Chapter Text
The spoon clangs loudly against the cereal bowl in the quiet kitchen. Will looks out of the window and traces the swirling snowflakes with his eyes.
He notices the familiar scent of vanilla and lemon in the Wheelers’ house which he had been calling his home for the last months.
It’s January, ten months since he left California, driving in the back of a pizza van with his siblings, the smell of weed and Mike.
What a delightful journey.
He withdraws his gaze from the snowflakes and towards the kitchen clock.
11 a.m., he notices.
He likes mornings like these. Mornings when he’s alone, Mr. Wheeler working, Mrs. Wheeler and Holly gone to some place Will just doesn’t care enough about to know, his mom with El and Hopper at the cabin and Jonathan and Nancy doing “important and dangerous stuff“ where Will’s never allowed to help, thank you very much, mom.
And lastly, there is Mike. Mike likes those mornings too, Will thinks. How is he supposed to know after all? Though, Will knows Mike doesn’t like spending time with his whole family, but that isn’t hard for anyone to guess. And he likes sleeping in, long after everyone else is awake. This is something he only knows because he sees it every morning, and he’s grateful for it.
Since the start of the winter, despite Ted Wheeler’s protests about Boys your age shouldn’t sleep in the same room!, Joyce sleeps in the Wheelers’ guest room, Jonathan with Nancy in her room (Mr. Wheeler wasn’t so happy about that either, but he also didn’t want to give up his sleep in the living room) and Will now spends the night next to Mike’s bed on a spare mattress on the floor.
He’s grateful for Mike sleeping in because since he moved from the basement to Mike’s room, due to the cold temperatures, it became harder to avoid his… friend, and the different sleeping schedule gives him the opportunity to avoid just another awkward conversation.
Will huffs and pours the remaining milk down the kitchen sink before he wanders through the house. Will thinks about calling Dustin or Lucas, but he can see the snow picking up speed and swirling around the trees outside, blown away by the nearly stormy wind and Will can’t motivate himself to leave the house.
Winter was once his favourite season. He liked getting Christmas gifts, he liked to go sledding, liked watching the colourful lights through every window they passed, and liked building a snowman with Mike or Jonathan. He liked drinking hot chocolate after a long day playing outside and he liked the snow.
He still likes the snow, watching it glide through the air… but he hates the cold. Ever since he was twelve, he can’t stand the shivering. And ever since the Upside Down, there is always a cold, sitting in his bones, reminding him of the time, of his possession, of the mind flayer, of Henry, still lingering out there, somewhere, licking his wounds.
With a quiet grace, he sneaks up the stairs, knowing which steps will squeak under his weight, before he creaks open the door to Mike’s bedroom and peers at the bed. It’s empty, the sheets are ruffled like always, but Will can still see the spot where Mike has been lying just a few minutes ago.
Will hushes into the room and heads directly to his backpack, digging around for his Walkman and his sketchbook. He doesn’t notice the sloppy shuffle of feet along the hallway, each foot patting against the floor until the bedroom door creaks open even further.
“Oh!” Mike yelps with a raspy morning tone as he flinches at the little high-pitched crack in his voice, and Will turns around, blinking in surprise at him, both hands holding one of the items he was searching for.
He’s only wearing a long white towel around his hip, his shoulder-length hair is still damp. Mike crosses his arms in front of his bare torso, embarrassed.
Will notices the familiar smell of his shower gel and, since he claims that his is empty, Nancy’s shampoo. Water droplets cling to Mike's dark lashes, brushing over his pale cheeks when he blinks, and recognises the freckles all over Mike’s face even in winter. Will’s eyes drop lower and he notices the water running down Mike’s black hair over his collarbones and shoulders—
“Sorry!” Will squeaks back and turns around again. His face feels like it's on fire. Get yourself together, Will, he notes to himself as he pretends to still search for something in his backpack hastily to give Mike some privacy.
He hears him shuffling away from the door as Will wipes his damp hands off on his jeans and glues his eyes firmly on his Walkman beside him, not daring to glance at Mike once again.
Friends don’t look at friends that way.
“No, no, you didn’t know,” Mike responds and clears his throat loudly, his voice muffled while digging around his drawer.
Will carefully listens to the others' movements. “Okay,“ he nods without knowing what to say before he stands up and rushes out of the room.
***
It’s an awkward atmosphere around the dinner table without Joyce, Nancy, or Jonathan here. Not even Holly, who would occasionally distract her mom, is home and instead at a sleepover with some of her friends. Will keeps his eyes down on his plate, ohh the peas are surely so interesting, and tries to blend out the scratching and squeaking sounds of forks and knives against ceramic.
He’s currently picking at his meatloaf when Mrs. Wheeler’s too-enthusiastic, too fake voice interrupts his train of thought. “How was your day boys?”
