Chapter Text
March 25th 1990, 07:11 PM - Zero.
Mike knew he was a bad roommate. He had eyes. The dirty dishes piling up in the sink didn't go unnoticed. He knew all the comics on the floor came from his personal collection. He did glance over the post-it notes demanding that he do something around the dorm before shoving it down the trash.
It's not like he hated cleaning or didn't get bothered by the mess.
It was just impossible to do anything, hearing Will's voice vibrate through the drywall.
He hadn't looked twice at the layout of the dorms, past who was staying with whom within the party. He certainly didn't bat an eye at the names Carlton and Jennifer, right beside his own and Max. Nobody else cared who their "neighbors" were; why should he?
He began caring a month after the semester started. Will had taken a psychology elective and would talk about it to anyone who would listen. Nature vs Nurture, the theories around memory and focus, how the brain biologically reacts in crises, all the jargon Mike only pretended to understand. He, however, kept circling back to a certain classmate, Carlton. The name barely rang a bell; he only clocked it while throwing away old papers and skimming through the dorm layout.
It was nothing more than a funny coincidence, Will's new friend being his neighbor, absolutely hilarious.
Then conversations started revolving around Carlton. Carlton had a pet dog back at home. He cut his hair, and it was too short, he had bad grades, he told the funniest joke yesterday, he hates having braces, he's the funniest guy Will knows. Everything about him was so important that everyone had to hear, apparently.
Mike had escaped to his room after a talk where "Carlton" was likely said more than "I". He had prepared to do nothing but drink watered-down coffee and read the new issue of Starman, and definitely didn't picture sitting on his bed, ear glued to the wall the rest of the night. He recognized Will's voice after the first sentence, and Max had to practically peel him away from the faded wallpaper.
It's been 5 long months since the first visit, and he just kept coming over there with smaller and smaller increments. Stopping by almost every day.
Will hadn't officially told any of the party yet, but they all knew. They all talked about it, they all trained their eyes on Mike at the mention of Carlton. As if he had any more reason than them to be bothered. That they knew of. Was he upset Will hadn't told him, his best friend? Of course. But that was all they knew about it. He kept having to remind them that nothing besides that upset him about the whole situation. Will could date anyone he wanted; it didn't bother Mike.
At all.
They could tell he was lying, though; he's always been a terrible liar. Something about the performative smile and lingering stares in Will's direction must've given it away. He did care who Will dated; he didn't want some random stranger to steal all his time and fill his mind. Mike already knew he was a terrible influence on him. Will hated parties, and he hated weed. Jonathan had scared him away from all that crap. But now he was constantly hungover, perpetually tired, and had plans every weekend. He had shown up with that familiar haze to class a few times, barely aware of his surroundings, shamelessly talking to Mike with his blown-out pupils and red-toned scleras. Mike hated it; he hated the change. Part of him had expected they'd stay kids forever.
An even bigger part of him expected Will to stay single forever.
His entire being expected Will would be there once Mike finally had the guts to tell him.
He hated being too late.
"You cannot be serious. I asked you to do one thing! You've had the whole day to put all this away!" Max's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, thankfully stopping him before any new, somehow more gut-wrenching revelations. She stood in the middle of the room, Converse narrowly avoiding scattered comic books and dirty laundry.
"Sorry. I just got home." The lie was shameless, entirely unbelievable as well. He was in his pajamas at seven pm. Anyone with a functioning brain could gather he had stayed in all day. Max's brain was nothing short of functioning.
"Sure, you did, will you help me clean up now?" She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the filthy floor.
Mike nodded, head twisting to the wall at an especially loud laugh from the neighboring room.
"He's the funniest guy I know."
Max glanced over at Mike, the edges and creases in her expression softening in time with her realization. She spread her lips into a thin line, placing her hand on Mike's shoulder, barely squeezing.
"They've been like that all day, huh?"
He clenched his eyes shut. "Yeah."
"Is that why you haven't gotten around to doing this stuff?" She asked in a particular tone, the one that always made Mike spill his guts.
"I guess... I'm just waiting for them to get bored with each other at this point."
"By then you'll be drowning in sweaty band shirts." She chuckled, squeezing harder before dropping her hand to her side. "Let's tidy up."
It took less than an hour to have the dorm looking semi-clean. They couldn't exactly power wash the stained carpet or scrape the grease and grime off the stovetop, so they settled for tidy, not spotless. He was eternally grateful to share a dorm with Max; he was nervous going into it, and they didn't exactly get along smoothly, not even now. He couldn't imagine anyone but her being this patient with him, any other roommate would've complained to the RA by now, not Max.
"Jane invited us to her dorm to watch one of the movies on her list." Max sighed, folding the last of her striped shirts and shoving them down into her dresser.
