Chapter Text
This whole thing could have probably been avoided if Mike, Dustin, and Lucas had never moved into the apartment right across the hall…
Will
｡𖦹°‧
1 year ago…
July 1994
Will met Mike in the summer of '94.
He was carrying groceries, waiting for the elevator to arrive on his floor. Music was softly playing on the ride up.
He had one arm wrapped around a brown bag that was about to rip open. The other arm was carrying a pack of Coke on his hip.
The elevator doors opened, and Will nearly ran into someone carrying a television, blocking the path to his apartment.
“Oof.”
Will stops abruptly.
The stranger holding the TV stumbles forward, nearly dropping it. Catching his balance, he looks up.
Will looks away quickly. But apparently not quick enough.
The stranger goes still. His eyes flicker over Will’s face, like he is looking for something.
Will can feel his pulse in his throat. It's stupid. Nothing even happened. He barely ran into the stranger and looked at him for a second. But somehow, it feels like he's just been exposed, like every secret thought he's tried to swallow down is suddenly obvious to everyone else. He's terrified that the stranger might have seen the way his eyes lingered, even if it was only for a moment, and understood exactly what that meant. So why does it feel like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing?
The stranger squints his eyes, looking at Will up and down, as if he had a thought that occurred to him. As if he did notice exactly where Will’s eyes had been left lingering just a few moments ago.
The moment shatters before either of them can make sense of it as another man, shorter with curly hair, behind him, almost drops a box. He is carrying three boxes stacked on top of each other. Clearly not seeing where he was going, as he almost runs into his friend ahead of him.
The third man, dressed in a dark green tracksuit, was standing a few doors down the hall. As he strained to put the key into the lock, he muttered aloud to himself. Before he could eventually force the door open, a lamp that was awkwardly positioned in his arms tipped toward the floor, but he caught it at the last second.
The man holding the television adjusted his grip, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay," Will states.
Both Will and the stranger he ran into go silent.
The guy was still blocking Will's path.
Will adjusts the grocery bag in his arm. He glances towards his apartment door and back at the stranger, hoping he gets the hint to move.
The guy doesn’t.
The curly-haired boy from earlier peeks his head around his boxes and looks between the two of them. “Hey, you good, man?” He’s looking directly at his friend.
"Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
“What about you, stranger?” The curly-headed boy nods towards Will.
“Oh, I’m fine," Will mumbles.
“Dude,” the curly-haired boy leans back and nudges the guy with the TV with his shoulder, "You almost took him out.”
“I did not!” The television man scoffs. “He bumped into me. If anything, he almost knocked me over.”
The guy with the boxes looks Will up and down. “You know what? You may be right. He's got those broad shoulders and looks like he works out. He could easily knock your tall, lanky ass over.”
Will lets out a snort before he can stop himself.
The tall man simply scoffs at the remark.
"You totally could,” looking at Will and using his head to gesture towards the tall man. “I mean, look at him.” The curly-headed man laughs.
“Hey, I’m right here!”
Will laughs out loud at that.
The guy with the TV whips his head towards Will, looking slightly appalled. “Did you just laugh at me?”
The smile vanishes from Will’s face. He blinks hard, trying to anchor himself against the stranger’s intense stare. He meant to look away, but his eyes betrayed him. His focus dipped, lower, towards the man's lips, then waist, then hands, then—He felt a jolt of alarm and snapped his gaze back up, straight back to the man’s eyes. Hoping the instance went unnoticed.
"What?" Will questions.
“You just laughed at me. I don’t even know who you are.” The tall man uttered.
“I laughed at what he said." Will nods towards the curly-haired guy, almost dropping the Coke balancing on his hip.
"Sure, whatever you say, man." He rolls his eyes, completely dumbfounded. “I still don’t know who the fuck you are.”
Will blinks. Wow, this man is bold. He blocks the entire hallway, almost drops the TV on me, and now is acting as if I insulted him. God. I regret getting off that elevator. I wish I had gotten stuck on it instead.
“Oh, um, okay then. Well, I’m Will. Didn’t realize that your dignity was attached to your TV.”
The stranger stares at Will and he stares right back.
The guy with the boxes groans, “Oh god, you’ve known each other for like ten seconds, and your already arguing.”
"No, we are not,” the TV guy snaps.
“Uh, yeah, basically,” Will declares.
The stranger looks appalled again. He has had enough, it seems. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means you're irritating and annoying.” Will maddeningly remarks.
“You’re the one just fucking standing there and judging me,” the other shoots back.
“I literally said one thing to you.”
"Yeah, my point exactly.”
Will narrows his eyes as the stranger mimics him.
“Whatever, nice to meet you, 'Will.'"
“Sure.”
The stranger immediately rolls his eyes. "Wow, so friendly.”
A slight snicker is heard to the left of Will.
“You almost dropped that TV on me.” Will snaps in utter disbelief.
“You’re the one who ran into me!” The stranger snarls.
“And you’re blocking the entire hallway!” Will snarls back.
“Pfft.”
