Chapter Text
“So...” Mike sits on the edge of El’s bed, avoiding all forms of eye contact possible. Her stuffed panda is trying to catch his gaze but he won't surrender.
“So.” She echoes, folding her arms and leaning against the closed door. Hopper hadn't yelled at them to keep the door open yet, another off thing to add to the growing list. “We need to talk.”
Fuck.
“What about...?” Mike nervously smiles, shifting a little where he's sitting and finally meeting her eyes. She's glaring just as hard as he'd expected, and despite it not being very aggressive it's meaningful simply because he can't remember the last time she actually looked at him like that. He glances back down at where he's white-knuckling the patterned sheets below, unsatisfyingly crinkling the geometric shapes in a way that makes him want to throw himself off a cliff. Never mind, take that back. Still a touchy subject, it seems.
El continues to sound unamused, “This isn't working.”
“What is?” Play dumb, that always works with Will.
“You know what.” Shit, maybe not. “Us. Our relationship. Being boyfriend-girlfriend.”
Mike tugs harder on the duvet. It does nothing to ease his racing heart, fluttering to escape his ribcage. “I'm sorry?” He croaks, trying not to hurt his case. It even sounds pathetic to himself, maybe the most pathetic, and that's considering all the many pathetic things he's done in his life.
“Maybe you'll understand me better; I dump your ass.” She repeats the words from that fateful night the summer of 2015, probably as a joke as she curls her lips into a smile. Mike doesn't find this joke very funny.
“What?” He asks like the pathetic teenage boy he is. “Why?”
“Because we aren't working. I know you don't love me anymore, and that's not saying you never did, but I don't love you as more than a friend anymore either, so-”
“But-”
“No buts. It's time we move on with our lives and stop being pathetic idiots. Neither of us knew what we were doing when we got together anyway, and I'll be the first to admit,” a slight hesitation, a dramatic pause like what she's about to say needs time to air out, “you're a shit kisser.”
“Hey!” He protests, finally cracking a smile with her, though it's feeble at best. “It's not like you've kissed anyone else!” Has she? In Lenora? Did Will kiss girls there too? Shut up about Will for God's sake- your girlfriend is breaking up with you! “...unless you have-?”
“No, Mike, I've never kissed anyone else. But you have to admit, it didn't feel nearly as- well, magical as people make it seem.”
Mike hangs his head in shame. “Okay,” he mumbles, “so we're over?”
“We're over.” He looks up in time to see her nod, before standing up himself to pace. One foot in front of the other- he trips on El’s rug anyways but doesn't falter in his mind-numbing stride.
“But-” he starts. El gives him a Look and opens the door, stepping into the hallway. “You'll figure out what I mean by ‘you've been distracted recently’ eventually,” she turns, phone already in hand, “I'm gonna text Max, see'ya later, alligator.”
Ah. Alright. So, his heart isn't in pieces so much as it's been lovingly disintegrated and then handed back to him in the form of ashes with a smile saying; ‘have fun with your empty soul, Michael!’ Not a great state to be in considering Steve wanted to talk to him in an hour, but it's fine, he has time to sort things out between now and then. Probably. If he can get himself to think.
He freezes himself in his pacing, closing his eyes and breathes deeply. His phone buzzes and he wants to throw it across the room. Instead he ignores it like the mature adult he is, taking it out of his pocket and putting it on El’s desk before he can make an expensive mistake.
Instead he throws a fluffy pillow across the room, instantly feeling guilty as it bounces lamely off the wall and rushing to replace it where he found it. Sorry, he thinks, adjusting it to the extreme, I don't know why I did that.
