Archive of Our Own

It started with a snowball.

Nothing large, no bigger than a young child’s hand could hold.

The young brunet boy sat on the fence, swaying his feet back and forth as Jonathan tended to the animals in the small, creaky barn that they called home. Will hummed a soft melody, watching the older brother of the two narrate what he was doing. Will was ‘old enough’ by his father’s standards to start working. Only six years old, sure, but never too young to learn how to “become a man,” as his father stated.

Will had heard his mother and father arguing on how old Will should be to start manual labour. They used big words that someone of Will’s age could only wish to understand.

Will was growing restless. The swaying of his little feet and the humming of his sweet voice untouched by adolescence couldn’t satisfy him anymore.

With little to no farewell to his poor, anxious older brother, Will scampered off on his stubby legs, tripping over his worn and torn shoes.

The grass grew taller as he persisted, small hills forming and finally stopping when the treeless meadow cut off into a dark forest where he had seen creatures even more small and feeble to him scuttle out of. Finches, rabbits, squirrels, even the occasional fawn, which, unlike the other animals, were bigger than him at the age he was.

The basil-green grass reached his lower claves, causing an itch to form on his bare legs. All his clothes were hand-me-downs of Jonathan— not like he minded— meaning they were already stained with dirt, soot, and other miscellaneous substances to permanently damage the clothes. He had seen his mother stitching up tears in his clothes, patches of fabrics that didn’t quite match the colour nor pattern of what was being fixed. Will didn’t know his clothes were of poor quality, they came from the two people he loves most, so why should it matter any more than that?

The young boy plopped himself down in the grass, looking at his barn house in the distance. It wasn’t too long of a journey, but he was hidden. Hidden from chores, the rancid scent of sweat and other unnamed smells. Will let his upper body meet the ground, crushing the turf beneath him. It was late into the morning; The morning dew had dried in the heat of the sunlight above him, the sun now sluggishly dragging itself to meet directly overhead.

It was peaceful. Away from the melancholy of his father criticizing Jonathan, criticizing his mother, criticizing him. Will didn’t know who to believe during these arguments or discussions, as his brother labeled them just to assure the younger one. His mother was an angel sent down from above, blessing Will and Jonathan with quiet reassurance after the loud and erratic storm of their father… That didn’t mean his father wasn’t revealing the truth. What if Will was weak? A delicate, spineless being with no survival skills of his own. It was true, the only instinct that belonged to him was to coil in on himself, make himself smaller and cover his head to protect from damaging anything beneath his skull.

Wasn’t something for Will to dwell on long, no, the boy was quick to let his imagination take hold of him. ‘What if?’ was the boy’s favourite phrase. What if the sky was purple instead of blue? Or if the sun was really a large moon set on fire by a dragon or witch, to blaze for all eternity? Or what if that boy with black hair over there in the distance was a knight in gleaming armour?

That boy with black hair… he wasn’t there when Will laid down. He had gotten here recently.

Will didn’t have many friends, but at the sight of another child his age excited him to the very core, his body vibrating with the best kind of anxiety. But all Will could do was stare as the boy came closer into view. He had the darkest void of eyes, skin comparable to the colour of a sheep’s wool, raven-feather-like hair, and as the boy sat in front of Will, freckles like a wide star cluster you could only see at the right angle of nighttime.

Neither of them spoke, just stared with wide, innocent doe eyes, as if they were both waiting. What ever they were waiting for, Will could wait a lifetime if it were waiting with the gorgeous boy who was willing to sit with him.

Will couldn’t help but notice how he could see himself staring back through the other boy’s eyes, the darkness like a direct portal to a different dimension. They were like pools of water, darkened by the night sky, and even more magical when they were illuminated in the sun. The dark-haired boy’s head turned to the side, as if checking they were alone. The boy’s eyes caught in the light as he turned, making the dark pool become a glowing amber, nothing like Will had ever seen. His nose was curved downwards mildly, just like Will’s own, though a little sharper.

The boy looked back, blinking twice before tilting his head minimally, only noticeable at the distance the two sat at. Their knees were a few centimetres apart, enough to touch if one of them shifted.

“Why are you out here alone?” The boy started, as if they had already known each other and he was only checking up on the brunet.

Will continued to stare, rejecting the idea to budge. Not like he ever considered it.

“… Why are your clothes so dirty?” The boy continued to question, not bothering to introduce himself. When Will didn’t respond, the raven-haired boy frowned and looked around again.

“Do you live near?” He looked back at Will again. Finally, a question Will could answer. The brunet lifted an arm, pointing to his barn in the distance. The other boy followed his gaze, then nodded, bringing his own gaze back to Will.

They both continued staring, both of their eyes just as hypnotic to the other. Will wasn’t fond of looking at people’s eyes— the odd texture, the distracting movements, the pressure to make eye contact, it was all wrong. But the eyes belonging to the boy in front of him were no less than beautiful. If only Will knew more descriptive and strong words.

