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NOV 07, 01:12 AM, 1987
Mike does not remember a time where he has felt as awful as he does now.
A gross hand, cold as ice, had wrapped around his throat and pulled, tearing it out of him before pushing the back of his head so he could collide with her lips. There wasn't an ounce of love in it.
Those cold fingers are now scratching at his heart, creating rifts and craters to be filled with a stinging poison. A fragment of her soul settles in between, spitting at him before closing her eyes to fall asleep.
The plant in the corner is as dead as he feels. As dead as she is. As dead as he wishes to be. His friends are sobbing, and Mike wonders if he'll get the tears to falls if he pokes his fingers into his eyes.
At 3:30 AM he's dragged into the next room by an officer. Some lieutenant is in there, and he's talking to Mike. Mike wants to leap across the table and choke him to death. Instead, he tears his camouflage vest off and tosses the beanie in the corner to look less like one of them.
"This is a serious question, Mr Wheeler," the lieutenant says, folding his hands underneath his chin. "If you aren't willing to cooperate, we have no choice but to detain you until further notice."
"She's dead," Mike spits. "Because of you."
The lieutenant sighs. "No, listen—"
Mike's hands hurt from the impact with the table. "Because you are greedy, and disgusting, and fucking vile! Because you are hunting a teenage girl for your fucked up schemes, because of you she killed herself! And I'm not telling you shit!"
The lieutenant rubs his temples. "Kid, I understand this is hard for you, but we need to understand what happened." His voice is trying its best to be patient, but Mike knows he'd rather shoot him dead right then and there.
"Your experiment failed," Mike snarls.
Then it's silent. The clock ticks, and Mike wants to smash it into pieces. It smells sterile in here, not quite how he imagined a military base to smell like. It reminds him of the hospital.
The man takes his hat off and runs a hand through the poor excuse of hair he has up there. He exchanges a look with the officer behind Mike. The nuzzle of a gun connects with the back of Mike's head. He leans into it, crossing his arms.
"Shoot me, then," he says.
The lieutenant pinches his nose bridge, pressing his eyes shut. "You will tell us what you have done out there, is that understood?"
Mike scoffs and shakes his head.
"We'll make you talk, Micheal Wheeler."
"Go on." There isn't a cell in his body that feels anything. Not a single one that cares about what they might do to him. "Kill another kid tonight."
The nuzzle stays against his head until he's back in the room with the others. They push him in harshly, and he doesn't bother getting up from the floor that he falls on. Finally, fucking finally, his body complies with his wishes. He sobs on the floor, loud and ugly.
Somebody picks him up and leads him to a chair, arm wrapped around his back gently. He doesn't recognize the perfume, and it takes a while for the short red hair to settle in his mind.
Robin's friend. Vickie.
Lucas did mention that she had a very soothing presence, how she was able to comfort him and Max despite not knowing either of them.
Mike guesses it makes sense that she's the only one able to care about him right now. Vickie doesn't know El. How could she be sad over someone she doesn't know?
Still, he wishes for somebody else.
"Nancy," he manages to get through his sobs. "I want my sister. Where is my sister?"
Vickie sighs, softly petting his head. "She's with the officers right now. But she'll be back, I'm sure."
Right. They had more on Nancy—and Hopper—than on anyone else here.
He hiccups.
— — —
The sky is long lit up by the time the military finally lets them go. Mike has to be dragged out. Nancy is still not with him.
The car is silent. He's smushed between Robin and Will, the latter still crying quietly into his hand. Mike pulls it from his mouth. "Just cry", he whispers.
Will looks at him. A sob—a real, unmuted sob—leaves his throat, and his eyes well up with a new wave of tears.
Mike knows Will cries the same way El does. He used to see him in her all the time. They both look like a tortured deer when they do, all big and shiny eyes, glistening cheeks and down-turned lips.
It hurts harder now. Differently. Mike looks away.
He allows Will to lean on him; meets Jonathan's eyes in the rear view mirror and receives a silent 'thank you' for comforting his little brother.
Mike's gaze finds his lap again, where he's still holding Will's hand. It gives him a sense of comfort too, he supposes, and then he starts crying again.
His hands are stiff against her waist.
"I need you to talk to the others. To thank them for me."
Between Mike's protests he wonders if there was ever a time where she sounded so falsely confident, so grown up.
"For being so kind to me."
He takes a deep breath. Wipes his tears.
"I love you."
The only thing keeping Mike from slapping himself are the four other people in the car. His throat had been ripped out then and there, and he'd kissed her because she did too.
His head settles on Will's, and Mike wishes he'd said it back.
— — —
They arrive at the cabin right at noon, Joyce somehow managing not to crash the car between her tear-struck cheeks and overwhelming exhaustion.
Murray's truck is right behind them, though having to stop a little further away due to the trees. The kids file out first.
Mike opens his arms for Holly to jump into, but they don't speak. He carries her inside, sets her down on the couch and collapses.
"Mike," she asks, her voice quiet and thin. Mike weakly smiles at her. "Where's Nancy?" He shakes his head, heaving himself next to her and brushing her hair behind her ears.
He can't answer. Holly seems to understand. In silence, he undoes her pigtails and brushes through.
The couch dips.
"Mike." Joyce's voice is soft, although a bit shaky. Mike doesn't blame her. She'd lost a daughter as much as he lost a girlfriend. Potentially a sister. "I know you'd much rather have your own mom or Nancy, but if you need somebody, anybody, I'm here. Okay?"
Mike nods. He starts braiding Holly's hair, her small body going limp with sleep next to him.
The cabin door is open. They don't all fit in here, not if they get the space they need to process everything that happened. A breeze blows in, and Mike weakly watches Will as he falls against his mom, knocked out as soon as her arms wraps around his shoulders. Johnathan squishes on the other end of the couch, wiping his eyes.
Robin and Steve sit on the floor, Dustin falling asleep against his shoulder. His face is scrunched up, and Mike sours. It hasn't been long enough since he'd last seen so much grief on his friend's face.
Last time, it was for Eddie. And now he's lost another one. Mike inhales sharply. He prays Dustin doesn't fall into an ever deeper depression now.
Once again, he wants to slap himself.
He'd called Dustin crazy, and now he's likely going to grieve the same way he did. No, worse. El wasn't his friend. She was his girlfriend. Although…
They'd been weird the last 18 months. It took El three months for her to start talking to him again, and for a bit Mike had been scared she didn't want to date him anymore. But then she started smiling at him again. His visits to the hideout thinned out even more than they already did after that. For some reason.
He'd never really felt guilty about it. After all, she was always smiling and hugging him whenever they'd see each other at the squawk.
She was still there to keep him safe, he was still there to love her.
His eyes flicker to Will. His brows are less scrunched up than before, but his sleep does not seem very restful. His shoulders are tensed, and a stray tear slips underneath his eyelashes down to his lips.
Mike kissed her because she did too. Because he loved her. He tears his gaze away from Will and wishes he'd said it back as Steve speaks up.
"Vickie and Murray are taking the kids back to their parents." He nods towards Holly and Mike. "Do you want them to take her?"
Mike shakes his head. It's not like anyone's home in the first place. Steve seems to remember as much, given the press of his lips.
It's silent for a bit.
"How much blackmail material do we have?"
Mike has tried to figure out the way Robin's brain works a couple times. Right now, he can't even begin to try. Sleep is trying to embrace him, but he knows its cotton fingers are clawed today, and he shakes it off.
"For what?", Lucas asks from where he and Max are behind Mike.
Robin clears her throat, hands talking almost as much as she does. "What I mean to say is," she finally concludes, "that if the military feels threatened enough, they might let Nancy and Hopper go."
Mike's heart starts beating again.