Mike chortled. "I think she might be the only person left still committed to her New Year's resolution."
She shrugged as a reply, letting the suggestion hang in the air for a bit. Mike's ears were entirely trained on the dialogue next door and only halfway listening to her.
"You wanna come? It's one of the shorter ones." Her voice overpowered the giggly ones.
"Sure, sure, yeah." Mike nodded. "Did she invite Will?"
"Of course she did, moron. That's her brother. He promised her he'd come this time."
"Doesn't sound like it." He almost pouted. Almost.
"Whatever, do you want us to bring popcorn or chips?" She skimmed through the slim array of choices in their cabinet.
"Chips."
"I heard the cinematography in this is amazing." Jane proclaimed, fiddling with the tape. Her nails were painted in pastel colors and polka dots, and she would proudly tell anyone who even looked at them that her friend Erica Sinclair did them for her. She gestured dramatically while talking now, taking any chance to show off her manicure.
"Jane, you don't know what that is." Max sighed.
She perked up, racing through hand poses as she talked. "Of course I do. It's all in the talk."
"What does that even mean?" Lucas squinted, letting his arm fall over Max's shoulder.
"Jonathan would be so ashamed." Will snickered, leaning back on the couch. His leg bumped into Mike's and stayed there. The couch was small, way too small for the price, and still they insisted to fit at least four people on it every time. Mike just wished he insisted on sitting somewhere else, anywhere else, he just wasn't in the mood to sit with Will smushed beside him. He hadn't been in the mood for that since November. Will hadn't been Will since November.
"He'll be happy I'm watching this one." Jane flipped the tape upside down, tilting her head and staring hard at the film inside.
"He's been begging you for years." Will rubbed his eyes. His charcoal-stained hands sported two rings, mixing metals. This isn't you, Mike thought.
"How does the tv work again..." She mumbled. Dustin finally stood up from where he sat on the floor to help the girl. She had fully adjusted to 'normal' life by now, but she was by far the worst with electronics in the party. She knew how to lower the volume and switch the channels until the tv went to static. Dustin always waited a few minutes too long to help her, always rambling on about trusting her judgment or how she can handle it herself.
Mike was thankful she ended up with him instead of her, because he would've rushed to rip the tape out of her hands ten minutes ago.
After some fiddling with the remote, the opening scene of Alien finally started playing.
"There it is!" Max and Lucas said in sync, before whipping their heads to face each other and bursting out in laughter.
Mike tried not to focus on how single he felt whenever he was around the party. He was happier this way anyway.
He glanced over at Lucas and Max, the glint in their eyes, her hand interlocked with the one on her shoulder. Nobody interested him anyway.
His eyes shifted to Will; his shirt must've been two sizes bigger than his usual. The logo was from a band he openly despised. Carlton has questionable taste.
His eyes lingered on Will; his hair had finally grown out of that awkward, freshly cut phase, and it really suited him now. Carlton has questionable taste, sometimes.
This movie definitely wasn't Mike's speed. He loved dialogue, dramatic scores, and action. Alien was mostly quiet and slow, except for a few action sequences and jumpscares. Jane seemed to love it, muttering something about cinematography after an especially good line from Sigourney Weaver's character, Mike hadn't bothered to listen for her name, Ripley something. It didn't matter.
"I would've just left the cat there," Dustin stated, leading to a chorus of gasps from the room.
"No, you wouldn't!" Jane gasped again, entirely talking over one of the most stressful scenes in the movie that she wanted to experience.
"I'm not facing that thing! I don't care who's on that ship! I'm leaving!" Dustin defended himself, his voice high-pitched and shrill.
"Wow.." Jane dragged out. "Would you save me?"
"Are you kidding me? Of course I would." Dustin rolled his eyes.
"Dude, she has superpowers." Lucas giggled.
"That doesn't change anything," Dustin smirked back at Lucas, folding his arms around Jane, who stared wide-eyed at the tv.
He kept looking at Will, his shirt sat loose around his body, messing with his proportions. His arms and neck looked smaller, way smaller. His profile brightly lit up by the light from the tv, eyelashes nearly white and light blue from this angle. He kept getting lost in the fine lines and freckles, only for his shirt to bring him back to reality. The stupid Carlton filled reality, the very least he could do was tell him. Did Will not trust him? He trusted him before; they used to tell each other everything.
Will caught his stare, turning towards him with a curious look in his eyes. He didn't have to say anything; his gaze spoke with clearer enunciation than Lucas, who was mumbling something about the inaccuracies of the shuttle on screen. He was asking, What are you looking at? Down to the syllable, Mike knew. Nostalgia fluttering under his ribs.
