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Mike and Will have been inseparable since last year when they became best friends. Mike remembers like it was yesterday: the fear crawling through his chest in the school yard on the first day of Kindergarten, how he caught sight of a small boy in a navy coat, brown corduroys, with a shaggy bowl cut, swinging by himself across the playground. The moment Mike’s eyes landed on this boy he felt an immediate pull, he had to be friends with him. Despite the nerves still sifting around his insides, Mike walked across the grass towards the swingset, and he eased himself onto the swing beside the blue coated boy.
“Do you wanna be friends?” He asked, more confidence in his voice than he felt.
The boy looked toward Mike and nodded eagerly in confirmation, but Mike would argue until his last breath that a small “yes” had slipped from the other boy’s lips.
Since their first meeting, Mike and Will have spent nearly every day together. Mike learned quickly that Will doesn’t talk a lot, but that was okay with him; he learned how to speak for the both of them. The two quickly developed a silent language all of their own: Mike could tell by the set of Will’s shoulders, or the look in his eyes just how he was feeling or what he needed, and Mike was quick to oblige his every whim.
The two spent most of their time tucked into the Wheeler’s basement. Mike never asked why they didn’t hang out at Will’s house that often, it didn’t seem important when Will loved spending time in Mike’s space. Mike loved sharing his space with Will, and he very quickly became an honorary member of the Wheeler household. When Mrs. Wheeler made dinner, she often set a place for Will at the table beside Mike without so much as a second thought, just expecting the two to come crashing through the front door together in a fit of giggles after school.
Karen had never seen Mike flourish quite the way he did when Will was by his side. She didn’t mind that Will often didn’t speak to anyone except Mike - she knew he would eventually grow comfortable enough, and besides, Mike spoke enough for the both of them. Karen also knew, from the whispers around town, that Will’s home life was tumultuous. Her husband had recently mentioned that Will’s father, Lonnie, had lost his job after he had punched his supervisor in the face over a small dispute. Karen had never met the man, but it wasn’t the first time that she had heard about Lonnie and his quick temper. She could only imagine what went on behind the closed doors of the Byers house, and for that she was more than happy to have Will spend as much time as he wanted in their own home.
Mike and Will had been friends just over a year, the first time that Mike ever spent the night at the Byers’ house. He had spent a few afternoons there previously, suspiciously when only Joyce or Jonathan were home with them, but was always taken home rather quickly once Lonnie returned from wherever he had been. Mike had asked Will, once, about why his father was often not home, but was met with a small frown and a shrug in response - Mike knew Will didn’t want to talk about it, and that was okay. Mike could always feel the energy shift once Will’s father returned home, the way that everyone else tensed and began almost tip-toing around. He never liked leaving Will behind when that happened; the look in his eyes told Mike more than words ever could - Will was terrified of his father.
Once, when the two boys were playing in the snow in the front yard of Will’s house, Lonnie’s car pulled sloppily up the drive. Will watched with growing panic in his eyes as his father slowly pulled himself out of the driver’s seat and began stumbling across the lawn towards them. As Lonnie approached the two boys, Mike dropped the snowball he had been making, and moved to stand closely beside the smaller boy. I've got your back, the move seemed to say. Lonnie didn’t even acknowledge Mike as he headed towards Will. Will flinched viscerally as his father’s hand reached out towards him, but Lonnie simply ruffled his hair to remove the snow that was sticking to it, before retreating up the front steps of the house without a single word. And that’s when Mike knew. It settled into his bones with a deep, crushing force: Lonnie hits Will. Mike had never been close with his own father, but he was never scared of him the way Will seemed to be of Lonnie. Mike’s father may yell and swear, but he had never physically hit any of his children; he wouldn't dream of it.
The night that Mike first slept over at the Byers’ house changed his relationship with Will - made it stronger, more solid than ever before. Mike’s mother was pregnant and that night when she went into labour she shuffled both Nancy and Mike out of the house to their friend’s; Nancy was to stay with Barb, and Mike with Will.