— — —
JAN 19, 11:34 PM, 1988
It took a month for the military to buzz off. Until the new year for them to finally give Mike his sister back, around the same time for their mother to be released from the hospital, and Mike can finally pretend he's not feeling numb anymore. His dad is still in a coma, and Mike finds that he doesn't have it in him to miss him. He was barely conscious before, anyway.
Mike sits upright in his bed, staring at his new closet. He can't sleep.
Every time he closes his eyes, she appears next to his bed. Sometimes she'd stare accusingly, sometimes she'd crawl under the covers with him, caress his cheek and whisper in his ear how she isn't real and Mike will never experience this with her. If he ever found himself wanting it.
The sky outside is clear. It snowed earlier today, dispelling any clouds and giving way for a starry night.
Mike drags himself out of bed and steps to his window to open it. The cold air brushes along his face and neck, mimicking her hands in that flooded dark place as she kissed him. For the first and last time in around two years.
The stars blink at him. They used to reflect in her hazel eyes. Were they hazel? They were brown, weren't they?
Now they reflect in Mike's ebony ones, and she isn't there to look at them.
Mike narrowly misses the knock on his door, the stars growing bigger in his vision. He only notices they're just blurry when the door creaks open.
He turns around, mildly startled. Will is standing there, a thin blue blanket wrapped around him, hand on the handle. "Hey," he whispers, voice shaking. "Sorry for barging in."
Mike turns to fully face him, keeping one hand on the windowsill. "It's okay. I wasn't sleeping." He wipes his eyes as Will closes the door and steps beside him. His hair is sticking in all directions, presumably from tossing and turning.
The moonlight reflects on his skin. Tear streaks are sparkling, and his nose is red. His hair is longer now, reaching below his ears and falling almost completely over his eyes.
Will pushes them away and Mike wishes he'd said it back to her.
"Are you okay?", Will asks, meeting his eyes. Mike nods. Then shakes his head.
"Did you need anything?", he asks back.
Will shakes his head too, poking his head out the window to look at the night sky. The wind plays with the strands on his forehead, messing them up even more. "I was awake. Had a feeling."
"A feeling?" Mike leans his arms on the windowsill and watches the loose snow below dance in the wind.
Will hums. "To come up here." Mike knows he's looking at him now. "To check on you." He doesn't look back.
A beat passes.
"Aren't you cold?"
A smile sneaks through his system and discretely settles on his lips. "That's the least of my concerns."
It's true. His dead girlfriend's ghost is keeping him from sleeping and he would be crying if Will didn't interrupt his nightly mourning. Being cold is not something Mike cares about right now.
Still, he feels Will step closer to drape one half of his blanket over Mike's shoulders. Mike meets his eyes. The stars reflect in his hazel irises. They're shiny with tears, he notices.
Mike swallows. They're almost the same height. "You sure you don't need it yourself?"
"It's big enough for both of us," Will insists and looks away again, sniffling quietly. Mike mirrors his action.
The stars sit, silently looking back at them. The moon is half hidden behind an especially tall tree, casting soft shadows on their faces. Will hiccups, arm brushing along Mike's. He silently pulls him closer, arms around his shoulder. A shooting star passes and Mike wishes he'd said it back to her.
Soon, his cheeks are tear streaked, cold January wind threatening to freeze them over. Mike wouldn't mind.
The moon is above the treetops now.
"I miss her so much," Will whispers, barely audible. Mike looks at him. "Can… can I say that? Is that okay? I know you miss her too, probably more than I do, and you probably don't want to talk about—"
Mike cuts him off gently, wiping his own eyes. "Don't say that. She… I do miss her a lot. Every minute of the day. But don't put down your grief for my sake."
"She was my sister. Is my sister. And I… I don't know, sometimes I feel like she's still here. By my side, but then I remember she's not, and I just…"
He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Mike knows. He looks at his best friend, his best friend, and feels her ghastly fingers close over his eyes. Her lips flutter across his neck.
"Yeah," he breathes, "I know."
Will's eyes find Mike's. Her embrace tightens, and she melts into him, drifts into his skin and digs her nails into his tongue. Mike tries to fight back.
"You look like her."
She releases his tongue, kisses his eyes, and curls up in the front seat of his mind. The breeze flicks one of Will's hairs up, and she guide's Mike's hands to brush through. He can't feel her on his wrist, but she must be.
Will looks a lot like his sister. He always has. It's a little uncanny, considering they're not really related.
"Do I?"
Mike hums. His hand stays in Will's hair.
She pokes her head through Mike's eyes. Her finger dips into his bottom lip, separating it from the upper, and Mike's hand finds Will's cheek.
When they'd first found her, she didn't look much like him. They both had soft cheeks, rosy lips and big doe eyes, but Will's face was rounder than hers. He had moles, her skin was clear. His hair was silky, hers was buzzed.
Mike can't deny he mistook her for a boy at first. Lucas did, Dustin did. They didn't realize until they were on the way back to his house, bringing her into Mike's basement to change their lives forever.
But Mike liked her anyway. Loved her anyway. Of course he did, under the circumstances.
She grew to resemble Will more in later years. Ever since California, Mike couldn't stop seeing her in him. Him in her?
Micheal Wheeler is a liar, though.
Will presses his lips together. "Mike—"
"I see her in you every time I look."
Will takes a step back. Mike's hand falls limp to his side. She slips out of his skin and glares at him. He can feel it, stomach dropping.
Will pulls the blanket back around himself, wipes his tears and leaves the room. He doesn't even say good night.
Mike tries to recall her ghost, but she's no longer there. Was she even there in the first place?
— — —
JAN 20, 10:13 AM, 1988
Will is avoiding him. He doesn't sit where he usually does for breakfast, instead finding space between Mike's mom and Nancy. Mike doesn't understand why. He tries to make eye contact and gives up halfway.
Tries to catch him after, when they're helping Joyce clean up. It's still unfamiliar to Mike. Usually, his mom did the work, and even when the Byers family moved in, she didn't let them do anything by themselves. Not that they really had time to help out anyway.
But now she was stuck on the couch or her bed most of the day, still not recovered enough to move around too much.
Even then, Will didn't look at him.
"Hey—", Mike tries when he hands him the plates. Will walks away.
"Will—", he tries again when Will wipes down the table.
"What's up with you?", finally, when they're doing the dishes together.
Will gives him a pointed look. His eye bags are a little bigger than usual this morning. He looks puffier in general. Nobody else seems to have noticed with how he's been talking and smiling during breakfast.
Mike gulps, taking the wet spoon from his best friend and drying it off. "Are you avoiding me?"
Will sighs. Finally speaks. "It's not even eleven in the morning, Mike. Maybe I'm just tired. Didn't sleep much, remember?"
Mike frowns. He knows that's not what this is. "You had no problem talking to the others."
Will doesn't respond. His shoulders tense ever so slightly, which is all Mike needs to understand. "You… yesterday you left so abruptly. Is it about what I said?"
Will stills, hands hanging limp in the sink. When he meets Mike's eyes, they're filled with a kind of pain Mike doesn't quite recognize. "It's not exactly nice to know that I constantly remind you of your dead girlfriend."
It stings when he bites the inside of his cheek. "You're not her, though."
Will sighs. Sighs? "No shit, Micheal." He turns back to the dishes. It's just a few more plates and bowls.
"I don't know if you feel like her, too." Someone ought to sew his mouth shut. "So it's not really…that bad", he tries to save himself, but Will is already staring at him with a look that is entirely foreign to Mike. In the back of his mind, something falls. He used to be able to read him so well.
