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The first thing Will woke up to was a flurry of texts from friends and family. There were texts from Joyce and Hopper, Karen and Holly, Jonathan, Nancy. Everyone he knew, all versions of the same thing. Congrats! from Max and Lucas, So happy for you both! from Jane and Andrew, still can’t believe it from Dustin and Olive.
Carefully, he nudged Mike awake, his arm still firmly wrapped around Will’s torso. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to Mike’s forehead.
Mike blinked awake. “Why are you shoving your phone in my face?” he mumbled.
“Look.”
Mike took the phone and scrolled through the texts. “No way. They did?”
Will grinned. “They did.”
Mike laughed and pulled Will on top of him, smiling through a kiss. “I’m still in shock. I didn’t think this would ever happen.
“Me neither.”
Will leaned in to kiss his partner again, only to be interrupted by a voice from their kitchen yelling, “Dads!!”
Will sighed. “Guess she’s awake.”
Mike turned his head to check the alarm clock. “Hey, 9:30. She let us sleep in for once.”
“I’ll go see what she’s up to,” Will said. Mike stretched.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. “But tonight—let’s do something special to celebrate.”
Will pressed one more kiss to Mike’s head before heading out into their kitchen. Sam sat at the table, still in her pajamas, arms crossed and frowning.
“Hey, bug. What are you up to?”
She slouched in her seat. “The cereal’s too high, Dad. I can’t reach it.”
Sure enough, the cereal box had been moved to the top of their fridge. Will picked it up and handed it to his daughter, who immediately started pouring it into the bowl.
“Sam, what do we say when someone does something nice for us?”
“Thank you, Dad,” she said, before returning to her bowl.
The best thing that had ever happened to Will was when Mike walked up to him on the playground almost 40 years ago and asked him if he wanted to be his friend. The second best thing was when Mike said yes to being Will’s boyfriend almost 25 years ago. But the third best thing in Will’s entire life was when they adopted their daughter back in 2008. They had adopted a one-year old baby girl from a foster home out in Queens and named her Samantha Jane Byers-Wheeler. Sam for short.
Now, Sam had grown into an energetic eight year old. Mike and Will liked to joke she was the perfect mix of her dads. She had chestnut brown hair like Will and freckles like Mike, paired with bright blue eyes that were all her own. She loved reading, just like Mike, and drawing, just like Will.
Mike stumbled into the kitchen, planting another kiss on his daughter's head. “Morning, Sammy,” he said.
“Hi Daddy,” she said in return. That’s how it was. Will was “Dad”, Mike was “Daddy”.
He started making some coffee for both him and Will. a basic medium roast they would get from a cafe near the university, the one that they had been going to since their own college days. Will opened the blinds, letting some sunlight flow into their apartment. The horns of the city drifted through the window. Will went to the bathroom while Mike finished up the coffee, emerging to a full cup and a plate of scrambled eggs.
“I was thinking, Will,” Mike said. “Why don’t we go to MoMA today? We haven’t been in a while.”
Will smiled. He did love MoMA. “I would love to, but who would watch Sam?”
“I guess we could see if Meg’s available this early?”
“Or,” Sam interrupted. “I could go with you guys?”
They turned to look at their daughter. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan of art museums. They had brought her to MoMA and The Met and The Guggenheim multiple times. Each time she moped around, saying the art was “boring” and asking to leave. Sam preferred the natural history museum, with its entire floor filled with dinosaurs.
“Sam, bug,” Will said. “You don’t like the art museum."
Sam shrugged. “ I want to today.”
Will looked at Mike, who raised his eyebrow and smiled in return. “If she wants to, I don’t see why not.”
“Yay!” Sam said, dropping her spoon on the floor in her excitement.
—---
One hour later, the Byers-Wheeler family was dressed and out the door. Mike was dressed suspiciously nice for a trip to the art museum, wearing a polo shirt and nice khakis—the things he wore to his book signings or his classes. Will felt significantly underdressed in a simple blue t-shirt and jeans. Sam, the fashionista of the family, had pulled on a red and white striped dress and cowgirl boots.