“Do you want to be friends?” Yet another question. Friends, what did that mean? What did it imply? Nobody ever gives an explanation or definition to what was friendly or what was romantic. People only tended to correct one’s actions without giving further explanation than ‘only couples do that,’ or ‘you’re too young / old to be doing so and so.’

Will have a vigorous nod, smiling with all the sweetness any boy in his early stages of life could give. The other boy beamed excitedly.

“I’m Micheal,” the boy— Micheal— watches Will begin to wiggle with excitement. Will now had a friend— one who didn’t comment on him choosing not to speak. They both emitted happiness like the sun emitted heat.

Will, hoping to communicate in any other way than via verbal response, grabbed a stick and scooted near the dirt. He wasn’t spectacular at writing, he only learned recently from Jonathan since it was the only way he could voice his needs.

Holding the stick somewhat like a crayon, Will wrote in scraggly letters:

Will

The W was far larger than all the letters, the dot above the I was a good distance from the line, and the two Ls were far from parallel. Despite the messy nature of his natural ‘font,’ Will was proud.

Micheal didn’t mind the chicken-scratch word, just smiled and tilted his head fondly.

“Like William?” Micheal inquired softly, cheeks beginning to grow sore from how wide and long he was smiling.

Will’s smile dropped momentarily before he shook his head, overgrown hair following the motion. Micheal’s smile dropped as well, looking down at his lap.

“So, just Will?” Another tilt of his head, lips puckering slightly into a gentle pout. His hand subconsciously played with the tall grass next to him as he waited for Will to speak- or well, reply with a gesture.

Will nodded again, smile returning just as strong as before. Will’s heart fluttered like the young chick’s feathers at his barn house, but it was quickly categorized as strong excitement. How was he supposed to know? He had never had a companion other than his brother before.

“Since you don’t go by William, how about I don’t go by Micheal?” He pondered, putting his index finger to his chin to indicate thought. Will creased his eyebrows with confusion, not fully on the same page as Micheal.

“Like… Mike? Yeah, Mike and Will. Will and Mike,” Micheal, now Mike, smiled and nodded with satisfaction, crossing his arms proudly like he had just accomplished something praiseworthy. Will smiled and nodded as well, imitating his actions. They both fell into a fit of giggles, rolling in the grass and weeds happily.

They drew in the dirt, Mike not minding when the blue sleeves of his button-up began to tint the muddy-brown of soil. They picked up bugs and let them crawl across their palms and fingers before setting them down or watching them fly away. Mike told stories he made up in his imagination, and they were quickly shared with Will’s pretend world. Only, Will described his through drawings in the dirt rather than words.

The sun was past overhead by now, and Will could hear his family calling out for him. Mike glanced at the other with concern, pouting with disappointment as he knew they would have to part ways. Mike paused to think of a solution, a way they could meet again.

“You can go home,” Mike began, “I’ll meet you here tomorrow, before the sun reaches the middle of the sky. Is that okay?” Mike concluded, leaving it up to Will to decide. Who was Will to deny his only friend? The brunet nodded curtly before scurrying off, too afraid of what his father might do to him if he was any later to give a more polite response to Mike’s question.

… Then the snowball began rolling,

The first meetup turned to a second, then third, then tenth, then twentieth, and then Will had lost count. His parents couldn’t afford to send Will or Jonathan to school, so the highest he could count is up to around thirty.

Will had grown, but Mike stayed consistent in his growth next to Will. He stayed the taller of the two, no matter how far in life they got. Will used to believe that the older one was taller, but even if Mike was behind in age by a mere two weeks, he always managed a few centimetres above the brunet.

Will learned rather quickly that Mike loved to talk, and also that Will didn’t find it bothersome whatsoever. It was a perfect match, a boy who loved to listen and a boy who loved to speak.

It was funny how the younger boy didn’t even notice when Will first spoke. He didn’t celebrate, didn’t praise, didn’t applaud, just smiled with palpable enthusiasm and went back to what he was doing. Mike had already been aware that acknowledging it further would overwhelm Will back into his silent state.

Will could hear his mother and Jonathan cry with joy outside his room when he started speaking that day. They didn’t talk to him about it though; they also understood his timid demeanour and how grand gestures would only assist in reverting Will back ‘into his shell.’

Will’s father stopped coming home as much, which helped when the boys wanted slumber parties. Mike’s father didn’t approve as much as his mother, who shared the slight disappointment that Mike’s first and only friend at the time wasn’t of the same wealth, but was happy her son had a friend of good intentions and influence.

They slept in Will’s bed together, clinging together for warmth with the only separation between them is a pathetic stuffed animal tiger made of scrap fabric and stuffed with the chickens’ down feathers Jonathan managed to find in the barn and clean off, stitched up with love by Will’s mother, Joyce.