Will didn't talk as a kid; he could, but he didn't. Since then, their wordless language has been perfected. Mike was fluent at this point, so good at deciphering what Will meant from just one look, he was banned from his team during board-game nights. Despite Carlton, the drugs, the hidden life, the changes, Will Byers was persistent. His eyes never changed, accent still intact, and only understood by one person in the entire world, Mike Wheeler.
The disgusting possessive feelings inside him rattled. Stick with me, I know how you feel from a glance, you can't find better communication than that.
He reminded himself of Will's question: What was he looking at? Will. But that was too embarrassing. So he nodded right past the boy, towards Max, sleeping soundly, while an unperceptive Lucas kept babbling to her unconscious body.
Will giggled, leaning against Mike's shoulder. The smallest gesture. Likely not even a conscious decision, just a reflex, a shift, adjusting to the lumpy couch. The pressure still dug deep, the weight of him branded down his arm. He was so defenseless towards him. Swooning over idle movements from a guy he knew was taken. It was pathetic.
The movie ended on what Mike could only assume was a high note. He wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t care. The light sighs and soft smiles shown around the room told as much. Will got off the couch first; it didn’t mean anything, but the space near Mike growing did. Symbolically, or something. He felt alone. He zoned out again, lost in the same spiral he kept falling into. Carlton. The past, their childhood, their connection. It all felt so far away, out of reach. Like Will forgot it and never looked back. He wondered if Will still thought about the swings.
He met his eyes past the room; they were warm, wrinkled, and squinted into a smile. Heartbreakingly familiar. Every time he looked at him, he saw more memories he missed, more versions of Will he knew he'd never see again. There was so much history, it seemed so perfect, so obvious, of course, they'd end up together; they've been inseparable since the first moment. Maybe that's what dragged them down. Maybe it made everything more complicated. He's spent more time on this earth with Will than he has without. He's not ready to break even.
"Earth to Mikeee, hellooo." Pastel polka-dots flickered around as Jane waved her hand in front of his eyes, halting his self-sabotaging inner world. She let her hand fall to her side, sighing before restarting. "Do you want to sleep over tonight? Max and Lucas are staying." Mike looked around the room as he noticed the name missing, wishing the emotion he felt was simpler when he caught Will's eyes. Stepping into his shoes with one hand on the doorknob.
Mike sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "No.. no, I'll enjoy my dorm alone tonight."
"Ew, gross." Max scowled, snapping her eyes away from Lucas.
"Not like that." He rolled his eyes, hobbling off the couch, hoping Will would wait for him. He seemed to.
"See you in class tomorrow." Dustin waved, Will still standing beside him with an impatient look in his eyes.
"You didn't have to wait for me." Mike clicked his tongue, feeling his cheeks stretch over his grin.
"I'll walk you home." Will cocked his head, smiling slightly.
The corners of his mouth ached; it was unbearable. Will made it so hard to hide anything. "AKA... a few feet of doors and empty hallways?" He was looking forward to the 2 minutes it took to cross it an abnormal amount.
"You have no idea how dangerous dormitory halls can be, dude." Will twisted the doorknob, waiting for Mike to go first.
"Did you like the movie?" Will looked up at him, his eyes looked so pretty like this, it almost hurt.
Mike bit his lip, talking about movies with Will always stressed him out. He grew up with two bonafide cinephiles, and his artistic lens of viewing the world made Mike feel like an ignorant meathead. He chose the easy way out. "Uhh... did you?"
"Yeah, it was really good."
"I liked it too." He lied. Will smiled, knowing. "I'm not ready for tomorrow."
"Why?" Will paired his question with a laugh. That stupid bubbling laugh, completely separate from the ones booming through his walls. Most things between them paled in comparison.
"Math test." Another lie, Will missing it this time. He'd memorized his schedule and knew he had psychology before their shared free period. He's hated Mondays since then, he hated learning more about Carlton.
Will groaned. "You have to start studying, dude."
"I'll cram some in our free period." Soft-launching his retreat to his dorm in those two hours.
"Idiot." Will bumped him with his elbow. "You'll have to retake freshman year at this point."
Mike leaned into the brush, knowing Will could feel it. "It could be worse, I could be like you, barely skating by in my major, never in my life did I picture Will Byers with a B in art."
"I’m not built for those assignments. They expect me to have a still life in oil ready by Thursday. Do you know when they gave out that project?" His entire method of storytelling had changed since he met Carlton. He spoke like someone in a fraternity, someone who's watched a few too many cult movies and has no references beyond them. Will wasn't one of those people, though, which made the words flip out of his mouth, uncoordinated, alien. Butchering the landing.