Mike slipped his hand into Will’s as they walked from their apartment to the subway station. They had been living in Greenwich Village since their college years, but had moved into a larger apartment when they adopted Sam. It was a nice day in June, early enough in the day that New York City wasn’t completely sweltering, but the sun beat down onto the pavement. Chalk drawings from their neighbor’s kids still stained the sidewalk, a spilled ice cream dripping onto the road. Rainbow flags hung from posts and poles—it was pride month, after all. They seemed extra special today.
They got to the subway station and hopped on the D-Line to get to the museum. It was a short ride, and they emerged from the subterranean labyrinth, blinking in the bright sun.
Part of the reason Will chose to go to art school in New York City all those years ago was for the access to the museums. He had been to all of them, but the Museum of Modern Art still remained his favorite. Every year for his birthday, Mike would renew their family membership so they could go whenever they wanted. In fact, the MoMA had been one of their first ever dates—Mike’s idea. They had spent the entire day there, Will telling Mike about all the artworks and artists, Mike listening intensely.
Will loved how brightly lit the museum was, and how vast the collection was. He was always so thankful, so lucky, that some of the best works of art from all over the world were just down the street. He loved Frida Kahlo’s Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair, Jasper Johns’ Flag, Robert Rauschenberg's Canyon. But Claude Monet’s massive painting of water lilies was his favorite. It took up an entire room with how vast it was, the soft dabs of paint even more impressive up close.
The family made their way upstairs, where more works of art awaited them. Twisting sculptures, large paintings with bright colors. Will eagerly read each label. Mike looked at the works for thirty seconds before moving on to the next. Sam sat on the benches, arms crossed. Will stifled a laugh looking at his daughter. She was clearly trying to not be grumpy about their visit—after all, she was the one who insisted on coming with her dads.
“You know, Sam,” he said, crouching down next to her. “It’s okay if museums aren’t your thing.”
She pouted. “But you and Daddy love them. So I want to like them too.”
“Daddy doesn’t really like museums that much. He likes them because I like them.”
She flopped back dramatically onto the bench. “They’re just really boring. But I wanted to come with you. Daddy said today was special.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “Did he, now?”
“Yeah. When you were in the bathroom, he said today is a really special day for your dads. And that you’re celebrating something, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. And that I should be on my best behavior.”
“And that’s why you insisted on coming along, even though you don’t really like museums?”
“I wanted to make sure you had a special day.”
Will could have teared up right there. If you had told him, that version of himself back in the eighties who was so scared of who he was and so sure he would never have a future, that thirty years later he would be sitting in an art museum in the big city, with a daughter he loved so much, that he had with the only boy he would ever love, he would have called you crazy.
“Sam, bug, it’s okay to say no to things. You wouldn’t hurt your dad’s feelings if you wanted to stay home with Meg.”
Mike wandered over, having had his fill of all the paintings in the room. “Hey guys, talking about me?”
Sam giggled. “Maybe.”
Mike sat down next to her. “I hope it’s nice things.”
“The nicest,” said Will. “I think Sam’s feeling a little tired. Why don’t we go to the deli we like and get sandwiches?”
Mike paled. “Don’t you want to see the water lilies? They’re your favorite. You never come here without seeing the water lilies.”
Will chuckled. “Mike, it’s fine. I’ve seen them a hundred times.”
“I’m hungry,” Sam said.
“It’ll be really quick,” Mike said, his eyes pleading.
“I’m very hungry, " Sam said, planting her cowgirl-boot clad feet on the floor of the museum.
“Mike, I don’t know why you’re into water lilies all of a sudden, but we have a daughter to feed.” He stood up, grabbing Mike’s hand to lead him up as well. “Another time, okay?”
Mike sighed. “You know I can’t say no to you.”