Another thing Will noticed was how Mike never let anyone call him Mike, everyone except Will was off-limits from using the nickname.

First time Will had noticed was when Jonathan asked hey, Will, Mike, mom made lunch, and Mike scowled and huffed. Don’t call me that, the younger boy corrected rudely. After a back and forth of but that’s your name and I don’t like when you say it, it was concluded that the only one with the privilege of calling Mike Mike was Will.

And it kept rolling…

Eleanor.

Mike didn’t stop talking about her. He said she was pretty, that she was fun and that Will would like her.

Don’t get it wrong, by Mike’s description of her, she did seem to be someone Will would enjoy. Quiet, blunt, yet extremely friendly. She acted similar to Will when he and Mike first met. Like an animal, fascinated by the being in front of it, not entirely sure if it should stay or run.

When Will met Eleanor, Mike introduced her as El. More nicknames. The older boy thought that was something reserved for them. He felt guilty to assume it was a personal thing, that he was greedy and didn’t want to share.

Mike even let El call him Mike. Will felt left out. He regressed back to his silent state around Mike, hoping that he could either get Mike to notice his pain and help or to become so quiet Mike would forget he was there.

Will never learned healthy coping mechanisms. Only shut up, don’t take up space, become invisible. It worked sometimes.

When Will’s father— if you could even call him that— left, Will’s mother began looking for love. There was a nice man, Bob, who had experienced a heart attack and died before Will could ever think of calling him his new dad.

Then there was James, or Jim, or Hopper, or Hop. Too many nicknames. Will didn’t like it. Just Jim would do, he decided. They had grown closer, and Eleanor was now living in his house from time to time. They shared a room, shared dumb stories together, even did each others hair. It felt natural. Jonathan commented gently on how he’d only seen girls playing with hair, but that didn’t matter.

He loved El, El loved Will. And both of them loved Mike.

Will hadn’t realized he loved Mike until Jonathan described the ‘butterflies’ in his stomach when he was around Nancy before they dated. Will’s heart dropped. Were boys allowed to date each other? If a boy and a girl can date, why would a boy and a boy or a girl and a girl be wrong? But Will had never seen a couple of two boys or two girls before. Maybe something was wrong. Maybe Will was made wrong.

It would explain why his father ‘forgot’ to feed him. Why his mother was anxious when Will mentioned having a friend. Why he was playing with a girl. Why Will liked a boy.

Will knew it wouldn’t end well if Mike found out. So, he hid it. The fluttery feeling was repressed, avoided by pushing away Mike. No Mike, no feelings.

It was a challenge. Will felt like he was five again, hiding in his room, colouring on the homemade paper his mother crafted out of scrap newspaper. Will coloured all the time, he’d soon get bored of it. Not soon enough. He felt pathetic. He was ready to crawl back to Mike like an abused dog who can’t find it in him to hate his owner for beating or kicking it.

That’s how Will was with his father.

The evening before he had left, the brunet sat on his stomach near his father. The young boy stood up, grabbing his finished drawing and approaching the man with buzzy excitement. Look what I drew, dad, Will beamed. With a grumble and no other words, his father took the drawing, crumpled it in one hand and threw it on the floor. Will began tearing up, was it bad drawing, Dad? The man looked up, scoffing then striking Will on the head. The memory was fuzzy after the hit. He vaguely recalls reaching out to his father for help of all things, crying Dad, I’m sorry, before everything went blurry, like a steam-covered mirror after a hot shower.

Will didn’t like memories. They were either bad or good, and both were unenjoyable. Bad ones made the brunet unhappy, and the good ones made him feel guilty. Guilt that made his vision fog up and his nose begin to run along side his tears.

And it didn’t get any better as time passed.

Will had waited outside the library for Dustin once. A girl his age was eyeing him with a distinct flush on her cheeks. She leaned towards him on the bench he sat at. Will leaned away. The boy felt pure, unbridled shame.

Will had imagined himself dropping dead, suffering cardiac arrest, when he saw Mike and El kiss. They did it so naturally, like they were meant to be. His heart did skip a beat that moment, but it did not stop like Will half wished it did.

And rolling…

Will thought he had died. Not at the moment, it must’ve happened years ago. This was Hell, he was certain.

Mike never ignored him, Micheal did. This was Micheal. Will couldn’t bare it much longer. If this wasn’t Hell, he’d surely die from grief soon.

Did people die from grief alone, or was it caused by the drastic act of taking your own life? Sometimes, suicide didn’t seem like a bad idea, but that was only sometimes. Most times it was a bad decision to even consider.

Will had only thought of it four times at maximum in the past years. Sometimes Will would sit down near the cattle in hopes one of the would kick him and knock him out temporarily. He’d wake up soon after with an ache on his head from the kick and pretend nothing happened. They never kicked him.

