Work Text:
Will took ten years to understand something that had been right in front of him the entire time.
The afternoon sun streamed through the window of Will’s apartment art studio, bathing the brushes and tools he was cleaning in golden light. It was end-of-the-year cleaning day. Throw out the old, welcome the new, scrub away the dirt for another year. NY never stopped, and every new year seemed to breathe fresh life into the city’s artists.
The radio was tuned to some radio station, playing hit songs. Will only kept it on for the background noise; he had no real interest in listening to his CDs right now. In general, he never cared much for whatever songs were topping the charts.
At the end of some Backstreet Boys song whose name he didn’t know, one of his favorites began to play: Linger by The Cranberries.
And even though he shouldn’t have - not after so many years, so many other romances and crushes - Will found himself thinking about Mike Wheeler again.
Mike, who was still his best friend. Who stood beside him through every achievement, who offered his shoulder for Will to cry on through every defeat. Who made tea and fresh food whenever Will got sick.
Mike, who even after all these years still owned Will’s heart.
Just like in the song, Will wondered: why was he still there? Why did he linger? After all this time, the love should’ve disappeared already, so why wouldn’t Will’s subconscious let go? Why wouldn’t it stop loving Mike?
Will sat down on the couch beneath the window, looking out at the park across the street. It wasn’t even really a park, if he was being honest. More like a small square where people wandered around when they had nothing to do, but not enough time to go to one of the city’s larger parks.
In the distance, near the gazebo, he saw a man kneel in front of a woman and pull a small box from his pocket. He offered her a ring. She startled, pulled him back to his feet, and kissed him passionately - the kind of kiss straight out of a movie.
Will grabbed his sketchbook and made a rough sketch of the scene. Then another, of the couple’s hands - or at least how he imagined them - while the man slipped the ring onto her finger.
His hand drifted automatically to his neck, where a ring hung from a chain. Joyce’s old engagement ring. Will had wanted to keep the jewelry because it was white gold, and because someday he wanted to wear it himself, to give his own engagement more meaning - if he ever got engaged at all.
Will remembered the day he’d asked Joyce and Jim if he could keep the rings. It had been on their wedding day, after the ceremony. They had exchanged their engagement rings for wedding bands, and the old rings had gone back into their little box, eventually ending up in Will’s hands by the end of the night.
Joyce had been so happy when he asked for them, pulling him into a tight hug. Will had seen pride and love in his mother’s smile, and beneath it, words she never said aloud: how proud she was of him, and how she shared the same hope he did - that someday he’d get to marry the person he loved.
Will had only nodded, eyes glossy with tears, and slipped the box into his pocket.
When he sat down with his friends afterwards, Mike immediately asked what Joyce had given him. Will opened the box and showed him, earning a smile from Mike.
Will picked up Hopper’s ring and rolled it between his fingers. Mike reached toward the box, glancing at Will in silent request for permission. Will nodded.
Mike picked up Joyce’s ring, turning it over in his hands as he read the engraving inside - Jim’s name and their engagement date.
"What are you going to do with them?"
Will looked at him, then around at the celebration surrounding them.
"I’m gonna keep them to wear someday."
He let himself imagine a party just like this one. His own wedding.
Mike’s eyes lifted to his face.
"Wear them? But-"
"Yeah, I know. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I’d like to get engaged and married someday."
He smiled faintly, looking down at the ring in his hand.
Mike spoke gently.
"I know someday that’ll be possible, Will. Whether it’s here or somewhere else."
Will only nodded, eyes wet again. Almost absentmindedly, he slipped the ring onto his left hand as if it were a wedding band. It hung a little loose. He laughed and turned toward Mike, intending to ask for Joyce’s ring back so he could put it away.
What he found instead was Mike with the ring on his own left hand, staring fixedly at the finger it adorned.
Will looked at his own hand, then Mike’s, then back at his own again. He hurriedly removed Jim’s ring, dropped it into the box, and tried to get Mike’s attention.
"Mike?"
"Hm?"
