Chapter Text
"Alright. That'll be... eight twenty-five."
Mike fumbles for his wallet, pulling out a couple bills and some change.
"Thanks, have a good one."
The buzz of traffic and pedestrians passing by replaces the cab's muffled hum and this feeling will never be familiar to Mike. Rain pours down as he realizes his vital mistake in not bringing an umbrella. Any time he once had to stall in front of the exhibit was now eliminated as he hurries to the entrance of the tall, skinny white building. It stands out among the rest of the brown brick buildings that he probably would've otherwise considered apartments.
With every step towards the building, the tense buzzing in his chest and shoulder constricts him tighter. His brain tells him to turn around right now, but his legs lurch him forward, moving faster as if they'll stop if he slows down.
Small groups of people crowd the entrance and Mike finds himself discreetly scanning every face for a familiar one. It's a careful, nervous darting that's afraid to lock eyes with whatever gaze he is looking for.
But it's been so long, would he even recognize him? Surely.
His breath catches in his chest as he weaves between the guests and through the solid brown doors.
Nobody calls his name, much less acknowledges him.
A practiced voice snatches his shifting gaze, "Good evening. Did you purchase your ticket in advance?" Mike grounds himself with a deep breath and pulls at the hem of his suit jacket.
"Yes. For Mike Wheeler?"
"Mike..." she flips through a couple name tags behind her desk. "Welcome to the Noel-Byers exhibit; we hope you'll enjoy your stay. Bidding is on the third floor and all art is on the second and first. Stairs are on the right," she extends a lanyard with a small note card on it, reading Mike's name. He looks up and is met with a waxy grin. He returns a slight nod and wonders if his discomfort shows on his face as he enters through the doors she gestured to.
Compared to the violent crashing of the rain against pavement outside, the casual chatter and hushed jazz of the exhibit gives Mike a moment to breathe.
His eyes shift around the room for any sign of an old friend. He knows he's here around any one of these corners. Any second now, he might find his eyes and freeze and he'd been anticipating this moment ever since he bought the ticket a few weeks ago, but now that he's here, Mike's thoughts race and race around his head. He almost feels dizzy.
What am I really doing here? Am I crazy? This is so embarrassing and desperate. I should just go before he sees me. I can't believe I'm even here right now.
Mike really couldn't care less about art. He cared about supporting his friends, and of course, he liked Will's art, but he wouldn't ever just go to an art show for fun like this. All signs point to him being an outsider and he just knows everyone in the room can tell.
He feels a thousand judging eyes on him, even though nobody is looking at him. Nobody pays any attention to him.
He knows he would look suspicious being the only person not glued to the walls, so he finds the pieces closest to the entrance and begins making slow, inattentive rounds. He studies a few guests around him to get an idea of how you're supposed to act at these things.
A few glances at each painting is all the attention he'd give each one, but would make sure to check the artist each time. If he could just see his name on one painting, he'd know this was all real and that he was truly here, somewhere in the building.
Every few seconds, he finds himself surveying the room so he would be the one to spot him rather than be spotted.
And then it caught his eye: on a little notecard beside a painting Mike had already dismissed:
Will Byers.
Mike's stomach twists itself into a knot as he stares at the proof he was looking for.
It had been years since he even came close to that name. The two called nearly every day once Will moved to New York for Jonathan's school, but the daily calls turned to weekly, to monthly, and after about two years, they'd lost contact. And it wasn't because anything happened, Mike thought. He knew Will was getting busier. And though he couldn't relate, Mike didn't want to feel like such a bother while his best friend was out there doing big things. Not quite like a weight, but a distraction. Will was moving on. And that's... okay.
He realizes he'd been looking at the name tag for a good while and his head whips up, anxiously glancing around the room. His ears burn hot like he was caught doing something wrong by looking at the painting for so long. Like Will was going to be right behind him, watching him in confusion and discomfort, an expression begging the question, "Why are you here?" in a tone even more judgmental than Mike is asking himself.
Hearing his voice in his head, contorted into something dragging and perplexed, forms a pit in his stomach and it would be in his best interest to just turn around now before he has to face that.
