Archive of Our Own

Mike didn’t really know what to expect when he woke up this morning. Morning light poured in from the sheer curtains of his small but homey studio apartment, stinging his eyes with exasperation. Sitting up, he glanced at the alarm clock. 6:24 am. Oh shit, he was already late and he cannot be late, especially today.

MEOWWWWURRR

Mike grumbled and got out of bed. “I’m going to feed you, Arthur. I swear just give me a minute.”

MREOOOOOWUUUURRRRR

Arthur, Mike’s orange tabby cat was perched on his dresser, looking like he was just about to pounce on him if Mike didn’t get out of bed that second. Padding into his kitchen, Mike portioned out a dish of wet food, and set it down in front of Arthur, giving him a little scritch on his head to which Arthur meowed happily in response.

Forgoing coffee and a real breakfast, he quickly took a shower and skipped his usual morning shave. Shoving himself into a pair of dark wash jeans and light blue button up, he quickly tossed his brown leather work bag and his beloved gray tweed blazer over his arm and ran out into the streets of New York City. 

Mike hurriedly walked down the stairs into the New York subway, nearly tripping over a homeless man. The man frowned at him and Mike immediately felt guilty. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a few coins of loose change and tossed them into the cup by the man’s feet before running off again to catch the G-train before it left the station.

Finally making it to John Marshall Middle School, situated in Greenwich Village, Mike made his way quickly to the teacher’s lounge. 

“Hey, look who made it!” crowed Valerie Richards, one of his fellow English and Language Arts department teachers. Mike shot her a dirty look, setting his stuff down at the place next to her at the table.

Harvey Williams, the art teacher, laughed loudly. “Val, stop teasing him.” Valarie stuck out her tongue and slumped in her chair fake-pouting. Harvey rolled his eyes and turned to Mike. “You're fine, Mike. Sit down and relax before we have to take a hundred uninterested kids to an art museum.” Mike gladly took his suggestion, sitting down and taking a moment to breathe. 

Ernesto Sandoval, one of the history teachers, walked over slowly to the three of them with two cups of coffee in his hands. Setting one down in front of Mike, who thanked him gratefully, Ernesto settled into the fourth seat of their table, completing their little friend group. 

Mike met Harvey, and Ernesto his very first year teaching at John Marshall Middle School and Val, four years before that at NYU. They were all lumped together as new teachers and through trauma bonding over New York City’s horrible public school system, they became close friends. It also helped that all four of them were as gay as a drag queen in Boystown, Chicago. Val lived with her girlfriend, Claire, who was a nurse at Mount Sinai Hospital. Harvey did costuming on the side for drag queens. And Ernesto currently had a long distance flirtation with a Swedish guy he met randomly one night in their favorite gay bar. 

As for Mike…

He was single. Happily, mind you. Coming to terms with being queer was a long and tenuous process for Mike, something he’d rather not repeat again. He’d been on a few dates here and there, but deep down Mike knew that nobody would compare to who he actually wanted. 

But Will Byers hasn’t spoken to him in years and Mike isn’t sure where to start.

Taking a long sip of coffee, Mike tuned back into the conversation his friends were having. Val was waving her hands around wildly, recounting a story from the day before. “Then I said, ‘why are you blaming me? The principal confiscated your illegal firecrackers, not me.” 

Ernesto snorted. “Why does a middle schooler have firecrackers?” 

“Believe me, if you knew him, you would understand.” 

The bell rang, signalling that all of them should get back to their classroom for homeroom. Pushing in their chairs, Harvey tapped Mike on the shoulder. “During lunch, remind me to tell you about my new neighbor. I met him last night and I’m like 90% percent sure he’s one of us.” 

Mike slung his bag over his shoulder. “Harv, you think every person who is just a little expressive is ‘one of us.’” They all began following the mass of exhausted and crabby teachers out into the hall. 

“Mike, I’m telling you.” Harvey leaned a little closer. “He had a Bowie poster framed in his hallway.” 

Mike raised an eyebrow in response. “And what about Mr. Simons who just happened to have an Elton John songbook and lives alone.” 

“That was an honest mistake and you know it.” 

Mike and Harvey reached the point where the art wing broke off from the main hallway. Harvey waved goodbye, calling over his shoulder, “Remind me!”

“Harvey trying to set you up with someone again?” Val asked, taking a few quick steps to catch up with him. “I can tell him to stop if it’s making you uncomfortable.” 

Harvey, though very well-meaning with his intentions, somehow seemed to get it in his head that Mike needed to be with someone to be completely happy. Mike was okay with the occasional date, he liked to get out of his apartment, but recently Harvey’s seemed to have doubled his efforts into finding Mike somebody. 

“I’m a big boy, Val,” Mike joked, dismissing her concern. “I can tell Harv no.” 

Val pursed her pink-painted lips tightly, most likely holding back a snarky remark. They stopped at their classroom doors, conveniently right next to each other. “Alright, Wheeler. I’ll drop it.” She held her fingers up in a mock salute. “See you after homeroom.”

Mike returned the gesture and bent over to unlock his classroom with the keys on his lanyard. Opening the door, he flicked on one of the light switches, using both gave him a headache. Rounding his desk, he plopped his bag and jacket down on his chair.

Mike liked his classroom. It wasn’t very big, but it was his. Bulletin boards covered every wall except the one that held his whiteboard. Tons and tons of student work were hung up. Mike especially liked the project his seventh grade class did designing their own utopia based off the book, The Giver. 

After a long battle with the administration, he had finally gotten the round tables he wanted to encourage group work and conversation just last year. Mike had assigned every table a knight from Arthur’s round table and they could “compete” for points by answering questions to win the sword in the stone, or a paper mache rock with a prop sword that he enlisted Harvey’s help to make to host on their table for a week. Right now the sword was sitting on Sir Percival’s table but Sir Mordred’s table has been plotting to take it back. 

The bell rang again, notifying Mike that the security officers have opened the doors and students will begin filing into his classroom for homeroom. Mike’s homeroom was currently in eighth grade and an opinionated and rambunctious group of students, all of them reminding Mike a little bit about the Party when they were their age. 

Shuffling around some homeworks that he keeps forgetting to grade, Mike cleared a spot to sit on his desk and greet his students. 

“Morning, Mr. Wheeler,” Devon said, entering the classroom and taking a seat at the Sir Lancelot table. 

“Good morning, Devon,” Mike greeted, taking a sip of his coffee. “How was your weekend?” 

“Good!” His student smiled, taking out his notebook from his bag. “Pa took me with him to a few calls.” Devon’s dad was a locksmith who Mike has called upon numerous times after forgetting his keys in his apartment. “Could you help me with this math problem? Mrs. Phillips didn’t really explain it well enough.” 

“Yeah, bud,” Mike motioned for him to hand over the notebook. He glanced over it. “Ah, Pythagorean Theorem.” He hopped off his desk and headed towards the whiteboard. Uncapping a blue marker, he drew a right triangle. “So you understand what a right triangle is, right?” Devon nodded. Mike scribbled the Pythagorean Theorem to the side of the triangle. “Each side of the triangle has a letter assigned to it. C is typically the longest side, across from the right angle.”

The door opened and Aaron walked in. “Ew,” his face scrunched up in disgust. “We’re doing math? On a field trip day?” 

“Yep!” Mike replied. “Wanna join?” 

Aaron walked across the room and plopped his backpack on the Sir Galahad table. “Nah, you have fun with that though.” Devon shrugged and Mike continued on with his mini lesson.

More kids filed in, the tables slowly filling up and chattering echoing across the room. Devon, now slowly starting to get it, stood at the whiteboard doing a few practice problems that Mike set up for him while Mike grabbed his clipboard for attendance. Going through his list of names, he put checkmarks beside the students who were here, and dashes next to students who were absent.

Downing the rest of his coffee, Mike cleared his throat. “Hear ye, hear ye!” His students, recognizing the attention grabber, quieted down and turned their heads towards Mike. 

“So,” he clasped his hands together, “field trip today.” A little round of cheers echoed through the room. “While we’re there we’re going to be on our best behavior. What does that mean?” The class was silent. Mike mentally sighed. “C’mon anyone?” 

Emily slowly raised her hand. “Not touching the art and staying with our groups?” 

“Yes!” Mike pointed to the jars on the back counter. “Toss a coin in for Percival.” Emily jumped up and put a plastic coin in the slot. Now that the rest of the class knew that they were playing for points, kids were shouting out different answers.

“Don’t lick the art!”

“No stealing!”

“No parkour inside!”

“Alright, alright,” Mike said, holding out a hand. “Let’s settle down.” Mike took a breath, softening just a little. “Look, I know it’s tempting to mess around, but this is actually a really cool place. Some of you are gonna see stuff you’ve never seen before, and I want you to actually get the chance to enjoy it. Okay?” 

His students nodded and murmured sentiments of agreement amongst each other. 

Mike snapped back into teacher mode. “Now, roll call, then we load the buses. If anyone forgets their permission slip, I will personally make you sit in the office and listen to the principal talk about ‘missed opportunities.’”