With much more fervor than before, Will puts his attention back to the dishes, scrubbing them clean without another word. Mike opens his mouth, closes his mouth. Hopes that one day he learns how to communicate. Wishes he'd said it back to her.
— — —
FEB 14, 02:01 AM, 1988
It's particularly bad today.
She'd found her way into his bed, wrapped her arms around his torso and bit him hard in the chest, right where his heart is. He'd turned to look at her, and she wasn't there. But her grip remained, and she slipped between his bones when he sat up. She wouldn't let go.
Last year, Mike spent Valentine's Day at home. Lucas was in the hospital as usual, this time with a big bouquet of red roses. Dustin was god knows where. Will was visiting El, and Mike had wondered why he didn't go with him. It would've been perfect. Normal; to spend this day with his girlfriend.
Back then, Mike sat in the basement, watching movie after movie until Will came home and his parents went out for their annual Valentine's dinner. The previous years, Mike would roll his eyes when they'd mention it—they didn't even properly love each other, why pretend?
That year, he had an inkling as to why people would pretend to be in love. He pushed it down. It wasn't the same.
He'd spent the rest of the night still watching movies, but with Will by his side. They shared a blanket and a bowl of popcorn, and when their knees touched, neither of them pulled away.
In '86, he'd sent a letter to California, a pink one. He wrote how much he wished to spend the day with El, signed it 'From your boyfriend who misses you', and contemplated sending one to his best friend, threw that one away after staring at the words, and stuffed a necklace he'd bought into El's envelope. She stopped wearing it last spring. At least Mike assumes it was around that time.
In '85, he was in her room the whole day. Between kisses, they shared the chocolate he bought. Mike scratches his temple and wonders what the appeal in that was back then.
This year, Mike woke up the second the clock struck midnight, and he couldn't sleep since.
Wrapping his blanket around himself in an attempt to expel her from his bones, he hops out of bed and makes his way to the window.
Tonight, the sky isn't entirely clear. It's not grey, either, but there are specs of clouds between the sea of stars. The moon is barely visible, a thin crescent peeking through the thin sheet of a cloud.
She slips free from his bones, wrapping around him instead. She presses a featherlight kiss on his lips and dances out the window, floating through the cold air. A shooting star zooms across as she taps the sky, and he wishes for what he hates himself for. She settles right back between his ribcage.
Three quiet knocks sound from his door, and Mike whips his head around faster that the shooting star could've reappeared. He wraps the blanket tighter around himself, burying his nose in the yellow fabric, and gets to the door to open it.
Will's eyes are wide when Mike opens it, as if he's surprised he even got an answer. He's wrapped in the same blanket as last time, but his hair is not as kerfuffled. Mike opens the door wider, letting him in.
"Hi." The word is swallowed by the sound of the door clicking shut again.
Will barely looks at him, waddling right over to his window. Mike stares at him for a moment before joining him. "Had a feeling again?"
Will hums. He's puffy again, but his cheeks are dry this time.
Mike feels her reaching towards the boy, wanting to touch him, too.
"I'm sorry," he blurts, and Will looks at him with a mix of confusion and surprise. "For what I said last time."
Another hum. Will doesn't seem very talkative tonight.
Mike pulls the blanket tighter around himself and sighs. "I didn't mean to upset you. Or to act like you're replacing her—"
"I know I'm not," Will mutters, interrupting him. "It's not like you're treating me like her."
Mike nods, pressing his lips in a line. Of course he doesn't. He doesn't kiss him, or hold him, or pretend to love him. What does he need to pretend anyway? Mike focuses on his hands.
"Do you sometimes wish you could replace her?", Will asks, elbows resting on the windowsill. The wind blows right into his blanket now, and Mike imagines it's not very warming anymore. "Find something to make you feel the way she did?"
Mike doesn't answer. His eyes are glues to Will's face, but the latter is fixated on the ground below. Hands on his cheeks, his hair bunches up where the blanket meets his nape. A little longer and he might be able to tie it up.
"Do you?"
Will shakes his head. "No. Jane is my sister, and she always will be."
Mike tears his gaze away as he says her name. Mike never called her 'Jane'. He knows that's what she was named by her birth mother and called in Lenora, so he supposes it makes sense that Will calls her by that name. He must be more used to hearing it.
Then again, Mike has talked about her so often, referring to her as 'El'. Part of him feels guilty.
"Jane," he tests it out, the way it feels on his tongue. It's… odd. She seems to react to it, slipping away from his skin to lay in his bed instead. Soon, her presence fades.
"Did you ever call her that?", Will asks, now picking at his fingertips.
"No," Mike whispers, watching him do so. "Did you?"
"At school," Will responds. "Sometimes at home. I think she liked it whenever I did at home. Mom called her Jane, too." He pauses, letting a small patch of skin fall into the snow below. It's starting to melt, little blades of grass poking through already. "I think I would've liked to call her Jane more often."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I just… I feel a little bad about calling her by her tag so often."
Mike's heart drops to his feet, and she's back again, picking it up and pocketing it. Then her hand is in his stomach, grabbing his intestines and twisting them around. Her tag.
"Oh."
Mike remembers screaming for her. Begging her to get away from the gate even after being pushed out of the void. Officers trying to hold him back. He'd called her Eleven. A number. Her tag number.
"If there was a way for me to get her back," Will continues, unwise about the turmoil he'd just caused in Mike's insides, "I would undo her ponytail and braid flowers in her hair. Purple flowers, she likes that colour. We'd fill her closet with everything she likes, every shade of the colour wheel, until she could throw on a random shirt and be undeniably herself. I would introduce her to the arts, to science, to literature, to music, until she finds a passion of her own."
He blurs in Mike's vision, turning into a blob of blue and grey. Such a beautiful and pure-hearted boy, isn't he?
"I'd help her study so we can graduate together, and when we're old enough, I would take her dancing. We'd visit the animal shelter and she would get to choose her dream pet and we'd try out every restaurant in Indiana until she finds her very favourite food."
Mike wipes his tears and finds a smile on Will's face, a sparkle in his eyes that is so fucking heartbreaking he has to look away.
"We'd throw her birthday parties, wrap her in garlands on Christmas, and cook Thanksgiving dinner together. And when we'd both have a job, we'd save up so I could show her the world." He sniffs. "I could've been an older brother. A real, loving older brother that calls her by her name and shows her so much that she'd end up sick of discovering new things."
Mike tries to ignore what she whispers in his ear. She'll leave soon, he knows she will, be gone for real. Then he'd have to…
"Sometimes I do wish I could replace her," he says instead, and for a moment, he fears Will is going to leave him alone again. "Because I did so much freaking shit wrong, and—and, I just… if I could fix it, I would, and maybe I would start with being less of a shitty boyfriend and more of a good friend, and then I could… then maybe I could love her… the way I'm supposed to."
He doesn't think about the implications of that. Will doesn't seem to catch on, anyway. He's just looking, no longer leaning on his elbows.
"But sometimes, I also wish I could just have… someone. Someone who will kiss me the way she did, never talk about anything," Mike is rambling now, and he doesn't even know what about, because she's right behind him with her hands on his ears. "Someone who will put their hands on my shoulders and giggle and sigh and just be with me… so that—so that maybe I could pretend it's her and all the mistakes I made still have time to be fixed."
She lifts her hands from his ears, kisses his neck, and dissipates when his eyes meet Will's.
He looks shocked, perhaps a bit bewildered. Mike can't exactly blame him, he probably said something outrageous and weird again. He seems to have a talent for being a piece of shit, anyway.
Mike sighs. Looks away.
Will clears his throat, straightening his back. His blanket slips off his shoulder. He pulls it back, tighter around his body.
Mike knows that if he looks now, he will see her standing next to him, and he will look so much like her it hurts. Or maybe she will look like him. Maybe she's always looked like him.