He sees no signs of Will. However, it has been seven years since he saw him. He isn't quite sure what he should be looking for, anyways. Maybe he cut his hair. Or grew it out. Or got glasses, or got taller, or started wearing different clothes, or ...
No.
No.. That's him.
That's got to be him.
A slim, yet muscular guy fitted in a dark beige suit faces away from him, talking in a small group of other fashionable individuals with pale pink lanyards. Some carry skinny champagne glasses, and each had a cynical kind of smugness plastered on their faces that one could only attain through a surplus of money, ego, or prestige. If Mike hadn't been so focused on the man in the suit, he would've rolled his eyes, gaze averted just as fast as he met them.
But he's almost positive it's Will. His pin-straight, light brown hair carefully layers atop itself— much smoother than the bowl cut he'd been rocking throughout junior high and high school— and his stature is about how he remembers him. However, this man holds himself differently. His shoulders are upright and poised, and he laughs with his whole body, motions fluid and easy. He doesn't come off nearly as pretentious as the others around him, but he appears so full of this life that Will seemed to lack when they were kids.
For a moment, Mike begins dismissing his assumption that it was Will— until he turns his head to the side, revealing his profile.
A jolt of fear ripples through Mike and his breath catches in his throat. That rounded nose, downturned, bashful grin that is probably dismissing a compliment tossed his way, and warmly blushed cheeks, as if kissed by the sun…
Oh, no.
No.
That's really him.
Mike struggles to muster even a gasp as he realizes how unprepared he is for this. His throat goes completely dry.
Shit. Shit! Don't turn around. Please don't turn around. What the hell am I doing here? This is so weird and creepy. Why am I doing this?
Mike holds his breath and takes an involuntary step back, like if he makes too much noise or any sudden movements, he'll be caught. His heart pounds in his head; he can't look away now. The urge to bolt for the door before Will can see him desperately wracks his mind, but the idea of Will potentially watching him leave— and with such haste and shame— would make him want to vomit even more.
He would ask himself why meeting an old friend is this difficult for him, but Mike already knows that answer. He's had seven years to answer that question. And he thought with more time, this moment would naturally become easier for him. Clearly, it hasn't.
Mike is standing there for what feels like years, but is really only seconds. And Will is looking to his side, a mere glance away from shattering this moment for Mike.
And Will, laughing, takes a wandering glance around the room.
His eyes skip across Mike's in the way that a stranger's would. Like an awkward moment when you and the guy across the room just happen to make eye contact, so you both look away as fast as possible and play it off like nothing.
Except Mike's completely frozen. He can't look away. And Will isn't just some guy.
For a split second, Will glances away too, but he's stopped in his tracks. He meets Mike's gaze again. Slowly, his eyebrows knit together and the corners of his mouth start to fall.
With the blink of his eyes, the old Will flashes across his face. The Will with a quivering lip that doesn't own beige suits; the Will from Hawkins seven years ago that looks at Mike just like how he does now, with this disappearing and reappearing glint in his eye that Mike never quite figured out; the glint that brought him back here in the first place.
Will mutters something to his group briefly and turns back to Mike, making hesitant steps in his direction. Like he's almost positive it's him, but doesn't want to commit in case it isn't.
Mike's attempt at a deep breath comes out as more of a pained gasp. There's no going back after this point. He sees Will, and he knows Will sees him too. And he's coming towards him now.
As Will slowly approaches, a slight, surprised smile creeps onto his face. This simple expression relieves an aching tension in Mike and even if Will doesn't realize it, it's a gesture that tells him, "I can't believe you're here." Or, at the very least, "I'm not completely appalled by the fact that you'd show your face here." Mike cautiously allows a similar grin to spread to his own face. Though it might look more like fear, rather than disbelief on him. It probably looks way better on Will.
"Mike?" Will asks in disbelief, his mouth agape. The slight grin tugging at the corners of his lips seems to release the tension in Mike's chest.
