Chapter Text
Mike’s eyes open to the sound of a dish clinking somewhere downstairs.
Morning light filters in through the window, laying itself across Mike’s bed. He screws his eyes shut, stretching. The light is anything but soft to his still-adjusting eyes, and he’s aware of a dull ache just beneath his forehead.
He wants to fall back to sleep, but the pain and the voices murmuring through the floor chase away another restless night. Sighing deeply, he allows his eyelids to flutter open and adjust.
Mike used to love laying in the sunlight. He would spread his comic books across the living room floor, somewhat carelessly, and splay out on the carpet. He could read for hours, getting lost in superheroes and sci-fi, always scooting over every now and again to follow the light. And he was rarely alone, usually with Will at his side, bumping shoulders as they read along together.
Mike sighs again, shoving his palms into his eyes as if the pressure will dissolve his headache, holding them there until he sees spots. He can’t think right now.
He drops his hands, his eyes flicking to the digital clock next to his bed. It’s too early to try to think, let alone get up. But Mike has been irritated with himself lately at how long he’s been staying in bed, even on days like these when he has nothing to do. Quite often, he finds himself waiting until the house gets noticeably quieter to even stand up, and by then he’s late for school.
Will used to wait for him so they could bike together. But eventually he stopped waiting.
Nowadays it seems like he would rather be anywhere else.
The front door creaks open and shut, the entire house creaking with it, snapping him from his thoughts. The voices have dissipated.
With no school, Mike doesn’t have to care about getting up on time, and the quiet is nice. But his aching limbs and forehead are what force him out of bed, and he hopes breakfast and comics will make him forget how rough he feels.
He numbly drags sweatpants on and throws a T-shirt on, his limbs heavy and stiff. He scans the room for his backpack, remembering that he left his most recent comic issue in it, but its usual spot against his desk is blank. He groans.
At this time of day, he doesn’t need to worry about softening the creaks of the wooden stairs beneath him, as he’s usually the last one awake anyway. He hears clinking in the kitchen and begins to speak. “Mom, have you seen—”
He stops dead in the doorway, his eyes finding Will at the table, spoon in hand. Mike had assumed it would be his mother, but of course, she would have to take Holly to school. He straightens. “Oh. Hey.”
Will only looks up for a moment before staring into his bowl again. “Morning,” he mumbles. His voice is quiet but clear, like he’s been up for a while. His hair falls over his forehead, messier than he used to wear it, but he’s wearing his old clothes. For a few months, he had worn what he bought in Lenora, until the autumn air forced him back into some semblance of the Will Byers Mike had grown up with. If only the air between them hadn’t gone cold too.
Mike pulls his eyes away and notices his backpack off the corner of the counter. He tries not to wonder why it feels like a while since the last time he saw Will. They’ve been living in the same house for over a year now, but it only took half that time for Will to melt into the basement and find solace in the shadows.
Mike pours his own cereal bowl, turning back to the table only to hesitate behind the chair across from Will.
Will’s eyes meet his for a brief moment, looking as if he has something to say.
Then his cereal becomes more interesting once again.
The ache in Mike’s head makes the tension in the room feel loud, and he finds it suffocating. He wonders if he should sit anyway, since his mom wouldn’t appreciate him eating in his room. But the clear discomfort on Will’s face swiftly changes his mind.
“I’m, uh,” Mike says, aware of how full of shit he sounds. “I’m gonna eat in my room. I’m kinda obsessed with this new comic book series, so…”
Mike doesn’t know what he expects Will to say. A part of him wants Will to ask what series it is, just so he can prove there is one. Or maybe he should just sit with Will, as an olive branch or something.
“Cool,” Will says instead, and Mike’s hopes are shot down in an instant. He considers staying anyway. But he knows it wouldn’t change anything.
He turns and walks back up to his room, wondering why he feels so guilty.
When Mike’s mom had offered their home to the Byers after their return from Lenora, the atmosphere was still somewhat tolerable. The house was louder and busier, and Mike learned to relish his small moments of peace and the solitude of his room.
