Chapter Text
All bad things—and good things as well—start with one and only Mike Wheeler.
Okay, dramatic and a bit theatrical with neon lights and one single note played on a sad, old piano, but still true.
Okay, rinse and repeat. It's not what happens now—or ever. It's just the truth of life: everything starts with Mike Wheeler; Will should have known better.
The day, brittle and sunbathed. Overflowing happiness with conversations about the future in dreams, a pensive future, and silly plans like spring fields of wildflowers. The wedding, the ceremony, the oath. Will has prepared for this day for months. Carlton chose the flowers. Will chose the music. They both made up invitations between kisses and laughter. Their flat was dipped into cherry light. He was getting married, even if not legally.
And then, one day, we'll just sign the papers, Carlton said, pressing a kiss to his temple. He smelled like cinnamon. Will giggled and embraced it, the deep blue feeling.
Mike hugged him the next day. The first invitation received. The rain sighed. The curls were unruled, and Will wondered if he had a right to touch them, the messy crown of hair. He pressed his forehead to Mike's shoulder.
I'm happy for you, Mike said and smiled. It was a bright smile, the gesture of the endless loyalty of his heart. Yet his hands were cold. Will wanted to ask why but Mike continued. So, you get what you wanted.
It was a sloppy reference to Will's nineteen-year-old self, grumpy and still full of unrequited love. Back then he said I want to get married, Mike and it meant I want us to get married, Mike. You and me. Forever.
Mike was almost aggressive in his attempts to convince Will it would happen.
You'll get it, he hissed as if threatening the world and God himself. You'll get everything you want, Will. For fuck’s sake, there's no way. You'll be so loved. Any guy should be flattered even to breathe next to you.
The shattered glass of these words haunted Will for years. He didn't know if Mike understood that he was the love of his life.
The wedding, the spring. Mike's smile was crooked as if there was something sharp in his mouth, but he refused to spit it. Will blinked and almost asked him about it. The invitation was in Mike's left hand, safe and friendly. His right arm on Will's shoulder. A wrinkle between his eyebrows.
I'm happy, Will said helplessly because he was dating Carlton for four years and Mike was his best friend. It was always a bit strange to look at him, remembering embarrassing facts of his youth. Jesus, Mike, I'm really…
And Mike laughed in a way that always made Will speechless and treacherously enchanted even now. Maybe because Mike was his first and gigantic love. Maybe because Mike had never laughed this way with anyone else.
Mike hasn't dated anyone since El. He never talked about girls either. Neither at university nor later on. Once Will saw him at the bar with a nice girl who tried to flirt with him. It was light, the night and the lights. She was pretty in that special artistic way. Mike smiled kindly. Will was close enough to hear how he suddenly said I'm in love with someone else, can't lead you on, okay?
He was so gentle that the girl smiled back and just nodded. Will got so curious that he leaned towards him and loudly, annoyingly asked, You're in love? Mike flinched a bit, surprised, wide-eyed. Then his face softened like it happened when Will was around. Carlton's hand touched Will’s shoulder as he appeared behind. The smell of cedar filled the air. There were three of them, and Will instinctively looked at his boyfriend. Mike's right knee brushed Will’s, his face open and gentle. Carlton said something, but Will heard just Mike's reply. He always listened.
Yes, I'm in love, Will.
Later on Will tried to interrogate Mike with the full force of curiosity and bone-deep hunger he couldn't explain. Yet Mike was persistent and nonchalant, waving his hands and rolling his eyes.
Hush. It doesn't matter. Will, for goodness' sake, leave it. Yeah, I'm in love. Look at the time!
Time passed and Will almost forgot about the whole mystery of Micheal Wheeler's secret love. Carlton and Will had been dating for three years now. It was November, and the whole party got together in Mike's old house. For some reason Will asked Max among all possible people if she knew anything about Mike's love life. A mistake: Mike and Max, stubborn and ludicrous, got mysteriously involved in the thing called friendship. It scared Lucas so much that he called Will in the middle of the night and scared Will himself because he had been Mike's best friend since the day the universe sniffed and the stars aligned. But yes. Max and Mike combined their mutual aversion to life (as they put it) and since then got insufferable together, still managing to hate each other five times per minute.
It was almost humiliating to ask Max about Mike's love. It felt wrong, it was wrong. The Party should ask questions and Will answers, being the only keeper of Mike's secrets. The kitchen was empty, with the counter full of snacks and five bottles of Coke no one would drink. They played Monopoly, and Mike laughed so hard he ended up falling onto Will's lap, warm and unforgettable.
Mike said he's in love, Will blurted out, his voice insignificantly cracking in the middle. Max blinked. Poured some water in her glass.
Is he now? she questioned, indifference soaking up every word. That's how Will, with cold realisation and blurred vision, figured out that she had already known.
You knew, he said. Max hummed, her eyes fixed on the tap. Is she… Who is it?
I never said I know anything.
Max, he breathed out in desperation, still full of bitter disbelief Mike hid it from him. For God's sake, Mike helped him with Carlton. He convinced Will not to break up with him after a serious fight without a proper conversation. Why couldn't Will be there now for him?
