Chapter Text
~
“Will, are you ever going to leave me?”
“If you keep being such an annoying dork, maybe I will-”
“No- no, Will, I’m sorry- I’ll stop being cheesy-“
“Cheesy? Where’d you learn that word from?”
“…From the cheesy shows my dad watches…”
“Okay, okay— To answer your question, Michael, no, I don’t think I will; you know how some spaceships come in sets? Like, there’s this main cabin, and this other tinier ship they send out as a scout sometimes?”
“Hm— Not really, why?”
“Well- I, uh, I think we’re like the spaceship. Maybe sometimes the scout ship has to leave, but it will always come back to the main cabin. My mom says in my drawings that they’re attached at the hip. They can’t spend too much time apart. And that’s what your mom says about us, right? Uh, so-“
“William, you are such a dork.”
“Sh-shut up!”
“Kidding, kidding- Anyways, tell me more about this spaceship-“
~
Will has always gotten things better than Mike. If Mike was sharp, Will would be one of those professional-grade knives that can literally cut through diamonds. (Though Max would very much disagree with that premise; Mike is about as sharp as a lump of clay, she says, but screw her, because that’s not the point). And because Will is Will, he has once again nailed it with his prophecy, all those years ago.
———————————————
August, 1989
August in Hawkins has always been special for Mike. The summery breeze billowed across landscapes, tugging at yellowing leaves. Autumn was seeping in, and this month was the last bit of summer the town will see; it’s bittersweet, but he enjoys it nevertheless.
This August, however, will arguably be the most special one in Mike Wheeler’s eighteen long years on Earth. He was leaving for college in New York, and getting the fuck out of this shitty town. Take that, Vecna, he’d cackled to himself when his acceptance letter had arrived in the mail.
So when he cracks open an eye and realizes, that today is the day the lucky talismans he bought, for good measure, to keep Ted Wheeler from sprinting from his La-Z-Boy at the very last second and holding him hostage in Hawkins, would pay off, he was filled to the brim with glee.
The weight on his arm shifted, and Will Byers, in all his perfection, tilted his face upwards, eyes still scrunched with sleep, and gave Mike the tiniest of smiles. Will Byers, his childhood best friend, his boyfriend- no, not just that- the love of his life, and his college roommate, who has been pretty fucking sad lately, was giving him one of his quiet blessings. Maybe today his luck will turn around after all.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Mike whispered, unable to keep his eyes from darting around Will’s beautiful complexion. He reaches up to brush aside a stray hair. “Hey,” Will mumbles back, the frown on his face still evident from last night, but seeing Mike’s comically wide eyes and chipper smile, he doesn’t manage to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up.
Mike kisses him, right there, full on the lips, practically bursting with emotion. Will kisses back, albeit holding back slightly, but Mike’ll take it.
Bang! Comes a sound from the hallway. Mike jerks away from Will, their fingers unlacing sloppily, and Mike flashes Will an apologetic smile before getting up to check the perimeter.
“Just my sister,” he huffs. Holly should not be allowed near anything, he grumbles to himself, but that’s not his problem. At least not anymore. “Wanna get ready? Today’s-“
“-Finally the day, I know,” Will sits up straight in bed, chuckling.
Mike just grins sheepishly, and takes Will’s hand. “I’m thinking of calling it- Will Byers day,” he tilts his head and waggles his eyebrows at Will. “You know, since what today really means, to me, is the day I get to elope with the one and only Will Byers.”
“You dork,” Will sighs, playfully elbowing Mike’s side as they wander out Mike’s bedroom door. “I already have a day in the year for me, don’t I? My birthday?”
“Come on, what’s the harm in dedicating one more?”
“Well, then, at least make it your namesake too- We can call it- uh- MW day? WM?” Will squints in thought.
“Those are literally my initials,” Mike says flatly.
“Okay..? And is this day not about you?”
“Nope, just you,” Mike scrunches his nose at Will. He resists the urge to stuff his face in Will’s shoulder.
