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The stars that were displayed across the sky were like scattered, silver dots, dancing on a canvas of utter darkness. The moon hung high, gleaming white and shining through the night, as if the sky itself was alive.
Will sat on the soft, messy pile of grass, his hand flowing across the paper as he sketched. The darkness swallowed him whole, welcoming him like it always did—calmness settled within him quick, easy. He furrows his eyebrows, tongue peeking out in pure concentration while he drew in the sketchbook.
The slope of a nose. The hint of a smile. The glint of childish wonder; light pigtails that curved at the ends, a pair of blue eyes. The familiar figurine hanging from a necklace filled with all kinds of color.
Something he was asked to draw.
Something he was used to drawing each night.
The door swings open from behind him, but he doesn't look, not yet. He continues to sketch, filling in the lines with a focus he only has when he does something he loves. He doesn't pay attention to who's coming.
Fast, loud footsteps come towards him; the person seems to be trying to be quiet, but it doesn't work.
Will already knows who it is.
A small smile curls at the corners of his mouth, his expression melting into something soft.
The person settles next to him, sits down and leans over to look at what he was drawing.
"I think this is the tenth time you've drawn my little sister." Mike murmurs underneath his breath, tilting his head as he squinted. "You don't have to say yes to her every single time, you know that, right?"
Will lets out a snort, shading the few details that needed to be filled in. He shakes his head slightly, opening his mouth to attempt a response, but Mike cuts him off before he can speak.
"I'm serious! She can handle rejection, she's not eight anymore, she's fully able to hear the word no for once!"
"She's nine," Will says, quiet.
Mike frowns, "I know that."
"If Holly wants a self portrait, I'll give it to her."
"…What's next? Are you gonna draw her a kingdom? Her dolls? Her entire family of toys?"
Will shakes his head, "I already drew all of that for her," He replies softly, tilting the pencil just right. "You've seen all of my drawings for you, Mike. A small amount of these doesn't compare to yours."
Mike hesitates for a second too long, and that almost gets Will to look at him, but Mike responds before he could move his head. "Have you drawn me recently?"
The pencil stops, and for a moment, the world goes silent around the two of them. Then, Will laughs. A soft, airy noise that bubbles up out of him. It was soft, unexpected but not restrained, never held back with Mike around him. With Mike, he felt free.
Like he could fly.
It was always so easy with him.
He turns to Mike, to see the look on his face, but Mike isn't laughing with him—he's not shocked, or confused, he was staring at Will, like he was simply absorbing the moment before it could disappear.
His soft, gentle look conveyed so many things. It meant promise, love. It meant everything that mattered.
All of the things that mattered to Will.
Will holds Mike's gaze, a twinge of adoration in his eyes as his giggles began to slow to a stop. They stare at each other for too long, Will knows this, knows they shouldn't be doing this when they're not alone.
He knows it's risky to do it outside.
He doesn't allow himself to lean into safety, instead, he reaches out to grab Mike's hand, relaxing further once Mike squeezed his hand in response.
"…Of course, I draw you." Will whispers, a nervous-giddy smile spreading across his face. "Always."
Mike grins, "Always? So I'm… Your muse, then?" He asks, moving impossibly closer to Will.
Will can't respond to that, not without saying something lame and so uncool. His heart was doing somersaults in his chest, beating faster than he'd like.
He takes in a deep breath, looking away from Mike to pick up his pencil with his other hand. "Her birthday was only yesterday, Mike. I wanna… Make it special."
It was silly, considering how Will didn't care much about birthdays, but he wasn't hesitating to make the entire weekend perfect for Holly. She loves birthdays.
(Will thinks she mainly loves the cake, though he wouldn't point it out in front of her.)
Mike furrows his eyebrows, "It was yesterday, Will. Her special day is already gone." He mumbles, shrugging his shoulders as he leans in closer.
"The week isn't over," Will replies, "So her special day isn't over, either. I didn't realize it mattered that much."
"I didn't say it did. I'm just…" Mike trails off.
Will finishes his sentence for him, "Jealous of a 9 year old when I draw you all the time."
Mike sputters, throwing his hands up in the air. "I didn't say that!" He exclaims, exasperated.
Will doesn't respond, he doesn't need to. He finishes up the last few touches, making sure to add a small message at the very bottom of the page.
It reads,
Happy birthday, Holly.
Love, Will.
A smile spreads across his face as he reviews the drawing one final time, paying close attention to every detail on the page, before, turning his sketchbook to face Mike. He held it up, "Is it okay?"
Mike slowly nods, looks up to meet Will's eye—which he quickly shies away from out of nervousness.
"It looks amazing, Will." Mike says, his tone gentle. "I told you, you don't have to ask, you already know what I think about all of your drawings."
Will sucks in a breath, his face flushing just enough to pass off as embarrassment. "I'm just… Checking."
"Your artwork belongs in a museum, Will."
"Mike."
"Seriously."
Will doesn't say anything back.
They both fall into a comfortable silence, sneaking small glances at one another with soft smiles while Will puts away his supplies. The moon gleams over them, and for a second, Will really wants to kiss Mike.
Mike isn't ready, he knows that, knows he's waiting for the right time, and Will's okay with that.
He's okay with touches.
He's okay with only having Mike.
He doesn't need kissing to know that Mike loves him.
"…So," Mike starts, and Will looks up at him, ready to hear whatever he has to say, but Mike seems almost… flustered, like he's scared to speak.
Will frowns, "Hm?"
Mike hesitates, "Are you, doing anything for the rest of March?" He asks, "Any plans?"
Will stares at him for a second, before shaking his head.
"Okay, that's… Cool! Really cool!"
Will raises an eyebrow, "Why?"
"Oh. Uhm," Mike pauses, looking away from Will. "Just asking. For, future plans. I mean—just asking."
Will squints at him, opening his mouth to say something before stopping himself. He waits a beat longer, like he's expecting Mike to say more, to bring something up, until Mike doesn't. He stays quiet.