He's in love, Max said quietly, unsure and hesitating. She bit her lip, frowning and still not looking at Will. It's… It's not a new thing. I… I don't think he'll ever stop.
What?
Not a new thing. A list of names like withering flowers rolled out in his head. No hints, no hidden messages. Will was lost. He had nothing to work with. Yes, Mike had female friends, but they were so… so small compared to… to… anything. Nothing made sense. Will's body got hot with blood boiling and roaring in his ears.
Who is it? He asked against his will. Then Carlton came into the kitchen to announce he was taking his leave. Max grimaced. She had never liked Carlton; her rigid dislike was nothing like that silly, proticetive feeling she shared with Mike. One was actually love; the other was crawling promise of hate.
I can't tell you, she stated and looked at them, Will and Carlton, who placed his head on Will's shoulder.
Tell what? Carlton’s voice was light, like the touch of a feather. Anger showed its teeth in Max's smile, full of teeth and naked desire to get rid of Carlton. Will grabbed his wrist, surprised and cautious.
Get the fuck out, she said as if he had ruined something fragile and delicate and she couldn't find any mercy to forgive him. And it's not your fucking business.
Max, Will started, but then Mike appeared, sun-smiled with pinky-peach cheeks, and a childish grin born in his earlier years of being happy.
Max! he exclaimed dramatically, Lucas said there's an attractive actress!
And that was it.
Carlton tried to find out what the reason behind Max's naked hatred was, but Will also didn't have the answer. They lived with that. Sometimes Mike was the one who'd interfere and apologise. For some reason it seemed like he had a task of making Will's life better in every aspect. Will actually knew he had little affection towards Carlton as well; it's just he choked it and smothered it so much that it took years to notice.
He had never said it to Will—no announcement, no soft launch. Once in summer, during the second year anniversary, when the sky got tired of being blue and dressed in golden and blueberry shreds of light, Will overheard Dustin and Mike talking. The voices were tense, Mike's shoulders so high as if trying to protect his head.
…hate him, Dustin said, and Will stopped at the corner, grass caressing his legs. He was a bit drunk. Don't lie to me, dude.
I don't hate him, Mike said, guarded. He's okay.
Liar. Will's not here, cut the crap, Dustin clicked his tongue. Acute pain of understanding cut through the mist of wine. They were talking about Carlton. Fire tangled up Will’s heart.
I don't know what you want me to say.
Anything! You had so many chances, dude, it's embarrassing and you're pathetic!
It sounded like Dustin achieved a new level of disappointment, yet Will couldn't understand what it was pointed toward. The direction. The destination.
He makes Will happy, Mike said quietly, but it was like a knife at his throat ripping off every kind word. An attempt at something. Will closed his eyes. He… he makes him laugh, Dustin.
And so do…
Dustin, he sounded stern and torn apart. It's over now.
The fight? The chances? What were they even talking about? Will tried to guess but failed; when he asked Mike about that episode, the reply was so casual and so simple that all layers of lies might have gone so far that it would never end.
Oh, yeah. I didn't like him at first. You know, I'm your best friend, so I was worried about you a bit too much. He makes you happy, so now I'm at peace with him. Oh, I have a class. Later?
Will wasn't an idiot. He knew he didn't have the right pieces, but life was good. The calls, the meetings. Painting was a form of growing up and rediscovering himself. Reading, laughing, having sex, making plans.
Mike laughed at Carlton’s jokes two seconds after Will did. He helped him with the music. He said I'm in love and dropped it with a small, intimate smile.
Will should have known.
The last episode, the last stroke.
The novel, unfinished and unpublished, was nothing but a letter of acronyms and secrets in ink. Will didn't know Mike had been writing his third book up until March. Fifty-three days before he got married.
Nothing special, just Mike's apartment and a dimmed light. It was snowing without a reason, and Mike complained about it for fifteen minutes while Will was absentmindedly studying his desk. Photographs from the university. The party. El. A few photos of them together.
Papers. Pages of something in progress with notes and handmade corrections and footnotes. And one single paper with capital letters in the middle (and words filling up the whiteness of the paper, handwriting sloppy and quirky):
LOML.
What are you… Mike never finished the sentence. He just stood there at the door with two plates of rice with chicken, over-salted as usual, and time froze around him. Will blinked and shrugged.
You didn't tell me you wrote something new.
I write nothing. It's… nothing. Leave it. How much have you?..
Oh, Will brushed his fingers down the page. Just it. Love of my life? Romance? Really?
He wanted it to be a funny tease, a spark to hear more for it to be a discussion about characters and understanding of love. But Mike didn't take it. His face made an undescribed turn between dark and soft, while silence blanked them.
Not… not precisely. Just… I'll tell you one day, okay? Just… please, let's just eat. Okay?
Mike rarely begged, but it was clearly one of those cases, and Will's heart ached and bled with yet another secret. Mourning the privacy of their honesty with each other, Will nodded.