A collective groan echoed through the classroom. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Mike grabbed his clipboard and jacket as the bell rang. “Alright, let’s go. Field trip time.”

~~~~~

Getting over a hundred students loaded onto buses was not as easy as Mike wished, but it didn’t matter now. Everyone was in a seat and the paper ball throwing from the back of the bus had ceased. Mike was seated next to Val, who took the chance to rummage through her bag to find a bandaid for a student who had tripped boarding the bus. 

“Where is it?” she grumbled. “I could have sworn it was with my ibuprofen.” 

Mike leaned his head back against the vinyl seat, the low rumble of the engine vibrating up through his spine. The bus smelled faintly of dust, cheap deodorant, and whatever new body spray was popular at the moment. 

“Found it,” Val muttered triumphantly, holding up a slightly crumpled bandaid like she’d just struck gold. She passed it across the aisle to a sniffling kid with a scraped palm. “Here Katie, have Sarah help put it on.” 

Mike let out a sigh, eyes drifting toward the middle of the bus as the last of the students settled. That’s when he noticed one of his students, Melanie, sitting alone. 

Weird. Mike thought to himself. Melanie never sits alone, she's always with Bree. 

Mike’s gaze shifted, searching for the obvious missing piece. Bree, sitting two rows back on the right, squeezed into a seat with Jake. The two of them were bent over something on his phone, shoulders touching, Bree laughing at something he said. 

Val followed his line of sight, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Ah,” she said under her breath, the single syllable carrying way too much understanding.

Mike exhaled slowly through his nose. “Yeah.”

Melanie glanced back over her shoulder then, quick and sharp, like she couldn’t help herself. Her eyes landed on Bree, lingered for half a second too long, and then she snapped forward again, jaw tight. She shoved her earbuds in a little too aggressively.

Bree didn’t notice.

Jake said something else, and Bree laughed again, louder this time. The kind of laugh that traveled.

Mike winced a little and then turned forward again. It was always painful watching friendships fall apart between his students. Middle school was an awkward age range, still young enough to like stuff marketed towards children and just right on the cusp of becoming independent teenagers. A hellhole of hormones. 

He leaned forward slightly, catching a glimpse past the driver’s shoulder as the bus turned into the wide entrance of the museum parking lot. Rows of cars stretched out ahead of them, along with a handful of other school buses already parked in neat lines. The building itself loomed closer now, tall, polished, all glass and pale stone, reflecting the gray-blue sky above. 

The bus came to a stop in front of the entrance, doors folding open with a hiss.

The first few rows started filing out, kids squeezing past each other, already buzzing with anticipation. Mike stepped aside to let a group pass, offering a quick “Watch your step” to one kid who nearly tripped on the way down.

John Marshall Middle shuffled inside the art museum, students gathering in clumps while other teachers checked in at the front desk. Mike was posted to the side with Valerie to the side of a gallery entrance. 

Valerie looked up at Mike, rummaging for something else in her purse. “Hey, Claire was asking if you wanted to go see that new Julianne Moore movie, the one about the mother?” 

Mike grimaced a little. “The Forgotten? Isn’t it supposed to be really bad?” 

“Yeah, but,” Valerie leaned in a little closer so that they couldn’t be overheard, “Claire’s thinking of sneaking in those little bottles of liquor and making a drinking game out of it.”

Mike pulled away, laughing a little. “Why is Claire always trying to get me drunk?”

“You know it’s your high-pitched giggling, Mike.” Val pulled out a chapstick from her bag and dropped it back in. “She finds it hilarious. Do you want to go? Or we can just drink at home and watch 13 going on 30 again because I think we all need a good cry.” 

“I regret telling you that that movie made me cry.” 

Valerie grinned, entirely unapologetic. “You cried when she ran back to her childhood house, Mike. That’s not something I can just forget.” 

“She had regret, Val,” Mike shot back, lowering his voice as a group of students drifted a little too close. “It was emotionally complex.” He sighed and continued. “And you know it reminds me of ‘you-know-who’”

“Fine, fine,” Val held up her hand. “We can watch something else.” 

A few feet away some boys were getting a little rowdy, pushing each other and laughing loudly. “Hey!” Mike said, his teacher voice slipping in. “Cut it out.” 

“Sorry Mr. Wheeler,” one of the boys called over their shoulder, dropping their hands to their sides. 

Mike glanced down at his clipboard, double checking that he had the permission slips with his class’ emergency contacts because if today was going to be anything like the last hour or so, he’s probably going to need to call one of them.

Mike looked up.

And everything in him just…stopped.

Not slowed. Not hesitated. Stopped.

For a second, Mike genuinely thought his brain had misfired. Because there was no way. No way.

His chest tightened so fast it almost hurt. Air caught halfway in, like his lungs had forgotten what to do with it. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, useless.

It’s been fifteen years since Mike saw him last and every one of those years has treated Will Byers so damn well. His hair is different now, longer, half pushed back instead of cut in that uneven, childhood bowl cut by Mrs. Byers’ kitchen scissors. It framed his face in a way that draws attention to sharper features: a defined jaw, high cheekbones. His eyes seem deeper somehow, full of fifteen years of wisdom. Those same eyes flick toward Mike, and for a second, Mike forgets how to breathe. They’re still Will’s, still warm, still that bright hazely green that made Mike’s heart rate spike through the roof whenever he thought about them.

Will was dressed simply and professionally but little bits of him were scattered throughout. His white button-down was neatly pressed, sleeves rolled just enough to show his tanned forearms. His long, steady hands ink-smudged faintly near the side of his thumb, like he’d been drawing earlier and hadn’t quite scrubbed it all off. There was a pin on his pocket, right next to his heart, small and golden, shaped like a dragon curling around itself. It wasn’t flashy, easy to miss if you weren’t looking—but Mike noticed it immediately.

It was the same one Will used to doodle in the margins of his notebooks, back when their biggest problem was finishing their campaign before Mike’s mother told them it was time to go home. Mike hasn’t seen it in a while, not even after Vecna had been defeated and the gate to the Upside Down closed. 

And oh my god, is that a fucking earring?

Will Byers has an earring?

Mike immediately wondered if it hurt when he got it pierced. Did Max or El hold his hand or was it a person he met in California? Was it a boyfriend? 

Val elbowed Mike sharply in the side, shooting him a pointed look. “Mike, you good?” 

“That’s– That’s–,” Mike swallowed hard, afraid that saying it aloud meant it was real. That Will was here, so close but still out of reach. Only fifty some feet away from Mike in the largest city in America.

“That’s Will,” he sputtered finally. “My Will.” 

“Will?” Valerie asked. “Like childhood-best-friend-Will-who-stopped-answering-your-calls Will?”

“The very same,” Mike whispered breathlessly.

Val’s expression shifted instantly, curiosity sharpening into something more serious. “Oh.” She followed Mike’s line of sight, eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to pick Will out of the crowd. “Which one is he?”  

“Blue lanyard. By that painting with the blue and yellow swirls. He’s–” Mike’s voice caught, like his brain had short-circuited halfway through the sentence. “He’s right there.”

Val spotted him, and for a second, she didn’t say anything. Then, low enough that only Mike could hear, “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah,” Mike breathed.

“Wow,” she repeated, this time with a little more weight. “He’s pretty cute.” Mike smacked her arm. “What?” she asked. “Just because I don’t swing that way doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.”

Mike frowned. “Can you not?” 

Val blinked at him, then her lips slowly curled into a grin. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Mike snapped, a little too quickly.

“You’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” he said immediately, which yeah, even to his own ears, sounded deeply unconvincing.

Val’s grin widened. “You just got territorial over a man you haven’t spoken to in fifteen years.”

Mike dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t get territorial, I just–” He cut himself off, floundering. “He’s not– you can’t just–”

“Call him cute?” 

Mike shot her a look. “No.”

Val leaned in slightly, whispering loudly, “He is, though.”

Mike groaned. “Val.”

“What? I’m supporting you. You have good taste.”

“That’s not–” Mike exhaled sharply, lowering his voice. “You don’t need to comment on it.”

Val studied him for a second, something softer slipping over her facial expression again. “You really liked him, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mike swallowed hard. “I still do.”

“Shit, Wheeler.” Val stared at him for a beat, then shook her head. “Mike, you have got to stop narrating your life like it’s a tragedy.” She poked him in the chest. “You’ve got every right to be happy. And maybe Will thinks so too.” 

“Huh?” 

Val nodded in Will’s direction. “He hasn’t stopped glancing over here since you pointed him out.”

Mike froze. “He hasn’t?”

“Nope.” 

Mike risked another look. Will was trying to be subtle about it, but Mike could always tell when Will was trying to hide something. His gaze flickered over again, lingering just a second too long before he quickly looked back at the painting in front of him, like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

Mike’s heart slammed against his ribs. “He’s going to think I’m staring,” Mike muttered, immediately looking away.

“You are staring.”

“I am not–”

“Mike.”

“Okay, I am,” he admitted, voice thin.

Val smirked, claiming the victory. “Great. So go talk to him.”

Mike made a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine. “I can’t just walk up and be like, ‘Hey, remember me? We were best friends since kindergarten and then you emotionally devastated fifteen years ago just when I was starting to figure things out?’” 

Val winced. “Okay, maybe don’t lead with that.”

“Good advice,” Mike deadpanned.

She nudged him again, less sharp this time. “Look, you don’t have to have the whole conversation right now. Just… say hi. Test the waters.”

Mike hesitated, eyes drifting back to Will despite himself. “What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”

Val followed his gaze again, then arched a brow. “Then he’s doing a terrible job of showing it.” Will had shifted slightly, now fully turned in Mike’s direction, like he’d finally given up pretending not to look.

Their eyes met and fifteen years evaporated so fast it almost made him dizzy. Mike was suddenly eighteen again, standing in a school hallway, pretending that his heart didn’t flutter whenever Will laughed at one of his dumb jokes.

“Hey guys–” Harvey ran up to Mike and Val and paused once he saw the look on Mike’s face. “Whoa, what’s wrong with him?” 

“Shut it, Harv,” Val hissed. Harvey came up with some retort and then they started to bicker like children but Mike honestly couldn’t care less because Will was looking at him. 

Will’s expression changed the second he realized he’d been caught, surprise flashing across his face, followed quickly by something softer, something almost disbelieving.

Then–because of course he did–Will started walking toward him. Slow and controlled, like he wasn’t about to detonate Mike Wheeler’s entire nervous system in a public museum. Mike became very aware of everything at once. His students behind him. The echo of footsteps. The fact that his tie was suddenly too tight. The fact that his hands didn’t know where to go.

Will stopped a few feet away, looking at Mike all too curiously and not enough animosity. Up close, it got worse.

Not because Will looked different.

Because he didn’t. Not where it mattered. If anything, Will looked more like himself than Mike has ever seen him. 

“Mike?” Will said carefully, testing the name out like he was unsure that it still belonged to him. Mike hated how unfamiliar it sounded. Like it was a foreign language spilling from Will’s lips instead of his name. Mike would always belong to him. 

“Will.” Mike’s voice sounded all breathy and eager and totally gave away how surprised he was to see him. “Yeah–yeah, hi. Hey.” Mike clears his throat immediately after, which only makes it worse. “I mean–hey. Hi.” Smooth, Wheeler.

“Hey Will!” Harvey’s voice cut into Mike’s internal narrative. “Mike, this is the neighbor I was talking about.” Harvey flicked his eyes between the two of them and his face fell a little. “You two know each other?” 