Though, his expression tells Will that he's hiding something, but Will doesn't push.
He never does.
He leans in instead, rests his head on Mike's shoulder and stares at the darkness looming over them. The rest of the world's silent, and there's a sense of calm that settles inside of his body. Slowly, Will's eyes close, and he doesn't bother opening them, knows he's safe.
He tries to pretend it doesn't sting that Mike didn't bother to bring up the date that was approaching.
He tries to not care about his birthday.
Will Byers' least favorite day was March 22nd.
He's never liked it, he can't remember a single year where it came and he didn't feel awful about it.
Every single time the weeks grew closer to the date, he found himself shrinking further and further into his own thoughts before he could attempt to get excited about it. It started when he was thirteen, when everyone was growing older, maturing while leaving him behind. When he couldn't bother getting happy about being fourteen because that meant he was getting older and older and he didn't even have a chance to live the rest of his childhood before everyone around him changed.
The feeling of dread settled inside of his body when he turned fifteen. The way he woke up that morning to silence—nothing but the giddiness of being able to see Mike, he nearly forgot that the day was meant to be about him. Then, nobody brought it up. Then, he had to watch his sister have fun and Mike ignore him. Then, he had to face the utter embarrassment of being walked in on by Mike, which was worse than being ignored because at least Mike didn't see him cry.
That night tortured him. It was almost humiliating to remember it.
He was sitting alone at the dinner table, a cupcake that he made himself in front of him; yellow cake made out of box mix, with chocolate icing on top and a candle. Only Mike knew this, but he loved that cake only specifically because it was the one thing his Mom could make for them without burning it.
She made it for every birthday, his and Jonathan's. She made it out of care and love and she hadn't made it that year. He had to do it himself, quietly as possible.
He'd been crying as he blew out the candles, his nails digging into his own skin which led to him not being able to breathe, causing him to have a break down right then and there, and then Mike walked downstairs.
Mike always seemed to care for him when he no longer wanted it from him, when he was ashamed for wanting it so badly in the first place.
The conversation played in his mind, clear as day.
"I made you a mix-tape for your birthday." Mike had said, looking terrified, almost. "I—I forgot to give it to you, but I've been working on it since you left."
The words made Will stop sobbing. Not because Mike had made him better, but it shocked him. "…What?"
"I just, I guess I forgot to say Happy Birthday, too." Mike continued on, still not looking at Will.
And, Will had to ask him, because he'd felt so stupid the entire day and Mike's words made him so hopeful in just a few seconds, he'd felt sick. "You actually remembered?"
Then, Mike finally looked at him, like Will was an idiot for thinking otherwise. "Of course, I remembered."
That night, Mike sat with him while he cried—since, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to stop the tears from falling, it was embarrassing; the way his heart jumped and he had to stop and force himself to calm down because Mike wasn't like him and he needed to stop being so disgusting about every interaction he had with Mike. He had to be normal.
Then, he gave Mike the painting of silent confessions and I love you's and Mike didn't say anything about him having a break down that time, but he knew.
He knew all along.
That resulted in a messy, but desperate argument between the two of them that turned into them confessing which—led them to March 22nd, 1987.
Will turned sixteen. He still hated his birthday. Still felt bitter about everyone forgetting about it to the point where he couldn't enjoy trying to celebrate, because most of that day was filled with apologies and pity when he didn't want pity, he just wanted… Love.
He wanted to be celebrated without knowing, like those movies where people gave a surprise party to their loved one and made them feel so happy. Will wanted that. He wanted to be happy about March.
He couldn't do that anymore, though.
Not without remembering and feeling bad.
Now, Will was turning seventeen in four days, and like always, he feels that desperation inside of him. The pull in his chest to want to do something special. And, like always, he ignores it all, refuses to acknowledge it.
Because he was satisfied. He was happy. He has Mike, he has a boyfriend—two years ago, he didn't think he was allowed to have any of those things. Didn't think it was possible. Yet, dreams do come true sometimes.
He has Mike, and there were no secrets between them.
Well, up until recently.
There were no secrets, but Mike was being… weird.
He's been acting weird for weeks. It started with the constant pestering regarding Will's plans, asking if he was doing anything or if he was free to do anything when the time came. When Will asked what he meant, he'd stutter, get all red, make up excuses and start lying straight to Will's face—it was so stupid.
At first, he assumed that Mike was planning a date. Maybe planning something for the both of them, something that could lead to them experimenting.
Until, the weeks flew by, and there was nothing from Mike, nothing but holding hands and soft touches, nothing but pretending everything was okay between them—like Mike wasn't actively sneaking around and doing things behind his back.
Which led Will to this conclusion;
Mike was hiding something from him.
There were secrets.
And it wasn't only Mike. Everyone was acting weird. Dustin started to freeze up when Will came near him while he was working on something—and don't wonder what he's working on, because Will has no idea, either—Lucas was okay, sort of, but it was obvious he knew what was happening. Jane and Max hanging out wasn't a surprise, considering they've been seeing each other every single day, yet, they haven't bothered to invite Will to any one of those hangouts.
Even his Mom was being weird. He's tried to talk to Jonathan about this, and his brother acted like he was going insane, so that conversation was over quickly.
Which leaves Will alone with his thoughts.
Silently, he's bitter, wishes he could say something to them and figure out why they're all treating him this way. Out loud, he's trying to remain stable, being as patient as he can allow himself to be—because surely, they aren't leaving him out on purpose. They wouldn't.
It just sucks to have to live it all over again.
"Don't call me on the phone, to tell me you're alone. It's easy to deceive, It's easy to tease. But hard to get release."
Will hums along to the melody, reaching a hand over to the corner of his desk, turning the radio up loud enough to drown out his thoughts the best he could.
He sketches onto the paper with his other hand, keeping his eyes trained on the slow motions. It was going smoothly, until he was simply staring at the paper, like he was stuck on what to do next.
"Eyes without a face, les yeux sans visage."