He didn't know whom Mike loved. He didn't know why Max knew and why she didn't like Carlton. Now he was exiled from the only domain Mike always let him explore.
Will should have known better.
Because now he knows, a few hours before being married, with his costume on and a weak smell of cigarettes lingering on his fingers. He stands behind the door, the sun kills him and Mike talks with Max and Dustin, and Will learns the art of reshaping the reality as he hears—
“I'm not going to ruin his fucking marriage, Max, by saying something stupid like I've been in love with you for ages.”
And the world collapses.
///
Mike never said he was gay. Or bisexual. Back in the day he would say oh, this guy's hair is so cool and look at Will, waiting. Something delightful and soft yet scared of a stray cat was behind his eyes. Will used to believe Mike tried to compliment other men to show support. It was annoying. And a bit sweet.
Mike would sit on the bed mumbling about that energetic boy with red hair who wanted to go on a date with him; the room was bright because they had just bought a new lamp, the light too white. Will said wow, it's crazy, because he was in love and jealous, and Mike was so smudged and blurred with his stupid curls ink-pitched on his forehead while his collarbones were half-naked under that old gray t-shirt. He hummed a melody. Sadness made him more beautiful, but Will couldn't realise why; why was he sad?
Now Will presses his head, hot and static, against the wall and breathes.
There's a pause behind the door. It seems like the conversation is shattered glass, a vision of Gideon. Then Max sighed, her breath unsteady.
“You’re an idiot. You still can do it, ruin the friendship and the wedding ceremony no one cares about! You let it happen, Mike, and now you weep as if it wasn't all your fault!”
“I know,” Mike answers lightly without a pause, “and I don’t mind it.”
“You cried that evening, dude, when Will told us about Carlton." Lucas’s voice is full of tangible disappointment. "Shit, you don’t mind.”
Mike laughs. Will can hear the cracks and creaks. It upends him to hear the sound like that, abnormal and sad.
“He’s happy,” Mike says as if it's the one and only important thing in the whole world. “God, have you seen his smile when Carlton…”
“You’re pathetic." Max’s interrupting is aggressive. “Who cares?”
It would be a bit offensive if Will had any idea how to properly feel. He thinks about Mike's unfriendly smile full of teeth and arrogant voice, too loud to be natural. He was such a jerk towards Will’s first and second boyfriends.
“I care,” Mike almost barks. “I do, Max!”
“Well, it's useless! It wouldn't happen if you had just asked him out four years ago!”
“Well, guess what? I know!”
“And still do nothing!”
Four years ago? Will's eyes are burning. Something has stuck in his chest, sharp and huge, right in between the third and fourth ribs. Four years. Life not happened unfolds before his eyes. There's pain in his stomach. Deep, it builds a nest somewhere in that hot and bloody space of his.
He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand. What are they talking about? Mike was going to… to what?
“You hated Jack and Louis,” Max continues, and Will winces a bit. A reminder of his naive and pink-loving self. “Hated them and made them leave, and for what? To let Will marry another stupid guy?”
Mike, in fact, abhorred them, Jack and Louis. Acting like crazy, he mocked the first two people who loved Will—or at least liked him—and he never was that mad after. He grew his hair long and spent hours outside. Living with him in one room was a test. Messy, almost violent, unpredictable—Mike turned into something wild the moment they got to New York. He was so depressed yet obsessed with the idea that it's not what is going on that transformed his grief and unhappiness into that aggressive rapture Will hated.
Before having started their freshman year, the whole party worried about Mike. He had been quiet the whole summer, with his abrupt speeches and snaps. Lucas said it could be a nightmare for him to have new friends. That Mike would most likely shut down everyone, coating himself in blizzards of solitude.
They were all wrong.
Mike knew the whole campus by the end of September. Names, parties, faces—a cascade so bright that it became stained glass in Mike Wheeler's life. He laughed and smirked, his nails ink-black. New York sang the song of his life—sparks of yellow, and white, and neon-blue, and lavender, and smoke—and sometimes Will couldn’t recognise him. And then he was silent and quiet. And sad. So, so sad. It just happened — driving, dreaming, drowning in memories, looking at Mike from the mirror. His sadness was contagious, for Will couldn’t bear seeing him like that. His new friends never got it.
I’m just melancholic, Mike said once during lunch. On a rainy day of early spring, he smiled faintly. Distant as ships long lost in the sea.
Melancholic, Li Haifeng, a friend of his, repeated. He had a very peculiar manner of speaking because of his Chinese roots. It was like fresh honey, sweet and melodic. Wheeler, usually people call that another way. Nowadays, I mean.
Will’s boyfriend of three weeks was sitting with them. Looking back, Jack was a jerk. He thought that he was brutally honest, but it was just rude and cruel most of the time.
A-Feng, Mike sounded as if he wanted to laugh but didn’t have enough power to do that. How… interesting. Are you trying to tell me something?
Will knew that Mike wanted to say something else. A smart word for a smart mouth. But his brain didn’t work properly, so the response was blank and empty. Yet he smiled.