"When?" Mike entertained him. Hating how their dialogue resembled movie scripts written by freshly graduated film students.
"Last Thursday. B is the best I can do right now." Will smirked, coasting down the hallway, blaming the deadlines, a "them", the teachers, the world, for his failing grades. Mike knew well who stood behind those rushed sketches and underwhelming Croquis pieces. One bad influence named Carlton, slowly stripping Will of all that was studious and dedicated. Getting him hooked on vices he never needed and poisoning his mind with filth.
Mike hated him.
He had never met him, never seen him, but he hated him so badly he found himself wanting to break down the wall separating them and yell until his throat gave out and collapsed.
Will couldn't know that.
He was still unaware Mike even knew he had a boyfriend, much less a burning, all-encompassing hate for the guy.
"Maybe we'll both have to retake this year." Will's face fully turned towards him now, eyes bent over a playful smile. "If you're lucky enough."
How did he manage to do that? How was he so infuriatingly different, such a mockery to his Will? Mike's Will. And still painfully familiar. That smile on his face, it wasn't one for Carlton. A performative, fake, recently sprung up smile, only meant for a shallow frat boy's eyes.
That smile was real, toothy, unapologetically Will. Reserved only for his best friend, Mike.
The anger burrowing deep in his chest labled harshly "Carlton's fault," fizzled out and was replaced with a dangerous, flickering feeling of hope. Such a genuine smile has to mean something.
"Maybe," Mike whispered, fearing he'd shout it out in the hallway if he allowed his voice a higher register. "Or maybe Mrs. Byers comes here to kill you for wasting her art school money." He tried teasing back, ignoring the feeling. Ignoring the flickering, hungry candlelight in his chest whispering, "Pick me instead."
"It's a student loan! I'm not a trust fund baby, unlike you." Will bumped him again, harder this time, the jab sending jolts of electricity through his torso, squeezing through his ribs and shocking his thumping heart. His hair looked so different like this, Mike missed the blunt bangs, as collectively hated as they were. This tussled, messy look didn't fit him, even if it looked nice. It wasn't Will, none of it was.
His body wasn't listening to that. He felt warm and sweaty, his subconscious entirely convinced the boy casually touching and teasing him in the hallway was no different from the Will he knew and loved. Loved fit so snugly in that thought, it made him sick. He did love him, just not as fiercely when the name Carlton tugged on his lips.
Or maybe he did, and the hot feeling in his chest was an aggressive declaration. It was too confusing. It was so easily pushed to the back of his mind and avoided.
He pulled his eyes away from the boy, too overwhelmed by the contrasting identities he possessed. The hallway was dark, littered with stains, and the expected grime of a communal dormitory hallway. He recognized his door from Max's little doodle over the handle. Trying his best to hide his disappointment, once the footsteps echoing through the hallway settled beside him. "Didn't seem that dangerous to me."
"You never know," Will smirked, glancing over to Carlton's door.
Oh.
That's why he followed him.
He's going back to Carlton.
Mike knew his frown was fully taken in; he saw the way Will examined his face. Excavated the cracks in his expression and found nothing but noticeable anger. He didn't care if Will knew. "Goodnight, Will."
"Goodnight," Will spoke softly as the door shut in his face. Mike couldn't stand aching for him a second longer; the ship had sailed, and he was just digging himself into a deeper hole by reading into everything he did. He had agreed to this the moment he rejected Will on that radio tower, he wasn't ready. He just needed some time, a week, a month, just a little longer. Weeks turned into months, until two years passed. Mike finally felt ready; he was aware of his feelings, he didn't get swallowed by the all too familiar shame or guilt anymore. He just felt them. Knew the warmth in his face was okay, and convincing himself it was sinful was a waste of time. He had prepared to tell him, but he let Will tell his 'important thing' first.
The important thing was Carlton, again. He had spilled water all over their poster for a project, and Will was so angry because water got on him, too, and he had to borrow pants from Carlton. He said it in a specific way. The tone you have when you pretend to be angry at something, but inside you're buzzing with excitement. Mike knew then that Will was absolutely flattened under his crush on Carlton. He thought he'd only have to wait until the crush passed to tell him how he felt. Once Carlton rejected him, he'd be in the clear, and he and Will could finally become something deeper.
That time never came, and now he was angry and lonely and filled to the brim with regret.
-
Sleep came and went; every moment spiral turned to sleep was ruined by some noise behind the wall. The wall might as well not be there, he could hear everything. Every shift of weight, every loud breath, every giggle and affectionate whisper, every kiss. It was pure torture, and hard to believe it wasn't on purpose on any level. They had to know how loud their disgusting relationship was. Deafening was the only word to describe it.