Will brings the pencil to his lips, swinging his legs underneath the desk as his eyes darted around; his shelf full of things, the total of five lights in his room that he didn't care enough to get rid of, his window.
The breeze coming in from the crack of it was way too much. He likes it cold, Will thinks, and immediately, he stands up, slamming the window frame closed shut.
The sound of the window closing and the music playing was enough to drown out the creak of the door—this house was far too old. He moves back to his desk, jumping slightly when he notices an arm reaching to turn the music down. “Oh,” he mumbles, realizing it was just his sister.
“Will,” Jane says, with the same sneaky smile she’s had on her face for the past few weeks. She was horrible at hiding things, and Will knows something's up. “What are you doing?”
Will looks at Jane, a small frown growing on his face while he turns the radio down for her. “Nothing.” He replies, “Why?”
Jane tilts her head to the side, “I miss you.” She huffs, “We need some.. brother-sister time.”
“I thought you were hanging out with Max, you’ve been with her all month, why are you asking now?”
Jane shrugs, “…No reason!” She exclaims, plopping herself down onto his bed. “Like I said, I miss you!”
Will doesn't answer.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
Jane frowns, “What’s wrong?”
Will fights the urge to laugh at the question—or cry, or maybe do both, because he was losing his mind, and El was acting like nothing weird had been going on. Like she and the rest of their friends wasn't hiding something from him and making it obvious.
Instead of saying any of that, Will simply shakes his head, sitting back down in the chair near his desk.
There’s a soft creak that comes from his bed, then footsteps, and Will instantly puts his entire focus on the sketchbook to avoid any form of confrontation.
One step closer, then another step, then suddenly there's a hand on his shoulder, but Will doesn't look. He's gotten really good at not looking.
"Will." Jane whispers, wrapping her arms around him. "You do not seem, okay." For a second, she's silent. Will realizes she's analyzing him; something she's always done. "You can talk to me. I don't mind."
Again, Will shakes his head. "I'm okay, El." He replies, smiling to himself, as if he could convince his mind to forget about everything. "Really."
"…Are you sure?" Jane's eyes softens, "Will, I—"
"Please." Will cuts in, looking at her. "I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me, I'm… I'm just stuck on what to draw right now, that's all."
"Oh." She leans in, looking closer to the pages. "Well. I think it looks nice. Maybe, you should take a break!"
Will snorts, "And do what?"
Jane shrugs once more, letting go of Will. "Joyce is not here. Jonathan is with Nancy, Max is…" She trails off, like she's hesitant on what to say. "Busy."
Immediately, Will's hit with the reminder that he knows nothing about his friends anymore, not when they hardly talk to him.
He knows Jane's lying.
She never says the word busy.
Jane goes into detail when she knows what someone's up to. She explains carefully, to make sure that nobody's confused. She messes up a few times, but her point gets across to everyone.
She tries her best—and right now, she's lying.
Will hesitates, rolling the pencil between his fingers to distract himself. He opens his mouth, closes it, just to get the words right, before opening it again. "Where's Mike right now? He's supposed to call."
"Oh, Mike's outside!"
"…What?"
Jane freezes, actually freezes, like she's been caught.
Will raises an eyebrow, "Jane," he says slowly, sitting up in his chair to look at her. "What do you mean?"
"Mike's at home." She blurts out, the words coming fast out from her lips. "He's… That's why I am here! He cannot call because he is busy. That is why."
They stare at each other for a few seconds. Jane's looking straight into his eyes. Will squints at her. In response, Jane presses her lips together into a line.
Will stands up, pushing the chair back into its spot. "If he's, busy, why didn't he call and tell me that?"
Jane stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jacket—his jacket, by the way—and looks away from him. "He was so, uhm, so busy he could not… Call?"
"Why do you sound confused?"
"I'm not confused."
"You don't sound like you're too sure."
"I sound like nothing."
"That doesn't—" Will huffs, tries to not sound annoyed because he hates being upset with El but it was hard to not get frustrated when she was lying to him. "Tell me the truth. Is Mike outside right now?"
Jane hesitates, "…No."
Will clenches his fists, "Why did you say he was?"
"I can't tell you!" Jane exclaims, her voice rising louder than she's ever had it. Will flinches, and Jane frowns, "I can't tell you, I'm sorry. It's…"
"It's not something for me to know." Will finishes for her, looking down at the floor.
Jane shakes her head, "It is not like that. Mike just doesn't want you to know." She says, as if it's that easy. God, she was terrible at keeping secrets.
He wants to argue. Wants to ask why Mike would want to keep secrets from Will when they're dating. Wants to stop being so confused in his own relationship.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Will only nods, blinks back tears, doesn't say a word to respond to her. He can't. Jane already knows—she reaches her hand up, squeezing his shoulder to comfort him the best she can.
"Soon." She promises, but Will isn't quite sure what soon means. "When I'm back, we can watch a movie."
When she leaves, Will forgets all about the drawing, too focused on trying to calm himself down.
He screams into his pillow, kicks his legs, like he's a toddler. He feels so alone. He feels like he's five years old all over again, watching the other kids interact while he's stuck in the corner, with nobody to talk to.
At least then, he had Mike.
Now Mike can't even come inside to look at him.
He hated his birthday.
He's always hated the days leading up to it, but this situation alone makes him despise it further.
He hates not knowing.
He hates getting older.
Will's never claimed to be a good person.
He's not an angel. He has flaws. So, so many flaws. He's far from honest, he's emotional, he's codependent, he's filled with constant shame and denial that's only gotten better a while ago, he's not good.
Truthfully, Will's always thought he was bad—even before he could truly differentiate the meanings of bad and horrible, he's never spoken it out loud, but he knew. He's known from the moment he, silently, wished the Demogorgon really got him; didn't drag him off to Henry, just killed him right then and there when he was caught. He's known the second Jane was brought into his life and instead of feeling grateful, he was bitter, angry that practically she stole his life.