The guy with the boxes interrupts quickly and tries waving towards Will before things escalate further: "Anyways… this miserable, useless prick is Mike, and I’m Dustin.”
Meanwhile, the third guy had sauntered down the corridor at some point, leaning lazily against the wall. It's obvious he’s been listening to the whole disaster. “And I’m Lucas," he breaks in.
Will tries to point across the hall from their now-open door.
"Look, I’m in apartment 7, right across from you.” Then locking eyes with Mike, a stare dripping with venom. “So can I please get through?”
The eye contact lasts a second too long. Lucas notices this instantly. He looks between Mike and Will. Apparently, something about their interaction made him squint his eyes.
“Hmm. Why do I feel like this might become a thing…” gesturing between the two, "...this whole 'I already hate your guts’ vibe…”
Mike groans, and Will rolls his eyes.
Lucas shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Just saying." With that, he turns on his heel and heads into their new apartment. Dustin follows suit, shutting the door behind them. Mike and Will are left entirely alone, locked in a tense, silent standoff that stretches on for what feels like hours.
They look at each other again.
Mike steps aside, "After you.” He offers an exaggerated bow while still holding the TV.
Will catches the sarcasm instantly, his disgust deepening. He grips his groceries like a weapon and shoves past Mike, refusing to give an inch of space. “Thanks,” he drawls, ensuring the word drips with pure insult. God, I hope I never see his face again.
Mike smirks again.
Will feels a sudden, ugly surge of rage—he loathes that smile, wanting nothing more than to tear it off Mike's punchable face and erase it forever.
Mike doesn't blink. He lets the grin widen, making sure Will reads the unspoken message loud and clear: Keep walking, stay on your side of the hall, and don't ever let me see your face again.
Boy were they wrong.
.. .----. --
The trio that now lived across the hall couldn’t have been more different. Dustin apparently was very friendly and incapable of not speaking to people. He told anyone who would listen that they just moved in. Lucas would chuckle and laugh it off, while Mike never failed to openly groan at each occurrence.
Within the first week, Dustin knew half the people on their floor.
From then on, “running” into each other really did become a thing, unavoidable almost.
It started out small and quiet. An awkward wave in the hall, holding the elevator door, walking out of their apartment at the same time, passing each other on the way to campus down the block from the apartment. Nothing too crazy.
Within two weeks, Dustin knew Will’s roommates.
Will lived with his friends Max and Jane.
It was a few weeks later, three to be exact, when Will came home and saw Dustin sitting at their kitchen counter, eating chips.
“What are you doing here?” Will notes.
Dustin pointed at the kitchen table behind him. “Oh, Lucas is good at math, so he is helping out Jane with her calculus homework.”
"Why?"
"She's failing,” Lucas piped up.
“I am not failing!” Jane exclaimed. "I'm just, you know, struggling with some of the concepts.”
“That’s still failing,” Dustin quipped.
Jane threw her pencil at Dustin's head. He ducked, narrowly missing it.
Will hangs up his backpack onto the coat rack and steps into the living room. He stops short when Mike catches his eye. There he was, leaning forward on the edge of the couch, completely absorbed in a book that just looked wrong in his hands. He stared for a second before raising his brow. “You actually know how to read?”
Mike slowly looked up, offended by the sarcastic remark. "Ugh,” he scoffs.
“What?” Will snickers.
“You always got something dumb to say.”
“Stop doing dumb things.”
“I hate you."
Will smirks. "Good."
Mike shook his head, looking away, and went back to reading.
Will walked away, hiding the pleased look on his face.
This became their thing, the bickering. The need to get the last word in.
How every conversation turned into an argument. Not cruel. But annoying enough. Just sharp enough to get under the other's skin. Every conversation was a challenge to see who would win that round. And yet, now and then, there was an awkward pause—a stutter in the rhythm—when one of them slipped up and let a smile linger or when Will offered Mike half his fries without thinking or when Mike lent Will his hoodie without a joke attached.
Something would slip through, a flash of honest surprise when the other made them laugh, a moment when one would actually listen instead of snap back, or a look that lasted a little too long before they remembered to roll their eyes. Those quiet lapses never lasted long before the familiar friction took over, instantly turning the sweet back to sour and resuming their usual competitive heat. Those moments snuck in between everything but were never spoken about—and neither of them wanted to back down.
It was like a cruel cosmic joke that continuously played on a loop, constantly trapping them in the same room. Constantly ending up in each other's orbits.
During game nights.
During movie nights.
During study sessions.
Especially during parties.
No matter where they went, an empty spot always materialized right beside the other, drawing them together like a magnet. The rest of their friends saw it happening, but nobody ever said anything. Nobody dared to sit in that vacant seat either, subconsciously agreeing to avoid the danger zone at all costs.
It was an unspoken rule no one was willing to cross.
-. --- -
It was late fall when the others had just accepted that they were friends.
They weren’t friends.
Not really anyway. They just happened to always be in each other's proximity.
At least that’s what they told themselves.
Friends didn’t spend this much time annoying each other.
Friends didn't spend the entire night noticing every little thing the other did.
