Chapter Text
Lenora
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It’s not that Will didn’t want to see Mike, he just had this itching feeling that Mike didn’t want to see him.
And yet, despite the lack of calls and letters from Mike’s end, a small part of Will had a spark of hope that that itch would go away—that he had imagined the tingly touch on his skin, that it wasn’t a bug digging its teeth into his flesh.
But an ugly, red bite appeared on his forearm at the airport. His itch’s existence had been proven by Mike’s… punch to his shoulder.
He was right. Mike didn’t want to see him, or touch him, or even look in his direction. The glance they shared when Mike peeked over El’s head was too brief to even be considered a second long.
His fingers curled into El’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him, as Will’s curled into the painting. The paper let out a soft gasp of pain as he bent it in half, heart stuttering at the wall Mike and El had built to isolate him.
“I want today to be about me and you.” Her lips stretched at the corners as she spoke, almost as if it was painful to say that.
It was meant to be painful to him, not herself.
He wonders, would El have made such a comment if he had just shut up? If he had just watched her from afar as she lived the life she wanted to? Could he have been supportive for once? Selfless, even?
The couple twisted and twirled in the skating rink like synchronized swans, heads held high in pride. They were everything.
Everything he wanted, and everything he couldn’t have.
He would never have enough cash to pay for love like that. The green stacks would be invalid, or he’d be a couple bucks short. Maybe he would miscalculate how much he needed, maybe a few dollars would fly away with the howling wind on his way to Cupid’s stall.
Maybe his heart was just never meant for real love. The search would never conclude.
But he doesn’t understand how he’s meant to get used to that. He curses himself for being such a dreamer, how could his mind settle on something so far away? How could his eyes narrow down on just one person, a person that would never satisfy the hunger he felt?
He just wants a partner to skate with, but he has no one.
Not anymore.
—
A couple of days before Mike’s flight, El had barged into his room.
Excitement buzzed through her small body. She had been working for hours to make a plan for this summer break. Every day had an activity, and each one included Mike.
She had even planned the sleeping arrangements.
“I wanted Mike to sleep in my room—I even got an extra blanket for him—but…”
His mom wasn’t really comfortable with the idea of her and Mike sharing a bed, and although she didn’t voice that, El was good at reading people. Everyone tends to underestimate her, but she’s actually quite a social creature.
Will is one, too. He didn’t miss the twitch of her face as she informed him that Mike was to sleep in his room. He’s sure she didn’t miss the twitch of his, as well.
At that moment, the itch was far and distant—a phantom pain that didn’t deserve any lingering. Will’s mind was too foggy with the scent of acrylic paint and El’s new, strong, lavender-scented perfume to acknowledge how strange it was that Mike had gone no-contact with him.
If he hadn’t been so naive at the time, he wouldn’t be in this situation: sharing a room with Mike.
Idly, he stood at the stairs and waited for the click of the bathroom door to sound through the hallway. A graphic, blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants were neatly folded in his arms, bringing a bit of warmth to his trembling body.
His eyes stared at nothing. Even if air was tangible—the thing that covers every part of the universe—he’d still find a way to avoid looking at it, to find the hidden space his mind could disassociate in.
Mike’s words echoed through his head.
“We’re friends. We’re friends!”
He hadn’t thought about it before, but during the car ride home, the puzzle pieces shifted into place. The implications, the fear—they are the parents that brought life to the trembles in his hands and shoulders.
The bathroom door clicked.
A silent gasp slipped from his lips. The abrupt sound made him jump; he was too prone to losing himself in the waves of his thoughts.
He pressed his clothes into his chest as he climbed a step of the stairs, getting close enough to peek into the hallway.
It was completely dark apart from the light the bathroom emitted as the door flung open. It acted like a large flashlight with a rectangular mouth, inconsiderate to the people sleeping in the rooms it bled bright rays into.
Mike’s tall, lanky silhouette walked into frame, and Will shuffled to hide more of his face behind the wall.
He was wearing the ugliest pajamas Will has ever laid his eyes on.
A loose, yellow shirt and striped pants that didn’t look comfortable in the slightest. The yellow wasn’t even the yellow Will liked—it was mustard yellow, and Mike wore it with confidence.
The pajamas were so ugly, Will didn’t realize that Mike was progressively getting closer, and closer, and closer, right until he was standing at the top of the stairs, staring at where Will was pressed up against the wall.
A hard lump formed in Will’s throat.
It bobbed as he gulped, eyes stuck on Mike’s, tension radiating from the stare.
He parted his lips to say something, anything, to make this less awkward. It’s just that the horrendous pajamas took him so aback, he couldn’t form a thought.
It was the pajamas’ fault.
Suddenly, Mike let out a small noise, which sounded a bit like a scoff, before descending down the stairs, shoving his shoulder into Will’s on the way.
Whether or not it was intentional, it still hurt Will enough for him to feel it in his bones. The pain embedded itself into the white under his flesh like a fish to a hook.
He watched Mike’s back as he walked off, completely unbothered by everything. He took a turn and headed down to Will’s room, and the audacity to still enter it after pushing its owner aside was appalling.