Of course they knew each other. Mike knew Will by the sound of his breathing. Mike knew the little twitch his mole does when he’s trying to hold back a smile. Mike knew that Will would always choose vanilla over chocolate ice cream because chocolate was too rich for him after being trapped in the Upside Down for days on end. Mike knew the way that Will’s eyebrows pinch slightly when he’s concentrated. They had fought against interdimensional monsters for fucks sake. Saying Mike didn’t know Will was like saying the sky wasn’t blue.

“Old friends,” Will supplied in Mike’s stead and it infuriated Mike so deep in his bones that he had ever lost the title of being Will’s best friend that he was debating whether he should set fire to the museum. “Haven’t seen each other in what– fifteen years?” 

Fourteen years. Two Months. Ten Days.

Mike had the exact date that Will had left for college in California ingrained into his memory forever. “Yeah. Right. That’s… yeah.”

Silence settles for a beat, but it isn’t uncomfortable. That’s the strange part. It should be. It should feel like trying to talk across a canyon. Instead, it feels like something unfinished finally sitting back into place. Like the missing puzzle piece you accidently knocked off the table and had finally found years later.

Mike shifts his weight. Too aware of his hands, his posture, everything.

“So,” he says, then immediately regrets it because that’s not a sentence, Wheeler, that’s a stall. He tries again. “So you’re… here.”

Will smiled, tilting his head slightly to the side, giving Mike a full view of that damn earring. “I am.” 

“Cool.” Mike’s voice cracked and all he wanted to do was leave the country. Mike didn’t know what to do with his hands, they were shaking so badly he was sure Will had noticed. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he tried to pretend to be chill. Mike was chill. He didn’t have a fifteen year old crush on Will Byers, who was standing right in front of him by the way. 

Will’s mole twitched, holding back a laugh. “You’ve uh… gotten very articulate.”

“Shut up.” And just for a second, it feels like them again. Mike and Will. MikeandWill. It almost feels too familiar, too easy. Just a reminder of how much Mike has missed this. This isn’t like meeting a stranger who happens to look like Will. 

This is Will. 

Just… different.

Mike still wants to be near him. Still wants to close the distance that has made his heart grow even fonder. 

“So,” Mike says again. God, NYU should just take away his English degree. “Did you just move here or…” He stopped, holding his breath, waiting for Will to fill in the blank.

“Yeah, uh just last week,” Will said, twisting the cord of his lanyard around in his fingers. “Took on a curator position in the museum.” Will glanced away, looking around at the clumps of students around the lobby. “You’re a teacher?” he asked quietly, fixing his hazel eyes back on Mike. “Unless you’re just here for a leisure visit?” 

Mike nodded eagerly. “Yep, these are all my students. I teach English at John Marshall Middle.” 

Will’s eyebrows lifted just slightly, something soft and almost impressed flickering across his face. “English,” he repeated, like he was testing how it sounded attached to Mike. “That… makes sense.” He pointed to Mike’s tweed jacket. “Just like Mr. Clarke.” 

Mike huffed out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah? I feel like that’s either a compliment or you’re saying I talk too much.”

“No—” Will shook his head quickly, a small smile breaking through. “I mean, yeah, you talk a lot, but—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips together like he’d said too much already. “You always cared about stories. About people. It fits.” 

Mike swallowed. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did.” Will’s fingers stilled around his lanyard. “I remember a lot of things.” Mike’s heart fluttered like his chest cavity was full of butterflies. Will remembered. Mike couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.

Mike shifted his weight. “So, uh… curator, huh? That’s—wow, Will. That’s big. Congratulations!” 

Will shrugged, but there was a quiet pride tucked into it. “It’s… good. Busy. I mostly handle contemporary pieces right now. Some installations.” His gaze flicked toward one of the galleries, then back to Mike. “You picked a good day to bring them. There’s a new exhibit opening.”

“Any of your paintings in there?” Mike asked. 

Will’s mole twitched. “A few,” he admitted, almost casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. Like it didn’t matter that it was his work hanging in a place full of strangers and fluorescent lights. “They rotate pieces in and out, but yeah. Some of mine are up right now.”

Mike blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Okay. So you’re just casually a curator and an artist.” 

Will rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Don’t make it sound more impressive than it is.”

“I’m not making it sound like anything,” Mike said immediately, then pointed at him like he’d just caught something important. “You’re doing the thing where you act like it’s normal to be talented on multiple fronts.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of Will again. “It’s not– I just paint when I can. It’s not like I’m trying to–” He stopped, searching for the right word, then gave up. “It’s just something I do.”

Mike watched him for a second longer than necessary. “Yeah,” he said finally, softer. “I remember that too.” Will’s eyes flicked up at that, sharp for a moment– like he wasn’t sure what exactly Mike meant by that too, or like he was trying not to ask.

“Ahem.” 

Mike had completely forgotten that Val and Harvey were right there, listening along to Will and him’s entire conversation. Harvey looked between him and Will with a curious look that made Mike feel a little bit like the caged lion in the Bronx Zoo. Val smiled tightly. “Sooooo, Mike, this is the famous Will that we’ve been hearing about.”

“You’ve talked about me?” Will said quietly in disbelief. 

Mike smiled nervously. “Of course I did. You’re my best friend.” Was, Mike sadly tacked on at the end. Will would always have that spot, though, if he ever wanted it back.

Val cleared her throat again. “Since Wheeler has seemed to forget his manners–“ She shot Mike a pointed look. “Again. I guess I will introduce myself.” She stuck out her hand for Will to shake. “Valerie, English teacher and Wheeler’s worst nightmare.” 

Will chuckled softly. “Nice to meet you, Valerie. I’m Will, art curator here at the museum and Mike’s friend from Hawkins.”

Valerie nodded, taking back her manicured hand . “Nice to meet you too.” She gestured at Harvey. “And you met Harvey already?” Harvey waggled his fingers at Will.

“Yes,” Will smiled, waving back. “We’re neighbors.”

Valerie grinned. “So you might already know our other friend, Dorothy.” Mike glared at Val. He wasn’t exactly expecting to tell Will that he was gay within mere minutes of reuniting for the first time in fifteen years.

Will’s eyes brighten with recognition. “Yes, yes I do.” His shoulders untensed for a moment, relaxing once he knew that he was with other queer people. The moment Mike dreamed about and dreaded the most was about to happen. Will turned towards Mike.

“Do you, uh, also know Dorothy?” Will asked, unusually timid.

Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, um— we’re friends.” 

“Oh,” Will said, his eyes widening, then darting to the floor and then back to Mike. “Good to, uh… good to know.” 

Mike ran a mental victory lap in his head. He survived. He told Will he was gay and the world didn’t end. Mike should buy a lottery ticket. 

“Yeah,” Harvey said, clapping Mike’s shoulder, “Mikey here is a casanova of sorts. We get swarmed whenever we go out.” Mike glared at Harvey, sending him a mental message to cut it out or he’s going to scare Will off.

Val eyed Harvey, confused. “When has that literally ever happened? Our version of going out is one drink at happy hour at Rosie’s then we all go home because we’re teachers and exhausted.” Mike will be singing Val’s praises until the end of time. He owes her so many drinks. 

“Guys look at him,” Harvey insisted. “He’s got a pretty face.” 

Mike rolled his eyes, shoving Harvey’s hand off of him. “I do not.” He was sick of whatever shit Harvey was trying to pull. He does not need help to talk to a guy. And it wasn’t even a stranger! This was Will! Who has known Mike since they both didn’t know how to tie their shoes! 

“Mr. Williams?” a student called out. Harvey sent Mike a pointed look before rushing over to the group of kids. Val followed shortly behind, issuing many apologies to both Mike and Will.

“I’m sorry about Harvey,” Mike cringed. “He’s normally a pretty great guy, but recently he’s been trying to set me up with anybody who has a pulse and it's getting on my nerves.” 

Will smiled. “It’s okay, Mike. No need to apologize.” 

Mike smiled back. “Kinda feel like I should.” Will’s smile lingered, soft and a little amused, like he was watching something unfold that Mike couldn’t quite see yet.

“You really don’t,” Will said. “If anything, it’s… kind of nice.”

“Nice?” Mike echoed, eyebrows lifting. “Being publicly humiliated by my coworkers is nice?”

Will huffed out a quiet laugh, ducking his head for a second before looking back up at him through his lashes. “No, not that part. Just–” He hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully. “It’s nice that people care about you like that. That they want you to find someone.”

Mike shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how close they were standing in the middle of the museum floor, how the noise of students and chaperones blurred into something distant and unimportant. “Yeah, well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “they’re a little too invested in my love life, if you ask me.”

Will’s lips twitched. “Maybe they just have good taste.”

Mike blinked. “What?”

Will froze for half a second, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. A faint flush crept up his neck. “I just mean–uh–like, you’re… you’re a pretty guy— I mean, pretty great guy, Mike.”

There it was again, that weird, off-balance feeling in Mike’s chest, like he’d missed a step on the stairs but hadn’t fallen. “Oh,” he said, eloquent as ever. “Uh. Thanks.” A beat passed. Then another.

Somewhere across the room, Harvey was loudly trying to wrangle a group of seventh graders away from touching something they absolutely shouldn’t be touching. Val’s voice cut in, firm and unimpressed. The world kept moving, but Mike couldn’t stop looking at Will.

“You know,” Mike started, then immediately lost his nerve. He laughed awkwardly. “This is–this is weird, right?”

Will tilted his head. “Weird?”

“Yeah. I mean–” Mike gestured vaguely between them. “Running into each other like this. After… everything.”

Will’s expression softened, something deeper settling into it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”

Mike nodded, exhaling through his nose. “I kept thinking about what I’d say if I ever saw you again.” He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Turns out I had absolutely nothing prepared.”

Will smiled, gentler now. “I think you’re doing okay.”

“Debatable.”

“No, really,” Will said. “You are.”

Mike swallowed, his chest tightening in a way that felt suspiciously like hope. “Good. Because I–uh–I don’t really want to mess this up.”

Will’s gaze flickered, searching Mike’s face. “Mess what up?”

Mike’s heart pounded. “Talking to you,” Mike said, a little more honestly than he’d planned. “Seeing you again. I mean… I just got you back, right? Would be kind of stupid to ruin it in the first ten minutes.” Will’s breath caught and Mike saw it, clear as day. Something in his eyes shifted, warm and almost disbelieving.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Will said softly. “You couldn’t.”

Mike let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Okay. Good.”

“Mike!” Ernesto came up to the two of them, “You’re supposed to be helping me split the kids into their groups for their tours. And I do not want to be stuck with Mrs. O’Neil and her ethnic comments.” Ernesto noticed that Will was there. “Hi, I’m so sorry to steal him but the kids are getting antsy.”

“All good,” Will said, raising a hand. “I should be letting Mike get back to his job. We can catch up some other time.” 

Mike didn’t move right away. The words catch up some other time landed heavier than they should’ve, like they carried fifteen years tucked inside them and were afraid of spilling out.

“Yeah,” Mike said too quickly, forcing a nod. “Yeah, of course. Totally. Other time.”

Will gave a small, polite smile, the kind that fit a museum wall better than a person. “I’ll be around the exhibit hall for the next couple hours if you need help with the groups.”

Ernesto was already half-turning toward the students, waving Mike over like a lifeline. “Come on, Mike, before someone tries to lick a sculpture.” 

“I’m coming,” Mike muttered, but his eyes stayed on Will for just a second longer than was necessary. 

Will didn’t look away either. 

Mike finally tore himself free and jogged after Ernesto, but even as he moved, he could feel it– Will was still standing there in the lobby, eyes right back on him.