Will pressed a quick kiss to Mike’s cheek. It was a testament to how much things had changed since they first moved to NYC in 1989 that Will could do that now—kiss his partner or hold his hand in public—without worrying about getting the wrong attention. And now, with the news…
—---------
After a lunch at the deli near their house, the Byers-Wheelers made it back. Sam immediately headed to her room to play with her toys, Will made a few phone calls, and Mike poured the two of them cans of sparkling water into fancy wine glasses. Neither of them drank alcohol—you couldn’t blame Will, considering his alcoholic father, and Mike did whatever Will did—so they had developed quite the LaCroix addiction over the years.
Will sat next to his partner on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the fancy Noguchi table they had bought a few years ago with the check Will received from illustrating his first comic book. Will had wanted one nice piece of furniture in the apartment that wasn’t from Ikea, and the sleek table immediately caught his eye in a gallery years ago.
“So,” Will said. “I made us some dinner reservations tonight. To celebrate.”
Mike rested his head on Will’s shoulder. “Where at?”
“Keen’s Steakhouse.”
Mike spit out his water. “Holy shit, Will, that place is expensive. And fancy.”
“Well, I know, but I wanted us to really celebrate the news. We can afford it. Plus, I looked it up—they have a pipe smoked by Stephen King on display.”
“Well, you know I can’t say no to anything Stephen King.”
“Plus, I called Meg, and she’s free tonight to babysit.” Meg had been their babysitter since they had adopted Sam. She was in the creative writing class Mike used to teach at NYU (before the sales of his books and Will’s comic book illustrator paychecks were enough to support their family) and had stuck around the city after graduation, working on her M.F.A from Columbia. She was a sweet girl who reminded Will a lot of Nancy—brainy and determined.
“I’ll even spring for an Uber,” Will said. “So we don’t have to take the subway in nice clothes. What do you say?”
Mike kissed him again. Will had lost track of how many times Mike kissed him that day, as was the usual for them. “I think that sounds like a lovely celebration, babe.”
—----
The afternoon rolled on, and Mike and Will took turns getting ready. Mike went first, with Will making Sam’s dinner—chicken nuggets and fries, her favorite. Then Will ducked in, pulling out a nice, sunflower-yellow polo, steel-grey pants, and a shiny black belt, paired with an old pair of doc martins he’d had since college. He splashed his favorite cologne—a lemon and lavender scented one he bought from a boutique in Provincetown last summer—and put on the blue beaded bracelet he had had since 1991. It had been a gift from Mike for their one week anniversary, with Mike wearing a matching yellow one, and the both of them wore it for almost five years before deciding to only wear them on special occasions to preserve them. Now they wore silver promise rings instead, but Mike and Will would still wear their bracelets from time to time. They wore them at every anniversary, every one of their friends weddings, and when they went to bring Sam home.
Will emerged from the bedroom to find Mike sitting next to Sam on the couch, reading her a book. Mike looked up when he heard the door open, and Will’s jaw dropped. Because, damn, Mike looked good.
Black pants just a little tight, a crisp white shirt with a blue tie patterned with little golden moons, a black blazer slung over his shoulder. His reading glasses (which Mike hated, but Will thought were very attractive) were gone for the evening.
God. We've been together for almost twenty-five years and he still takes my breath away.
“Well, I feel a bit underdressed,” WIll finally said.
Mike smiled. “I think you look very pretty,” he said in response.
“I might go and change.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Sam stuck out her tongue. “Yuck,” she said.
The men laughed. “You don’t like seeing your dads’ love each other?” Mike said, holding the now squirming Sam in his lap.
“You guys are gross.”
Will came over and sat next to his daughter. “What are you guys reading?”
Mike held up the book. And Tango Makes Three. “Her favorite.”
The book had been a gift from Nancy when Will and Mike announced they were adopting. They hadn’t thought much of it, thinking it was just a usual cute-animal book, but when they finally read it they cried. A lot. In fact, And Tango Makes Three moved the couple so much they decided to make the nursery penguin-themed. Will had painted penguin murals on the walls, an entire menagerie of stuffed penguins of every species on every surface imaginable.