Friends didn’t let every conversation end in ‘I hate you.'
Their friends always were the ones to invite them out, though.
Whether that would be for movie nights, game nights, or parties.
Dustin and Lucas dragged Mike everywhere. While Max and Jane dragged Will everywhere.
This made them see each other an unreasonable amount of times more than the other would have liked, but again, the others thought they were all friends.
During one game night in particular with everyone, Max interrupts their bickering and states, “You know what’s funny?”
“No,” Mike quips.
“You two bicker like an old married couple,” she says, pointing to Mike and Will.
Will chokes on his drink. “What?!”
“No fucking way,” Mike groans.
“You guys argue all the time.”
“We do not!” Mike and Will say at the same time.
They look at each other immediately.
Mike groans louder. Will rolls his eyes.
“You literally argued about what game to play like fifteen minutes ago!”
"He picked the wrong game,” Mike argues.
“Oh, fuck you!” Will snaps.
“Yeah, you would like that, wouldn’t you!”
Will scoffs and flips him off.
“See that?" Max points dramatically. “That right there!!! That is what I am talking about! I swear you guys are flirting."
The room explodes in laughter.
“Noooo, definitely not!” Mike answers too fast.
"Ew, no way!” Will states just as fast, looking away.
Neither noticed how red the other’s ears had gotten.
Max wasn’t wrong. She was never wrong.
Sometime between meeting in the summer and it closing in on the fall, Mike and Will began to notice more things about the other.
Things had shifted, they began to pay attention. Maybe a little bit tooo much.
Mike noticed Will doodling in every notebook and on any piece of paper scraps he could find. Including his notebook.
Will noticed Mike would steal food off of everyone's plates, especially his.
Mike noticed that Will would get quiet when something upset him.
Will noticed that Mike would get bags under his eyes after late-night study sessions.
They noticed the big things.
The little things.
The stupid things.
But they also thought about the things they definitely shouldn’t have been noticing.
Mike thought Will was selfish.
Will thought Mike was obnoxiously loud.
Mike thought Will looked at him like he was a problem he could fix.
Will thought Mike was a player and flirted with everyone.
Mike thought Will was judgmental.
Will thought Mike was ehausting.
Mike thought Will was just the right height to—
Will thought Mike’s hands were—
But somehow they couldn't stop looking for the other whenever they walked into a room. Like their brains knew something they didn’t.
They couldn't stop noticing those things, couldn't stop caring.
This only made them more irritable with each other.
Winter arrived quickly, and the hatred between them grew sharp. Like fangs ready to draw blood and tear them both apart. Each passing day brought words that cut deeper, ensuring more blood was spilled with every bite. Some days, their arguments spilled beyond playful jabs and left a bruise, an actual ache that followed them home. More comments are thrown each other's way or fights that would make their friends go silent. Every interaction, every sarcastic joke, every prod to the other's ego, and every accidental touch was like adding fuel to a fire that grew dangerously fast.
Nothing could extinguish the flame that burned so bright.
Nothing except the party.
--. .- -.-- -.-.--
Mike
Present Day
—
July 6th, 1995
A.V. Club
10:42 p.m.
Henderson
Can you grab chips too?
Sinclair
we already have chips
Henderson
No, we have one open bag of Doritos that are from last weekend.
Plus they are stale.
Sinclair
no they are not they are still good!
Henderson
You’re disgusting. Those are stale as fuck
Wheeler
GUYS!
I am not buying 10 bags of chips again
Henderson
No one said anything about 10 bags, maybe like 5 tho…
Wheeler
Definitely not
Sinclair
grab some alcohol too
Wheeler
I was planning on it.
Henderson
And actual alcohol!!
Wheeler questioned “And actual alcohol!!”
Henderson
Not whatever weird shit Lucas bought last time.
Sinclair
seriously man? it was good!!
Henderson
It tasted like shit dude!
Sinclair
well it was on sale
Wheeler
that makes it worse
Send a picture.
Sinclair
Attachment: 1 image
Wheeler
What the fuck is that?
Sinclair
beer…
Henderson
No it is not.
Sinclair
it said beer on the case
Wheeler
Sure man whatever you say.
I know you were the only one that drank those.
I am getting vodka and real beer.
Henderson
Thank god!!
Thank you thank you thank you.
Sinclair
you guys are so overreacting
fucking jerks 🖕
Wheeler
Anything else I should grab while I'm out?
Henderson
A life
Sinclair laughed at “A life”
Sinclair
a girlfriend
Henderson laughed at “a girlfriend"
Wheeler
Oh fuck you guys
🖕
Wheeler thumbs-downed “A life”
Wheeler thumbs-downed “A girlfriend"
—
Mike shuts off his phone and slides it into his pocket. He shakes off the feeling of how the word ‘girlfriend’ makes him feel.
All he can still think about is that night. Or about that dumb conversation in the hall… Or how, over the last few months, maybe he doesn’t love the way everyone expects him to.