At 12 PM, a good three hours before they were supposed to set off, Mike and Will were by Mike’s dusty old mustang, holding their suitcases, squeezing out apologetic smiles for the Wheelers and getting pulled into monstrous bear hugs by Joyce and Hopper. For a second, in Joyce’s arms, he thinks he sees Will’s face drop and his limbs go slack and he was 11 again, having freshly escaped the Upside Down, and Hawkins was the safe place to be, where the monsters were at bay. He blinked, and then it was gone.
He mumbles goodbyes in his friends’ ears, feeling a stab of guilt when the torrent of hugs stops after Max had given hers. Max worriedly pulls him aside. “She’s watching you, always, Mike, you know that.”
“Yep, I do.” He says, and does not elaborate. He misses El, but that wasn’t the whole story. Not to Max, though; the party doesn’t need to know everything else. “I just- miss her.”
“We all do.” In a rare moment of vulnerability, Max lets a few tears slip. “But- I know that she will march back here from wherever she is herself if she sees you putting off your life for her.”
“I know.” Mike allows himself a small smile, but winces at the fact that he’d been far from putting his life on hold; frankly, it’s been going at 2x speed ever since El… left.
“Go get it, Wheeler,” Max pats him on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Max,” And Mike means it.
They finally climb into the car. Will is teary eyed and sniffling, and Mike offers him his hand. Will grasps his fingers, strong and solid, as they drive off in the distance; Mike looks through the rearview mirror, his boyfriend’s hand in his, a horde of people seeing them off, and he wonders when he’ll get to witness this again. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.
Will, as hesitant as he was when he’d just sat down, was getting comfortable. Seeing Will’s easy smile sprout on his face as Hawkins began to fade, Mike wriggles his fingers from Will’s hold, and turns on the radio. It crackles and whines, and pulls Will’s gaze from the window. His eyes were their prettiest shade of green that only shows when the sunlight pooling in is just right (not that Will’s eyes are any less mesmerizing on any other day), indicative of some light crying but also relief and elation, to some extent. He looks beautiful. He is beautiful, Mike thinks as he bites back a smile and a flush. Will, ever the observer, senses him watching. “Eyes on the road, hun,” He reprimands, not unkindly, as he starts blushing profusely himself.
At the mention of the pet name, Mike stops the car from swerving off the road with a millisecond to spare, and Will lets out a surprised little gasp, then starts heaving with laughter. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.“H-Hey!” Mike tries shooting back, but it comes out all mushy. It’s been a good few weeks since Will had called him that. Good sign, he tells himself earnestly. “Well, I would, but a certain someone is distracting me.”
Will gasps, faking offense: “What?! I would do no such thing.”
Mike rolls his eyes at him, and tunes in to Rockin’ Robin, who’d helpfully promised to begin her podcast late for the two of them, so they can catch her on the car ride to New York. “Hey guys! It’s Rockin’ Robin, and I bet you are missing me a little more than you do on a normal day. But fear not, Robin is here, just- oof- four hours late, because my two little friends, Little Wheeler and Little Byers, have been keeping me. So, without further ado, let’s get into a song I’m dedicating to Mike and Will, ’Should I Stay or Should I Go’.”
Will’s eyes widen in pleasant shock, punching the air and letting out a shriek in sync with the funny little whoop Joe Strummer does right at the beginning of the song, and starts to sing along animatedly, albeit being utterly tone-deaf. Now Mike has a complete collection of Will Byers Singing in his memory, the earliest records being from when they were five, and then he has prepubescent Will with his high-pitched voice, then Will in puberty with a slightly scratchy throat, and today, the newest addition to memory lane is Will’s matured baritone Mike had grown to love so much. It’s oddly endearing to have literally witnessed someone’s voice develop. He loves it. He loves Will.
“Alright, alright,” Mike breathes. Will’s sarcasm and genuine enjoyment of himself, a rarity these days, sends him into psychosis, and he’d be lying if he didn’t love it. “Just- baby?”
“Hm?”
“Look here.” He gestures the to the rearview mirror above the console. Will’s eyes drift over, confused. “Yep- perfect- okay, keep them there, and I will promise to stay on the road.”