~~~~~

By the time the groups were finally organized, the kids were buzzing in all directions, and Mike had exactly three near-heart attacks and one argument about whether a modern art installation “counts as real art if it looks like trash.”

“Remember you have one paragraph on the meaning of any art piece due when we leave!” Mike called out to the groups as they began to dissipate into the museum. “They probably didn’t hear me,” he muttered under his breath, turning towards his own group of fifteen students and Ernesto. 

“So what wing do you guys want to go to first?” Ernesto asked. The kids shrugged and muttered ‘I don’t knows’ and ‘whatevers.’ The joys of teaching, Mike thought, sharing an exasperated look with Ernesto. 

“How about the contemporary wing?” Mike said, suddenly remembering that Will had mentioned some of his pieces were displayed. It wasn’t an excuse to potentially see Will, no Mike was just really interested in the up-and-coming artists. It just was a coincidence that one of them was Will. 

The group didn’t have any protests so they shuffled off to the contemporary wing. Ernesto stayed back with Mike at the entrance to the wing. 

Ernesto bumped his elbow against Mike’s. “So Val told me that the curator you were flirting with is the Will from all your stories.” He gave Mike a teasing smile. “Are you going to ask him out?” 

Mike nearly choked on air. “I was not flirting.”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow, the kind that said he absolutely did not believe that for a second. “Mhm. And I’m the Queen of England.”

“I wasn’t,” Mike insisted, though his voice came out a little weaker than he intended. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “We were just… talking.”

Ernesto laughed quietly, nudging him again. “Hey, I’m not judging. I just didn’t realize the legendary Will was, you know, real. I thought you made him up like some tragic queer backstory character.”

Mike huffed, but there was no real heat behind it. His gaze drifted into the gallery, scanning the room almost involuntarily. Clean white walls, bold colors, sculptures that looked like they could either be genius or complete nonsense depending on how long you stared at them. Somewhere in here–somewhere–was Will. Or at least pieces of him.

“He’s real,” Mike said, softer now.

Ernesto’s expression shifted, just slightly. Less teasing, more curious. “And?”

Mike hesitated. That familiar knot tightened in his chest, the one that had been there since high school, that had somehow survived time, distance, and everything in between. The one that had healed over, or so Mike thought.

“Will left,” Mike said finally. “He didn’t want to see me fifteen years ago and I’m pretty sure I was just distracting him from his job now.” 

“He didn’t seem distracted.” Ernesto glanced out into the wing. “Look Mike, this is a chance that a lot would kill for.” He sighed. “I haven’t seen Oskar in over a year. Everyday feels like it’s chipping away at me until there is no one for Oskar to return to.”  

Mike immediately felt bad. Here he was whining about Will being here in the city when Will wasn’t really even gone– not in the way that Oskar was back in Sweden. 

“I didn’t—” Mike scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I didn’t think about it like that.” 

“Most people don’t,” Ernesto said gently. “Not until it’s too late.”

Too late. Fifteen years flashed through his mind in fragments. Missed calls sent straight to voicemail, unanswered letters, almosts that never quite became anything. All the ways he’d convinced himself that leaving things alone was easier. That giving up was safer.

“And what if I already blew it?” Mike asked, quieter now. “What if he left because of me?”

Mike didn’t know if he could handle being the reason that Will fled to California. He shouldn’t think like that. It was irrational. People moved. People left. Life happened outside of him. He knew that Will's life hadn’t revolved around Mike Wheeler back then and it certainly did not now. 

Ernesto gave a small, knowing huff. “Then you ask him.” 

Mike looked at him, searching for any hint of a joke. There wasn’t one. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.” Ernesto leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “You think Oskar and I never had things we didn’t say? Things we avoided because it was uncomfortable?” His voice tightened just slightly. “Distance doesn’t fix that. It just… freezes it. Preserves it exactly as it was when you left it.” He gave Mike a soft smile. “I would kill for a chance to spill everything to him. Your guy is here now. Don’t be like me, Mike. Take your shot.” 

Mike swallows. “Do you really think I have a shot?” 

Ernesto didn’t hesitate. “He’s here, is he not? He moved to the city where he knows you live.” 

Mike’s heart stuttered. “I just…” he shook his head. “I don’t know where to start.” 

“Start by showing up,” Ernesto said simply. “And then keep showing up, Mike. It’s one of your best qualities, you’re annoyingly persistent.”

Mike smacked Ernesto’s arm. “Asshole.” 

“Takes one to know one.” 

A silence fell over the two of them. Mike let out a breath, sharper this time, like he was bracing himself, and then nodded, more to himself than anything. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I’m going to do it.” 

Because Will hadn’t walked out of his life this time. 