The thought keeps clawing at the back of his mind, refusing to let go. Every time he tries to forget that night, something always brings him right back. It seems to always be about them—their laugh, their eyes, and just the way they walk into a room—dragging Mike right back to the same uncomfortable place. He hates how much he notices. He hates not knowing what it all means, hates the fear curling in his chest that maybe, just maybe, he’s not who he thought he was. The confusion makes him angry, makes him want to lash out at them even more. If he could stop feeling anything at all, maybe things would go back to normal. If he could only just stop thinking about them.
He hates himself for it, and he hates them.
He hasn’t told anyone about that night.
He rolls the cart through the store and motionlessly grabs everything that was asked of him. They are apparently hosting a last-minute party tomorrow (thanks to Dustin and his big mouth) and only have time tonight to grab the essentials needed. Dustin and Lucas were already back at the apartment, and he just so happened to have a tutoring session that ran late at the library, so they asked him to grab everything.
He is exhausted, hungry, and ready to get home. As he rolls his cart to the checkout, something catches his eye. It is a brightly colored flyer that is taped to the register.
STUDENT ART SHOWCASE
He couldn’t care less and almost looks away.
That is, until he sees the name.
His name.
WILL BYERS—featured artist
Mike just stares. Blinks. Anger building.
Of course, it's him. Who else would it fucking be?
The cashier says something he can’t quite hear.
“What?"
The cashier repeats what they said, telling him the total of his purchase.
“Oh.”
He pays and grabs his bags and the case of beer. As he is about to leave, he rips the flyer off the register and storms out of the store. He's about to tear it up but instead quickly just shoves it into one of the bags. Once in the car and on the way back to the apartment, he immediately thinks of the flyer again and the featured artist’s name. He spends the entire car drive thinking about it, about him.
This only makes him angrier.
11:50 p.m.
Mike pulls into the apartment parking lot and grabs the bags and case of beer. He heads into the building and begins the walk to the elevator. That’s when he sees him.
At the far end of the hallway, the doors swing open, and Will walks in. Mike catches sight of him, instantly annoyed by the heavy attitude he carries. He can practically see the smug attitude and entitlement dripping from each step he takes.
He feels his stomach drop, he hates that familiar gut feeling. Something he has been feeling more than usual lately.
As Will begins the walk down the hallway, he glances up to find himself arriving at the elevator doors at the exact same moment as Mike.
They stare at each other.
Will rolls his eyes and scoffs, "You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Mike laughs dryly, “Trust me, I would rather be anywhere else.”
Will presses the button for the elevator.
Mike is already so exhausted and doesn’t want to walk up seven flights of stairs just to avoid being next to Will. Especially since he would have to lug up the heavy case of beer and bags of chips and vodka. So he waits.
The elevator doors open.
“Why does it always have to be him?" Mike scoffs to himself almost loud enough to be heard as he walks in through the open doors. Will looks over to him.
The elevator doors begin to close.
Mike is suddenly reminded of a balcony door closing. Of seeing him leave to get air during one specific game night.
The sound wasn't even similar.
His brain just made the goddamn connection anyway.
Will
Present Day
—
July 6th, 1995
7:15 p.m.
Will’s shoulders are slumped forward as he stands in front of his canvas in the art studio. He's been preparing more pieces for his upcoming art showcase. He was lucky enough to be chosen for it after finishing at the top of his class, let alone as the featured student artist.
Will has been so excited since being picked that he has been to the studio quite often in the last few weeks to finish up some of the projects.
He is currently so absorbed in his new project that he doesn’t hear his phone buzz on the side table. It buzzes again.
July 6
🛹🧇🐇
9:35 p.m.
Max
heyyy
you still coming?
His headphones are in, but he hears a buzz a few hours later. He ignores it. Then again. And again.
July 6
🛹🧇🐇
11:19 p.m.
Jane
Will?
Max
helllooo?
yo you good?
Will
heyy sorry yeah
whats up?
Max
good…where are you?
Will
the art studio why?
Max
…
Will are you serious?!
Will
what?
Jane
Do you know what time it is?
11:27 p.m.
Will
uh 11:27
Jane
You forgot didn’t you?
Will
…
forgot what?
Jane
game night…?
Will
Oh...
Max
you fucking forgot game night
dudee
Will
🫣
Max
we have been waiting for over 2 hours
Jane
actually 2 hours and 27 minutes
Max
we planned for 9 Will…
Will
im so sorry
im the worst
Max
you are correct
Jane
it’s alright we forgive you.
Will
I got distracted...
Max
the second you enter the art studio you always get distracted
Jane
you lose track of time
Max
and this isn’t the first time
Will
but…
Max
no, no but
Will
but i was in the zone
Jane
yeah yeah you say that every time
Will
because its trueee
I was working on my showcase
Jane
well we got your favorite snacks and drinks…
Max
i guess we can save them for you
Will
geez you guys are making me feel worse
Jane
good
Max
you deserve it
Will
ughh im sorrryy
Max
its fine…well not really but its fine
Will
okay okay i get it
i promise next game night drinks on me
Jane
pizza?
Will
yeah sure pizza too
Max
and no art studio that day
Jane
or night!