Will shifts in his seat, and his eyes lock with Mike’s through the mirror. One pair of dark brown eyes bats back at him, a smile apparent as they slant slightly upwards. He smirks at Mike once he realizes what he’s doing, but he keeps his eyes in place. Mike’s also stay stubbornly glued to the rearview mirror, damn Will’s puppy eyes for keeping him captive. He’s too pretty.
Will gives him a cheeky grin. “Thought we had a compromise,” he murmurs noncommittally, not looking like he was taking his eyes anywhere else either, the adorable hypocrite- “The road, Wheeler.”
“Mhm,” Mike grunts, not moving a muscle. He was staying for every ounce of Will’s gaze.
They stay like this for a while, some casual conversations on books, art, heated debates on the state of the world and stupid shit Mike always wonder why they as a party are so into flowing, Mike inadvertently keeping his thumb over Will’s knuckles, even though he promised to have both hands on the steering wheel. Also not true to his word, Mike’s eyes barely graze the road, thanks to their fixation on Will. That resulted in a few- alright, more than a few- near-death experiences, and definitely more than a few pointed glares from Will.
Within an hour, Will was soundly asleep in the passenger seat, now failing to keep up his end of the compromise, so Mike forgets about eyes on the road or whatever, too, and drinks in Will’s form. He’d traced over his face a million times, but doing it a million and one times was never going to hurt anyway; in the afternoon glow dancing across the windows, Mike tells himself this is it this is it over and over again as light blotches over Will’s- for lack of a better word, for the thousandth time today- beautiful face, thinking just a little about New York, maybe their new apartment, but mostly, Will. And as if on cue, Will smiles in his sleep.
This is it. The best day of Mike Wheeler’s life.
———————————————
Mike takes it back, the bullshit he said about it being the best day of his life. Maybe- maybe that day by itself was a breath of fresh air, but after that it was like his relationship decided it was time to plunge head-first into the icy waters of the Mariana Trench. And one breath cannot- will not- last you that long, especially if you’re sharing it between two people. Mike was suffocating, and he still is. But if somebody gave him a submarine as an out, he won’t take it. Nor will he take all the oxygen for himself, swim up to the surface and save at least one of them. He will sabotage, sink; sabotage, sink. He doesn’t know why.
So there Mike is, laying his miserable and aching back on the stiff mattress he’d picked out himself at home depot. His ribcage was collapsing in on itself- that was why it felt like he’d broken his spine or something- presumably because he’d been crying his lungs out- wait, correction, not out, because god forbid a certain someone one wall away hears him- the whole night, violent sobs he stops before they can escape in an exhale, that are forced to go back down his windpipe and stubbornly stretch his chest until his ribs were sore.
He’d muttered to himself no less that 10 million times “I don’t understand”, because he doesn’t, it was barely a week ago when him and Will were kissing in his mustang and jamming to songs and setting up their lives here in a brand new city. It was barely a week ago when Mike knew what he wanted to do with his life. It feels like a lifetime ago, now, Mike thinks miserably, and as a writer he knows he’s not supposed to talk cliché, but happiness is truly becoming a foreign concept to him. Since the fights started, they’d drowned out all his means of reliving moments in some strange way; Mike knows he was happy, once upon a time on this day, that day, doing this with Will, doing that with Will, as a fact, but he can’t ever really channel the contentment anymore.
Oh. The fights.
~
“Why are you being like this?” Mike was asking through tears.
“Like what, Mike? You- you didn’t want to hold my hand tonight! I- I thought we were already out of that shitty town, and it would be different like you told me it would be- you lied, Mike-“
“Oh, me? I lied?! Might I remind you, that- that- I wanted to, okay? Hold your hand-“
“So then why didn’t you?!”
“I-“
“I can’t do this,” Will whispers, looking like he was about to die. “I’m- sorry, Mike, I am- I’m- going to bed-“
~
His door creaks open. Mike shifts uncomfortably, but makes no effort to look at Will. He was probably looking down at him with his stupid, stupid Byers-Hopper signature glare of disappointment. He is not going to look at Will.