Sam loved the book, because “Tango has two dads, just like me!” When she was old enough they had read the book to her, using it to explain to her that families came in all shapes and sizes. Some had a mommy and a daddy, or one mommy, or one daddy, or two mommies, or—like Sam and Tango—two daddies. It was another thing that Will and Mike couldn’t believe about the world they lived in. You could just go to the bookstore and buy a book with a same-sex couple, and it wasn’t weird.
Plus, the fact that it took place at the central park zoo just up the road didn’t hurt.
Will looked at the grandfather clock in the living room. 6:20, the clock read.
“Mike, wasn’t Meg supposed to get here at 6:15?”
Mike checked his watch. “Subway’s probably late. Our reservations are at…7:00, right? We have plenty of time.”
The clock ticked, but Meg didn’t arrive. 6:25. Then 6:30. Then 6:45. Mike tried to call Meg, but it went to voicemail.
Finally, at 6:55, Meg knocked on the door. She hurried inside the apartment, face flush with sweat and cocoa-brown hair falling out of her ponytail.
“Mr. Byers, Mr. Wheeler, I am so sorry about the delay, I had a workshop go much later than I thought, and the subway was late, and—”
Mike held up his hands. “Meg, it’s okay. And I’ve told you to call us Mike and Will.”
“You were my teacher, it doesn’t feel right,” she said, heading to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. “Congrats on the good news, by the way. You making plans to celebrate?”
“We made dinner reservations at this nice Steakhouse near MSG,” Will said.
Meg’s eyes bulged. “Oh my God, i’m so sorry, do you think you could still make them?”
Mike checked his watch again. "I think we can. If we hurry.”
—--
Despite hurrying as fast as they could, Mike and Will did not make their dinner reservations. It took forever to find an Uber, and then it dropped them off two blocks in the wrong directions, and by the time Mike and Will finally made it to Keene’s, the hostess told them that their table had been given away.
“We’re only—” Will checked his watch for the umpteenth time that night. “Thirty minutes late. Surely you can squeeze us in?”
“Again, I’m very sorry, but there’s no tables.”
“But we’re celebrating something very important,” Will said, grabbing Mike’s arm. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news?”
“I have, but you are not the only couple celebrating something tonight, and they got here on time.”
“But—”
“Will, babe,” Mike said, gently moving Will’s squeezing hand off his bicep. It’s fine. Let’s just go eat somewhere else.”
“This restaurant looked so good, though.”
“This restaurant,” Mike turned to face the hostess, “is too fancy for me, anyway.”
“You’re dressed fancier than I am.”
“Babe.”
Will sighed. “Fine.”
The couple left the restaurant, standing on the sidewalk again. Mike typed up on his phone. “It’s a bit of a trek, but what if we went to that old pizza truck we liked? The Tuscan Truck?”
“Oh yeah, the one we went to for our twentieth? Because we were late to the restaurant and we lost our reservations for the first time?”
Mike shrugged. “It was pretty good, and would be funny, right? According to their website they’re over at Central Park today.”
Will didn’t want to celebrate at a pizza truck in Central Park, but his stomach grumbled. “Sure. Let’s head over.”
The men took the subway that time—didn’t want to deal with the struggle of finding an uber again—and arrived near the park. They stood in line and ordered two extra-large slices of margarita pizza, walking through the park while eating it. Will always loved central park. It was the site of many a date throughout their relationship, many a family outing. He would go whenever he missed the woods and green spaces of Indiana, a little slice of home in the big city.
They were crossing up near Umpire rock when Will’s stomach startle to gurgle. Just a little bit at first, then a big gurgle. Will gagged.
“Will? Are you alright?” asked Mike, his voice going soft.
“Oh God,” Will stammered. “I’m gonna—”
But he didn’t get to finish that sentence before he ran towards the trash can, puking up the leftover pizza while Mike rubbed his back gently, handing him his blazer to wipe his mouth with.
“I think dairy might not agree with me like it used to,” Will croaked, shoving away the blazer—Will wasn’t going to wipe his mouth with it, he wasn’t an animal.
