Chapter Text
Camp Whispering Pines has been Will’s therapist recommended tactic of “moving on.” Moving on from the upside down, his dad, the nightmares, and lastly (an aspect he kept away from his government assigned therapist) Mike Wheeler.
Now did this plan of spending an entire month, 3 hours away from Hawkins, trying to get over Mike Wheeler go correctly you ask? Well the answer to that question is, when does it ever?
Mike is now lifting Will's bags into his car while grinning, talking excitedly about all the new camp experience he will be able to live for the first time (their childhood leaving little room for normal summer behaviors.) Will doesn’t have the heart to tell him that being a camp counselor may entail a little more than “hanging out with a bunch of teenagers.”
Mike has been different, Will guesses he really meant the promise of staying friends - no best friends - this time. Will guesses that’s the reason mike is looking at him like that, and the reason he started putting wills bags in the car without him asking, and the reason that when Will told him that he was going to Camp Whispering Pines for a month, he got all sad until Will (reluctantly, mind you, because he’s still trying to get over mike!) told him there are still some counselor positions open.
So now its Mike, Will, a few music tapes, and 2 sandwiches Ms. Wheeler packed against the world. They leave together at 8 so they could get there by lunch, but Ms. Wheeler wouldn’t let them leave until she got at least 3 hugs each and a cooler with a sandwich and a coke for each of them.
“Are you ready to go?” Mike asks, already grabbing a coke. Will is looking out of the window of the passenger side, still a little dazed from his previous thread of thoughts and it being way too early for Will's liking. A coke actually doesn’t sound too bad…
A hand suddenly appears in Will's view “Will?” Mike asks, dragging out the “i” into an exasperated tone, only given away by the grin plastered on his face when Will turns to him.
“Yeah? What? Sorry…” Will says, his brain not quite catching up yet. When it finally gets there all he can manage is a weak “yeah, lets go.”
“Ok cool…cool,” Mike says before looking over to will like he was going to say something else before deciding on “Let’s go.” Sparing one more glance toward Will.
Suddenly Mike reaches across Will's chest. Will’s breath hitched at the sudden proximity, unexpected and abrupt. Will’s confusion renders him completely still until the seatbelt above his shoulder is being pulled down and clicked into place.
”Safety first, Byers.” Mike says with a grin, looking quite pleased with himself.
Will let out an “Oh…” before relaxing his muscles and throwing Mike a smile, or at least as much of a smile he could manage, trying to quite the war going on in his mind. “Yeah, thanks.”
What the fuck
What the fuck…
The engine rumbled to life, the clash bleeding through the speakers. Mike pulled out of the driveway with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching blindly for his coke. Will watched as Mike took a sip, his throat moving as he swallowed, and immediately glued his eyes to the window.
This is fine, he told himself. Three hours of The Clash, and Tears Over Fears, then a whole month of campfires and misquotes and nature. A whole month of getting over him.
At some point in the drive he had fallen asleep (yet another thing to work on while away—his sleep schedule.) When he woke up, Mike was pulling into a gas station, a bright neon sign shining against the radiant blue sky.
They both walk in after filling up mikes car, the bell above the door chiming as it swings shut. The gas station is small—a couple of snack aisles, a cooler wall humming along one side, and a counter up front where a girl around their age sits, flipping lazily through a magazine.
she looks up as they enter, her eyes land on Mike immediately. She smiles, setting the magazine down. Her name tag says Jenna.
“Pump 4?” She asks Mike as he walks up.
Mike nods. She punches something into the register. “$23.40.”
Mike pulls out his wallet. Will drifts toward the snack rack, giving Mike and Jenna some space, pretending to not listen while examining a bag of skittles. The fluorescent lights above him buzz softly.
“Where y’all headed?” Jenna says glancing over Mike's shoulder to his very obviously packed car. Will picks up her flirty tone immediately.
”Just camping.” Mike says in a tone that Will didn’t recognize, maybe disinterest?
clearly not derailed she continues “So, hey.” She lowers her voice slightly. “You got a girlfriend?”
Mikes hands pause. Will freezes mid-reach for the Reese's Pieces, suddenly hyper aware of the conversation.
“What?” Mike says.
”A girlfriend?” She repeats, smiling. “‘Cause if you don’t, you should give me your number. I get off at 7.”
A beat. Will’s heart is doing something stupid in his chest. He watches Mike — waiting, dreading, hoping.
Mike lets out a short breath. Almost a laugh, but not quite. Not quite Mike’s laugh. “Uh. Sorry. I’m—“ He glances sideways for a second, almost imperceptibly toward Will's direction. Then back at her “no thank you,” is what he decided on.
She glances in the same direction Mike did then at the floor. “Oh sorry. Here’s your change.” She says, hurriedly handing him his money. “Have fun camping.”
”Thanks.” He mumbled as he turns and heads for the door. As he passes Will, he says, low and quick “you coming?”