When Mike lands on the Byers’ doorstep, overnight bag slung across his back, he knocks softly; Joyce knows that he is coming and that’s who he expects to open the door for him. He’s surprised when instead, Lonnie appears on the other side of the threshold, beer in hand and a cigarette sticking from between his frowning mouth.
“It’s late, what are you doing here?” Lonnie spits at Mike.
Mike, immediately intimidated by the man, takes a tentative step backwards. “Umm, I–”
Before he can get more out, Mrs. Byers slides into view from another room, “Lonnie, let the boy in - his mother is in labour and he needs a place to stay for the night.”
Lonnie steps back and turns around without another glance at Mike, “Should have told me.” He directs harshly at Joyce.
Mike hesitates before stepping into the house, throwing a small smile towards Mrs. Byers, before kicking off his shoes and retreating down the hall to Will’s room. As he goes he can hear Will’s parents arguing quietly in the living room.
He wanders down the hall and as he passes Jonathan’s room he notices that the door is partially open and music is floating quietly from it. Mike spots both brothers sitting on Jonathan's bed and pauses, he’s never been in Jonathan’s room before, but he is looking for Will. He stops and knocks against the wood of the bedroom door. Both brothers jump and turn to face Mike, Jonathan’s expression softening as he spots the boy, as Will practically throws himself across the room to pull Mike into a tight hug.
“Mike.” Will’s soft voice squeaks out from where his face now is nestled in Mike’s shoulder.
Mike returns the hug, clutching Will just as tightly, “Hey, Will; Jonathan.”
“Hey, Mike. How’s your mom doing?” Jonathan asks as he reaches towards the stereo to turn the music off.
“Umm, okay I think.” Mike smiles towards the older boy as Will grabs Mike’s hand and begins pulling him out of the doorway towards his own room.
Across the hall in Will’s room, Mike throws down his overnight bag by the door, and plops himself on Will’s bed while the other boy riffles through the drawings on his desk. Mike watches with interest, knowing by the sheer determined way Will roots through the papers that he is about to present him with a new drawing he did. Finally Will turns with a toothy smile plastered across his face, he moves towards Mike, drawing outstretched towards him in offering. Mike takes the drawing from Will with a small smile, and looks at the page now safely cradled in his own hands. It takes him a moment for his brain to catch up to the image on the page: two boys on a swingset. It’s them, the first day that they met. Will even got the clothing right; Mike in a dark striped shirt and light blue sweater with tan pants, and Will in his brown corduroys, red patterned shirt, and navy coat. Mike looks up from the drawing to see Will still standing before him, waiting patiently for Mike’s critique.
“Will, is this the first day we met?” Mike’s face breaks out in a huge grin, his eyes crinkling softly around the edges.
Will just nods and shrugs, the toothy smile still plastered across his face.
Mike looks back down to the picture in his hand, “It’s perfect! I love it! You even got our clothes right.” He goes to pass the drawing back to Will.
Will shakes his head, “I drew it for you.” He says before Mike can give it back to him.
“Really?” Mike is ecstatic; another drawing to add to his bedroom wall at home. In the last year his walls have slowly become plastered over with all of Will’s drawings; he can’t wait to add this one, and he already knows it’s going right above his bed.
Mike slides off the bed and moves to tuck the drawing of them safely in his overnight bag as he says, “Oh! I forgot, I brought my new X-Men comic for us to read.”
The two boys spend the next few hours diligently reading through Mike’s new comic. Will points out any overly impressive line work on the art, and Mike waits patiently as Will, who reads slower than he does, catches up before flipping the page.
After a while, Will turns to Mike, “Thirsty?”
The darker haired boy nods gently before Will hops off the bed and heads towards the hall.
Mike follows Will as they pad quietly across the house into the kitchen. As they pass by the living room, Mike spots Will’s father on the couch; forgotten beer loose in his hand by his side, head slumped along the back cushions - asleep. The TV blares some sporting event loudly from its speakers.