They were both kids, then. But Will was born wrong. Jane was the real angel between the two of them.
While Will was messy, Jane thrived. While Jane was angry, Will held it back, kept it deep in his chest, until it exploded out of him in the heat of an argument.
Jane wasn't the type of person to want a fight, she simply wanted honesty—that's where she and Will relate to each other, the only thing that they actually have in common.
It was a miracle that Mike hasn't went back to her.
He's been snapping at Mike a lot, recently.
He doesn't mean to. He never realizes it's happening until Mike's expression starts to shift into a guilty one and Will has to force himself to take a step back and not throttle his boyfriend that he loves a large amount. Because Will's a patient person, he doesn't push.
He waits.
Every single time.
When Mike's making him upset, he waits.
He tries his hardest to not let it all release. To not break and yell and remind himself of a father that was never a dad—he waits, wills himself to stays quiet.
But, when Lucas came around, it was easier to allow himself to feel emotions. It was easy to let himself be normal, let himself break just enough for comfort.
In response, Lucas never tells anyone.
He's always there. Listening. Prepared.
If Mike was his heart, Will's positive that Lucas is someone he aspires to be, someone he looks up to.
Will tightens his grip on the handlebars, legs moving in a steady, rhythmic motion. He breathes in the scent of the environment, the heat of spring mixing in with the warmth of the wind. His legs were burning, muscles tensing with the speed he was using. He loves it.
He missed biking with everyone.
He glances back at Lucas, sees empty space around him where the others should be, would be if they weren't busy all of the time now.
Will scoffs quietly, rolling his eyes. Busy. He thinks. They weren't busy. They left school the moment the bell rang, didn't wait for him. Only Lucas stayed.
He wonders why.
"I swear, if Mrs. Lawson gives us work the moment we come back from break, I'm going to kill myself." Lucas groans, peddling alongside Will. "She shouldn't be allowed to teach at this school. She's literally Chance's mom, she favors him over everyone! It's so uncool."
Will nods in response, doesn't have anything to say. The silence stretches between them, and he can tell that Lucas is trying to continue the conversation, can tell that he's trying at least. He feels bad.
Will takes pity on him.
"I think she's nice." Will whispers, turning the corner. "You're only on her bad side because you and Mike decided to piss the basketball team off."
Lucas huffs, "I didn't do anything wrong."
Will looks at him, "You dyed all of their jerseys pink."
"It was an accident!"
"Mike was talking about it all week, Lucas."
"…Okay, maybe it wasn't an accident." Lucas decides, shrugging his shoulders. "But it was funny."
Involuntarily, Will lets out a small laugh. The incident wasn't funny. Seeing Lucas and Mike getting yelled at by Higgins afterwards, however, was. "Only a little."
Lucas grins, starting to circle his bike around Will, causing him to slow down the pace he was going at.
"That's not safe," Will comments, watching Lucas carefully incase he fell. Of course, Lucas ignores him, which causes them to fall back into silence.
They pedal next to each other, neither of them saying a word, until suddenly, Lucas is way closer to Will than he was five minutes ago.
Lucas nudges him, "…So, Spring Break." He starts, "What do you plan on doing? Celebrating?"
Celebrating. The word plays in his mind on loop, a constant reminder of what tomorrow is. Celebrating. Celebrating what? Loneliness? It was stupid.
Will stays quiet, avoids the hard look Lucas is giving him, because he's not doing anything for his birthday.
Besides one phone call with Mike. One hang out.
That's all he's doing.
"I'm not doing much." He settles on, eventually.
That isn't enough. Lucas digs deeper. "How's Mike?"
The scowl comes on Will's face before he can stop it. Lucas clocks it instantly.
"What's that look for?"
Will groans, "It's nothing."
"Will." Lucas says, nudging him again. "What's going on with you and Mike now?"
Will raises an eyebrow, "What's going on with you and Max?" He asks.
Lucas smiles, "We're great, actually! We just had a date. I took her out to Enzo's, she looked… so pretty." He sighs, closing his eyes for a second, as if he was trying to imagine it all over again. "It was really fun."
Will wishes he could do that with Mike.
He wants that sense of normalcy; going out on dates, kissing each other in public, being affectionate without having to live in fear of people seeing him as a disease.
He's happy Lucas doesn't have to worry about that with Max. His and Lucas's situations are different, although that doesn't mean that they both don't struggle with the same thing.
People have always seen them as different.
It was the outcast aspect for Mike that made people dislike him, but things went deeper than that for the rest of the Party. Something he wouldn't truly understand unless he was in their position.
Maybe that's why they're so close.
Will looks at Lucas, a small smile on his face. "I'm happy you had fun with Max."
Lucas nearly lights up, "I'm happy, too." He whispers, staring down at himself before looking up at Will.
"Now, tell me, Will The Wise. What's going on with you and Sir Micheal Wheeler?"
Will huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he pedaled faster. "Nothing's happening." He insists. He looks back at Lucas, who's giving him a look, one that's he's gotten familiar with over the years. He sighs, "Okay, fine. something's going on. There. Is that what you wanted?"
Lucas lets out a noise of confirmation, nodding his head. "What's happening?"
For a moment, Will doesn't want to answer.
He knows that Lucas knew what was happening. Or, he knew what was going on within the party that didn't involve Will in the slightest.
He answers anyway.
"He's being weird." Will mumbles, loosening his hold on the handlebars. "He's avoiding me, too."
Lucas furrows his eyebrows, confused. "What makes you think that?"
Will scoffs, "You didn't see that back there? He basically ran out of the classroom to get away from me. He didn't come to lunch either."
"Maybe he's, I don't know, you know Mike. He's always up to something." Lucas replies, "He could be—"
"Don't say busy." Will interrupts before he could finish.
He was sure he was going to lose his mind if he heard the word busy again. There were so many better words than that one. Like preoccupied, or swamped, or hectic, or anything but the word that starts with B.
Will grits his teeth, breathes, squeezes his eyes shut for a second or two to calm himself down.