Over the summer, his relationship with El grew tense, then ended; he barely heard from Lucas at the hospital or Dustin, who was God knows where; and hearing hushed arguments from Nancy’s room when Jonathan snuck in grew tired.
And there was Will.
Mike couldn’t put a name to the feeling he had from seeing Will around the house all the time. It was uncomfortable, it was confusing, it was unnatural. A boy who used to sleep here more than his own home, now older and wearing his new Lenora clothes. He somehow looked more out of place in the pristine Wheeler house now than he did wearing his old hand-me-downs.
“Want to go to the arcade?” or “Lucas is at the hospital, do you want to go visit Max?” were often asked for those first few months. Will seemed hopeful, but something kept Mike from agreeing. He would say he was tired or not in the mood. He wouldn’t meet Will’s eyes. And Will stopped asking.
Mike was aware he was pushing him away, but he couldn’t stop. Even when they went back to school, it got better with everyone else. But not Will. And now, a year later, there’s still a gaping rift between them.
Will no longer seems to care.
At night, Mike twists and turns, his sheets coiling up the more restless he gets. He can hear Nancy and Jonathan’s irritated mumbling through the wall. They don’t argue as much anymore, mostly electing to silently drift off. This is not one of those nights.
Mike huffs an annoyed breath, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. The cool moonlight only barely illuminates his room, casting shadows from the tree outside his window. They almost look like vines.
His guilt sits on his stomach and crushes him. He has to remind himself to relax his own muscles.
The shadows make him think about this time three years ago, when Will’s now-memories led them to the tunnels for the first time.
The tunnels were cold, dark, with spores in the air. The vines squelched beneath their feet. It was hard to breathe or see anything, or maybe they just didn’t want to. He’s never been to the Upside Down, but he imagined the tunnels were a claustrophobic version of it.
Mike almost preferred it there to being in that hospital room with Will.
He can almost see it. Will, laying flat, forcing his eyes shut. His eyes moving beneath his eyelids, the way they did when he had his now-memories.
And then he’s shaking, twitching, seizing—a bright backdrop has blurred into view, and they’re in the field behind the school.
Mike grabs his shoulders and tries to wake him, but he can’t speak. He tries to yell, his voice empty. And then Will’s eyes open and he’s feet away, on a hospital bed.
“How about this guy here? Know who that is?” A disembodied voice fades in and out.
Will is looking somewhere just past Mike, and time stretches on. He doesn’t answer.
Mike’s eyes open. The house is already quiet and bright. He glances at his clock and groans. He’s slept in again.
When he makes it downstairs for breakfast, the table is already empty. A positive to waking up late. His dad sits in the living room, watching television as usual. Mike retrieves cereal once again, this time sitting at the kitchen table to look out through the window.
He returns to his room and breaks out his comics again. He’s reading through the series faster than he’d like, knowing they’re the only thing keeping him occupied. The days have been blending together for months now.
Mike’s eyes follow the words but his thoughts keep wandering. He remembers dreaming about something, but can’t remember what exactly. He keeps having to go back pages after realizing he’s been unconsciously turning them. He clears his throat and tries to focus for a few hours.
At some point, as Mike is nearing the end of his issue, the lamp in his room buzzes loudly and then dies.
“No, no, shit,” he mutters, rolling off his bed and checking his lamp. Did the bulb die? He hears frustrated voices start rising up from around the house.
He looks at his digital clock, which is also dead. Shit. Power outage.
He bursts through his door just as he hears his dad thump the TV, his voice carrying up the stairs: “Hunk of junk…”
Mike rushes down the stairs. “My room is out, too. You think it’s just our house?”
His mom calls out from where she sits next to the landline. “Are the phones down?”
“It’s the whole house,” Mike calls back. “Power outage.”
His dad grunts in frustration, but only retreats to his La-Z-Boy. His mom walks in the room a moment later, looking stressed. “What? Is it just us?”