Will huffed, blinking away the tickling feeling at the corners of his eyes. His face scrunched into a frown that he hid in his folded clothes. The dark of the hallway wasn’t safe enough to protect it from others’ prying eyes; he needed a shield to mask his expression as he trudged to the bathroom. If only this house had two, specifically one closer to his room.
He rushed to finish his business, practically stretching his clothes at their hems as he changed, but just as he was about to leave, he realized he couldn’t.
He turned to the mirror.
A baby blue smudge on its center stared back at him. Mike didn’t know how to control toothpaste, it seems.
A jittery sigh rattled through his body, and the trembles of his hands returned tenfold.
“Will,” he said his name out loud, like he was calling to his higher, more knowledgeable self.
There was nothing to be nervous about. It’s Mike who’s waiting for him in bed, not a stranger.
“Shit!” He shoved his face into his hands when he realized the implications of that thought. What the hell is wrong with him today?
The harsh light of the bathroom bled through the cracks of his fingers. He took a deep breath, making his shoulders heave up and down. His body was a temple, as one says, but ironically, no holy things existed within it.
He knew he felt weird things about Mike. He didn’t need a priest to tell him that. He isn’t a child, he knows he’s wrong.
Just like how he’s wrong for what he did to El today, he’s wrong for feeling… that.
Slowly, he pulled his hands away from his eyes, instead dragging them down his cheeks to tug on his features.
How could anyone live like this, selfish and stupid?
Love was meant to be beautiful and innocent, like an infant. A delicate flower that brings nothing but joy to people’s lives, and he crushed its petals in his infected palms. He gripped them, plucked them, stole them. He stole the beauty of life. He defiled the thing that’s meant to make the world work—it made his friends work, his brother work, his mother work. It made everything work, and he was stealing it away from them. He was a bright smudge on an otherwise clean mirror.
His lower lip began wobbling like a toddler’s. He tried to take another deep breath, but all it did was make him whimper.
Stressed, he vehemently wiped at his forehead and cheeks, leaving red streaks on his skin. The water that remained on his hands did little to help cool the heat pulsating through his skin. The room felt like it was getting smaller, the air felt like it was abandoning him. The one thing he could rely on, and he couldn’t even blame it.
He shouldn’t have let these abnormal emotions get the better of him today. They hurt Mike—that’s all they’ll ever do. They’ll always hurt him, and yet, Will keeps entertaining them. He keeps letting them control him like a relentless parasite.
He grabbed the towel and roughly rubbed it against his face, trying to conceal any traces of water, or tears.
He should’ve just stayed quiet and let El enjoy the teenage love she has. She has nothing but this, and his blabbering mouth ruined it for her.
At this rate, Envy is all he’ll ever be.
He squeezed the towel once, holding it at his nose and mouth for a few seconds, then let go. Oxygen reentered his lungs blissfully.
Hoping that he looks normal enough, he opened the creaking door and shuffled out.
—
The lights of his room were already turned off when he reached it.
A soft ticking noise soothed him. Despite all his guilt and tears and trembles, he was able to be eased by the familiarity of his clock. If the lights were still on, he would be able to see the apple-shaped object happily sitting on his bedside table, a hand-painted smile on its white face.
“Mike?” He spoke into the dark. He didn't want to accidentally knock into him or something, but Mike wasn’t helping by turning off all the lights before Will even made it down the stairs.
Nothing came in response.
Will raised a brow, squinting at the vague shapes he could make out to spot something out of place—like a human. “Mike? Are you he—”
When he took a step forward, his foot made contact with something hard. And that thing made a noise.
A low grunt came from the bundle of dark mass on the floor.
Quickly, Will stepped away from it, bringing his hands close to his chest.
“Mike?!” He whisper-yelled. “Are you on the ground?”
Some shuffling could be heard, then, the dark mass shifted to reveal a circular shaped object—a head.
“Did you just kick me?” Mike’s tone was almost accusatory, built-up agitation clear in his voice.
“What? No!” Will slowly walked towards Mike, now more confident. “Why would I kick you?”
“Well, I felt a kick.”
“No, I… I just bumped into you.”
“It felt more like a kick than a bump.”
“Well, sorry then.”
Mike shifted again, pulling the blanket down to better look at Will. “You woke me up.”
“I said sorry,” Will kept his voice low, careful not to wake anyone upstairs. That was one of the benefits of having this room—privacy. Well, until Mike trespassed.
Mike was quiet. He was selfish, inconsiderate, miserable, but most of all, mean. He wasn’t the Mike Will grew up loving for a long time now, and Will felt so pathetic about how desperate he was for this dead and gone version of him. It’s just that… Will barely knew him now. He didn’t even know his favorite color anymore, or his favorite movie, or his favorite animal, or why he was still so mad at Will.
Well, he knew why he was mad—the fight was brutal—but it felt like he was madder at Will than he was at El, and El’s the one that lied to him in the first place.
He squeezed his fists until his knuckles went white. An ugly thought dug its claws into the back of his mind; why did Mike let El get away with hurting him, but not him? Especially since she hurt him more, in his opinion.
The days of Mike’s sweetness to him are long gone.
In actuality, he knew these delicate traits were still in Mike’s heart, it’s just that they’re being reserved for someone else.
Sometimes Will wishes El never existed in Mike’s life. Sometimes he wishes she were dead, but not really dead, only distanced enough from him that he turns back into the Mike Will actually knows.