"Hey. It's been a while," Mike laughs nervously. He isn't sure if a hug or a handshake is more appropriate for the circumstance.
"Uh, yeah, it's been a while. Oh my gosh," Will laughs breathily and hesitates briefly before going in for a hug. The embrace is quick and a little awkward, but for having not seen each other for such a period of time, it's understandable. Arms cautiously form around one another’s torsos, retreating almost just as fast as they connected. "Um… how are you?"
"I'm great. This whole thing is... incredible," Mike starts, grappling for something to say as he reminds himself how to talk again.
"Thank you! Yeah, this is my uh... third... exhibit that I'm hosting I guess? Well, me and some other people, but..." he has a hard time gathering his thoughts. "Sorry, I just- this is kind of crazy to me. How are you here right now?"
"I… drove here," Mike grins.
Suddenly, he wonders what he was so worried about before. Now, he's just talking to his old best friend— right? For the most part. He has small differences that distinguish him from the Will he knew back in '89. He has an off-centered part in his hair, the creases under his eyes and around his mouth are slightly deeper, his jawline is more defined, and he has a piercing in his right ear. This Will looks slightly more tired, but... happier. Busier.
"Well- yeah, no duh," Will would normally play along or give a roll of the eyes, but the moment hardly seems like a laughing matter, at least right now. His jaw is still dropped as he eyes him up and down, making sure he’s truly here right now.
"I saw you were putting this on in an article online. I was planning on doing some job hunting in Chicago anyway, so I thought I'd drop by."
This was mostly the truth. Mike didn't exactly just stumble upon the article— he had to do some searching. And while he had been meaning to visit Chicago for some interviews, it wasn't exactly the leading factor for what brought him to the city that night.
"Oh! How long are you staying?"
"Err.. depends. On how the job search goes."
"Cool," Will nods and grabs Mike's arm.
“Here, lemme introduce you to some of my friends." The slight touch makes Mike jump. He hadn't touched Will in seven years, and this subtlety was way more casual than he had envisioned it being.
"Oh, you don't have t-"
"No, I want to. Come on," he grins reassuringly and lets go. Mike trails behind him, slightly nervous. Not because's he's scared of these people, but moreso because he's scared of embarrassing himself with his lack of art knowledge. In front of both Will and the others.
"Guys! This is Mike, my best friend from high school," Will introduces him to the group.
'Best friend.' Of course they were best friends in high school, but hearing those words come out of Will's mouth still makes Mike feel good. It had been so much time since he saw Will and despite all that they've been through together, Mike still had that twinge of fear that Will forgot about him.
Mike shakes each of their hands as they greet him.
"I've heard a lot about you," one glances between the two with a look of surprise.
"Y-yeah," Will laughs as if he's about to explain the remark, but instead brushes it off.
Huh.
"Well, we're about to head up for the last auction. You guys coming?" A maroon haired woman with glasses asks, and the two look between each other.
"Sure," Will answers for them and flashes a familiar smile.
"What's at the auction?" Mike asks.
"It's more for the... higher class folk here," a man jeers in a pompous tone, and a few chuckle. From afar, he appeared to Mike as the one that would piss him off the most with his sarcastic expression and pretentious velvet suit. But the more each of Will's friends talked, the more he realized how wrong his assumptions were about them all.
"We auction off a few pieces from the more well-known artists. We're obviously not getting any museum pieces, but we look for the names that only the snobs would recognize."
"They like bragging about them to their friends and sounding all niche and smart," another adds.
"Huh. Playing to your audience, I guess," Mike nods.
"Exactly."
As they head upstairs, Mike listens in on each of their conversations, realizing that none of them are actually talking about art like he thought they would be. They are still a little pretentious, just not in the way that he thought. It's clear that they're just starving artists with a passion. Will, included. He has this confidence and charisma in him that he didn't before. It's a shame that the exhibit isn't the best sit-down place to talk, because everything Will says intrigues Mike even more. What happened in those seven years that they didn't talk?
"Will, where's Carlton?" one asks.
"Uh... I'd assume he's already up here?" he responds as they reach the third floor. "Or at least I hope."