Will
okayyy deal
Max
lol, screenshotting this for insurance
Will
woow okay
why am I not surprised
you truly are evil
Max
and yet here we are, best friends
Will
unfortunately
Jane
we’ll see you tomorrow morning then okay?
Will
okayyy
Jane
goodnight
Max
yes im going to bed now goodnight
get back here safe!!
Will
thanks i will
night guys!!!
—
11:37 p.m.
“Shit.” Will glances at the time on his phone again.
The studio is empty, he is the only one left. He quickly packs up his things, stuffs his sketchbook into his bag, which apparently holds the card games he packed for game night but forgot about. He moves things aside, shoves the last of his things into the bag, and begins the luckily short walk home.
His hands have paint marks that have now dried over. He ignores it. Will has his headphones in as he walks out into the warm July night and heads home.
11:55 p.m.
Will enters the apartment building through the side door, heading straight for the elevators. As he begins the walk down the hall, he pulls out his phone, pausing his music before sliding off his headphones. He winds the cord around his hand and is about to drop them in his bag when he lifts his eyes. The timing couldn’t be worse.
Wills looks up to find himself arriving at the elevator doors at the exact same moment as Mike. They freeze, instantly locking eyes while the air around them turns toxic.
Will rolls his eyes and scoffs, “You’ve got to be kidding me...”
Of course. Of course, it's him. Out of anyone in this building, it's him.
Mike laughs. “Trust me, I would rather be anywhere else.”
He presses the button for the elevator.
He notices Mike look towards the stairs but doesn’t move. Probably just as exhausted as him and ready to just get home. And rather than avoid each other this time, they both wait.
The elevator doors open.
They both step inside.
Mike says something under his breath. Will looks over to him and then watches the doors as they close, feeling something twist in his chest.
He immediately thinks of another door closing.
The click of a lock. December. Mike gone before he could turn back around and talk. Or that one game night in the hall.
Will swallows hard. Closing his eyes for a moment and then opening them.
The elevator suddenly feels smaller.
The silence is immediate.
Months ago, they would have bickered or said some offhand comment to the other. Now they won’t even look at each other.
He presses floor 7. The elevator begins the climb. Mike sets the case of beer down on the ground.
Second Floor.
Third.
Fourth.
The silence remains.
Mike stares at the floor. Will stares at the doors.
They say nothing.
The elevator suddenly jerks hard. Will stumbles. Mike instantly grabs his arm.
Everything goes dark. Then the emergency lights flicker on. It's a dim glow barely illuminating the small space between them.
Will finally realizes Mike's hand is on his arm.
“Don't touch me.” Will wrenches his arm back with a sharp, disgusted motion.
Mike pulls his hand away as if burned, loathing the sudden, sharp ache of hurt in his chest.
“No, this can’t be happening.”
Mike turns to look at Will, who is staring at the elevator buttons. Mike leans over and presses a random button.
Nothing.
Will finds the emergency call.
It rings.
Then: “Our office is currently closed, service hours are 7am-7pm Monday-Friday.”
The message ends.
They slowly look at each other.
“No way.”
“No.”
They scramble to grab their phones.
11:58 p.m.
"This is fucking great," Mike states.
"Yeah, just great," Will retorts. He stuffs his phone back in his pocket.
“Ugh, I’m gonna be stuck with you for seven hours.”
Silence passes. Mike blinks. Slowly looking over to Will, "Shit, did I say that out loud?”
"Unfortunately," Will replies dryly.
Neither of them says anything. Will lets the word hang there like an accusation, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor of the elevator. Mike clears his throat, a defense mechanism, as he tries to play off the mistake of speaking aloud by pretending Will doesn’t even exist. The elevator felt smaller by the second, trapping them in a cloud of loathing and hatred.
Desperate for a distraction, Mike looks down at his phone again and tries to see if he can text or call anyone. No signal. Great. Hating that he has to break the silence to ask, Mike glances sideways. “You got a signal?”
Will pulls his phone back out and checks his screen. Dead zone. Great. “Nope,” Will mutters, making sure the ‘P’ pops loud enough to get on Mike’s nerves in the small space.
The emergency lights start flickering, they cast a faint glow across Will's face.
Mike hates that he notices. Just like he did that night.
Everything seems to always bring him back to that night.
Back to December 9th, 1994.
—
Mike
｡𖦹°‧
7 Months Ago
It started out as any regular party. Just another Friday night bleeding into the next morning. The party was at Mike, Dustin, and Lucas's place due to its prime location right next to campus. It was only fair, considering Will, Max, and Jane had thrown the last one at their apartment a few weeks back, even though they lived in the same building. The semester had ended, they graduated, and it was time to get drunk and forget about the night.
Except for two people, they would remember that night.
Everything about this party turned out to be different.
Dustin and Lucas had dragged Mike out of his room. Max and Jane had dragged Will across the hall. Some other kids from their classes were there too.
Everyone was drinking and having a good time. The music blasted against the walls while strings of flashing lights cast chaotic colors over a packed dance floor of sweating, dancing people.
