Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You're gonna be late!" He hears Will shout from his door.

He opens his eyes and sits up, "What's the time?"

"10 until 9." Will says as he walks away and into their shared living room, "You keep sleeping through your alarms!"

It had been a couple of months in this life. Of living with Will like this. He applied to NYU along with Will, though he would never admit that it was because of Will that he applied too. Without Will, he would have stayed in Hawkins until he died. So the next step was getting a small apartment fit for two, because he wasn't living alone, and he wasn't letting Will live alone either; they had gone through enough last year.

After they defeated Vecna and won, everyone, surviving thankfully, went their separate ways. They needed to spread out, to leave it all behind, even though everything in him screamed to hold them all together. Lucas reassured him that they would keep in contact and that they were only a phone call away. He and Max went to the same University in Maine, while Dustin went to MIT to study in Massachusetts. El, she said she wanted to travel the world; it was a poor excuse to say that she needed to run and hide from the military, which still wanted to question her. She promised to send him letters, to send both him and Will letters.

When his mom learned he was going to NYU with Will to study English Lit, she was happy for him and got together with Joyce to celebrate both boys. It was due to her that he found an apartment not that far from campus. They got some hush money from the military to keep quiet about everything that happened over the last few years, and they took it, and now he didn't have to worry that much about the rent of the apartment.

"I'm leaving if you aren't ready!" Will yells, while Mike is standing in the closet, throwing around the clothes he is gonna wear, "Mike!"

"Coming!" He tugs on a blue sweater and grabs his bag. He quickly runs to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then runs to the door, which is open. "Wait!" He grabs his shoes and almost falls over in an attempt to try to get his shoes on whilst running. "Will! C'mon, wait up!" He fumbles out the door and then remembers to lock it, and runs back to lock it before running down the stairs to catch up with Will. His hand lands on the other's back, "Geez, you're fast."

"You're slow." Will sticks out his tongue at him and keeps walking, opening the door out of the apartment and holding the door for him. "Set more alarms so you'll wake up."

"I'll keep snoozing them." Mike sighs as he steps through and looks up to see their University on the other side of the street. "You'll have to keep waking me up, forever." He looks out at a distance.

"As if," Will says as he starts running towards campus, making Mike run after him.

"Hey! You know I'm terrible at running!" Mike says, out of breath, "Will!" He hears laughter coming from the other, and he groans. He hates running, he hates sports, and he hates how he will do anything to have an excuse to be near the other boy.

When they do get to campus and enter the foyer of the University, they part ways. Will has his first class in the right wing, while his class is in the left wing. His eyes linger on the other until he's out of sight, and then he takes off to his class, "Shit, shit, shit." He curses under his breath as he checks his watch, 20 past 9. He's 20 minutes late. He crashes into the hall as he looks around. Everyone goes quiet for a single moment to stare at him before the class resumes.

He scoots into a seat and sets his bag down. "Did your boyfriend have to wake you again, Wheeler?"

Caspian asks him, who sits beside him. His only kinda friend here, he stares daggers at him, "He's not my boyfriend."

"Bet you wish he was." Caspian sighs under his breath as he stares ahead at the lecturer. "You missed Mr Franz saying that if you were on time, you wouldn't have to do the next exam."

"Bullshit, Mr Franz would marry exams if he could. He'd rather give up his dying marriage than give up on exams." Mike says as he fishes up his notepad and pen. "Stop lying."

"You're no fun." Caspian taps his pen against the table. "Hey."

Mike ignores him, but is then kicked from beneath the table. "What?"

"Do you wanna go out tonight?"

"You know my answer-"

"Will is joining. Actually, a bunch of art kids are joining too, but I got the invite from Matt, you know, from Art. Uhm, Carl is definitely coming because of Will, and I think Lucy is coming too. And-" He points at various people in the room, "Mikey is coming, Brendon, uh."

Mike has stopped listening after he said that Carl was coming. Oh, he knew about Carl. Or should he call him his real name? Carlton. Another art major who was friends with Will, like he's friends with Caspian, except Caspian didn't make googly eyes at him every time they were together. Oh yeah, he could see Carlton wanting Will badly. And his theory was that if he was in the room, Carlton held back. Every time he thought Carlton would make a move on Will, he was there, beside them, and Carlton would back away. He took pride in that. It wasn't like Will couldn't date people; he had a gut feeling about this Carlton that was bad. Ever since Will came out to them, to them all, he protected Will from guys who tried to hit on him by dragging him away. And like he said, Will could date all he wanted, but everyone who tried to make a move was a bad guy in his opinion.

"Sure, I'll join." He needed to be there if Carlton tried anything. He had thought about changing his major to Art, but he had no artistic bone in his body. "But this isn't because Will is gonna be there." It was.

Caspian nods, "Yeah, of course not, you're gonna hit on everyone, right? Might even take a person home." Caspian knocks his elbow into his and turns back to the lecture.

"Yeah," Mike says under his breath.

He tries to lock in for the rest of the lecture, but all he can think of is stupid Carlton with his perfect teeth and dark curly hair. The more he thinks about it, yes, he's always been protective of Will, he's always been there for him, always been the one to look out for him. Been there for him through everything, and it scares him that Will is now also a victim of homophobia. Sure, he's not publicly out to the whole of New York, but he isn't trying to keep it a secret either. He goes to gay clubs and parties; he's an art major, which means that everyone already looks at him differently. It makes him want to hide Will more, curl him into his pocket, and walk around protecting him.

When he finally finishes his first 2 classes, he almost runs to the cafeteria to catch Will. He halts when he sees Carlton across the room with Will in tow. He's too late. Will catches his eye and waves him over. He slowly drags his feet over to them.

"Mike! How were your first classes?" Will asks him, but all Mike can do is glance at Carlton, who isn't even as tall as he is. "Carl asked to tag along to eat. I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, of course." He quickly says as he cracks his fingers with one hand. "Of course he can."

"Don't forget me." He feels arms around his shoulders, as Caspian interrupts their conversation, "You left me all alone, pookie." Caspian makes kissy faces at him, while Mike tries to get him off. He knows for a fact that Caspian isn't into dudes; he had a girlfriend like a month back. So why does he keep trying to come onto him, even if it's a joke? He will never understand.

"Keep your PDA for yourselves, lovebirds," Will says as he starts walking towards their table. He, along with the two others in tow, follows Will to the table. They sit down around it, he beside Caspian, Will beside Carlton. He feels numb all of a sudden, weird. He watches how close Carlton gets to Will, how close he sits, and Will lets him.

Caspian slings an arm over his shoulders, "So we're all going to the club after?"

"Well, I need to change if I'm going to the club." Will says, looking to Mike, "I'm sorry I didn't say I was going clubbing today."

"I'm coming."

Will slowly looks to Caspian, then back at him with a questioning look, "You're coming? Mike, you do know it's a gay club?"

Mike looks at Caspian with a betrayed look, before turning his gaze back to Will, then he lets out an awkward laugh and nods, "Duh. Yeah, of course. I like gay people. I love them!"

He hears Caspian snicker beside him, so he jabs him in the side with his elbow, making the other cough. He looks to Will, who raises an eyebrow, "Mike, it'll be your first time in a gay club. Men will hit on you." If he were allowed to imagine, he could almost see Will's jaw tense. "But, you're welcome to join us."

"Good, because I am. Joining. I am joining you guys. Men can hit on me, I don't care." He did care. A lot, actually. He didn't want men to hit on him, mostly because he didn't find men attractive; he had a girlfriend in the past. So he very much was not into men; he was only going because Will was gonna be there, and he was there to protect him if anyone tried to do anything weird to him, like spike his drink or something.

Will gave him a look, a look which he couldn't decipher; maybe he was begging him to reconsider this, but he wouldn't. He was dead set on coming along. ESPECIALLY if Carlton was tagging along too, he wouldn't let a boy come between him and Will.

So as his classes ended for the day, he met up with Will in front of campus and went home to their apartment together. They didn't really speak on the way back; he had too much on his mind, and he was slightly panicking about going to a club where men were gonna hit on him. It wasn't like he felt like he was the most handsome man in the world, as mirrored to Will, who was- Will was something else, he was always getting looks in the hallway, and girls hit on him quite often. In the months at the university, Mike only had 1 encounter of a girl hitting on him, and it wasn't even someone he found attractive. His excuse was that he was still sensitive from when he and El broke up, but that was years ago by now; he couldn't really use that excuse anymore.

He clicks the door open and goes inside, where Will starts talking for the first time since they were on campus. Will turns around, arms crossed, "You're not going to the club."

Mike turns to lock the door before turning to face Will, "Why not? You're going, why can't I?"

"Mike, you're not gay!"

"Caspian's going!" He yells, looking bewildered.

Will's mouth turns into a line before closing his eyes and sighing, "Caspian is bisexual. He has been hitting on you since the day he broke up with his girlfriend! If you go to the club, he's definitely making a move, and I can't—" Will shuts his mouth and turns to the side.

"Bullshit! Caspian doesn't like me, you're making stuff up, so I'll stay home! Well, it's not working, Byers! I'm going! What do you want me out of the way so you can shove your tongue down Carlton's throat?"

He knows he has said too much too late. He quickly hurries to the kitchen area to get a glass of water.

"What Carl and I do is none of your fucking business! And what if I said yes? You're always in the way when I think he'll finally make a move! Mike, I need this." Will pleads, making Mike look up into Will's eyes, which is his first mistake.

He groans, "I don't care what the hell you two do." He drinks the water in one go, "Okay." Sets the glass down. "I'll go, and I promise I won't get in your way. So let me go?"

There is a moment of silence, of contemplation from Will's side before he nods, "Alright. You can come, but I don't want to hear any complaints from you ever." He turns and walks into his room.

"Alright." Mike whispers under his breath, "That went well."

He could have chosen to stay home, but the annoying worm in his ears made him say yes to coming, and the feeling in his stomach about knowing Will is probably grinding up against other men made him shiver. Maybe he was actually against gay people? He hadn't felt weird about it before Will started going to clubs, and when he met Carlton, it all went to hell for him. Yes, he was definitely against Will rubbing with other men, and it made him very uncomfortable. But that wasn't fair to Will. How could he ever say that he should never get with somebody, because, of course, Will wants to be with someone. In his mind, he thinks he's enough for Will, but clearly not.

Thinking about it any longer, and he'll pop a vein, so he decides to go to his room to change into more suitable clothes for the evening. He throws around a bunch of clothes, all spread out on his floor. In reality, it isn't that many clothes, since he refused to take half of his closet with him when he moved. He picks up his old Hellfire shirt from the ground and reminisces about it. Could he wear it? People would definitely leave him alone if he wore it, but deep inside him, he did want the attention of others, so he throws aside the shirt.

His eyes catch a glimpse of his pink button-up, and he goes to grab it. It was a gift from Nancy, who said that women liked pink, so he should wear it sometimes. He begged to differ, but still kept it.

It wasn't like he got a lot of gifts, at least not from his sister. Maybe it would be appropriate to wear today? Did gay men like pink? Did Will like pink? No, Will liked autumn colors, but he was gay. This was a dilemma come true; he stood between wearing his pink shirt and his blue polo. He says fuck it and chooses the pink shirt, buttoning it up, and rolls up the sleeves for a chic look. He chooses some dark pants to go with and goes to the bathroom to do his hair.

"When did you get that shirt?" Will butts in beside him, grabs his perfume.

"Nance." He replies and brushes his hair to the side.

Will looks at him before he moves his hand up to ruffle his hair, "You look better like this." He walks out and sprays the perfume on himself.