One. In.
Two. Out.
Three. In.
Four. Out.
Will opens his eyes to see Lucas staring at him like he's crazy. He doesn't blame Lucas for that expression, honestly, he thinks he's going insane right now.
"…Are you sure you're okay?" Lucas questions, "You're, kinda doing that thing. Where you look like you're minutes away from having a panic attack."
Will shakes his head, "I'm not panicking." He says, but he can hear his heart beating faster in his chest so he's not too sure what's happening. "I'm angry."
Lucas nods, "Because of Mike?"
"Because of—" Will groans, swerving his bike onto the grass and slowing to a stop. "Yes! Because of Mike!"
Because of all of you, Will thinks, doesn't say it.
Will runs his fingers through his hair, the movements becoming frantic. "I haven't spoken to my boyfriend without him running off in days!" He exclaims, desperate. "He won't even—he doesn't even look at me."
He brings his thumb up to his mouth, chewing on his nail—a habit that he's never been able to shake.
Lucas reaches out to touch him, but he flinches away from the touch, too anxious to reciprocate. Lucas retreats, sits on his bike instead, waits for Will to continue speaking.
He's always there.
"I—I can't help but think he doesn't… Want to be with me anymore. That's why he's being weird." Will whispers, the sound barely there. "Maybe he wants to go back to Jane, and I understand that, because she's so much better than me. I just wish he'd say it. I wish he'd tell me himself. I'm so tired of being confused."
Will looks away from Lucas, too ashamed to face him. "I'm tired of running away from my own mind. I'm tired of not knowing if he wants me or if I'm making it all up, if I've been overthinking every single interaction between us to force myself to believe he likes me."
Lucas lets out a noise, something close to sympathy. Will hates it. Feels awful for letting himself break.
Lucas didn't need to hear about this.
He didn't need to stay. He just does.
"Will, that's not true. I know that's not true." Lucas says, his voice soft. "Mike loves you so much. It's crazy to think he doesn't. I mean, he drives us all crazy with the amount of feelings he has for you. Hell, I can't stand him sometimes. I start to feel like Max."
"Every conversation with him is Will, Will, Will, never anything else." His voice pitches up when he mocks Mike, and Will tries not to laugh, but he can't help it—he snorts despite himself. Lucas always makes him laugh when he feels like he's unable to do so.
Lucas's eyes soften, "I'm serious," he whispers, "Mike wouldn't go back to Jane, Will. You need to ignore the bad thoughts and think of something good. You two are happy. Don't let the bad outweigh what's special."
Will sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve out of instinct. He grimaces at the snot leftover. "…What if, he's never able to kiss me? What if he never grows to really be comfortable with that?"
Lucas shrugs, "Then that's something you'll have to talk about with him." He replies, simple.
Will doesn't respond. He attempts to gather himself for a moment, carefully sitting down on his bike.
When Lucas touches his shoulder, Will doesn't flinch, he leans into the touch.
"It's Mike." Lucas tells him, "Whatever's going on, you shouldn't worry about it. I'm positive it's for a good reason. You don't need to freak out about it."
Will stares at him, "It?" He tilts his head, "Are you gonna tell me what you guys are doing without me?"
Lucas freezes. Just like El. Except, he doesn't make something up, he opens his mouth, clearly about to say something, before the noise of crackling stops him.
They both pause. Until, static buzzes, followed by a loud, frantic voice.
"Lucas! Code Yellow, I repeat, Code Yellow! Over!"
Dustin.
Will raises an eyebrow, looking up at Lucas. "What—"
Lucas grabs the walkie from his pocket, holding it up to his face. He presses the button, "I'm coming. On my way, over and out." He stuffs the device back into his jacket, turning his bike to the side and pedaling away.
"Lucas?! Hey! I'm still here!" Will yells.
Lucas doesn't turn back once. Instead, bikes faster away from him, which—okay, ouch. Whatever.
Dustin sounded like he was freaking out. What could possibly be going on over there that he couldn't come with Lucas to see? Seriously?
Will rolls his eyes, gripping the handlebars once again. He pumps his legs, allowing the bike to go faster in speed. The wind that rushes past his face is pure relief.
Tomorrow was his birthday.
Whatever was going on with the Party, he'd get to the bottom of it.
He was sick of this treatment.
Seventeen was an age people tend to look forward to.
It was an age of compromise; a pivotal time. The stage where you're not a kid anymore, you aren't older, you're simply leaving your childhood behind and entering adulthood; it was a transitional moment, a significant number. Everyone liked seventeen.
Everyone except Will, apparently.
The morning started off differently.
His mom had woken him up with plenty of kisses to the forehead, whispers of Happy Birthday, honey and a promise of birthday pancakes made for him in the kitchen. Jonathan was with her, holding a gift in his hands with a way too big smile on his face.
There was a homemade banner hung up in his room. It was messy, clearly made by Jane with the handwriting, but it made Will's heart swell up with something he hadn't felt since he was five years old.
He knew exactly what that feeling was.
It was plain happiness, excitement, even. A mix of both.
When he got out of bed, Jane wasn't there, which brought his mood down a bit, however, it instantly lifted once he opened his mom and Jonathan's gift.
Will didn't like to brag, but he's pretty sure he has the coolest family ever—no other family would get him new colored pencils, and not the cheap ones, ones that were expensive, perfect for him to use. He wanted to cry the moment he opened it and saw; not because of the gift alone, but because they noticed.
They'd noticed that Will needed new art materials. They noticed, didn't ignore, they saw him.
They hadn't forgotten this time.
For the first time in a long time, Will didn't feel sad or out of place on his birthday, he just felt happy.
He was so, so happy.
He hated the age of seventeen, the concept of turning older, but he loved being seen and celebrated.
The morning went smoothly. It flew by quickly, filled with laughter and smiles—now, Will was patiently waiting for Mike to call. Exactly how they planned.