Chatter from inside the auction room echoes through the halls even from the stairwell. When they enter, the sheer amount of people is enough to make Mike's head spin.
"Holy shit," he mutters, just barely loud enough for Will to hear over the commotion, and he chuckles. "Did you guys did all of this yourselves?"
"Don't worry. We weren't getting crowds like this until about six months ago," Will scoffs, maintaining a calm demeanor. The group splits up as each person drifts off to introduce themselves to the bidders. Will subtly puts a hand on Mike's arm, signaling him to keep following.
Will leads the two towards the front of the room where it's a little quieter. He finds a round table with an older couple and their faces light up as they approach them.
"Oh, William! How are you?" The woman smiles.
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Barber! I'm great. Thank you for coming," Will shakes their hands. "This is my friend Mike."
"Pleasure to meet you both," Mike shakes their hands with a warm smile.
'Friend.' As in currently friends. That's good. Mike leaves it up to Will to make these decisions on where they are in their relationship. Mike had done so much thinking and speculation over the years— about Will, their friendship, every exchange they shared in Hawkins, and how they'd be interacting now. It's to the point where he can't tell which Will he was talking to: the real Will, or the one he made up in his head. He wishes he could read his mind.
"Do you mind if we sit with you guys?" Will asks, already taking a seat at the table.
"Hello, Mike. And yes, absolutely, we mind! Get out of our sight," Mrs. Barber swats playfully, laughing.
"We were just saying, what a turn-out this is!" Mr. Barber nods.
"Haha, yeah," Will dismisses humbly.
"Yes. Mike, you are very lucky to be friends with such an intelligent, creative man. How do you know each other?" Mrs. Barber raves. Mike looks to Will expecting him to answer, but Will is already looking back at him waiting for a response.
"Oh! Um, we grew up together. School friends," Mike replies dismissively.
It's almost funny to him how all the things that him and Will endured as kids has to be covered up with a label as insignificant as "childhood." They "grew up together." Childhood is nostalgia, comfort, and security; the "easy" part of life. Children shouldn't be fearing for their lives, or having nightmares for years on end, or be fighting... eight foot-tall monsters from wormhole dimensions. Mike and Will might've had things that other children had— science fairs, Christmases, bikes, puberty, high school graduation— but what they ended up with was so much less than a childhood. Sure, they "grew up together". But it was also so much more than that, too.
Mike wonders if Will also thinks about all this as much as he does. He thinks about it so much that it keeps him up at night. He loves all his friends in Hawkins who stayed close to home, but he's missed having a best friend so badly. He desperately misses the feeling of being completely understood by someone who has gone through all that he has, and more. When Will moved away, Mike had no idea how much he'd be losing.
And he didn't ever once admit this to himself as he entered the city, but when he asked himself what he was hoping to accomplish by meeting Will again, he knew a small, weak, muffled part of himself was hoping to get back what he'd lost. He refused to tempt himself with that possible outcome, however. He'd only end up disappointed.
"Mm. Where did you say you grew up?" Mrs. Barber asks.
"Hawkins, Indiana. It's a little nowhere-town," Will dismisses.
"Hey, that's not the town that we were hearing about in the news, was it?" Mr. Barber chimes in, and Mike and Will share a look.
"Yes? Oh, yes! With all the... government hoopla," Mrs. Barber waves her hand.
"Most likely," Mike nods.
"Yes, what was all that about, anyway?" Mrs. Barber wonders.
"Uh... couldn't tell ya," Will shrugs and Mike nods in agreement.
In that moment, a voice booms over the crowd.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. The last auction of the night will begin in just a moment. Thank you for joining us at the Noel-Byers Exhibit," the auctioneer— a young man with short, curly black hair— grins into the microphone before setting it down again.
"Who's the 'Noel' part of 'Noel-Byers'?" Mike leans into Will, in case it was a stupid question.