Mike looks back into the mirror at his now ruffled hair. Sighing, he grabs his spray deodorizer and sprays some on himself before walking out, "It stinks."

"You stink." Will retorts and walks into the bathroom, closing the door.

They did end up grabbing a drink before leaving the apartment, making him feel the buzz before getting to the club, where they met up with everybody else.

"Ready to meet your first gay man, Wheeler?" Caspian slings an arm around him, squeezes his shoulders, "Maybe you'll snog one of them?"

"Well, I know Will," Mike says, trying to get Caspian off him. "I won't kiss anyone." Finally, he gets the other away from him; something Will said bothered him. Saying that Caspian was trying to get into his pants, it had completely ruined everything for him, this friendship. He trusts Caspian; he is the first friend he made, and now? Now everything feels weird, and even if it isn't true, he could not be convinced that everything that Caspian does isn't intentional.

"Should we head inside?" Carlton asks, "Everyone's waiting for us." His eyes aren't on them anymore; they are on Will, who glances between him and Mike before his gaze eventually lands on Carlton, nods. It twists his stomach the way that Will chooses the guy over him, his best friend. Caspian shooes him inside while following behind.

It isn't crowded, but there are definitely more people than he imagined. It wasn't like he had never been with queer people in his life, because he definitely had spoken to Lucy once or twice before, and he knew Will and apparently Caspian, too. Being in a space where he knows he shouldn't be feels weird. If it weren't for Caspian, who's pushing him towards the bar, he would run out.

Caspian orders the two of them a drink while Mike's eyes follow Will and Carlton, who are going to the dancefloor. "Mike, you don't have to look so tense. Relax. Relaaaaax." Caspian says with a smile, "You look like a scared puppy."

He snaps his head back, "I'm not scared."

"Then why is your leg restless?" Mike stops his leg when he says that, "See, you're about to shit your pants, man. Maybe this will help." Caspian slides some sort of fruity cocktail towards him. Mike grabs it and smells it before taking a sip. Pomegranate and vodka. Oh, this isn't that bad.

He looks around again, trying to figure out where Will and Carlton had gone. Caspian slaps a hand down on his thigh, "You're always so overprotective of Will, you act as if you own him."

He meets Caspians' eyes, "No, I don't."

"Oh then, what were you looking for?"

His silence is an answer, which Caspian gets.

"Hey, Cas?"

Caspian takes a sip of his drink before he nods, "Hm?"

"Will said that you were bisexual?" He says, one hand on the counter and another on his leg.

"Oh, did he now? Well, he's not wrong. I am. Any problem?"

"No! Well! He said that you had a crush on me, and I'm so sorry, but I don't think I can do that, I don't really—I'm not gay!" He spits out. "Or anything else. I'm—normal."

Caspians smile turns into a line, "Mike, I'm flattered, but you ain't exactly my type. I don't know what Will told you, but I'm actually into bigger, hairier guys who can pound me. Also." Caspian stands, "Normal? You think you're normal? You're a nerd from Indiana, you play DnD, you write instead of joining any sports team, you hate sports, if I might add that, you're wearing a fucking pink shirt right now. Normal is dead, Wheeler. You don't get to act all high and mighty and think you're perfect when in fact you're not. If you're straight, which I might add was probably what you were going for, I don't care. That is your own discovery to be made, whether you like dick or pussy, but from my observations, none of the girls who have hit on you have ever had a chance, because your only attention has ever been on one boy." Caspian turns Mike's head and points, "Bam."

Will is on the dancefloor.

Kissing.

Carlton.

"And now, you're forced to watch him get with this boy, whom you HATE. All because you could never be bothered to figure yourself out in time. You're slowly losing the only person whom you've actually cared enough to move across the state for."

He stands, but is stopped by someone holding his arm, "Mike, you shouldn't be in between them. You're too late. Mike."

"Mike."

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"Michael, are you there? You drifted off again." Dr. Creel says to him.

He looks up, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here." He then looks down again at his clasped hands. He can feel his body shake, but he cannot tell if it is the medication he is on or if it is the open window in the room. The room, which is smaller, tighter, and closed off, is white like every other wall in this prison. "I'm here."

"You said that Will was talking with this guy—"

"Carlton."

Dr. Creel changes his sitting position, so he sits closer, "Carlton. And those two are together now? How does that make you feel?"

"I don't care. He can do whatever he wants; I don't own him." Mike says, looking away.

Dr. Creel writes something down on his pad, pauses, then writes again. "Mike, how has the medication been? Would you be interested in trying something new?"

New medication. It is a trap to keep him away from Will, from his real life outside of Pennhurst. But, he can't say that; he can't say that he refuses, or else they will drug him anyway. So he nods and bites his thumb nail. He refuses to meet Dr. Creel's eyes. He and Dr. Creel have a rocky relationship, but the other tries to maintain a calm demeanor.

"Do you still not trust me? Michael, you said that you defeated an evil monster? Do you still see me as that? Everyone wants to help you, Michael; everyone wants you home safe and sound. But, you have to look reality in the eye. You've been here since you were 15, and you're now 20. These hallucinations are not real; they're a coping mechanism. Your mom is visiting you today, Michael. Please at least try to talk to her. I'll increase your dosage starting tomorrow. We'll talk again soon." Dr. Creel stands and walks out of the room, pats him on the shoulder, before he walks through the door.

He sits in the room for a bit and looks at the open small window. He is allowed outside under surveillance, and they will check on him in his room every 2 hours. This is the only time he gets to be himself completely. Everyone around him says that he is hallucinating, that it isn't real, but he knows. He knows that it is real, that he is living some sort of double life, that Will is out there waiting for him. He stands.

The room is empty except for the two chairs, two paintings, and a small window.

Will was kissing Carlton. How did he feel about it? He felt wrong, he felt disgusted, he felt his stomach twist and turn, and he wanted to rip himself and Carlton apart. If he could go back to the place right now, he would. He knows they will wait for him to get back.

Right now, he stands up, faces the door, and opens it; a slight breeze blows through his hair. He scratches the stubble on his chin and looks out into the hallway.

"How's your boyfriend, Wheeler?" Caspian asks him, slamming him on the back. He can't really call this Caspian his friend, more like a person he mostly avoids. The Caspian in the real world would feel insulted being compared to that. A loudmouth, a pervert, an idiot. "Don't look at me like that, your boyfriend might get jealous."

He doesn't bother to fight him in the hallway. He is sure Caspian is into him; the guy has clung to him like a puppy ever since he got into this place. He is about his age with less brain and more brawn. His build is muscular; he regularly gets to go out with his brother to work out. Other than that, he is a resident of Pennhurst. "Shut up." He walks past the other to go to his room.

Caspian follows, "You need to wake up, Wheeler. I'm in your fucking walls!"

With a tight jaw, he slams the door to his room as hard as he can, which isn't that hard. Inside, he walks to his bed and sits down. He reaches for the binder near his bed and opens it; a bunch of drawings spills out from it, and he quickly gets to the floor to pick them up. A wizard. A paladin. The drawings from back then. The only thing that grounds him is the only link he has with Will. They told him that he was wrong, that he was hallucinating that—that Will was never found. He remembers. But, no, he also remembers them finding him. With the help of Eleven, the girl they saved, his first girlfriend.

They told him that Will was found dead in the Quarry, that he must have swum out and drowned. They told him that Mike was the one who took it the hardest out of the whole party, that he started hallucinating. That the pills would help him. But they didn't work. They kept feeding him until he could no longer do so, and at last, they sent him to Pennhurst at 14. But this is the hallucination. This is the false reality. This is a spell, Illusory Reality, and he was sure that he was cast under it by Vecna.

Will is alive and well. He is currently making the biggest mistake of his life, getting with Carlton of all people, and he can't figure out why it bothers him so much. He collects all the drawings from the ground and puts them on his bed. Then he proceeds to get up on his bed and look through them all, like he did every day.

"Will…" He flips through them with a shaking hand; he can feel emotions stir in him. He was 12 when they found him again, they were 17 when they finally defeated the evil bastard, and now, at 20, he is gonna lose him again. He can't do this; he can't lose the only person he has had the chance to care for, the one person he wants in his life forever. Caspian is right; he knows that much.

No, he is gonna do something about this. He is gonna tell Carlton where he can stick it!

A knock on the door, then it opens, "Michael? Your mom is here." He looks toward the door as it shuts again. In his hands, the binder, on the table behind him, his typewriter, in the corner of the room, stands 2 chairs, and he has a small window, which isn't big enough to squeeze himself through.

"Michael?" Someone enters the room, no, 3 people enter. His mom, Nancy, and Jonathan Byers. He knows that the two of them have gotten together, but whether it was through shared trauma or a simple hook-up, he couldn't quite remember. "We're here to visit you. I hope it's okay that Jonathan came along too, he knows how hard—" She pauses for a second, "—this all has been for you."

"Hey, Mike." Jonathan says, "Is that his art?" He is hesitant about him; they all are, they don't understand him at all. "Mind if I—?" He goes to sit down beside him, "Hey."

"Hey." He says, "I'm not fragile, and I'm not a kid. So don't treat me like one." Mike says and looks down at the binder. It is closed, for now. He feels that if anyone looks at the drawings, they will lose their meaning, their magic touch, and sever his connection to Will. "Hey, Nance."

Nancy gives a small wave, "Mike."

Last time she was here, he apparently had an episode. A "psychotic meltdown". He was between the two worlds that were his realities, and they started bleeding together. He had attacked Dr. Creel while Nancy was there, and she held him back. But, in the real world, he was watching Joyce chop off Vecna's head; he wasn't even doing anything. In the end, he was sent to the downstairs "rooms", more like cells. He spent a week down there before they were sure he had calmed down.

He would guess she is wary of him, that they all are, in case he starts "hallucinating" again.

They don't understand that he is stuck to this reality, that his real life is with Will in NYU, and right now, all he wants is to take Will and run away with him.

"Have you had any other—" His mother goes silent, "How's Will?"

His eyes meet his mother's for the first time since she entered the room. "He's doing better, after we defeated Vecna, he's had a chance to relax, and then we moved, and now he's— He took me to a club, uhm, a gay club." He watches his mother's eyes widen in surprise, "Well! I'm not gay! I just went because Will went, and now, I think he's getting together with someone I don't approve of."

Nancy's eyes go glassy as she walks out of the room. Jonathan follows. His mom goes over to the bed to be by his side. "They told me they would increase your medication dosage."

That is all he is now, isn't it? A patient. Someone who is psychotic, someone whom everyone pities. His sister can't even look him in the eyes, and his mother thinks he's crazy. He feels crazy at times, but he can't keep going back to this reality; he can't stay here. He needs to ground himself with Will; he needs to know that the other is alright, that everything around him is only in his mind.

"It doesn't work. The medicine."

"Do you take it?"

He looks away. He can't admit that he would purposefully shove the medicine in his cheek, swallow, then spit it out in the toilet. He did take it once, and that made him get stuck in this reality for a month. He panicked, he threw up, he cried like hell. It was the worst thing they could do. So he would purposefully throw the pills out.

"Michael. They want you to get better. I want you back home. I miss you. We all miss you. Holly, especially. So, please, Michael."

"Michael."

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"Mike?"

He is in front of Will and Carlton, on the dancefloor. His eyes hover around them, "Mom." He whispers to himself, "Sorry." He looks back at the two, "Will, what are you doing with him?"

"I'm sorry, I should go—" Carlton says as he starts to leave, but Will grabs his arm, holding him from leaving.