Yeah, Haifeng smiled at him. Now we call it depression, Mike.
Jack grimaced and made a disdainful sound. Will stopped breathing for a second. His cheeks flushed red.
Depression, Jack said with a short laugh, doesn’t exist.
Mike wore that blank expression Will helplessly tried to decipher.
You know what else doesn’t exist? Your brain cells. They escaped you the moment your mother was free of you, Mike’s tone was so nice and soft that the words settled down, not immediately but with a short delay.
Mike! Will hissed at him, embarrassed. It was a constant burning feeling that he should be on Mike’s side because it was Mike. But Jack was his boyfriend.
Wheeler, watch your mouth, Jack smirked, probably trying to intimidate him, yet failed miserably. Mike saw his mother’s blood on the kitchen floor and had to clean it with shaking hands. Nothing could scare him after that.
I won’t, Mike said without a pause, because you piss me off. Sorry, Will, he has a brain of a fucking stone. Are you sure he's sucking your brain instead of your dick?
It was a disaster.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the last time they talked about depression. Will broke up with Jack late in summer. Mainly because Mike wouldn’t shut up about how bad Jack was; and stupid; and arrogant; and obnoxious. And and and and and…
Will was exhausted with their fights and arguments, heated and heavy with tension and despair. He liked Jack’s sense of humour and how sweet he was if they could stay alone. But he loved Mike more.
It wasn’t a fair game. By the end of their relationship even Jack understood that. Max knew, Lucas knew, Dustin knew. Everyone—probably even Mike himself—knew that.
And so, Jack disappeared, yet Mike didn’t get any better. Will couldn’t understand why he thought it would. Mike failed his course in creative writing in December, the second year of their new life, because he slept and slept; he barely talked. His friends used to ask Will if something happened.
No, he would say because the real answer was much worse.
He would sit on Mike's bed doing sketches, glancing at Mike from time to time, allowing him to be curled over Will’s body like a sad bracket, his nose almost pressed to Will's thigh. He would spend hours without saying a word, refusing to move, caught up in his grotty and greedy thoughts too dark to exist anywhere except Mike's head. Will wanted him to talk and share it. But Mike would close his eyes, his breath short and hot against Will's skin in those times they lay down together on the floor and nights were chilly and snowy. Sometimes Mike would open his eyes in faint awe as if expecting Will to disappear. He always found them together under the blanket on the same floor with the world still and mercifully unmoved around them. They would share a breath, a second. Then Mike would close his eyes again, burying his face in the hollow of Will's shoulder.
Every time like that Will prayed it would be the last time. Every night like that Will hoped Mike would start eating normally again and would ramble about things constantly. He missed his smiles the most. He missed the life Mike had in him the most.
And then Mike returned, unblemished and happy, with that glimpse of manic energy and passed every exam—even creative writing—so perfectly that people even forgot he felt bad.
Will didn't. Will always remembered.
You’re depressed, Louis said, the second boyfriend Will had. He studied psychology, had a smart mouth, and loved to make Will blush. He also found Mike fascinating. A subject to study. Will didn’t want him to do that with Mike but had no idea how to prevent the questions and that suffocating interest Louis had.
Oh, God, Mike said in a weak voice.
It should be really hard, Louis continued, although Haifeng kicked his leg under the table. Therapy? Pills?
Oh my God, Mike repeated, a faint light of madness glowing in his eyes. Wild, he looked around yet didn’t move.
How do you handle it, Will? Louis asked with fondness, his blond hair falling on his forehead. Will wanted to vanish. You two are best friends, and he doesn’t handle it well, does he?
I’m going to die, Mike said, actually proving Louis’s point, and he laughed kindly. Haifeng was torn apart by anger and visible anxiety.
I believe you want it, Louis continued, and Mike was painted white and grey. So? Do you want to tell me more?
Students in the cafe were loud. Will heard them talking about projects and dates. His eyes met up with Mike’s eyes, wide and scared, and he felt such deep guilt that he couldn’t breathe.
No wonder Mike snapped back. Days were serpentine, paving the way up and down. Will painted the sunset from Mike’s room while he was sleeping, curling up to himself. Will touched his forehead with just the tips of his fingers. A lingering feeling of warmth. His heart was pounding, and he desperately wanted Mike to be like that forever: safe, soft, and settled. Will wanted to know if Mike ever had dreamt about him the way Will did all the time.
You love him, Louis said once when Will apologised again and again for his behaviour. They hadn’t talked for two weeks because Mike said does his big ego match his dick, or is he compensating? really, will, this guy is pathetic.
Mike was pathetic, depressed, and a liar. Will started to hate him sometimes. Then he saw Mike’s smile, bright and small, so sincere it hurt, and he loved him.
He’s in love with you, Louis continued as if they hadn’t had sex ten minutes ago. Late night was a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Will swallowed his fears and hopes and shook his head.
What are you talking about?
He’s so in love with you, Louis was visibly amused as if he hadn’t fucked Will say sweet and dirty things. It was awful. He wanted to throw up. I see it in his eyes.