And Mike wasn’t going to let him. 

~~~~~

Saying you’re going to do something and doing it are two completely different concepts. It’s actually something Mike talks a lot about when teaching. Action versus Intention. What the author means rather than saying it directly. 

Intention is easy because it lives in your head, where everything is still possible. Action is harder because it forces a choice, a commitment, something observable that can succeed or fail. And once you act, you can’t hide behind “I meant to.”

Subtext. That’s the word he uses.

Because anyone can say something. Characters promise things all the time: loyalty, love, forever. They swear it like it’s easy, like words alone can carry the weight of it. But what matters, what actually means something, is what they do when it counts. When it’s hard. When it costs them something.

Mike has built entire lessons around that idea. He’s stood in front of a classroom, gesturing at passages, asking kids to look deeper, to stop taking things at face value. Don’t just listen to what the character says, he tells them. Watch what they choose.

Now, he can’t stop thinking about the fact that fifteen years ago, he said nothing.

Or maybe worse. Maybe he said all the wrong things, or not enough of the right ones, and then let Will walk away without fighting for him. Without really doing anything at all.

Because what had his intention been back then? To keep Will close? To not lose him? To pretend everything was fine until it wasn’t?

Intentions don’t mean anything if you don’t act on them. 

If this were one of the stories he hands out to his students, the answer would be obvious. The character would get a second chance. There’d be a moment, quiet, or messy, or terrifying, where they finally do the thing they were too afraid to do before.

They would speak. 

Or they would stay.

Or they would reach out and not let go.

But real life doesn’t follow clean narrative arcs. There’s no guarantee of a second chance, no promise that the other person is still waiting on the other side of your hesitation.

Will is real. 

And he already left once. 

So the question isn’t about intention anymore, it’s about whether Mike is going to do something.

Or just stand there again, watching Will slip away again. 

Mike can’t let himself do that again. He is Mike the Brave afterall. The Universe was kind enough to grant him a second chance. It would be rude of Mike to waste it. 

With Ernesto’s blessing, Mike runs off in the direction that he last saw Will in, nearly running over a display stand on the way. “Careful Braveheart,” Ernesto calls after him, not even looking up from the clipboard he’s holding. “Be back by lunch.”

Mike throws a frantic thumbs up over his shoulder and keeps going. Okay, he’s doing it. He’s actually doing it.

He spots Will in the main gallery standing in front of a group of Mike’s middle schoolers. He’s explaining something about the painting behind him, gesturing wildly at the canvas like he’s a part of it. Mike slows down enough to not look like a complete lunatic. He smooths his shirt. Ran a hand through his hair and then immediately regretted it because now it looks even worse than it normally does. This is fine.

He starts towards Will. This is it. 

“Will–” 

“Excuse me!” A woman with a stroller materializes out of nowhere like some kind of suburban ninja, blocking his entire path. “Do you know where the restrooms are?”

Mike blinks. “Yeah– uh,” Mike gestures vaguely towards the back of the lobby. “That way.” 

“Thank you.” The woman does not move. Mike does a tiny, polite side-step. She mirrors him. They do an awkward little dance around each other until Mike finally escapes. 

Will is gone. 

Mike stands there for a second, staring at the empty space like maybe if he looks hard enough, Will will reappear out of sheer guilt. It’s okay, minor setback. Mike’s going to find Will. Everything is going to be fine.

Mike turns around and immediately spots Will across the room. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Mike muttered and started speed walking in Will’s direction. Not running, partly because it is a school rule and Mike would be a bad example and partly because it feels a little desperate, which Mike totally and embarrassingly is, not that he wants Will and everyone else to know that. 

“Will!” 

Will turns this time.

Their eyes meet. And for a split second, everything actually lines up. The noise of the museum dulls, the distance between them feels like it might finally close, and Mike—

“Mr. Wheeler?” 

Mike physically recoils. He turns around slowly. A kid, small, maybe eleven, eyes a little too wide, clutching a crumpled map of the museum like it’s the last lifeline on earth. Mike’s stomach drops. 

“Hey,” Mike says, voice softening on instinct. “What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry,” the kid said, looking around nervously. “I think I lost my group.” 

Of course you did, Mike thinks silently to himself. He glances past the kid to Will, still standing there, his hands loosely in his pockets like he’s waiting for Mike. The universe is testing him and Mike knows it. 

Mike looks back at the kid. He can’t leave. Will can wait a few minutes, right?

“Okay, that’s alright,” he says, already crouching a little so he’s not towering over them. “What group are you with?”

The kid smiled, relieved. “Mrs. Callahan’s.”

“Alright,” Mike nods. “Do you remember the last place you saw them?”

The kid shakes their head. “There were a lot of rooms.”

“Okay,” Mike says, making a decision he already resents. “We’re gonna find them. Stick with me, alright?” The kid nods quickly, latching onto him like he might disappear too. Mike straightens, already scanning the nearby galleries. This will be quick, Mike promises himself. His job should be his first priority anyway. Will will understand.

It was not quick. 

Mrs. Callahan found them finally in the impressionist wing, running up to Mike and the kid. “Thank you so much, Mike,” she said, gently leading the kid back to the group. “I was so worried about Ryan.” 

“No problem,” Mike said, already feeling the itch to go find Will. The kid, or Ryan as Mike just found out, gave him a small wave before disappearing back into the group.

Mike keeps relocating Will within the museum for the next thirty painful minutes. And every time Mike gets close–

“Mike, quick question–”

“Hey, can you help with–” 

“Mr. Wheeler, we need–” 

At one point, Mike is literally within arm’s reach. He can see the small mole near Will’s mouth. The way his sleeve is rolled up is just slightly uneven. The faint crease between his brows as he listens to someone talk.

Mike opens his mouth. “Will–”

“Will! There you are,” another staff member calls, grabbing Will gently by the elbow. “We need you in the archives for a minute.” Mike watches, soul leaving his body, as Will is physically escorted away.

Will glances back and their eyes meet again. Mike lifts a hand weakly. Will gives him a small, apologetic smile and then he’s gone. 

“Mr. Wheeler?” 

Mike sighed and turned around. He drags a hand down his face, already feeling the beginnings of a headache blooming behind his eyes. Somewhere, distantly, he’s aware that this is his job: step in, be helpful, be normal.

Be literally anything other than a guy who just spent the last half hour orbiting one person like a complete idiot and still couldn’t manage to say his name without getting interrupted. 

“What’s up?” Mike said exasperated, bending down to look the kids in the eye. Even as he says it, though, his gaze flickers—just once—past them, toward the hallway Will disappeared down.

Like if he looks long enough, Will might come back.

Like maybe this time, no one will pull him away.

After he had dealt with the kids’ issue, Mike exhales hard through his nose, staring at the spot for a second longer than he should. Then voices. Loud ones. 

Mike heard the two girls long before he saw them.

Melanie and Bree were standing way too close to each other near one of the exhibits, both of them doing that thing where they weren’t technically yelling… but absolutely everyone within a ten-foot radius could hear every word.

“I’m literally not doing this right now,” Bree muttered.

Melanie let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh my god, you’re the one who started it.”

“I didn’t start anything,” Bree shot back immediately. “You came over here being weird.”

“Being weird?” Melanie repeated, louder now. “I asked why you ditched me on the bus!”

“I didn’t ditch you!” Bree snapped. “I sat with Jake one time– sorry I didn’t realize that was illegal!”

A couple kids nearby turned to look. Someone whispered, “Uh oh.” Mike started moving closer just in case it wasn’t just a little squabble.

“You’ve been doing it all day,” Melanie said, voice getting tighter. “At lunch, in the gift shop– like, sorry for wanting to hang out with my best friend?”

“Oh my god,” Bree groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re so dramatic.”

Melanie’s head snapped back. “I’m dramatic?”

“Yes!” Bree said, louder now. “Everything is always a big deal with you. If I don’t text you back in like two seconds, you think I hate you!”

“That is not true!”

“It literally is!” Bree insisted. “You sent me, like, five question marks last night because I didn’t answer for ten minutes! I am allowed to talk to other people!” 

“I never said you weren’t!”

“You act like it!” Bree snapped. “You get all mad if I hang out with anyone else–”

“I don’t get mad!”

“You do! You just don’t say it, you just get all quiet and weird and then I have to figure out what I did wrong!”

“Oh my god, because you did do something wrong!” Melanie shot back, stepping closer. “You’re ignoring me!”

“I’m not ignoring you!” Bree yelled. “I just don’t want to be glued to you every second of every day!”

“So what?” Melanie said, venom dripping from her voice. “So you can hang out with a stupid boy?” 

Bree’s face scrunched up. “I’m growing up!” Bree shot a step forward. “And Jake isn’t stupid!” She hesitated for a second before delivering another blow. “It’s not my fault you don’t like boys!” 

Mike felt it immediately. That pause. Not in this exact setting, but many, many years ago in his parent’s garage in the summer of 1985. 

It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!

It’s still one of Mike’s biggest regrets. He would do anything to erase that one moment. Mike stepped forward before it escalated further.

“Okay– hey. Hey.” His voice cut through just enough, the teacher tone snapping into place automatically. “Both of you. Separate. Now.” 

Bree turned her head first, defiance still in her posture, but she listened. Melanie didn’t move right away. Mike pointed gently toward the hallway. “Bree, you’re with Ms. Alvarez. Take a walk. Cool down.”

Ms. Alvarez, suddenly appearing, guided Bree away gently, speaking in soft, grounding words. Bree didn’t look back as she left.

Mike took a look at Melanie, almost on the verge of tears. He lowered his voice. “C’mon, let's sit.” Something in that must’ve worked, because she finally moved, shoulders tight, following him to the museum cafe tables. 

Melanie dropped into the chair, almost completely limbless. Mike sat across from her, giving her space, hands folded loosely on the table. For a while, neither of them spoke. 

Melanie finally lifted her head. “She always does this,” she said, her voice watery. “Like, she acts like I’m the problem when she’s the one being weird.”

“Okay,” Mike said slowly. “Walk me through it.” 

Melanie groaned, pressing her hands to her face. “We used to do everything together. And now she’s acting like I’m annoying for… I don’t know, existing?”

Mike huffed softly. This was just an insane case of deja vu. And of course it had to be on the day he saw Will for the first time in fifteen years. 

“What?” Melanie snapped. 

Mike’s gaze softened and he looked back into the hustle and bustle of the museum. “It’s just a little funny,” he admitted quietly. “I had this same fight with my best friend when we were about your age.” 

Melanie blinked, some of the heat in her expression faltering. “You did?”

Mike let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Yeah. Different details, same… feeling.” He rubbed his hands together. “He felt like I was changing too quickly. He felt left behind.”

Melanie picked at the edge of a napkin. “So what happened?”

Mike hesitated. For a second, the noise of the café faded into something distant, replaced by the echo of a garage, summer air, and words he’d never quite forgiven himself for.

“I said something I shouldn’t have,” he admitted. “Something that stuck longer with him than I meant it to.” He gave a small, humorless smile. “Turns out, when you’re scared of losing someone, you don’t always say the right thing.” 

Melanie’s shoulders loosened, just a little. “Did you fix it?”

“Sort of,” Mike answered, honestly. “But it took a lot of talking.” 

She nodded faintly, like she didn’t love that answer but understood it anyway. Mike leaned forward, resting his elbows lightly on the table. “You’re not wrong for feeling hurt,” he said. “And she’s not wrong for… growing, either. Those two things can exist at the same time, even if it feels awful.”

Melanie stared down at the table. “It just feels like she doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Yeah,” Mike said quietly. “I know that feeling.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Tourists and other museum goers swirled around them. A light pair of footsteps approached them. Mike looked up.

“Will,” Mike breathed softly.

“Hey,” Will pointed to the third chair at their little table. “Mind if I sit?” 

Mike looked at Melanie who shrugged in response. “Go ahead,” Mike said, a little weakly. 

Will pulled out the chair and sat down. “I heard there was some shouting in the sculpture wing and I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was alright,” Will explained, crossing his legs, yellow socks peeking out from his brown loafers. 

Mike gave Will a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

 Will’s mouth tipped up, soft and familiar. “Yeah.”

“Do you guys know each other?” Melanie asked, scrubbing her nose with the back of her hand. 

Mike leaned back in his chair a little. “Melanie, this is Will.” He hesitated, but then continued. “He’s the friend I told you about. The one I had the big fight with.”

Will gave a small, awkward wave. “Hi.”

Melanie perked up a little, interest cutting through the tears. “Really?” 

Mike nodded. “We figured it out in the end.” 

He shared a glance with Will. Will looked back with something more loaded than giving advice to a middle schooler, something that’s been there for fifteen years.

“What if she doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore?” Melanie asked.

Mike shrugged. “I kinda doubt that will happen. You’ll figure it out. Just say–”

“Whatever you do, just don’t follow his advice on what to say,” Will interrupted, sending Mike a cheeky smile. “He was horrible.” 

“I was not!”

“Was too.” Will tapped his finger against the table. “What was it that you said to one of the guys who bullied Dustin?” He straightened up and pitched his voice slightly. “I say kick away. Stop this meathead from reproducing and further infecting the world with his unique brand of stupidity.” 

Melanie giggled through her sniffling, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie. “You really said that?”

“I did, unfortunately.” Mike rolled his eyes at Will. “And it was idiocy. Will of all people should remember that. You and Max quoted it all the time.” 

Will smiled that soft smile that was specially reserved for Mike. “We still do.” 

And there was the soft reminder that Will kicked Mike out of his life. Fifteen years and friendly conversation wasn’t going to exactly patch over the years of loneliness and heartbreak that Mike had faced because Will stopped answering his calls and letters.

Mike just wants to know why.

Mike’s thoughts were interrupted by the walkie talkie clipped to Will’s side. The device beeped, spitting out some message that Will only understood. He stood up, chair scraping against the concrete floor, shooting Mike an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I’m needed at the information desk.” Will knelt down to look Melanie in the eyes. “Hey, you’re going to figure it out, okay? Tell her what you feel.” 

Will stood up and gave Mike a hopeful look before walking off in the direction of the lobby. There he was, gone again. Mike sighed and rubbed his temples. At this point, Mike should just start sending smoke signals. 

Giving up, Mike and Melanie headed back to the main group. The rest of the field trip went pretty smoothly, except for a few hiccups here and there. A kid tried to sit on a sculpture and set off one of the alarms. Another one split their water all over the floor. Mike was exhausted. This was why he hated field trip days. 

It was nearing the end of the day, and John Marshall Middle was in the lobby doing final headcounts before loading everyone back onto the buses to head back to school. Mike had his clipboard in his hand and was checking off students until he felt a light tug on his sleeve. 

Mike turned around and saw the kid who got lost, or Ryan as he found out earlier. Mike smiled. “Hey bud, what’s up?” 

“One of the museum people said he wanted to talk to you in the west wing,” Ryan said, unfolding a map with lines drawn on in sharpie leading the way. “He said it was important.” 

Mike blinked. He took the map from Ryan’s hands and took a look at it. In the top right corner, in Will’s neat handwriting that still hasn’t changed in fifteen years, were the words ‘Meet me here - Will.’ Mike took the map and thanked Ryan. 

“Hey Val,” he said, handing his clipboard to her absent mindedly. “Can you finish my head count? I'll be right back…” 

“Okay?” Val looked at the two clipboards in her hands and then back up at Mike who was already walking away. Mike was already halfway across the lobby before Val could ask anything else.

Mike followed the arrows on Ryan’s map. West wing. 