"No. You should stay." Will says as he grabs Mike's arm and drags the two of them into a corner, he crosses his arms as he looks at Mike, "What we're doing is kissing. I can do it again if you didn't catch it the first time." Will leans in, grabs Carlton by the collar, and kisses him square on the mouth, making Mike look away, "There." Will looks back at him, "Are you against it? Because I don't really need your permission, and you said you wouldn't get in the way."

He nervously looks around before feeling a chill run up his spine; he feels like he's about to throw up. Will catches this, and his expression turns worried, "Mike?"

Mike then proceeds to run to the bathroom, bumps into people on the way, and pushes past the queue to the bathroom, making people groan at him in frustration. He knocks on the door of a stall; the door opens. He pushes past the person, opens the toilet lid, and throws up the drink he had consumed. Liquids of red, and some of the bagel that had been in his stomach mixes in the toilet as he feels tears form in his eyes, as he feels himself fall that much deeper down into the pit of shame.

"Mike!" Will is by his side, as he rubs his back gently, "Why did you drink so much? You know you have a sensitive stomach." He has closed the stall that they're in. Carlton is nowhere to be found. In Will's hand, he has a bottle of water he must have grabbed from the bar, and he hands it to him. Mike takes it and takes a swig and spits the rest of the vomit left in his mouth into the toilet. Will flush it.

His back hits the wall of the stall, his ass on the cold, dirty floor. Will is in front of him, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I have such a strong distaste for him; he gets on my nerves, he makes me feel enraged every time he's with you, and I want you to be happy, but not with him. So when I saw you kissing him, something in me snapped, something in me died, something in me felt wrong." He feels like he is so close to figuring himself out, but he can't for the life of him get it right.

Will looks at him, thinking, "I think you might not be over your breakup with El, yet. You see me as yourself, getting over El, by getting with someone else, and it infuriates you."

He thinks hard and long about it, because maybe Will is right, maybe he's simply seeing himself through Will. He then nods, "You might be right, but I don't have any feelings left for El other than platonic love. I've always cherished our closeness, but at the same time, we were never each other's it. It was a dumb teenage experience, and I wish I could have kept her as a friend for all those years, but I ruined it."

"Yes, but you see, you can be over her, but are you over the way that you felt? That breakup wasn't something you just moved on from, was it?" How could he admit that he truly was over it? That would mean that Will wasn't right, and that something else was going on, so he nods and plays along.

"Yeah, you're right."

"But Mike." Will leans in closer to him in the tight stall, "I'm not you, I'm a real person with my own life. And you need to let me be that person by myself. I can have a boyfriend, I'm not a projection of you, and I'm certainly not Eleven. We might be at the same Uni, and live in the same apartment, but actually." Will gets quiet.

"What?" His mind starts racing.

Will looks away for a moment. "Well, Carl asked me to move in with him, and I'm thinking of accepting the offer."

The silence between the two of them is heavy, Mike in his own thoughts, and Will silent due to his expectations of a reaction to his declaration.

It shocks him; it has made him cold to his core. Moving out of their apartment, that meant that he would have to move out too, because he couldn't pay for a 2-bedroom apartment himself, and it would be silly to live in an apartment meant for two. His eyes meet Will's. "Will, you can't leave me." He feels himself shake; he feels himself tear up, maybe some of the vodka is still in his blood, but he can't help himself, "You can't."

Will backs up against the wall and lets his head fall backwards, hitting the wall behind him, "Mike…"

"Will, you don't understand. You can't. You have to stay with me, you can't walk away from me like this, I can't do it, not here. Not here as well." He closes his eyes, "Not here."

"Mike, you can't do this to me. You can't say that we're best friends and get to act like this." Will's hands come to cover his face as he groans, "You know that I liked you. You know that moving in together was already hard for me, and now you act all jealous—"

"I'm not jealous!"

"Shut up! You are! You can't do this, Mike. Not to me, not to me!" Will's hands lower and rest in his lap, "I just don't understand you at times! You want me here, but then you act distant. You keep saying you need me, but then ignore me. You are like a drug I can't get rid of, and I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want to be out of your life; I wanted you to be with me forever, but I had to face reality, Mike. And the reality is that you will never be someone who could ever love me back the way I want you to love me. And you keep using it against me, you keep trying to pull me back to you, trying to hold onto me when you know—YOU KNOW, that you can never be it for me." Will has tears in his eyes. "You'll never love me."

Will curses into his hands as he holds back tears, "You'll never love me." He gets to his feet, opens the door to the stall, and walks out. Mike is left on the ground, wordless. He gets to his feet when he watches someone burst into the stall, pushing him out with a loud profanity, cursing at him. He wobbles to the mirror and looks himself in the eyes, seeing an empty shell of a human.

He can't think; he can't even form a coherent thought right now. Will was moving out, and he was forced to watch. How long had Carlton and Will been together? Ever since they started University? Was he only an afterthought? Will had loved him, he knew that, of course, he knew that.

When Will told them all that he had a crush that he had gotten over before their fight with Vecna, he realised in that moment that he had been the crush. That Will had loved him, and something spurted in him, something bloomed. Then proceeded to die, as he then had another realisation, Will had loved him. Past tense.

He taps the pen to his notepad as Mr. Franz goes on about his lesson. Caspian is asleep beside him, and all he can think about is what Will told him last night.

They didn't speak for the rest of the night, and Will went to sleep over at Carltons, which he probably could have guessed he would do. He spent the rest of the night in bed, awake, unable to sleep. He turned and turned until he eventually dozed off. He didn't see Will this morning; he had actually not seen Will at all today.

Someone kicks him under the table, "You'll get sick if you keep biting your nails."

His finger, which is in his mouth, freezes as he lets it fall to the table, his eyes meet Caspians whose still lying on the table, one eye open as he smiles. He does not reply, which prompts Caspian to sit up and stretch his arms. They sit in the back row of the room, so they can freely talk in a low tone to each other.

"I tried to stop you yesterday, let Will have his moment with Carl. They're a good match." Caspian yawns as he leans back in his chair, "You had your shot, Wheeler. Might need to rethink your life if you want to change it."

He looks away, maybe because he feels attacked. "You don't know me."

"Anyone with eyes can see that what you feel for Will isn't casual. Maybe you're actually the only one who doesn't realise it." Caspian turns his attention to his notes as he starts to actually listen to what Franz has to say. He grumbles to himself as he looks down into his notes. He writes down, 'Casual'. He then scribbles it out and turns a page. His head falls into his hands as he groans.

The clock ticks by as he tries his hardest not count the minutes passing by, as he tries his hardest to think about anything other than Will being in the same building right now, as he tries not chew his pen to oblivion. When the clock finally hits 12, he's up with his bag slung over his shoulder and already headed for the cafeteria. He can't focus on anything other than seeing Will, for all he knows, Carlton could have done terrible things to his friend. What if Will had been taken advantage of when he wasn't there? What if Carlton had hit Will?

His heart races as he runs to the cafeteria.

He halts at the entrance, looks around the room, and sees the groups of students, not seeing Will. That is, until his eyes see him sitting with Carlton. He lets out the sigh of relief he's been holding, and struts up to the table after he's taken a tray of whatever slop there is at this god-forsaken university.

"Oh, hey, Mike." Carlton greets him with a kind smile. Mike nods at him and turns his attention towards Will, who doesn't acknowledge him. It's Carlton who scoots over, so Mike has a chance to sit down. His eyes never leave Will, and he feels his heart race. The tray is still in his hands as he sits, and he only sets it down after a minute or so. He's never been this anxious, sitting in front of Will, and he feels the tension in the air as none of the three speaks. "So, Will-"

"Will." Mike interrupts Carlton, but he actually doesn't know what to say. His mouth feels dry like the desert, and he feels his hands tremble as he reaches for the apple bites on his tray, as he looks down and feels the shame fall to the bottom of his stomach. Will doesn't react; he doesn't even look at him.

Minutes pass by as neither of them speaks, as he feels the unease Carlton is feeling, also not daring to mutter a word. The loud surroundings of the others deafen him, and he feels his stomach flip whenever Will breathes. It's eventually Will who stands and leaves the two of them alone; he's headed out of the cafeteria.

"Hey, I don't know what happened between you two yesterday, but I know the sooner you make up, the better for both of you. He was miserable last night when he went home with me." Carlton says as he starts to leave. But Mike speaks up before he's gone.

"Is he happy?"

Carlton halts his actions and smiles, "I promise you I would never do anything to make him unhappy, I love him."

Mike swallows hard and looks down as Carlton makes his way to leave. I love him, booms in his head. Carlton loves Will. Will loved Mike. Mike. Mike can't say anything for sure right now. But he knows one thing. He can't lose Will.

So when he arrives home, in the apartment they share, he goes to Will's closed door that leads to his room. Stands there. And thinks. He starts pacing around in front of the door, his thumb in his mouth as he gnaws his nails away. What was he gonna say? He was gonna apologize, but he didn't feel like he did anything; he only said what he felt. He couldn't lose Will, but he also had no right to cling to him. And he knew that. He knew that. He stops his pacing as he hears movement behind the door.

"Mike, stop pacing and come in." With a shaking hand, he turns the knob and enters.

Will is painting, his back turned to him, as the window lets in the last rays of the sun that hit his canvas perfectly and frame Will in the rays, which make him look absolutely ethereal. Mike is blown away, and he swallows. "Whatcha painting?"

"Mike." Will's voice is cut and dry.

"Oh, right." He closes the door behind him and looks around a bit before his eyes land on Will, whose back is still turned against him. He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out shakily, "I feel as if I have to apologize for yesterday." Will, for the first time since yesterday, turns to him and looks him in the eyes, his arms crossed, he's listening, "And, I don't think I was fair. I don't think I acted out of jealousy—"

Will rolls his eyes, "There you go. Turning this into what it isn't."

"But!" Mike says, "I admit that I do care for you, probably more than normal, and I feel as if all this time I've known you, I've felt this otherworldly connection. And I don't want to lose you, and I feel as if you're trying to get as far away from me as possible when you said that you're moving out and in with Carlton."

"Carl. His name is Carl. And," Will closes his eyes and takes in everything Mike said, "Mike. You did this too when you and El just broke up, you got my hopes up, you were too kind and touchy, and I don't understand you. Those 18 months between the end, you made me feel like I had a chance. Then you took it all away, and it crushed me. You crushed me. So when you said you were considering NYU too, I became fearful. I was afraid that you wouldn't let me move on. Why are you doing this to me, Michael?"

Mike stands there, unmoving, voice unsteady, "You're the only one I do anything for."

Will is quiet before he silently shakes his head, "You have to stop."

"You're the reason I get out of bed, the reason I went to NYU, the reason I'm still here. You're the reason I still breathe. Even then, you still take my breath away." He takes a step closer.

Will steps back.

He keeps going, "Will, I don't know how to live without you, I don't think I could. You don't understand what I'm even going through. I have these terrible visions that you've been dead for years now, and you being with me is the only thing keeping me here. I know I can't keep you here, but I'm so scared, Will. I'm scared. Please, say you're real." He hasn't realised it yet, but he's crying. Streaks of tears run down his cheeks and onto the floor as he pleads. "Please."

There's an audible swallow from Will, "Mike…" When Will touches him, he falls into his arms, as he shakes, "Mike." Will's arms go around him as he sits down on the bed in his room, "I'm not going anywhere, just because I'm moving in with Carlton doesn't mean I won't still see you." A hand swipes away the hair from his face, "Geez, you have an iron grip on me, Wheeler. I'm real. I am here." Will gets quiet before he finally says, "You keep driving me in." Their eyes meet, "Sometimes you still give me hope."

Mike's eyes glance down at Will's lips for a hesitant second.

And in a heartbeat, he has closed the distance, in a desperate way to show Will what he's missing, in an attempt to say 'choose me'.