"I'm sorry," Will mutters, copying Mike's stance. "I may have severely underestimated the way you mourn her." He pauses. "I guess it makes sense… she could've been your wife."
Mike chokes up a laugh, hand over his eyes. "Yeah… so I could make her even more miserable."
"I'm sure you would've figured it—"
"I always called her by her tag, Will." It effectively shuts him up. "I never once even thought about using her name."
"I mean, it's not like—"
"I also never bothered to get to know her," Mike continues, feeling a surge of anger in his chest. Anger at himself. Anger at Will for making him angry at himself. For being so much better than he is. For being so awfully lovable. "I know what it's like to kiss her, what it's like to cradle her, what it's like to make her cry, but I don't even fucking know what her favourite subject in school was.
All we ever did was make out, and I couldn't even properly enjoy that. Kept zoning out. I know she doesn't like hickeys because they look too much like the bruises on her wrists, but I don't know how she used to get those bruises in the first place. I know she likes the colour purple, but I don't know what her favourite flower, food, subject, whatever is. I don't know anything."
He rakes a hand through his hair. Unlike Will, he's been getting haircuts. He's not sure why he's so against the idea of letting it grow out again. He sighs.
"And I… I couldn't even make her feel loved."
Will shakes his head. "No, no, you don't know tha—"
"She pulled me into the void, you know?" Finally his voice breaks, and so does Will's heart when he looks at him. Shock, shock and so much pain. It's not even pity, it's just Will. Will, who always looks like this when Mike's hurting. Not that they've had a heart to heart like this in years.
"She pulled me into there and started lying to herself. How I always understood her best, how I need to make you guys understand her decision because I would get it. But I don't. I don't understand her, or her decision. And then… then she said she loved me." His eyes well up, letting the waters loose over his face. He smiles, and it is nowhere near happy. "I didn't say it back. Then she kissed me and I kissed her because she did it first, and then she pushed me out and then she was dead. Died on the throne of lies that I built for her."
Will's blanket falls to the floor with a thud as he wraps his arms around Mike. They're shaking, they both are, and Mike is grasping at him as hard as he can. He's sobbing into Will's ugly pajama shirt, too far gone to feel bad about the snot he's getting on it.
His legs feel numb, he feels numb. Will's fingers are threading through his hair.
They feel like hers. Hers feel like his.
Mike presses infinitely closer and wishes the night would never end.
— — —
APR 06, 10:12 PM, 1988
Many of Mike's night look like this now. She would shoo him out of bed whenever the sky was clear, and then through some oddly telepathic connection, Will would join him a few minutes later.
They would talk about Jane, mostly. Sometimes about Bob. Sometimes about Eddie, though Mike was really the only one talking those nights. Anyone dear that was taken from them, courtesy of Vecna and the Mindflayer.
They started ditching the blankets, the nights aren't that cold anymore. Besides, they inch closer every single time they're up here, and nothing is more warmth-inducing than a person pressed against you.
Tonight, Mike's mom banned him to his room particularly early. The Byers' are finally moving out tomorrow, joining Hopper in his cabin. Mike's insides twist slightly when he thinks about entering Will's new room and standing where he used to kiss Jane.
He runs a hand over his face. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He barely paid attention to the interior anyway, his eyes had usually been closed. He's pretty sure the walls are green, and her bed is very comfortable. Her hand digs into his chest in the form of guilt.
Three little knocks forbid him from falling deeper into the pit. He doesn't even have to walk over anymore. Will cracks the door open and pokes a head in, a small smile on his lips. The door closes with a small click, and then Will is next to him, already holding out his arms.
Right. They do this now. Hugging. So much hugging.
"I believe it's past your bedtime, Sir Michael," Will whispers into Mike's shoulder. He fits right in, the perfect height for Mike to rest his chin on his head, the perfect size for him to wrap his arms around him. It reminds him of their last year in middle school.
Despite the way he acted, Mike had suffered from a bit of a jumpscare when he'd come to visit Lenora in spring break of 1986 and Will was not only much taller than in the summer, but also much… broader? Undeniably handsome, pretty eyes and—anyway.
Much to Mike's luck, Will seems to be stuck in the height of his fifteen year old self, while Mike himself was granted one last growth spurt last year. He was the perfect lock to Will's key again, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. If he got giddy thinking about that sometimes, it was nobody's business but his own.
"Shut up," he mumbles, burying his face in Will's shoulder. The boy giggles softly, pushing onto his tip-toes. His hands thread through Mike's hair, coercing a satisfied sigh that expelled her cold fingers from his body.
She seems to keep to herself more often, he notices. Mike barely even sees her anymore, let alone feel her. She's not quite gone yet, as if she's anticipating one last thing. Mike isn't sure if he's waiting for or dreading the day she presses one last ghost kiss on his cheek and waves him goodbye. She will be a memory, one of Mike's best and worst. One of his happiest and most painful ones. A memory he wants to hold on to.
Will's warmth slowly drifts backwards, hands moving from Mike's hair to his shoulders, until they fall off his body entirely. Mike can't help but miss them.
They don't say anything for a few minutes. Will leans against the windowsill and sticks his head out, closing his eyes as the breeze drifts over his skin and ruffles his hair. Mike mirrors him, except his eyes stay fixed on the boy beside him.
Will is the first to break the silence, turning to look at Mike. "Are you sure you don't want to celebrate tomorrow?"
Mike shakes his head. "No… besides, I really want to help you guys move."
"I'm sure neither mine nor your mom would mind if we delayed it for your birthday."
Mike wants to point out that his dad surely would, but he assumes Will is aware of that. Instead, he shrugs, eyes turning upwards to the stars. "I just don't feel like celebrating."
Will nudges him, wiggling his eyebrows. "Not even the sweet seventeen?"
Mike snorts. "You didn't really celebrate either." That seems to do the job. Will sighs, looking away.
They both know the reason neither of them are in the mood to put much importance on their birthdays. They've talked about it before.
An owl toots. The wind rustles the leaves, somewhere down the road a windchime swings. Mike is picking at his fingers, watching a small patch of skin tumble into the grass below. The flowerbeds in various gardens of the street are blooming now, colourful blobs of life. His eyes hook on one in particular. Its greens are barely visible, hidden underneath a blanket of different shades of purple.
An idea pops in his head, impulsive and maybe a little stupid, but then she's right in front of him and she looks so, so happy. Mike turns to Will.
"Should we make her a grave?"
"Huh?" Will is surprised more than not, and Mike can see the gears in his head turning.
"Maybe 'memorial' is the better word, since we—you know—don't have her body," he adds, scratching his temple in a mildly awkward manner. "I was just thinking… she died in such a horrible place, and now she's god knows where. If I was, like, dead, I would want a place to rest."
He can't recall the last time he's seen Will so genuinely enamored with an idea. Or—no. He nods, a wide smile stretching across his mouth. "I know the perfect place!"
— — —
It's 45 minutes to midnight when they sneak out of the house, backpack filled with everything that used to be Jane's. Everything they could find, at least, most of it got lost with the destruction of their house in Lenora. They steal a toolbox and a carving knife from the garage and hop on their bikes, speeding through the dark alongside each other.
Mike can feel her looking at them through the window. Then she's right behind him, sitting on his bike and wrapping her arms around his torso. He shivers. This is the first time she has followed him outside the house. The first time that her presence feels like less of a burden, less of a manifestation of guilt, and more like a soul that yearns for its peace.
"Isn't this the way to your old house?", Mike asks a few minutes in.
Will hums, barely audible. "Just follow me."