He couldn't make anything out; it sounded blurred, fuzzy. Every consonant muffled behind drywall and plaster. He knew Carlton was up to something. He could hear the bass thundering through the partition. He sounded stupid, a childish thought was all Mike could muster. All he had was his voice and a hundred uninteresting details about his life, courtesy of Will's babbling. He prayed it wouldn't last long, prayed Carlton was secretly some monster hiding under the veil of a frat boy with a sensitive streak. He'd crush Will, and Mike could pick up the pieces, save him like he used to.
It was a selfish, horrible thought.
But oh, it was one of the rawest he had allowed himself in a while. He desperately hoped Will would someday soon burst into his room, heartbroken and freshly single. He'd hold him while he cried until Will realized how sweet Mike was, how tender he could be, and curse himself for ever falling for that siren, Carlton.
He was a selfish, horrible person, he thought as he tucked himself further in and forced the sleep upon himself, tired of dissecting every giggle.
-
He awoke abruptly, painfully, as if he pulled every muscle sitting up in bed. The knocks on his door were loud.
Did the RA finally grow sick of him and Max?
He dragged himself out of bed. Glancing at the door, buckling under the sharp knocks.
Was it Max? Did she lose her key again?
He shuffled toward the exit, feet heavy beneath him.
Maybe it was Jane, maybe she found a lost kitten in the hallway and was knocking door to door to find the owner.
He groaned as he turned the knob, expecting a kitten, a sleepless Max Mayfield, or a cease and desist letter. The door slowly opened, the speed of it sedated by his deep-seated want to roll back into bed and ignore the knocking.
"Mike," A hoarse voice cut through the creak in the door.
The wind was knocked right out of him.
Will stood there in the doorway, eyes wide and bloodshot. His hair messy and sticking to his forehead, bound by a thick coat of sweat. The nearly dried tears on his face glistened under the light peeking through the blinds. He looked at Mike in a way that could only be described as desperate, swollen lips quivering under his pout.
He looked beautiful in such a specific niche. Only shared by baroque paintings and baby deer about to be flattened by a semi-truck.
His prayers were answered; he had dreamed of this moment. Just a few hours ago.
"I'm sorry, I know it's so late- I just don't know what to do and I-" Will blubbered, wiping his tears on his sleeve, which was already darkened and soaked. "I don't know where to go."
Mike selfishly seized the opportunity, dragging Will inside with a gentle hand, already searching for cracks to glue shut. "Shh... It's okay." He reassured, too paranoid to do anything but let his hand linger on Will's forearm. "What happened? Talk to me." He softened the corners in his speech, shifted into what Lucas nicknamed his "Will voice". It wasn't on purpose; it just happened. An urge he had to act on each time.
"I..." Will paused, eyes shooting open. Anyone else would chalk it up to a realization and end the analysis there. Mike knew it was deeper. Mike knew his best friend like the back of his hand; it was so much more than a realization. He knew immediately what this was about, Carlton. Moreso, their relationship. Will couldn't share his sorrows because Mike wasn't supposed to know they were a thing in the first place.
God, if there were a competition for analyzing expressions, he'd reign supreme. Mike stifled a proud scoff, remembering it wasn't about him. At all.
"I don't know where to begin." Will wiped another tear off his face. Mike should've done that for him, he thought, a second too late. Will held the pause, the race in his mind visible in the small contractions on his face.
"Do you wanna sit down?" Mike tried, sitting them down on the side of his bed, hand still firmly wrapped around his forearm. Usually, when Will was in this part of the building, it was to make out with Mike's neighbor and nemesis. He tried not to let the jealousy swallow him; who knows, maybe Will comes with the announcement of his dreams.
Carlton is gone and out of the way, and Will is finally his again.
"Take your time, I'll piece the story together if it gets messy along the way," Mike muttered, with a chuckle tinting his words. Said chuckle knocked right out of him when Will turned towards him again. Eyes glossy and dark, a tear rolling down his cheek, with perfect timing.
"Okay," Will swallowed, adjusting himself, sitting with his legs folded on the bed now. "I had a nightmare again."
"I'm so sorry." Mike let the sympathy flow through his words, wanting Will to feel every ounce of care and affection in them. Selfishly hoping it would somehow sway him, bring the old Will back, the Will he recognized now for all the wrong reasons.
The haunted, terrified Will Byers. His best friend, who legally died, was permanently altered, bullied, and tormented for years. The Will Byers who slept on his floor because he was scared of his dad. The little boy who looked up at him, shirt collar clinging to him by what looked like buckets of sweat, with a heartless monster prodding his head.
He'd take the wasted, weed-influenced Will over that Will any day.