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"Get off me FAG!"

He's pushed to the ground, his cheek sore from where Caspian has hit him. Caspian gets on him and starts hitting him some more; he's never been the fittest, and so he takes it. He lets him get attacked; every hit is a reminder of what he did. Every hit he groans, and he's curled up into a ball when the hits finally stop. He hears Dr. Creel giving Caspian an earful.

"Caspian, you are going downstairs."

"But, he attacked me first! With his lips!" Caspian argues back as he's dragged away from Mike.

Dr. Creel kneels beside him as Mike uncurls and looks at Dr. Creel. "Michael? Did you kiss Caspian?"

"I kissed Will. Caspian was a casualty in the way. I didn't know he was there." Mike sits up as he looks around. People stand around and watch the two as he gets to his feet and heads for his room. "I need to get back to him."

It's only now that it hits him, he kissed Will. He (Michael Wheeler) kissed Will (William Byers). Why did he do that? Why? He might have been too desperate, and desperate times meant desperate measures. Something in him wanted Will to be with him, not with Carlton, and maybe he had achieved that? Will had to see how he wanted him, how he wanted him near him always.

"Michael." Dr. Creel stops him from entering his room, "I get that you're not in the right mind space right now, but I'll get you in a bit, and together we'll go down and apologize to Caspian." Mike closes the door behind him, seeing Dr. Creel's face disappear in the crack.

He tumbles to his bed, reaches for the binder near it, opens it, and spreads all the drawings across the bed. "Will." His eyes jump from drawing to drawing, scanning for anything. "Will, c'mon." And there it is, on a drawing with only the paladin, Mike; there's a heart drawn next to it. It's faded, almost as if Will had tried to erase the crayon again, but it's there, and he sees it. He isn't crazy; he knows Will loves him back, and even in this reality, he has loved him. Mike starts crying because what else can he do?

The tears don't stop, he is shaking, he is snotting, he does not look pretty. He keeps his tears from leaking onto the drawings and is physically seated against his bed frame to keep himself away.

The softness of Will's lips drifts into his mind; the force of his kiss reminded him of how Will never reciprocated it. He pushed him away, told him to get out, and he did. He ran like he had caught on fire, out into the streets, towards campus, and as he collapsed on the grass, he screamed. He yawped.

The wind blew cold against his frail body, and now in the confines of this room, he felt the chill again, shaking him, or was it his crying that shook him, that chilled him? He saw himself on the grass screaming, while also sobbing in his room. "Will." He mutters to himself, holds himself as no other has done in ages.

"Will." He closes his eyes in both realities and breathes. And grounds himself.

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"Will." He opens his eyes again and looks around at the campus where lights from the ground beam up as pillars at the building. Oh, he has to get back, he has to plead, and beg.

He gets to his feet, and starts walking back, starts jogging back, starts running, sprinting. Will. Will. All he thinks about is Will, and his heart beats faster, and he feels his head fog, and all he wants is to be with Will again. So he doesn't think, and he sprints back as fast as he can.

He was never much of an athlete, so it's no wonder running up 6 sets of stairs makes him dizzy and out of breath. His hands reach for the doorknob and turn it. He left the door unlocked, another thing he probably shouldn't have done, but he was kinda panicking at the time.

His eyes see Will sitting in their kitchen area with a glass of water, his head turns to Mike as he walks in, his breath is still staggered as he closes the door behind him and locks it. Click.

"Will," Mike says.

"Mike." Will echoes. He looks a mess. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hadn't stopped crying ever since Mike disappeared out of the door, "I—I didn't know if you would return."

His heart drops at that comment. He takes a step towards Will, his mouth opens, but no words come out, so it's Will who keeps talking.

"You ran. I know I said to get out, but that's because what you did hurt. You know how much I love you, and yet you keep breaking my heart like this. What do you want from me, Mike?" Will's bloodshot eyes meet his brown eyes, and his breath hitches. He stands, and he doesn't say anything, what can he say?

I can't live without you. I can't breathe without you. You're the only person who grounds me, who keeps me breathing. Without you, I'm lost. He can't say that. His eyes are on Will, silently pleading to please let it go, because what he wants to say, he can't.

"You're driving me insane." Will stands, "Good night." He walks to his room, and Mike doesn't stop him; he doesn't even try to call out his name. He watches as the door closes with a click, and he's left standing in the kitchen looking at the abandoned glass on the counter.

Mike walks to his own room, his eyes linger on the closed door before he finally walks into his own room and closes the door.

If he hears sniffles throughout the night, he ignores them. The pit in his stomach, the guilt, swallows him whole, until he finally falls asleep.

And once he wakes, he's alone in the apartment. It's Saturday. Still, he gets up, gets dressed, and heads out. No use in staying in if Will isn't here.

"Lucas?" He hears himself say, he's standing in a phone booth near campus, "It's been so long, I just thought I would call and—"

"What's going on with you and Will now?" He hears Lucas on the other end sigh.

He taps the end of the phone and bites his lip, "I—Nothing. Nothing. I wanted to call to make sure you're alive. Maybe we should all get together again soon."

"Once we're back in Hawkins for the Holidays, we'll meet up, that's what we planned, right? Mike, c'mon, don't be such a wuss and give me that nothing talk. Something is up for you to call me on a damn Saturday." Lucas says, "By the way, Max is here too." He hears a faint greeting on the other end.

"Say hi to her for me. Well. Can I ask you a question?" Mike finally says after he's decided that he really could need some advice from his friend.

"Anything if it gets you to talk." He can imagine Lucas rolling his eyes, so he sighs.

"How do you view us?"

"You and I?"

"Will and I." Mike closes his eyes, as if he could make the ground swallow him whole. The booth makes a sound, so he slides another coin into the slot to keep it going. "Well?"

Lucas has gotten the kind of quiet for when he's thinking, "Well. You two have always been closer than any of us in the group. I think I knew that even if I was the person you knew first, Will was your favorite. And you were his favorite, too. When you don't notice it, you two look at each other like I look at Max sometimes, and no, I'm not saying anything! Wheeler, stay focused!" Lucas yells at the other end, "I'm just saying that you have a certain LOOK that you give each other, and maybe it might look a little different from others' perspective. But you have always done it, so I think you two are used to it. You have made different normal. And I think that's where the danger is."

"Danger?"

"Well, if the cow is always aware it's gonna die, then what's the point of living? I'm saying! You two have gotten so used to dancing around each other that you don't notice what's been bubbling under the waters. You swim in the ocean, but have you ever considered the shark? The big dark thing that's about to get you both?" Mike shakes his head. What was the point of even calling Lucas when he was being so vague and mysterious? "Mike. You have always liked Will better than any of us, hell, even El. She knew too. DO WHAT YOU WANT WITH THAT INFORMATION." The line goes dead as a voice on the phone says his minutes are up. He scrambles for another coin, but he's out. He slams the phone into the booth and opens the door to get out.

"Shit." He considers everything Lucas said to him as he walks along the apartment buildings on his left. His hand runs through his hair as he lets out a breath he's been holding.

Everything from the past few days runs like a flock of gazelles across his mind. His hand raises to his lips as he remembers, and he feels so stupid for doing that, that stupid action. He might have ruined everything for the two of them, for them to ever move on from this. He made Will think he used him, that he only did that to mock his feelings, and that's the last thing he wanted to do. But why? Why did he do it?

Everything in him had screamed to do something, and he ended up near Will, right in front of him, lips pressed against each other, and it might have been for only a moment, but it felt like forever.

The worst part is that he would do it again if he could. Because it wasn't about making a statement, it was a need for him. Something repressed. Something hidden away that he finally felt like he could express. In all his life, he had that small thought. That small voice. That asked if he could actually live with Will forever. Asked if it would be okay to have Will and only Will in his life. To have him alone for his eyes only. He buried that thought until he thought he wouldn't have to think about it again. Still, in the deep nights, the thought would recur, and he would be left in the dark. His thoughts scattered, his hands wandered, his heart racing.

No one would understand how much he tried to bury this part of him. But before him was the truth, and even now he refused to see it, to look in its eyes. Because he knew. He knew. That what he felt for Will was different, that he, himself, was different. All his life, he had been someone else. Even Will, especially Will, didn't know about this. No one did. So, he walked around with it himself, inside him. Every time they called Will names, it felt like an attack on him, and every time he would hit them back, shout back. Hiding behind the idea that he was protecting Will, when in reality, he was protecting himself.

He wanted to be needed; he wanted to be the one protecting, but who would protect him?

In the end, he'd stand alone.

And he would falter.

He wasn't strong like Will; how he came to terms with himself was not something Mike could do. But he knew if someone could understand this, it would be him. It was—Will was the last person he wanted to talk to right now, which is why, in his endless walking down the street, he came across a cafe. There was a tiny, tiniest sticker sitting on the glass pane in the door. A hint of a rainbow, and he feels his heart start to race, and he looks inside, and it looks normal. But this small sticker makes the difference. He also sees there's graffiti on the glass.

He opens the door.

A fresh aroma hits his senses: coffee, cake, baked goods. He looks around as someone calls out, "Welcome!"

He nods in the direction of the counter, while taking in everything in this new cafe he's found. There are bookshelves, people are whispering to themselves, and there's an old guy in the corner who eats a Danish while he reads the newspaper. He walks up to the counter and skims the menu, "Wow, such a variety." The menu isn't big, but it's all frappes and lattes, and they're all named after the color wheel. "Why the names?"

The girl behind the counter smiles as she speaks, "Well, we are the Rainbow Cafe, so we thought the names were fitting." She continues to smile.

"I think someone has, uhm, put something on your shop." He motions to the glass. He sees her smile disappear, her facade gone. She sighs.

"Just some stupid university students trying to say that our cafe is inappropriate. Especially right now. They don't like our rainbow propaganda." She puts the last part in air quotations as a smile reappears on her face, "But, who cares. I certainly don't."

He nods, "So, is this like a—" He looks around, "A gay cafe?" The last part is quieter, like it's shameful to even say the words outloud.

"What are you gay?"

"No!" He's quick to defend himself; it's become a habit as of late. He hangs around Will and Caspian, so people usually assume he is as well, but no. How can he be gay? "No." He repeats quietly, almost to convince himself.

"Okay. Well, we are an lgbt friendly cafe. I mean, look at us, but we are still very much still a normally decorated cafe, and we include everyone, just not bigots and people who bring the mood down." She leans in closer, "But, I see you're not a bigot, so you're welcome. Do you want anything?"

He flushes as he looks at the menu again, "Uhm, a large Blue?"

"A large Blue it is!" She jots down his order as she walks to the coffee machine and starts pumping something from a bottle into his drink, hazelnut, he would guess. "A name for the handsome fella?"

"Uhm. Mike." He says as he looks around to find a place to sit down. "Mike is fine."

"Okay, Mike, it is." She writes down his name on the cup, even though he knows that he's the only customer who has ordered. He finds a chair and a table near the window, where he sees the graffiti. To vandalize a cafe, that's low. His fear starts creeping back as he remembers that he's different, how society treats people like him. How, if he doesn't conform, his life would be ruined. His dad would be furious. His mom in tears. He has something to live up to. But it kills him. Something in him dies every time he tries to be normal. And it drags him further down.

He stares into the napkin he grabbed from the counter, imagines a whole life in front of him. A life where he didn't have to conform, a life where he could be himself. Truly himself. A life where he had the guts to talk to Will, to converse with him. He feels himself slowly slipping away from him, and it pains him that he could do something, he could stop him, maybe not, but he could try. Why does he want to become a writer when he's so bad at expressing himself?