Will politely looks up at her perfect smile. Despite the long day out, her make-up is neat, her back straight as ever. Will gets why Mike never felt like he fits into this household. Not because he’s not perfect, that sounds a little bit cruel, but because he can’t pretend like his mom. He hates lies. “It was fine Mrs. Wheeler, thank you,“ he smiles.
She mirrors his gesture until her eyes crinkle in a friendly way before she turns to her son, waiting for his response.
Will also dares to glance in Mike’s direction. He still isn’t looking at his mother and just picks at his food, his gaze is unfocused and his brows furrowed.
Mike does this a lot lately, Will notices. Always playing with his food, hardly eating anything that Karen Wheeler cooks, and once again Will has the urge to reach across the table to get him out of any gnawing thoughts he may have.
He doesn’t.
Mike seems to notice Will’s gaze on him and looks up, a question in his eyes as they meet. Will, feeling caught, averts his gaze and focuses on the window beside Mike’s head innocently, watching the snowflakes hitting the window quietly.
Across the table he hears Ted Wheeler scoff at his son, not even sparing a glance at any of them. The man hadn’t said a word since he came back from work, Will thinks. “Your mother asked you something, Michael,”
Mike sneaks a small eye roll in his expression at his full name, only noticeable for people who are already searching for it. Not that Will actively searched for it, he just… knew it would be there.
Mike never liked his full name - only his parents and his grandpa really called him Michael. It’s like a role, he’d said. And while Mike was always very obvious in his expressions, he now may seem like a cardboard cutout to others, trying to keep a neutral face while others are around. Even Lucas once made a comment about “Mike’s lack of emotions lately”. When Mike’s alone though, when he thinks that no one's looking, he gives more away.
“Um, sorry mum, what did you ask?” Mike mumbles and ducks his head.
But honestly, Will didn’t get what Lucas meant back then. Yeah, Mike shrank back into a shell over time, but that doesn’t mean that he suddenly is emotionless. They are all just not looking for them, for him.
“I was asking about your day, Michael,” Mrs. Wheeler responds and lifts her eyebrows in question.
Mike carries so much in him, Will always thought everyone admired Mike for that - his thoughtfulness, his deep care, his bravery. It was always so easy for Will to read Mike’s emotions. Even after this time apart, he is still able to, even if they are more encrypted. A puzzle, one that gets harder with every day that passes, but is possible to solve if needed.
“Fine, mom,” Mike answers neutrally and nods, his now dry hair curling softly around his chin.
And Will would give so much to know what it is that bothers Mike lately. But he can’t. Because they don’t talk, because they are hardly even friends, simply living in the same household for the sake of living somewhere since the Byers have no other place to go.
It’s this noise when Mike looks down again, fumbles and clanks his fork against the plate where Will realises he’s staring at Mike again, before hopefully, finally, focusing on his own food, missing the long look that the other gives him before Mike stands up and takes his plate with him.
*
Will hears the chair scratching against the clean floor, loud enough to make him flinch, the rustling of the fabric, and a familiar scoff from Mr. Wheeler’s direction. He counts the peas he hasn’t touched yet and pretends not to notice Mike shuffling towards the sink.
“Michael—” Mrs. Wheeler calls after him, but Mike interrupts her, already turning on the hot water.
“Don’t worry Mom, I’ll do the dishes,” he says without turning around.
Now that he knows that Mike isn’t looking back, Will dares another look. Mike is hunched over the sink and looks uncomfortable in his lanky body, the loose hoodie he’s wearing hides his bony shoulders.
Ted Wheeler just sighs. “I’m in the living room if anyone needs me,” he calls lazily and disappears behind the doorframe.
Will’s sure no one will call after him.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re a guest, you don’t have to help,” Mrs. Wheeler smiles at him and starts stacking up the remaining plates.
Will looks up from his half-eaten food. Guest. It feels weird being called guest after living in this house for months.
“It’s okay,” Will says. “I can help.”
He rounds the table, taking the plates from Mrs. Wheeler's hands and stacking his own on top. The lights on the ceiling suddenly feel too bright and he hurries towards the kitchen sink. As he carefully places the plates on the counter and pushes them towards Mike, he tries to keep a safe distance between his and Mike’s elbows.
Mike takes the plate from Will and their hands almost touch. Almost, but Mike stiffens anyway.
“Sorry,” Will blurts and looks up from the stack of plates, his eyes finding the window over the sink.
Mike doesn’t respond and just shakes his head, clanking the plates against the metal as he takes the new, dirty one.
“Um—” Will tries to say something, but the words feel stuck in his throat. He hopes Mike didn’t hear him.
“Hm?” Mike makes a questioning voice in the back of his throat. His shoulders are raised up to the ears and he scrubs the already clean plate even harder.
“Nothing!” Will corrects himself and bites his tongue. As he turns abruptly around, his hand hits the counter in motion. Will hurries away anyway, pressing his other hand on his aching fingers.