He does, but Mike has discovered a little thing affectionately called denial and he intends on abusing this new power of ignorance. He sits down again on the bed, letting himself fall onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Morning light trickles in through El’s blinds, and the barred, golden shadow they cast across the room makes it feel more like a prison than a bedroom. Mike certainly feels trapped. He can say with confidence that this isn't the way he pictured the day going. It was supposed to be- well, not amazing exactly, but not as shitty as it's starting to seem. He was supposed to have the leftover casserole for breakfast- done -then spend a couple hours staring at the wall or scrolling while pretending he cares about social media- not done, much to his false disappointment -before meeting Steve for lunch. Mike had been job hunting recently and Steve, ever the empath (surprising, he knows. Mike hadn't thought he gave two shits about other people but he supposed after Steve's shit show of an employment record he had a right to care about it) had volunteered to help him job hunt so he could start saving for his own apartment next year. After graduation he'd spent his last free summer hanging out with his friends and experiencing everything to the extreme, finally overcoming the depressive, dissociated slump after Vecna's defeat. Nobody voiced these feelings, but they all felt them.
Anyway, because Mike is suddenly an expert on denial he cuts off that train of thought before it can derail itself, focusing back on the task at hand: sulking over his breakup.
He changes his mind about the phone and gets up to grab it, finally leaving the room after El, feeling like he should be a bit more… angry? Sad? -than he currently is.
Whatever. The party will know what to do.
He opens the group chat made specifically for them- no El nor Max, just in case this exact situation arises where they need no girls -and types a quick message to get his point across.
Mike: send help sos im dying
“Dusty-bun”: what, should we panic?
Mike: this is life changing news
Lucas: hurry up and spit it out then man, we're waiting
Mike pauses for just long enough to give them a dramatic buildup before dropping the bomb.
Mike: me and El broke up
Nobody answers for a few minutes and Mike starts to worry. Did El get there first? Are they all talking shit about how much he sucks at kissing now? A speech bubble appears and Mike is reading it far quicker than he'd like to admit as he passes down the hallway of the Byers’ new house, one he knows like the back of his hand already.
Lucas: your telling me you were still together this whole time?
“Dusty-bun”: we all thought you broke up ages ago
“Dusty-bun”: what the hell
Mike knocks three times on Will's door before opening it. He's lying on his stomach on his blue-sheeted bed, earbuds in and sketchpad out. Mike doesn't understand why he doesn't just do digital art on one of those iPad-thingies like everybody else does these days. He doesn't voice this though, no matter how many times it crosses his mind, because he guiltily enjoys borrowing (stealing) his paper drawings and hanging them on his wall. ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of decoration,’ was his excuse when his Mom asked why he still keeps them up like Picasso himself came back from the dead to personally dedicate each one especially to Mike Wheeler.
He crouches down next to him, dropping into a criss-cross position with his back against Will’s raised bed. Their heads are near each other's to the extent that Mike can faintly hear Will's music from his seat on the hardwood floor.
You start a conversation, you can't even finish it,
Psycho Killer, Mike labels the beat, one of Will's newest fixations. He wonders if it's relatable, but knowing Will it's gotta be.
You're talkin’ a lot, but you're not sayin’ anything,
He refocuses back on his phone as the song buzzes on in the background, occasionally recognizing a lyric here or there from Will's many repeats.
When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.
The notification from earlier lights up his screen and he clicks on it eagerly, a message from Max. Wait, Max?
Say something once, why say it again?
MadMax: Harrington and Robin are planning something
MadMax: you got invited to lunch with Harrington too, right?
Psycho killer, qu’est-ce que c’est?
Another one, newer. Mike scrunches up his face as he processes the text.
MadMax: I think we're being set up
“Will,” Mike speaks up over the chorus, “is Steve suspicious to you?”
“Hm?” He glances up from his sketchpad, tugging out his earbuds as the song ends and quickly flipping the cover closed like he hadn't noticed Mike come in- somehow -and didn't want him seeing what he was drawing. It evoked a sharp prod of curiosity from Mike, making him crane his head slightly to try and get a glimpse before Will tugged it farther from him. Life sucks and Mike should end it now. Stop being suicidal, stop it. “Oh, I wouldn't know. I haven't talked to him since the pool incident.”