“How should I know, Karen?” his dad huffs out in that monotonous voice of his.
Mike watches his mom roll her eyes to herself, then turn to Mike. “Can you run to Lucas’s and see if their house is out, too?”
"Um, I can just—yes, sure," he says, thinking quickly.
He goes to his room instead, grabbing his walkie off the desk. He pulls out the antenna a notch, and holds down the PTT button. “Lucas? Lucas, do you copy?”
Static.
“...Lucas?”
More static.
For a moment, Mike is at a loss. Are the walkies not working either? That shouldn’t make sense. Walkies work on radio waves, not electricity.
Mike shakes his head, not worrying yet. He pulls the antenna out a couple more notches, holding down PTT again. “Dustin? Dustin, do you copy?”
He waits a second, and the walkie crackles to life. “Mike? Is power out for you too? Over.”
Mike sighs in relief. “Yeah, it went out a second ago. I tried Lucas too but he’s not answering.”
“He’s probably already on his way to the hospital. I’m gonna try Hop. Standby. Over.”
“The—?”
Mike had almost forgotten. Max. Coma. Shit.
Lucas isn’t answering now, so it’s not worth reaching out again yet. Mike sits at the edge of his bed, his stomach twisting with guilt for not thinking of it. He makes a mental note to call again soon.
Dustin and Lucas have been frustrated with Mike for a few months now. Every time they hang out, they implore him on why he and Will aren’t speaking. But he has no answer for them.
Once, at a movie night, Mike had taken one look at the empty space next to Will and chose to squeeze between Lucas and El instead. Dustin lost his patience.
“You two are ruining the party, you know that?” He looked between them, and Mike was surprised at his outburst. Dustin got angry, sure, but Mike didn’t realize how bad this was bothering him. “There’s enough shit going on right now, and you’re making it so much worse. What did you guys even fight about?”
Mike looked away, back at the TV where Holy Grail was starting up. They hadn’t fought about anything. He almost wished they had: he had questions weighing on his mind that Will never acknowledged. “Just drop it,” he had mumbled, and saw Dustin and El look at each other from the corner of his eye. He imagines they talked about him after, complaining about how much of an asshole he is. As usual.
They started using a different frequency for Hop’s cabin about a year ago, since Hop started worrying about El using the walkies. So Mike waits for Dustin to tune back in.
A minute later, Dustin’s voice crackles through again, sounding defeated. “Out at Hop’s too. The sun is setting, so we’ll see how much of the town is affected soon. Over.”
Mike looks out his window, just noticing the sky getting darker. He hears his mom call up the stairs for him. “I gotta go, I’ll call for updates later.”
“Alright man, over and out.”
Mike collapses the antenna, bringing the walkie downstairs with him. “Lucas wasn’t home. Dustin says his power is out too.”
“Michael, hand me that thing.” His dad reaches his hand out expectantly. Mike hesitates before handing it to him.
The beloved device looks alien in his dad's hands. He knows he must’ve used one before at some point, but it must’ve been a while. He looks clueless.
Mike watches his dad start changing frequencies at random, speaking into it aimlessly. “Hellooo? Anyone there?”
“Dad, you have to—” Mike sighs, stepping forward to help. “You have to pull the antenna out and press Push-to-Talk.”
His mom appears in the doorway. “Mike, can you help me grab candles and flashlights? I want to be prepared for when it gets dark.”
Crossing the threshold of the basement door, the temperature seems to drop ten degrees.
“Jesus, it’s freezing down here,” he says, rubbing his arms as he follows his mom down the stairs to the closet.
“And it’s only gonna get colder. No heaters,” his mom reminds him. She rummages through boxes, past the recently packed away Halloween decorations.
The party hadn’t celebrated Halloween very much this year. Getting scared on purpose sort of lost its thrill at some point.
He catches a glimpse of Will’s mattress on the floor and privately wonders how he can stand it in the winter.
