Chapter Text
Friday, November 5, 1993
Mike was on top of the world.
She’d just gotten her paycheck, the party had come over yesterday to play the D&D campaign she’d been working on for weeks (they’d kicked vampire ass!), and Will had surprised her after class with a cassette of the latest Bikini Kill album on her desk. Next to the tape was a little doodle of Kathleen Hanna, and the words: “I know you’ve been trying to find the time to go down to A-1, so I thought I would, since you’ve been so busy. Love you!”
It had made her grin like an idiot. She was so sappy.
When Will came home from class, she suggested ordering takeout from the hole-in-the-wall Mexican place Mike loved. Then, she’d put on My Beautiful Laundrette, because of course she’d noticed Mike had been watching it obsessively for weeks now.
Mike had been rambling between mouthfuls of al pastor about how “Johnny is so the reformed racist version of Morrissey,” when Will blurted, “I think we should go to a party tomorrow.”
“Jennifer invited us to come to her house again, and I already said no the last two times, so I really think this time we should go. I know you don’t exactly love her, but I don’t want to go alone.” Will was looking at her, eyes pleading and wide, mouth red from where she’d been biting it.
“Please?”
Mike really didn’t want to go, but she’s a sucker for Will. She’ll go to hundreds of stupid parties if Will just asks like that. She’s done it before, and she’ll do it again. So she’d agreed.
Saturday, November 6, 1993
The party sucks.
Mike has been sipping bit by bit on her second sickeningly sweet cooler, hoping she’ll get just buzzed enough she’ll stop feeling so anxious with the way the music is pounding in her skull, but not drunk. Not drunk again, no thanks. Not after Jennifer’s last party, which ended with Mike sick by the toilet. Mike can feel the sting of embarrassment for the way she’d clung to Will in front of Will’s ex. Most of the time, Mike avoids being anywhere near Will’s girlfriends.
Will and she had walked the few blocks over to Jennifer’s house around eleven. As soon as they enter the house, Will splits off to find her girlfriend.
She’d felt nauseous from the disappointment, and went to find alcohol to make it worse. Now, she’s standing in the hall, across from the living room where Will, her girlfriend, and some of their mutual art friends are gathered in a loose circle, looking in like a pathetic loser. She’s hoping Will won’t catch her staring.
She’d just started considering excuses for why she needs to go drag Will away when Mike feels a heavy tap on her shoulder. Mike’s not sure what’s worse: having to talk to someone other than Will or continuing to stand here all alone.
“Hi.”
A man is standing uncomfortably close behind her. Mike looks up at his face and vaguely recognizes him. She’s seen him around before; he’s a friend of Jennifer’s roommate. Mike is too tired to remember his name.
“Party not your scene, huh.”
Mike laughs, awkward. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
He smiles a cheesy smile at her. He is one hundred percent drunk.
“I’m Chris.” Right.
“I think we’ve met before. You’re roommates with Willow, right?” Chris stumbles on his words.
Mike bristles. Roommates? Is that what Will tells people?
“That’s me,” Mike mutters.
“Ok. What’s your name again?”
She stares between his eyebrows, not wanting to encourage him by making eye contact.
“Mike.”
The guy laughs, “Ha-ha. What’s your actual name?”
Mike repeats, annoyed, “Mike.”
He tilts his head. “Huh. Did your parents choose it?”
“No, I did,” she sighs.
Mike glances at Will, catching her staring at Mike. Will looks away as soon they make eye contact, and leans into her girlfriend’s space to whisper something in her ear. She feels sick.
Mike grits out, “It’s to spite my asshole dad.”
The guy purses his lips, says, “Oh,” and walks off. She wasn’t the type of girl he was looking for.
While Mike does take joy in spiting Ted at every opportunity she gets, that’s not the full story.
Mike and Will had been talking late one Saturday night in fifth grade, the day after a bad fight between Lonnie and Joyce.
Will had exclaimed,
“I hate my name! My dad chose it, and I hate it so much. I don’t want to be reminded of him all the time. He doesn’t pay attention to me, but when he does notice me, it’s to say there’s something wrong with me.”
Mike and Will had sat on Will’s bed, crossed-legged and knees touching. Mike remembered how tiny Will had been, shorter and skinnier than Mike, but Mike had liked it that way. She’d protect Will from the boys at school who teased her and pulled on her hair.