The silence stretches taut for a few seconds, then a minute, and suddenly it’s nearing five minutes since that creaky door opened. It takes all of Mike’s conviction to carefully rotate his shoulders towards the door, and a few years off Mike’s life for him to crane his neck and lock eyes with Will.
Will’s eyes were shiny. His face was puffy.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no no no.
And then he was on his feet, picking up his long limbs along the way, and wrapping his arms around Will. His heart was hammering, and for the first time in Mike Wheeler’s life, he had not a clue what to do. When his parents got angry at him, he could throw a fit. If a demogorgan came his way, he would light a torch to burn it. If his friends were mad, he could argue with them for hours on end. When Will gives him the cold shoulder after a fight, he could cry under his bedroom window until Will peeked his head out, kissed him on the lips and invited him in with a rueful smile. But never, never in all his years, has Will Byers cried in front of him, because of him, or came to him first after a fight. Will was the kind to avoid, elude, and one, come back and fix things when they were ready, or two, let the shit hit the fan and tune it out so he will never have to hear about it again. He goes M.I.A. after a fight. He gets his shit together himself, no matter how sentimental he can get about other things, because god knows Will can be strong when he has to.
And then Will was in his arms, crying harder by the minute, as Mike realizes there could logically not have been anything else that made Will this upset other than the fact that they argued last night, and wants to kill himself. So. Will is coming to him. Crying. What the fuck.
Mike only then realizes he was crying, too, silent tears dripping onto Will’s hair, helpless, sliding across his gaping mouth. He is vaguely reminded of the night years ago when they were escaping the lab, and he had carried Will’s dead weight.
So he tilts Will’s head upwards and kisses him once on the cheek, then twice, and plants a featherlight kiss on his lips, and then again, because that was all he knew to do. Kiss it better and pray was his personal mantra when it came to Will, and it evidently does not work as Will keeps shaking uncontrollably and his tears meet Mike’s nose and lips.
“I’m sorry, I’m- so sorry,” Mike chokes out. I’m sorry and I love you. Will does not respond, but Mike feels him squeezing his hand in saying I know.
Once Will’s crying has subsided to him just hiccuping, Mike leads him by the hand to sit on his bed. “Hey,” He whispers, trying his very best to hold eye contact with Will while holding in the perfidious tears that threaten to spill from his lower eyelid. “Hi.” Will mumbles back, his eyes flying all over the place, lips shaking still; he looked exactly like a bashful and stupid teenager about to confess to a crush, except Will has never been stupid, and his cheeks were colorless. His pupils were concealed under a misty tint. Oh, no. His mom used to joke, “If I wake up one day, and I don’t see the light in that little boy’s eyes, Joyce, I know for sure the world is ending.” Oh, no.
Mike watches Will take five shallow breaths. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like Will was hyperventilating, but Mike knew better; Will was trying not to hyperventilate, and this method was what the two of them had come up with as kids. It worked for the both of them better than anything- scientific, actually, and though Dustin had been adamant in claiming that shallow breaths don’t work- something about sympathy networks?- and suggested both of them “go get actual fucking therapists!” before they fry their respiratory systems from doing it so often, they’ve kept the little rite all these years. It also, endearingly, came with a little chant that Mike knew for sure the Party would make fun of them for until they die; so Mike and Will never do it in front of the others, but when alone, they could holler the chant to no particular melody until their throats burned. Count to five, make me cry, jump in a hive, go for a drive and talk in rhyme, kiss me dry! The chant was totally nonsensical, the shallow breathing didn’t make sense either- well, in Mike’s defense, they were eight and constantly pumped with adrenaline- and that was why it was a total enigma. Nonetheless, Mike couldn’t help but grin at how Will still remembers. He wasn’t doing the chant, but Mike chalks it up to exhaustion and, well- it’s been ten years. Who would remember this kind of stuff?