Mike’s mom pulls a box of candles from the closet. Her eyes follow Mike’s when she turns to hand him the box.
Her eyebrows crease and her voice becomes gentler. “Do you want to offer Will your room?”
Mike meets her eyes, letting out a sigh. His mom doesn’t always notice when something is wrong—but, when she does, she can always make a situation seem better.
He doesn’t even know where to begin to explain the situation with Will, though. “Sure. Maybe.”
Nancy and Jonathan show up just as they’re setting up the candles in the living room. Mike’s dad has somehow managed to get in contact with someone who he’s already getting impatient with.
The sun is setting quickly, and as the light dims in the room, it brings an unsettling quiet with it. Everyone’s voices soften as if the darkness can hear them. They gather close around the coffee table, asking questions for the walkie or suggesting explanations.
Mike sits and quietly listens to his dad imply over and over that theirs is the only house that’s out, in spite of what Mike told him.
The door pushes open again. “Hello?” Will’s worried face appears in the doorway, exhaling with relief when he sees everyone.
Mike averts his gaze, focusing on his dad as Jonathan stands up to explain the situation to Will.
“Uh-huh. You’re telling me there’s nothing to be done?” Mike’s dad says, for the third or so time.
The voice, clearly out of patience, responds, “Sorry, sir. It’s not just your house, whole grid’s down. We’re doing our best. Until then, please use candles and blankets to stay warm.”
His dad doesn’t sign off, muttering something to himself as he clumsily pushes the antenna back in and hands the walkie to Mike. He stares at it, wondering if he should say something to Will about the basement. Might be nice to have something useful to say.
His mom tells Holly to go upstairs and wait for her, while Nancy goes to grab more candles. Mike sees Will straighten.
“The heaters,” he says.
“Aren’t working,” Jonathan completes. “But it’ll be alright. We’ve got blankets.”
“You boys,” Mike’s mom cuts in, looking between them. “I know the basement gets cold even with the heating working. Jonathan, you can take the couch, and Will, maybe you could share with Mike—”
“No,” Will’s voice says quickly. Mike looks up at him, and they make eye contact for a brief moment before Will clears his throat. “Uh, no thank you. It’ll be fine.”
Mike stares back down at the walkie. Right. Will would rather freeze to death than be alone in a room with Mike for over a minute.
Mike supposes that’s his own fault. But it’s stupid.
Dinner is less quiet, the familiar scrapes of silverware against dishes filling the eerily dark, flickering space. They eat cold leftovers, which seems to bring the temperature in the room down more acutely.
Mike helps Nancy light the fire and everyone moves to the living room to warm up. Their dad turns on the battery radio, flipping through channels. A soft voice crackles through just clearly enough to understand.
“We reached out to Roane County Water and Electric. A spokesperson says that the reason for the outage is still unknown.”
He changes channels again, skipping over the songs in search of more information. Mike feels himself sigh again. It sounds like the power will be out for a while, since they don’t know what the issue is. Schools will probably close. And the hospital…
Mike excuses himself, grabbing the walkie from the coffee table and a spare flashlight, clicking it on as he leaves the room. The temperature noticeably drops even further outside of the central living space.
He settles at the foot of the stairs. He’s nervous to check in with Lucas first. Surely, if something was wrong, Dustin would already know. He opens the antenna again. “Dustin, do you copy?”
After a moment, Dustin’s voice comes through clearly. “Hey, Mike. Power still out at yours? Over.”
“Yeah, we’ve got candles and flashlights out all over the place. We might burn the house down before the power comes back, at this rate.”
"That'd probably keep you warm for a few minutes. Over.”
Mike lets the static buzz for a second before asking. “Have you talked to Lucas?”
The silence is almost enough to worry him before Dustin speaks again. “Yeah. She’s okay. Over.”
Some of the tension in Mike’s body dissolves. “Good. That’s good. I’m gonna check in with Lucas. Talk to you later.”