Will pretends to shudder at the thought of it and Mike cracks a smile. “Max is just wondering. Apparently we've both been invited out at the same time and she thinks Steve and Robin are scheming.”
Will snorts, “sounds like them. On guard, Paladin!” Mike pretends to punch his arm and Will ducks out of the way. “No can do, dearest Cleric-Sorcerer,” He shakes his head like delivering sad news, “my sword is in another realm. I'm defenseless in the flesh!”
Will feigns a gasp and Mike is just glad he didn't react negatively to that… experience from when the Upside Down was still a daily- (theme? Nuisance? Recurring nightmare?) -problem in their life.
When they'd originally gone to defeat Vecna Mike had brought his wooden DnD sword as a joke. Really, it held immense emotional value to him and he couldn't imagine facing a fairytale threat without it so he'd smuggled it in, insisting it was a backup weapon while sharing a smirk with Will, but he'd never admitted his true reason. Anyway, they'd been looking in the gate for what they'd assumed would be the last time when another earthquake hit and, in fear, the group retreated. A rogue vine had gotten out to pursue them, and ended up just taking Mike's sword to the Upside Down as it mistook the wooden hilt for being attached to a person.
He'd cried that night at the loss but nobody would know because he was going to tell El but then the fight happened the next day and then they were all… off …and suddenly they were busy graduating and then having fun in summer and Mike just forgot about it until now, after El has already broken up with him.
Life sucks and he should just kill himself now. Shut up, you're so insufferable.
His phone buzzes before Will can respond, and both their smiles falter slightly at the interruption. Still, Mike pulls it out Incase it's something important and frowns further at the notification.
Steve: Bring your resume, and change of plans. We're meeting at Scoops Ahoy
“He's just changed the plans again, see?” Mike shows Will his phone, the screen light turning his face a ghostly shade of white before he responds.
“Yeah, weird. Why Scoops Ahoy? What was wrong with Burger King?”
“I know!” Mike agrees, “I was excited too!” Will smirks and Mike fakes a glare.
“Don’t say it-”
“Fatass!”
“Shut up, I eat a normal amount of food for my age and size.”
Will's smile grows, “what, are the two inches you hold over me that substantial?”
“It's everything.”
“You're just sad I'm buff.”
“No- I don't care-” Mike flushes and looks away, pulling his phone up to his face and tucking up his knees awkwardly, too bony and sticking out everywhere. He pretends like the same suspicious text from Steve is the most interesting thing to enlighten planet Earth thus far for the sake of enunciating just how much he doesn't care about Will being buff.
Will himself is losing it on the bed behind him, laughing loud and free, a newer sound Mike had only heard in these precious recent months. It was like destroying the Upside Down had finally freed him and he could finally… be. It wasn't just around Mike he laughed, either, (though Mike would have been very proud of it and was a little jealous every time somebody else managed to get the sound out of him) but he laughed a lot now. He laughed at Dustin's jokes again, giggled during ridiculous plot twists in DnD, and lost it that time last week El sent Max flying off her skateboard into a bush when she started to ignore her in favor of Lucas.
They're all getting better now. Sucks though, Mike has never felt more alienated, especially now that he's single for the first time in four years. His phone buzzes again and this time he does throw it across the room, smiling at the thump it makes when it lands in Will's pillow fort in the corner.
He gives him a weird look and Mike shrugs, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. “Arm,” Will demands, and Mike pointedly pulls his arms tighter around his knees with a growing smirk as if this is the funniest joke in the world. Will grabs his arm anyway and gets to scratching little ink doodles on his pale skin.
“You're quiet,” Will starts, “you usually find some way to be insufferable.”
“Why does everyone hate me!” Mike complains like it fixes this problem, “first El and now you.”
“El?”
“She broke up with me.”
“Oh, shit.” Will draws a star on his arm, a familiar shape Mike has gotten used to the feeling of.
“Did you just swear?”
“Maybe. Keep talking.”
“She called me a shit kisser and said some cryptic shit about being distracted.”
“Sounds tough.”