Will opened his eyes and gave Mike the sweetest smile he thinks anyone on Earth could possibly muster. The corners of his mouth were slightly upturned, his lips pursed, and his eyes drooped languidly. With one final sniffle, Will tugs at Mike’s hand, gesturing for him to scoot up further onto the bed. They settle somewhere in the middle of the mattress, where the springs weren’t as stiff. They sit, criss-crossed, shoulder to shoulder, and Mike finds his way into the crook of Will’s neck, where it always sat. Will didn’t flinch; he instead loops his arm around Mike’s shoulder. What? Mike didn’t know what he was expecting, but- Will should be mad at him, because- who gets yelled at by their boyfriend and welcomes him into their arms still?
Mike disbelievingly cranes his neck upwards to look Will in the eye. “Will,” He tries to apologize. Will looks back at him and stops his incoming word vomit with a sweet kiss. He pulls on Mike’s wrist, again, and their backs hit the mattress with a thud. “Shh,” Will hushes, and holds Mike’s head closer to his own. Mike could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his temple. Mike feels a hand pat rhythmically on his shoulder, and falls dead asleep.
When he wakes up, it is late afternoon. The sky was already starting to dim, but emerging lights atop office buildings and malls keep the skyline stiltedly illuminated. Will was awake- he looked like he never went to sleep; his hair still perfectly intact. When he smiles down at Mike, the mole near his nose on the left moves with his lips. “Hey,” He says, throat hoarse from disuse, and brings his hands up to Mike’s hair to play with his curls. Mike couldn’t breathe. In all his perfection, Will Byers was smiling at the person who broke his heart. “Hi,” He smiles back, because Will was Will and Mike was- the idiot fucking in love with him, in life or in suffocation. “NYC fucking sucks.” What?
Will must’ve thought the same thing, because he hiccups in a surprised laugh. “Wha- Why?”
Mike points at the view outside his window. “Does this look like night to you?”
“Well- if you take out a few buildings and give it a darker backdrop- yeah, honestly, no.”
“It’s- it’s like the people here can’t have enough of day. Look at that- cheap emulation of daylight. It hurts my eyes. Hence why it sucks.” It sucks because ever since we got here everything’s gone to shit, but I can’t say that, so I’m subbing in a lame excuse instead- “Hawkins is better. Night there is authentic.”
“Yeah. Hawkins is better.” Will pauses, thoughtfully, then adds: “‘Where day is day, and night is night-‘“
“‘-And austerity was the way of the world.’” Mike finishes for him. “Volume 4-“
“The Cleric and the Paladin! Oh my god, how did you know-“
“It was our comic issue! How could I forget?”
Will laughs again, his voice an antithesis to the chaotic lightshow outside. This was perhaps the closest they will ever get to feeling like- home, again, listening to Will laugh and talking about comics and slandering skyscrapers. Mike becomes vaguely aware of Will looking at him. He turns, and their eyes meet; he must’ve raised his brows in questioning or done something stupid Will keeps calling him out for, because Will just smiles and tells him, “Just looking.”
Mike needs to hold onto that feeling of having Will back, because Mike Wheeler knows when to hold on, but that realization often comes belated, so he tries, what he knows, could be the last of his luck: “Can we- just talk? About anything?” As much as he feels like the fraudulent NYC skyline for trying to do too little, too late, he decides to forget about it as Will responds with an affirmative nod.
They talk, and talk and talk, and it feels like they’re talking like- there’s no tomorrow. One conversation segues into the next without them taking so much as a breath in between, and it’s sweet and nice, but with each word exchanged, something he would hate to acknowledge becomes clearer.
He’s done Will so wrong. He remembers distinctly one night just a few weeks ago, a very drunk Will who was splayed out on Mike’s lap, talking about very big things for someone who had been giggling uncontrollably at everything in a five-meter radius since they’d plopped down on Mike’s bed. Mike laughs with him, cherry-cheeked himself and looking exceptionally inebriated for a sober person, because- well. Drunk Will was irresistible. Alcohol brings out a side to him that Mike wasn’t privy to sometimes.