“Yeah, when was the last time you even had dairy? We’ve been buying almond milk for years.”
“I need to sit down,” Will said, but there was no bench in sight. An entire park, and we can’t find a bench?
Mike grabbed his hand and started leading him over to the playground, walking Will to a swing set. “Better than nothing, right?”
Will sighed and sat down, firmly planting his feet in the mulch to not rattle his already-shaken stomach. Mike took the swing next to him.
“God, I feel bad,” Mike said. “It was my idea.”
“Mike, it’s fine. I didn’t know it would make me sick.”
Mike laughed dryly. “Today has been…well, a day.”
Will laughed as well. “Feels like everything that could go wrong did, right? Missing our reservations, getting sick.”
“Well, one thing went pretty right.”
Will stared out into space. “I’m still not convinced that this whole day wasn’t a dream. That we’ll wake up, and it didn’t happen, and it’s still illegal.”
“But it’s not,” Mike said. “It really happened. We can get married now. As of today, every gay couple in the country can get married.”
“Crazy,” Will said. “The world’s really changed so much from when we grew up, and when we got together, right? I went from being so scared that people would find out I’m gay, to illustrating comic book characters who are gay. From pushing down any feelings I felt for guys to building a life with one, who dedicates all of his books to my life partner, Will.”
“Some things are still the same,” Mike said. “You and I. We’re still the same. We’re still the same two kids who met on a swing set in 1976. The same two kids who met and decided to be friends forever.” He started pumping his feet, swinging back and forth.
“I mean, those kids aren’t really friends anymore, they have a child together—”
“You’re still my friend, Will.” Mike’s curly mop of black hair fluttered in the night breeze. “Just because our friendship has…changed doesn’t mean we’re not still friends. We’re still the same. We’re still those same kids, deep down.”
To illustrate his point and his inner youth, Mike lept off the swings. However, Mike was very much not a tiny kid but a very tall 44-year old man wearing very tight pants. Mike shrieked as he tumbled to the ground, his pants ripping as blood started pouring from his knee.
“Oh fuck, Mike, are you ok?” Will started to get up, but Mike held out his hand.
“Will, just, stay there.”
Confused, Will did.
Mike sighed, pressing his blazer to his knee to staunch the bleeding, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out…something.
Oh my God.
It was a small black box.
“Mike,” Will said, very quietly. He pressed a quick pinch to the inside of his thigh. Like he wasn’t convinced this was real.
“The moment I woke up today, I knew I wanted to do this today. I know this isn’t the best place, but I’m already on my knees, and I think if I have to wait any longer I'm going to puke.
“I bought this—” Mike held up the ring box—”years ago, just in case. And then, you know, it got legalized in New York, but you wanted to wait until it was legal everywhere. So I've kept this in my sock drawer all this time. And God, I was hoping this would be more romantic. I wanted to ask you this back at MoMA, in front of your favorite painting, but life—
“She has a name—”
“Life got in the way.” Mike kept smiling, tears bubbling in the corners of his eyes. “And I know I'm bleeding, and I know your stomach hurts, but this is kind of romantic, right? It’s the swings. Where we met, all those years ago.” Tears were sliding down his cheeks now.
“Will. I told you once that asking you to be my friend was the best thing I've ever done. And I still mean it. Every day I wake up, and you’re beside me. I go to my conferences and my signings, and even though I'm living my dream career, all I can think about is coming home to our family. All of my books, short stories, they’ve always been dedicated to you, even if I didn’t explicitly say it.”
“You never had to,” Will said. “I could always tell.”
“You will always be my greatest inspiration for my writing. Your name will always be my favorite word to say or write. You will always be my greatest reason to get up in the morning, and my least favorite part of going to sleep, because I don’t like being separated from you, even though we literally share a bed.