“Alright, good night Mike. Over and out.”
Mike rests his flashlight between his knees and extends his antenna. “Lucas, do you copy?”
It’s only a second before Lucas’s voice, staticky from the distance, comes through. “Mike? Holy shit, man.”
He sounds anxious and tired.
“Is Max okay?” Mike can’t help the way his voice softens. He knows Lucas is still waiting for her to come back, and this past year has been hell for him. Although they dance around the topic at school, Mike has been to the hospital with Lucas a few times. It’s bleak there, and smells sickly, but Lucas still reads her stories and plays her song. All day, every day.
“Yeah.” He hears Lucas exhale, and the nerves return to his voice when he speaks. “She’s okay.”
He pauses. Mike fills the silence. “That’s good.”
“They have a backup generator for this kind of thing,” Lucas continues, his voice shaking. “Emergency power should last a few days, then the generator needs refueling.”
Mike lets Lucas take his time with his words. Mike wasn’t in Hawkins when Max died, but he saw her body clad in casts when he came back, the bruises on her eyes. He knows Lucas saw it happen.
“I was so worried. I drove here as soon as the lights went out, I thought she’d—”
“I know, Lucas,” Mike says softly. He doesn’t want Lucas reliving that night. “It’s okay. She’s gonna be okay.”
His eyes flick up and notice Will in the doorway, listening in with a grave look on his face. For a second, Mike thinks he might actually sit down with him. They’re his friends too.
But he averts his eyes and walks by him as fast as possible.
Mike doesn’t have time to think about it. Lucas’s response crackles in. “Yeah. Yeah, she’ll be fine.” He pauses again. “I was gonna try to stay with her tonight, but they’re not letting anyone stay past visiting hours. I hope they figure this shit out soon.”
“I’m sorry, Lucas.” Mike wishes he could see his friend’s face and know what to say. He feels useless. “You’ll see her tomorrow. When do visiting hours start? Nine?”
“Yeah, nine.”
“That’s no time at all. The nurses will take care of her overnight until you get back. It’ll be okay.”
Mike pauses, trying to think of something better to say. Words fail him. It’s been a year and a half—"no time at all” is starting to pile up.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Lucas’s voice is softer. “Thanks for calling.”
“Of course. Let me know if there's anything I can do.”
“Sure. Night, Mike.”
“Good night.”
Mike collapses the antenna again, taking a deep breath and immediately regretting it when the sharp air fills his lungs. Sleep is gonna be difficult in this cold, and it’s only gonna get worse the longer the night goes on.
He thinks of Will again. In the basement, alone. In the cold. In November.
“Maybe you could share with Mike—”
“No.”
He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair and feeling it fall against his forehead. If Will wanted help, he could’ve asked for it. He could’ve just said yes.
Mike goes upstairs to his bedroom.
His mom must’ve put a lantern in here at some point, and it casts gold light across the room, providing more pleasant shadows than the trees outside. His room is already much colder than it was earlier, but it’s not as bad as he expected. And under the blankets, it’s not as noticeable.
He’s reading his comics when his walkie hisses, scaring the shit out of him in the darkness. “Mike?” It’s El’s voice.
He grabs his walkie. “El. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry. “Have you checked on Will?”
What? She knows they don’t talk. “...No?”
“He’s scared. The basement is cold. I thought you used to have sleepovers. Are you being an asshole?”
If he’s so scared, why doesn’t he say so? Mike almost laughs. “No, I’m not. He actually outright refused to sleep in my room, so.”
“...Well. At least he has Jonathan to keep him company.”
Mike pauses. Will doesn’t usually lie to El.
But that’s not Mike’s business. “Yeah.”
“Okay, well, I was just checking. Good night, Mike.”
“Night.”
Mike sets the walkie aside and exhales onto his bed. When did everyone get so sure he was an asshole? He’s not an asshole. Sure, he… struggles to talk about his shit sometimes. But doesn’t everyone?