“Yeah, whatever man.” Mike grumbled, pulling the blanket back over him.
Will’s chest deflated at the deadpanned tone of Mike’s voice. He wouldn’t talk to El that way, he wouldn’t talk to him that way. It’s like he can only treat one of them right—like they can’t coexist in his glorious world.
His fists shook, an uncontrollable anger pulsating through the veins. He felt his eyebrows knit into a heavy frown—a dark shade has probably appeared over his hooded eyes.
Frustrated, he held back the tears that tried to spill over his red-hot face and stomped to his bed, purposefully making each and every step loud.
He had expected Mike to sleep in his bed, but it’s fine. If Mike wanted to hurt his spine by sleeping on the floor instead of just tolerating Will’s closeness, so be it.
He plopped onto the mattress and immediately yanked the blanket over his head, covering his entire body with the childish sheets. He never replaced them; they smelled a bit like Hawkins, like home.
A thrill of nostalgia rattled through his body as he took a deep breath, but instead of the scent comforting him like it usually did, it just pinched his already aching heart. The bright sunny world he remembered was all gone. It had been gone for a long time, but now he had to confront it.
Lucas and Dustin accepted this new Mike so easily, like it was an inevitable thing they had prepared to face beforehand—why didn’t they tell Will about it?
He didn’t want to hate El, but every time he thinks of her and Mike, he wants to vomit.
Something is wrong with him. Something is very wrong with him. A part of him changed and now even Mike can’t stand him. He’s just so stupid and immature and weak and everything his father had called him.
A small whimper escaped from his mouth before he could stop it.
He pressed the blanket to his lips like it was tape, muffling any other crybaby whines that threatened to spill.
Not only did he hurt El and Mike today, but now, he’s letting Mike sleep on the floor. He’ll hurt himself and it’ll be because of Will’s insensitivity and ignorance.
Slowly, he turned over to where Mike set up his makeshift sleeping bag. He made a hole in the blanket and stared at the back of Mike’s head. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he could see the black curls spread out on what looked like El’s purple pillow. He had probably asked for it after dinner—along with her star-patterned blanket. Will could see her begrudgingly shoving the items into his chest just to make him go away, and the image would’ve made him giggle if he didn’t feel so out-of-it right now.
“Mike?” He whispered, shifting to the edge of the bed.
Mike didn’t move. In fact, Will has never seen this boy this still ever in his life. Growing up has really changed him.
He cleared his throat, “Mike?”
A deep sigh came from Mike before he—almost violently—turned to Will, pushing half of the blanket off of him in the process. “What?”
“Oh,” Will’s voice wavered at Mike’s moodiness. He cleared his throat again, trying to make himself seem more confident than he actually was. “I was just gonna ask, like, if you wanted to sleep… sleep on the bed—like, because, you know, you might hurt your back on the floor like that.”
Mike sighed again, like Will’s kind offer was some sort of inconvenience. “I don’t care, Will.”
“I care,” Will pushed himself to a sitting position. “It’s unfair.”
“So, what, we’re gonna share a bed?” Mike raised a brow.
“What—no!” Will shook his head, flustered. “I was… I was gonna take the floor instead, seeing as you’re the guest and all.”
“I’m not letting you do that.” Mike looked at him like he was stupid.
Will crossed his arms, “Well, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor like that.”
Then, it was as if a dumbbell pulled down Mike’s brows. His expression quickly turned into ugly annoyance; the unrecognizable face freaked Will out.
He let his arms fall to his sides. “Can you just stop being so stubborn?” He asked, eyes begging for any sort of cooperation. “After everything that’s happened today, we’re all tired, and I don’t want you to wake up all grumpy because of some back pain or something.”
Mike tilted his head to the side, challenging Will’s offer. “So instead of me waking up all grumpy, you’d wake up all grumpy?
“No,” Will replied. “I’m not someone who gets grumpy over things like that.”
“And I am?” Mike asked, offended.
“I don’t know anymore,” Will shrugged. “But I don’t want to wait till tomorrow morning to find out.”
Mike scoffed, “Will, we’ve had thousands of sleepovers on my basement’s floor, and nine times out of ten, my spine feels terrible afterwards.”
Will shrugged again, “So?”
“Have I ever been a grump about it in the morning?”
“That’s different.”
Mike laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, “How the hell is that different?”
“Because you’re different.”
The words came out a bit harsher than he intended them to. Not mean, but heavy, like they carried some implications or subtext that Mike was meant to be hurt by.
“I mean—” Will stuttered, scrunching his sheets in his palms. “I mean, we’re all different. I don’t know.”
Mike turned away from him, eyes dropping to the blanket covering his legs. The stars were childlike, very different to how they really look in the sky. They were dumbed down to satisfy a plain person, to make them settle. Oftentimes, realism makes people uncomfortable, and in terms of stars, nobody wants to be in an unoxygenated place that high up.
Although, some people—different people—can’t repress the dangerous part of them that wants to travel to the sky and see the intimate beauty that radiates off of a real star. The heat dances off of its surface and reflects back onto them, but despite their burning skin, they won’t move. Once you’re in space, you can’t go down to earth again. Maybe that’s why it took so long for Will to climb the rocket.
“I don’t mind sharing, I guess.” Mike turned back to him.
