Chapter Text
Mike wanted this summer to be different.
The past two summers had been, to put it simply, not great.
First, in '85, he nearly lost his friends to an interdimensional monster, and he good as lost his best friend Will. Their relationship splintered and became strained. It was one of the worst things Mike had ever done, abandoning Will so severely. He regretted it with every part of his being and to this day did all he could to fix it. Or begin to, anyways.
Then the following year, though Mike had Will back in person, he was still desperately trying to fix said splintered and strained relationship. And though the military quarantine helped with that, since they were fully cooped up with next to no one but one another, it was a quarantine nonetheless. It didn't allow for much fun or outings. Even stopping by Lucas's house a few doors down was a stretch at times.
But now, they hadn't heard of Vecna for what felt like ages. Every crawl that Hopper went on resulted in next to no news. And though Mike was far from giving up, and he knew that he couldn't really put his guard down, he was looking forward to spending this summer normally. Or as normally as one could manage in modern-day Hawkins.
The streets were nearly abandoned now, almost all shops boarded up or closed. Soldiers patrolled every alley and hearing a helicopter overhead was about as common as birdsong. But the quarantine had been lifted slightly. Still, no one could leave or enter, but citizens were allowed to lead their standard lives to an extent. A greater extent than when the city first split, in any case.
Mike was keen to use this to his advantage. As routine as this new-normal life had become, the threat of Vecna still hung over his and his friends' heads. They didn't know how long they had until they had to battle for good. So why not enjoy regularity while they could?
Mike was sprawled on his bed, a closed book resting beside him, explaining his summer plan to Will, who was seated at the former's desk and sketching. He was using Mike's paper, having left his sketchbook in the basement. Half-crumpled sheets were scattered across the desk's surface, though not too untidily. Will always felt bad when he made a mess, ignoring Mike's vows that he didn't mind one bit.
"Sure, Mike, like they'll let us be out that late," Will sighed. Mike's eyes snapped up. His best friend wasn't taking his eyes off his sketchbook, only half focused on the conversation. Mike pushed himself onto his elbows, wanting that attention. Will was smart; maybe if they both put their minds to it, they'd pull off a way to make Mike's ridiculous sneaking-out plans work.
"Not like they'd know," said Mike in a tone that bordered on whining, waiting for Will's reaction.
Will leaned back, his eyes traveling up from his sketchbook and meeting Mike's for a few moments. He broke into a smile and shook his head with an eyeroll.
"Come on. We should be teenagers for once, don't you think?" said Mike, his voice marginally softer. He sat up fully now.
It was no secret that they'd gotten much of their adolescence snatched away by Vecna, Will more than most. It was just a fact, something that hung silently in the air between them. But they never talked about it outright, and Mike was getting dangerously close to it now.
The topic of Vecna and the Upside Down was something they never dared to fully discuss. Part of it was because the military seemed to have eyes everywhere, and they were under enough suspicion as it was. The other part was because they'd exhausted the topic so heavily in the first year since their return that by now, they'd gone over all they could. Every time the opportunity for a crawl came around, they began speculating and planning again, but all had been quiet there for the past month, since sometime around mid May.
It also was the type of thing Mike was cautious with when it came to Will. Though they'd largely restored their friendship, there were some topics they seemed to have an unspoken agreement to tiptoe around or just not mention. Such a concept would have been foreign to their younger selves, but now it seemed necessary.
They didn't talk too much about when Will got taken or when he was possessed a year later. They didn't talk too much about that fight in the rain, or at the roller rink. They didn't talk too much about that speech Mike had given El. They didn't talk too much about the tension that had eaten away at their bond. They didn't talk too much about how virtually all of the taboo topics were, without question, Mike's fault. They didn't bring it up, just kept a careful lightheartedness between them while sidestepping the more serious topics. So much so that sometimes they almost forgot all the shit that Mike had done. Almost.
Will looked down at his hands. "Yeah. I do," he replied, his voice quiet. "But there's absolutely no way we're getting away with that," he continued in a more teasing tone, turning back to the desk.
Mike felt a weird, quiet disappointment as Will turned away.
"Wow, thank you for having faith in me," sighed Mike in mock offense, reaching for the book next to him and opening it, frowning when the bookmark fell out without him actually finding the page he'd been on.
"You're so welcome," came Will's reply. Mike could hear the smile in his voice and couldn't help but crack a grin himself.
It was moments like this that seemed to fuel Mike these days. Everything felt easier, lighthearted. It was just Will and Mike, Mike and Will, the best friends since day one. Will had somehow forgiven Mike for all he'd done and the two of them were fine. Better than fine. They were great.
Mike tried finding the page he'd been on and almost spoiled the plot for himself twice before locating it. He let out a quiet "Ha!" of triumph, earning a laugh from Will. The sound sparked a warmth in Mike's chest, a soft flicker of relief as it was a reassurance that he and Will were okay.
They spent some time like that, nestled in comfortable silence apart from the soft scratching from Will's pencil or the odd page flip as Mike read.