“I love how creative you are. I love watching you draw and paint and ink. I still have all those binders with every drawing you’ve ever done, even your elementary school ones. I love that I can still recognize your breathing all these years, and I love your laugh, and I love how much you use it. I love watching you teach Sam how to draw. I love how brave you are, and strong, and how you don’t let what we’ve been through ever hold you back. You’re my light, Will. You are the brightest thing in my life. I said once that we would go crazy together. And I know this is so corny, but I want to be crazy forever. With you.
“So. William Jacob Byers. Will you marry me?”
Will started laughing.
Mike frowned. “What’s funny? I’m being very sincere here, Will, I know it’s a little corny—!”
“No, babe, no, that was really sweet, it’s just—”
Will climbed off the swings and got on his knees next to Mike. He reached into his own pants pocket and pulled out a small black box. Mike’s lip trembled.
“You didn’t—”
“I also got this a long time ago, and it’s also been in my sock drawer all these years. I said I wanted to wait until it was legal nationwide because, well, I wanted to be the one to propose, just like I was the one to ask you out. So I planned on surprising you. But then we all got so busy with your books and my drawing, but today, it just feels right. I was going to do it at dinner, next to Stephen King’s pipe, but then we didn’t make it.
“Mike. I've lost track of how many times you’ve saved my life. You’ve never given up on me, ever. You’ve always been my protector, and you’ve always been my muse. Every drawing I ever do has you in the ink and graphite, because I taught myself how to draw by drawing you. There’s a little bit of you in every Will Byers original artwork,” he laughed.
“I’ve always loved you, even since before I knew what love was. I loved you so much I fucking unlocked superpowers. And I never thought you would love me back, but you do. And I get to spend every day of the rest of my life loving you and having you love me and loving our daughter. I love how you write. I love how bright your eyes get when you talk about something you love. I love your dorky little reading glasses, and I love how you still insist on snuggling me to sleep, and I love when you sing old songs from our time under your breath when you clean the house. You’ve been my heart, and you always will be.”
“I know we’ve been through a lot. With the Upside Down, and Vecna, and the Mind Flayer. But I would go through it all again in a heartbeat if it meant we would still be together. We both know other worlds exist, and I can’t imagine a world where we’re not together.”
Will smiled, tears falling down his own face now. “The paladin and the cleric, right?”
“Sorcerer.”
Will laughed. “Paladin and the sorcerer. So, Michael James Wheeler, will you marry me?”
They both looked into each other’s tear stained eyes. Bright green meeting dark brown.
“Yes,” they said in unison.
Grinning so wide now, Mike slid his ring onto Will’s finger and Will slid his ring onto Mike’s. Mike’s ring had a small star in the middle of the band, a blue sapphire embedded in the middle. The ring Will got for Mike had silver heart patterns, a yellow topaz as the centerpiece. Their colors. Just like their bracelets.
Will cupped Mike’s cheeks and pulled him in for the biggest kiss he had given his fiancé (!!!!) all day. Their colognes mixed together, Mike’s blood getting on Will’s pants, but he didn’t care. Because he was kissing the man of his dreams, who he was now going to marry, like actually marry, legally marry because it was finally, finally legal for everyone.
The two men clambered back onto the swingset, their hands pressed tightly together. They would go home and show off their rings to Meg (who they had already decided wordlessly would be one of their bridesmaids), and then tomorrow they would tell Sam, who would squeal with delight. They would call their friends and family—Joyce and Hopper, Karen and Holly, Max and Lucas, Dustin and Olive, Jane and Andrew, Jonathan, Nancy, Robin, Steve—all of whom would cry over the phone and say about damn time, you’re the most in-love couple of anyone we know. The wedding would take place next spring, at a small art museum upstate. Sam would be the flower girl, and Mike and Will would have their first dance to “Lovesong” by The Cure, swaying as Robert Smith sang “Whatever words I say, I will always love you.”
But for now, this moment was just for the two of them to share. A moment they never thought would happen, but was real and tangible and perfect, just like them. Mike pulled his swing set closer to Will, resting his head on his fiancé’s shoulder. Will stared up at the skyline and the endless night stars behind it, a skyline as limitless as the rest of their lives.