“Oh,” Will anxiously twisted the bundle of sheets in his hand. “No, I’ll take the floor. It’s fine.”
“We can’t take the risk of you waking up all grumpy.” Mike stood up, pulling El’s pillow and blanket off of the floor. “You’re different too, who knows how annoyed and bothered you might be when the sun comes up.”
“But—”
“Can you scooch over now?” Mike nudged the bed with his knee, making a show of huffing and puffing like the pillow and blanket were heavy.
Will had to slightly tilt his head up to look Mike in the eyes. Now that he was standing this close, he towered over Will, and that intimidated him.
Without a thought, he abided by Mike’s request, shifting himself to the edge of the mattress. He moved back until he hit the cold wall his bed was pressed up against; the unexpected coolness ran a shiver down his spine, forcing him to sharply inhale in a gust of air.
Mike placed El’s pillow next to Will’s, but there wasn’t enough space to squeeze it in—half of it laid atop of Will’s like it was trying to colonize it.
“Oh,” Will sighed, eyes frozen on the problem. “I can take off my pillow—”
Suddenly, Mike tossed El’s pillow to the ground, frustration seeping into the strong throw. He grunted as he climbed onto the bed, causing it to slightly sink under his weight. “We’ll just share yours, it’s big enough.”
Will’s heartbeat spiked to a height it has never reached before. It practically grazed the surface of heaven itself, blasting through clouds and stars like they were nothing.
He didn’t respond, just nodded and pushed the pillow to the middle of the mattress.
Mike stretched his legs on the bed before spreading El’s blanket over them. The pattern clashed with Will’s dark blue sheets, like a bright ray of light against the dull moon.
It was then the overwhelming smell of her lavender perfume reached his nose.
The sudden attack punched a small, silent choke out of his chest; if he got any closer to it, he’s afraid the scent will genuinely suffocate him.
“Thanks,” Mike muttered, not even raising his head to look Will in the eyes. Instead, he dropped his head to the edge of the pillow, facing away from him.
Will waited for something. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt like there was meant to be more to that ‘Thanks’. It made his stomach twist with nervousness, like the sentence that was supposed to follow it would define the rest of his life.
Whatever it was, it was left unsaid, only heard by the deities of the universe—if it existed.
“No problem,” Will whispered back, staring at the back of Mike’s head. His curls blended into the dark blue of the pillow, barely visible, but Will knew that if he were to reach out and touch them, he’d feel them dancing around it like they did on El’s.
Slowly, he lowered his head onto the other end of the pillow, terrified to move too much. His bed loved to creak—hopefully that wouldn’t embarrass him tonight.
He awkwardly turned to face the wall, giving Mike his back as he did to him.
Even though he was quite literally on the very, very edge of the pillow and his knees were pressed up against the cold wall, he could still feel Mike’s back grazing his.
His bed was small, only meant for one person, but he didn’t realize it was this tiny.
Tiny enough he could feel Mike’s shoulder blades move with every deep breath he took. Will wished he had forgotten how to tell if Mike was asleep through his breathing.
The anxiety building up in his chest was pressing into his lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
Mike’s feet were absentmindedly brushing against his, his elbow bumped against his without thought. The touches were strikingly hot to his skin, they could burn off each and every mole that decorated his arms and legs.
He should’ve asked for a bigger bed like Jonathan and El did. He just wanted to save some money.
“Will.”
Just kill him.
“Yeah?”
To his dismay, the sheets started to move around.
When Mike spoke, he could feel his breath on the nape of his neck. “Look at me.”
If God doesn’t put an end to Will’s suffering right now, he might have to do it himself.
“Why?” He asked, staring wide-eyed at the yellow wall.
“Because I want to talk,” Mike answered quickly, like he was expecting the question.
Will bit his lip, “We can talk like this.”
An annoyed sigh bounced off of Will’s nape, and he held back the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t have to sleep on the floor to be all grumpy and bothered.
“I want to look at you when I talk, Will.” He said like it was obvious, like Will was an idiot for even asking.
Will’s hand squeezed the blanket at his chin even harder, digging his nails into the fabric like he was trying to tear into flesh.
Mike was always so difficult and demanding. He asked and people always delivered, he never had to repeat himself twice.
It was tough to admit that one of the people who conditioned him to this behavior was Will himself—but not anymore. Not since last summer.
“Whatever you want to say,” he raised his voice. “It probably doesn’t need me to face you. If it does, then save it for later because I don’t want to turn around right now.”
As soon as the last word left his mouth, he bit into his tongue. It wasn’t to reprimand it, it was to keep himself from taking it back. He wasn’t going to pacify him—at least not now, maybe tomorrow.
He counted the seconds that went by in silence, dreading the emotional sentences Mike was sure to spew out any moment now. Just because someone doesn’t listen to him doesn’t mean he won’t do it.
All this quiet did was double Will’s anxiety, but he knew that whatever awaited him—confession or accusation—would be worse than the current tightness in his chest. Immature whispers are soon to threaten the remaining peace in his relationship with Mike, that’s what he had to worry about.
Mike took a deep breath; Will felt the exhale on his neck again, and it tickled him like that bothersome itch did.
“Can you be honest with me?” Mike asked.
Will nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the wall.