Losing Will here, too, in this reality, would drive him to insanity. And he's already insane in one reality; better not double it.

It scares him.

It does.

Every time he musters the courage to talk to Will, he backs out. Or lashes out, does something irrational like kissing him. He made everything worse, made it complicated. Will thinks he pities him, and he could not be more wrong, because if there's one person who deserves to be pitied, it's him. It's Mike Wheeler.

His time with El, he remembers it so clearly. How he felt. How he wanted to fit in. How that in it all, he imagined El as someone she wasn't, and when she clocked him, he turned it around on her. In the end, he couldn't keep up the facade he had put up. It crumbled. Turned to dust. And he was left standing, in the dust, at the end of it all. He felt hopeless, he felt weak, like his whole life had fallen apart. And even if he remained good, well, great friends with El, it had not been the same. It would never be the same again. He once again ruined something. That's all he does. Ruin.

"Mike, Large Blue!" He looks towards the counter, where the girl stands holding his coffee.

He stands and walks over, "Thanks." He grabs the drink, and the girl turns to clean up the machine, but he calls out, "What's your name?"

She turns and smiles, "Erin."

"Erin… Can I ask you something? It might be personal." He shifts his weight on his right foot as he stands with the hot coffee in one hand, and he sets it down on the counter.

She nods, so he gathers his strength.

"What is LGBT?"

She lets out a small laugh, which makes him wonder if he said something offensive, but she brushes it off, "It stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transsexual. Otherwise known as Transgender."

He wraps his brain around these terms; of course, he's heard about them, but hearing someone talk about these terms so loud and clear calms something in him. "Are you?—"

"Bisexual, yes," Erin says with a similar smile. "Which means—" She continues when she notices his confusion, "Liking both genders or more genders. I'm attracted to both guys and girls. Now enough about me, what about you? You said you weren't gay, so you're?" She asks.

He hesitates, "I don't know." He admits, "I don't know what I should be."

She leans in, "That's totally fine, no one should rush you to figure out anything. Do you have eyes for someone?"

Again, he hesitates before he sighs, "My best friend." Then he hurries out, "But, I don't know, maybe it's because we spend so much time together."

She clicks with her tongue against the roof of her mouth so it's audible, "You're making excuses now, Mike. Well, have you two known each other for a long time? I guess that maybe you've always known exactly what you are, and if you sit in the soup too long, you know what they say." What? He shakes his head and continues to listen, "I mean, I don't want to intrude, but what do you feel? For them, I mean."

The light in here feels too bright. He's aware of his heartbeat as it thuds away, he feels himself fidget with the hem of his shirt, and he looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights, "Uhm. I don't know."

"C'mon. You must know!"

Someone exits the cafe, with a bell sound, and they're gone. His breath is unsteady. "I guess, I—I—" He looks around, his shirt feels too tight, the turtleneck around his neck feels like it's choking him, his heart races, his hands sweat, his eyes feel desperately too dry, he chokes on the air around them. "I don't know. I don't know." He knocks over the coffee on the table, "I don't know."

Think Michael. He can't. He can't admit it.

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A knock on the door rips him out. He looks towards it, then down at the drawings spread out across his bed. He puts them away as he gets out of his bed and heads towards the door, opening it to find a familiar and welcome face. "Lucas."

"Mike!" Lucas greets him like he hasn't been admitted to Pennhurst for half a decade. "How are you?"

"Fine?" He says, "Aren't you in—"

"Bowdoin, yes. But I had to come see you, it's the holidays, so I'm home in Hawkins. I guess you didn't know? Well, they're releasing you for the holidays, right? You'll be home for Christmas?" Lucas has this hope in his eyes, this weird thing that he always has when Mike gets released for Christmas. And maybe he should have hope, because this isn't only a release, it's a test to see how well fitted Mike could be in society again. But Mike knows, he knows that they won't let him go.

Mike invites Lucas into his square room that doesn't offer much. "How's everyone? Max?"

Max was a girl he met right before he got admitted to Pennhurst. She only knew him after everything, and in his mind, he couldn't remember how she really got into the party, but she was a part of it. She was close with Lucas, and eventually the two of them got together. Then. Vecna, he got her, and she was put in a coma for a long time, until she miraculously woke up. If he remembered correctly, it was the song that made her run out of Vecna's mind, and back to them, back to Lucas.

"She's good, she's really good. You two never grew that close, so I didn't want to overwhelm you by bringing her here." There it was, the pity. "Both Dustin and I agreed to come visit your family, so be prepared, Wheeler, we'll kick your ass in some video games. Can you still DM? I mean, not that I don't think you can, but—" Lucas cuts himself off, "Nevermind, you don't have to."

"What about El?"

A silence falls between them. Lucas looks distant, then he puts on a smile, the one he puts on when he lies, "She can't make it."

"Oh, okay."

Suddenly, he knows Lucas is all too aware of where he is. Of where Mike is. That he's not in his "right mind", that he's not "the same". Lucas speaks up, "But, Max is coming. I hope that's okay."

"Cool." He says, already trying to avoid this topic.

"How's uh—" Lucas bites down on his tongue as he asks, "How's Will?" He looks like he wants to avoid the question altogether, but it's the only topic that he knows Mike is interested in, and Mike is all for it.

So, he sits up, "I actually." He clears his throat, "Lucas, I think I messed everything up between us." The words are on his tongue, but he feels like he has to force them out still, "I—" Lucas has been his friend for as long as he remembers, and if there would be anyone he would tell this to, other than Will, it would be Lucas, "I kissed him." He can't look Lucas in the eyes as he says it; he can't see how Lucas reacts to this.

A hand is laid on his shoulder, "Mike. I think I've known that you were— y'know, for a long time." It's soft and calm. And Mike shakes his head, but Lucas keeps going, "Even before that, before Will—" He holds a pause,"—disappeared." He chooses his words carefully, jumping around everything to fit into Mike's narrative, "I knew that you two were closer, I could see it. I believe that everyone could, and then you took it the hardest, and I think at that point I knew. How much he meant to you. How much more he meant for you than he did for me. And he was my friend too, but what you had was special. I think that you're realizing this now, not because you want to, but because you need to." To move on. It was unsaid, but he could hear it loud and clear.

Why should he move on when Will was right there? When he could reach out and touch him.

But he didn't say that, because he knew what Lucas thought of him. So he nodded, "Yeah. I might have been—" He bites his lip, and lets go with a soft 'shurp' sound, "I might love him." He forcefully inhales and holds it. "I love him." He whispers. And it's now, he admits it, it's now that everything opens up inside him. He takes his finger in his mouth and bites his nail as he looks at Lucas, "I can't—You can't say that to anyone."

Lucas nods, "Of course not."

Lucas would never betray his trust. "How did you figure out… With Max? That you liked her."

He watches the other's smile reappear on his face. Lucas sits down on the chair in front of his bed, and Mike sits down on his bed. "We clicked. She had a shitty family, and I didn't, but I could understand her. I listened to her. And I fell. She was the one who was there for me when Will…" He looks away. "Mike, it's not too late to get better. We all want you back on your feet, and everyone needs you, Mike. Dustin and I, we never really spoke to each other throughout high school. I did basketball, he kept to himself doing DnD, and I wanted. I wanted to play too, but I was torn. Dustin saw it as a betrayal, and I guess it was in a way. But I needed to keep moving, I needed to keep being active. Maybe it was my way of escapism? I missed you throughout all of school, but I couldn't let it show. Rumours flew about—about you. Mike Crazeler, that's what they called you. Psycho Mike-o. I blocked it all out. I felt ashamed. And then I felt guilty about feeling ashamed." Mike watches as a tear falls down Lucas' face, "I just needed my friend back. And I couldn't even do that."

Mike can't help but feel the shame fill him up until there's nothing left of him. Shame that he can't bring Lucas with him to the other reality, shame that he can't be here and comfort him. "Lucas, he's still alive. He's okay, I'm okay. Yeah?" Mike tries to be reassuring, but he can tell that it doesn't work.

"Yeah." Lucas echoes, but he doesn't believe him. He doesn't think Lucas believes himself either, but that's the way it's been for the past 6 years. "Yeah." He repeats to believe it himself. Mike nods along, looks away, "Hey, Mike?"

He looks back. "Yeah?"

Lucas opens his mouth, but closes it again, "Uhm. Nevermind." There's a certain silence that drapes over the room like a blanket, before Lucas breaks it, "The rumors. At first, I defended you against them. I told them that it wasn't like that. But it's true. I can't lie like that, so I stopped. I stopped trying to defend you over time. I hoped that one day I could leave it all behind me, leave you behind. And, Mike. I'm so sorry for ever thinking that. You're one of my best friends. How could I do that? How could I ever leave you behind?" Lucas' lips waver, and he hears his breath hitch as he holds back a sob, and Mike can't help but feel helpless. He moves over to lay a hand on the other's thigh. Lucas shakes his head, "Please forgive me."

The silence is deafening, but Mike shakes his head, "You don't have to apologize. I don't care what the hell they call me, psycho Mike-o? I'll reclaim it, I'll make a campaign where I am psycho Mike-o, a bard who drinks too much and curses like a sailor." Lucas laughs at that, with tears in his eyes. "Lucas, I—I want you to believe me when I say I'm fine. That once this veil of Illusory Reality magic is gone, you will finally see the truth. But until then, I'm stuck. And, the only thing I would want is for my friends to be by my side."

Lucas smile disappears, "Mike. I don't think I can take that anymore. Okay." He stands and turns around to face the door, before turning around again. There's a shake in his voice, "May-Maybe you need the harsh truth. Maybe that will snap you out." He watches Lucas swallow, "Will is gone, Mike. He's dead! He's been dead for almost a decade now, and he isn't coming back. Your doctor only wants the best for you. Vecna has never been real, and the only one who is still holed up is you. And god dammit! I want you back with us! Can you please just drop it? Look reality in the fucking eyes and realise that he's never coming back. He's DEAD!"

Throughout the course, Mike has started sobbing. He's shaking his head, his whole body is shaking, and he keeps saying, "No." Until he yells, "NO!" when Lucas finishes his sentence. "NO! NO! NO! SHUT UP!" Lucas tries to walk over to him, but he lashes out and punches him in the stomach. Someone rushes into the room, having heard the commotion, and gets Lucas out of the room, while another person holds Mike down to the ground, and sobs rip out of him uncontrollably. "He's alive. He's alive. He's alive." He chants while the cold floor makes him aware of his uneven breathing.

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It's 2 PM on a Sunday. He heard Will come back at Midnight, and he's stayed in his room since then. Mike thought that maybe he should stay in his room too, so when he woke up at 9 AM, he stayed put. Pulled out some comics, read until he fell asleep, and then now, has woken up at 2 PM. It's a mystery if Will has walked out of the apartment again. How long will he avoid Mike? Until he's moved out? He saw some boxes when he came home from the cafe trip yesterday, and he's sure it's for packing his things away.

He decides that while he really does want to hole up, especially after his fight with Lucas before this, he still feels the hunger take root in him. In his underwear and his tank top, he gets up, walks over to the door, takes a deep breath, and opens it.

The light from the living area blinds him for a second as he steps outside his room. Then his eyes adjusts and he looks into the kitchen area, at Will, who stands at the counter and is eating some salad left overs. Their eyes meet, and he sees the surprise on the other's face before it dulls, and he looks away from Mike. His eyes are still locked on the other; he can't help it.

"Good morning." He says, trying to be nonchalant, but he feels his heart speed up, and he rubs his hands against his sides to wipe off sweat. "Will."