The farther he walked, the quieter it got. The polished floors reflected the overhead lights in long strips, and the hum of the museum’s climate control took over where student noise used to be. He tightened his grip on the map without realizing it.

Rounding the corner, the west wing opened up into a wide gallery space. Tall ceilings, quiet lighting, and a long stretch of paintings spaced out like they were thinking about each other. At first glance, it looked empty. 

“About time,” came a voice from near the far end.

Will. Same posture. Same slightly infuriating calm. Different years, same expression that said he had been waiting exactly as long as he felt like waiting and not a second more.

Mike stared at him for a beat. He held up the map. “Having kids do your dirty work, Will? Shame.” 

Will rolled his eyes fondly. “We were both busy. Seemed like the best option to get us in the same room.” Will closed the distance between them. “Ryan’s a sweet kid.”

Mike looked around the gallery space. “So what did you want to talk about?” 

Will tilted his head. “Well actually, I wanted to show you something.” He glanced past Mike toward the far wall of the gallery. “You were saying something earlier about wanting to see some of my work.” 

Will turned and started walking. The gallery wasn’t large, but it was arranged with deliberate care, each painting given space to breathe, to exist without competing. Mike followed a few steps behind, his eyes flicking from frame to frame out of habit, even if his attention kept snagging on Will’s back instead.

Will paused in front of a golden frame, one hand coming up like he might touch it– then stopping just short, fingers hovering in the air instead.

“Is this it?” Mike asked, taking a few steps forward to stand at Will’s side.

“Yeah,” Will said a little breathlessly. “Just– look.” 

Mike did. 

At first, it didn’t fully register. It wasn’t one of the abstract pieces scattered through the rest of the gallery, no blurred colors or distant landscapes. It was familiar. 

Two kids. One of them lanky already, all elbows and uncertain angles. The other smaller, sitting cross-legged in the dirt, head tipped back in laughter. The swing set behind them was crooked, paint chipped, the chain slightly rusted– every tiny detail rendered with almost obsessive care.

Mike blinked. “No way.” 

Will didn’t say anything. 

Mike stepped closer, like that might change what he was seeing. “That’s–” He let out a short, disbelieving breath. “That’s the swing set at the elementary school. That’s–” He pointed, a little too sharply. “That’s my shirt. The stripey blue one that I wore for like a year straight. That’s us. Will, you painted us.”

“Yeah,” Will nodded.

Mike’s hand dropped back to his side. He leaned in, eyes scanning over the brushstrokes like he could find the exact moment it had been pulled from. “You painted this from memory?” he asked. 

“Mostly.” Will shifted his weight. “I had a couple old photos for reference. Not from that exact day, but… enough to get the details right.” 

Mike huffed out something between a laugh and a breath. “You got everything right.” His gaze caught on the smaller figure again, the way the kid’s shoulders were relaxed, completely unguarded. “I don’t even remember what we were laughing about.”

“Me neither,” Will admitted. 

Silence settled between them.

Mike felt giddy. He remembered this. Out of everything we did, he picked this. He swallowed. “How long ago did you paint this?” 

“A few years back,” Will said. “Right before I got my first curation job. It was… kind of the first piece I did that felt like…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Like it mattered.” 

Mike finally tore his eyes away from the canvas to look at him. “Why this?”

Will met his gaze this time, no deflection, no softening it with a joke. “Because that was the first day I met you,” he said. “And it was the first time I remember feeling like…” He exhaled, the words coming slower now. “Like something had just clicked into place.”

The first day they met was forever ingrained in Mike’s mind. Mike had never told Will what he said in the shed when he was possessed. There was so many times where he wanted to. In the van. On the radio tower. Graduation day. And each and every time, he chickened out with the promise of next time. 

He never got that next time and he didn’t even know it. 

It was a cheerful day in August, very ironic considering that was the day that Mike referred to as the worst day in his entire life. It was Tuesday, the day he and Will agreed to call each other every week while he was all the way in California and Mike was standing in the kitchen waiting for Will to pick up. 

Mike curled the cord around his fingers tighter the longer he was left with the dial tone. He set the phone on the receiver and picked it up again to redial, getting more agitated by the second. 

Mike checked his watch. 6:45. Fifteen minutes past the time Will promised him he would be available by. 

“Come on,” he muttered, already dialing again before the line had fully clicked back into place. The buttons indented into his finger. He pressed the receiver tighter to his ear this time, like that might make a difference. 

It rang.

Once.Twice. Three times.

Mike’s grip tightened, the cord digging into the spaces between his fingers. “Pick up, pick up, pick up—”

Nothing.

The line clicked, but not the way he wanted. Not Will’s quiet “hello,” not the soft static of distance and breathing. Mike hung up harder than he meant to. The phone rattled against the wall.

“Shit.” He dragged a hand through his hair and checked his watch again, like it might tell him something new. 6:47.

Will was never late to their phone calls.

A dozen explanations tried to force their way in, each one worse than the last. Maybe he lost track of time. Maybe Joyce needed him. Maybe the phone line was down. Maybe– 

Maybe something happened.

Mike swallowed hard, pushing that thought down before it could root. He picked up the phone again. This time, it didn’t even ring. Just a flat, dead tone.

Mike froze.

“…No.”

He jiggled the receiver, pressed it harder to his ear, like he could shake the sound back into it. The dead tone droned on, steady and wrong and final. He slammed it down, then immediately lifted it again.

Dead.

Something cold slid into his chest, sharp and sudden. It shouldn’t be dead. Not here. Not in the middle of the day. Not when he was waiting–when Will was supposed to– Mike stepped back from the wall, shaking his head like he could dislodge the feeling crawling up his spine.

Mike stood there at the phone, redialling and redialling like it would change the fact that Will wasn’t there and that Mike couldn’t contact him. Holly found him hours later, curled up on the floor under the phone, sobbing silently into his palms. 

“Holly, go away.” His voice came out thin and wrecked, nothing like it was supposed to. He didn’t even lift his head. There was a small pause. The quiet shuffle of her socks against the kitchen tile.

“Mike?” 

He squeezed his eyes shut harder, like if he shut everything out, the sound of her, the house, the whole world– maybe it would rewind. Maybe the phone would ring. Maybe–

“Go. Away.” It came out sharper that time, cracking on the second word.

Holly didn’t leave. He could feel her there, hovering, the way she always did when she didn’t understand something but knew it was wrong. A few seconds passed.

“…Are you sick?”

Mike let out a broken laugh that didn’t sound like a laugh at all. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, I think I am.” His fingers were still curled like they were holding the receiver, even though it had slipped from his grasp a while ago. The cord hung crooked off the wall, swaying just slightly.

Dead.

It was still dead.

Holly stepped closer. Then something small and warm touched his arm. Mike flinched.

“Don’t—”

But she didn’t pull away. Her hand just stayed there, light and unsure.

“…Did you fight with Will?” she asked quietly. That did it. Mike’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, and before he could stop it, something inside him just gave away. 

“No,” he choked, shaking his head into his hands. “No, I didn’t– I didn’t even–” His voice collapsed in on itself. He dragged in a shaky breath that didn’t fill his lungs all the way.

“I was gonna tell him,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “I was– I was going to, I just– I needed the right time and I thought–”

Next time.

The words slammed into him so hard it felt physical. There was always supposed to be a next time. In the van. On the radio tower. Graduation. Every single time he’d swallowed the words back down, told himself later, later, later–

And now the line was dead.

And Will wasn’t answering.

And Mike didn’t even know why.

Holly’s hand tightened just a little on his sleeve. “Tell him what?” 

Mike shook his head again, faster this time, like he could scatter the thought before it fully formed. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, even though it did. Even though it was the only thing that mattered. “It’s– it’s stupid.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Because I waited too long. Because I thought I had more time. Because the last thing he ever heard from me wasn’t the truth.

Mike pressed his palms harder into his eyes until colors burst behind them. “I don’t know, Holls.” Mike picked himself up off of the floor, wiping away his tears. “I don’t know.” 

Mike hid in his room for the next couple of months. He wrote letters. He retried the phone. But a letter from Will never came and the phone line remained dead. When it was winter break, Mike was sure that Will would come home and they could talk and Mike could apologise for whatever he did because he was so sorry and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

Will didn’t come home. 

Will never came home and then the Byers-Hoppers moved to Montauk, packing up Will’s room with them. And soon there was nothing left in Hawkins for Will to return to. 

Mike picked up the pieces of his broken heart. He learned to adapt around the piercing pain. He moved to New York with the intention of learning about himself. No more MikeandWill. Just finding out who the Mike was in that equation. He accepted himself. Mike Wheeler was a certified 100% homosexual. He got into teaching, realizing his passion for helping kids. He made friends and he lost them. Mike kissed a guy for the first time and threw up after because it wasn’t Will. It should have been Will. Mike kissed another guy and didn’t get sick. He kissed many guys. But none of them were Will. Mike tried to settle down and get serious. But if it wasn’t Will, it wasn’t for him. Mike got lonely. He adopted a cat, named him Arthur, the brave knight from Camelot. Mike visited his sisters. He visited Max and Lucas in Philadelphia and Dustin and El in Boston. He even visited Steve. They both admitted to each other that that was weird, but they laughed about it later over a beer. One night when Mike was drunk, he bought a ticket to California. He didn’t go. He’s regretted it ever since.

Sometimes, though, Mike would catch himself. A name on attendance that sounded too close. A kid laughing in a way that echoed something he hadn’t heard in years. A painting in a gallery window and his chest would tighten before he even knew why.

“Mike?” 

Mike blinked, being drawn back to where he was now. In the west wing of the museum. With Will.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Will said.

“Yeah?” Mike breathing, looking Will in the eyes. 

Will smiled that soft smile only reserved for Mike. “I was just wondering if you would like to catch up more,” he bowed his head a little bit, playing with his lanyard. “Maybe Friday at six?” Will tilted his head, still grinning. Mike thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. “Though you’re going to have to pick the restaurant since—“

“Yes,” Mike said eagerly, cutting him off. “It’s a date.” 

A slight flush crept over Will’s cheeks. “Really?” His heart was going to give out from cuteness overload. Will and him were finally on the same page after fifteen years and Mike has never felt so at peace with the unknown. It didn’t really matter if Will liked him back or not, Will was just giving Mike the chance to be in his life again.

“Totally.” Mike’s cheeks hurt from holding in the cheesiest smile. “I want to know everything that I missed.” 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of the museum filtered back in around them, muffled footsteps, distant chatter, the hum of something alive and moving just outside this little bubble they’d somehow stepped into. Mike cleared his throat. “So, uh. Friday.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Six. I’ll pick somewhere. Somewhere good.”

“My phone number is still the same,” Will confirmed. Will’s fingers stilled on his lanyard. He took a small breath, like he was about to say something important. “I’m really glad I ran into you,” he said finally. It shouldn’t have felt like a confession, but it did.

Mike swallowed. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Mike!” Val called across the museum as the two of them approached closer. “We gotta go!” 

Mike squeezed his eyes shut for half a second. Of course. He opened them to Will, still looking at him, still smiling. 

“I’m sorry, I gotta go,” Mike said at the same time Will said, “You should go.” They both paused at the overlap, like even that was something they didn’t want to break.

“Mike!” Val’s voice echoed again, sharper this time. “We’re actually leaving!” 

“I know!” Mike called back, raising a hand without looking away.

Will shifted slightly, dropping his lanyard. “You should go,” he said softly, “before Val comes over here and drags you away herself.” 

Mike laughed, but his feet still didn’t move. “Yeah. Yeah, I–” He stopped. Because Will was still just standing there. Still looking at him like Mike hadn’t been erased and rewritten over fifteen years. Mike swallowed again. Harder this time. “Friday,” he said, like he needed to anchor it to something real. “Six. I’ll call you.” 

Will nodded. “I’ll be there.” 

Mike finally took a step back. Then another. It felt wrong, like walking away from a conversation mid-sentence and hoping the other person would keep talking anyway. Will gave him a small wave, simple, but his expression didn’t match it. Mike lifted his hand in return. He meant for it to be normal.

It wasn’t.

He turned before he could overthink it, heading toward the sound of his group. Val immediately locked onto him as he approached, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Mike sighed. “I know, I know, I just got a little distracted.”

“Distracted,” she said slowly, “yeah, right.” Mike and her began walking towards the buses parked outside. Val bumped her arm against his. “Proud of you, Wheeler.” Mike just smiled, and climbed onto the bus behind her. 

By the time the ride back ended, the museum felt like it belonged to another version of the day entirely.

Mike helped herd kids off the bus, answered half-listened to questions, and pretended to care about the assignment he assigned and lost water bottles. By the time he finally broke away, leaving the school around four pm, he told himself he would not think about it anymore.

He made it about twelve minutes.

“Lucas,” Mike whisper-yelled excitedly into the speaker of his phone, pacing a tight circle in his apartment like he might combust if he stood still too long, “you’ll never guess who I just saw.” There was a beat on the other end. 

Then Lucas, far too calm, said, “Let me guess. You ran into Will on a field trip, somehow didn’t immediately make a complete fool of yourself, and now you have dinner plans on Friday. You’re freaking out because–shockingly–he doesn’t hate you. Like we’ve been telling you for, oh, I don’t know… the last fifteen years?”

“Yeah! Wait–” Mike paused in his tracks, suspicion creeping in. “How do you know that?” 

Lucas didn’t even try to hide his laugh this time. “Oh, man,” Lucas said, drawing it out. “You really don’t know.”

“Know what?” Mike demanded, straightening like he could somehow pull the answer through the phone faster.

“Will beat you to it,” Lucas said. “Called Max about ten minutes ago.”

Mike blinked. “He–what?”

“Yeah,” Lucas continued, fully enjoying himself now. “Apparently you looked ‘exactly the same, which is unfair, by the way,’ and he was ‘trying very hard to act normal about it.’” Lucas paused, then added, “His words. Not mine.”

“He said that?” Mike asked, quieter now.

“Mhm. Also something about you still doing that thing where you over-explain when you’re nervous.” Lucas snorted. “Which, for the record, you are doing right now.”

“I hate you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome,” Lucas replied. “So. Friday night. Big reunion dinner. You gonna wear something nice, or are you sticking with the ‘middle school English teacher who owns one decent shirt’?”

“I have many nice shirts,” Mike protested.

“I bet they’re all wrinkled and in the bottom of your closet covered in Arthur’s hair.” Mike opened his mouth and closed it, because that was true to a T. God, he really needed to do laundry. “Thought so,” A silence passed for a moment. “Hey,” Lucas said, softer now but still teasing, “you’ve been waiting fifteen years for this. I’m not letting you half-ass it because you’re scared.”

Mike exhaled, leaning back against the nearest wall, the reality of it settling in again—dinner, Friday, Will. “Yeah,” he said, quieter. “Yeah, I know.”

Lucas hummed. “You excited?” Mike hesitated for half a second before answering.

“Yeah,” he admitted, the word coming out small but certain. “I really am.”

“Good,” Lucas said. “Now try not to scare him off.”

“Shut up.”

“Love you too man.” Lucas made a kissy noise. “Call me after, me and Max want to know all about it.” 

Mike felt a sudden panicked feeling. “Has Max been there the whole time?” 

“Yep,” Max’s voice echoed into Mike’s ear. “Don’t fuck it up, Wheeler.” 

“I’ll try.” Mike said, quietly. Saying goodbye, Mike hung up and looked out into the bustling streets of New York City. He was going to have dinner with the one and only Will Byers and maybe, finally, everything was going to be okay. 

Friday. 

He can make it to Friday.