He’d seen Mike— Micheal— act all gushy around El, it made his organs feel like they were inverting themselves. Nausea. Akin to the Nausea he felt in the cold.

This wasn’t El’s fault, nor Micheal’s. It was Will’s. How could he be so cruel? So possessive of something that wasn’t ever his?

Maybe everything would be okay if Will just… told them. Told everyone he loved that he wasn’t right, that he was a disgusting and vile creature whose body should decompose back into the earth. They wouldn’t love him, but maybe he could finally feel at ease with himself. Like admitting it would make acceptance easier.

No, Will couldn’t tell everyone. Only his mother, Jonathan, Eleanor…

And Micheal.

Will was sure Mike wouldn’t mind, maybe ask a few insensitive questions then apologize a few too many times, but still love Will for being Will. But the older of the two wasn’t sure how Micheal would react. Micheal seemed to not like new things, and this was definitely not something ‘old.’

Will had told his family rather easily, it wasn’t as difficult as imagined. El wasn’t fully sure what Will meant by liking boys, but she didn’t seem to question the normality of it after it was explained. She knew it wasn’t socially accepted, she knew not to tell anyone, but she didn’t even bat an eye when they had told her not to go around shouting about Will’s attraction towards other boys.

It was hard to even get Micheal into a room alone with Will. Will communicated differently around him. Vague gestures and sad noises were all Will was reduced to around Micheal.

It went… odd. Will admitted not to like girls like how Micheal liked El. Micheal just… stared, nodded, didn’t ask any questions. Not even insensitive ones. This wasn’t surprising for Micheal.

Will wanted to come out to Mike, not Micheal.

Micheal had become avoidant toward Will. The brunet quickly noticed how Micheal would stop meeting up in the field together. How could Micheal forget about the field, their field?

It got worse after Will had told Micheal about his absence of attraction towards women. If Micheal didn’t like Will for it, the brunet would rather the other tell him than ignore the matter at hand.

Will and Micheal almost adults now, Jonathan stopped helping Will care for the farm animals they owned in favour of making money to buy a house with Nancy. While Jonathan worked selling newspapers and even photographing pictures for the newspaper, Will was forced to work more with the farmstead and the livestock to help keep their house all together. They had even started growing crops to sell (and eat, they often didn’t make enough to buy a good meal).

The animals seemed to enjoy Will’s presence and his gentle demeanour, the chickens clucking and flapping their wings almost excitedly when he approached, the sheep all turning to face the boy and other animals just focussing their attention on Will.

It made work just the slightest bit less tedious. The pigs didn’t lay down randomly when they were moved so Will could clean. The cattle didn’t run away when he milked them. The sheep didn’t cry out when he sheared them. The chickens didn’t protest or peck when he picked them up to gather eggs. It was much quieter than when his father tended to them… or yelled at Jonathan to do the work.

So, as Micheal avoided the field all together, Will found excuses to stop waiting for him to show up. Though Will escaped the cycle of waiting and disappointment, the boy occasionally glanced over in the distance to see if Micheal was waiting for him.

He never was waiting, at least not when Will looked. He could’ve sworn he saw a figure once. Must’ve been his imagination.

Whenever Will got a break, though, he still sat in the field. He laid on his side, half waiting for someone to show up. Maybe Micheal, maybe Jonathan, maybe even a new friend.

And rolling…

Will didn’t get breaks often nowadays, so on the day the brunet dozed off in the overgrown grass and Micheal stood above him with a guilty frown, it must’ve been fate— destiny. Micheal hadn’t been to their field in months, over a year now, and Will had only gotten a break every so often (usually just before dinner, but he went to bed right after), so it was either decided by whatever god above or a /god/awful coincidence.

“Hi.” The raven-haired boy muttered almost meekly.

“Hello.” The brunet greeted back.

They stared. Somehow it felt like they were meeting all over again.

The same innocent gazes, same taller grass, same time of day. The comparisons made in the brunet’s head were out of order from… well, anything to categorize them.

“Can I sit?” Mike whispered gently, as if talking to a scared animal. Will felt like a scared animal around Micheal, anyways.

Another comparison: The questions. Will felt like he hadn’t spoken in ages, he probably hadn’t. Too busy, too tired, too much of everything— and yet, nothing at all. Nothing ever really happened, and nothing ever stopped happening. Will couldn’t think about it long without burying himself deeper into silence.

The dark-haired boy nodded, sitting up in the grass and coiling into a ball with his legs to his chest and his chin in the valley between his knees.

Micheal didn’t question it, he never did; Micheal had a lot less questions than Mike… odd how Micheal even asked a question, let alone about being near Will.