They drive past the house the Byers' lived in for years, venturing into the woods. Mike decides the ground is shit for biking and hops right off, pushing instead. Will leads him through the trees with purpose, as if he's walked this route a million times before. The forest floor is slightly damp from the morning shower, moss squelching beneath their feet. Passing tree stumps and fairy rings, Will finally slows down when a small clearing appears.
Mike's jaw detaches. "What the hell–? Since when has this been here?" His eyes wander over the grass, glistening in the moonlight. Countless little flowers emerge from the ground; he identifies most of them as bluebells. A small rock sits in what could be deemed the center of the clearing, shaped in a way that simply invites a passerby to take a seat.
Will chuckles. "Apparently since forever." He leans his bike against a tree and smiles, a ghost of melancholy settling on his lips. "We both know Jane was good at finding things."
Mike doesn't reply, a weight settling on his shoulder. It isn't her though. No, she is twirling towards the rock, dancing around it before settling on it, eyes closed in contentment. Mike watches her, really looks at her. Between his worries of being either crazy or fucking schizophrenic, he smiles. She opens her eyes and smiles right back.
Mike doesn't know why. He's not very good at knowing things, noticing or realizing, or really anything that has to do with the way he feels. But as he watches her pale silhouette rest on the rock, the piece of puzzle clicks into place.
"I wasn't in love with her."
Will, who was rummaging through the backpack for a flashlight, stills. "What?"
Mike tears his gaze away from her ghost and looks at him. "My feelings for El were not romantic. I think. No—, I knowthey weren't."
Will's lips form a line, the skin between his eyebrows scrunch temporarily. He does not like that. At all. He opens his mouth, but Mike cuts him off.
"I loved her," he says and places the toolbox beside the rock she sits on. "In a way that I cared for her so much. It's like—"
"Then why'd you date her?" Oh okay, yeah, Will is very unhappy with the revelation that his sister's boyfriend was apparently leading her on for years. It's not like Mike wasn't expecting this kind of reaction. In previous conversations they'd had, he could see Will tense up or look at him a certain way for just a second. And there is only so much one can take before snapping.
Will Byers is—fortunately—not someone that snaps snaps. And tonight, Mike doesn't have another's soul in his bones. He is free of pressure.
"Hear me out, please?", Mike asks, and Will immediately softens. He turns back to the backpack, signalizing Mike to go on while he busies himself with the creation of a name plate.
"When we found her in the woods, I wanted her gone. I wanted to keep looking for you. But Dustin and Lucas insisted we needed to take her home. They weren't wrong, it wouldn't have been okay to just leave a girl in the middle of the woods in the rain." He takes the carving knife from Will's outstretched hand and picks up a stick from further into the woods. "This one good?"
Will inspects it for a moment. "Should work."
Mike nods and sits down next to her ghost, carving one end pointy. "Anyway, so we took her to my place, made this plan to send her away the next morning and called it a day. And I saw her number, found out it was a name, and while I didn't understand it, it felt off. I think that's where it started. This intense… care, for her."
Ice cold fingers tread through his hair, playing with his locks. He doesn't have it in him to shiver.
"Then we found out she has super-powers and comes from a 'bad place', as she called it. And I just… I don't know, I thought it was really cool. In a way that finding an abandoned puppy and getting to be the one to save it is cool. Confused it with a crush, because—you know—I'm a boy, she's a girl, and I think she's really fucking cool, so I must like her." He gulps, looking at Will. "Having a girlfriend… doesn't that sound amazing to a 12-year-old boy who got picked on for being too close with the 'queer' kid?"
Will's carving stops, hand sinking onto the wood like a feather. Temporarily, Mike worries that Will misunderstood what he means and feels offended now. But he catches Mike's eye, and a flimmer of understanding lights up. "Oh…"
"Yeah," Mike mumbles. "Oh."
"I…I didn't know you were—"
"I know," Mike cuts Will's stammering off, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "That was my goal, anyway. …Dating El,… it was safe, you know? Not just because nobody accuses a guy with a girlfriend of being queer, but also because I could hide from myself behind her." He's pretty sure if her hands weren't void of material, he'd have tons of little braids in his hair by now. He bites back a smile, because Will isn't crazy like he is. "I really did believe I was in love with her. And I would be, if I was just…" He sighs.
Arms wrap around his shoulders. Actual, really-there arms. Mike hugs Will back, burying his face in his neck. He prays that Will can't hear his heartbeat hammering rapidly against his ribcage.
"I think she knew," he mutters against Will's skin. The boy pulls away, leaving Mike instantly cold.
"That you're gay?"
Oh, good lord, the g-word. It was hard enough to accept that part of him, let alone call himself 'queer'. But gay implied so much more than 'queer' does, and Mike is still guilty of desiring that at least one part of him has a chance of marrying a woman he loves.
He bites his tongue. "More that I didn't love her like that. She stopped wearing my gifts, stopped kissing me… pretty much quit everything that gave our relationship some sense of sustenance. I don't think she really knew what… that.. really is. Not like we taught her."
Will hums. Mike can tell there is something he wants to say, can practically hear the gears in his head turning. But he doesn't. He tears his eyes away from Mike and grabs the knife, continuing to carve her name into the bark of aspen wood.
They work away in silence, the only sound being the rasp of blade against wood. An owl howls, being the first to make Mike shiver. Leaves rustle in the wind, a tree aches. Will changes his posture, leaning back against the rock with a quiet thud.
"I'm done," Mike murmurs when the last stroke against the stick makes its end sharp as a spear.
Will hums. "One more minute."
When he's done, they dig through the toolbox they stole from Mike's garage. This nail is too short, this one to thin and this one can't be used without a drill. They have to settle for two long nails.
"Is that enough?", Mike asks unsure, scratching his head.
"It'll have to be," Will replies, shrugging.
They hammer the nameplate and the stick together, and it takes longer than it should've because they don't want to be too loud.
She watches them, still perched on the rock, face in her hand. Maybe Mike is double crazy, but she looks a lot younger than she did just yesterday. Her hair is short now, eyes big and curious. Summer '85.
The stick plunges into the dirt with an ugly squelch, some of the water splashing up from the moss.
Jane 'El' Hopper
Forever Loved
Mike doesn't even realize he's crying until Will hands him a tissue. "Thanks."
"Of course." Oh, Will is crying too. Of course Will is crying too, that's his sister.
It feels like hours passed until their tears finally dry and they assemble all of her little trinkets around the sign. Her ghastly silhouette sits in front of it, hair now curly and youthful. A serene smile rests on her lips. She meets Mike's eyes and mouths a 'thank you'.
He sighs. "Have you ever loved someone?"
"Huh?" Will wipes the glistening streaks of leftover tears from his cheeks and looks over at Mike. "…I love many people."
Mike chuckles, lightly shoving him in the shoulder. "You know what I mean."
Will grins. "I do." It fades into more of a melancholic smile, eyes watching the makeshift-grave again. "And I did. Well—still do, I guess…"
Mike wants to facepalm when he remembers. Will, sitting in front of everybody, fidgeting anxiously, eyes filled with tears. "Right, that Tammy guy. I forgot, sorry." He's always wanted to forget, ever since Will said the words.
To his surprise, Will snorts. "No, there's no guy named Tammy. Never existed."
"But—"
"Figure of speech."
"Oh." Mike looks away, pursing his lips. "Never heard of that one."
"Yeah…" Will awkwardly wipes his nose. Turns his head to Mike again. "If you weren't in love with Jane… have you ever been in love with someone?"
Mike's heart squeezes when his eyes meet Will's. His cheeks are rosy, as is his nose, looking so perfectly soft. His eyes are red-rimmed from crying, and the stars reflect in them like moonlight on a lake. His lips—oh god, his lips—are pink and inviting, painfully lonely. His hair is muzzled from the wind, some strands still dancing with every gust.