A second later, Mike realized he’d been caught. He looked at Will with wide eyes, his face reddening at alarming speed.
"Oh- sorry, sorry, Will. I- I, uh, got distracted."
He quickly removed the ring and set it back in the box.
"They’re really beautiful. Seriously."
Will reached out at the same moment to straighten the ring inside the box, and their hands brushed together.
A shiver climbed up Will’s arm, and if his face had already been warm before, now it was hot enough to fry pancakes on.
Still, he smiled as he adjusted the box and closed it.
"Yeah. Really beautiful. I really hope I get to wear them someday."
Mike’s embarrassed smile haunted Will for weeks afterward. The usually witty, cocky boy completely disarmed by nothing more than slipping a ring onto his finger.
Will had always assumed that reaction was because of the ring itself.
But now, watching the couple outside and listening to the music, ten years of scattered puzzle pieces clicked together inside his head.
Once, five years earlier, while they were waiting in line to enter a university gallery event, Mike had opened his mouth and completely knocked the ground out from under Will.
"Can I ask you something?"
Will looked over at him. Mike was serious, staring at the event poster on the gallery wall with his hands in his pockets.
"Sure. What is it?"
Mike didn’t hesitate.
"When we were younger... did you have a crush on me?"
Will nearly choked on air, his face burning bright red.
"A crush on you? No."
The answer came immediately. His brain fled from the question, scrambling for the most evasive response possible while simultaneously trying to stay calm.
"Why would you ask that now?"
Mike flushed faintly. He nudged the toe of his shoe against the cracks in the sidewalk, trying and failing to look casual.
"Max and Lucas keep insisting you used to like me. And I... I started wondering if it was true, and if I was really that oblivious."
"What-"
Will suddenly wanted to find a steamroller and flatten the trailer Max and Lucas were currently living in their road-trip travels across the country.
"Why are those two so obsessed with thinking I’m into every guy who gets near me?"
Mike flinched. Will saw the hurt taking over Mike’s face.
"No, sorry Mike, I didn’t mean you’re just some random guy, I just-"
Mike laughed awkwardly.
"It’s okay, Will, relax. I get it."
He rested a hand on Will’s shoulder to calm him down.
"It’s fine. I just wanted to know. We’re okay, right? This isn’t gonna make things weird between us?"
"No, no." Will smiled, trying as hard as possible to seem natural. "There’s no way something stupid like that would make things weird between us. You’re my best friend."
Please, please don’t keep talking about this.
Mike looked away toward the endless traffic clogging the streets of NY.
"Good." He nodded once without looking back at Will. "Best friends."
Will would’ve clung to those words, but the line moved forward and it was suddenly their turn.
The truth was, Will had been so panicked over his own internal crisis - thanks to his friends’ big mouths - that he hadn’t noticed the sadness lingering in Mike’s eyes for the rest of the day.
In fact, he’d only noticed it now, years later.
He stood from the couch and crossed the room to an old college photo album. He opened it to a picture from that exact day. There was Mike with an arm slung over Will’s shoulders while Will beamed at the camera. Mike smiled too, but the smile never reached his eyes.
It was convincing enough for anyone who didn’t know him.
But for Will, it was painfully obvious.
He’d hurt Mike that day.
As he flipped through the album, overflowing with moments of the two of them together, a folded piece of paper slipped free.
A letter Mike had written him three years earlier, while spending the winter holidays in Hawkins as Will stayed in Montauk.
"Hi, Will.
I don’t know if I’m still good at writing letters. It feels like my brain switched off the part responsible for productive first-person interactions, and now everything I write sounds weird. I already tried writing this letter three times and I’ve officially given up. If there are mistakes, they’ll just stay there. Mistakes give things charm. Personality.
The house is chaos right now. Nance came back for Christmas carrying an obscene amount of presents for everyone. She’s clearly heading down the path of becoming that cool aunt who shows up for the holidays with the coolest gifts and makes everyone jealous.