He isn’t gay, Will said, letting it slit his throat again. All cuddles in the world couldn’t change that.
I never said he is, Louis was tracing circles on Will’s shoulder. Lazily, absentmindedly. I think if you give him a chance…
Louis, I… I’m dating you. We’re friends. What are you even…
Mike’s words echoed in his chest, and it was a flashback in a film realm: California, almost fifteen, loud and scared. For a second Will fathomed the idea that Mike had felt the same way, having said this stupid “we’re friends, we’re friends” as if trying to adjust their relationship to the wrong word. But they were different.
You don’t love me, Louis said pretty much light-heartedly, and the dread choked Will immediately. Will, listen. Why don’t you try?
He… He rejected me once, Will whispered, yet it wasn’t the complete truth. Back then, when the world was a wound that needed to be closed, he thought it was a rejection.
Then Jane, their El, died. Then Will had months to think it through. He had hopes, of course he had. But Mike had never said anything. His presence was there, steady and familiar like joy.
He said it? Really? Louis was amused. Will closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to his shoulder, hot and real.
Not like that. He didn’t have to.
Well, Louis touched his hair, comforting and kind, I know he’s in love with you. It’s a scientific fact, if you want. Give yourself a try.
I gave him everything, Will admitted for the first time, and it was so painful. He wanted Mike to do the same. He wanted something. I can’t risk it anymore.
Louis was silent for a second. They were lying there in that mythical quietness of the night, the full moon watching them through the open windows. The absurdity of the situation hit Will like a truck, but he couldn’t find any reason to change it.
I’m afraid, Louis started slowly, so carefully it was touching, that one day you’ll look back and see the picture I see. But it will be too late.
You don’t know him like I do, Will said, trying not to sob. I know him better than anyone else does.
Will, Louis pressed a kiss to his forehead. I see him differently because I have this privilege to see him without the weight of your past. You know what Epicurus said about life and happiness?
Louis could have actually become Mike’s closest friend if he stopped hating all Will’s boyfriends. They had the same manner of speaking and a similar sense of humour. Sometimes Mike tried to hide his smile when Louis was funny. Will used to believe it meant they were getting closer and kinder.
No.
He believed that people thrive only when they are doing their best to reach happiness. Not even big, everlasting happiness. Imagine it like small pieces of everyday joy. That’s how you become ultimately happy, content. Reach out to joy every day. Something like that.
Mhm.
Mike told me that, Louis added with a short laugh. Before I met you. He was also drunk, but still.
It was crazy that Mike met Louis first and was interested enough to have a full conversation with him, yet turned all blazing flames the moment Will started to date him.
And what?
I think that’s how Mike is trying to reach happiness, Louis sighed, every time he does something for you. It’s his everyday moment of joy. Yet… he still doesn’t allow himself to be with you, and that’s the mystery I can’t unfold.
He’s not in love with me, Will said, too tired and dizzy to even start comprehending the idea that he could be Mike’s happiness and joy. Let's just… stop.
And Louis was kind enough to stop.
It was pretty clear they broke up that night. Will, against his better judgment, decided to try one last time. It was their second year. May bloomed, and Mike felt good for weeks. Not that unstable Mike who was rude sometimes or too drunk or too quiet or… He was just Mike. And Will waited.
And waited the whole summer.
In September he met Carlton. Louis said it was a bad idea (because they stayed friends and Mike also became his friend, which was outrageous). Mike looked hopeful without any reason and was busy with something no one knew about. He said he wanted to try therapy.
Maybe, he said sheepishly as if Will weren't proud of him for this attempt, the time has come.
And Carlton was nice. He wasn’t rude or persistent. He said compliments in that gentle, sweet tone that implied he really didn’t want to screw up. Will knew it could be it.
In October Carlton asked if Will wanted to go out with him.
It could be a date, he added quietly, with pink dust on his cheeks. Will never let him see Mike but talked about Carlton quite a lot. They were friends. Mike seemed to be a bit guarded, but it was okay.
Maybe it was it. It's time to try again.
And Will said yes.
He said yes.
Now he remembers that evening, the first day it wasn’t raining and the sky was bleeding and hiding in shreds of dark clouds. Will laughed when he saw Mike in their room. They both looked hopeful and happy and a bit giddy. Will thought Carlton wanted something slow and real. Then he thought about how Louis said wait. And then he saw Mike’s face, and he loved him, but it was impossible to wait forever. If one day Mike just…
It was clear both of them wanted to share something important. Crispy eyes. Wide smiles. The room was messy as always, and they seemed to be happier than ever.
You go first, Mike said, his breath stuttering. His eyes, glowing. He couldn’t stop smiling, and it was so nice and good and right. Will wanted to kiss this smile, but it was now just a sweet thought he could leave behind.
Okay, Will laughed. Carlton asked me. On a date, I mean. Imagine? He… He laughed again. He thought about whether he blushed.
Mike froze. Something dimmed in his eyes. All that vibrating, vivid energy died within a second, just like his smile. He seemed breathless, with his shoulders dropped.