Mike speaks before he thinks what any of this means. Maybe he already knows. Maybe this is what she's anticipating. His voice is barely above a breath. "Yeah. I am."
Will smiles, gentle crease in his shimmering face. "Happy Birthday, Mike."
Mike's soul dances like a dragonfly over water.
— — —
MAY 02, 10:39 PM, 1988
Visits become a weekly routine. Of course, they didn't keep their work a secret, and sometimes the party or even Hopper joins them, but at night, Mike and Will are usually the only ones to be at Jane's clearing. Tonight, as well, it's just them and her ghost, sitting by the rock.
Will is smiling at him, cheek on his knee, as Mike is strumming along his guitar. He hasn't used it in way too long, so he'd decided to take it with him tonight.
"You know," Will says after the melody of 'Died In Your Arms' fades. "I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've seen you with this guitar."
Mike raises an eyebrow. "Are you serious? I swear you've seen me play before."
"Nope," Will snorts. "I knew you had one. That's all."
"What the hell!?"
"I know!" Will laughs.
Mike shakes his head in disbelief, rearranging his fingers on the cords. "This is unacceptable! We've been friends for how many years now? Ten?"
"Twelve."
"Twelve years! And you didn't once hear me play!?"
Will can barely stop laughing now. It's endearing as fuck and Mike's cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "Well, how long have you had it for?", Will asks between joyful hiccups.
"I don't know! Years, that's for sure," Mike replies. "What do you want me to play?" He watches with fond eyes as Will tries to calm down, taking deep breaths before he shrugs. Mike pouts dramatically. "Come on, you gotta think of a song!"
"I don't know which songs you know!", Will argues. He shifts, sitting with his legs draped to the side and a hand in the grass to steady himself.
Mike sighs. He digs through the depths of his memory, though it seems wiped now that he has to use it. Stealing one last look at Will's oddly pretty position, he gets an idea.
His fingers find the cords, a note is released into the night. Will's eyes widen, a grin spreading across his whole face as he immediately recognizes the song.
"Darlin' you've got to let me know," Mike begins, and it doesn't take a second until Will is singing along with him. "Should I stay or should I go?"
Mike is not the biggest fan of The Clash. It must run in the family, because as he found out a few weeks ago, neither is Nancy, and neither is Holly or his mom. When one of their songs started playing on the radio, all of them would utter complaints simultaneously. What Ted thinks about it, Mike doesn't know. Mike never knows anything his father thinks, because he's barely even present.
There is one song of The Clash that Mike does like, and it has everything to do with the boy in front of him.
The melody drifts through the flowers, Will's voice dancing with it, twirling and intertwining into a sound Mike could listen to until his inevitable death.
"So, ya gotta let me knooooow!", Will sings.
"Should I stay, or should I go?", Mike joins in and strums the final note.
Will falls back into the grass, the happiest smile Mike has seen in a while on his lips. His eyes reflect the twinkling stars, then he closes them. Mike sighs in contentment, puts his guitar away and crawls over to lay down next to Will.
"You know how you told me that asking to be my friend was the best thing you've ever done when I was possessed?", Will says after a while. Mike hums. "You've said a lot of things since then, so I don't know if that's still true, but…" he turns his head, meeting Mike's surprised eyes, "it's definitely the best thing I've ever done. Saying yes."
Mike gulps, almost failing to keep his tears down. He reaches out before he can stop himself, promptly pulling Will into his embrace. It's minimally awkward, because they're laying on each other rather lopsidedly, but then Will shifts and gets comfortable. "It still is the best thing I've ever done", Mike whispers, ignoring his hammering heartbeat as he pulls him as close as he can. He doesn't even care if Will can hear it.
He feels Will tense in his grip momentarily, and for a moment he second-guesses his confidence. But then he relaxes, nuzzling into Mike's chest and wrapping an arm around Mike's torso.
All worries fall from Mike's shoulders, and with them do any thoughts at all. He closes his eyes, reeling in the warmth of Will's body. He's tired, he realizes. And he must not be the only one, because Will is out five minutes later.
Mike's hand finds Will's hair. He brushes through the soft strands until he, too, drifts into sleep.
— — —
She looks nothing like she did when she died.
Her hair, tied back harshly as if her head was shaved again back, is now flowing over her shoulders in soft waves. It's messy, but not unkempt. It frames her pretty face nicely, and her youthful eyes look at Mike with a fondness he hasn't seen since November 1984.
She looks like a person. She looks like Jane. She looks free.
"Mike," she calls from where she's standing barefoot between the bluebells. They're more vibrant around her feet, and light up with every step she takes towards him.
Mike can't speak or move from his spot, his arms flop uselessly against his sides when he tries to reach out.
"How long have I been trapped by my own decision?", she asks, but she does not expect an answer. "How long have I watched you?"
Mike doesn't know. It's been so long since he's last seen her.
"I am no ghost that haunts you," she says, and now she's right in front of him. "I am my soul that you bound to yourself in guilt."
He's not sure what that means. Neither is he sure if this is really El, because her voice is steady and her words careful in ways he's never heard her speak before. Then again, the year before her death was a year they were apart from each other.
"I'm not mad at you," she continues, circling him. He can only turn, watch as her steps chime the bells of the flowers. "I was, for a while. Before I died. After I died. I knew you don't love me. I know you stopped a long time ago, and maybe you never did at all. Not the way you told me you did. If 'told' is the right word." She smiles bitterly. Mike cringes.
"But, I am not mad anymore." Her hands cup his face, and much unlike the nights that she slipped between his bones and froze him from the inside, they're soft and warm. "You, Mike, were one of the first people to show me kindness. You let me live in your basement despite my weirdness, you treated me like a friend. You called me for almost a whole year, and although you never really looked for me, I felt as though you were. You made me feel normal."
Normal. She had made him feel normal too.
"There are days I wish I could've spent differently, moments I wish I hadn't wasted on you; but everything you may have ruined in me are never, never, enough to cancel out the reasons I loved you."
Mike silently begs the universe to let him cry, for the ache in his chest is too great to push down now.
"And for everything you did for me, everything you made me feel… Thank you. It's time for me to go."
Her hands fall from his face. Her gaze moves behind Mike, and he follows it until he sees them: Will and himself, curled up against each other in the sea of flowers. Will has a calm smile on his face, Mike is crying.
She sighs. It's not a sad or a resigned sigh, but a dreamy yet not exactly happy one. Like she's judging a painting and her only issue with it is the frame. When she looks back at Mike, she's smiling.
"You're an idiot, you know?", she says and moves away, taking the light of the flowers with her. "He is my brother. I hope he will have your love truthfully. Everything you couldn't give to me, I want you to give to him. It's what he deserves. And it is my dying wish." She sinks onto her grave.
Multiple versions of her are flickering over her face. One time she's a baby, then she looks like that ugly day in Lenora, then she's wearing the dress from Snow Ball of '84. Then she's there, sitting in a white dress Mike has never seen her in before, and she looks happier than ever.
"Goodbye, Mike."
He startles awake with a sob.
— — —
MAY 29, 3:19 PM, 1988
Summer comes early. The temperatures rise rapidly, and it hasn't been two weeks before Mike barely survives in a shirt. He's long switched out his jeans for a pair of shorts, but even that is doing little to keep him from melting.
Mike hasn't stopped thinking about what Jane said to him in his dream. He thinks about it at least twice a day; before he goes to bed, and when he wakes up in the morning. Of course, he knew. He knew he's in love with the boy that he's known for all his life, knew it since the night of his birthday. But to have his own girlfriend—in her final death, no less—tell him so and then command him to treat him right has a little more weight than Mike's own realization.