Will doesn't say anything, moves to get out of the kitchen, and heads for his room. Mike almost tumbles over his own feet trying to get to Will. He janks his foot between the door and curses when the door is slammed against his foot, "Mike, what the hell?" It's the first words Will says to him after a whole day of not seeing each other.

"I want to apologize."

Will rolls with his eyes, "Get your foot away from my door."

"No! Will, you have to listen to me." He hurries as he looks at the other intensely. "Can I come in?"

With a sigh, the door opens, and he ignores the pain in his foot as he trots inside. The last time he was in here, he kissed Will, and he can't really promise anyone he won't do it again. "You have 5 minutes." Will stands by the door with crossed arms. "You humiliated me, so yeah, I'm kinda pissed."

The back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, and he sits down. He knows he shouldn't get too comfortable, but he needs to ground himself, and he might as well sit down.

"So." He starts, "Will, I haven't told you this because I was afraid. I was afraid you'd look at me differently, afraid that you wouldn't want to be in my life anymore, and it's been with me for most of my life, and I know that you will understand, but it's hard. It's hard to get it out, y'know?" He stalls because even though he wants to say it, it's something that's been an unspoken rule not talk about. "And, even if you don't understand, I need you to promise me you won't leave."

Will looks at him with softer eyes, "Of course I won't."

Mike shifts on the bed, "Do you remember the last time I was here? In this room?"

He watches Will avert his eyes, "How could I forget…"

"Well." He tries to catch Will's eyes again, and he does, so he continues, "I said that I couldn't lose you, that I didn't want you to leave me. And I mean it, you don't know how much I mean that." Mike swallows, but keeps looking at the other, "I lost you, Will. And I don't want to alarm you, I really don't. But, Vecna. I think he put a spell over me, split me in two, somehow. Illusory Reality is what I think he put over me, because in this reality he created that I live in, he killed you. And that's the worst thing he knows he could do to me. So, I'm between worlds, Will. And I'm so scared you'll leave me here, just like in the other reality. And they all call me crazy for believing this; they put me in Pennhurst." He says with disgust, "That's why I needed you to say that you're real, because I'm honestly sometimes confused about what's real and what's not, and I have to know that you're actually here." He pauses, before, in a low voice, pleads:

"Please."

Will stands in front of him, unmoving, "Vecna? Mike, he's dead."

Mike stands too, "I know! I know, but maybe some of his magic is still present, because I don't know what else it could be! I can't. I can't take the other option, that Lucas, my mom, and everyone are right."

"Okay." Will nods, "Okay, I believe you." He steps closer to him, but doesn't reach out, "I'll try to reach out to El, maybe she knows how to fix this. But, Mike?" Mike looks at him. "This doesn't mean I'm not moving out. And just because I'm moving out doesn't mean I still won't be in your life. You'll always have me. I'm present. I'm here. I'm here for you."

Mike shakes his head, "I need you to prove that you're here. I want to believe, but every time they tell me I'm wrong, they try to get into my head. They're splitting me apart, they're drugging me, it's torture. I know what's real, I know you are, but at the same time, I can't be sure." Mike looks at Will, "I'm sorry."

Will finally reaches out and grabs his hand, holding it, and then looks from their hands to his eyes, "Do you remember when you held my hand like this whenever I was anxious? I never said that I was, but you could feel it. It's so long ago now, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. All those times you held my hand, I allowed myself to breathe. I looked up to you, Mike. You were more than light, more than anything. You were my everything." Will's thumb slides over his knuckles, "You calmed me down. You held my hand, and so I was never afraid when I was with you."

His eyes never leave the others, his hand limp in the other's grip, "Will. I don't know what to do."

"You don't have to do anything. Do you want to see a doctor about this?"

Something in him withers away, and a dark aura falls over him, "You don't really believe me. You want me to go to the doctors, too. Well, they won't help. How could they help with my condition? It's supernatural, it's—Will, I KNOW it's him." He begs, but he can see Will is doubtful.

"No, I believe you, Mike. I believe what you see is what you think is real." Will squeezes his hand, "Okay, let's think about it for a second. I'm dead? Okay, well, I don't feel dead. I actually feel alive, and I am breathing, and I am walking, and I'm here. Isn't that proof enough?" Will let go of his hand, "Mike. If I weren't here, and I was a figment of your imagination, then why go through hell? Was our entire life—these past years—all for nothing? We fought monsters, saved humanity, just to go to university?"

Will made a lot of sense, and he wants to believe him, but he can see past the veil at the drawings that are lying on his bed. He had kept missing dinners so much that it was delivered to his room, where he ate in peace.

"Mike?" Will asks.

He snaps back to this reality, "Yeah, yeah. You're right. Just don't take me to see someone, I only want you to know about this." He scratches his nose and looks away.

"Of course." Will's arms are by his side. He stands around and sighs, "I'm moving next weekend, our lease is up at the end of the month, so you should probably look into getting a smaller apartment. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I don't know. I feel like that's the only thing I can be around you." It hits Mike harsher than intended, but he's not wrong. Will gets quiet; he looks awkward as they both stare into space, trying not to talk about that.

It's Mike who breaks the silence, "I found a good cafe down the street, uhm… The Rainbow Cafe? Maybe we should go someday? I don't feel like we hang out that much, just us two. We're both busy with classes, and you have Carlton-"

"Carl."

"And I don't know." Mike finishes.

"I know about The Rainbow. I'm surprised you know about it." He watches as Will raises an eyebrow, "You talked to Erin?"

Mike stumps, "Uh, yeah. She, uh- She talked to me."

A smile breaks out on Will's face, and he chuckles at what Mike can only think is an inside joke. He feels left out, as something in him twists. "Don't mind her. She gets in everyone's business."

It's like everything comes back to him, in one rush of motion. The talk with Lucas, both of them, and the talk with Erin. And he feels like he can't breathe, no, he can't breathe. He can't. "Mike?" He falls to his hands and knees as he coughs, as the tears well up in his eyes. Because he knows what he is finally.

And he's scared.

"I think I've known that you were— y'know, for a long time."

"C'mon. You must know!"

Will's eyes that always shine in the moonlight as well as in the sun. His wandering eyes whenever they were at the Quarry, his lingering touches whenever he thought no one would notice. His racing heart, his sweaty palms, his upturned smiles. His heavy breaths.

…Mike Wheeler was queer.

Mike Wheeler was gay for his best friend.

"Mike? Talk to me."

He kissed him, not only out of desperation for him to stay, but also a yell to get out of himself. Because he wanted to kiss Will again. And he wanted to kiss him again, and again. And he wanted to hold his hand and get married. He wanted Will in every way, and that was the danger. The danger of love.

This love was forbidden.

When he grew up, he was told that queerness shouldn't be practiced. At least that was his father's opinion; his mother was more open, but she still tried to conform. His father never liked it when he had Will over to play; that's why they would often play in the forest or at the park. They would sneak down into his basement and play all night, then snuggle up at night. And he would get as close to Will as possible, holding him under the covers, not thinking about the implications.

But there were implications.

When they grew up, they found out how people viewed a friendship such as theirs. They were too close, they were too young, they were too gay for society. And at such a young age, it hit him the hardest, so he toned it down, he stopped holding Will's hand in school, he stopped smiling, he stopped being what made him the happiest. But nothing could make him stop caring for Will. In his heart, he knew who he prioritized over anyone else.

But then she came along. El. She turned his life upside down in every possible way, and suddenly, he had a chance at a normal life. And sure, he might not liked her to start with, and he might have mistaken her for a boy, but when all came to it, she was a girl. And that's how he got his first girlfriend. Everyone around him agreed that he must like her, that he must want her, that he must love her. He cared about her. He really did. They got into his head that she was the one for him. So, he believed them. He kissed her; that's what he saw Nancy do to her boyfriends, so he did the same. And… nothing. There were no sparks, no fireworks, no anticipation, no reciprocation, nothing. It was dry, it was quick, it was the most awkward thing he had ever done.

So he did it again once he was reunited with her. A lot. Because maybe the next time it would be better, or if he did it enough, he would finally feel something. Suppose he did it harder, better, faster, slower. Nothing worked, but he did get better at it. It felt like rubbing two pieces of paper together, and nothing was exciting about it.

Once she moved away to California, everything felt easier. He would write one or two letters a month and send them. Eyeing the unsent letters, he hesitated to send them along to Will. In the end, he couldn't send them, and he hid them away in a box.

In a way, that's what he was best at. Hiding away. Putting stuff in a box. That's what he did without thought, like a bird flying south, unable to think about why; it's all instinct. So when he buried it, he did it without thinking, because that's what he was always told to do.

Opening up this part of himself was never an option. He never even thought about it for the first 19 years of his life. Because it was a life he couldn't live. Had they always known about this? Well, he knew Will didn't know, but everyone else? Was that why his father always talked down to him, and his mother wanted to support him in every way? Was that why Lonnie used to call them both queer and rip Will away from Mike every given chance?

Yes. He now knew everything. He had missed his opportunity at happiness with Will. He had loved him; he was over him. But, for Mike, it had only begun. This was the start of it all, and also the end.

He had loved Will from the very beginning, and Will had loved him.

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The holidays were here. His mom had come to get him from Pennhurst and had taken some of his old, newish clothes with her, so he wouldn't have to wear the standard clothes from Pennhurst when the family got together. It was a blue sweater and some dark jeans. He was sitting on his old bed in his old bedroom. He knew that his father slept in here whenever his parents argued; he could smell him on the bedsheets. This wasn't his house anymore, and he knew it; he felt it.

If he got out of Pennhurst, he would have a lot to catch up on. And he would end up getting a shitty job that he hated. Due to not being able to go to high school and due to his conditions, he wouldn't be accepted everywhere. There were limited places that people like him ended up. He was trapped.

He had to get out of here.

"Mike! Dustin, Max, and Lucas are here!" But someone was missing.

He stands from where he is sitting, and tugs at the collar of his sweater; he isn't used to wool. Still, he keeps moving forward, grabs the frame of his door, and walks down the stairs, where he can hear his friends chatting amongst themselves. When they see him, they smile, and he must be a sight for sore eyes because they all rush to him. Well, everyone except for Lucas. And he knows why.

"How are you?" Dustin asks, "Are you taller? You are, man, what do they feed you?" A laugh, as Mike's eyes drift to Lucas, who waves. It reminds him of his sister so much, the way everyone eventually distances themselves from him. When they finally know how he is. His eyes meet Dustin's.

"Nah, I think you've shrunk since last time." He smiles, "Henderson."

"Wheeler." Dustin grabs him and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. "God, I've missed you."

Mike huffs, "Likewise."

Everyone is quiet for a while, but it's Max who breaks the silence, "Hello, Mike."

Mike looks at her, "Hey." He finally lets go of Dustin, who unwraps his arms from him.

"Good to see you alive." It's a remark for sure. Because, is he really alive when he lives a whole other life that they're not a part of, at least they're not them in the other world. If he could somehow merge the two worlds… That's crazy talk.

"Uh, yeah, I am." He averts his eyes, "Still here."

They make their way down to his basement, which smells different from how he remembers, but everything down there looks the same, except for a few boxes that he doesn't recognize. Yeah, they kept storage down here. Ever since he was admitted to Pennhurst, he, of course, didn't use the basement, and having a room catching dust wasn't something his parents wanted. Turning it into storage was something he had predicted would happen. The table and chairs are still there, sitting in the middle of it all. It looks like his mother has dusted it off recently, knowing he would be home.

When his ass hits the chair, he realises how quiet everyone has gotten. Lucas is avoiding looking at him, and he knows he should corner him to apologize, but something in him doesn't want to apologize. Putting his ego to the side, he knows that to keep Lucas in his life, he needs to come clean. "Hey, Lucas?" He asks.