And?..
I said yes, Will blinked and his happiness withered away because Mike was… He was devastated. He looked like that day happened again—El dying in front of him, their last goodbye, and their screaming.
Then Mike smiled. He looked away. Clenched his teeth. His Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn't blink once; it was just something alien caught in the middle of a movement, as if it were too hard for him.
You said ‘yes’, he said to himself, his voice bitter but in a way as if he remembered a joke Will should’ve remembered also. Then he gave him a reassuring and crooked smile. It’s good. It’s… I’m happy for you. I hope… I hope he’s the one, Will.
Maroon on his hair, his eyes glossy. Mike was crumbling, with the face of a person who gave up and accepted his loss. Will recognised it because he saw Mike that night when El died. It still was somehow irrevocably worse.
Mike, what?.. He made a small step forward. Something softened on Mike’s face. It was in the corner of his eyes. I… Yeah. Yeah, but… Why are you sad?
No. No, it's… Good. Cool! Nice, Mike finally blinked. It was awkward; that bubbling happiness vanished. Will was confused with deep fear that he couldn't catch the moment right.
You wanted to share something, he uttered carefully, words precise and small in his mouth.
Mike was already shaking his head. Stubborn, a bit wild. He was trying to smile, and it was awful. Dreadful, even. Will wanted to comfort him, yet he couldn’t detect the reason for such despair.
No, there’s nothing special. Just… and he closed his eyes, taking one deep breath. In and out. Looked at Will. It doesn't matter.
And that was how something ended just there between them in their room, as if someone refused to finish the book with the right words. A draft turned into sacred writing.
“Mike!” Max groans now, and Will breathes again at the moment when his reality is splintering. “You can't just… Shit, I was so sure you'd do something!”
“What?” Mike's voice is sharp, cutting deeper than any blade. “I lost, Maxine. I have no one to blame. I… I can…”
“Dude,” Lucas says softly, “you're going to have a panic attack. Calm down, okay?”
“I love him." The wires break and spark, and this weakness in Mike's voice shakes Will to the bottom of his heart.
He wants to be there, in the room where it happens. He wants to tug him into the warmest embrace and say under his breath...
What?
Will's eyes are burning now because he has long buried all hopes and prayers and cries born from his love for Mike Wheeler. He was happy. He wants to be happy with Mike in his life. He wants to—
“I should've told him this,” Mike continues, choking on his words, a shaking laugh in his throat. “That summer. When Louis and… when they broke up. I should've… I should've just told him. I just… I wanted to make it right.”
“You should've told him even that fucking evening, Wheeler. Fuck that stupid romantic date you planned for a month!” Max cries out, ignited not with anger but with that fierce love she always had. “Who cared the fuck that Carlton took him out? He was no one! You let it happen!”
"Max," Dustin says her name like it's a warning.
“She's right,” Mike laughs now. “She's right; don't stop her. I just… I don't know. I ruined his relationship with Jack, with Louis, who was a really good guy, and… I couldn't…”
Will closes his eyes tightly, imagining that evening flashing in vivid and astonishing colours. Vigorous view. Mike, smiling. He wanted to say something. He wore a black shirt; his hair was messy and done up in a bun. The window, opened. It was getting colder. He wanted to say something.
“You were so jealous and possessive over him." Max doesn't stop even after Lucas's soft humming and calling her name. “And then what? You stopped being an egoist at the worst time possible?”
“I was late!” Mike finally snaps in anger, but all Will pictures him there, on their couch two years in; Carlton and he had a fight. It was so bad, so nasty, that Will cried in Mike's arms for days and could sleep only in his bed.
Mike was—and still is—kind. It was his biggest flaw.
He’s been the cruelest person sometimes, but when it matters the most, he’d be kind.
“You weren't!”
“And do what? Oh, right! To be a rebound for Will! Great plan, Max. Wow!”
Will lets out a shaky, soft sound because Mike sounds so sarcastic it can't help but be funny. He's always been the funniest person Will has ever met.
“Re… He loved you!”
“Past tense! Past! Tense! I spent two years trying to catch that fucking train, then two years more and missed it, and I'm okay with that! I am okay!”
“Guys, we're having like three different conversations right now,” Dustin sighs with a loud sigh. “Mike, sit down. You're on the verge of a panic attack, and we don't want to search for Will so he can calm you down.”
Well, I'm here, and I don't know how to comfort even myself.
“I'm calm!” Mike screams almost hysterically, his voice unnaturally high. “I… I…”
“I'm sorry,” Max blurts out rapidly in a scared voice. “I'm just… Mike.”
Muffling sounds. Heavy and unsteady breaths. Then a sob, raw and reeling, like an echo.
“Oh, Mike,” Lucas says quietly. He's heartbroken, and Will feels the same. His stomach twisted. He wants to return — in time, outside, to the Upside Down — and change it.