Has he done anything about it? Fuck no.
He's thought about it. Multiple times. But every time he wonders if now is the right time to say it, he remembers that Will loves someone. Someone else, most likely. Mike has spent hours trying to figure out who, but he never really gets there. Sometimes, his mind tries to trick him into thinking it was him that Will loves. Then he second-guesses and tries to distract himself.
Such worries keep Mike from telling Will what he needs to, keep him from fulfilling Jane's dying wish. He can still barely wrap his head around the fact his girlfriend's dying wish is for Mike to love her brother. It's ridiculous, really. It's making him malfunction most of the time. He stumbles over his words, gets red in the face, can barely think straight, and just acts like a total loser around his best friend.
Today, Will is making Mike's life extra hard.
He's wearing a washed out grey tank-top, tucked into his shorts. A blue, short-sleeved flannel is hanging off it. Around his neck dangles a small necklace that Mike has sworn he's seen on Jane before. His hair is slightly messy from riding his bike over to Mike's house. He's leaned over his sketchbook, which is resting on his knee, the light hitting his face as if made for him.
"You look pretty," Mike blurts at the same time as Will asks: "Should I get my ears pierced?"
Both of them look at each other in surprise. Mike turns crimson red, stumbling over his words. "I-I mean, yeah! Yeah, no, you should! If you want to, of course, I just—I think it'd look really pre—good! Good, look really good."
Will's lips quirk up in an amused smile, and Mike wishes the ground would swallow him whole. "You think so?"
"Yeah," Mike replies, calmer now. "I really do."
Will hums, turning back to his sketchbook. "Hm. I might, then. I've been thinking about it for a while."
"You have?"
"Yeah," he says, pencil hovering over the paper. "There's, like… symbolism in it. You know? Depending on which side you wear your earring."
Mike knows about it. He's tried to do research before. Does this mean…? He clears his throat. "Do you want to put yourself out there?" He cringes when he registers what that sounds like. "I mean… like, do you want people to know? A-and act on it? I mean, like… hit on you?"
Will snorts. He looks at Mike, really looks at him, and the grin on his face reads something Mike doesn't understand. "Sure," he says, amused. "Gotta give a teenage romance one last shot before graduation, no?"
Something in Mike's tummy drops. He feels himself frowning. "Oh…," he mumbles, then quickly catches himself before Will realizes how disappointed he is. "I mean, like… what about that guy you like? Wouldn't you want to, uh, try with him? Instead of, um, looking for other options?"
Will raises an eyebrow, the grin morphing into more of a smirk. Mike feels himself blushing when Will lowers his voice, meeting Mike's eyes. "If he hurries up."
A thought zooms through Mike's brain. It's there for barely a second, but it's enough to leave his heart banging on his ribcage, and everything he believes to turn into hopeful mush.
That sounded personal. You-personal.
He looks away, and Will resumes his sketching. His ears are bright red, Mike notices.
The turmoil in his body quiets after a while, and Mike allows himself to scoot closer. "What are you drawing?"
Will lets him invade his space. Their shoulders touch, and Mike has to force himself not to pull away. He feels a soft press of skin against his leg, followed by a gentle nudge of his shoulder. Internally, he screams. Externally, he swallows and tries his best not to look at Will.
The pencil strokes on the paper make up a person. A boy with dark curls and strong features, clad in armor that shines in the sun. He's laying on grass, a big sword with a heart symbol on the handle beside him. He looks like…
"Is that me?"
Will giggles almost bashfully. It makes Mike's heart swell. "It's Mike the Brave! It's been a while since I drew our D&D characters, so I just… wanted to get back into it."
Mike looks at him in awe. There is probably very little difference between his face and the one of a puppy that just received head pats for the first time right now, and for a second he considers finally doing what Jane asked of him.
"Do you have more?", he asks instead.
Will smiles and flips back the pages in his sketchbook. There's a lot of Lucas' and Dustin's characters, always looking slightly different. Mike pouts, barely visible.
As if sensing his mild jealousy, Will speaks up. "I wasn't sure how their characters would look and dress, so I tried a few more options." He flips another page, which finally depicts Mike again. His character sits proud atop a majestic horse, sunset colours reflecting on his sword and shield. "I have a very clear image of what yours looks like, though."
Mike hearts beats into his throat, punching up his words for him. "Have you been drawing me more, or what?" He's surprised to find he's just flirted with Will.
The latter seems to have noticed, raising an eyebrow as a small smirk tugs at him lips. "It seems I have."
Mike can fight neither the grin, nor the tingling redness that shoots right into his face. "Well, I like it. The design."
"Glad you do," Will says, mirroring Mike's smile. He might as well die on the spot. He exhales. Opens his mouth. Closes it.
The sun slowly disappears behind the clouds, taking the golden gleam off of Will's face.
After an eternity of silence, Mike gets up to pull his window open. The hot summer air has cooled down a little, evening setting in. "Are you hungry?", he asks, leaning his back against the windowsill.
"Not really," Will replies, setting his sketchbook aside.
"Are you sure?" Mike's eyes land on the clock on his wall. "It's almost eight."
"I've been here five hours!?", Will exclaims, which catches Mike off guard.
A surprised laugh bubbles from his throat. "Yes?? Why are you surprised?"
Will's cheeks are rosy, and he looks away. "We barely did anything…"
"So?" Mike pushes off the windowsill and sits down on the bed. Closer than before. Much closer. He barely notices until he's already seated and Will's face is right in front of him. He swallows. "We spent time together anyway…"
Will's eyes flicker all over Mike's face. His stomach tingles, flattering wings beating a melody inside. His lips part on their own, and Will's eyes follow the movement. Mike can't help but copy, gaze falling downwards. Jane's voice echoes through his head, urging him to do what he wants to, take what he yearns for.
Then Will locks eyes with him again, his eyebrows pulled together ever so slightly. As if he, too, is expecting something. Mike clears his throat. Doesn't move away. His hand twitches.
Do it. Do it. Do it. Fucking do it, already.
The curtains rustle as a warm gust of wind swirls inside, tugging on Will's hair. Mike blinks.
It's as if his third eye has been awakened. He sees clearly.
Will's eyes—his beautiful, hazel eyes—are filled with fondness. Pure, innocent fondness and silent hope. He's urging Mike, begging him to say it. Begging him to admit his feelings so he can finally accept them. Mike heart stutters to a halt, suddenly calm.
His voice is barely anything above a whisper when the words come tumbling out, landing soft like feathers in the space between them. "I'm in love with you."
Will's eyes crinkle, narrowing to half their size as a beaming grin spreads on his lips. His ears flush, as does his nose, and then his arms are wrapped around Mike's shoulders. The sudden force of the hug sends him backwards, colliding with his mattress.
Mike knows his own expression is much the same.
"Fucking finally," Will mumbles into Mike's shoulder, the smile evident in his voice. "You were so annoying keeping me waiting."
Mike splutters, pushing Will back by his shoulders until he can get a good look on his face. God, his face. It drips of pure joy. "Sorry, did you know?!"
Will laughs, getting up and pulling Mike right with him until they're standing hand in hand in the middle of the room. "I did," he says, taking Mike's other hand as well. "I was waiting for you to tell me."
Mike frowns, though there isn't a cell in his body that is genuinely annoyed. Will has always been the one person who had a hard time eliciting that emotion in him. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Will rolls his eyes, tugging Mike closer. "I've been here for years, Mike. It's been a 'does he, does he not' thing for the past half of them, you can't blame me for really wanting you to confirm it. You for you, I mean." He pauses, draping his arms over Mike's shoulders. "I know you wouldn't have rejected me if I told you I loved you."