~~~~~

The problem was that making it to Friday turned out to be significantly harder than expected. Because once the idea was there Mike’s brain refused to focus on literally anything else.

Tuesday, he tried to teach symbolism and somehow spent ten full minutes staring at the word foreshadowing on the board while thinking about Will’s hands. Not even in a weird way. Just what they’d looked like playing with his lanyard, how they’d moved when he talked. Which apparently was not helpful to a room full of eighth graders waiting for him to finish a sentence. 

Wednesday, he burned his dinner because he got distracted wondering what Will would wear. Which was ridiculous. Who cared what he wore? It was Will. He could show up in a garbage bag and Mike would still–

Mike turned the stove off with maybe a little more force than necessary.

Thursday, Mike did laundry. 

And almost called him. 

Just a check in, he told himself, even though Mike had already called Will Monday afternoon with the restaurant address. He sat on a bench in the park close to his apartment building, opening and closing his flip phone over and over like he was trying to summon a call from Will by sheer force. 

It did not work. 

No call from Will. Mike went home and ordered takeout from the Thai place around the corner. 

Friday. Friday was even worse.

Because now it was today.

Today meant it was real. Today meant seeing Will again, not in some hazy, accidental crossing of paths, but on purpose. Sitting across from each other. Talking. Maybe—maybe actually saying the things Mike had been patiently waiting to say for over a decade.

Mike had worked himself into a state that could only be best described as barely functional. He got through the school day on autopilot, dismissed his last class with a distracted wave, and then immediately went home to get ready.

~~~~~ 

Mike has been standing in front of his closet for forty-five whole minutes.

Arthur, meanwhile, had made himself extremely comfortable right in the middle of the bed, right on top of the one decent button-down Mike owned, like he had been strategically placed there to ruin Mike’s life. Universe: 1 million, Mike: 0. 

“This is serious,” Mike informed his cat, arms crossed, staring into the abyss of mismatched flannels and old band tees. “This is a reunion dinner. With Will. Will Byers. Who I have not seen in fifteen years.”

Arthur blinked slowly, licking his paw.

“Good input,” Mike muttered, tossing another shirt onto the ground. Mike yanked out a dark blue shirt, held it up to himself in the mirror, frowned, and immediately swapped it for a gray one. Then a different blue one. Then a black one.

He groaned. “What if he’s… like, put together now? What if he shows up in, I don’t know, a blazer? What if Will’s the kind of guy who owns a blazer now?” 

Arthur stopped grooming just long enough to look at him, unimpressed. Mike pointed at him. “You don’t understand. You’ve looked the same your entire life. You’ve never had to emotionally prepare to see your childhood best friend who you may or may not still be—” He cut himself off, dragging a hand down his face. 

Arthur flopped onto his side, directly onto the button-down.

Mike sighed. “You’re sitting on the only shirt that makes me look like I have my life together, you little bastard cat.”

Arthur’s tail flicked, still not moving. It was Mike’s damn own fault. He left the shirt on the bed this morning and forgot to shut the door. He paced once, twice, then stopped and looked at the mirror again. His reflection looked exactly how he felt: rumpled, unsure, like a teenager trapped in a grown man’s body. 

“Okay,” he said to himself, quieter now. “It’s just Will.”

But that wasn’t true and he knew it. It was Will, who used to sneak into the movies with him. Will, who used to ride his bike right alongside him everyday. Will, who hugged him so tightly when he left for college, promising Mike that he would call and write back. 

And Will who never did. Will, who disappeared from Mike’s life. 

And Will who was here now. 

Mike dove back into his closet. He knew exactly what he should wear. He pulled out a dark purple sweater that Nancy bought him for his birthday last year and pulled it over his head. He swapped his khakis from school with black jeans. Grabbing his chucks from the floor, he slipped them on, tying them tight. 

Crossing the room to his nightstand, he slipped a few of the rings he collected over the years on his fingers. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the drawer. Pulling it open gingerly, he dug through the contents until he pulled out what he was looking for. 

The calculator watch.

The same one that Will has, or at least had. 

Mike remembered the last time he had taken off the watch. It was at Lucas and Max’s engagement party five years ago. Max had warned Mike beforehand that Will might show up and Mike had waited at the venue nearly all night hoping that Will would come through those doors and that Mike could finally talk to him. 

Mike had waited longer than he meant to.

Long enough that the music started to blur into the background and the string lights overhead dimmed one notch softer. He remembered standing near the bar, fingers tapping against the face of the watch, doing pointless math just to have something to do—12 x 12, 144, again and again, like if he kept solving things, something in his life might finally make sense.

Will never walked in.

At some point, Lucas had found him, clapped a hand on his shoulder, said something gentle Mike couldn’t fully hear over the rush in his ears. Max had hovered nearby, watching him in that way she always did when she knew exactly what he was feeling but wasn’t going to say it out loud because deep down she didn’t want to hurt Mike anymore than he already was. 

Mike had smiled. Or at least, he’d tried to.

And then he took the watch off. 

It wasn’t dramatic, just the slide of the plastic of his wrist because it was too heavy to carry anymore. He tucked it into his pocket and then later his drawer. If Mike couldn’t see it, he at least didn’t have to remember who he wore it for. 

Now, standing in his bedroom years later, Mike turned the watch over in his hand. The plastic was a little scratched, the buttons worn down from years of use, both his and Will’s. For a second, he could almost see it: two kids sitting side by side, shoulders bumping, arguing over who got to use it first, punching in numbers that didn’t matter just because they could.

His thumb hovered over the tiny buttons. He pressed one. The faint, familiar beep cut through the quiet of the room. Mike swallowed and fastened it on his wrist. It was lighter than he remembered. 

He glanced at himself in the mirror, the rings catching the light, sleeves rolled just enough, the watch peeking out.

“Okay,” he said, still not confident, but a little closer. Mike turned toward the door, pausing only long enough to flick off the light. The room fell into shadow behind him, the past settling back into its corners. 

This time Mike wasn’t going to be the one waiting. 

~~~~~

Mike arrived at the restaurant a little early. It was a tiny pub hidden in New York City’s many alleyways that he had visited many times before with his sisters and other members of the party. It felt right to bring Will here, like the final piece in a five thousand piece puzzle. He had hoped he had given Will good enough instructions. New York’s streets can be confusing to a newcomer, and why isn’t Will here yet? Did he ditch Mike again?

His cellphone rang, interrupting his spiral. Checking the caller ID, he answered.

“Hey Dustin–”

“Tell me you just didn’t ‘hey Dustin’ me, Wheeler,” Dustin’s voice boomed from the phone. “Who the hell was going to tell me and El that you and Will are talking again!” 

Mike stifled a laugh behind his hand as his friend continued to rant. 

“I had to find out through Steve, Mike!” Dustin cried. “You know how embarrassing it is when Steve knows something I don’t.” 

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, failing miserably to keep his laughter quiet. “First of all, I didn’t tell Steve anything–”

“Which somehow makes it worse,” Dustin cut in. “Because that means this information just… leaked. Like a security breach. Like Watergate, Mike.”

“It is not Watergate.” 

“It is to me,” Dustin insisted. “You guys are my best friends. I should have the right to know if my best friends who haven’t talked in fifteen years begin talking!”

Mike huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face as he started pacing the length of the restaurant front. “Okay, okay, relax. It’s not– it’s not even a thing yet.” 

“The ‘it’s not a thing’ thing,” Dustin said, voice pitching higher in disbelief. “Which is how I know it’s definitely a thing.”

Mike opened his mouth, then closed it again. “We just ran into each other on the field trip,” he said finally. “That’s it.” Mike shook his head, still smiling, then leaned a little closer to the phone. “Hey, is El there?

There was a brief shuffle on the other end, Dustin muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “yeah, yeah, fine, I’ll share,” before another voice came through.

“Hi, Mike.”

Mike’s expression softened instantly. “Hey, El,” he said warmly. “Hi. I was gonna call you, I swear, this just happened really fast.”

“It’s okay,” El said, and he could hear the small smile in her voice. “Dustin is being dramatic.”

“I am not—” Dustin started in the background.

“You absolutely are,” Mike said, grinning. “And for the record, I was planning on telling you both tonight.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dustin said skeptically. “Sure you were.”

“We literally are just having dinner tonight,” Mike argued. “It is not a big deal.”

“DINNER?!” Dustin cried, wounded all over again. “Oh so it's serious-serious. Wow, Mike I can’t believe you.”

Mike rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?” Dustin pressed.

Mike hesitated for half a second, glancing off to the side like Will might somehow be standing there to hear this. “It’s just—catching up.”

“El,” Dustin said, voice dropping into something conspiratorial, “he said ‘just catching up.’”

“I heard him,” El replied calmly.

“Unbelievable,” Dustin muttered. “Fifteen years and he’s still like this.”

Mike laughed under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You guys are the worst.”

“El,” Dustin went on, “I’m telling you, give it a week. He’s gonna be—”

“Who’s the worst?” 

Mike nearly jumped. He turned, startled, and found Will stepping up beside him like he’d just appeared out of nowhere, dressed in a stripey red button down and that same hesitant, familiar half-smile tugging at his mouth.

“... Was that Will? Mike, put him on the phone right now. I swear–” 

Mike covered the speaker with his hand. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” Will shifted a little closer, shoulder brushing Mike’s as he leaned in just enough to be heard. “Sorry,” he murmured, low, just for Mike. “I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

“It’s just Dustin and El,” Mike replied. “Dustin’s heartbroken that we didn’t tell him that we reunited on Monday.” 