Will opens the fridge with a small pop of the door seal, and reaches in to grab two Gatorade bottles off the top shelf; yellow for himself, and orange for Mike. The glass bottles clink against one another as he passes one to Mike. As he goes to take the offered bottle from Will, it slips between their fingers and shatters loudly across the linoleum; orange liquid splashing both of their pants. Immediately, Will tenses. They hear Lonnie startle awake with a grunt from the living room. Will looks towards Mike with fear plastered across his face, a fear that gives Mike pause.
The boys hear Will’s father shuffle to his feet in the other room and stomp across the hallway into the kitchen before either of them can make even a single move to clean up the mess.
“You idiot. You clumsy fucking idiot,” Lonnie snarls at Will’s back before practically screaming, “what the fuck is wrong with you?!”
The next few seconds happen at half speed as Mike watches: Will, eyes as large as saucers, spins around in time to see his father moving across the kitchen towards him, hand reaching out in a tight fist. At that, Will freezes. His eyes go impossibly wider and his whole body tenses in anticipation. It settles upon Mike in an instant why Will always cowers when things get too loud, why he shuts down and retreats into himself amongst the noise of their busy classroom, or when the TV is too loud on movie nights. It reminds Will of home, of his father’s yelling; it reminds him of what comes after the yelling. Mike had always been soft with Will, he quieted his voice when he spoke to him, and gentled his actions from their usual careless flailing. By this point it was second nature, even if before this Mike never quite understood why he did these things, he just knew he did because it made Will feel safe and more secure. Now he understands. Now it finally clicks.
Mike steps forward and places himself between Will and Lonnie. Immediately he realizes this is a mistake. Lonnie looks like he might hit Mike instead of Will, and Mike braces for impact; anything to protect Will from taking the blow. Just as Lonnie is raising his fist, and stepping forward, he suddenly careens to the side. It takes a moment for Mike to figure out what happened; is Lonnie drunk enough that he lost his balance and tipped over of his own accord? And then Mike takes in the situation: Jonathan has entered the room silently and unnoticed, and he has pushed Lonnie out of the way; saved both Mike and Will from whatever Lonnie had planned for them.
“What the fuck was that?!” Lonnie spits towards Jonathan as he regains his balance.
At that moment, Joyce enters the kitchen, a knowing look on her face. Lonnie is stepping towards Jonathan, fist raised once again, but Joyce moves faster. She places herself between Jonathan and Lonnie with a determined glint in her eye.
“Lonnie, STOP. Stop…please.” Her arms are raised in a defensive position in front of her chest, shielding both her and Jonathan.
At this point, Mike has seen enough. He looks over his shoulder to where Will is still sheltered safely behind him; but when Mike sees the look in Will’s eyes he knows that the smaller boy might be physically safe, but damage has been done in other ways. Mike ignores the wet mess on the floor and the yelling behind them; he grabs Will’s stiff, cold hand, and drags them back towards Will’s room at the end of the hall. Once they are both safely out of the mayhem still taking place in the other room, he closes the door tightly behind them and turns the lock. The noise from the front of the house now muffled through the closed door.
Mike expels a deep breath, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, and turns towards the boy behind him. Will is standing, unmoving, in the middle of his bedroom with tears threatening to spill over, and a distant look in his eyes.
“...Will?” Mike asks ever so softly, afraid of spooking the other boy.
Will seems to pull himself into the present, and locks eyes with Mike. As soon as he does the tears spill over his lashes and careen down his cheeks.
“I – I’m so sorry, Mike.” Will hiccups out between his tears, a sob threatening to overtake the words.
Mike rushes forward and pulls Will against his chest, “It’s not your fault, Will. I promise.”
Will sobs into Mike’s sweater, “You’re not – not mad at me?”
“Why would I ever be mad at you?” Mike asks incredulously.
Will pulls back from the hug and wipes his eyes before shrugging heavily in response.