Mike was in the kitchen mixing himself a drink when he looked across the room. In the living room, Will was dancing with Max and Jane.
Behind them, a guy was looking at Will, like he was some piece of candy. Mike chuckles to himself. The guy looks fucking desperate. Pathetic, honestly. Trying to get Will's attention. Apparently not the first guy to fling themselves at Will.
He keeps watching. A few moments later, he realizes he’s still watching. He shakes his head and looks away. Who cares? Let the guy embarrass himself.
Then the song shifts into a different tempo. He notices Max and Jane whisper something to Will and head off to the other side of the room. The guy who’d been staring at Will prior weaves through the dancing crowd and finally makes his move. The moment they start talking, Mike rips his eyes away and begins to aggressively pour a heavy amount of vodka into his cup.
Will laughs. Not unusual for him at a party. But for some reason, this one was different.
Mike heard it from across the room. The sound of his laugh cut through everything, even the music. A sudden, strange warmth hits him right in the chest—a bizarre jolt that leaves him completely disoriented, struggling to figure out where that came from.
Mike snaps his eyes up from his cup, his gaze instantly searching for Will. The pair of them have migrated to the far side of the room, still in conversation. The guy says something, gesturing animatedly with his arms, and Will lets out another laugh—a deep, guttural sound that makes Mike pause.
Then, the guy looks down at Will, his expression softening as he reaches out to brush a hand against his arm.
Mike suddenly wants to punch him. It’s ridiculous, he doesn’t even know the guy.
Something twists in his stomach. A sharp tug.
It’s gone as quickly as it came.
Mike frowns. Weird.
He looks away, filling the rest of his cup with some juice and ice.
When he looks back up again, his eye catches Will’s.
Mike holds the eye contact. The party lights flash a vibrant glow of blues and reds across Will’s face. Illuminating his features.
He barely notices when Will starts to dance with the stranger.
Or maybe he does. And that’s why he can’t stop staring.
“I didn’t think Carlton had any flirting skills,” Lucas chuckles to the right of Mike.
Mike looks over at Lucas, breaking eye contact with Will.
“What?”
"Carlton," Lucas points out, "the one dancing with Will. I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“What do you mean?” Mike questions.
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what, Lucas?”
“Carlton was in one of my classes and always asked me about Will. Asked if he was single and if he would be here tonight.”
Mike’s grip tightens around his cup.
“And?”
“I told him, yeah, he should be here and that I was pretty sure he was single.”
“Oh.”
Lucas narrows his eyes at him.
“Why do you care anyway?" Lucas nudges Mike's shoulder and walks away laughing.
“I don’t,” Mike mutters to himself.
He walks into the living room and sits on the couch. He looks up and finds Will almost immediately amongst the chaos. His eyes finding him before he even means to.
Carlton whispers something in Will’s ear. They both laugh. It's the same laugh Will always has.
The one during movie nights when someone on the TV makes a dumb joke.
The one during game nights when Max makes a crazy comment.
The one that, apparently, Mike has heard so many times, he recognizes instantly. Not that he keeps track of anything, really.
His stomach twists again at the thought of Will's laugh.
Stronger this time, like an anchor had been dropped.
What the fuck is happening?
A strong wave of hostility washes over Mike. His gut feeling says he dislikes this guy. He can’t pin down a reason to care. He doesn’t care. He keeps repeating the lie in his head, trying to force it to be true.
Will can obviously talk to whoever he wants. Date whoever he wants. Dance with whoever he wants. They aren’t even friends.
Will annoys him. Will judges him. They hate each other. That's what they did. That’s what made sense. That’s what was normal.
Not whatever his stomach was doing. Not the way he wants this guy Carlton to stop touching Will. He shoves the thoughts away and pretends they are not there. That they’re not his.
He zones back into the suffocating heat of the room as a stray bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck. He aggressively swirls the ice in his cup, watching the liquid slosh against the side just to give his eyes something—anything—to lock onto besides Will. Besides the way Carlton was gripping onto Will’s waist and swaying to the beat of the music.
Faint sounds of ‘Every Breath You Take’ are playing as he sips on his drink.
A few moments later, he looks up. Will was walking toward him. Mike looks in the direction of the dance floor. Carlton is not there. He looks back towards Will.
Will isn’t walking back to Carlton. He comes over to where Mike is on the couch and sits in the empty spot to his right. The spot no one took all night.
“Did you enjoy the show?”
“Huh?” Mike turns his head towards Will as he sits down next to him.
“You were staring,” Will smirks.
"Oh, fuck you, no, I wasn't," Mike quips back. Holding back the blush that is creeping up his neck all of a sudden.
Mike is a little tipsy. It’s getting late in the evening.
“Uh huh, sure.”
“I was not."
"You were watching me dance."
"No."
“You totally were.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Mike, you were.”
“Shut up.”
Will laughs and takes a sip of his own drink.
Mike hates how much he likes that sound, a realization that sends another jolt through him.
“Someone's embarrassed.”
“And someone's annoying.”
“You aren’t denying it,” Will smirks.
“I hate you.” Mike whips his head towards him.