He looks at his clock before forgetting it’s dead. It’s probably an illusion, but today has felt so much longer than usual.
He wonders how long the night will feel.
He’s dragged from his thoughts by the sound of creaking on the stairs. He recognizes Jonathan’s awkward gait that doesn’t quite muffle his steps and hears him sneak into Nancy’s room.
He pictures Will. All alone.
Scared.
Shit.
Mike grabs the lantern and goes downstairs quietly.
He hears the snoring of his dad in the living room as he descends, glancing to make sure he didn’t wake him on his way. When he reaches the basement door, he knocks lightly. Probably too light for Will to hear.
Some part of Mike hopes he won’t answer. That all that pushing away was too much for them to recover from and there’s no reason to talk anymore.
But there are still questions Mike never got answered. A painted landscape fills his mind.
He swallows and knocks again, a little louder.
He hears footsteps, muffled through the door and by socks, and then the door creaks open slowly. The air changes immediately—the bit of heat left over from the fireplace is sucked into the frigid basement.
The gold lantern light washes Will’s face as he peers through, his eyes heavy but wide, giving him a confused, disoriented look. He’s clasping a blanket around his shoulders.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” Mike can hear his own dull tone.
“No,” Will said, just casual enough to be unbelievable. His face is stony, unreadable.
“Um.” Mike doesn’t even know why he came down here. He shifts uncomfortably. “Mom asked me to check on you.” Something in him twists, guilty for lying. There was a time when he would never lie to Will.
Although Mike can barely see Will’s face, his features distorted by the lantern, he sees something change. His eyes look like pinpricks. “I’m fine,” he says, his voice rough.
“It’s freezing down here,” Mike says. The air is chilling his body, and he’s not even in the basement. Will straightens, his dark eyes piercing through Mike, almost accusatory.
“I’m okay, Mike,” he says, and Mike can hear a slight tremor in his voice. He wonders if it’s from the cold. “I’ll manage. You can go.”
Mike tries to read his face again. He guesses they’re both lying, now. Mike knows he pushed Will away first, but why can’t he just admit when he needs help, even now? He’ll tell El, but he won’t tell Mike. And he’d lie to both of them.
He and Mike used to tell each other everything. Mike realizes he’s studying Will closely, and Will is shrinking beneath his gaze.
“I talked to El,” he says, his tone still dull. In trying to sound casual, he sounds distant. It’s like he’s conditioned himself to avoid Will. “She said you’re… scared.”
Will’s eyebrows pinch. “I’m not scared. I’m not a baby, Mike.”
“No, I know.” Mike almost feels defensive. Will sounds more annoyed than he has in months. His voice is deeper, unfamiliar. Mike presses on: “But she said Jonathan is sleeping down here to keep you company.”
“Yeah, well. He is.” Will’s eyes drop guiltily for a moment. It’s like he’s not even trying to be believable. Mike can see past Will that Jonathan’s couch is empty.
He notices Will’s hands shaking where they hold the blanket. He rolls his eyes. This is stupid.
“You know I have ears, right? I can hear him sneak into Nancy’s room every single night. I’m literally next door.”
“Can you just go? I’m okay.”
Another lie. Mike is getting frustrated now.
“I don’t believe you. You just don’t wanna cause any trouble, or whatever.” Just like always.
“No, Mike. I want to be alone.”
His voice is angry now. That soft, unsure boy from a few months ago isn’t here tonight. Mike wishes he could see his face better to remind himself it’s still Will. But it doesn’t even feel like him.
Mike can hardly care. He tries to remember why he cared in the first place.
Because it is Will. And he does need help, even though he won’t admit it.
“Fine,” he says, finding it hard to look at Will’s eyes. “You made it clear earlier that you don’t wanna sleep in my room. But I just wanted to come down here to say that you can, of course. It’s not exactly warm, but it’s better than this.”
He can see Will’s face already forming a rejection, but then he hesitates. The silence lingers for only a second, long enough for Will to study his face, and somehow, that is the deciding factor. “Thanks. But no.” His answer is rigid and heavy, the tremor still obvious in his voice.