“Like hell!”
“Mike, we've been to hell. It can't be that bad-”
“I'd take demogorgon any day over this.” Lie, but it gets my point across.
“You sure? What about Vecna?”
“I'll fistfight him in Florida.”
Will scoffs to cover his laugh, “why Florida?”
“I've heard it's insufferably hot, meaning I'll have an advantage over him. ‘He likes it cold’ or whatever, right?”
This time Will actually snorts, kicking the wall behind him with a bang that makes Mike jerk. Will's pen slips but that just makes him laugh more. Mike wants to know how it's so funny. He wishes he could laugh that easily too.
The laughter dies out and it's just them in a room together, Mike having one of many emotional breakdowns while Will hums a song, tracing the same circle on Mike's forearm far more times than Mike thinks should be necessary.
His head has never been so loud. Now, finally giving up and letting his thoughts through the floodgates, he wishes water pressure wasn't so damn stubborn so he could close them again. What did I do? Where did it go wrong? It's definitely my fault but I don't know how. When did she start losing feelings? When did I start losing feelings? Did I even lose feelings? She's right, I am a shit kisser. I look like shit too. I even feel like shit. I'm a shitty boyfriend and a shitty person, that's why she wanted to break up with me. Too little too late, all because I don't understand fucking relationships.
This conclusion is unsatisfying but all Mike has the energy for right now. He'll probably consider it again later, come to the same conclusion, forget it, and then spiral again before bed tonight. It's a cycle he's grown used to, and despite the trigger changing he tends to come to a similar result each time. Mike Wheeler is an asshole and he can do nothing to fix it because he panics any time he's faced with his own mistakes, only making himself more of an asshole in the process.
He should just k- Haha, fuck off Michael, that's not an answer and if he refuses to think about it it'll go away and everybody will be happy again. They don't need to deal with it and knowing his friends they'll all blame themselves. Plus, he lost his chance to die as soon as the Upside Down ended. If he wanted to die he should've done it then so he could pretend like he was a heroic sacrifice, not just some depressed teenager who ruins everything and can't help himself no matter how hard he scrambles. It's like life has turned into an ice skating rink and not only does he not know how to skate, he doesn't even have skates to begin with.
And now he's reminded of the roller ink, and very quickly steers himself away from that line of thought. He would let himself think about it, but then he'd cry and boys don't cry. And also, he's good at ignoring things. It's not imposing on his ability to be happy (It is) and it'll only make things worse to acknowledge it (this is true, but to fix a shattered glass you have to start by admitting it's broken so you don't cut yourself trying to pick up the pieces). He should do more writing. No- the last time he wrote anything personal he poured too much of his heart out into a text to Will he couldn't manage to send and didn't go near their chat for a week after, for fear of writing more texts and failing to delete them before slipping and pressing ‘send.’ He's safer with fantasy. With DnD, the game they haven't played since Saturday when they ended their recent campaign and Mike still hasn't come up with any way to start another.
He's all out of ideas, both in fantasy and real life, and his life is going to absolute shit around him while he's frozen. He should just Google solutions- Lucas said something about Pinterest a few weeks ago, whatever that is -but that takes the spirit out of the game, and is his life really his if nothing belongs to him anymore?
Too deep, Mike. Remember, we're ignoring our problems until we can face them without crying.
He wipes the single stray tear from his cheek with his free hand, refusing to sniffle and instead sitting there with a blocked nose in stubbornness. He quickly finds he can't breathe and subtly opens his mouth instead.
Mike's phone buzzes again and he gently pulls away from Will, crawling to where it landed ten minutes ago and anxiously checking for cracks before giving in and reading Steve's texts.
The first one, now from ten minutes ago:
Steve: I'm outside by the way, I'm early because I can't schedule for shit and I know you can't either. Hurry up
Shit. (That's becoming his new most-used word). He quickly skims the next most recent one, getting the gist of ‘hurry the fuck up it's been, like, an hour.’