Will is already looking at him.
Neither look away for a moment.
The air feels strange, heavy. Like something is sitting between them, pulling them together.
Like a magnet with opposite poles pulling together, trying to connect.
“Well, are you having a good time then?”
“Why are you suddenly being nice to me?” Mike raises an eyebrow in question.
“I hate you. I was just asking a question, dumb ass." He adjusts his position on the couch.
“So you swear now?”
Will shrugs.
“You never ask questions.”
“You’re a dick, you know that?” Will rolls his eyes.
Mike laughs.
“Shut up." Will nudges his shoulder.
Mike’s heart immediately betrays him. He ignores the feeling.
The party continues around them. People are still talking, dancing, and drinking. Music plays softly, a loud crash comes from the kitchen, and people scramble.
Neither of them moves.
“Jesus Christ,” Mike mutters. “I hope Lucas didn’t break something again.”
“I’m pretty sure that was Dustin.”
“Did I ask?”
“Did I ask?” Will says mockingly. “God, I hate you so much. You are so annoying.”
They both sit in silence for a moment. Sipping on their drinks.
Neither of them remembers when exactly, but at some point their legs end up touching.
Mike is painfully aware of it.
Every time Will shifted. Every time their knees bumped.
Mike tells himself to move. He doesn’t. He’s not sure why.
Jane and Max stopped by at one point and refilled Will’s and Mike’s cups with more alcohol and continued on. Lucas is off attempting a keg stand in the corner, with Dustin holding his legs up.
“Do you always throw parties like this?" Will slurs.
“It’s not my fucking party.” Mike stumbles over his words.
“Well, it’s your fucking apartment.”
Mike lets out a snort, "Yeah, whatever then. Means I have to clean up. So don’t go ‘round making a mess.”
“It’s never my fault, and you know that.”
"Sure, whatever you say, your highness.”
Will huffs out a laugh.
“What’s so funny?
"Nothing... just you.”
"Fuck off," Mike says, taking a sip of his drink. “I can’t stand you.”
“Feelings mutual. You’re different though…than I thought.”
"Wow, okay, rude.”
“Okay, well, you keep taking it the wrong way,” Will exclaims. “I was being nice for once!”
“Well, stop. I don’t like it.”
Will laughs again drunkenly.
That stupid laugh.
They still don’t say anything.
Mike becomes aware that their shoulders are now touching, along with the press of their thighs.
Neither has made any efforts to move away.
They both don’t notice that Carlton keeps glancing over from the other side of the room.
Or that Mike pretends he hasn't noticed every time Carlton looks at Will.
It's now almost 3 in the morning. People are slowly trickling out of the apartment. Max and Jane come from one of the rooms and loom over the two on the couch.
“We are headed back to the apartment. You coming?” Max barely gets out.
Will looks up at them and shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Alright, we’ll see you tomorrow then. Have a good night," Jane states and links arms with Max.
“Night, I’ll see you in the morning!”
"Night, Wheeler,” Max waves.
“Yeah, yeah, you too." Mike barely waves back.
They stumble to the door together. They’ve both had way too much to drink and are not going to remember the night tomorrow.
It’s 3:30 in the morning, and everyone is gone. Dustin and Lucas, it seems, have gone to bed, and now it's just Mike and Will still sitting on the couch.
Will finally sits up and goes to the kitchen to throw away his empty cup. Mike stands up after him and walks over to the balcony doors.
“Want a cigarette?”
Will joins where Mike is standing. He just stares at him for a beat.
He opens the balcony doors and stumbles out.
“Fuck it, why not!" he yells out into the night. “Since you asked so nicely."
“Swearing three times in one night. Wow, I like this new you."
Will's cheeks start to turn a shade of red, not from the cold December air.
“Shut up! And since when do you notice I don’t usually swear?”
Mike’s eyes widen.
Clearing his throat, “I—”
“I’m just messing with you,” Will interrupts.
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, yeah, you would like that, wouldn’t you?" Will laughs, holding onto the railing.
Mike gulps. The air feels tight around him. He has nothing to say back. It gets stuck in his throat.
Will sits down on the balcony floor, legs hanging off the ledge. Mike sits down next to him. Mike lights the cigarette and takes a quick puff, inhaling the smoke.
For a while, they just sit there, not talking. The cold December breeze brushes against their dangling legs. Luckily, it isn’t snowing tonight. The city lights below them are sparkling. New York is always so calm at this time of night. They pass the cigarette back and forth until it's turned to ash. Mike snuffs out the butt on the ashtray and tosses it in the bowl.
Then they start talking about nothing, really.
“You know what’s weird?” Mike slurs a bit, knowing he’ll regret asking in a moment.
Will raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“I never thought we would be ‘friends’ or even hang out after that day in the summer.”
Will laughs, “Oh my god, you’re so right! Me too!”
They are both a bit tipsy.
“Seriously?” Mike raises an eyebrow.
“Duh! You were so annoying that day, I wanted to gouge my eyes out and wished I never got off that elevator."
“I don’t believe you.” He leans back on his elbows, looking out towards the city lights. The cold air sent a chill down his spine.