“Why didn’t you call me—or, like, send me any letters?”
Will’s eyebrows knitted together. He was confused, confused in a way he has never been confused before. The confusion was so strong, he couldn’t even process the question correctly. “What are you talking about, Mike? I—I did send you letters, I just… stopped.”
The sheets shifted under Mike’s weight, “Yeah, well, why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?” Will asked in a mocking manner.
“Don’t act stupid, Will.” Mike pushed further. “Why’d you stop?”
A bubbling fury swirled in Will’s gut. Stupid—that’s what he was acting like, a stupid person. A person whose head is too high in the clouds, who can’t seem to behave like a normal human would.
Will is human. It’s not his fault that that douche couldn’t see it.
Frustrated, he turned around to face Mike.
The first thing he noticed wasn’t how faded and scarce Mike’s freckles had become, nor how much thicker his brows had grown, nor how pronounced his cheekbones had turned. It was his scent.
He could smell the floral laundry detergent still hanging onto his clothes, but more importantly, it had a small hint of Hawkins to it—just like the blanket did.
It calmed him for a moment. He hated the town, but home was Hawkins. Home was Mike.
That delusional hope that Mike would turn back to the Mike Will knew returned. The scent resurfaced it like a sleeper agent. He wanted his Mike—the one El hadn’t touched.
His heart stuttered. The harsh words he was about to say vanished. He melted at the sight of this Mike. His Mike died last summer, and that wasn’t fair.
Suddenly, lavender overtook the space between them.
Draped over Mike’s body was El’s blanket. The smell it was spreading was so ridiculously strong, Will was starting to believe she literally sprayed it with the perfume.
His hope melted away that gas settled between them like a wall—a border that shouldn’t be crossed.
Will hated that border. He wanted to break it so badly, it was killing him.
He narrowed his eyes at Mike, “Wouldn’t you get tired of talking to someone if you kept initiating everything?”
Mike’s face turned from confused to ‘oblivious’, “You’re saying I didn’t initiate any calls?”
Will shook his head, “Not just calls, letters too. I always sent them first.”
He rolled his shoulder, shrugging off the blanket as he shifted closer to Mike. “Meanwhile, you initiated every single thing with El, letter or call.”
Mike raised a brow, “No—”
“You know, it really made me think…” Will interrupted him. “If I didn’t send anything, would you have sent something anyways? Asking about how I was doing in Lenora, or—or my art or whatever, I don’t know, anything?”
“Will,” Mike started, opening his mouth to spiral into a long, defensive monologue.
Will didn’t allow it, “So, I didn’t send anything for a month, then another, then another, even though I did have things to say to you. And you didn’t send anything, you didn’t even call to check up on me—”
“Wait, so you admit it?” Mike asked, an accusatory look on his face.
It threw Will off, breaking him out of the anger-filled rant he was just babbling on about. “What?”
A breathy laugh slipped from Mike’s lips, “You did have things to say to me, yeah?”
“I mean, yeah?” Will answered, completely lost at what Mike was trying to get at. “Like—”
“Like El having trouble here, for example?” Mike’s eyes went wide.
His face was twisted into an expression Will has never seen before. He wasn’t talking to his Mike anymore, he knew that, but he didn’t expect El’s Mike to be this different. It freaked him out.
“Are you…” He couldn’t even talk correctly. His words turned to mush, his sentences held no weight or meaning. “Are you serious?”
A critical glint shined Mike’s eyes. They stared at Will like a hawk stares at its prey—livid, but starving for a reaction.
“You should’ve reached out to me and told me about El.” Mike spat out. Now, he pushed closer to Will, knocking their knees together. “Don’t act all morally superior when you weren’t telling me about the troubles she was going through.”
The touch made Will scoot back again, enough to hit the cold wall. He looked Mike in the eyes, mouth agape at whatever stranger was talking to him. Who was this?
“Mike, are you listening to what I’m saying?” The question was genuine. “Like, did you process anything I just sa—”
“Stop deflecting, Jesus Christ…” He rolled his eyes, apparently exhausted that he had to engage in a conversation with someone this incompetent.
It made Will’s chest hurt.
But he pushed forwards, “You wanted me to reach out to you and tell you about El?”
Mike nodded, “Yeah!”
Will scoffed. “What about telling you about myself? What about telling you about the pain I’m going through?” He couldn’t believe that Mike completely blocked out the most important part of Will’s argument: Will.
“Why do you only want me to talk to you when it’s about El?”
Despite the fact that Will was furious, the question came out like a broken sob. It sounded like a pathetic child begging for a toy. It removed any sort of confidence Will had—his voice humiliated him.
Mike blinked at him, dumbstruck. His lips were parted, buzzing with an unspoken argument that slowly shriveled up into the air.
“…I didn’t know you were going through stuff here.” He spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper.
His tone was much breathier, enough for Will to feel each word on his face—or maybe that was because they were so close, their noses would touch if one of them shifted even a bit.
Will suddenly became aware of this.
He tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. He was cornered by Mike in such a compromising position, if El were to walk in right now, she’d probably hang Mike by his underwear to the ceiling fan. God only knows what she’d do to Will.
He just had to deal with it. Focus on Mike instead.