Will didn’t care that Micheal and Mike were, in reality, the same person. They couldn’t be, they just… weren’t, in the brunet’s loud mind. Sure, they looked the same, acted the same around his family and in school (according to Lucas, Will never really had any evidence), but he didn’t act the same towards Will. He’d spaced out on Will’s face more so than at a wall like when they were ten. Or his eyes wandering all over the place when he was retelling a story he made up in his head when they were seven. Or when his eyes were closed like he was sleeping when Will was playing on the other side of the room when they first started playing ‘together.’ Together being Will colouring on the floor while Mike watched from a different corner of one of the boys’ rooms.

Micheal finally looked away and towards where Will stared. At the barn house. Will could feel the disappointment from Micheal. Don’t leave, the brunet could almost hear from his head. Will could never tell what Micheal felt by just being near him, that was a Mike thing.

“Can we talk, Will?” He sighed, looking back at the shorter, still refusing to meet eyes. Will shrugged, hiding the bottom half of his face behind his knees now. He felt little again, in the corner of Jonathan’s room, his brother covering his ears and whispering gentle reassurance that they’d be safe in Jonathan’s room, that he didn’t have to talk or do anything.

Micheal gave a brief nod, taking the shrug as a yes, but I don’t want to talk back. Micheal looked up to the sky.

“Me and El broke up,” another sigh came from the raven-haired boy. He didn’t sound disappointed when he admitted this, his tone was lacking emotion, unlike when Lucas had complained about Max breaking up with him for the first time.

Will’s attention was now fully on the other boy, his silent confusion ear piercing to Micheal. Micheal chewed on his lip, eyes dropping to the space between them, the space bigger than it used to be— a symbolic detail that gave way to their growing emotional distance.

“I just… I love her. Not in the way she needs, not in the way she deserves— not in the way I should. It’s like, yes, I love her, she’s so sweet and caring and just awesome, but I realized I don’t think I want to date her or marry her or like, even kiss her! I know I should, my parents would probably scold me until my brain stopped working, but I just don’t feel as happy as I should, like when I used to hang out with you, I got this buzz and I don’t know why I don’t like her, cause, again, she’s super cool and who wouldn’t want to date her? I don’t want to date her, and you probably don’t ‘cause you don’t even like girls and also, she’s basically your sister, so it’s weird— but i’m saying like… It’s weird that I don’t like her, and I’ve tried so hard to force myself but i just…” Micheal, no, Mike, finally paused to breathe, “I couldn’t force myself to love her when I knew it would only hurt both of us… It was mutual, though, so we didn’t leave in a bad note.”

Mike was hugging himself now, in a similar position to Will with his knees under his chin. The quiet was no longer loud, the gap between them smaller. Will scooted closer, the anxiety radiating off the other boy in waves. The shorter leaned to the side, head falling on the taller’s shoulder.

Will could only feel saudade toward Mike. The dark-haired boy began tearing up, a shaky smile gracing his face like Will had never seen, at least not in many years. This was no doubt, Mike. Micheal had retried his reign over their relationship, allowing their amity to grow again. The boys were free again.

And then the snowball became an avalanche.

Mike had started skipping school after the confession just to aid Will with chores. Mike knew nothing about how to care for the animals like Will had, so i’m only resulted in his chores taking a little longer than before. It didn’t matter, because they still got to be around each other in the end. Their friendship could now blossom freely.

But friendship was all it could ever be. The brunet couldn’t avoid it anymore, not when Mike was in the barn with him, trying to hold a chicken that thrashed around in his arms and pecked his chest and shoulders. But now the brunet could guffaw loudly, taking the upset chicken from the other and setting it down as they chortled to the point that their breathing was hiccupy and their stomachs’ felt tight.

It was a win / lose situation. How long could Will keep the secret? The timespan grew shorter with every brush of the elbow, every bump of the knee, every shared look. This was growing torturous. Mike tended to seek out contact more often than not, and Will couldn’t help but lean into it when he knew should pull away.

The animals were quieter today with the absence of the taller boy; Mike got in trouble with his teacher for skipping and promised Will he’d be in the field after school with a gift. The shorter refused, claiming he didn’t need any gift, but Mike pushed. It’s important, he protested firmly, very important.

So when Will finished feeding the pigs and cleaning their sty, shearing the wool from the sheep, collecting the eggs from the chickens, and milking the cattle, he told his mother he’d be back soon and headed to the field with a small loaf of bread for them to share while they sat out there together. The sun was past overhead, a few hours before suppertime at the Wheelers’ so Mike wouldn’t get in trouble, and a a few minutes after the dark-haired boy’s last class would end.

Will sat in his favourite spot in the grass, watching a small rabbit graze on some vegetation before scurrying away at the sight of the tall and terrifying lanky man that was Micheal James Wheeler. The younger boy’s shadow loomed over Will before moving down as the boy sat next to the brunet.