“I gotta go,” Mike throws a regretful look over his shoulder and stands up again, stretching his arms. “Steve isn't smooth at all and is suddenly right outside our house.”
“Our house? You're moving in without rent?” Mike rolls his eyes and pretends like the comment didn't happen. He leans his back against the door for a moment of hesitation. Then, he briskly pushes it open- nearly falling over as the thing he was leaning on disappears -and steps into the hallway, crossing his fingers in Will's direction as the international sign for prayer. Steve was one hell of a character and now knowing something was up, Mike had no idea what might happen.
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“But why Scoops-Ahoy?” Mike pushes. He'd slipped out of the house unnoticed, as he didn't really feel like getting sidetracked in a conversation with Nancy and Jonathan, who were bound to be curious why Mike was going out with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington of all people. They'd been driving for ten minutes now, the conversation consisting mostly of a hello and then Mike's curiosity getting the better of him, met with an excuse of “Well, you'll find out when we get there, won't you.”
“What do you mean, why?” Steve rolls his eyes and drums a beat onto the steering wheel, some pop song Mike has never heard playing quietly on the radio. “You wanted a job and I'm getting you a job. Besides, I should be the one asking you why your arm is covered in budget tattoos.”
Mike flushes, and he looks out the window to avoid questions. “It's nothing,” he rushes out, and he doesn't know why he's suddenly prickly about being drawn on but it just feels like something he wants to keep others out of for a while longer.
“I won't push, but if you don't want Robin deciding your life story for you I'd recommend covering it.”
“And how do you suggest I go about covering my arm in eighty-six degree heat?”
Steve shrugs, ever helpful. “Dunno. Was just trying to offer advice.”
Mike doesn't know how he's tolerated Steve for so long, but now he considers jumping out the car over spending another second with this basketcase. At least the car is cool, some old Volkswagen that Steve has been using to chauffeur the “kids” around all summer. The teal paint is peeling but Steve has been talking nonsense about getting some special, meaningful mural painted on the side, though knowing Steve that probably means an Eddie shrine. Him and Dustin had been the only stable ground for each other after Winter of 17’, and Steve liked to pretend his underdeveloped bond-turned-obsession with Eddie was due to entirely platonic reasons, and absolutely nothing askew from ‘straight bromance.’
Mike was skeptical, at best. So were the rest of his friends, but every time he tried to point it out they would agree and then give him this look like they were trying to tell him something obvious. It’s not obvious, or else Mike would have picked up on it, as he is an intellectual and has zero problems, none of them involving his ex-girlfriend.
The rest of the ride is quiet, something Mike realizes is nicer than he would've expected. At one point they hit a pothole straight-on, and Mike starts to squabble with Steve again about trying to kill them before they even get there. Steve makes a point that killing Mike via motor-accident would also likely require in his own suicide, and he's not that ready to see the gates of Hell yet. Mike would ask why Steve would go to Hell, but he decided he's Steve, of course he's going to Hell.
They finally pull up to Scoops-Ahoy, just a block past the Family Video, and Mike admits he hadn't fully expected Scoops' to survive the Starcourt 'incident.' The parking lot is chock-full of cars, surprising but not entirely unbelievable considering the mid-August annual heat wave. Steve grabs his discarded sunglasses from the dash and flips his cap backwards, turning off the ignition and stepping out of the car with ease. Mike is a lot less graceful with his exit, fumbling with the seatbelt clip and then nearly dropping his phone when it falls out of his back pocket onto his seat. The car door swings open at last, and he slams it a little harder than necessary behind him to rid himself of the building frustration that was guaranteed to not help whatever situation Steve had in mind. He jogs to catch up with Nancy's ex-boyfriend- something Mike wasn't letting Steve forget -just as he's pushing open the door.
The first thing Mike notices about the building is the floor, which is a weird thing to notice first about a place, he'll admit. It's scuffed and dirty, sticky stains visible here and there. The air conditioning is nice though, and he gets a full two steps offer the doormat before his sneaker lands in it's very own sticky spot.