Mike always called on his birthday. There wasn't a day where he didn't call Will to wish him happy birthday. No matter how badly Will hated the date, Mike found a way to make it better, to erase that feeling.
He shifts on his feet, staring at the phone intensely while he waited.
"Jesus, Will," Jonathan laughs, "You might actually destroy that phone if you stare any longer."
Will fights the urge to flip him off. He would never do that. He's mature, really mature, so he stays quiet, looming over the phone silently.
Jonathan walks over to him, hands in his pockets. "Are you sure you don't wanna sit?" He asks, "Mike could be asleep right now. It is still early, you know."
Will shakes his head, "He's not asleep."
"How do you know?"
"I can feel it."
Jonathan pauses, "…You can feel it?"
Will huffs as he looks up at Jonathan, "I don't do this to you when you're waiting for Nancy to call!"
"Why don't you just go over there?" Jonathan raises an eyebrow, avoiding Will's words. "Mom doesn't mind."
"It's tradition." Will insists. "He's going to call—"
Will's cut off by the sound of the shrill ringing, a high-pitched wail that makes the both of them jump.
Immediately, Will grabs the phone, putting it up to his ear. He breathes, waiting for a moment before speaking into the receiver. "…Hello?" He whispers, nervous, even though he's called Mike so many times.
There's a crackle of noise. Until, Mike speaks.
"Will!" Mike says, sounding way more excited than him. It causes a shy smile to spread across Will's face.
Jonathan presses his lips together, opening his mouth. "I've never seen you get so red in my life—"
"Jonathan!" Will exclaims, "Go away!"
Jonathan rolls his eyes jokingly, holding his hands up in surrender. "Sorry." He mouthed, slowly turning around and walking away.
Will sighs, holding onto the phone tightly. "…Sorry. Hi. Um, hi Mike!" He squeaks, voice cracking. "Hey…"
"You're blushing right now?" Mike asks, clearly stuck on what Jonathan was saying.
Will shakes his head, forgetting Mike can't see him. "No. I'm—Jonathan was just kidding."
Silence.
"…Are you sure?"
"Mhm."
Mike laughs, "Okay, then. Hi Will," He starts, voice lowering into something close to a whisper. "I missed you a lot. Happy birthday, sorcerer."
Will twirls the cord around his finger, his face heating up. "Mike," He warns, "That's not a pet name."
"It is now."
"You're so stupid."
"You love me for it."
Will snorts, the giggles escaping his lips before he could stop them. "You're being extra romantic today?" He asks, his heart beating faster in his chest. "Hm?"
"Trying to be." Mike replies. He's smiling. Will can hear the smile in his voice. He's suddenly falling more and more in love with Mike Wheeler by the second. He didn't know that was possible, but it's happening.
Will hesitates, tightening his hold around the phone. "I missed you, too." He whispers, "How was your morning? You're calling a little late."
Mike sighs, a long, drawn out noise. "My parents are gone. They took Holly with them, and I had to help, at nearly eight in the morning. Eight, Will! How many toys can a nine year old have for a trip?"
Will nods, staying quiet as he let Mike talk.
"Then, they left, and I had to clean the house, and you know I really hate cleaning, Will."
"Cleaning? Why are you cleaning?"
"Because—" Mike falls silent. "…No reason."
The giddiness in his chest is quickly replaced by a sinking feeling of disappointment.
It was his birthday, and Mike was still hiding from him.
Will doesn't say anything.
Ignoring the silence, Mike continues on.
"Enough about me, how was your morning, Will?"
"Uhm," Will shrugs, "It, it was okay."
"…Okay? What happened? Did your mom and Jonathan do something for you?"
"Yeah, they got me pencils. It was cool."
Mike shifts, breathing into the receiver. Will grimaces. Mike was way too close to the phone. He doesn't comment on it, though, which causes the conversation to die out quickly than Will wanted it to.
"If, something's wrong, you know you can tell me, right Will?" Mike asks, "You don't sound fine."
Will pauses, "I am fine. It's just—" he closes his eyes, trying to not sound like he was upset. "I miss seeing you. It feels like I haven't seen you in forever and, It's… It's my birthday, so I thought, I thought we…"
He doesn't like the way he sounds. He sounds desperate. Needy. He sort of wants to cry.
He doesn't want to have to beg for any form of attention, he just misses Mike.
He really misses his boyfriend.
"I thought we could hang out," Will finishes, sounding a little choked up. "If that's okay."
Mike's quiet for a moment, until he speaks up again.
"Of course it's okay, Will." He whispers his tone soft, exactly what Will needs. "Maybe not at this moment, but we can definitely hang out today. Okay? I promise. You don't have to cry, babe. Seriously. It's okay."
Will sniffles, feels embarrassed.
He can hear Mike's frown through the phone.
"It's okay to ask me for things. I promise you it's not too much, you have to stop overthinking about that kind of stuff." Mike reassures, "C'mon. Imagine my face. Imagine my gorgeous, handsome, face that you love so much, and imagine me wrapping my arms around you and giving you everything you want."
Will laughs softly, wiping away the tears that were getting ready to spill. "You are such a sap," he teases, "I thought you weren't ready for kissing yet."
Mike feigns confusion. "What? I never said that."
"Pretty sure you did. And, that's one thing I want."
"Yeah? You wanna kiss me?"
"Mhm," Will hums, face flushing slightly. "I do."
Mike sighs, "What else do you wanna do to me, my handsome sorcerer?"
"Mike." He rolls his eyes, exasperated. "You need to seriously stop calling me that."
"I asked you a question."
"There's a lot I wanna do."
"Oh? Like what?"
"Mm, I can't say over the phone."
"…Nobody's listening."
Will raises an eyebrow, "You don't sound too sure."
"I'm very sure." Mike says, sounding insistent. "Actually, I'm thinking about a lot of things."
"You say this, then when we're around each other, you're hardly putting your hands on me."
Mike groans, "I'm only trying to make you comfortable! I don't wanna, ruin the mood, or whatever. Plus, someone's always there! Like, Max. For example."