Will had rambled, “I don’t want to be Willow anymore. I don’t want to be just his daughter. Don’t you think it would be easier if we were boys? We could do whatever we want: watch Masters of the Universe, go to the arcade, play D&D.”
Mike had grinned and whooped.
“Yeah! Yeah, forget dads and their stupid names. If you could be a boy, what would your name be?”
Will had hesitated, thinking.
“Come on! Pick a name,” Mike had encouraged, excited.
“I think I’ll be Will,” Will smiled hesitantly.
Mike matched her smile, “Yeah! Yeah, ok! You’ll be Will, and I’ll be—Mike. Whatever the world says, it’s just us. Will and Mike.”
Jonathan had been the first in her family to start calling her Will. Once Lonnie had left, Joyce switched to Will, too.
Ted still refused to call Mike her name, and whenever she went home for break, he’d be the only one calling her the old name. Even Holly got it right.
When Will and Mike were younger, they would share beds and clothes, hugging and holding hands, all in each other’s spaces. After Will was lost in the woods for six days, she was even desperate for touch; Will was so afraid of being alone, so they’d had sleepovers as many nights as they could get away with.
Will would dissociate during the school day and get panic attacks when it was cold. The bullying had started right after she was found. After one eventful flashback in the middle of the gym class, it just got worse. But Mike would always defend her.
In seventh grade, Mike and Will met Dustin and Lucas. At first, Dustin had a massive crush on Will, but after she broke it to him that she wasn’t interested, he still stuck around. That’s the sort of guy Dustin was. After spending so much time with Will, Dustin and Mike had begun to get along, and both discovered their mutual love for D&D. Will, Mike, Dustin, and Dustin’s friend Lucas would play together on the weekends.
In high school, Lucas and Mike started to get along more, mostly because of Lucas’ girlfriend. Max had pretty red hair, skateboarded, and made fun of Mike’s campaigns, even though she was willingly playing them. Before Max, Mike listened to U2 and had always seen women in music as vapid pop stars. But Max had opened up her world to the likes of Stevie Nicks, Kate Bush, and Joan Jett. Mike liked Max so much that it seemed reasonable that Lucas had to be alright too, for Max to like him enough to date him, though she often joked she didn’t. That first year of high school was a blur of biking across town to each other’s houses, sleepovers, movie marathons, and D&D campaigns.
In sophomore year, Will’s stepbrother El—short for Elliott—became interested in Mike. When he asked Mike out the spring of 1989, she said yes. Guys never noticed her. They would notice Will, and it had always felt like she was missing out; this was her chance.
Around this time, Will stopped being so touchy with Mike; it was gradual, starting a couple of weeks after El and Mike had gotten together. By that summer, they hadn’t had a sleepover since March, and whenever Mike came over to the Hopper-Byers' house, Will would immediately go to her room. She would never tell El this, but Mike privately refers to this awful time period as the Summer From Hell. Will had barely talked to Mike, and it had made her feel pathetic.
At first, Mike was pissed at Will for ghosting her for what seemed like no reason, so she was fine with spending all her time with El. El was sweet and kind; he loved animals, was one of the non-douches on the basketball team alongside Lucas, and wanted to be a social worker to foster youth because he had been in the system and knew how hard it was to find people who actually cared about foster kids. El was so, so sweet, and Mike had loved him. Or she thought she did. Mike had thought about it all the time—before, during, and after the relationship. Sometimes she was convinced she had been in love, maybe even still in love. Other times, it was astoundingly clear that she only saw him as a friend. It was just—everyone else thought they were going to end up together. Mike’s dad had made plenty of stupid comments, and even her mom had once or twice asked if something more was going on. Lucas had made jokes about it, saying El was such a goner over her. Everyone seemed to think it was bound to happen. The sky is blue, pigs can’t fly, and El and Mike were in love.
The third week of July, the tension finally accumulated into the worst argument of Mike and Will’s childhood friendship.