"I... I was sleeping over at Carlton's," Will watched his words carefully, leaning into the touch on his arm that was barely there. Ghosting over the curve of it like a squeeze would break it in half. "Every time, something like this happens... he's just so different, and I don't understand why." His eyes shifted nervously from Mike's to the wall behind him.
He was dancing around the elephant in the room, and as much as Mike wanted to call the ridiculousness of the cover story out, he held his tongue. It didn't matter now.
"I mean... He takes a psychology class voluntarily. Out of all my friends, he should be the one who's most understanding about it." That strafed Mike. It wasn't meant as a blow, but, oh, it was. Because out of all of Will's friends, the ones who are most understanding about the Mindflayer are the ones who threw lit fireworks at its physical form. Or maybe his best friend, who has been nothing but understanding. His best friend, who was the only one there to listen, to get it. His best friend, who didn't leave his side, once, while the Mindflayer poked carelessly around in his little head.
Mike had watched him quite literally lose himself. Watched Will Byers fade out of his eyes and still stand by him. He still cried and begged the empty vessel to bring his best friend back.
It felt like an insult. Just because Carlton takes a stupid class.
He overpowered all of it.
"He was," Will's breath hitched, halfway snapping through the irritation burning behind Mike's thick layer of empathy. "Horrible towards me. He got so pissed and aggressive. He blames me for it, says I ruin his sleep, freak him out, and asks me if I even learn anything from my therapist."
The room was white-hot. It wasn't enough that he was petty and upset with Will's frazzled wording. The wounded anger of your best friend ignoring your 12 years of effort, and the alive, writhing rage of hating Carlton for stealing the perfect person away from him, only to treat him like garbage. It was a dangerous mix of emotions brewing. Biohazardous. Mike's knuckles ached from where they fisted into the blanket as to not punch a hole in the drywall beside him and tear Carlton apart. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe that so much resentment could build up in his body.
"He kicked me out, said he didn't want to have any more sleepovers until I fix it." Will sobbed into the heel of his hand, his cries coming out as choppy, hitching wheezes.
Mike lifted his hand, gently placing it on Will's trembling back. The fabric of his sweater was rough, bumpy. It wasn't his. Will's sweaters were smooth, had lint and bumps regularly removed, because he hated the feeling of them. Mike tried to cage his jealousy, trap it deep inside, and throw it away so he could comfort his best friend. Be the caring, selfless, protective Mike Wheeler he knew Will needed.
But it was so difficult when he smelled different, talked differently, and wore his clothes.
So the jealousy kept ravaging his insides, planting possessive impulses inside his brain.
One took hold of him, before he could weigh the pros and cons, he acted. His fingers began tracing Will's back, running a small, intimate pattern into the nauseating texture of his sweater. He could feel Will shudder underneath his touch. Mike braced himself for yelling, his hand being slapped away, and for Will to be upset with him for making it weird. He could hear the shouting in his ears already; he was just waiting for Will to gather his words and fire away.
Nothing came.
Nothing he expected.
Will sighed, leaning into the touch, giving in to the clingy, selfish thing that was Mike. His hair brushed up against his old t-shirt as he pushed the side of his face into him. His weight settled somewhere between his shoulder and his chest, and Mike could practically hear the soft smile blossoming under his nose.
The sensation hit him like a freight train. Will was there. Will was softly crying into him, his tears staining the stretched-out fabric of his stupid Butthole Surfers shirt. He was here. Settled in his room, sitting on his bed, sobbing in his arms.
The selfish, opportune creature inside him wanted to convince himself this was more than a friend comforting another friend.
This was a silent invitation, wordless begging for Mike to save him, whisk him away from the terrifying grip of Carlton.
The sensible voice inside him knew that wasn't the case. Will was tactile. He only reacted this way because someone rubbed his back while he was unhappy. He would react this way to anyone. Mike was just a brick wall to vent to with warmth and hands capable of soothing movements. He wasn't special, he wasn't his savior.
"I don't know how to feel. On one hand, I feel guilty." Will sobbed, gesturing with trembling hands. "I ruin his nights, and he can't get enough sleep because of me."
Mike had to practically nail his tongue to the roof of his mouth, bar it behind tightly clenched teeth. He wanted to grab Will by the shoulders, shake him, yell pathetic confessions and promises into his face. "I love sleeping next to you, I don't care if you kick me, scream in your sleep, or wake me up ten times in one night to sing you lullabies and cradle you. I'd do it every night, I'd make it a ritual. I love you, let's join together and push Carlton off the roof into a dumpster where he belongs."
He'd be dead if any of that came out. Carlton would bury him. And then push Will into the soil and make out with him on top of the grave.