Lucas nods towards him. "Yeah?"

"Mind helping me get some dice from my room? I think they're somewhere up there." He stands. Lucas sighs and stands too, looking like he'd rather do anything else, but goes along with it. Something in the way Lucas walks towards him makes Mike think that Lucas is slightly afraid of him, and it crushes him inside. "It won't take long." He assures the rest of the party as the two of them head upstairs.

Lucas follows behind him at a distance, and Mike can't help but rub his hands together in an attempt to calm himself down. His knuckles crack under the pressure, and he rolls his shoulders back as he stands in front of his old room. He catches a glance behind him at Lucas, who has made his way up the stairs, and then looks back at his door and opens it.

His hands shake as he steps inside, with Lucas behind him, who closes the door. He probably realised what this was about ever since Mike asked him to join him in the "search for the dice". He turns around, "I know I was a jerk at Pennhurst, and I am so grateful that you even visit me, because not a lot of people still do that. And I was an asshole, alright? I punched you, and that wasn't okay. And, I really appreciate you as a friend, and if I lost you over this, I wouldn't ever forgive myself. So, what I'm trying to say is," Mike looks at the other, "I'm sorry."

Lucas clicks his tongue, and a slow smile spreads across his face, "Honestly, I deserved that punch. I was a jerk, too. I pushed your buttons when I knew how you are, how you felt. That wasn't very nice of me, and I miss you, man. You, being at Pennhurst, and I and the rest of the party being in school, it was tough, man. These past years, the only thing I've done is worry about you. And I guess I snapped? I lashed out because I needed someone to blame, because I moved on, and seeing you—it just made me sad. You being stuck there, I have always wanted to help you, but I felt useless. I can't help you, and it builds up in me, because all I want is to help." He moves over to Mike, "All I want is for you to come back to us."

"You know I can't do that," Mike says with a sad smile. And Lucas nods as he wipes away the tears in his eyes. "You're one of my closest friends, Lucas. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't ever lose me, Wheeler."

It's Lucas who pulls him in for a hug, and his arms go around the other, holding him tightly. "Thank you."

When they eventually do head back down to the others, it's with a more relaxed posture than when they headed up, and everyone eventually starts to talk and have a better time than when they arrived. They never ask about his time at Pennhurst, and he keeps his own thoughts to himself about Will. If they believe Will is dead, he won't bother them about it even if he knows for a fact that he's alive.

"The curse of the laughter is finally over, and you're ready for the next adventure, but there's one person who wants to join you." He puts a small figure down on the board, "Old man Earl, who has helped you gather ressources asks to join the crew, what do you say?"

"Guys, we can't have him on the crew; his drinks are very smelly, and I think I tasted fungus last time I had a drink from him," Dustin says.

Max stands up, "Let him come!"

"I say let him on, we need an old man on the ship," Lucas says, agreeing with Max for once in this campaign.

"Seems like I'm outnumbered, let the foot guy on the ship then," Dustin says and falls back in his seat. "Foot guy."

Lucas laughs, which makes them all laugh.

In his best old man voice, Mike says, "Thank you for having me on. I promise my juice will bring you all energy when needed. I can also man the kitchen."

"Don't let that guy near a kitchen, please," Dustin begs, but his smile is still prominent on his face.

So as the crew slowly drifts back to sleep on the ship, headed for a new adventure, his mom calls from the top of the stairs that dinner is ready. And for the first time in ages, he feels like everything is fine. Maybe it's the medicine that's actually helping for once, but he doubts it. It's 2 pills he takes every morning, and while he's at home, he's forced to take them. His mom keeps a close eye on it.

On the way up the stairs, he halts for a moment on the last step up. He takes a hand to his head and breathes. This is the side effects of it, the headaches, the beating of the headache deep inside his head. It only worsens, and there's nothing he can do about it. And, he hasn't seen Will all day, and it worries him. This is the panic setting in.

"Mike?" Lucas, who made it up, looks back at him, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." He looks up and starts walking again, "Yeah."

Lucas doesn't look like he believes him, but he lets it go and heads over to the living room, where his mom has set up the table for his friends. Mike is slightly behind, and this numbness starts to take place in him, that he doesn't feel like he belongs, that he knows this isn't real, and now he's indulging in this small, sad fantasy instead of being with Will. And what if he's now locked out of the other reality completely, because he can't see Will anymore, and it scares him. What if he has lost Will?

Sitting at the table, he doesn't touch the food on his plate, he doesn't even speak to anyone for the entire meal, and all he thinks about is. I lost him. I lost him. I lost him. And he tries his hardest not to break down in front of everybody.

Someone knocks their foot against his, and he looks to his side, "Hey, you haven't touched your food at all." Dustin's kind voice finds its way to get him out of his head, and he looks at his plate at the amount of food there.

"I'm not hungry." It's not true, he has looked forward to this meal since last year. It's not every day he gets a home-cooked meal that's actually warm and not lukewarm. But this nagging feeling of not belonging punches him out of it, and it takes over him and wrestles him to the ground. And he's left like a shell without its yolk.

"Alright." Dustin sighs as he goes back to the conversation he has with Lucas. He feels his mom's watchful eyes on him from where she stands in the kitchen. He grabs his fork and drags it through the gravy and looks up to find his mother's eyes. She's worried. All he can think is: I lost him.

It's been over 24 hours since he last saw Will. Since he last had him in front of him, and he's in his bed, in his old room. He feels cold to the core, but he knows that the heater is on, that even if it's late in December, he's warmed up. Yet, all he can do is shake under his covers. He feels restless, he feels like he could run a marathon, and his heart can't seem to calm down. He wants to cry.

He waits for the pills to get out of his system, but that's another 65 hours, and that means he will have to take the pills in the morning, resetting the time. It itches everywhere, and he knows that he can't take them, he can't. They need to go away; he needs to see Will again, he can't lose him. He can't be stuck in this reality, where Vecna is his doctor, feeding him delusions. He plans to keep Mike grounded to this plane of reality, keep him in check, keep him in Pennhurst, where he can torture him for all eternity. His family wants him there as well; they're all lost. The only person he can trust is Will. And right now, to get to him, he needs to find a way not to take his pills.

He was so close to finally telling him. To hold him. It must be Tuesday in the other world, which meant he had until Friday to get back there or else Will was gone for good.

Mike turns over on his bed, his heart beats away, his hands are sweaty, and he throws the covers off him. The sweat drips down from his forehead, and he sits up and looks out of the window at the full moon. He must get back to Will.

"Take your meds, sweetheart." His mom says from behind the bathroom door.

He stands with the pills in his hand, a cup in his other, and he is shaking. He's torn. He shouldn't be, he doesn't want this, he doesn't need this. But he knows. He knows the withdrawal is terrible. It was the time he strangled Dr. Creel, the time he spent down in the cellar. The time he hit his head against the wall until he was bleeding, and he tried to—No. He could handle it this time. He knew he could.

The toilet flushes as he pours the water from the cup down the drain and steps out of the bathroom.

"Did you take them?" His mom asks; she has been waiting outside the bathroom. He looks at her and nods, "Good." She sighs, "Michael, I don't want to see you in pain."

Ironic. Because he feels like shit whenever he's on the pills. And he knows he's doomed himself, but it will be worth it to see Will again. He needs to see him again. Needs to know he's okay.

He cracks his fingers and heads downstairs for breakfast. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and so he'll be here for at least 2 days before he's sent back to Pennhurst. He doesn't want to face Caspian again, after his—incident—where he "attacked" him, he's had his eyes on Mike. He knows that Caspian wants revenge, knows that he will get it somehow. Whether his food would be poisoned, or Caspian would find a way to beat him up in the bathroom. He would find a way. And Mike would be ready.

His fork scrapes against his plate until his mother breaks the silence, "Holly, can you put the book away?" His eyes gaze at Holly, who rolls her eyes as she puts her book down on the table and grabs her spoon to eat her cereal. In front of him are the leftovers of his plate from last night; his mother convinced him to save it and eat it in the morning. The truth is, he feels like throwing up looking at this food in front of him. The lights are too bright, and the radio's static irritates his ears, and the chewing from his father. God, the awkwardness in the air.

He can feel the questions they want to ask him, the worry in their eyes, the pity. He wants to disappear.

I lost him, repeats in his head the entire breakfast. He manages to eat half of what's on his plate. Nancy leaves the table at one point and says she's headed to the Byers residence. The two families have spent Christmas together ever since Will—ever since then. Joyce and Jonathan would bring some food along with presents, and Mike, having no money, would feel guilty for never being able to buy the presents that he so desperately wanted to give out.

He and Joyce bonded at the start of it all, when he wasn't at Pennhurst yet, and she was there to comfort him at the funeral. It was at a time when they hadn't found him yet, and then it went to hell when he tried to convince her that it wasn't Will's body at the Quarry. It blurred together, but his mind had started clearing up, and he remembers her trying to console him and holding him while he cried and begged her to believe him. He looked for months, and then months turned to a year. And the funeral was long past him, but he didn't give up. And he skipped classes to walk in the forest. His parents got involved when the principal called them in. And he admitted that Will was still out there, which then turned into long hours at the doctors were they diagnosed him schizophrenic. He knew he wasn't that.

Not long after that, he was admitted to Pennhurst, where they were gonna help him. At the time, he was between worlds, having found Will again, he never left his side while Will was in the lab. He couldn't leave his side; he was so scared of losing him again. And everyone was mourning Will in the other world, and he knew that Will was there, but he couldn't say it.

At first, he didn't know what to believe: the truth that Will had died, or that he was still alive. In one world, they were surrounded by the death of Will Byers, and in another, he was there, he was alive. And sure, the world may not be the best one; there were demo gorgons and demo dogs, tunnels, and a big scary monster. But at least Will was alive. He was alive. And that was all Mike needed to believe.

So as he got treatment in one world, he kept fighting monsters in the other; he held a grudge against his doctor, and when he finally uncovered who he really was, he refused to take his medicine, he refused to comply. And then. Then he got the courage to fight back. To get out of this prison that held him, this medicine meant to keep him here, this facility meant to imprison him.

The cellar was cold. It was dark, a faulty lamp flickering, a hard bed, and a toilet behind a wall. He was monitored, he was watched. For a week, this went on, for a week, they drugged him. During the time down there, he couldn't think, he was restless, he felt weak, and he felt humiliated.

During the next 2 days, he acts normally. He keeps his mouth shut, he doesn't talk about Will, and his family seems relaxed for once around him. Nancy talks to him, and even Jonathan smiles. Joyce is talking with his mother, and his father is in his La-Z-boy chair. It feels familiar for once. He can feel the medicine dozing off slowly, like an itch begging to be scratched,

So when he's finally back in the white room, he sits on the bed for hours until he finally reaches out for the binder beside him. He caresses it, takes it close to him, "Will, please come back to me."

In his hand is the one thing he was allowed to take with him from his home, the present from his parents, a fountain pen that is embedded with gold. It's something he has wished for since he first saw it in a magazine here at Pennhurst.

The drawings are still there, and he preserves them as well as he can; he can see the tear stains on some of them.

Then he spreads the drawings out, and his heart stops for a moment.

No.

On the drawings, there's someone who has scribbled over all the drawings with a Sharpie. No. He doesn't believe this. No. No.

With a shaking hand, he reaches out and touches them, and then he falls on his bed, hunched over himself, legs tucked under him as a sob tears through him. No.

His world is falling apart, and all he wants is to yell at someone. And he knows who did it. He knows. HE KNOWS.