“Oh, you brought bread,” Mike pointed out softly. Will smiled fondly and nodded, holding out the loaf for Mike to tear a piece from.

“My mom baked it this morning for me, so it should still be fresh. I wasn’t hungry, and you know I don’t eat much, so I thought we could share,” the brunet explained gently, watching as Mike complied and tore of a small piece, chewing it and nodding with satisfaction.

“It is really good, i appreciate you sharing it,” Mike smiled, crumbs of the bread falling out of his mouth as he spoke, voice muffled by the bread.

Will snickered at Mike, “Don’t talk while you eat, you’ll choke. I don’t know how to stop you from choking if you do, and then I won’t have a friend to give bread to anymore,” Will chided fondly.

Mike paused to think, then swallowed the bread.

“So what’s my gift you insisted so heavily on giving me?” Will inquired with a hum, tilting his head then tearing off a small piece of bread for himself to eat while Mike was talking.

Will could see the anxiety seep into the younger boy’s expression. Mike took a deep, albeit shaky breath. He avoided eye contact with the brunet.

“phew, okay uh… Will, you’re my best friend, the only person who i’ve truly felt the most comfortable with. You’re just so bright and kind and, God, so beautiful. I can feel my body trembling happily when we’re next to each other— even when we were little and you didn’t talk,” the dark-haired boy took another breath, gathering all his thoughts and trying to compose them into words.

“You’re just so beautiful— fuck, I’ve already said that, no… you’re just, I can’t even describe how much I think you deserve to be a framed portrait in a museum, you’re always bathed in light like an angel and I sometimes forget you’re not a god or higher being and just a guy like me. Wait, shit, you’re so much more than ‘just a guy,’ uh… dammit, I just need to say it. Will, would you uh, do the- the honour of being my boyfriend and just… be with me?” Mike stumbled through his words, some of them sounding planned, scripted, like he had been thinking about this for a while.

His eyes were everywhere but Will, all until the most difficult sentence was confessed. It couldn’t be denied anymore, the words had left Mike’s lips. It wasn’t like he was planning on denying it anyways. He could cry out his love towards Will Byers right now if asked. Though, he knew Will wouldn’t ask him to do that. It was unsafe, for one.

Time kept moving. Nothing paused, nothing slowed. It was a lie when people said time warped around moments like this— everything was the same, just more serene.

Will could finally stare into Mike’s eyes without the crushing guilt of being different. They could finally hold each other and tune out the voices of their fathers’ telling them this was immoral.

Will closed his eyes, bowing his head to lean his forehead on Mike’s. They didn’t need a kiss to signify their affection. They didn’t need to shout their love for each other into the wind. They didn’t need a necklace or ring or accessory to silently finalize their claims of love for the other.

They didn’t need a bow to tie up their relationship.

An Avalanche, at least that’s how Robin described it… Will preferred describing it as a small sprout growing into a mighty tree. That explained the pause in their relationship, the tree slowed its growth and lost its leaves in the cold of the winter, but it regrew when the warmth came back. The warmth of the spring and summer would be longer this time, the autumn and winter shorter and just a little less frozen than last year.

And so the summer persisted, and it did so gently. Their arguments were few and far between, always being solved by each of them apologizing and learning how to improve in their wrongs.

It had officially been a full twelve months since they had labeled their relationship as dating. Nothing much had shifted, except for the title of ‘dating’ and the kissing and holding each other through the night. Joyce had made sure to protect them from the eyes of those who could hurt them for seeing. A knock at the door was all they needed for one of the two to move away and start reading on the floor without a word. They could never be sure it wasn’t Will’s mom or brother.

It was a tranquil Saturday, a break from school for Mike and a quiet day working for Will. Mike always stayed on a stool in the corner, watching as the brunet worked. The moment he saw Will pick up the rusted and dented bucket and start picking up, the dark-haired boy jumped to his feet and grabbed the brunet’s hand and dragged the couple to their field, snickering turning into roaring laughter as they toppled on each other onto the grass.

As their laughter died down, the two laid on their sides facing each other. Their voices hushed into gentle whispers, making the stillness louder.

The leaves began to wrinkle only an insignificant fraction, their colour dulling and eventually falling later into the months in favour of letting new ones grow. Will’s hand rested tenderly on Mike’s neck, twisting a dark curl around his index finger as he spoke.

“Maybe we can live in the woods, away from everybody. It’d be nice… domestic, y’know? If we have the money, we could have two cabins only a short walk away so no one’s suspicious of us being together,” the brunet suggested quietly. His eyes met the raven-haired boy’s, waiting for agreement or refusal to the idea.

“I dunno, wouldn’t people get suspicious of two random houses in the woods of two ‘single’ guys who don’t have wives or children?” Mike raised his eyebrows, squinting one eye doubtfully.