Mike had thrown out the question: “What do you want your future to be?” He was half-expecting Will to say “you” amidst a fit of giggles, because drunk Will incidentally was just another name for flirty Will, but Will had blinked a few times and tried his best to gather all the clarity he had left in him before saying, “I want to be happy.” Oh.
Mike’s heart had broken right there. First and foremost because being happy was all Will wanted. Oh, Jesus.
But the most selfish part of him also started to hurt, even though this was about Will, not Mike; Will had been insinuating that the eighteen years Mike had been with him, he’d never once made him happy. He’d wanted to ask, beg and grovel, “Do I make you happy?” But Will had already jumped to another conversation.
He’d vowed then, that he will try his absolute damn best to make Will happy, even if he isn’t Will’s happy. He’d failed at that, too. Even after being given the loudest wake up call one could ever wish for, and that says a lot. He’d made Will everything but happy. And for the sake of his own conscience, Mike Wheeler thinks he deserves to be kicked out of Will’s life.
Once their three-hour tirade had finally tapered off, Mike spares a glance out his window. The sky was midnight blue, and even light pollution bright enough to spot from Mars was not keeping the pitch blackness from shrouding the city.
“Mike? Can I ask you something?” Will whispers, tugging on Mike’s fingers.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever think about the- the end?” There it is. The end.
“What, like hell?”
“Just- the end? However you would define that?”
“Well, if you were talking about hell, we’ve been through that. I don’t think physically it can get any worse. Anything else like- death? Or- the end of something in my life, I guess I’ve not given much thought to, no.” It’s coming so soon I can’t give it much thought, Mike wants to scream.
“What would you do? If the end-“ Will gestures with his hands- “-came?” Oh fuck please don’t do this please don’t do this-
Mike takes a deep breath. “I- You know about Hinduism- or Buddhism? One of those South Asian religions- I can’t remember exactly but- they preach that, essentially universes come in- cycles. So if one cycle ends, there could be another Big Bang, and another universe. So- theoretically, if the end came, I think I’ll sit it out and- keep believing, I guess.” He mumbles, saying the last part mostly to himself.
“You believe in cyclical universes?”
“I’m trying to.” Mike, weirdly enough, wants to cry. “What about you?”
“I think your interpretation makes sense,” Will smiles, gentle and soft. He scoots over to the edge of the bed, and points to the moon, yellow and bright. “I like to think of it as the moon, which also moves in cycles, so I think the sky need not worry about the moon disappearing, for a few days a month. Plus, it’s got all of this- light pollution, to make up for it, right?” Mike can’t help but laugh. How could light pollution ever make up for the moon?!
Will squeezes his arm. Okay, it’s coming. “Mike.”
Mike looks up, and Will’s eyes were glassy. That’s my cue. Will gently places his forehead on Mike’s, and Mike leans into the touch mechanically. Picking apart Will’s thoughts, Mike is able to make out “it’s time for me to go”, but it sounds more like “your reprieve is up”. And then everything dulls as the floorboards creak and carry Will out the door. The moon was gone, shielded behind a tuft of cloud.
———————————————
It’s past midnight when Mike finally forces himself from his bed. He stumbles out for some water, and almost runs into Will. Will. He thinks Will tries to steady him before his legs turn to jelly and he breaks his mug on the floor. He then feels himself walk over to the couch, and hears Will say, “let’s watch a movie.”
It was some romance movie they packed, Mike thinks but isn’t sure. The starting credits play. Then some romantic soundtrack. Then the couple comes on stage. They kiss, Mike thinks. And then they argue, some. Then something knocks the wind from Mike’s lungs.
A guitar plays from the screen, its chords pliant, a melody reverberating. Dum-dum da-dum dum- “Hmm, hmm-hmm-hmm,” Mike finds himself following along. He was a camera shifting in and out of focus. Dum-dum da-dum dum-dum-dum da-dum dum- He blinks in disbelief. Dum-dum da-dum dum-dum-dum da-dum dum- The couple sit on opposite ends of the room. Dum-dum da-dum dum-dum-dum da-dum dum- Mike was also sitting opposite to someone.