Mike gulps, heat rushing into his face. He loves me!
"But I also know that the only way for me to know you're really ready to make that commitment, no second-guessing and suppressing and whatever else I didn't notice you doing back then, is for you to tell me first." He smiles. "I want to be your boyfriend, Mike Wheeler. And I wanted you to want to be mine, too."
"I do," Mike whispers. "I do want to be your boyfriend."
Will grins. "I know."
Mike can't help but grin back.
— — —
JUN 19, 02:04 PM, 1988
The yelp Lucas lets out when Dustin throws him into the water is borderline embarrassing. Will chokes on his soda, falling back into the grass with laughter. Lucas emerges, eyes wide and hair dripping, looking betrayed. "What the hell, Dustin!"
Promptly, a water fight ensues. The rapid splashing alerts Max, who's been lying flat on her back with a pair of red sunglasses on her nose for the past ten minutes. It doesn't take five seconds before she's darting away to absolutely obliterate the boys with lukewarm lake water.
It's the last sunny day before Hawkins's weather plummets into summer storms and rain, and the five of them had decided to spend it at Lover's Lake. They clearly weren't the only ones with that idea, and had to trek around half the lake to finally find a spot that was secluded enough for them to relax undisturbed.
Mike lies down next to Will, interlinking their pinkies. Will immediately scoots closer, pulling Mike's arm around his shoulders.
The boyfriend thing is working out… well enough. It isn't much different from their friendship, Mike has to admit. They visit each other almost every day, sometimes at Will's and sometimes at Mike's. Will gives Mike about twice as many drawings as he used to, and Mike lets Will read over pretty much every single piece of literature his hands produce. They share clothes, they watch movies, they listen to music; all ordinary stuff.
Yes, they cuddle more often, and yes, they tend to hold hands when no one's looking. Sometimes Will presses a kiss against Mike's cheek before he leaves. Other days Mike kisses Will's forehead as they're watching a movie.
But other than that label, they're the same. Mike can't say he's a hundred percent happy with that.
He really wants to kiss Will. On the lips. On the mouth. On the neck. If he lets him.
There were moments where Mike thinks he might've gotten close to it. That one time in his basement during movie night, where they'd gotten into a playful quarrel as they waited for the others to fill up the snacks and Mike ended up with his hands beside Will's head; interrupted by their stupid friends returning.
The other day, at Mike's front door at some ungodly hour because Will was expected back home and they'd forgotten the time; also interrupted, because Karen emerged from the kitchen, wondering why they were still up.
Just yesterday, when they were doing stupid dances to whatever tape Max had put on and Will gave him that look again. But they hadn't been alone.
Every instance, every possible moment that Mike could've used to finally kiss his fucking boyfriend has been ruined so far.
He turns his head, looking at Will. His nose is bright red. "Oh my god," Mike snorts, sitting up. "Did you put sunscreen on your face?"
Will pops on eye open. "Yeah, earlier."
Mike tsks playfully, reaching over to grab the bottle. "Should've reapplied." He squirts a bit onto his hand and dips his finger in before booping Will's nose. "You're red like that one reindeer."
"Oh." Will sits up as well, reaching over to take some sunscreen. Mike moves his hand away.
"Uh-uh," he says, shuffling closer. "Let me spoil you."
Will chuckles. "Okay. Spoil me, my dear."
Mike's inside turn warm. The hot weather doesn't help at all. He spreads the sunscreen all over Will's face, gentle fingers rubbing it into the skin. When he's all done, he massages the rest into Will's shoulders and the base of his neck. Then his hands still.
They rest featherlight on Will, who is looking at Mike with a hint of expectation.
"Will," Mike begins, suddenly confidence piloting his tongue, "why haven't we kissed yet?"
Will smiles. "Great question. I think we keep getting interrupted."
Mike is infinitely glad that Will has caught up on the energy as well, and clearly wants to kiss him too. "So you agree we should kiss?"
A cute laugh bubbles out of Will's throat, and he nods. "Yes, I want to please kiss my boyfriend soon."
Mike looks over to the lake, where the water fight is slowly dying down. Then all around him, making sure nobody else is there to witness it. When he finds Will's eyes again, he's sat up and is gulping. Mike's heart tightens in endearment. "Are you nervous?"
Will lightly smacks him. "This is my first kiss, let me be nervous."
Mike's mouth falls open. "Seriously?"
"Yes?"
"Oh my god," Mike mumbles, hands coming up to cup Will's face. "You just upped the pressure."
Will snorts. "I'm sure you'll do fine. You've had practice."
"Yeah, but this is like. different!", Mike argues, but starts leaning in anyway.
"Because I'm a boy?" Will tilts his head ever so slightly.
"Partially," Mike responds and is two seconds away from closing the distance, when Max plops back onto her towel next to them. They jump apart and Mike almost groans. Almost. Because Dustin is staring at them open-mouthed while Lucas cozies up to Max.
Max waves her hand, not looking at them. "Oh, don't be bothered. We know."
"No the fuck we don't!?", Dustin exclaims, eyes darting from one couple to they other. "No the fuck I don't??"
"No the fuck you don't," Lucas confirms, placing his pair of sunglasses on his nose. "They were pretty obvious."
Dustin stares at the grass, thinking. His bewildered expression soon morphs into realization, eyebrows shooting up into the sky as he tilts his head. "No, no, this makes sense. This makes perfect sense. But since when are you on kissing basis?"
Both Mike and Will, who have been watching the exchange with open eyes, shake themselves free of surprise. Will's head drops into his hands. "Oh my god."
"Three weeks," Mike mutters. He finds himself shockingly okay with the fact everybody knew already, now back to sulking because he was once again hindered from kissing his boyfriend.
Dustin shakes his head. "Three weeks… why would you keep that from us?"
Lucas raises his hand. "I second that question."
"'cause they're kinda stupid," Max answers first. "Probably thought we'd have issues with it as if we ever showed signs of that."
Okay, Mike has to admit it may have been dumb to hide their relationship. Clearly they have no more questions, because Dustin just shrugs and lies down next to Lucas.
Mike and Will exchange a look. Then, without warning, Will's hand wraps around Mike's wrist and he's dragged right up and into the water.
"I can't believe it!", he seethes, though void of actual anger. "They knew!? What the hell were we sneaking around for then?"
A smile tugs at Mike's lips as he swims after him, blindly following him into a part of the lake that is mostly secluded by tree branches hanging into the water. His hands find Will's waist immediately when he stands. It comes naturally. Will spins around and wraps his arms around Mike's shoulders, looking up at him through dampened lashes. "Can you believe we could've kissed so much sooner!?"
Mike can't help but laugh. "I have this awful feeling that our roles should be reversed right now."
Will grins, relaxing into his touch. "You're a bad influence for my temper."
"Better get far away from me then," Mike teases.
Will shakes his head and pulls him in. "Shut up and kiss me."
Finally, finally their lips connect and, oh—this is so much better than Mike could've imagined it. Will's lips are soft and warm, and soon the hesitance falls away and he steps impossibly closer, slowly starting to move his mouth against Mike's.
It feels familiar, in a way, as if everything in his life has led up to this moment. Will's skin in cool and wet from the water, and a satisfied hum leaves his lips when Mike's thumbs draw circles over his waist.
Mike tilts his head, pressing closer. His heart is racing, and he really really really wants more. Will gently pushes him back by the chest, beaming up at him when he opens his eyes. "I need to breathe."
Mike smiles. "I love you."
"I know. I love you too."
He yelps when Mike kisses him again, the force sending both of them tumbling into the water.
A weight is lifted off Mike's bones by a pair of delicate hands. They're cold, but they're loving. He knows that now.