***
After going upstairs, he takes off his pajamas and disappears into the bathroom. Mike never came into his room, and Will once again wondered if he should be the one lurking around the house instead so Mike can be in his room without Will making things awkward again.
He changes his clothes and brushes his teeth. He’ll probably lie awake until Mike comes into the room and he has to pretend that he’s sleeping again. It’s his evening routine now.
After he had slipped into his sleeping bag he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but just like every night, his thoughts start wandering. To his mom who will spend the night at the cabin, to Jonathan who still hasn’t come back, to El who has to be frustrated with the weather because she can’t train like she wants to. El, who blames herself for Max, for the gates, and who’s made it her task alone to defeat Vecna.
To Mike.
Given the circumstances, it makes sense that Mike is so tense, never really present. After all, El’s his girlfriend, right? Maybe it’s just like last spring break - Mike, in the back of the pizza van, worrying about El. And Will with him, there and trying to comfort Mike with everything he could think of. Because he understood, he worried for his sister too. But there is something to the way Mike cares about people that no one else has.
While El gives herself fault for everything that has happened, Mike has to give himself fault for El feeling this way, and Mike has to be so annoyed with himself for his inability to do something useful. Yeah, Mike really always cares differently. Mike always cared stronger than anyone else about his friends. And now his girlfriend.
Will’s train of thought gets shattered to moment he hears the small squeak of the door and sees the sliver of light on Mike’s messy floor from the hallway.
He shuts his eyes tightly and waits for things to proceed as usual.
“Will?” Mike’s gentle voice carries through the still air. There is a moment of silence, Mike waiting for a response he never gets, before he slips into the room and finds his way through the darkness.
Will swallows as he listens to the rustle of Mike getting ready for bed, and counts Mike’s breath as it becomes calmer above him, before he drifts into a shallow sleep.
*
Will never dreams. He’s never dreamed this vividly in a few years, since his possession. He dreamed of tunnels, of feelings, of things he couldn’t comprehend. After that, everything shut down and the well expected nightmares never came. Ever since he was thirteen, his mind never felt like his own, clouded and restless, especially during nighttime.
But tonight, there is something. He sees something again, something he can’t grasp, something that slips through his fingers every time he tries to focus on it.
He only feels.
And it doesn’t make sense - it’s bad. He knows, whatever it is, it’s bad.
It’s evil, familiar, and it makes Will sick. Panic rises from his stomach and sets every nerve ablaze.
He coughs, whether it’s in his dream or in reality, he doesn’t know.
It’s dangerous. Danger, danger, his brain repeats like a mantra, and Will is glued to the spot, forced to watch something he can’t see, forced to feel things he can’t understand, it’s like he’s too small, to young and suddenly, he’s twelve again, cold, cold, hunger, throwing up blood and slugs again, killing.
Betraying.
*
“Will, come on!”
Will feels someone shaking him, a hot touch at his shoulder. It almost burns his shivering body.
He gasps awake, panting hard, and suddenly he feels everything at once, too hot, too cold, he feels the floor through the thin mattress, his hand clammy at his sides.
Mike’s urgent voice is too loud, but too quiet at the same time, he feels blinded in the dark room, is he still dreaming?
Will inhales hard, one, two, three times, trying to calm down. The ringing in the ears subsides and he can make out an outline against the dark, Mike’s outline on the bed above him, a firm grip at his shoulder steadies him, bringing him back to reality.
“Will, are you okay?” Mike asks, relief and concern flooding his tone.
“Yeah-” Will’s voice breaks into a high note and he has to cut himself off, clearing his throat. Only then does he realise he must’ve been crying. He lifts one hand to his tear-streaked face, rubbing against the wet cheeks with the back of his hand.
Will notices just then that Mike’s grip still stays firm on his shoulder. “It’s okay, it was just a nightmare,” Mike tries to reassure him and Will can only nod, not trusting his voice enough to talk right now. “Wait here,” Mike tells him, as if Will could go anywhere, and slips out of his bed and through the door in the hallway.
Will tries to focus on Mike’s careful footsteps leading down the staircase, but the noise slips away from him and he’s left with his own stuttering breathing.
Time stretches and it feels like hours until Mike returns with a water glass in one hand. He hands it wordlessly over to Will and Will gulps it down with big swallows.
“I-I had a nightmare,” he says weakly, pointlessly because Mike knows.
“It’s okay, Will. You don’t have to say anything right now, we can… talk tomorrow,” Mike hesitates and Will knows why he’s so unsure.
He takes another deep breath and nods before he realises Mike probably can’t see him against the dark floor. “Yeah, okay,”. Then: “Thank you,”
Mike says nothing, he just gently takes the glass from Will. His skin burns where the other brushed his fingers accidentally against his own, but he stays quiet too.
Will’s too afraid to sleep right now, but slowly, as the sun begins to rise, his eyes fall shut once again.
He doesn’t dream this time.