“I can't ruin it, Max." Will slides back down the wall because he can't stand anymore. His cheeks are wet. There’s a hollow in his chest. “You think I haven't thought about it? I… The day he told me about Carlton I… I had a vision, you know? I tell him everything, I risk it. And then…” Mike laughs, soft and shattered. "Then I remembered our fight. I… Well… It was… I told you, right? I broke his heart so many times, shit.” He sounds as if he's rubbing his face. “But there's a phrase I… Once he told me that I'm ruining everything, destroying everything, and for what? To kiss Jane? And… and I thought that… I can't do it again. He… I don't want him to think that… that I'm ruining everything again. I just… He's nice!” Now Mike pouts, and there are short laughs coming from others. Will can picture them on the floor, dark-wooden. “Carlton is nice. He… Will deserves nice things. He deserves to have a… a guy, a husband, fuck, who… who doesn't spend two years trying to accept his fucking… I… Two years, Lucas…”
“I was there,” Lucas says softly. “All the way through high school."
No. No.
“Yeah, right. Right! And when I… I ruined Will's relationships. Twice. He… I just… I can be kind once,” Mike whimpers, so blue no other colour would hide it or cover it. The shade of sadness, the shade of freedom—for Will, not for himself. “I lost El… because I couldn't fucking just make my mind work and I… Will deserves nice things. I hate that… I just…”
"Hush." Max sounds so reassuring and kind that Will blinks. His tie now tugs at his pocket, and his hands are still shaking. “I know. I'm sorry, Mike. I'm… I'm sorry. I just truly believe you deserve nice things, you know? I wish it were Will. I wish…”
“You're just romantic,” Mike sniffs, and Will wonders if his ears still get red first when he cries. He hasn't seen Mike cry for ages. “You know, I used to say a very dramatic phrase about us. Louis mocked me for that shit but…”
There's a pause. It sounds like they're rubbing Mike's back, trying to ground him with their kind hands—childhood scars, cruelty of monsters transformed into fondness of years passed, their fates intertwined in flames, in water, in happiness—and Will wants to be there keenly. He presses his fingers to his eyes as tears boil to life in them again.
“I used to say that Will is my happy ending. My happily ever after,” Mike says softly. "It's just I'm not his anymore.”
Will opens his mouth, but no air is to be found. His heart softly folds into a thousand cranes with an innocent wish to be fulfilled yet left behind in a dusty room in Hawkins.
He thinks of mere evidence of that still fondness and then how the sun loves casting its light on Mike. How he crouched down next to Will one day and said—
I love you and I support you either way.
Carlton was his boyfriend. For two years, to be precise. They had just had a bad fight. Mike was there the whole time with tea and coffee, slicing bread and cheese for breakfast, making soup and broth, his touch lingering, his glances full of worry and love. He said a lot of shit about Carlton. In long shadows, they walked along the pond, watching ducks peacefully tracing back and forth. The water was almost black. It was late, with the moon somewhere there, hiding behind the curtains of clouds. Mike cooked them dinner, and for the first time in a week, Will burst out laughing. There was sauce on Mike's cheek; the chicken was good, yet the rice was horrible. Mike looked at Will with something resembling longing and yearning. Then Will said he wanted to break up with Carlton and maybe it was all a huge mistake and he didn't know anything about Henry, nightmares, Jane, their youth—
Mike faltered. Now Will sees it clearly without that horrible anxiety blurring his vision with crazy pictures of loneliness. The ducks made that special sound that made everyone at least smile. So, Will smiled also. He sat on a cold bench looking up at Mike with a strange feeling of relief.
Maybe, Mike said, burying his face in his scarf. His eyes darted to Will’s face, wild and searching. Will, I…
The words stuck locked in his mouth and were swallowed like a remedy—a reminder of hard lessons—or poison. That's how children eat vegetables, wishing to eat anything but them.
I love you, he said finally, crouching down next to him, and Will looked at him in awe, for it was very raw and exposed. And I support you either way because you're my best friend. But think it through, okay? Just… give yourself some time.
Then the skies cracked open, and the first drop of rain touched Mike's nose. Defenseless, he blinked. There was the intensity of a hundred armies in his eyes. Will tried to catch his breath but was somehow mesmerized by the special allure of the moment. Mike looked breathtaking for no reason; his old coat worn out with a tear in his sleeve, yet Will couldn't take his eyes off him.
And I'll kick his ass if he's actually a piece of shit, Mike mumbled.
Will knew he would love him forever that moment just because no one could outreach Mike Wheeler.
“Dramatic, indeed,” Max says, audibly sobbing and then laughing. “Jesus, my makeup!..."
“It's okay,” Mike repeats with the same heartbreak in his voice. “He'll be happy, and I'll be happy. It's okay.”
“It's not,” Lucas says with a sigh, and Will mutters the same. “God, only if you had talked.”
“Yeah,” Mike echoes wistfully, “only if.”
They all sit in silence till Will understands he might be found in tears and going crazy, spiraling through havoc, and that's definitely not a good idea.