This year is my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary, so the house is packed. Remember my tenth birthday? Yeah, it’s basically that entire crowd staying here again. My cousin Jolene asked about you. If you don’t mind, I can give her your phone number so she can gossip with you.
Holly’s huge now. She’s thinking about going to Harvard. Can you imagine that? Our Holly at Harvard? I can’t decide if I’m proud or completely terrified. But I know she can do it. She’s everyone’s favorite now, you should see it. She opens her mouth and the whole house stops to admire her. Me too. It makes my chest ache imagining her living far away from my parents, but she’s always been brave. Braver than me. Way braver than me.
Not all the news is good, though.
When we got here, my mom sat us down in the kitchen and told us my dad has Alzheimer’s. Apparently he’s had it for a while now. It makes him distant sometimes, and he’s starting to forget things, having lapses where it’s like he suddenly becomes young again.
I made a joke to break the tension. Said maybe he’s had it since I was born. Nance reminded me why I don’t make jokes like that anymore (the smack to the back of my head it's hurting as I write).
They miss you and your family. Asked me to remind you to visit as soon as possible.
Oh, and Nance brought back some really cool games from Japan. I think we’ll have plenty to play over the next few months. She also brought magazines with walkthroughs for them.
I went to the cemetery, to visit her. Or, well, her empty grave.
I left flowers, and on your family's behalf too. Forget-me-nots. Felt appropriate.
It still destroys me how unfair it is that we lost her. She had so much life left to live, so many things left to learn. The way she looked at the world was so gentle. I think she learned that from you. She loved people with such honesty, it was impossible not to love her back.
At least that’s one thing I know I’ll never forget: loving everything and everyone with the same strength and tenderness that she, you, and your family taught me.
I walk through town, go to the park, the hill, look at the people, the gardens, the sunsets, and I can’t help feeling an overwhelming love for every tiny piece of this town we fought so hard to save. Everything is still here because of us - but most of all because of you, and because of her.
I promise I’ll keep nurturing that feeling forever, without fear this time.
Love, Mike."
Will still remembered the uncontrollable sobbing that had overtaken him when he read the letter the first time. And the second. And God knew how many times after that, just like now.
Watching Mike grow into someone who knew how to carry grief, longing, and love without shame had been beautiful.
And now, looking back at every detail that made up their lives together, Will could only feel like every coin Mike had ever tossed was a wish, each one endlessly falling into the well that was Will’s mind.
Like the ring that day.
Like the time Mike gave Will his leather jacket so he wouldn’t get soaked and cold.
Like when he bought Will an absurdly expensive set of paints for his birthday and argued until he accepted them.
Like how he cried when he had to move out of their apartment into one across the city because of work - and still pays for half the rent anyway.
Like how he still wrote letters only to Will, talking about life in the new apartment and how nothing ever felt right without him there.
Like how every letter ended with "love, Mike," and melted Will every single time.
The feeling of all the pieces falling into place, of finally seeing the entire puzzle, was terrifying.
It was divine.
It struck Will like lightning, burning through him and warping him and leaving a trail behind. A living vein pulsing through every inch of his body. A scar - enormous, eternal - with Mike’s name winding through every line of it.
Not just his name.
His love.
Mike loved him.
And Will had failed to realize it for so, so long that tears filled his eyes again. He collapsed back onto the couch as the last rays of sunlight disappeared, leaving only the blue haze of twilight behind.
Mike was like oxygen. He filled Will with air, with life, gave him strength to keep moving every day.
And he corroded him too. Oxidized his cells. Consumed him whole.
But Will could never imagine living without him.
Once he finally calmed down and felt his voice steady again, Will picked up the phone and called Mike.
After two rings, he answered.
"Hey, Will!"
Mike spoke, and Will could hear the smile in his voice. He knew Mike would hear his smile as soon as he spoke too.
Will realized they had spent all these years dancing around each other. Trying somehow not to be completely transparent - and failing miserably.
Will was tired of dancing.
It was time for a leap of faith.
"Hey, Mike. Do you wanna go out to dinner with me tonight?"