"Oh, he's the owner of this building. He wouldn't let us use it unless we included his name in the exhibit. And like... I guess he did provide the servers and drinks, but also... come on! Is that not part of the payment?" he scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Oh! And speaking of..." he looks over his shoulder as a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses walks by the table. He makes a subtle gesture to him and takes two glasses from the tray, handing one to Mike. "But yeah. It was a whole process."
"Do you handle the business side as well?"
"No, thankfully. My... partner does."
Partner as in like... work partner? Or relationship partner?
"Thank you all for coming. We kindly ask that you take your seats, as the auction is now commencing," the smooth voice begins. A few others take a seat at their table and two suited men start bringing out the first painting.
The whole auction part couldn't interest Mike any less, but occasionally the two would mutter jokes about the "higher class folk" bidding on the pieces, and stifle laughter through their noses. It reminds Mike of being back in school when they were so close. He's so glad that they can still laugh and chat casually without any awkwardness. Or at least without an overwhelming amount of awkwardness. There was certainly still a wall of unfamiliarity between the two, but every word and glance exchanged seemed to be scraping away at that barrier.
The two had been having such a good time in their little corner of the table that when the auction had ended, they were surprised at how fast it went by.
"What time is it?" Will asks, standing up.
"Ah... 8:53," Mike checks his watch and pushes his own chair in.
"Mm. Time flies," he mutters to himself. He looks around the room to the others they had been talking with other and exchanges a few nods. "Thank goodness I gave all my speeches and at the beginning of this."
"Ends at nine?"
"Yeah... I don't think we'll be leaving for a while, though."
"We?"
Mike watches as the auctioneer approaches from behind Will and puts a hand on his shoulder that makes him jump.
"We're done!" he announces with a tired grin and Will shifts under his touch.
"Oh! Carlton, this is Mike. Mike, this is Carlton. My.. boyfriend."
Oh.
"Huh. Mike as in... the Mike?" Carlton clarifies and goes in for a handshake.
"Yes."
Boyfriend.
"Nice to meet you," Mike smiles.
"Really, the pleasure is all mine. I've heard all about you." Mike still isn't sure how to respond to that statement.
"I feel like I've been hearing that a lot today," he chuckles dryly.
"I'm sure. Well, I've got to make sure all this art is getting to the right cars. I'll run into you later," he touches Will's arm. "It was great to finally meet you, Mike."
Carlton walks off and a brief but loud silence stands between the two of them.
"Well, I gotta start... making my rounds, saying goodbye to people... y'know," Will hints and rubs his eyes.
"Right, right."
"But uh... how long are you in town again?"
"A couple days, maybe."
"I'd like to catch up some time. Uh, what are you doing tomorrow?"
"Maybe... getting dinner with you?" Mike suggests. Will grins.
"I'd like that."
"I'll get reservations then."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, you have a lot going on right now. I got it. What hotel are you staying at? So I can call you."
"Oh- yeah. The Palmer House."
"Palmer House. Cool."
"Well, I'm sorry this was kind of an all-about-me day." Will looks away, slightly embarrassed.
"What? This is literally your exhibit. I came here looking for an all-about-Will day," Mike rolls his eyes playfully and Will snickers.
"Well then I'll be looking forward to tomorrow. I wanna hear all about you," he playfully pushes Mike's shoulder.
"I'll call you. Get some rest tonight," he smirks and begins making his way to the exit.
"Hey, um, I just wanted to say..." Will stops him. "I'm really glad you came today. It's... nice to see you. After all this time."
Mike's smile widens.
"Me too," he nods.
"Goodnight, Mike."
"Night, Will."
Mike feels Will's eyes boring holes into the back of his head as he leaves the room. He wishes he could look at him one last time before leaving, but decides against it.
Mike doesn't allow himself to breathe until he's outside the building, and he moves off to the side to rub his eyes. A million thoughts race through his head.
Boyfriend.
The Mike.
"Nice to see you."
Mike catches a cab back to his own hotel and heads up to his room, which he'd checked into only about a half hour before he headed to the exhibit. Nothing was unpacked except for a shirt or two that he tossed out in his rush to put on his suit. Exhausted, he kicks off his dress shoes, shrugs off his suit jacket, tosses his tie to the side, and collapses onto the bed. The brief silence is interrupted by the whirring of the air conditioner.