"On the other hand, I'm angry too. I try my best to make them stop. I've tried everything my therapist suggested." Will turned his head, words completely muffled into his shirt. Mike reached his other hand around Will as well, holding him tightly as he silenced the desperate, whipped voice inside him, screaming out declarations of love.
"And... I don't know. I feel like it's unfair; he doesn't have to live through those nightmares, you know? I have it worse, as selfish as that sounds." Will fiddled with the hem of the t-shirt. He was just tactile. It didn't mean anything, as much as it made Mike's face burn. "Am I making sense at all?" A broken, forced laugh came out with the question.
Mike froze. He didn't trust his own mouth. He wasn't sure if his next words would be "I hate Carlton," or "I love you so much, please, I've needed this for years, just one chance." He hoped for neither, knowing silence was the worst option.
"You always do." His voice had a needy, desperate clang to it. He was sure Will could hear the unsaid words underneath. Will turned his head upwards. How could he do this to him? How could he look so beautiful? How could he look up at him with those eyes? Did he know what it did to him?
Will smiled, somehow making the torture worse, way worse. Looking at him and not kissing him was the worst torture that Mike had ever gone through. Yes, worse than listening to Will talk about Carlton for hours.
"Really? You're not just saying that so I'll stop whining?" The question had needy words, but Mike knew it came from a secure place. He gathered from the light giggle bubbling underneath them. He was teasing. He wrestled the pride swimming in his chest. He wanted to boast. He was an expert in Will Byers, the world champion of knowing exactly how he felt. It was the best thing to be the best at.
Wrong place, and wrong time to beam over that, though.
"I'm not." Mike's hand ran up higher, continuing the pattern up his neck, loving the way Will leaned into his hand. He ate it up like a starved dog. "I think you deserve better than being yelled at for something you can't control. If Carlton can't wrap his head around this, clock that he should be more empathetic. You shouldn't hang out with him; you already have friends who understand this perfectly. You don't need him." Friends was a weak substitute for what he really wanted to say. Switching the desperate, lovestruck confession with a sentiment about friend groups and the party. It tasted bitter on his lips, like he had plagiarized his own confession.
Will bit his cheek, ducking his head down again and groaning into the tear-stained fabric. "You make everything sound so simple, Mike. I hate that."
"It is simple, Will. Don't waste your time on people like him."
"It was one mistake, we all say things we don't mean when we're angry," Will whispered, a guilty twang to his tone.
Mike buzzed with irritation, suddenly it was okay for Carlton to treat him like this. It could be excused; it was one mistake. Mike knew he had heard Will say it happened multiple times, he wasn't stupid. He knew Will was sacrificing himself to protect Carlton's honor when that was so far from what he deserved.
He stayed silent, knowing his next words would be disgusting, transparent, puncture the barrier over his raging inner monologue. He just wrapped his arm tighter around him, like he was looking to swallow Will whole. His heart sank as Will hugged him back, tugging and pulling his shirt as he held Mike with a desperate grip. The sobbing started up again, quiet breaths and wheezes pressed into his chest. His breath was warm and came directly over his heart.
-
Moments passed, tense, rough grips softened, breathing slowed, until Will slumped half-asleep with nearly all his bodyweight resting on top of Mike. How could he be so relaxed? Mike was anything but, feeling his heart hammer in his chest and focusing all his energy on trying to keep his breathing stable. It didn't work, sounding like he just came from a marathon. Panting at just a hug.
The pressure of Will's body didn't sedate his spiraling. He kept dissecting it all. Judging from the conversation, Carlton still had his disgusting hands on Will; it was one argument, and Will was just seeking support from a friend.
That made him sick.
The thought that after this, after Mike picked up the pieces Carlton left him in, Will would leave him again to enjoy his new wholeness with his boyfriend, who doesn't appreciate him. This night would just be an awkward memory to him. The night when Mike had to comfort him because Carlton was being an asshole. This would be permanently branded on Mike. He wanted to tattoo the tear stains on his shirt on his chest. He wanted to never move an inch again. He wanted Will Byers to be the rest of his life.
The one who stole his place was Carlton. Ignorant Carlton. Ungrateful Carlton. If it were Mike's room Will stormed out in tears from, he would be chasing after him in the hall and giving everything to hear "I forgive you." Carlton just let him walk away, was snoring in the other room, just thankful for the new quiet.
Mike ran his fingers down Will's back, feeling the pilled fabric scrape against his fingers. Faintly smelling cheap bodywash under the familiar scent of Vanilla and Will's shampoo. Carlton was ruining the moment without even being present. Breathing down their necks, with his disgusting, synthetic bodywash.
"Do you wanna change out of that?" Mike blurted out, regretting the question when it fell out of his lips. His tone was sharp, pointed, anything but random.