Mike can still hear muffled shouting from the front of the house. He looks at Will again, who is glancing towards his closed bedroom door like he’s scared it’s going to be kicked in at any moment. Mike needs to distract Will, needs to make him feel safe again. He thinks about what he does when his parents fight; not that they ever fight like whatever is happening outside Will’s room. Mike usually hides in the basement in the blanket fort that has become a fixture in the back corner; the one he and Will made over the summer. Before that though, he and Nancy used to hide in her room under the covers, propped over their heads like a tent, with all the lights off, flashlight on to illuminate them in their dark, safe hideaway. The first time that he remembers his parents going off on each other he was only three, and he remembers how Nancy pulled him away from the fight and up to her room. She pulled the flashlight out of her desk drawer and distracted Mike by making shadow puppets on the ceiling.
Mike doesn’t know what else to do, so he does what he always does when his parents argue: he grabs a flashlight from Will’s desk where it was holding a pile of sketches in place, and moves to turn the overhead light off. Will shrinks back into himself as the room plunges into darkness.
“It’s okay. Here.” Mike offers his hand out to Will who clutches it tightly.
Mike flicks on the flashlight and pulls them both over to Will’s bed. They clamber up before Mike is pulling the sheets over their heads tent style, cocooning them in their own little world. Will looks slightly confused, but not as terrified as he did before; he trusts Mike.
“Are you okay?” Mike finally asks the other boy, in that soft voice that he reserves just for Will.
Will nods slowly, but avoids Mike’s eyes.
“Hey, Will. It’s okay. You are okay, I am okay. We are okay, I promise.” Again in that soft voice. Always that soft voice for Will.
Will just nods again, head and eyes still downturned into his lap.
“It’s like this a lot, right?” Mike stoops his head, trying to catch Will’s eyes.
Finally, Will looks up. He catches and holds Mike’s eyes before nodding again.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never asked about it before.” Mike reaches out for Will’s soft hand and squeezes it gently, reassuringly.
Will shrugs again, “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
But Mike thinks, he did know. At least had an idea of what went on. He thinks back to that one time in the snow last winter, when Will flinched as his father reached out towards him. Mike thinks about all those times he was taken home just as Lonnie came back to the Byers’ house, smelling like booze and cigarettes. He thinks about how Will barely talks to anyone but him and Jonathan, about how he cowers against Mike’s side when Mr. Wheeler tries to speak to him. He thinks about all of those times in class when things got too loud and Will retreated into himself, like he expected the world to end because of the noise. Mike understands it all. And he feels like the worst friend in the world for not putting all the pieces together before.
Under the blankets, the boys are safe. They hear the loud bang of the front door slamming closed, a car starting and pulling away down the drive, and the commotion from the rest of the house finally settles. Will’s shoulders slowly inch down from around his ears, and his tears begin to dry against his cheeks. They sit quietly, Mike letting the other boy have all the time he needs to process what had happened in the kitchen. When Mike deems Will is more or less over his shock and fear, he pulls the blankets off their heads. Mike moves to lean back against the headboard as he props the flashlight up between their pillows so it faces the ceiling; he makes a shadow puppet of a rabbit with his hands. Will watches the shadow rabbit drift across his ceiling, and after a moment he follows suit with a coyote. Mike changes his shadow puppet to a snail and finally, finally, Will smiles as a small giggle escapes from between his lips. Mike smiles back, finally relaxing himself now that he knows Will is going to be okay. The two boys laugh quietly as they continue to make shadow puppets on the ceiling. The world outside of Will’s bedroom nearly forgotten about.
Eventually, Will yawns loudly. Neither of them mention venturing out of Will’s room to brush their teeth. Instead, they lay down on the bed and pull the covers up to their chins. Mike rolls until he is facing Will.
“Can I turn off the flashlight?” Mike asks into the quiet dark of the room.
He sees Will hesitate before feeling around under the sheets for Mike’s hand. Once their fingers are nestled together, Will nods. Mike flicks the flashlight off and they are plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the moon seeping through the cracks in the curtains by the window.
“Good night, Will.”
“Night, Mike. Thank you for not being mad at me.”
“I could never be mad at you.”
The two boys fall into sleep, hands still clutched together in the dark. For the first time in a long time, Will sleeps soundly in his own bed.
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END