Will shakes his head, "Max isn't so bad."
"She waits until I move my hand to do anything, Will. I swear. She's like, the devil incarnate! She—ow! Shit!"
Will immediately pauses, holding the phone closer to his ear. "Mike?"
There's a noise, and then there's the rustling of a palm over the reciever, followed by muffled speaking.
Will can't hear much. But he can register that it's not only Mike speaking, there's other people in the house. The smile wipes off of his face instantly.
He opens his mouth to speak, until the sound of a click prevents him from saying anything.
Mike hung up on him.
He slowly puts the phone back into its place as he took a step back, clenching his fists. He glared at the phone like it was the one that caused this entire situation happen. Like it was the reason Mike hung up.
Like it caused Mike to be an asshole the whole week.
Like it made his whole friendgroup treat him this way.
Will scoffs, shaking his head.
He doesn't really register it.
One moment he's standing in front of the phone, and the next he's out of the door, slamming it behind him.
If he had to be the one to confront this, then he'd be the one to confront all of them.
He was tired of being left out.
He wouldn't hold himself back. Not this time.
It was his birthday.
The bike over to Mike's house is easy. He pedals quickly down the road, the gravel sounding louder beneath his tires. He pumps his legs harder, his knees rising and falling with each turn. He tightens his grip on the handlebars, leaning forward once he spot the suburban house he was all too familiar with.
He swerves to the side, getting off of the bike and letting it skitter across the grass. If things were different, he'd go back—maybe apologize to his bike, because, yeah, he and Bike were close—but right now, he was upset. He didn't care about something small.
He wanted answers.
Will walks up to the door, knocking as loudly as possible for more than five seconds.
Nobody opens it.
Will crosses his arms, waits for a little longer, tries to be patient. Maybe Mike wasn't available at the moment. Maybe he was doing something.
Then, minutes go by, and still, nobody comes to open the door. Which was weird. Because Mike was home.
He knew Mike was home.
Will huffs, getting more irritated by the second. He knocks again, once, twice, before he's just knocking over and over and over and nobody's answering him. Mike was ignoring him. For zero reason whatsoever.
Annoyed, he twists the doorknob, sighing at the way it gave underneath his hands. For a moment, concern washes over him like a spill of cold water—Mike rarely ever locked the doors when he was home alone. It was dangerous. It's always been unsafe. He should not be able to walk inside of Mike's house so easily.
He does anyway.
Will pushes the door open, slowly walking inside as he closes the door behind him. He squints, confused.
The lights were off. Instantly, darkness swallows him whole and something settles inside of his stomach; not calmness, nothing good, something familiar to fear.
Will presses a hand to the wall to stable himself, avoiding crashing into anything. Darkness has never been his strong suit. Especially when it's inside.
He lets out a small breath, trying to calm himself down.
It was okay. He was okay. Mike was okay.
He slowly turns the corner, walking into the kitchen—he thinks it's the kitchen, he hopes so—and pats his hand against the wall, searching for a switch.
He lets out a sigh of relief as he finds it, flicking it on.
"Surprise!"
Will jumps back immediately, covering his mouth to stop himself from screaming his lungs out. One second he's panicking, then he's taking his surroundings, and he's instantly overwhelmed with the presence of every single person he loves standing around him.
The sight is awful.
Cake is splattered everywhere. Yellow cake, he realizes. A red bowl is knocked over, and there's still batter spilling from it. Beside it, a tray of cupcakes lay still, designed with icing used as handwriting that he quickly recognizes as Jane's own. His heart swells.
He turns his head to see Lucas, who's smiling, holding a white banner in front of himself.
It reads,
Happy Birthday, Will.
Max is standing next to Lucas. She's not smiling, but she's looking at Will with something in her expression.
Jane's next to Dustin. Will's hit with the realization that they made the cupcakes that lie next to the disaster that was meant to be Will's cake. Dustin baked, El decorated—it was so sweet of them.
Which leaves Mike.
Mike, who Will hasn't seen yet.
Will turns his head to the other side, and lets out a bark of laughter that sounds more like a panicked gasp.
Mike's wearing a chef hat. He's wearing a white shirt, that's clearly been ruined by the mess. Tied tightly around his waist, is a yellow apron that Will has never seen before in his life. There's splotches of cake on his face, he looks awful, and yet Will wants to kiss him.
He really wants to kiss Mike Wheeler.
Instead, he starts crying.
The silence has never been more deafening.
"…Will," Jane says, a frown replacing her smile. "Hey. Don't cry. It's your birthday!"
Dustin turns to look at Lucas, "Why is he—"
Lucas shrugs, looking just as lost. "I don't know!"
"Will you both shut up?" Max glares at them, "He's clearly overwhelmed. Give him a second!"
Dustin squawks, "Dude!" He exclaims, throwing his hands up into the air. "We're trying to see if he's okay!"
Max raises an eyebrow, "Does he look okay?"
Jane hesitates, "…No." She replies.
Lucas huffs, "I told you, you shouldn't have called him! We would've had more time to get the surprise ready!" He yells towards Mike, but Mike isn't looking at him.
He's looking at Will.
"Maybe if he wasn't too busy flirting with Will over the phone, we would've had time." Max mutters, crossing her arms.
That's what causes Mike to move.
Mike scowls at Max, "You're the one who threw the spoon at me!" He argues, "Out of nowhere!"
Max groans, "We don't wanna hear you talk dirty to Will over the phone, Mike!"
"I was not talking—you're insane!"
"I'm not insane! You're the crazy one!"
Mike, because he's Mike, sticks his tongue out at Max in response to her, causing her to grimace.
"Yeah," Max scoffs, "Real mature, Mike!"
"Maturer than you!"
Max flips him off.
Will gathers himself, tries his hardest to stop crying in front of his friends—he's always been emotional, the most sensitive out of all of them. It was embarrassing, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He was so happy.
This is what his friends were planning.