He remembers the painting and the swallowed love. He remembers the plain days in Hawkins when Mike didn't want to move and his only wish was to die in his sleep. He remembers their fights about leaving and turning a new page in New York. He remembers how Mike was draped all over him, leaning against Will's side as they were still young but with a new perspective and how people believed they were dating with all that clinging behaviour. Mike never said they weren't. Will did. He remembers Jack and Louis and their conversation about Mike under the moon’s gaze. He remembers that day, the soup, the hug when Carlton hurt him, the ducks, the rain, the laugh, the dice rolled, the story told, the bar, the invitation with green letters, and the day they lost Jane and it was so loud that all noise turned into silence.
He remembers the swings.
Will gets up without a single thought in his head because he has his life perfectly laid out with an apartment and a plan to have a dog, but Mike loved cats, so Will still doesn’t have one, although Carlton also wanted a dog, and it's so stupid that Will can probably lose his mind completely.
When he was five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen he ran to Mike with his fears and hopes, unrealistic dreams, and unformed desires. His nightmares ran with him, yet Mike greeted everything—the bad, the good, and everything in between. Then he didn't talk to him, a dark period, paradise lost. It was renowned again, the crown of trust and love, unconditional and annoying. Endearing.
So, the truth is, every time Will is in desperate need of thinking, rambling about things non-stop, he goes to Mike. He always goes to him first, even now.
Will disappears just as he came: through the back door, through the garden belonging to Carlton's older sister. The flowers bow to him. Bushes cling to his trousers. He hears Jonathan laughing under the prettiest sunlight. He lets this sound dip and die behind his back.
Will doesn't know what to do, but he knows one thing: he can't be here, at his own wedding ceremony. Acute pain builds a nest in his heart, humming Mike's words again and again.
He goes to Mike when he's hurt or happy. But Will can't face him right now. It's impossible.
One day people will ask what he was thinking about at that moment. He's very patient every time, answering that he had no thoughts that day. He was moved by deep fear to really fuck up one last time, so he ran.
He jumps into his car and prays that people won't hear a single thing. They parked cars pretty far away anyway, the way he’s covered with his vision blurred. Unmoored and breathless. He thinks that if anyone sees him or asks questions, he'll most definitely stab this person to death.
The sky is blue; it's a nice day. It's a really good day to run away from your own wedding. He must bolt as if he were a young Victorian lady falling in love with the wrong guy.
Thank God homophobia still exists, Will thinks frantically, and it's not a real marriage. That way it would be so much worse.
So Will holds his breath, starts the cars, and drives back to the only place he can think about: the safest place in the world where he can hide and think without boiling in hot feelings and screams. A full breakdown on the floor—he memorized it so well that he remembers all the creaks in all the places.
He can't talk to Mike. But he can hide in his apartment and pretend, wildly and violently, that he's just been waiting for Mike to return and that he hasn't run away right now from his fucking fiancée. Thank you, Mike, for giving Will the key because we're best friends oh my god go fuck yourself Mike Wheeler—
The road is empty, and Will drives as fast as he can, half terrified and half mad. Henry probably is super fucking happy and even offended that it's not his trick. It's just Will's life, which is exhausting.
It is the task of Will’s heart to say yes yes yes to the body—and to Mike Wheeler. Even when he hasn't asked a thing. Especially when he hasn't asked a thing.
Will Byers doesn't need Mike Wheeler to ruin his wedding or his happy relationship. He's twenty-five now; he can ruin everything himself, and he doesn’t need Mike’s help, thank you very much.
He has to talk with Mike when, ugh, when they discover he's fled and mysteriously disappeared into nothingness, when they stop searching and Mike has no choice but to return home.
Alone.
Probably scared. Most definitely terrified.
And then Will will catch him, and they'll talk.
He thinks of Carlton, briefly and absentmindedly, but unfortunately there's enough room for only one person in his head. And it's not Carlton who had a breakdown on the floor. And it's not Carlton who decided to fucking be a saint or some shit excuse Mike made up in his pretty yet stupid head god and hide a silly and, of course, harmless truth, which Will can't comprehend even now because his life is a whimsical theatrical nightmare.
So, yeah. Will isn't going to think about Carlton till he's in Mike's apartment and drinks his expensive coffee he buys specially for Will oh god fuck this guy honestly.
“I ruined my wedding,” Will says out loud, reaching familiar skyscrapers and crowded streets. “I swear to God, Michael, what the fuck!”
By this point in time, people are probably well aware that he's gone. He just wanted to smoke nervously and get some comfort from Mike after that.
Well, guess what! Smoking is a bad habit!
“It's going to be worth it, Michael." Will wants to cry and to scream, "Or I'll kill you, Jesus, you're an idiot.”
And with these words he parks his car—a bit further away from the building Mike lives in because he deserves to be fucking shocked—and takes a deep breath.
It's almost two in the afternoon.
Will thinks about every yes he's ever said in his life.
Then he remembers that Mike was sobbing vehemently on his wedding day and hates even the sound of it.
I love you, Mike said long before the storm started, and I support you either way.
Well, you'd better, Will thinks grimly, because my happy ending hasn't been written yet.