After around half an hour, possibly more, Will broke the silence, his voice quiet and a little raspy from disuse. "Mike, uh- sorry, do you have more paper?"
Mike's shot up, his eyes meeting Will's, who was smiling at him, his expression close to apologetic. Something about the look on Will's face kept Mike's eyes glued to him, traveling over Will's features—especially his eyes, his eyes that Mike couldn't help but get lost in. His eyes that held a thousand words, and had since that first fateful day ten years prior. His eyes that seemed to look straight into Mike's soul, but for once Mike didn't mind being seen. When it was Will, it felt okay. Better than okay. Mike stared for a few more seconds before looking away, feeling a warmth in the back of his neck. It must have been from sitting up so suddenly after laying down for so long.
"Oh, uh, yeah, it's- it's in the second drawer on the right," he stuttered, keeping his eyes averted from Will, though he didn't really know why. "Take as much as you need," he added in a quieter voice, keeping his gaze locked on his book.
"Thanks," came Will's reply, followed by the sound of a drawer being opened slowly, carefully.
Mike felt himself calm down again, his pulse (that he hadn't even noticed quickened) beginning to slow down.
The sound of rustling papers eventually came to a stop and Mike nearly looked up again but, determined to act casual, he kept staring at his book. He wasn't comprehending any of the words on the page. Of course he wasn't, not now.
His mind was far away, thinking about the boy seven feet from him. Thinking about how two years ago, Mike chose to never be around Will, instead spending every second with El (which ended up badly, too). He cringed every time he thought about that summer, the way he'd discarded his true best friend and been awful to his girlfriend all in the same two months.
Him and El were on good terms now, though. A little over a year ago, soon after they returned from Lenora, they had broken things off for good.
It was one of those rare days that it was safe for Mike to visit the cabin. He came with Jonathan, who was there to help Hopper out with something or another.
Things had been tense with Jonathan ever since California. Mike knew why- he was an asshole to Will, and Jonathan was nothing if not caring towards his younger brother. Mike didn't blame Jonathan for potentially hating—or at least being a little wary of—him.
The entire drive was awkward, and the entire time, Jonathan kept glancing at Mike in the passenger seat as if debating whether or not to say something, but both of them kept silent.
Once in the cabin, Hopper saw him, sighed and gestured towards El's room. Mike muttered a greeting and a thanks and stopped by the door to the room. It was partially closed, a sliver of light coming from beyond it, but he didn't look inside. He didn't know why, but he was beyond nervous for this. It's just seeing your girlfriend, calm down, he tried telling himself, but he couldn't ignore the burning dread that crept in his stomach.
He raised his hand and knocked—once, twice— and the door opened of its own accord. There sat El, her hand almost lazily raised, bringing it back down to her side where she was fiddling with a radio. A blindfold was around her neck.
"Hey," Mike said quietly, closing the door behind him. He kept it open three inches so maybe Hopper wouldn't murder him.
El looked up immediately, faint surprise visible in her expression. "Mike," she greeted, patting the spot on the bed beside her.
Mike sat down, fidgeting with his sweater. He didn't know quite what he wanted to say, just that he needed to say something. He'd been planning coming over here and had run through a million monologues in his head, but he couldn't think of anything now.
El took care of that for him. "I've been wanting to talk to you," she said.
"Yeah. Yeah, me too," he replied.
"I do not think we should date." El said matter-of-factly.
Mike thought that at hearing those words, he should feel heartbroken. Or devastated. He should be begging her to take him back, throwing himself at her feet. But no. He felt relief. Pure, light relief coursing through his veins.
He stayed silent as she went on, "You helped me so much when I met you. I learned a lot. But I am still learning, and now I know that we are better as friends."
Mike chewed his lip and glanced to the side. He agreed with her, but guilt still ate at him. "We were. And, look, I'm sorry I pressured you into dating me all those years ago. I thought it was what I had to do. I'm sorry for dragging you in, I really am." He looked back at her, hoping she could see that he was being truthful with his remorse.
El gave him a small smile, looking like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "It's okay, Mike. I understand."
Mike nodded, grateful, and the two hugged briefly. "Friends?" Mike asked in a hushed voice.
"Friends," confirmed El, and Mike broke into a smile.
All those years of dating had felt more like an obligation than something he'd really wanted to do. It wasn't her fault—she was brave and kind, a much better person than Mike. It was all on his end.
He'd never felt that spark that Lucas or Dustin described when they discussed their love lives. He figured that sooner or later he would, so he just let it drag on and on until he'd dug himself too far. Upon realizing this, he'd feared that he may never undo his mistakes and all the pain he'd caused both El and himself.
But things were finally taking a turn for the better.
Mike rose from his semi-daydream, remembering that Will was right there and letting a smile creep onto his face.
Just as he made to turn the page of the book he wasn't reading, he heard a small, almost imperceptible gasp. He put the book down and fully looked up to where Will was shutting the drawer closed again, hands empty. Hands shaking, actually.
