the past. On days where all he sees is demogorgons attacking his friends and family, he writes short stories. Stories full of idealism and hope. All with happy endings. He met Hugo on one of these days. He almost jumps when he realizes someone is reading over his shoulder.
“Can I help you?” Mike asks.
“Sorry, you just looked so intense and I didn’t want to knock you out of your groove. Your writing is really good. The name’s Hugo, classic’s major.” Mike meets his eyes and sees a familiar sparkle. He feels something in his core stir. Hugo has slightly tanned skin, dark brown eyes that smile all on their own, and loose curls that frame his face. He is also sticking his hand out, waiting.
“Mike, creative writing.” He shakes Hugo’s hand and feelings tingles climb up his arm.
“Well, that makes sense. Can I keep reading?” Hugo sits down next to him, putting himself in Mike’s space. Their arms brushing against each other.
Mike stares at them, hands not even an inch apart, before realizing Hugo expects an answer.
“Uh, sure, here.” Mike hands over the finished pages, moving his hands to keep typing up what he was working on but quickly losing focus.
Mike watches as this stranger reads the works he makes and doesn’t show anyone. Well, that one other person has read. He watches as the man chews on his lower lip, staring intently at the page in hand, moving his thumb on the side like he is keeping track of the lines of text. After what feels like an eternity, as he reads the last words and the last page and without looking away, the man says now in a whisper, “You can stop staring at me now. I’d like to read the finished piece.”
Mike flinches, mumbles sorry, and turns back to the typewriter. He can’t even remember what he was writing anymore. Instead, he steals glances back at Hugo as he pulls out his own homework to complete. Mike shakes his head before going back to his story, going over what he just wrote as a reminder.
Months later and Hugo still gets on Mike for never completing that story. Mike insists that Hugo was being loud as he read under his breath. Hugo, knowing that’s not the whole truth, still lets Mike write alone anyways, content to read the stories when they are completed and Mike can watch all of his reactions.
Mike refuses to let any of his other college friends read these most personal stories. But Hugo doesn’t judge. Sure, he asks questions, but only to understand. Somedays Mike thinks about telling Hugo about what happened in Hawkins. Other days Mike feels a pit grow in his stomach as he thinks about how Hugo’s curls would feel against his face, his breath against his, and Hugo’s raw lips on his hands, cheek, and eventually lips.
Then, it all comes crashing down. Hugo, ever more social than Mike, had dragged him to a party on a gloomy Friday night. Mike had never met a party he liked, but it was worth it to see Hugo move completely freely. A little liquid courage never hurts… sadly, a lot can. Mike, a little too drunk for his own good, is escorted back to his dorm by Hugo. After being maneuvered gently onto his bed, Hugo goes to leave but Mike grabs his wrist.
“Stay,” Mike whispers, barely audible, “please.” Hugo laughs softly.
“Okay, Mikey.” He sits down next to Mike, and Mike puts his head on his shoulder.
“You know, you’re the only person I let read those stories… the ones about love.” Hugo takes a breath.
“Yeah, I know.” Hugo says kindly, looking down at Mike.
“You remind me of him. What I think he’d be like if things were different.” Mike says slowly.
“Who?” Hugo asks.
“A friend… an old friend… I feel like I lost him. But then I found you! And things started feeling normal again. Correct.”
“And this friend?” Hugo prompts.
“He went far away for college. New York. Y’know, I think he used to love me.”
“Well, you’re easy to love, Wheeler.”
“I don’t know about that.” Mike says, finally making eye contact with Hugo. Hugo’s eyes glance down before meeting Mike’s eyes again. He lightly cups Mike’s face.
“Is this okay?” Hugo asks, leaning in closer.
“Yes.” Mike says, leaning in so he can feel Hugo’s breath on his upper lip.
“Can I kiss you?” Hugo asks. Mike nods. Their lips meet.
Mike likes it. At least, he thinks he does. He likes it better than when he and El would kiss in her bed and Hopper would yell at them. But he doesn’t feel fireworks. He breaks the kiss, his breathing speeding up.
“Was that okay?” Hugo asks, trying to maintain the eye contact Mike is avoiding. Mike closes his eyes and sees a quick flash of a familiar face, with hazel eyes and a birthmark above his lip. This is quickly followed by the voice of his father, dinner time rants about the “gay disease” and how they deserve it. Now Mike is hyperventilating.
“Hey, hey, Mike, look at me. You’re okay. You’re safe. Deep breath in. Okay, good, now breathe out with me.” Hugo continues to help Mike slow his breathing. Mike keeps repeating that Vecna is dead, he can’t get him, show him his fears.
“Sorry.” Mike whispers, when his breathing returns to normal. “I think, I think you should go for the night.” He still refuses to look at Hugo, knowing who he won’t see when he looks up.
“Oh- okay. Are you sure you’re fine alone?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m all good. Good night.”
“Good night, Mike. See you tomorrow?” Hugo asks as he gets up, putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder to maintain contact.
“Sure, tomorrow.” Mike replies, looking at the floor until Hugo closes the door behind him.
He never shares his stories with Hugo again.