Mike had come over to the Hopper-Byers to see El, but he was out playing pick-up basketball with Lucas. She had gone into the living room, Will had got up immediately to leave, and that was it. Mike couldn’t do it anymore. She had called after Will, following her down the hallway to her room. Will had told her to leave her alone, but that’s what Mike had been doing all summer. She had hoped maybe if she just gave her some space, eventually Will would come and tell her what was wrong. That’s what they always did: when Will got upset, Mike would wait. If Mike pushed, it would just make it worse. So she had learned to give Will time depending on how upset she was. Maybe it was sitting in silence for an hour, or maybe it was a week on her own. No matter what, Mike knew Will would eventually come to her and spill her guts; they would hug, and things would go back to normal. But not this time. These absolutely miserable (again, never tell El) months were the longest she had ever waited, and now, the first time she would really push.
Will had finally reached her room and slammed the door in her face, and, nope! Nope, nope, nope. That wasn’t fair. Mike hadn’t done anything! Who was Will to start ignoring her and treating her like trash, like they hadn’t been best friends since kindergarten. Mike had pushed the door open, and, like a dam bursting open, spat out,
“Uh—what the fuck?”
Will, with her lips pressed into a thin line, had just stared at her. That’s all Will had done that summer. Just stared, and stared, and stared.
She’d pinched the bridge of her nose, shook her head, and replied,
“What? What do you want? What’s so important that you’re invading my room, in my house?”
“What do you mean, what do I want? You’ve been avoiding me all summer! You can’t not know that.”
“No, I haven’t,” Will had petulantly snapped.
“Will. I’m not an idiot! Stop treating me like one.”
She’d paused, frustrated, and, having made up her mind, retorted, “Well, you’ve been acting like it!”
Mike had shaken her head and huffed out, “No. I can tell something’s off, I’m not that dumb! What I don’t understand is what’s actually wrong. You don’t know how hard you are to read.”
Mike could tell Will had wanted to argue back, but Mike wasn’t done. She’d started up again, ranting,
“And don’t tell me I’m reading too much into it! At first, I thought maybe you were just going through something, but I know you’ve been hanging out with Dustin, Lucas, and Max. I asked El too, and he says you’ve been normal. So, it’s just me. You clearly have a problem with me.”
After Mike had said this, Will wasn’t able to make eye contact. Her eyes had kept roving from the walls covered in artwork, to the door, to behind Mike’s shoulder. Anywhere but Mike’s face.
At that moment, something in Mike’s heart had broken.
“Will. You can’t even look at me!”
Mike’s throat had felt all tight and itchy, her breath coming out faster. She’d taken two steps forward, so she was directly in front of Will, begging,
“Please. Would you just tell me what I did?”
Finally, finally, Will blurted,
“I hate when El calls you Mike.”
Mike had paused, her face twisted up in confusion, and spluttered, “Sorry, what?”
“I—. Nevermind.” Will still hadn’t looked at Mike.
“No, not nevermind. What do you mean you hate when he calls me my name?”
“You won’t get it. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does matter, because you said it.”
Will had looked shocked at that. She had glanced down at her feet, then, preparing herself, looked up into Mike’s eyes.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Mike had nodded her head,
“Of course.”
Will had faced Mike straight on, jaw set, ready to confess,
“Mike. That’s my name. And your name is Will. That’s us. Not just some boyfriends’; it’s ours. El doesn’t get that. I thought you would get it, but I started to seriously doubt that by June. You never reached out, and you never said anything, and—whenever you came over, I knew it was for El, not for me.”
Mike remembers the heady mix of confusion and realization that had hit her all at once. Her thoughts had swirled around, racing a mile a minute, trying to catch up to the conversation.
“Ok. Ok. I think I understand.”
“..Really?” Will’s face had lit up a bit, her eyes still looking glassy.
Mike had smiled softly and, feeling brave, had taken Will’s hand.
“Yeah! We’re best friends. Clearly, I was too distracted by El and ended up neglecting you. So, I’m sorry. I love El, but I’ve known you forever. Friends before boyfriends.”
Sometime during Mike’s appeasement, Will’s face had imperceptibly shifted.
“Yeah.. Best friends.” Will had still smiled, but looking back, Mike felt like she’d missed something important.
After Will and her argument, Mike couldn’t forget what she’d said. Every time El said her name, she’d felt guilty. Mike knew that conversation was the end of her and El’s relationship.
By August, it was officially over.
