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It wasn’t a question of if, it was a question of why.
Why, was the question that rattled and bounced off the walls of Mike’s mind.
He was laying down in Will’s bedroom, his head in said boy’s lap. Will’s bedroom was nice. It had pictures of everyone up on the wall, including him. There were a handful of group photos, where Mike was standing somewhere, someone's arm around his shoulder, and a reluctant smile on his face. He was never a big fan of pictures.
When he stared at those old photographs, he felt confused. The people around him, they smiled. They were happy to be there, with him. Mike couldn’t ever imagine being happy with himself. He was almost sure they were lying.
Mike didn’t want everyone to lie to him. Lie when they said they thought he was brave, or strong, or generous. Every piece of praise felt elevating for a second, a second where he simply forgot who he was. He felt brave, strong, generous, just for a second, and then the skin on his bone grew heavier. The weight of it reminded him of who he was, who he was born as, and who he’d always be.
He used to wonder what happened to him. What happened to the brave, strong, courageous, and caring boy that he used to know? Used to be? Then he realized, he never was any of those things. He was the opposite. A coward. Weak. Selfish. When he remembered that was who he was, the love he received turned bitter, fake, because how was he meant to believe that anyone loved him? How was he meant to believe that praise when he saw the devil itself when he looked in the mirror?
Mike didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to live like this. He didn’t want to be someone else, but he didn’t want to be himself. He didn’t think he’d ever be happy, and that thought brought tears to his eyes. He missed when he didn’t matter, when he was younger, and the thought of himself and who he was never crossed his mind.
He missed when he could run around at recess, holding a stick and calling it his sword. Pretending to be a great hero, who could save anyone. He missed being able to put that stick down and not feeling empty, or wrong, or disgusted with who he was after he stopped pretending. He missed being able to go back inside and still feel like someone who deserved to be there.
Mike didn’t want to love himself, because he’d be lying. He’d be lying if he said he loved how he looked, or spoke, or acted. He didn’t love those things, he hated them more than anything in the world.
Mike the Brave. It was a name he made for himself. Well, to be specific, it was the name of the man he wanted to be. Someone fearless, powerful, and smart. Someone who had muscles, who wasn’t lanky and boney had a permanent frown on his face. Someone who had a nice smile, who could really help people. A leader. A hero.
He sniffled, curling further into the soft blankets and pillows. Maybe if he kept his head down long enough, Will wouldn’t notice all of the tears streaming down Mike’s face. Evidently, that wouldn’t be what happened, since Will glanced down at him and took in a sharp breath. Mike didn’t look up to meet his gaze, he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Mike…” Will breathed, sliding a warm hand up and down Mike’s back. The comfort of it caused him to slump further, letting out a sigh, before realizing Will was going to question him. “What’s going on?”
Mike didn’t quite know how to answer that. It felt like nothing, yet everything at the same time. The outside world was insane, and frankly, he’d gone through worse things than feeling lesser than a persona of himself. Despite that, it felt all-consuming. It felt like it was eating him alive. It would be easier to hide from a demogorgon, to shove himself into an empty room or behind something, than to hide from the self-deprecating thoughts that ripped through his mind like paper everyday.
Thought after thought after thought, and Mike didn’t know where to hide from them. Where to avoid them, like he’d managed before. Like how he’d sorted all of his other issues. He just wanted to forget about it, to stop feeling so lost, but when he could barely look in the mirror and see a person, a human, he didn’t expect himself to end up anywhere in the future either. He wished he had more time, but now he was a senior graduating soon. His time being lost was over.
He also wished that the people who love him would give up. Even as he leaned into Will’s warm hand for a moment, rolling around so his head was more comfortably in Will’s lap. Even as he existed with Will, a person whose love he’d treasure forever, he still wished that he’d leave. For his own sake. Because Mike didn’t think Will deserved to be stuck within the walls of Hawkin with him, or wherever Mike would end up going. Will, instead of deserved to grow, to keep creating art.
Through the confusion of it all, Mike still had the question of why. He knew Will loved him, with the way Will’s fingers dragged through the hair on his head, the way Will looked down at him with such concern over a few useless tears. Will loved Mike, and Mike knew that.
He didn’t know why.
So he asked. He closed his eyes, exhaling the question like it was the hardest thing in the world. “Why do you love me?”
It was the scariest question in the world. Asking meant an answer, and an answer meant figuring out if he was even worth anything. Mike would find it hard to believe, if someone told him there were any reasons to love him, but if someone told him that there was no reason, he’d feel even worse. He’d feel like shit regardless, but not knowing was enough to kill him.
It was silent between the two for a moment, with Will’s eyes shifting from slight concern to deep worry. He let out a shaky breath, a bit taken aback by the sudden question. “What?”
Mike felt sick. He wouldn’t say it again, he probably couldn’t if he tried. If he tried to ask the words that could shatter his already broken sense of self-perception. Rather than repeating the question, the thoughts in his head flew out of his mouth.