“Yeah, but we don’t live together… I mean, not on the outside. We will live together, but in a less obvious way,” Will hummed, his hope slowly rotting away at Mike’s words.

“Look, it’s just… not plausible, Will. But we can keep thinking of ways, right?” Mike smiled weakly, shrugging his shoulder that he wasn’t laying on.

“… I don’t want you to get hurt,” the brunet uttered under his breath, lips tightening into a frown. Mike sighed, closing his eyes as he relished in feeling of the hand on his neck for a moment.

They took a moment to cherish the silence, allowing the world to muffle into the background if only for a few minutes. A leaf fell quietly behind Will, whose back was to the edge of the field where the expanse of trees started.

“Mike, I don’t think I can do this much longer,” Will sighed, his voice blunt, devoid of sugarcoating or sweetness to let his words sit easier.

“What? Will, what does that even mean?” Mike sat up in an instant, the hand of his neck falling onto the grass at his motion. Will sat up as well, albeit much slower than Mike.

“I just… I can’t keep acting like everyone else. Like i’m heterosexual. I’m not; I like boys,” Will explained softly, lowering his gaze to the ground and slowly brushing through the long ‘strands’ of green grass.

“Doesn’t your family know, already? Oh, do you mean telling Dustin and Lucas? They do deserve to know,” The dark-haired boy nodded, assuming he was on the same page as the brunet.

“No, Mike.” He shook his head at a sluggish pace. “I need to tell everyone.”

“What? Will, you know you can’t do that… You’ll only get us hurt,” Mike let his eyebrows crease in concern, grabbing Will’s hands.

“No, it’ll only be hurting me. They don’t have to know about you, don’t worry,” the brunet smiled reassuringly— though, it did little to calm Mike down.

“Will, c’mon, you can’t actually think this is a good idea, you’re joking. You’re joking,” Mike’s voice raised as he spoke, attempting firmness.

“Mike, this… It’s to keep you safe. If I admit that I like men, I can tell them I asked you out and you rejected because you’re not like me, ‘cause you like women,”

“Will, stop. You’re not actually considering this, right?” His voice grew unsteady, posture fixed. His hands landed to cradle the brunet’s face, searching the boy’s eyes for hesitation, jesting, anything to indicate that he didn’t fully plan on doing anything rash.

Will didn’t speak, standing up with a sigh and taking in the field. It was supposed to be the last time he’d be there; he needed to appreciate it. Mike followed in the action, grabbing Will’s hands again to make him feel there, tangible, and making the boy face him.

“We’re gonna be together until death, Will,” the dark-haired boy declared, attempting to lean their foreheads together, heart sinking when the other pulled away.

“Will, please,” Mike started, sputtering as Will turned around and marched off, “where are you going?”

“I’m sorry, Mike. I love you. You’re the only boy I’ve ever held, kissed, fell for… But we’ll never know peace like we would if we were a normal couple. If I was Eleanor,” Will began choking up, fists clenched at his sides.

“I love you. I don’t want El, I don’t want to be a ‘normal’ couple,” He protested firmly, shaky voice matching Will’s own.

“But we can never get married— never have children or live together or… or even be seen in public! I can’t live like- like this, and you can’t stop me from do- doing this,” Will lamented, “I have to- to do this so you can live safely and we don’t have to keep pretending!”

“Will, stop, please just, just stay with me… Stay here and talk this out-!” Mike hiccuped, the firmness in his voice wavering as Will slowly moved out of arm’s reach.

“I love you, Mike. Please, I want to do this for you, for us,” Will wept as he spoke, cheeks florid and tears streaking red lines of despair down his face.

Mike’s body betrayed him, legs begging to buckle underneath him as he desperately attempted to hobbled closer to the brunet. His mind raced desperately to ameliorate the situation, to pull Will back into his arms and forget about the world for another hour.

Will hugged himself tightly, fingernails leaving crescent shaped crevices in his skin underneath his filthy and oh-so-thin shirt.

The raven-haired boy stumbled and tripped over his feet as he unsuccessfully and rather pathetically strived to catch up to the brunet. His limbs weakened themselves with his sorrow, trembling with urging anguish. Don’t leave me, Will, Mike could only think to himself, you’re all I have, all I want. Like his legs, being considered a traitor to him, Mike’s voice caught in his throat, wailing restricting his throat from expelling any noise but dreadful cries.

Mike had never felt such agonizing heartache. Not when Will came out and his eyes bemoaned to tell the other how much he loved him. Not when Will began avoiding him as he started dating Eleanor. Not when they were young and Will scraped his knee on the barn floor and Mike was there to watch as Will’s father barked at him to stop crying because ‘only girls cry.’