“You said that I was letting her lie to you,” he spoke softly. “But I didn’t even know she was lying, and you know and don’t care. You just want someone to blame. So, I guess… just like how I should’ve magically known El was lying, you should’ve magically known that I was having troubles here and reached out to me.”
He was angry, spitting his words without care.
Mike just stared at him.
“You’re so stupid, Mike.” Will sighed. “I don’t even need to be in trouble for you to reach out either. I don’t only need you when I’m hurting.”
The argument was over. Everything was over—the smiles, the laughter, the commonalities they once shared. Most importantly, the days of understanding one another without the need to verbally say anything are gone.
They lost it all, and Will hates how much he resents both Mike and El for it. He hates how his brain decides to distribute the blame, when in actuality, all of this is his fault. It’s the broken thing in him that’s doing all of this, and he refused to see it before, but he sees it now.
Everybody does. Especially Mike.
“You should’ve reached out to me,” Mike’s stupidity struck again. He was well aware of it, too, given the fact that he was refusing to meet Will’s eyes. Instead, he was muffling his words in El’s disgustingly perfumed blanket. “I would’ve cared, man. You’re just doing this to yourself.”
Will was so irritated, he was shaking under the blanket. Why didn’t Mike just get it? “How was I supposed to know that ‘you would’ve cared’ when you didn’t show it?”
Mike let out a tired sigh.
It was clear that his frustration was returning, but Will didn’t understand why. He was just getting mad about things that Will explained over and over again, he’s the one ignoring the answer.
Will tried to reason with him, “It’s like, seeing you give El so many letters, asking her about how she’s doing and stuff… it didn’t feel good. And you—” He nudged Mike’s chest, “—should’ve known that. But instead, you’re putting all the blame on me—”
“Yeah, because you keep comparing yourself to El like you two are the same!” Mike cut him off. At this point, his voice was no longer a whisper. If someone were to go downstairs, they’d hear the entire fight quite clearly; neither Mike nor Will cared.
“Comparing myself?” Will gawked at him. He couldn’t wrap his head around the insanity Mike was spouting. Seriously, what did he think he’d achieve by doing this? What’s his end goal? What the hell is going on inside that empty head of his? “I’m just trying to explain why I didn’t reach out to you.”
“So what if I didn’t send you as many letters?” Mike stared at him with condescending eyes. “If you had something to say, you should’ve just sent a letter. You should’ve just told me about what was going on with you, but instead, you kept moping about El and I—you’re just using her as an excuse for your own faults, it’s weird.”
Will’s breathing became more rapid, pumping his lungs at an abnormal rate. He couldn’t make sense of anything. Mike’s words translated to slop in his brain, they didn’t even have anything to do with the topic at hand—and he knew that. Mike isn’t dumb, he isn’t stupid, he isn’t oblivious. He knows what Will means, so why is he ignoring it?
“Weird?” Will’s voice turned small. He stared up at the boy he knew for years with wide eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of anything familiar—a twitch of the nose, a freckle on his cheek, a crooked tooth, anything he knew.
Those precious things were lost in the ugly anger Mike’s face was expressing.
“Yeah, weird.” Mike emphasized the word by slightly drawing it out. His face was growing redder with every syllable he uttered, but again, Will didn’t understand why he was so livid. “Will—Ah, fuck. I don’t even know how to explain this to you. It’s like you’re jealous of El or something.”
Will shook his head. His eyes had stopped blinking away the tears that kept peeking at their corners, now letting them stream down his cheeks. He didn’t have the strength to hold himself together—Mike had turned him weak, had unraveled him until all that was left of him was tears and a pout.
“I’m not jealous of her,” his voice cracked.
“Really? You compared yourself to her, that says everything.” Mike’s tone was belittling, teetering on mocking. “Like—like she’s my girlfriend, Will! You aren’t.”
A calm breeze suddenly passed over Will, making his shoulders shudder.
Mike’s words, violent and heavy, dug into his ears like daggers. They pierced into the parts of his mind he had reserved just for Mike. These parts consisted of intimate secrets and feelings that were too complicated to be understood, but Mike… he made Will feel like he could handle them—and he did, two years ago.
Love is always moving, towards or away from you, romantic or platonic. Love isn’t just kisses and hugs, it’s being understood even through fury and depression—but time is a vicious force that forces love to keep changing.
For Will, the love he had with Mike changed from a young, gentle rose, to a pathetic stem surrounded by withered leaves and petals.
That’s why Will couldn’t understand him anymore. He needed to learn this.
Weakly, he gave him a small nod.
He needed to show that he respected that boundary, even if he didn’t fully understand why Mike interpreted what he said the way that he did.
He acknowledged that just like there was a difference between him and El, there was also a difference between him and Mike—in thinking, specifically.
Mike didn’t comprehend what Will was saying to him, and Will didn’t comprehend what Mike was saying either. A gap had grown, and El had fit in it, not Will.
He was too big, too much.
Chasing wasn’t meant for mortal beings, and yet, Will found himself running after someone who had grown repulsed to him. Death of character—that’s what he’ll be left with if he keeps this chase going.
People change.
“I…” He found that his mouth had gone numb, unable to form words. “I’ll give you space.”
Slowly, Mike’s face began to soften. The crease between his brows smoothed out, the corners of his lips tilted downward.
Now he was sad.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered.