Things mostly went back to normal with Mike and Will, but the touch that used to be commonplace wasn’t recovered. Half way through junior year, the Byers moved to California for Joyce’s job. The emotional and physical distance between them was realized by the distance between California and Hawkins. For Mike, this was a horrible seven months. Mike had called but Will had given very little reciprocation. After Joyce abruptly lost her job, the Byers moved back to Indiana for Will’s senior year and to be a little closer to Jonathan at NYU.
Mike thought that when Will came out to her right before they graduated, things would finally go back to how they used to be. Will had told her when she came out that since they were going to be roommates at IU Indy, she wanted to give Mike the option of not sharing an apartment with her if Mike was going to be uncomfortable living with a lesbian. Mike had obviously scoffed at this and tackled Will into a tight hug. At first, Will had seemed hesitant to reciprocate, but when it became clear Mike wasn’t going to pull away, she had melted into it. This was what their dynamic had been like since forever: Mike, loving Will, and Will, reluctant to reciprocate. After that summer, it felt like Mike was in double time trying to prove to Will that she mattered.
Mike had been convinced that Will’s coming out was the turning point: now things were going to go back to how they used to be when they were kids. But it hadn’t. Will still seemed averse to touching her beyond the accidental brushing of their arms.
It was after the first couple of months living together in their apartment in Herron–Morton, conveniently located a five-minute walk from IU’s School of Art and Design, that Will began to change. In the past, she’d avoided confrontation with others whenever possible, especially with Mike. But since living in Indianapolis, she’d become vocal and opinionated. The first time she’d confronted Mike in Indy, when Mike had left a puddle of water on the bathroom floor, Mike had just stood there in shocked acceptance.
Will had also started refusing Mike’s movie choices, instead declaring they were going to watch her pick, which was very much okay considering that for most of their friendship, Mike’d had a monopoly on movie nights.
What thrilled and surprised Mike was that, along with this change in Will’s behavior, was the touch. It started with Will entering Mike’s room unannounced and lounging on her bed, eventually leading to frequent hugs and tangling of limbs. Mike felt a strange sense of pride that Will was choosing her.
Mike had done her waiting, and Will, like always, had come back to her. Internally, she was giddy: fist-pumping and jumping up and down. Externally, she just smiled at Will, like Will’s affection was the sun, and all the doubt and confusion Mike had been feeling was the last snow in February.
Another development during their first year in Indianapolis was Will’s girlfriends. The first one felt like a fluke. What was the likelihood that Will would find a girl interested in other girls in the first couple of months of their freshman year? By the third, it was no longer a fluke. Will was a magnet. She was no longer just Mike’s. Mike sure felt like she had been, at one point or another, but maybe she never was. Will had a part of herself that Mike would apparently never get to see. She felt insecure that these girls understood Will in a way she couldn’t.
But Will’s girlfriends didn’t see Will the way she did, either. They didn’t know why Will went by Will, wouldn’t understand why Will hated the cold, and could never experience the joy Mike felt the first time the party as a whole had played D&D together; after a grueling six hour session that had Max groaning loudly, Will had rolled three Nat20s in a row, with Will getting so excited she had jumped up and hugged Mike. At the time, Max had smirked at Mike with a look that said she knew how it’d affected her.
Mike hated Will’s girlfriends. They were pretty and soft in a way that made Mike feel self-conscious, with her gangly limbs and self-cut hair. It was punk, ok? That’s what Mike kept telling herself. Cutting my own hair with a razor is punk; I’m not just broke. It’s a look, and Will had explicitly told Mike she likes her hair.
Probably not as much as she likes Heather’s.
Ok. That’s not helpful. Mike doesn’t think about Will’s girlfriend. Heather, who also likes Stevie Nicks, whom Mike can no longer listen to without picturing her stupid face. Heather, who is blonde and beautiful, and, according to Will, so talented at piano. Mike could play piano if she wanted. She just doesn’t want to. Mike bets Heather can’t play guitar, so suck it, Heather.
Heather isn’t in the best grunge-punk band in Indianapolis. Whenever Mike claims this, Erica will snicker, and Max will roll her eyes and counter, “That’s debatable.” Which is fine. Max plays bass in The Styrenes, and Mike knows that no matter how much Max dogs on her vocals and her “shoddy” fingerpicking, she’ll still be on stage with Mike, Erica, and occasionally Dustin when Erica isn’t able to make the hour drive up. She’d started playing with Mike and Max over the summer and, after she’d gotten her driver’s license, would come up on the weekends to practice and play shows. Dustin had to step in the past month because her parents were concerned about her commitment to her schoolwork.
