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Mike listened patiently as El rambled angrily over the phone, her tone progressively growing more and more agitated as her rant went on. Another fight.. This was a normal occurrence at this point. Mike would screw up as always, El would reach out during the limited time that Joyce wasn’t hogging the landline, and tell him off for whatever he had done this time. Right now, this issue was him being unaffectionate and avoidant. This has been a standing issue mentioned time after time in arguments, but Mike always found a way to ignore the issue. He would promise to finally fix it, and then moments later, he would become the same. He felt bad, sure, but wasn’t El just being dramatic? Why was he always the villain here?
His thoughts trail off, and he subconsciously starts tuning El out. His mind wanders to Will, whom he hasn’t spoken to in weeks. Any moment he tried to call, Joyce was on the phone, or El would pick up. Why was it so hard to talk to his best friend? He wanted to send letters, but it was just.. different. He felt like he couldn’t, for some stupid reason. It was irrational, but he didn’t want to send letters. Maybe it was because he was desperate to hear Will’s voice. That was it. Definitely. He wanted to hear his voice, to imagine his expressive face as he spoke to Mike. He smiles to himself, the faint traces of Will’s voice that he could remember playing in his head. His mind flooded with images of Will’s stupidly cute mannerisms.. His hands moving as he spoke enthusiastically, his eyes narrowing playfully when he was amused, his head tipping to the side.. It was Mike’s favorite thing. Slowly, his train of thought grew more solemn. He remembered his last goodbye. He remembered how tightly Will hugged him, and how he felt his hot tears stain Mike’s shirt. It made his heart ache and race at the same time. Oh, how he missed Will’s warm arms. He was head over heels.. platonically! It was normal to miss your friends in this sense to Mike. It’s like he yearned to see Will nightly, but not romantically. Any good friend would blush and get butterflies as he imagined the other party, right? That’s how friendship was supposed to work, or so he taught himself.
He snaps out of his wistful train of thoughts as he hears El’s voice repeating his name. “Oh.. sorry, El. Listen, can we just deal with this later? I have to go, okay?” He says this, annoyance creeping into his usually calm tone. He had nothing to do, but he needed an excuse to get out of this stupid situation. He heard El pause on the other end of the phone, and then a defeated sigh.
“Oh. Okay.. uhm.. bye,” El would say. Before Mike could say anything back, the call cut off. Mike would clench his jaw as the realization of what he just said to El slowly dawned on him. Dammit, he knew he hurt her feelings. This was definitely going to be brought up later. How does he always manage to get himself into situations like this? His irritance slowly morphed into sadness, and then a gut wrenching numbness that he had no idea how to describe
A few hours later
Mike laid in bed, staring at the fan as it spun in fast circles, cooling the room. The gentle breeze was enough to rustle his hair and the few posters dangling on the walls, but not enough to bother him. It’s not like he could really care right now anyways. He was numb, unaware of the world around him. These moments were blissful, yet short lived. He always came back to the harsh reality, whether he liked it or not. His vision ebbed in and out of focus, and his fingers laid still across his abdomen. His eyes watered, and his throat tightened, yet he never cried. He wouldn’t let himself. He was the one to blame, wasn’t he? He caused conflicts. He didn’t deserve to cry over something that he dawned upon himself. Reality slowly settled itself in his mind, and he felt the inevitable guilt starting to gnaw at his gut. It made him nauseous.. Or anxious. He couldn’t tell. He never bothered when it came to his emotions. It’s not like he would ever open up, so why care? Sorting out his complicated feelings would really do him no good, and would only complicate life further. Conforming and acting fine was far easier in his opinion. The argument spun in his mind, the endless possibilities of how he could have changed how it resulted mocked him. Fuck his reflexes. Fuck his outbursts. He was tired of this.
He dragged himself into a sitting position. Moping wasn’t doing much. He shoved the stack of letters that he was yet to even read from El onto his desk precipitously and blinked away tears. Those letters were a bittersweet reminder of everything he had ever done wrong- he couldn’t bear to look at them. Not now. Anything associated with El only brought him an intense feeling of dread. Was this normal? He wished he was taught how to be in relationships as a kid. This was harder than it sounded. He liked her for sure.. But he had no idea how to express it. “You can’t even write it!” Her words echoed in his mind. This was yet another thing she yelled in their arguments, confronting him about not writing the simple words I love you. He couldn’t. It was… pathetic, to say the least. She deserved so much better. Mike lets out a groan and harshly wipes his eyes, muttering self deprecating comments to himself. He straightened his shirt and sharply inhaled, hesitantly opening the door to his room. His head poked out the door, and his gaze swept across the area in front of him. The hallway was empty, thank god.