Mike stared at him again, as he so often did, and this time Will just stared back. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. The silence stretched between them again, this time about as far from comfortable as it could possibly be.
Mike could hear his heart pound. Will probably could, too. But they didn't talk about it.
"Did you, um-" Mike paused to look away, feeling like if Will's eyes burned into him for even a second longer he may just burst into flames. "Did you find the paper?" he finished, deeming it safe to sneak a glance at Will again.
For an instant, Will had a look close to confusion before nodding, recognition flashing in his eyes. "Oh. Yeah, yeah I did. Thanks. But, um, I just remembered I have a drawing downstairs. In my sketchbook! That I'd really love to finish. So I'm going to get to that, bye! See you later, Mike!" he spoke about a mile a minute, standing up and retreating to the door as he did so.
Mike sat there with his mouth open, on the verge of protesting when the door closed, and with it went Will.
Okay.
What on Earth just happened?
It wasn't like Will at all to leave in the way he just did. Had Mike done something? He probably had; he always seemed to mess up. But what did I do? he wondered.
He stood and made his way to his desk, Will's drawing of a tiger left abandoned on its surface. The drawer beside it was messily closed, part of it left ajar. That was weird. Will was always careful, especially around Mike's things.
His heart in his throat, Mike opened the rest of the drawer inch by inch. Panic was beginning to engulf him, though he couldn't place a finger on why. Old memories were clamoring to make their way to the forefront of his mind. Memories that he had kept buried, buried so well that even now he struggled to recall them or the reason they gave him such unease.
His eyes fell on some wrinkled pages, frantic handwriting covering every surface of them.
Oh.
Oh, no.
He was brought back to a year and a half ago. Will was in California, Mike was alone. He felt too much and too little, he had too much to say and too little, he had done too much and too little.
He was constantly overtaken by this longing, this profound need for Will. It was in class when Mike turned to make a joke, only to see Will wasn't there. It was at Hellfire meetings when Mike saw Dustin and Lucas getting excited, and he almost did too, but then remembered who was missing. It was at the store seeing someone wear a yellow sweater, at his house when he needed company, in his basement that he couldn't go into anymore without seeing the art plastered on the walls. It was in that binder full of years of drawings he kept under his bed.
It was everywhere, all the time, a hum inside him that spiked like a punch to the gut when he got too close to the glaring absence of his other half.
More often than not, when he got hit by these pangs of loneliness and guilt, he took to the one thing he could still somewhat pride himself on: writing. That was supposed to be his thing. He wrote and wrote and wrote, rambling in letters to Will that he never sent. He couldn't.
As good as he told himself he was at writing, the letters never came out how he meant them to. They were too close to his heart, too raw, too terrifying. And so, without fail, every letter got crumpled up and stuffed deep in a drawer. Mike would wipe away the tears that sometimes fell, bury the letter, and try to forget about it. But he never threw away a single one of them. He clung onto them from a distance, as if one day he'd let himself remember them. As if one day he'd ever be brave enough to face them again. He wasn't.
But now he had to be brave. He had to fling himself headfirst back into that awful time. Because if the voice in the back of his head was right, and Will had seen these...
He picked one out at random, his hand shaking and breath hitching when he unfolded it. It was dated November 6th, 1985.
Will,
It's Mike. I know I saw you a month ago but I miss you. A lot. I hope California's treating you well so far. Over here, school isn't too great. Everything feels like it's moving and changing out of place. I almost never see Max anymore and I don't know if she's doing okay. And Lucas doesn't really hang out with Dustin or I anymore because he's trying to get in with the basketball guys and join the team. That's good for him, but it still feels so weird to not be around everyone after all these years. I mean, I have Dustin, and there's some new guys at school, but they're not you. No one's you.
I'm also writing because it's November 6th. The day all this started. The day I lost you. I didn't know what to do without you. I was so scared. I knew you were still alive, I could feel it, but even the thought of you being gone for real made me feel so empty. I never really told you this, I figured you knew, but in case if you didn't: I can't stand the thought of losing you. Lately I've been messing up so much and I don't know what's wrong with me but I'm really sorry for how I acted over the summer. You don't have to forgive me or anything, I know I don't deserve that, but I need you, Will.
I just can't lose you. Not again.
I know this is temporary, and I'll try my best to see you over Christmas break, and I'll try calling you soon once they say it's safe. But I miss you anyways. I hope I see you soon and keep an eye out for more letters.
Love,
Mike
Mike's eyes widened in horror more and more as he read, and by the end his breath was completely held. He'd really written all this, really felt all this- and as much as he tried to forget it, drown it out, he couldn't anymore. It came
He remembered to breathe, now hyperventilating as he placed the letter to his side, rustling through the drawer again. He didn't dare read another letter in full, but he caught glimpses of I don't know why I haven't sent these letters or I can't bring myself to sign her letters with anything other than "From, Mike" or I wish I was brave enough to really tell you all this. Someday I will.
And over and over again, he saw the two words, the eight letters, that seemed to stab him in the heart.
Love, Mike.