Mike wants to shake him by the shoulders and tell him he’s being stupid. But whatever. Will made his choice. “Okay,” he says, awkwardly. He clears his throat. “Good night, then.”
“Good night,” Will says, and Mike closes the door behind him.
He almost forgets to be quiet on the stairs, and his bedroom door closes louder than he wants it to. He sits the lantern back down and splays out on his bed, feeling the warmth from his mattress against his skin. Shit.
But he tried. Right? He offered Will help and Will was the one who refused. That’s not Mike’s fault.
Mike sighs.
He’s being unfair. He knows he is.
For some reason, he had gone down there expecting Will to be waiting for him, waiting for a solution to his problem.
And if Mike is being honest with himself, he’s given Will every reason not to wait for him.
His mind drifts to the rolled-up canvas in his middle desk drawer. The words El had said to him months ago.
His thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock, almost imperceptible.
He looks up and sees a light on the floor outside his door.
Mike doesn’t understand why Will came back, but when he opens the door, it’s him. Clutching his bedding and a flashlight. Looking somewhat defeated.
“I changed my mind,” he whispers.
Mike searches his face for an explanation. But just like always, he can’t find one. And Will doesn’t offer one.
Mike steps aside.
When Will closes the door behind him, Mike’s thoughts have dissipated. The silence in the room is louder than words. Mike stands next to his bed, fidgeting with his sweatpant drawstrings.
“Um,” Will says, and Mike almost thinks he’s about to leave again. “Do you still have that spare mattress? The one we used for sleepovers?”
Mike lets out a breath. “Yeah, I’ll get it.”
He pulls the second mattress from beneath his bed, relieved to be given something to do. He tries to remember the last time Will was in his room. They’d been growing distant even before Will moved to Lenora.
He hadn't thought it had been very long, but the more he thinks, the worse he feels. He pulls the sheets down on the corners of the mattress, cringing at how cold they feel, patting out the air.
Even when they had hung out the summer before Will moved, the party would sleep in the basement. He guesses they haven’t slept in his room like this since before Will went missing. Four years ago.
He sees Will’s eyes drift across the room and feels observed. All his posters, his mess, a lot of which Will doesn’t recognize—Mike almost feels bad for changing. Even his room layout is different.
“This should work,” Mike says, standing back up to sit on his own bed.
“Thanks.” Will lays his own bedding across the mattress and slips under his blanket.
Mike does the same, staring up at the ceiling and feeling Will’s presence in the room despite the silence. “Do you want the candle on or—”
“On, please,” Will cuts in.
It’s not the hurried rejection from earlier. There’s an edge of desperation in his voice. And that tremor that just won’t go away.
Mike tries to ignore it. “Okay.”
He hears Will rustle around in his blankets. Muffled, like he’s trying not to bother anyone with the noise. Minutes go by.
Mike feels like he should say something.
“Well.” But then he can’t think of anything. He rolls onto his side, facing away from Will. “Good night.”
Will responds quietly, “Good night.”
And the silence is back, only filled by their breathing. He hears Will’s breaths slow and then match up to his. He must’ve fallen asleep quickly.
It takes Mike a second to realize he feels calmer too. Like having something to focus on other than his own thoughts is a nice change.
He focuses his eyes and notices that he’s staring at the middle drawer of his desk. He sighs. His own thoughts are back in an instant.
Mike used to be sure that Will needed him. A friend, who would look out for him when no one else would. Now, Will seems hellbent on proving that he doesn’t need anyone.
But he still came upstairs.
Why would you think I needed you?
El’s words from months ago echo through his mind. He had brought up the painting, what he said to her in the pizza dough freezer, and that’s what she had asked him.
Why would you think I needed you?
Mike wishes he knew what time it was. He wants to be asleep by now, so he doesn’t have to think about this. But sleep has been unforgiving recently.