The door almost rips off its hinges the way he slings the heavy door open, and trots down the hallway. "Michael, you need to be in your room." He hears someone say from behind him, but he finds the door he's looking for and turns the knob in haste.

Once inside, his head snaps to the person in the bed, snoring. And all he can feel is this grief tearing through him, this voice in him saying that he won't ever see Will again, mocking, insulting. And he almost falls on the way over to the bed as he gets in it, and he feels his hands grasp around this other person's neck. And he feels the hitch in their breath as they wake up and try to get him off.

"Mike?! Get the hell off me!" Caspian gasps under him. With a harsh push, he falls back onto the floor, "Oh, you'll pay, Wheeler!" Caspian almost jumps down over him as the first punch lands on his cheek. Tears stain them. Through his voice, something between the line of a sob and a roar blurts out of him.

"You ruined everything!" He shouts.

"You gave me the gay virus!" Caspian retorts back at him, as another punch lands on him. He feels the blood drip down onto the floor; his nose is definitely broken. "You don't even need to be here, you're just a sad, pathetic loser who can't get over his play date boyfriend from kindergarten! Boo fucking hoo! Well, riddle me this: why hasn't he come save you? Maybe, you need to realise that you're actually mental and insane and he'll never be here, because that bitch is—"

He doesn't hear the rest of the sentence, because blood pours from where the fountain pen has made its way into the other's neck. Caspian falls backwards, against the bed, as he looks at Mike with such anger that Mike scatters backwards, as he feels his entire body shaking. What has he done?

Someone opens the door and runs to him, and the last thing he hears is, "Oh my god," before he feels the sharp pinch of a needle in his neck.

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He wakes up with a gasp. He's in the white room again, he tries to stand, but something is attacthed to his arm. Someone talks, and finally, he feels at home, "Mike?"

Will walks up beside him, from where he had been sitting, falling asleep, "Oh my god, you're okay. You fainted a few days ago and then—I didn't know what to do, I know you said you didn't want professional help, but I was lost, and you were unconcious and I couldn't lose you." Will's hand meets his as he looks at the other.

"Will." His voice shakes, "Will." He feels tears form in his eyes, "Will." He can't help but let out the sob that's been forcing its way to come up, "I hurt someone, I hurt someone." He closes his eyes as Will moves in to hug him, and he feels it. He feels it. This is real. And he sighs, loud and deeply into the other's arms, and breathes. Breathes him in. "You're here."

"It was a bad dream. I'm here." Will assures him, as he sits in the bed along with him, holding him. Mike is clutching around the other like his life depends on it. "I'm here, Mike." And it feels so real. He did it, he is back with Will, the pills were the problem; they kept him from seeing him. From seeing Will.

Will let him cry out, let his shoulder get drenched, let Mike stay in his arms until he can't cry anymore; until there's no more tears left. And all he has is Will. All he wants is Will. And now he realises.

He can't lose him again.

He needs to see him all the time.

And he loves Will. And now it's too late, because he's moving out.

He pushes himself a bit away from the other, as he tries to compose himself, "Will, I need you to know this. But, I'm too late—fuck—I am, aren't I? Always too late." He tries his hardest not to cry again. How could he? "But, I realised something. Well, I've always felt this, but I pushed it down until even I forgot about it. I guess I was pretty good at hiding when I wanted to." He lets out a small chuckle, he watches how Will listens to him, "Will." He swallows, "You are so loved by your family—God. Your mother may be overbearing, but she truly loves you and your brother. He cares so much for your well-being. Lucas, Dustin, Max, and El all want you to be happy. And me." He pauses and glances out of the window, "Me? I'm selfish. I'm irrational, I'm angry, I'm useless, I've never felt like I belonged. But, can I say something?" Mike looks back as Will nods, "You make me feel like I don't need to belong. Being with you, that's all I need, that's all I want. Because I am the happiest when I'm with you, when I know you're happy, when I know you're safe.

Will, I love you.

And, as more than a friend, if that wasn't obvious. I've always been in love with you; I think I'm not capable of anything else. You're the person I want to wake up next to, and the person I want in every way possible. I would do anything for you. You are my light in the darkest of nights, and the shadow when it's too bright out. You are the cleric to my paladin, and I know I'm too late for all this—you have another, you have Carlton—"

"Mike."

"—Sorry, Carl. I keep forgetting—"

"Mike!"

"—But, I wanted you to know that you're loved by everyone, especially me—"

"Shut up!" He finally shuts up as Will speaks over him, "Shut up. For a second." But, there's no anger on the other's face, he sees tears in the corner of his eyes, "Carl broke it off. He cheated on me with a girl. He came clean himself, said that we would be better off as friends, and that I wasn't what he was looking for. Which I guess I could guess, but it still hurt for like a day before I got over it." A smile appears on Will's face, "Mike. I think you need to say all this again, because you talk so much."

Mike laughs and shakes his head, "I don't think I remember everything I said."

Will laughs too as he hugs Mike close to him, "Can you repeat some of it?"

"I love you." Mike whispers, as his arms go around the other, "I love you, William Byers."

"I love you, too," Will whispers into his neck, "Michael Wheeler."

And he feels elated. A weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and the blood on his hands seems to disappear as his hand finds its way into the other's hair, holding him there. "Will?"

"Mike?"

His hold on the other tightens, "Can I kiss you?"

He feels Will tense up, and suddenly everything feels wrong. Did he do something? Was it too direct? He pulls away to read what Will is feeling, but what he sees makes him relax. Will is red in the face as he avoids his eyes. "Uhm—yeah!" Will stutters out. Mike leans in, but Will then puts a hand in front of him to stop him, "Wait, Mike."

Mike stops, his lips meet Will's palm, and his eyes cross as he slowly looks to Will.

Will shifts on the covers, "I think I have to address it. Address the fact that I lied, that I said I got over you, but in reality. Mike, I've always loved you, and I don't think I'm capable of getting over you. When I came out, and you figured out who my crush was, well, I kinda gave it away. Well, at the time, I lied; I had to. I thought I would never get you. I thought you were too out of reach, even though you were right there. How could you be beside me, but also a million miles away? So, I let myself down. I couldn't do it. And now I'm sure I made the right choice, because I get to have you now. And even if my heart breaks for every year I yearned, every year I spend crying over you. I'm so grateful to have you after all these years. I never wanted to get between you and El, and I would never do anything she wouldn't agree on." Will breathes, "I talked to her after. I admitted my feelings for you, and she took it well. She consoled me. God, I need to thank her again."

Mike has moved, so he is holding the other's hand gently.

"Mike, I truly love you. More than you can imagine, and I want you too."

"But?" Mike asks, a sad smile on his face. His heart drops.

"But." Will echoes. "I need time to realise that it's real. Every day, for the past almost 10 years, I've dreamed of this. And every day I would get reminded that we can only be friends, by Lonnie, by everyone at school. By you." Will's voice has lowered. "So, give me time."

Mike nods, "Yes, of course. You waited for me, so I can wait for you."

Will smiles at him and mouths, thank you. He then puts a hand on Mike's jaw, and he feels his heart skip a beat as Will leans in and softly places a kiss on his lips before moving away again. Mike feels a buzz under his fingertips, and he kinda moves after Will as he moves away, and then looks away.

In all his life, he's never understood what it means for a heart to flutter, and to get butterflies in your stomach. But now he knows. He feels heat rise to his cheeks, to his ears most of all, and he tries to hide away. Will laughs at him and pokes him in the cheek. "It's cute to see you this red."

Mike laughs too, until he remembers why they're here in the first place, then his demeanor changes and he looks at Will with wary eyes, "Will, they put me on some sort of pills, and I couldn't get back here, and now I—I hurt someone badly. I think I might actually be done for. I don't know what to do. Will. I don't know what to do, I can't lose you." Mike swallows, "They'll drug me again, they'll send me somewhere else."

Will closes his eyes as he thinks, as he holds Mike's hand and squeezes it, then he looks at him, "What if you cut your connection with this other world? Get out of there; that way, you will only exist in one reality, this one." Will bites his lip, "But, I have no idea how you would do it. I think you need to figure that out yourself."

"Yes. I haven't thought of that." Mike says as he looks away, "That might actually work."

"Mike?"

Mike looks back at him, "Yeah?"

"I love you." Will smiles at him.

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The wall feels cold as he clings to it, sitting in the hard bed down in this dark cellar. Blood still stains his hands, and he tries to hold himself as tightly as possible.

The wailing sound of the wind that strikes through the air from the vent is the only sound here, along with the cries of the others down here. A tray of untouched food stands on the ground, and then he hears footsteps coming down, people chattering, "You have 20 minutes, Hop."

"I have as long as I need." The voice says as the door to the cellar closes. Heavy steps come down and stop in front of his room, of this cell. "Kid?"

He doesn't look up; he knows who it is.

Jim Hopper was the person who made sure Mike got to Pennhurst in the first place, and the one who also made sure he spent the holidays at home. He was the person who was "handling" him, and it would only be appropriate for him to be the one to call out his sentence for killing a kid. "Wheeler."

"Go away." He calls out.

"You were doing so well." Hopper says from outside the bars that separate them, "You were stable for almost a whole week, I was gonna let you go out of this place. I was handling the papers for it, and—Kid." He hears Hopper sigh, "Michael. You killed someone. I don't think that there's anything I can do to help you anymore. I can say that it was the medicine. I can try to make them take it easy on you, but I'm not the one who's handling your case this time. The kid had a family, as you do. And they want to press charges against you." Hopper stops, "You haven't gotten better since you started coming here, and you keep avoiding trying to get better. You don't want help. You want to keep staying like this, because the truth hurts you more than being trapped here. Mike. Your mother is worried, your friends are in shambles. You don't even realise how this affects everyone around you."

"I never wanted them to be affected!" Mike lashes out as he stalks over to where Hopper is standing, out of reach. "I never wanted for them to worry, I never wanted to be the glue that holds them all together, because you know what? I'm not in the right place right now. And the sooner I get out, the better it will be for everybody. Who said I wanted to be stuck in Pennhurst? I certainly didn't want to hurt anybody, but that's something that has happened, and I can't change that. There are a million ways I could have turned out; there are a million possibilities of what happened. You couldn't find him for over a week. We held a funeral for someone whom you didn't bother look further for. And when he was saved, you never bothered to figure out what caused his disappearance." Mike's voice has begun to shake. "He was traumatized. That's what happened."

Hopper looks at him with the same eyes that everybody gives him. Pity.

"It hurts to see that the grief would tear you apart if you ever got out of your head. You'll be moved to the State Prison tomorrow for the murder of Caspian Strider. Goodbye, Michael."

When Hopper turns to leave, Mike reaches out and grabs onto his belt, "Tell them I'm sorry."

"Apologies won't cut it, kid."

Hopper leaves.

And in Mike's hand is his way out.

He waits until the door is shut, and then he scatters to the bed, curls himself into a corner. The wind makes him shiver, makes the cold unbearable. But he resists the urge to curl up under his covers, resists the urge to throw away the cold metal in his hand, in his frozen hands.

The quiet stretches out. All he can think of is Will. All he knows is Will and how he's waiting for him.

Waiting.

He can't help it, but his hand shakes as he looks at the metal in his hand, as he debates this. And he shouldn't debate this; he knows this is his last chance at freedom. This is his chance to be with Will forever, and he confessed only recently, and he has so much to live for.

But he already knows that he can't live in this reality any longer.

He can't keep being under Vecna's curse. He can't live at Pennhurst.

And he can't live without Will.

If there's anything he has learnt while living two different lives, it's that there are no happy endings, except for the ones he seeks out.

He slowly pulls the trigger.