Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler was crying in the bathroom at a party.
Not just misty-eyed. Not just overwhelmed.Crying. God, he was so embarrassing. How did he even get to this point? He’d let himself get peer-pressured over his mom’s lasagna that apparently it would be so much fun to go to Stacey’s party.
Flashback to a couple hours ago:
“Aw, c’mon, Wheeler,” Max teased, nudging his shoulder with her elbow. “Don’t be a stick in the mud.”
“C’mon, Mike, it’ll be fun!” Dustin insisted, leaning halfway across the table like enthusiasm alone could drag him there.
“Yeah,” Lucas chimed in, grinning, “live a little.”
Mike picked at the edge of his napkin, pulse already fluttering. “I just… think we’ll be a little out of place. We never get invited to these kinds of things.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. It was just the thought of it. The noise. The sweat. The bodies packed too close together. The same people who had spent years shoving him into lockers now laughing over red plastic cups. His stomach twisted.
Then he looked at Will.
Will’s eyes were soft and steady. Warm in that quiet way that always made Mike feel like the center of the universe.
“I think it’ll be fun,” Will said gently. “We can give it a chance. And if it sucks, we’ll just leave.” He offered a small, hopeful smile. “Together.”
Together.
Mike’s resolve crumbled instantly. He exhaled. “Okay,” he muttered, forcing a half-smile. “Fine. Let’s go.”
The table erupted in cheers. Dustin whooped. Max pumped her fist in victory. Lucas clapped Mike on the back hard enough to jolt him forward.
Mike’s stomach sank anyway.
Back in the present:
The bathroom light was too bright. Too unforgiving. Mike stared at himself in the mirror, chest hitching. His eyes were rimmed red, and his lashes were clumped together with tears that just. Wouldn’t. Stop.
“Get it together,” he whispered hoarsely, dragging both hands down his face. His skin felt hot and tight. Why was he crying? A sharp knock at the door made him flinch violently. He froze.
“Wheeler.” Max’s voice carried through the wood. “It’s me. Open up.”
His heart dropped. Max. She would never let him live this down.
“I saw you bolt in here,” she added, knocking again, harder this time. “Now open up.”
Mike swallowed, throat aching. He cracked the door open just an inch, keeping his face turned away. “Max, what do you w—”
“Just let me in.” She pushed past him before he could protest, shutting the door firmly behind her.
The music outside thudded faintly through the walls. Max turned slowly, and Mike immediately looked down at the tile floor.
Her voice softened. “Hey.” She stepped closer. “Were you crying?”
“No,” he said quickly—but it came out wrecked and trembling.
His voice cracked on the single syllable. And that was it. Fresh tears spilled over before he could stop them.
“Goddammit,” he hissed, scrubbing at his face aggressively. “Stop. Just—stop.”
Max didn’t laugh. She didn’t smirk. Instead, she slid down the cabinet beside the sink until she was sitting on the floor, back resting against it.
Mike blinked at her through wet lashes. “What are you doing?” he demanded weakly.
She shrugged, knees pulling to her chest. “Sitting.” She patted the tile across from her. “Care to join?”
He hesitated. But what was the alternative? Go back out there? Pretend he wasn’t falling apart?
With a shaky exhale, he slid down the wall opposite her. The tile was cold through his jeans. He pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and making himself smaller.
“Aren’t you gonna tease me?” he muttered, not looking at her. “For crying in the bathroom at a party?”
Max snorted lightly. “Nah.” She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re too pathetic right now to tease.”
Mike shot her a wounded glare.
She immediately raised her hands. “Joking! Jesus.” She let them fall back to her knees. “I’m not gonna tease you.” After a short pause she continued, “I want to help.”
Mike’s head lifted slightly. “You want to help… me?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. Then she pointed a finger at him. “And if you tell anyone I said that, I will end you. Slowly.”
Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped him. “Okay.”
Silence stretched between them. Max leaned her head back against the cabinet. “So,” she said carefully, “why are you in here crying?”
“I… don’t know.”
Her head snapped toward him. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t know!” he snapped back, frustration rising fast and sharp.