“You shouldn’t— you shouldn’t love me,” he declared, sitting up. He pushed himself away from Will, towards the corner of the bed, refusing to look the other boy in the eyes. “You don’t want to love me.”
He was sure of it. Will didn’t want this, it was all just circumstance. Some cruel sense of fate twisted Will’s feelings, like karma for something. That was the only reason why Will was in love with him. It had nothing to do with Mike. Will never wanted to want Mike, he just did.
“I don’t understand—?” Will stuttered, and Mike scoffed.
It felt like it was a joke, that Will just had the audacity to look surprised, or scared. That he had the audacity to scoot forward, to reach a hand out like he had a reason to care. He didn’t. He was loving Mike, for no reason. It was just a stupid, temporary feeling. The second someone better walks in, it would be over.
What was the point in being loved if you’re unlovable? How was Mike supposed to be okay with being loved for no reason? Nothing about him was good. It felt like a joke, to be loved. Like the people around him were a joke, or like they were all making one big joke by loving him. Sometimes he wished they’d all leave him alone, for their own sake.
“What’s the point in— in forcing yourself to date me? Is it out of pity? I mean, what the fuck?” Mike spluttered, lifting his hands and tugging at his hair strands with vigour. He squeezed his eyes shut again, tears slipping down his face at a much quicker pace than before. “You shouldn’t want me.”
Will seemed at a loss for words, his mouth open as if he was going to say something, but nothing coming out.
Hesitantly, he reached out, trying to pull Mike’s hands away from his hair. Mike resisted at first, trying to scoot away again, but the wall met his back. After a bit of struggle, Will managed to get Mike’s hands away from his hair, which was now sticking up in all directions. Will placed his own hand in the other boy’s hair, dragging his fingers through it much more softly.
Will was much closer now, and he used his other arm to pull Mike closer, into his chest. Mike almost let himself lean deeper into the touch, almost let himself feel loved for more than a second, but he flinched, sitting up instead.
With nowhere to move, he pushed Will off of him. Will managed to catch himself with his hands, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t caught off guard.
“You can’t do that,” Mike snivelled, wiping his face off with his hands. His tears still persisted, but he tried to clear his face regardless. Will looked beyond confused, but also sad. Mike could puke, knowing that he put that expression on Will’s face. Frustration still flowed through his body, though, and words kept falling out of his mouth. “You can’t make paintings, and hold me, and say all of this— this bullshit. You can’t— you shouldn’t want to do that.”
Mike could tell that he wasn’t making any sense, but he didn’t know how else to say it. How else to say that it hurt to be loved, because it wasn’t what he deserved. How much it hurt to be lied to, or to barely know what the truth was. How it hurt to barely understand his own mind, his own desires.
“What are you talking about? I love you, okay?” Will tried to reassure, scooting forward but keeping his hands off of Mike. Mike didn’t know if he wanted to reach out to Will or to push himself further back into the wall, so he just didn’t do anything but slump down further.
“I know, but why? But why would you want to love me? Why would anyone want to love me?” he questioned, keeping his face pressed into his hands. He probably wasn’t making any coherent sense, but he didn’t know how else to say it. “I mean— I’m an asshole, right? I’m a mess, just look at me.”
“You are not an asshole. You’re one of the most welcoming, generous people I’ve ever met,” Will insisted, shifting around so he was leaning against the wall as well.
Giving into his instinct, Mike leaned his head on Will’s shoulder, pressing his lips together. His hands had fallen into his lap, curling into fists where his nails left red marks on his palms.
“Why do you keep lying to me?” he whispered, and Will shook his head. He reached out, grabbing one of Mike’s hands and holding it in his own.
“I’m not. I promise, I’m not,” Will reiterated, keeping his grip on Mike's hand firm.
“I—” Mike tried to come up with another argument, but Will squeezed his hand once, and he relented. He pressed further into Will’s side, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. He was crying a bit less now, so he felt less guilty about messing up Will’s shirt. Still, he mumbled out an apology for everything else he’d said. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Will readjusting them, turning his back away from the wall so he could wrap his arms around Mike’s waist. “You have nothing to apologize for, okay? I love you because you’re a good person. I wouldn’t be here today, if it weren’t for you. I wouldn’t want to be here without you.”
Mike sniffled into Will’s neck for the next few minutes, trying to get ahold of himself. Will didn’t say anything, he just drew small patterns onto the small of Mike’s back. It took an embarrassingly long time for Mike to realize that Will was writing the words ‘I love you’ into his back, over and over again. When he did, though, he almost started crying again. He managed to hold himself back, though.
The room fell quiet again, except for the soft sounds of both of their breathing. Will had said that he loved Mike because Mike was welcoming, generous, and useful. Will had called Mike a good person, and that’s all he ever wanted, really. It wasn’t like everything was perfect now, but Will’s words had managed to quell the ache in his heart. It felt like he could breathe better, now.