~
Every breath you take
His ears fill with New York’s never-dwindling backdrop of traffic. He feels the couch under him sag. His eyes feel like they were burning from staring at a blinding white screen. A light nearby flickers, someone downstairs shouts, and a dust particle lands on his nose. His senses were coming back in overshoot.
And every move you make
He pats around him on the couch. He was all alone. What?
Every bond you break
His eyes locate Will. Will. Sitting across the couch. He was still fully engrossed in the movie. Mike tries to reach out and ask him why are you not sitting next to me? Why are you not looking at me? Why why why why- But he knows he’s not going there.
Every step you take
Will on the playground, first day of kindergarten. Will in the Upside Down. Will at Starcourt. Will in Lenora. Will painting. Will dancing in the dark. Will’s long lashes. Will’s cleric costume. Will’s beautiful mole. Will in Castle Byers. Will, in color, in 3D, walking away from him. And Mike cannot chase after him. He cannot. He doesn’t deserve it.
I'll be watching you
I don’t want to be watching you!! Mike screams.
He was crying. He was crying more than he’d ever done in his entire fucking life. His life, his lifeline was gone. The moon was gone. I stand corrected, his mind whispers, unhelpfully. This is hell. Vecna was nothing.
“Will,” He tries calling out, but he’s sure it comes out as a strangled sob instead. Will, Will, Will.
Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace
I dream at night, I can only see your face
I look around, but it's you I can't replace
I feel so cold, and I long for your embrace
I keep crying, baby, baby please
His ribs were metal, and someone had hit them with a sledgehammer. The impact rang and rang throughout him. He couldn’t feel his torso. In fact, he couldn’t feel anywhere. Tears spilled everywhere. He didn’t even try to be quiet. He lost the fucking love of his life, and his neighbors can deal with it. Will can deal with it.
Footsteps made their way to Mike. The couch sagged, right beside him, and a pair of strong hands pulled him from his fetal position. Will. Mike wrapped his arms around him. He wasn’t going to let go, not even if Will tried to burn his hands with lava. He sobbed into Will’s chest. “Don’t- go-“ He heaved. He has to be selfish, just this once.
“Mike-“ Will tried. “We- You don’t have to do this-“
“No,” Mike hiccupped. He stopped his crying and lifted his head just enough to look at Will, lips pursed in a petulant line, ready to argue like an adult-
Will was biting his lip, brows furrowed trying to keep tears in with no avail. They were already clinging to his eyelashes, silver droplets, tragic but beautiful.
No. Mike’s sobs were coming back and he was crying in the way a heartbroken child lost a dear doll, his lungs spasming for air. “Please don’t ever leave me- Please- Will-“ He holds his hands up to his face. He doesn’t touch Will, because he knows he’s not allowed to. They sit side by side on the couch, and Will stays motionless by his side as Mike cries the rest of his heart out. He stops, pretty soon, because he realizes how much of an idiot he looks like, now. Crying to the person he was supposed to forget. Oh, God. How was he supposed to forget Will?
The room quiets, and Mike feels just sobered up enough to think. And he knows he should be thinking, reflecting, apologizing, but all he could think about was how his and Will’s hands were centimeters apart, but might never touch again. How was he going to do this for- four more years? How is he going to cope for the rest of his life? His person, still there for him, but never in the way that he craves, ever again. A line he’ll never be able to cross. He’ll never be able to get this close to Will again. If Will himself cannot fill in the Will Byers’ shaped void in his heart, who else on this planet can? He is not going to cry.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” The figure sitting by him blurts out. What?
Mike does not believe what he is hearing, but he does not feel in any way relieved. “Wait- no- I’m sorry, Will-“
“It was me, Mike- if we wanted to be mature adults we could pretend to not put any blame but- it was me. I- I messed up.” Will’s tone had a finality to it that told Mike to not contest it anymore. “God, I- I’ve got to be the most stupid person, aren’t I?” He finishes wetly.