It sounded silly, but Will wished Mike was some sort of radio right now so that he could turn down his volume. He can’t handle hearing his voice—he wanted to focus on the comforting sound of his apple-shaped clock.
Mike’s moods changed almost as fast as the clock’s hands ticked—almost.
He shook his head, “No, you did, and it’s fine.”
He kept his eyes trained on the collar of Mike’s shirt, refusing to give the “sad” expression on his face a chance to sway him. He shifted underneath the sheets and tried to turn around, but he found himself trapped; Mike was too close for him to maneuver himself.
Mike pushed himself lower on the pillow so that he could be at eye level with Will. Will wanted to punch him.
“Listen, I’m sorry.” He genuinely has no self-awareness, because he decided that it was acceptable to shove his face so close to Will’s, it was all the boy could see—even in his peripheral vision. “I’m sorry, but you gotta see where I’m coming from, yeah?”
Will closed his eyes.
“I don’t want this to escalate into a big fight,” Mike continued. “Like, one you can’t come back from, you know—?”
“Mike,” Will said his name like it was a prayer. Although, he knew that no amount of begging and pleading to any god would stop this humiliation. “Just… it’s clear there’s tension or something between you and El, just—just don’t use me as a way to relieve some of it.”
Will fluttered his eyes open to take in Mike’s face again. It was torture, a stomach-churning action for the greater good, AKA, El. This was Will’s repentance.
“I’m sorry for making it about me,” he said slowly. “Genuinely, I—I was being a prick to El, and I was ignoring her problems, and… and I even used her as a way to complain about our… situation. I crossed boundaries, I get it.”
Mike, the human that lives with no discernible way to read him, blinked at him. His black pupils seemed to have expanded—or maybe the darkness that swallowed the room was getting to Will. It was one thing for your eyes to adjust to the dark, but it was something completely different to stop seeing things that weren’t there. Absence of light didn’t conceal anything, it just made it more difficult to distinguish between real and fake—like Mike’s dilated pupils.
Nevertheless, the confusion is still a pain in the ass.
He didn’t know what Mike’s next move would be—Criticize his neglect of El? Apologize to him? Jump off of the bed? Force Will off of the bed?
He was talking to an 8-ball.
In the quiet Mike gave him, he let his eyes flicker over his features. From his dilated pupils, to his chewed-up lips. It was scary how still he was. It was like he was waiting for something, and whatever it was, Will wasn’t sure he was willing to face it.
He frowned, “Say something?”
Mike didn’t.
He did something, instead.
Will’s head knocked against the wall behind him as Mike pushed forwards, crashing his bitten lips into Will’s.
What the fuck is wrong with this 8-ball?
He was rough, taking advantage of Will’s entrapment against the wall to further deepen the kiss, pressing his nose into Will’s cheek.
Will couldn’t breathe because Mike wouldn’t let him, both physically and mentally.
Mike’s action was so sudden, he couldn’t take a breath before the kiss attacked him. He wasn’t even sure if that was what you were meant to do, but under this suffocation, it felt right.
The thoughts that passed through his mind kept shouldering each other to the front, barely giving him enough time to process them.
‘Think of the consequences, Will.’ One’s voice made it through the masses.
The consequences.
Will shoved at Mike’s shoulders, twisting away from the lips that turned him to a flustered, mushy mess. The lack of warmth against his face made him feel empty, but temporary emptiness was better than what was most likely awaiting him in the future.
The consequences.
“Mike,” his voice was all breathy. “What are you doing? We can’t—”
The rest of his sentence was swallowed away by the clash of Mike’s lips against his, again.
He gripped at Mike’s shoulders, squeezing the fabric in his palms. The heat engulfed him, and he couldn’t find it in himself to back away from it—but he had to.
His hands worked against his mind, pushing Mike away again.
“Wait,” he forced his eyes to open; they had gone all hazy in the euphoria of the kiss. “Please.”
Mike looked at him like he had no idea why Will was scrambling away from this. His eyes, wide and yearning, just stared at him. That’s all they do—that’s all they’re good for. They just stare, and Will has to sit with the silence Mike kept dealing to him.
“Mike.” He said more sternly, giving his shoulders a bit of a shake.
That seemed to wake him up a bit. If only his conscience went in the direction Will wanted it to.
“Sorry,” was all he whispered before leaning into Will again, reaching his hands under the blanket to hold his waist.
As soon as those lips touched Will’s, they infected his mind with the same moral ambiguity they acted upon.
His arms moved for him, wrapping themselves around Mike’s neck. He tilted his head to the side and began to copy Mike’s movements. It felt like mimicking a fish, maneuvering between peppering pecks and pushing his lips into Mike’s slightly parted ones.
He didn’t know if he was doing it right—he’s never kissed anyone before, obviously—and the thought of Mike breaking away to give him some negative feedback made his stomach flip. Although, he doubted that, given the fact that El had said something that implied he wasn’t that great of a kisser himself.
He seemed really good, though. The deep, easy presses of his plump lips made Will go all weak, slumping his body against his like a doll. Maybe Will just has bad judgement, or all the years Mike’s had practicing with El has gotten him better.
El.
Will’s eyes shot wide open.