The last time she was in Indy, she had snapped at Mike, “I’m not gonna keep playing drums in your suckass band forever. I’m going to college eventually, and I would rather die than stay in freaking Indiana.” Mike had mentioned it to Lucas, who had raised his eyebrow and told Mike that she had been whining to their mom the week before about how unfair it was. Secretly, Mike thought Erica was complaining so much because she missed having Lucas around, too.
Erica was the one who suggested The Styrenes as their name. She didn’t really like grunge or riot grrrl, only listening to it for the band, but she did like monologuing. She’d talk on and on about how Poly Styrene’s X-Ray Spex was so overlooked compared to bands like The Clash or Sex Pistols. “You can’t have punk, grunge, or rock without black women. We wouldn’t have Elvis Presley without Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Kurt Cobain without Tina Bell, or Kathleen Hanna without Poly Styrene. Hell, you know what, I’ll be generous! You can’t have rock without women in general! No Pixies magic without Kim Deal. No Imagine without Yoko fucking Ono.”
Mike bets Heather doesn’t know who half those women are. Heather probably falls for what Erica calls “the misogynistic, racist rhetoric that rock fans perpetuate.” Yup. She’ll show Heather.
Mike pushes herself off where she’s been slouching against the wall and navigates past drunk college students to where Will and Heather are giggling, pressed against each other.
“Hi Heather.”
Heather, chin pressed to Will’s shoulder, turns her head towards Mike and smiles brightly.
“Hi Mike! How are you? Will told me your band just played at the Emerson last week. I would love to hear you play sometime!”
Mike feels dazed; Heather was always so positive. Whenever Mike and she had interacted, which was very rarely, she smiled cheerfully at Mike and made small talk. Mike was suspicious. No way someone was that positive all the time, especially to her. Most people did not like her enough to be all cutesy and interested in what she had to say. Sometimes Mike worries that Will and she wouldn’t be friends if Mike weren’t constantly chasing after her. Mike doesn’t care about most other people enough to be that invested in their friendship. Heather was no exception.
Trying to catch up, Mike hesitates, “Uh—I’m not sure you’d like what we play.”
That was awkward. That was not nice. Shit. Will is looking at her like she’s an idiot. There’s a pause, like Heather is waiting for Mike to elaborate. Mike doesn’t elaborate.
“Well, what do you play?”
Mike mumbles, “Something in between grunge and punk... Riot grrrl, if you’ve heard of it. We do covers sometimes.”
“Cool! Like who?” Heather kept smiling.
Mike wishes she would stop. To make it worse, Will was looking at Mike like Will thought she was consistently choosing the worst dialogue options.
Mike looks Heather up and down, sighing, “We’ve covered X-Ray Spex, Bratmobile, Babes in Toyland…,” here it is, with anticipation building in her chest (she is so going to complain about Heather to Will later), Mike finishes, “...and Yoko Ono.”
Heather squeals, which is not the reaction Mike expected, and fateful words drop from her mouth: “I love Yoko Ono! Oh my god, she has insane performance art.”
Fuck! She’s not going to be able to complain about Heather later. Will is going to complain about her.
Plastering on a fake grin, Mike laughs, “Oh! Oh, wow.. That’s so cool,” mimicking Heather from before.
Mike suppresses a wince; that came off way more sarcastic than she would have liked. Oh well, embarrassing for her, but when hasn’t she embarrassed herself? Mike’s right on schedule.
For the first time, Heather’s smile falters. Nevermind! Mike experiences a slick thrill in her stomach. She’ll keep being an ass if it means Heather will stop her damn smiling.
Mike’s about to open her mouth again to say something when Will interrupts, “Mike! How about we get something to drink? Heather, I’ll get you something too.”
Heather nods, looking slightly confused, but begins to wobble over to sit on the couch next to one of Will's and her mutual friends.
Mike starts to argue, “Actually, I’m still drinking—” but Will grabs her wrist and is dragging her vaguely towards the kitchen.
They turn the corner, and another corner, and— they are not going to the kitchen. Instead, Will is leading her to the bathroom. Will looks over her shoulder conspicuously, long hair whipping Mike’s face, and drags her inside.