Mike stepped out of his room, hastily making his way to the staircase without bothering Nance. He stopped in front of the first step, closing his eyes and collecting himself. He slowly made his way down the stairs, grimacing as the steps softly creaked under his weight. The last thing he wanted was to have to talk to one of his family members. He peeked into the living room, sighing when he saw his dad in his chair. He always stayed there, in the middle of the damn house. Ted turned his head at the sound of Mike’s sigh, and Mike’s heart dropped. Damn it.
“Finally out of that room of yours, I see? It’s good for you son. You’re gonna rot away if you keep staying up there all day,” His dad sneered, his eyes narrowing. Mike bit back the urge to snap back. Ted’s voice dripped with mocking undertones, as it usually did.
“Surprise, surprise..” Mike would mutter, avoiding his father’s judgemental gaze. His eyes casted down to the floor, and he awkwardly stepped away from the conversation. His dad grumbled something about ‘moody teenagers’ and turned away. The chair below him let out a creak of protest as his weight shifted. Mike swallowed harshly, walking into his kitchen. He opened the doors to his pantry, and his eyes scanned over the foods set neatly on shelves. He grabbed some Poptarts- the nearest food, and stuck them in the toaster on the cut out counter beside him. The toaster clicked as he pushed down the sliders, and he turned away to rest somewhere as he waited. He leaned on the closest island, watching the toaster boredly. Time ticked slowly, and he started to come to terms with the hunger angrily gnawing at his gut. He listened to the faint hum of the toaster, and the quiet noises of the television inside the room next door. The Poptarts finally jumped out of the toaster with a loud pop, causing Mike to jump a bit. He clenched his jaw and grabbed them quickly, dropping them onto the island behind him. His hand wrapped itself around the back of a seat, pulling it back enough for him to slide into it without causing a ruckus and making his dad even more pissed than he always was. He bit into the first Poptart, his mind racing. Should he call her back and apologize? No.. she would probably get even more mad. Should he respond to El’s letters instead? No. That’s humiliating. Hold the letters off until you get another. His mind then hopped to Will again, who he could barely reach. It was… upsetting, to say the least. He missed his best friend.
He missed Will’s soft comforting voice, his adorable style, his big eyes.. Everything. Joyce always took up the landline, and letters were rarely sent. Will spent so much time on his art, or so he said, so he never had time to write. Not only this, but school was “overbearing” and his mom was always calling somebody. Could he not just take the chance when his mom isn’t on the phone? There has to be some time when she isn’t using it. Mike perceived this entire situation as stupid. Mike always found time for Will. He sighed, snapping out of his pessimistic train of thoughts. It wasn’t Will’s fault. He needed to just get over it, really. He quickly ate the rest of his snack, wanting to go back upstairs. He slid out of his chair and made his way past his dad. Of course, this route had to include yet another snide remark from his father that he didn’t even bother to listen to. Probably something about how he should stop moping. About how he has other friends. How stupid. Mike rolled his eyes and climbed the steps which lead to the hallway. He peeked around and a wave of relief set over him when nobody was there again. He walked through the hall, letting himself into his bedroom and quietly clicking the door shut behind him. His gaze flickered to the stack of unread notes once more, and his shoulders slumped. Damn it.. he was so weak.
He swallowed once more, making his Adam’s apple bob. He stepped over to his desk, wincing as his nails dug into his palm. His hand was clenched- it was a subconscious habit he had. He dropped himself into his chair. He was telling himself not to read them- to leave his feelings alone and let the issue progress. To procrastinate and forget about the problem until it resurfaced. His hand hovered awkwardly above the stack of letters, his hesitation evident. He sighs, wrapping his fingers around the first one and beginning to open it. The regret and dread had already set in, and he was scared that El hated him. That he screwed up permanently this time. The letter opened, and his breath caught. His eyes slowly flickered over the messy lettering on the page, written in sloppy and borderline incoherent handwriting at times. It was cute in a way… she wrote like a little kid.
Dear Mike,
Hi Mike. You haven’t been writing. I miss you. I don’t really know what to say, but please write back. Did I do anything? I know we got into an argument.. But I want a response. I’m getting tired of waiting for you to write back, Mike. I don’t know what else to say.. Bye.