He turned his face away from Mike’s, creating a small gap between the two. The tips of their noses grazed each other, but it felt like it was physically impossible to get any further away from him. His arms had gone limp around his neck; he had no strength to shove him off, really.
“No,” he shook his head. “No, Mike, we can’t. No, no.”
Hundreds of pictures of El’s innocent face flashed through his mind like a presentation. The slides flickered slow enough to make him see who he was hurting, and quick enough to show him the extent of the pain his actions will cause.
Mike finally spoke, and his voice was enough to pull Will’s mind out of the torturous, downward spiral it was falling down. “Will, just let me… just, be quiet.”
To Will’s horror, Mike swept him back up into the kiss. It was softer now, more of a slow dance than a salsa, and Will, the fool, let himself be pulled into it for a moment.
Before reality kicked his brainless head.
He broke the kiss, placing a hand on Mike’s chest to hold him back. “El.”
At that moment, Mike’s grip on his waist tightened. It hurt, like a bear trap had attached itself to his skin.
“What?” Mike asked dumbly.
Will shook his head, “El, Mike. We can’t—”
“Stop talking.”
“No, think of her.”
“I said stop talking.”
He pressed his forehead against Will’s, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
Will followed and picked up El’s lavender perfume off of him.
He winced, letting a whimper slip from his lips. He couldn’t play along to whatever insanity Mike had forced him into. A mere second ago, he was fighting Will over hurting El, and now, it’s like he forgot all about her. It was a suffocating type of confusion that Will would rather die than continue to experience.
Most of all, he was confused about Mike kissing a boy.
He shook his head against Mike’s forehead, “You aren’t—you know, you know you aren’t.”
“Do you not understand what ‘stop talking’ means?” Mike snapped back.
His eyebrows fell into a frown, and Will felt it. He felt the heat radiating from his cheeks, the deep breaths leaving his mouth, the guilt threatening to cannonball itself out of his shriveling stomach.
Slowly, his lips slotted themselves between Will’s, but they didn’t move. They just lingered, cruelly letting Will feel what he couldn’t have.
“You’re being mean,” he whispered against them.
Mike grunted, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Will pulled away.
Hesitantly, he placed a hand on Mike’s cheek. It was hot, bursting with blush and heat. “Go to her.”
Mike sighed, “No.”
“Fine,” Will’s hand slipped from his cheek. “I will.”
His movements were fast and speedy, keeping his mind from backtracking and falling back into Mike’s greedy arms. He shoved at Mike’s chest—which made him roll onto his back—and crawled over him, making sure not to touch any part of his body.
“Where are you going?” Mike asked, his voice laced with desperation.
Will tripped over himself as he gathered things in a hurry: El’s pillow, which had been forgotten on the floor, a water bottle from his nightstand, and the melatonin pills he kept right beside them.
“I just told you,” he huffed, shoving the pillow under his arm. “I’m going to my sister.”
“After kissing me?”
Will couldn’t help it.
He threw his cold water bottle at Mike, aiming straight at his head.
“Ow!” Mike flinched. He threw a hand to his forehead, rubbing the red mark already beginning to form above his brow.
Will didn’t give him a second look, he didn’t even snatch his water bottle back. He could just share El’s.
He turned on his heel and rushed out. His heart, small, weak, and stuttering, was practically pounding itself out of his ribcage. His knees wobbled more and more with each step, but they didn’t compare to the wretched trembles that returned to his hands.
How could he?
If he was right about one thing tonight, it was that he was a selfish creature. He was Envy, and he had struck again.
Once he reached El’s room, he didn’t knock in fear of waking her up; she was a light sleeper. Instead, he cracked open the door and squeezed himself through the gap, walking on tip-toes.
To his surprise, El was wide awake. Her eyes were lost staring at a blank space in the wall. They dashed to Will when he stepped into her territory.
“Will?” She yawned, propping herself up on one arm.
Shyly, Will took another step forward. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
It took her a moment, but she nodded. Her poofy bangs bounced as she did, like a sheep. The image brought a smile to Will’s face—a bit of peace after tonight’s mess.
With El’s permission, he took a sip of her water to help swallow his melatonin pill. It wasn’t as cold as his, but he’d much rather drink it than go down to his room and retrieve what he had turned into a weapon.
El’s bed was wider than his, meaning they could each have a pillow.
As soon as his head hit his, he wished he got his own instead of El’s. Too much lavender, not enough Hawkins.
El didn’t ask if he was alright. She didn’t ask about Mike, or about the puffiness of his lips. She just turned away from him, giving him her back.
Tension still sizzled between them from the events of Rink-O-Mania. It wasn’t as bad as Mike’s, but it was still there. Hot, burning, spitting little sparks of fire on the soft skin of their arms.
Will shoved his nose into the pillow and inhaled the perfume. He let it invade his lungs, infect whatever pure part of him left with the sweet parasite that is love.
It was here that Will realized that he had been mistaken.
Love is not meant to be beautiful or innocent because it never is. Love is biased, love is violent. Love hurts whatever is in its way, so long as the person who yearns can get what they want.
Love isn’t any less human than him, or El, or Mike.
Loving someone so much you could fight them, loving someone so much you could kiss them, loving someone so much you could betray them, then go on to sleep in their bed.
He stared at the back of El’s head.
He loved her, almost as much as he loved Mike’s lips on his own.