“How do you not know?” she demanded, throwing her hands up. “You don’t just end up sobbing in a bathroom for no reason!”
He glared at her, his breathing uneven. “Do you actually want to help me?”
“Yes,” she shot back. “But how am I supposed to do that if you don’t even know why you’re upset? You’re emotionally constipated, Wheeler. The emotional intelligence of a toddler.”
He let his head thunk back against the wall. “Thanks.”
A brief, tense silence settled.
Max’s voice softened again. “Okay. Fine. Start earlier.” She turned slightly toward him. “What happened before you came in here?”
Mike swallowed and he stared at the ceiling light. “I guess… we got here. Everyone went straight to the kitchen.” He huffed out a humorless laugh. “I had a beer.”
“And?” she prompted.
“It was gross,” he admitted.
Max barked out a short laugh. “Yeah. It is.”
He smiled faintly. “I don’t even get why people like it.” He hesitated.
“And then?”
“Will wanted to dance.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t.”
“God, no.” He shook his head quickly. “But he looked so… happy.” His voice softened without him meaning it to. “Free. I haven’t seen him like that in a long time.” His fingers twisted together in his lap. “So I did it. I danced.”
Max’s lips curved slightly. “That bad, huh?”
“I felt ridiculous,” he admitted. “But he was laughing. Smiling.” His throat tightened. “It was worth it.”
Max watched him carefully now. “And then?”
“He said he was gonna grab more drinks.” Mike’s jaw clenched. “And I was just… standing there. Alone. In the middle of the dance floor. Feeling even more awkward than I had before.”
“So you came in here because you got ditched?” she asked gently.
He looked at her sharply. “What? No.” She gestured for him to continue.
“I went looking for him,” he said, voice dropping. “Because he was gone a while.” His chest tightened again just remembering it. “He was in the kitchen.” Mike’s breathing grew shallow. “Talking to some guy.”
Max stayed quiet. “But they weren’t just talking,” he whispered. “They were flirting.” The word felt heavy. Foreign. “And I just…” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t breathe for a second. And then I ended up in here.” He dragged his sleeve across his eyes. “Crying. Like an idiot.”
Max studied him carefully. “So,” she said gently, “you were jealous.”
Mike’s head jerked up. “Jealous? Of what?”
“That he was flirting with someone else.”
Mike stared at her like she’d just spoken another language. “But… he’s a boy.”
“Mike…” Max said softly.
A long stretch of silence fell over them.
Something fragile shifted in his expression. “But if I was jealous,” he whispered, voice trembling, “then that means…” His breathing hitched. Tears welled again, heavier this time. “I’m—”
Max leaned forward slightly, her voice steadier than he’d ever heard it. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Mike.”
He looked at her helplessly. Mike had never heard her voice so gentle with him. And using his first name? He must be really pathetic right now.
She held his gaze. Max leaned further forward, resting her elbows on her knees and keeping her eyes on him. “Mike… listen to me. There’s nothing wrong with being jealous. Nothing wrong with liking someone. And there’s definitely nothing wrong with liking him.”
Mike’s chest tightened. “But—”
“No buts,” Max interrupted gently, but firmly. “You like Will. That’s fine. That’s normal. That’s… you. And you’re not broken or weird or any of the stupid stuff you’re telling yourself right now.”
He swallowed hard, tears still pooling, voice small. “I just… I feel like everyone’s gonna think it’s wrong.”
Max shook her head. “People are idiots. Screw them. You love who you love. Will’s… Will’s amazing, yeah, and you’re allowed to care about him that much. In that way.”
Mike let out a shaky laugh, almost a sob, burying his face in his knees. “You really mean that?”
“I really do,” Max said, softer now, tilting her head at him. “And if anyone ever tries to tell you it’s wrong… I’ll tell them exactly what I think. Loudly. Repeatedly. And probably with some shoving involved.”
He exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain a little, and whispered, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Wheeler,” Max said, smirking just a little. “Now… dry those tears before you flood the bathroom. And remember—being you? Totally okay. Gay, sad, jealous… whatever. Still you. And that’s good enough.”