“You are not stupid, Will,” Mike says, firmly, because Will isn’t, and god forbid Mike makes him think that way- “I was shitty to you, too, for the record.” And I think I’ll keep being shitty to you for as long as we stay together, because I’m an idiot, Mike thinks miserably. “You-You were right to break it off.” His voice wavers on the last part, because if Mike were to be very honest, he doesn’t know that for sure; but he knows Will, and he trusts Will, and he wants Will to do what’s best for himself. But oh, oh, what about Mike?
Will Byers is the best thing that’s ever happened to Mike. Will loved him, needed him like no one ever could. But none of that matters when Mike, with said best thing in his palm, still decides to break it into a million pieces. For the record, Mike is logical. Will has been acting weirder than usual lately. But Mike, who was supposed to be his happy in this new city where neither of them have anyone else, should have wrapped his arms tighter around Will. Because that’s how loving someone goes. Mike now realizes that being in love with and actually loving Will are very different things. He falls too short on the latter. He’s lost his chance at redemption. He’s lost his person. All he has left are his turbulent feelings that he has to deal with on his own. He did this to himself. He did this to Will. God, how was he going to do this?
Tears burn the back of his throat. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more.
A hand lands on his shoulder. Mike turns his head, a little too swiftly, heart fluttering pathetically, his mind wishfully running through a film reel of the rest of his life with Will, a version of their stupid cursed universe where Mike never had to let Will go. But his eyes meet Will’s, still devastated and boring holes into his skull, and he resignedly packs up the film reel. “For the record, you’re- you’re still my favorite person.” He manages a weak smile.
“And you’re mine,” Mike tries. Why do you have to go, then??
“Hey.” Will whispers, soft and sweet, from beside him. “We-we were good. We had the best times together. You were good. You are good.” He smiles earnestly, lips wobbling slightly, his fingertips just grazing Mike’s.
Mike opens his mouth, and only a sob escapes. If I am good, why do we have to do this??
Will’s last line of defense breaks. He starts sobbing himself, his hands over his face as tears spill through his fingertips. “Oh, ba- Mike- Jesus-“ He’s still not touching Mike. When he removes his hands from his face, he has his eyes firmly shut, his hands balled up into fists. He looked almost- ashamed, like shame was keeping him from doing something he’ll regret.
Mike worms his way up slowly until his head was on Will’s chest. He hugs tight around Will’s middle, and takes deep breaths in, smelling Will’s detergent and feeling his warmth. He musters up all the charm he has in his body and lifts his head, blinking his wet doe eyes at Will; his voice comes out in a tiny exhale: “Hug me?”
Will starts crying harder, wracking sobs that echo the empty expanse of the apartment; Mike had wound him too tight, and he’d snapped. Oh no. Mike almost panics that it didn’t work on Will, but moments later, he feels shaky and unsure hands slowly return the favor, settling on his own back and head, gradually exerting more of a grip on him, until it feels like Will was holding on for dear life. This has always done the trick. Maybe, if he pulls a few more of these dirty tricks, he’ll trick Will into staying. Marooned to him. No. Who else will Mike ever read this well?
Will’s eyes were still shut tight. “You know this isn’t helping, right?”
Mike sniffles. “Yeah.” He presses a kiss to Will’s chest. Dirty trick.
“Will you be okay?”
Mike hums, but makes no answer. He wants to forget about that, for now. Bask in his legitimate love for Will one last time. Getting over Will, being okay, can wait until the next lifetime. It’s not like he can do it in this one, anyway.
Will nudges him gently, prodding him for the answer. Mike wants to lie, and tell him that he’ll make it, so Will would stop worrying and move on with his own life, but he can’t bear to deny him of the one last truth he asks for from Mike.
“…No.”
He feels Will swallow down a sob that still escapes as a whimper.
They hold each other tight for the rest of the night. Mike didn’t dare sleep; in the dim lamplight, Mike watches as Will’s rapid breaths slip into sleepy rises and falls of his chest, watches as he jolts in his sleep and rolls over, watches how his hair begins to get rumpled everywhere. He watches with a desperation he’d not felt since Will had first gone missing. Will was gone, for good, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
By dawn, Mike falls asleep with his head draped across Will’s lap. When he wakes, Will is gone.