“Mike, are you serious right now?!”
“I am so serious!”
“You’ve got to be joking! I genuinely thought I’d never see you again after that day.”
Mike pressed a hand to his chest, mocking a gasp so loudly it echoed.
“If Dustin could have only kept his damn mouth shut.” Will rolls his eyes.
Mike smiles despite himself. “God, you really hated me.”
“You hated me too!”
“I did nothing!”
“You almost dropped your TV on me!”
"Well, you fucking laughed at me!” Mike leans over and lightly pushes Will. Not knowing where that confidence came from.
“You deserved it!” Will pushes Mike back on his chest.
Mike chuckles nervously, and Will follows suit.
The air suddenly felt warm, not only from all the mixed drinks they had earlier or from the shared looks they'd had throughout the night. But from the sudden contact. They never did that.
“You know,” Will starts, staring at the city below, "you're kind of an asshole.”
“Only kind of?” Mike laughs.
Will swat at Mike's arm. “I’m trying to be nice.”
“Yeah, sure, like you were earlier on the couch.”
Will smiles. “I was, you were being a jerk.”
"Well, you want to know what I think about you.”
“Not really."
"Well, tough shit."
Will sighs. He's going to regret this later. "Fine, go ahead.”
“I think you still hate me.”
Will blinks. "What?"
“You always look annoyed when I talk or whenever I do anything.”
“That’s because you talk a lot and are a complete asshole."
“So I'm a complete asshole now, not just kind of?” Mike smirks.
Will points at him. “See, asshole."
"I'm serious."
“So am I.”
They both laugh, but it falls short. They don’t look away from each other. Something shifts.
Just long enough for them to realize how close they are sitting again. Like back on that couch.
Then silence.
For a brief moment, something passes between them. Unnamed, unknown. Almost dangerous.
Mike looks away first. Then back again.
Then neither of them moves.
The tension had been building up. It had been there for months. Neither of them had realized it before.
Up until now. This moment.
The alcohol had seemingly opened something that was right in front of them.
Mike then opened his mouth to say something and closed it just as quickly. He opens his mouth again and mumbles something.
“What?”
Mike shakes his head.
It’s something that Will never remembers from that night.
Because all of a sudden, Mike leans forward. The distance closing between them.
And kissed him.
It lasted only a few seconds.
Long enough to alter something between them.
Long enough to possibly ruin everything.
Long enough to taste the cigarette smoke on each other’s lips.
When they pull apart, they both look shocked. Wide-eyed. They are at a loss for words.
Will’s mouth is still parted.
Mike’s heart is beating so fast he thinks Will can hear it.
They don’t say anything.
Mike thinks he should say something. Anything. Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.
Will doesn’t look like he knows what to say either. He just stares.
It’s quiet, the silence stretches between them.
"Oh." Will finally manages.
Voice small and quiet.
Mike swallows.
“Oh,” Mike manages back.
A few minutes go by. They just stare. They don’t know what they are supposed to do next.
Will looks away first.
Mike hates that he does.
Then Will quickly stands up. "Well."
“Yeah.”
"Um..."
"Yeah..."
Will lets out a nervous laugh that dies abruptly. He clears his throat.
Mike doesn’t laugh.
This was a mistake.
The thought hits them at the same time. But for completely different reasons.
Will steps back toward the balcony door. “I should uh...I should go.”
Mike nods quickly. Too quickly even. Like he was waiting for Will to say it.
“Right.”
Will’s stomach drops, his expression changes immediately. Mike sees it. Misreading what it meant.
His own stomach drops. “Right,” he repeats. Mike stands up facing Will.
They don’t move. Time almost stands still.
Then Will turns on his heels, closing the balcony door and quickly walks to the front door.
Mike watches him leave. He wants to say something, but it’s stuck in his throat.
—
Will makes it to the front door before turning around. Mike’s gone.
A door slams shut to his left, the hinges groaning under the quiet of the room. He snaps his head toward the sounds just in time to hear the gravity of the lock clicking into place. Mike locked the door.
Will just blinks. He opens the front door and stares out into the empty hallway before slipping outside. Closing the door quietly behind him, he sags against the frame. He leans his head back against the wood, shutting his eyes as he draws in a long, shaky breath. After a few heavy moments, he forces himself off the wall and crosses the hall to his own apartment.
The moment he’s inside, he runs straight to his room, shutting the door with a sharp, definitive click.
Neither of them sleeps that night.
Present Day
July 7, 1995
12:05 a.m.
“Jesus Christ,” Mike mumbles, thinking back to that night.
“What?” Will looks over to Mike.
Mike just shakes his head and laughs. Humorless.
“Right, all you do is mumble these days.”
“Excuse me?!”
“You fucking heard me!”
"God, have you always been such a brat?!" Mike looks to Will now, who has set his bag down by the elevator doors, opposite of Mike’s groceries, which are slumped over in the corner.
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it.” Will scoffs.
“Why would I talk to you?”
"Because, apparently, you’ve been doing everything but that for the last seven months!”