The second thing notices are the help-wanted posters, covering any surface available. Looks like it, Mike thinks with an audible scoff. This place, despite being more spacious than their previous location, is a hell of a lot more dumpy. The posters in question are hung next to the menu screens, in the windows, and even along the front of the counters. It takes him a second, but eventually a sinking feeling tells Mike this might be as simple as where Steve expects him to work.
Finally, as the pieces fall together, Mike notices Max and Robin in the corner, at one of the cleaner tables in the vicinity. Robin is waving her hands around wildly, seemingly in the middle of some wild story, but Max's eyes are elsewhere, locked on Mike with a smirk of her own, not all that different from the look Will gave him right before he left. He doesn't miss the slight horror in her eyes though, like she too was hoping for better than being thrown into the food chain as the next in line for this misfortune.
Mike sighs- there's really no better reaction -and moves to join their table. He sits on Max's side after Steve pushes past him to sit with Robin like he thought Mike was about to take the seat from him. He clears his throat and straightens his shirt in a way that makes Mike's Pit of Dread℠ grow a few millimeters bigger in his stomach. There really isn't much room for his breakfast casserole now, which is why he suddenly feels it pushing his throat as though it's about to announce itself to the room around him.
Max elbows him and Mike moves over so one leg is hanging off the edge of the seat. Better safe than sorry.
"So," Steve clears his throat again, "We have gathered you here today-" This time Steve is the one being elbowed by Robin, something Mike things he nothing short of deserves. He keeps this to himself, if only to pave the way for Max's own snicker.
"Skip the introductions, Stevie." Robin takes over, notably stiffening under the globe light above. Mike blows a stand of hair away from his face. Maybe he should cut it.
"This is your job." Steve ends bluntly, rubbing the side of his arm not-so-subtly where Robin jabbed him. She does it again for good measure and they trade a series of looks too fast for Mike to keep up with. "Happy?"
"No!" Mike exclaims, "Why here? Is this you passing on your generational trauma?" Robin and Steve exchange another look, this one obviously an evil grin, and Mike decides he will be the reason Steve finally sees those gates of Hell.
"We're not working here." Max adds. For once Mike agrees with her.
"Yes, you are," Robin feigns sweetness, "It'll do you two well, and considering our experiences you have much to gain from this." She shrugs, "You might even come out of this new and improved."
Mike finds the phrasing odd, but is too busy implementing the silent treatment to point it out.
Max stands up.
"Wait wait wait!" Robin rushes to correct, "They pay well and it's actually really fun, I promise. Me and Stevie had the time of our lives, isn't that right?"
Before Steve can reply, Max inputs something Mike had been stewing over for a couple seconds now, at least. "We aren't interesting in busting the Russians, thank you. That is over. And dead to me, if you will."
Robin nods eagerly and Steve glowers at being cut off. "Yes, yes. You don't want to bust the Russians. We didn't either, but the point isn't busting Russians it's working together. We made great memories there and you will too."
Surprisingly, Max sits back down and is the first to cave. "Fine. We'll do it." Mood swings, am I right?
"Wait, you're signing me up for this?" Mike interrupts. His hands flail to enunciate his point. "I didn't agree to anything."
"Well I'm in and I'm not doing it alone, so you're going down with me Wheeler."
"Plus, you may or may not have already been hired." Steve shrugs like this is something normal to say, and Mike has never hated three people on Earth more than he has now. This building is burning down, hopefully with all four of them in it, and Mike will gladly be the one to light the matches.
I should've known. He glares at them, exchanging who gets it before he gives in and shakes his head in resignation. I should've never told Steve of all people how desperate I was for a job.
Mike Wheeler is doomed. His grave will read, 'Death by Scoops-Ahoy and Insufferable Coworker,' right by Will's old fake one. It's a pity, things had been going so well until now, if you don't count El breaking up with him. Things were going so well. But this is Hawkins, nothing ever goes well for long enough to be consistent.