The gleeful sunbeams warming his skin were a cruel contrast to the violent rain and thunderstorms in his mind and heart. Mike, out of raw desperation, began crawling on his hands and knees to reach Will. His knees scraped against the dirt, pure adrenaline clawing at his chest, ravaging judgement and rationality left inside him, snaking up his spine, into his lungs and through his ribs. It gnashed his bones and gnawed his throat, heating up his blood like a kettle hanging over an open flame before letting out a blood curdling squeal just to tell those around it has steam ready to spill up into the sky.

Mike’s hands indignantly fisted grass, tearing some pieces out by the root. Will was many metres away, and the adrenaline festering in his lungs and bloodstream only made his body shakier and more unable to stabilize itself enough to walk just a short, yet so very far, distance to the one boy who had two drops of sunlight for irises.

Even in his misery, all the dark-haired boy could think of was how beautiful his boyfriend was. His crooked smile with those bunny teeth and mole above his lip and other moles on his neck and arms and all over his skin, and Mike could never forget about the little scars he had from being a clumsy kid and caring for rowdy animals in a dirty barn— and goddammit, Will had already made it less than half a kilometre away. Even if Mike managed to get back on his feet and steadily make his way to Will, he’d probably only managed to stay standing for another three minutes before collapsing and forced to stay on the ground for a long while after.

So he stayed on the ground, pathetically watching his lover leave and go to… Will never explicitly described what he was going to do. Tell everyone, or something along those lines.

Mike stayed there until the sun began to hide behind the trees, the sky becoming lively shades of orange and red before he managed to balance on his legs and make his way in the direction Will had gone.

His thoughts sounded as if they were behind a door or window; muffled and incoherent. His fingers buzzed with the now absent drive infecting the cells around it in his veins.

He was still uneven on his feet, tripping over himself as he shuffled through the field. The only place in this direction was the centre of town. So that’s what Will meant by ‘everyone.’ Fuck.

As Mike progressed toward the centre of town, he wrapped his arms around himself and gripped the flesh with his dull nails, huffing and panting quietly at the pain of his nails sinking past the first layer of skin and the quivering of his bones as they were forced to continue on his journey.

As he made it to town, only a short fifteen-minute walk— twenty if you imitate Mike’s hobble— you could hear chaos echoing through the mostly empty alleyways. A group of upset people crowed in one place, circling one person, Will. Bystanders didn’t spare a glance at the crowd.

His beautiful and innocent Will. As if cold water was dumped over his head, Mike had straightened up, all his focus on getting to Will.

The brunet was wailing in pain, ‘mature’ adult men kicking the boy in the ribs and hissing the forbidden word, fag. It must’ve started a while ago, because people were now leaving to go back to their lives as if they hadn’t watched a pure boy get brutally assaulted. Mike could only imagine what had gone over while he laid alone in the field. Will had possibly declared he was in love with another man and they began harassing him.

Mike couldn’t ask Will now, that was unimportant. The boy was bleeding out; the men had made sure to batter him up until he stood on the line between life and death, one foot on either side of the line.

Mike, the frail and easily-snapped-in-half boy, pushed through and quickly landed in front of Will.

“Will, oh… oh, Will, I’m so sorry I didn’t come after you in the field. I- I shouldn’t have sat there and let you leave…” Mike gently cradled Will’s jaw on either side, wasting no time to prop the injured boy up in his lap. Will could only bawl into Mike’s gentle, hands, a contrast of Will’s own calloused ones.

“Shh, I know, I know, sweetheart… I know it hurts… I’m here, I’m not leaving if I can help it, if I have any say in the matter,” Mike finished his promise with a fragile kiss to the other boy’s forehead. He made sure his lips landed above the gash above the brunet’s nose. Someone must’ve bashed his head against the concrete.

Will only blubbered louder at the affection. The pain had never departed, but the love from Mike felt like he was reaching Heaven. He surely had a concussion from the bashing of his head to the pavement, and he felt his consciousness slipping by the second. Will’s right eye was fully blind; tears tainted with blood and flesh surrounding it swollen.

Mike gently laid Will on his side before standing up and commanding the men who had hurt his lover to hurt him. They were more than willing, another fag off the earth, they said.

The brunet only watched sadly as the raven-haired boy endured the suffering he had already been forced to go through.

As Mike was thrown next to Will, arm bent in the wrong direction, left ankle out of socket and face hidden behind the scrapes and bruises. Mike didn’t look like Mike anymore. He didn’t even look like Micheal. His face mangled, flesh torn and puffy. The men laughed as they left the boys laying quietly on the ground.

“I love you,” Mike choked out, forcing a loving smile to sit on his face, knowing it would be the last thing Will would see. Will shared the smile before closing his eyes and allowing himself to rest in Mike’s arms for the last time. They were right where they should be in their death.

They each shared their last heartbeat together, no one daring to touch them. As rigour mortis set in, their bodies were forever surrounded by their love, gripping the other with palpable desperation.

They were buried together, shared tombstone, forever William Byers & Micheal Wheeler.