They haven't been avoiding him on purpose, or leaving him out because they were tired of him, they were planning a surprise party all for him. He's been driving himself crazy over something that was meant to be a gift. He's been crying over a gift.
A really huge gift.
They were all here.
Everyone knew.
Nobody forgot about his birthday.
He's too lost in his thoughts to notice Mike moving closer to him. Once Mike's hands are on his face, though, that's all he can focus on.
Will lifts his head slowly, looking directly into Mike's eyes. He blushes from the intensity of it all, looking away for a moment. "Jesus." He whispered, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. "You're so intense."
Mike laughs, "Intense?" He repeats after Will, rubbing his thumbs against Will's cheekbones. "I'm not intense."
Will squints, "You are."
"Look at me."
Will doesn't hesitate, as much as he wants to.
His eyes snap up to meet Mike's own, and instantly, Mike's eyes soften. "…There we go." He says, a small smile on his face. "That's my boyfriend."
Will opens his mouth to say something, before Mike shakes his head, causing Will to close his mouth without a complaint.
He gets closer, and closer, and—suddenly, Mike's lips are on Will's and Will cannot breathe.
Angels don't start to sing. Balloons don't start to come fly down out of nowhere. There's no applause, nothing that congratulates the two of them for finally kissing. Instead, the room goes silent. It's not like the movies.
It's real.
Unsurprisingly, that makes Will calmer than ever.
Mike's lips are soft. Gentle. It's unfamiliar and it's all Will's ever wanted to have. It's what he's been waiting for since the moment they got together, from the moment he understood what love truly was.
It's an awkward position at first, but then Mike's hands are resting on the sides of his waist; it's perfect and not enough all at once. Will wants more. Needs it.
Will deepens the kiss, letting out a soft noise of affirmation as Mike tightens his grip on him.
Mike tastes like cake. He's getting a ton of cake batter on Will's sweater, too. Will doesn't mind though.
Someone wolf-whistles, and Will quickly pulls away from Mike, pressing his lips together nervously.
Mike looks devastated to have to pull away. He reminds Will of a wet dog, drenched from the rain, desperate for its owner. Will giggles at the thought, wrapping his arms around Mike slowly, ignoring the confused look Mike had on his face.
Jane clears her throat, "…You're okay now?"
Will smiles, nodding his head as he looked at her. "Yeah," he says, "I'm okay now."
Lucas snorts, "I bet you are. Mike was eating your face."
Mike's face turns profusely red immediately. He whips his head around to face Lucas, glaring at him. "I was not!" He protests, "Why do you and Max gang up—"
"To be fair, you were the one who asked us how to be able to kiss someone."
"Don't bring that up?!"
While they're arguing, Jane lifts the tray of cupcakes, bringing it over to Will for him to grab. "It's your favorite," she whispers, as if it were a secret. "Chocolate icing. You can have the biggest one."
Will lets go of Mike to grab one, smiling shyly. "Thank you, Jane." He whispers back, looking down at the small piece. "Thank you for making these."
"You don't have to thank me, Will. Or us." She replies, shrugging her shoulders. "It is your special day."
Will huffs out an amused laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Thank you anyway."
Mike leans over to place a kiss onto Will's cheek, the action causing Will's heart to stutter in his chest. God, Will really needed to learn how to contain himself. He's been dating Mike for a year, and yet, he still made Will feel so nervous. Giddy, flustered, all at once.
It was so embarrassing.
He loved the way Mike made him feel.
"…Happy birthday, Will." Mike says softly into his ear, a huge smile on his face as he pulls away, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "This is your gift."
Will just stares at him, his pupils expanding further and further until his eyes were filled with adoration.
Mike's eyes crinkled at the corners, a warm, genuine expression of fondness that made Will's chest ache. He leans in to press a chaste kiss to Will's lips, "I love you." He says, not quiet, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Will couldn't look away.
Mike's said it before, but this time, it felt different. More intimate. More real. His love for Will wasn't a secret, it was out for the whole world to know.
Even if the world didn't like what they were seeing.
"…I love you, too." Will says, and he means it.
Their gazes don't shift from each other. For a moment, it was as if time froze beneath them, an eternity of a lifetime buried in a single glance.
Mike moves like he's going to kiss Will again, and Will's already one step ahead of him, tilting his head—then, Dustin clasps his hands together, a loud motion that stops the two of them before they could move.
"Let's sing Happy Birthday!" Dustin exclaims, "We don't have candles, but… We can improvise! Right, Will?"
Laughing, Will nods in response, allowing the five of them to crowd over his small cupcake.
They sing the song to him—it's one of the worst things he's ever heard, they're all out of pitch, Mike, especially, sounds like a dying animal, yet at the same time, it's the best sound he's heard in his life. He doesn't ever wanna forget about this moment.
Will's surrounded by love and laughter, something he once believed he could never have without it eventually going in the wrong direction. He has people that loves him. Stays with him, no matter what.
He has his Mom. He has Jonathan.
He has the Party.
He fights the tears that are close to spilling. Instead, he closes his eyes, allows himself to get lost in the feeling of comfort. The feeling of being celebrated.
Will's Byers' least favorite day used to be March 22nd.
Before, it was a day that reminded him of how special he wasn't; a day that was a constant reminder of how everyone forgot about the day he was looking forward to most, a day that reminded him of Lonnie. He used to hate the date of it, used to wish he was born on a different one, so that maybe he'd feel better about it.
Now, Will's favorite day of the year was March 22nd.
Now, he knew he was loved. He knew he didn't have to push down the urge of want for someone to care, for someone to see him as he was and not leave.
Now, he was okay with his birthday.
Now, he loves his birthday.
Will thinks he's always loved it, but was too afraid to get excited. Because things always went downhill when he got too excited about the possibilities of the day.
Though, right now, he realizes—he doesn't need to be afraid of simply wanting the bare minimum.
He doesn't have to be afraid anymore.
Not when he knows he's not alone.
He was never alone.
When Mike's around him, he doesn't think he ever will be.