Will stood in the aisle stunned for a moment, then followed Mike out sparring a glance toward the girl behind the counter. Half apologetic, half confused. Will knew what type of women that Lucas and Dustin talk about (when Max isn’t around) and she seemed to fit the description. She was brunette, had big blue eyes, and a button nose. Her ears were pierced with a cross around her neck.
All that to say, Will was confused. Confused about why Mike didn’t even seem the slightest bit interested, and why Mike glanced at him before answering.
They slid into the car, and Will buckled his own seatbelt, thank you very much. They were silent, Mike let out a sigh before turning on the car. The engine hums. Mike's hands grip the wheel a second longer than necessary before he shifts into drive. The clash starts back up mid-song, filling the silence.
Neither of them speak for a solid mile.
Will cracks his coke open, the fizz loud in the quiet. He takes a sip, then another, staring at the dashboard like it has the answer to the questions pressing on his skull, begging to be released.
Mike clears his throat. “so.”
”so,” Will echoes, not quite sure what else to say.
”That was weird”
”Weird how?”
Mike shrugs one shoulder, eyes fixed on the road. “I dunno. Just weird.”
Will waits. When Mike doesn’t elaborate, he pushes gently. “She was pretty.”
Mike’s jaw does… something. Maybe a flicker, a clench. “Yeah, I guess.”
”You guess?”
”I mean-“ Mike stops himself with a huff, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. “I didn’t really look that hard.”
Will’s stomach does a slow, uneven roll. He tells himself it's the caffeine. Yeah it's the caffeine on an empty stomach.
They pass a billboard for a diner. Mike's eyes flick to the rearview, then back to the road, then - briefly - to Will.
”What?” Will asks, catching it.
“Nothing.”
”You keep looking at me.”
”Do I?”
Yes. Will doesn’t say it. Instead, he watches the way Mike’s fingers tighten and loosen on the wheel, a restless rhythm.
A few more miles of cornfields and endless sky.
“Can I ask you somthing?” Mike says
Will’s throat goes dry. “Sure”
”Your therapist…” Mike says glancing over at Will's confused expression before continuing “The moving on thing.” Mike says the words carefully like this topic is fragile and minutes away from exploding. “What exactly did she tell you to do?”
Will blinks. “I mean. Just, you know. Move on. Find new things. New experiences. Don’t ‘dwell on the past’.”
“Huh.”
Will turns his head sharply towards Mike at the sound “What does ‘huh’ mean?”
Mike’s quiet for a second. Then: “Sounds like bullshit.”
Will laughs before he can stop himself - a real one, surprised out of him. “What?”
“I’m serious.” Mike says exasperatingly but still with a smile on his face that then turns serious at the next part of his sentence “You can’t just-“ Mike gestures with one hand “Decide to stop feeling something. That’s not how it works.”
The air in the car changes. Gets thinner. Will is suddenly very aware of his own existence.
”And you’re an expert now?” Will asks, aiming for teasing, but failing, and landing somewhere breathless.
Mike is quiet for a long moment. The road stretches ahead, empty and golden in the late-morning sun.
“I know I can’t stop feeling something just because I’m supposed to,” Mike says, his voice lowered. It’s measured like he’s admitting something he didn’t plan to.
He turns his head slowly. Mike is looking straight ahead, but there’s a color high on his cheek bone that wasn’t there before.
”What are you saying?” Will hears someone ask. It must be himself. There was no one else in the car to say it. Still he doesn’t remember forming the words, let alone voicing them.
Mike’s mouth opens. Closes. His knuckles go white on the wheel.
Will's hand is laying on the center console, and goes cold on his can of coke, but he doesn’t notice until Mike is reaching over and taking the can out of his hands. It’s slow and deliberate. When he sets it in the cupholder, Will's throat is tight. He can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t take his eyes off of Mike, his eyes still on the road.
Will finally manages a small “Mike?”
Mike's hand doesn’t retreat from where it landed after he set his coke down. It’s right next to Wills. It’s close enough for Will to feel the heat of it. Then its suddenly on Will’s.
“Your hands were cold.”
Will’s lungs constrict for what feels like the millionth time today.
”Mike?”
”Yeah?”
“Your hand.”
Mike looks down at it, like he forgot it was there. “Oh.” A pause. “Did you want me to move it?”
Will should say yes. The logical part of his brain is screaming yes. That part of his brain was the reason he took a job 3 hours away to try and get over Mike Wheeler. Then again, there’s the other part of his brain that is so deeply in love with mike wheeler. That side is the one responsible for letting Mike come along. It is also the one responsible for the measly “It’s fine.” That comes out of his mouth because he simply cannot say no to him.
Mike's hand relaxes. It makes every nerve in Will's arm light up.
Will spends another moment in shock, looking from Mike to their hands back and forth before relaxing slightly, looking back out onto the unwinding road. Despite all of it, he smiles to himself because 15 year old Will would have loved to be holding Mike's hand (well kinda.) He decided to let that part of himself be greedy, just for a moment.