Love, El.
Mike’s gut clenched, and he could feel his anxiety heightening. This letter was drastically shorter than others, and it bothered him so much more than he expected. His eyes flickered over the messy lettering once more, and he let out a shaky breath. He rolls his eyes back, hoping to slow the tears daring to fall from his eyes. After a moment of him rubbing his eyes, he sets the letter back on his desk. He wasn’t going to do this anymore.. no way. His eyes flicker around the room, looking for something to distract himself. His eyes lock on the collection of comic books lying around. He sits up, intending to grab one, and then leans back in his chair and looks hopelessly at his ceiling. For a moment that was all he did. After a minute or two, he lets out an exasperated groan and stands up. He might as well go contact Will, right? That should comfort him. He glances quickly at his desk once more, and shoves the letters into his junk drawer. Forget trying to read those. He could deal with that later.
He, once more, makes his way downstairs, blocking out any remarks made by his father. He hesitates, stopping in his tracks on the way to the kitchen phone to think. Was it really smart to call Will of all people where his father would hear. Ted already hated how attached Mike was to Will, and if he heard the words “I miss you” slip out of Mike’s mouth, Mike would be done for. Mike sighs to himself, spinning on his heels to instead head to the basement. He glances at his father, who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. He gives his father a tight, closed-mouth smile and trots quickly down the staircase leading to the basement. His eyes solemnly scan the room, memories for past D&D campaigns and movie nights with his friends all coming back to him. His eyes begin to pathetically water up.
He lectures himself internally, telling himself that he needed to suck it up, and he was being stupid and overly sentimental. His eyes lock on the phone next to him, and he perks up, remembering why he truly came down there in the first place.
He picks up the phone, dialing the Byers house’s number. He puts the phone to his ear as a ringing sound plays, his heart speeding up hopefully. For a couple seconds, about 30 to be exact, he only hears his sped up breathing and the faint ringing of the phone. Just as he was starting to lose hope in Will answering, he hears a deep voice ring through on the other end. His eyes widen, and his heart races tremendously.
“Hello? This is the Byers household.” An achingly familiar voice says, sounding raspy, as if they just woke up. It was Will. Mike has to pause for a moment, caught off guard by how different he sounded. He sounded… older. His voice was deeper than it was the last time he had heard it, and it sounded more mature, in a way. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, just… so, so different. Nostalgia rammed into him like a truck, ruining his giddy mood that he previously found himself to be entering. He sounded different.. What if it wasn’t just his voice that was different now? What if he doesn't like D&D? Does he have a new best friend that he loves more? Mike starts letting himself get lost in thought, but snaps out when he remembers that he must respond.
“Oh! God- I- uhm.. Wi- Uhm.. I- Will!” Mike stutters idiotically, his voice cracking. He let out an airy laugh, trying to cover and play down his silence by laughing and acting lighthearted. His throat starts to tighten as he waits anxiously for Will’s response.
”Mike! Hi! It’s been a while..” Will gets louder, making Mike assume that it meant he was happy. For a short period of time, it stayed silent. Both boys had run out of things to say. The silence then resulted in Mike returning to his negative mindset, and during the silence, he started pondering if this was truly a bad idea. What if it made him look desperate and clingy? What if Will told El? He was sure to get yelled at. He felt his stomach churning, and a wave of sickness passed over him. His legs begin to weaken, and he lets out a quiet, defeated whimper. This was a stupid idea. He should hang up before he makes any more dumb noises that will just end in utter embarrassment, or he gets sick. Either of these were strong results of this call.
“Yeah.. sure has. Anyways, hah.. sorry for calling! I was just checking in! Bye!” As the sentence went on, Mike slowly sped up. He knew if he spoke for any longer, the stuttering would start again, and he knew that would just be torment. His speech progressively became snappier, and he grimaced as he hung up before Will could even respond. So much for talking to his comfort person. What was he supposed to do now? All he did every day was lie in bed, eat, read comics, and go to school when necessary. He glanced around the room once more, and decided to settle himself on the couch, where he would read comics as a sort of distraction.
He leaned over, picking up the first one he found. Of course, he has reread this one countless times, as he did for most of his comics. This didn’t matter much to him, though. A distraction was a distraction, boring or not. He flipped through the first few pages, trying to convince himself that he didn’t know the story. That this was totally new and cool. Unfortunately, this tactic didn’t work, and he ended up just groaning and setting down the comic.