Will looked up at him, eyes finally void of tears. "I don't know."
"I feel your sleeves on my back, they're soaked." A decent excuse, Mike didn't care if his sleeves were wet or dry or in flames. Will could have knives for hands, and Mike would still hug him. Will didn't know that, so the lie was believable enough.
"Oh, then can I borrow something from you?" Will swallowed, unraveling his arms. His gaze was hopeful, curious. Slightly embarrassed to have wiped his tears all over Mike
Mike gulped, fearing what Will wearing one of his sweaters would do to him. Was he about to run away from that opportunity in fear of an awkward reaction? No, absolutely not.
"Sure. I'll find something."
"Nothing with the Butthole Surfers on them." Will teased, finally cheering up. His voice was still cracking softly, gentle reminder of the hurt still lingering.
"As if you care, you wore a Poison shirt earlier today, you hate that band."
"The graphic was cool!" Will lied, Mike knew it was Carlton's. But he wasn't about to pressure Will into coming out with that.
"It really wasn't."
"Shut up."
Mike fished out a sweatshirt, which didn't have a print or a graphic. Only a small yellow star embroidered on navy fabric. He remembered buying it at a thrift store with Max weeks ago. She looked at him funny, saying it was hideous on his complexion and he'd never wear it out. She was right, under the fluorescent lights in their dorm, it washed him out completely. So badly, he didn't even wear it inside. Maybe it looked better on Will.
Handing it over, Mike tries to look casual, ignoring the buzzing in his hands, knowing he is seconds away from seeing Will in his clothes. They shared clothes while Will lived with them in Hawkins. While all his flannels and tight khakis were outside of chainlink fences and guarded gates. Mike hadn't thought anything of it; it was a necessity. But now, when the affection felt so raw, it fried his nerves and turned him into a needy, lovesick loser. It felt serious.
Will smiled, avoiding Mike's fingers in the exchange. Changing from the pilling, orange knit sweater to Mike's. It looked so much better on him than it did on Mike. It brought out the brightness in his eyes, the undertones in his skin, made him glow. Unlike the orange, which overpowered his features and swallowed him whole. The dark blue brought out the traits that made him Will.
"Is this better?" Will giggled, wiping the sleeve across Mike's arm, dry and soft. Comfortable laughter bubbled in the room, the sadness in Will's eyes fully fading.
A petty, evil part of Mike beamed, knowing Carlton could hear everything. Carlton was the one sitting with his ear pressed against the wall, listening to Will laugh, knowing it wasn't one of his stupid jokes that held the blame. It was Mike.
The walls were thin, he knew all too well.
Carlton could hear it. Mike wanted him to hear it. Even if nothing happened, nothing crossed new thresholds. The ice was thick, chilling water several feet below them. It still meant everything, knowing it wasn't fully private. Carlton couldn't ignore it, their bond.
"Do you think I can sleep here tonight?" Will tilted his head, messy bangs sliding across his forehead.
"Yeah, totally. Max's bed is all yours." Mike nodded, a little to eagirly. He wasn't going to waste this. He couldn't recall the last time Will spent the night here, or when the last time they genuinely hung out alone was. He felt lucky, a sappy, sinking feeling sitting deep in his chest.
Will's expression cracked, a playful confusion toying with his features. "Uhh, Mike?" His eyes darted across the room to the other bed, entirely stripped of a mattress. Not as much as a throw pillow on it. "Her mattress is at Jane's right now."
"Oh! Then we can go get yours from your room." Mike could feel himself sweating; he wanted to ask him to share the bed, really badly. That might be too forward. Definitely too risky. Considering he's head over heels in love with him, and Will sleeps like a dog, constantly moving around and tangling with whatever's beside him on the bed. If Will as much as breathed on him while they lay under the covers, his heart would reset. He was sure of that.
Will scoots closer, a teasing expression on his face. His eyes spoke, "You idiot." Thank god Mike was fluent. Mike could feel his blood rushing, his heartbeat thundering through his body; he heard it before Will even said it. "Or... maybe I could sleep in your bed." Will scoffed. "I do not have the energy to walk across those hallways and drag the mattress all the way back. Please?" Will added the please, knowing Mike would say yes without it.
He didn't know Mike would say yes even if Will spat on him first.
-
He didn't regret saying yes. He could never. But he certainly would get more sleep if he rejected the offer. Will was out cold, not even Dustin's offensive snoring could wake him like this. He looked so peaceful, expression void of any shifting eyelids or twitching. Mike felt possessive, knowing Will slept best beside him, filled him with a dangerous level of pride and greed. "This is where you belong, not with the mouth-breather next door." He thought, eyes glued to his best friend.
He was so doomed.