Dinner with Will Byers tomorrow...
Even though he was talking to him only a half hour ago, Mike can't believe that he's in contact with Will Byers again. And he's changed so much. He's such an... adult now. Which makes sense of course, but because a highschooler is what Mike remembers Will being the most, it's almost strange seeing him so... commanding. He isn't the scared and passive boy he once was. His face and posture are different too. His holds himself with consideration and comfort, like he knows this is where he's supposed to be. His neck is stronger, his eyebrows bolder, and he has a personal artistic flair that he lacked before. He looks good.
Though, it's not to say that he's a different person now. He still looked at the ground when embarrassed, his eyebrows knit together when he's interested in a conversation, he had the same genuine kindness in his voice that he always did. Above all else, Mike's glad he didn't lose that. He's just grown into himself.
And then there's the... boyfriend situation. The night had been going like a dream for Mike. Everything was going so much better than he thought it would; Will didn't hate him, it wasn't completely awkward, and he wanted to meet up again to talk one-on-one. This was the best case scenario. Everything was great.
And then Will had to drop the b-word. And Mike would be lying if he said it didn't completely sour the rest of that night for him.
From the moment that he purchased the ticket online, he'd been sitting with and ignoring this familiar, lingering feeling that held heavy on his shoulders. A desire he harbored for years and years and years that he hasn't and would never pursue. It was dark and engulfing and all he had to do was listen to it, and he'd ruin his life. But God, sometimes it was so attractive and it whispered to him beautiful things and told him of all that he'd be missing if he didn't just listen for a small moment. But he didn't. He talked and even thought to himself as if he didn't hear this small voice urging him to take what he really wants. But when that dark haired man's arm slithered up Will's shoulder, and that word escaped Will's lips, Mike could no longer pretend he didn't hear and feel that desire envelop him. It made him seethe with jealousy and desire and these feelings were impossible to ignore if he tried.
He knew why he was really there. It was for selfish, sinister reasons and they made him feel so guilty that he decided he wouldn't feel them at all. And until that moment, he was doing a fine job of suppressing those urges and being good. If he told himself that he was there simply to reconnect with a friend, maybe it would come true. And it was. But he wanted and needed so much more with that that he knew he was too late for. Maybe the desire wasn't always so sinister, but he'd lost his chance years ago. I'm too late, he'd hiss back at the dark, enveloping voice. But it told him everything he wanted to hear, and it made him weak.
When Will said that word, something in Mike broke. He got jealous and greedy and confident and he didn't fight it. Carlton seemed like a nice guy, but Mike knew what he really wanted and in that moment, he was determined to take it. He knew what he was doing was unfair and he did it anyway. For a brief moment, he talked to Will in a way he never had, he asked him to dinner, and generously offered to plan it all, knowing he could never refuse. It was an unfair advance on someone he knew wouldn't be able to say no. Because Will can change his hair and hang out with new people and stand all tall and beam a confident, charming smile, but Mike knew him. Even after seven years, some things don't change. Mike knows that. "The Mike." "I've heard all about you." And the way Will shifted nervously when people made these remarks told him all that he needed to know.
Mike couldn't and wouldn't sit with these urges anymore. Maybe if he listened to them all those years ago, when they were still natural and innocent in nature, he wouldn't be feeling this pain now. But he assumed they'd go away. And in waiting, those desires only festered behind the bandages he hid them with and when he peeled back those bandages, they'd eaten away at him. It burned and cried for treatment and it wasn't something he could put on the back burner any longer.
He loved Will in high school, and he still loves Will now. And had he told him this all those years ago, they might've been in a happier place now. But he didn't. And in waiting for that love to dissolve, their lives changed. Or, at least, Will's life changed. And any advance Mike made now would hurt Will so much more.
But nothing could hurt more than the pain Mike feels now. And so he replaces one pain with a shared one.
They would go crazy together.
He stares up at the ceiling, sitting alone with his emotions, and feels no remorse.