“Of course he is.” Will rolled his eyes fondly at their friend’s dramatics. “Can I say hi?” 

“Yeah.” Mike passed over his phone to Will, their fingers brushing with the movement. Will held up the phone in between them so they both could hear. 

“Hi Dustin.” Will shot Mike a conspiratorial look. 

“Hi, Will! It’s me! Dustin! Your favorite!”

Will’s mole twitched. “Actually my favorite is El.” 

“Okay, ouch,” Dustin said in mock-hurt. “Okay but this is actually insane. Guys, we can all hang out together again. Maybe we can go on vacation! I thought you guys were never going to talk to each other again–” 

“We’re working on it,” Mike cut in, glancing at Will. Will’s smile lingered, reminding Mike just how badly he wanted to kiss him. “I’ll call you later with the whole story, I swear.” 

Will laughed softly, his warm breath tickling Mike’s cheek. Yeah, Mike was done with this call. He needed to have Will’s eyes on him again and only him. 

“Bye Dustin,” he said flatly, hanging up. For a second, he just stood there, staring at his phone, then let out a long breath and shook his head, a laugh slipping out despite himself. “Dustin’s never going to let this go, is he?” 

Will bumped his shoulder lightly. “No,” he said, smiling. “He won’t.”

Mike huffed another quiet laugh, then finally looked up, and kind of…stopped. Will was closer than he’d realized. Close enough that Mike could actually see the details he’d missed earlier in week with all the rush of everything: the way his hair had grown out a little, softer around the edges, the faint crease at the corner of his eyes when he smiled, the way he still smelled like oranges and wood. Older, but not in a way that erased anything, just made Will even more attractive

Mike didn’t look away this time. 

“What?” Will asked, after a second. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“No, uh…” Mike let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck, but he didn’t drop his gaze. “I just–” He hesitated, then pushed through it. “You look good.”

Will’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Oh… thanks.” Will glanced away and then back to Mike. “So do you.” 

Mike looked away, heat beginning to climb into his cheeks. If he kept staring, he was going to do something incredibly stupid. Like kiss him.

He wasn't ready for that. Or maybe he was, which somehow felt even more terrifying. To try to avoid anything that would embarrass him any further, Mike latched on to the first normal thing he could think of. 

“Do you– uh– wanna go inside?”

Will looked toward the restaurant for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

Neither of them moved. 

Mike let out a small, nervous laugh. “Right. Inside.” 

Will smiled– just enough to make Mike’s heart stumble– and finally started toward the door. Mike followed a step behind, trying very hard not to think about how close their shoulders were.

Mike walked up to the hostess stand. “Two for Wheeler.” The hostess scanned the list of reservations in front of her. Mike drummed his fingers on the stand nervously. He looked back at Will who was fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. He looked up, catching Mike looking at him. 

Will grinned, his mole twitching. 

Mike smiled back before turning his attention to the hostess again, grateful for the excuse to look somewhere else. 

A few minutes later, they were shown to their table. The small distraction of menus, water glasses, and the inevitable argument over who was going to sit where gave Mike enough time to get his heartbeat under control. 

Mike picked up his menu pretending to study it so he could get his face under control. “How’s your mom and Hop?” Mike asked, picking a safe conversation starter. “The last thing I heard is that Hopper got into woodcarving?” 

Will smiled fondly at the mention of his parents. “Hop got really into it after he retired. Said he needed something to keep his hands busy or he’d go insane.” 

Mike smiled faintly. “That tracks.”

Will leaned in a little. “He’s actually really bad at it,” he confessed. “El’s inherited the world’s largest spoon and Jon’s got a bumpy cutting board. I was lucky enough to get his attempt at a bird. It’s so lopsided.” 

Mike chuckled, imagining Hopper proudly presenting a misshapen bird to Will. “And your mom?”

Will nodded, his expression warming. “Yeah. She’s good. Still my mom, you know? Busy, always worrying about something, but happy.” He added, “They’re good together. Still annoy the hell out of each other, but—” he shrugged, a small smile tugging at his mouth, “—it works.”

“I’m glad,” Mike said. “You’re mom is pretty awesome.” 

“She still asks about you, you know,” Will said. 

Mike tilted his head. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Will’s voice softened. “Anytime something reminds her of Hawkins or, honestly, anything at all. She’ll just go, ‘Have you heard from Mike?’” He smiled a little. “She’d be really happy to know you’re doing well.” 

Mike let out a quiet breath, something tight in his chest loosening just a fraction. “I should reach out. It’s been a while.” 

Will held his gaze. “She’d like that.”

The waiter came around with their drinks, setting them down in front of them. Will thanked the waiter and turned back to Mike. “So, teaching, how does one get into that?” 

“It wasn’t the original plan,” Mike took a sip of his whiskey and coke, buying himself a second. “You probably remember me being deadset on being a writer when we were younger.” 

Will nodded immediately and it pained Mike a little how they used to know each other so well.

Mike set down his glass. “I gave that a real shot for a while. Sent things out to publishers, collected rejections, the whole experience.” He shrugged, but it didn’t quite land as casual. “I did get one short story published, though.”

Will’s eyebrows lifted, a flicker of genuine interest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Mike glanced down at his drink, then back up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Paid me basically nothing. Like– technically money, but not enough to justify it as a career.” 

Will laughed. “Poor artist life wasn’t for you?” 

Mike snorted, shaking his head. “Wasn’t for my parents, really,” he frowned. “They gave me an ultimatum: go to college or get a real job. I chose college.” He traced a finger through the condensation on his glass. “I just needed more time, if that makes sense?” 

“Makes a lot of sense actually,” Will said quietly. “I mean that you had been focused on that one dream for so long, it was bound to take a little time to let it go, no?” 

“Yeah,” Mike huffed knowingly. “Anyway, I met Val and we had this amazing professor. You would have loved her– She was the one who inspired me to become a teacher after I finished my degree.” 

Will leaned back slightly, studying him like he was trying to map this version of Mike onto the one he remembered. “You always liked explaining things,” he said after a moment. “You’d get this look, like you couldn’t let it go until the other person got it.” 

Mike’s fingers stilled against the glass.

“I still write sometimes, mostly in the summer,” Mike admitted. “Just not like I did before.” 

Will smiled. “I’d like to read some of it if you’d let me.”

Mike held his gaze for a beat, something unreadable passing between them, before the corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe,” he said, with not enough finality to make it seem like it was final. “Enough about me. What have you’ve been doing for the last fifteen years?” 

Will gave a small shrug. “Probably nothing you haven’t already heard from our friends. Art school for a few years. Then a three-year apprenticeship with art preservation that led me to getting my first curation job in a small gallery in San Francisco.” 

Mike let out a quiet, impressed breath. “San Francisco, huh? That’s amazing, Will.”

“I hated it there. Too cold,” Will sighed. “Not nearly enough sunny days.” 

Something warm settled in Mike's chest before he could stop it. He wasn't glad Will had been unhappy– that thought alone made him wince– but California had never fit him. Will belonged somewhere with changing seasons, old brick buildings, and winters he'd spend complaining about while secretly loving every minute of them.

Mike cleared his throat in a way that he hoped wasn’t awkward. This was his chance to ask what he’s been dying to ask since he first saw Will in the museum earlier this week. “Why move to New York then?”

Will rolled the rim of his glass between his fingers. "Better job."

Mike raised an eyebrow, already knowing that Will is hiding the full explanation.

"That's the official answer," Will admitted with a crooked smile. "The museum recruited me. It was a promotion, bigger collection, better funding. It would've been stupid to say no."

"And the unofficial answer?” Mike held his breath, awaiting the other man’s answer. Will’s smile faded into something softer. He looked down at his glass, thumb tracing absently along the rim.

“The unofficial answer…” he repeated, buying himself time.

Mike waited.

“I missed my friends.”

Mike blinked. “Our friends?”

“Well… yeah,” Will let out a soft sigh. “El and Dustin are in Cambridge. Max and Lucas just moved to Baltimore from Chicago. My mom and Jonathan are over here too.” He looked up at Mike through hazel eyes. “It’s hard dealing with everything we’ve been through alone.” 

Mike nodded. He totally understood. For him, visiting any one of his friends was at most a few hour train ride, on the other hand Will coming over must have had to have been a whole orchestrated event that took weeks of planning and lots of money. He couldn’t help but think that maybe it was his fault a little bit that Will hadn’t visited as much as he wanted to. 

Will smiled faintly, looking down at the table. “At first, it was exciting. I liked being somewhere new. I liked having my own life and being able to call everyone whenever I wanted instead of feeling like I had to be part of everything.” He paused, taking a sip. “But eventually I got tired of everything being a phone call.” 

Mike knew exactly what he meant.

There was something different about being able to knock on someone’s door. Sitting around a table without planning it weeks in advance. Showing up just because you were bored, or because something funny happened, or because you needed someone.

“So you moved to New York for them?” Mike asked.

“Not exactly.” Will shook his head. “The job was the reason. But…” He smiled, a little sheepishly. “Knowing everyone would be closer didn't hurt.”

Something warm settled in Mike’s chest. He shook it away to crack a joke instead. “So you don’t actually hate New York?”

“Oh, I still do. I just live here now so it’s justified.”

Mike laughed. “Right.” 

“It’s loud. It's crowded. Everyone walks like they're personally offended by you existing on the sidewalk.” Will shook his head. “And don't even get me started on the subway.”

“You're such a Midwesterner.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Will kicked him lightly under the table. “And you’re not?”

Mike grinned, rubbing his shin. “Violent, too.”

“Maybe you deserved it.”

“Maybe.”

The smile lingered between them for a moment before Will's expression softened again.

“But it is nice,” he admitted. “Being close to everyone again. I didn't realize how much I missed that.” Mike nodded, though his attention had caught on one particular word.

Everyone.

He knew Will meant their friends. He knew that. 

Still, he couldn't stop himself from wondering whether that included him.

“And now?” Mike asked.

Will looked up. “Now what?”

“Do you feel like you're home again?”

Will considered it.

“I think I'm getting there.”

Mike smiled faintly. “Good.”

Will studied him for a second. “What about you?

“What about me?”

“Do you feel like you're home?”

Mike opened his mouth, then stopped. He glanced around the restaurant– the low conversation, the clinking glasses, the warm light spilling across the table. He thought about his apartment and his cat. He thought about his job, about his students. He thought about Valerie, Harvey, and Ernesto and the many years it took him to get to this point.

Then he looked back at Will.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “Maybe I'm still figuring that out too.” 

Will's eyes stayed on his. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

They stayed silent for a second, staring into each other's eyes, wondering if the other person was going to finally let up their guard and say what they’ve been actually feeling. 

But Mike was a coward and looked away as the waiter came over to take their order. Mike cracked a joke about another table nearby celebrating a bachelor party. Will laughed, but his smile never quite reached his eyes. 

They settled into small talk. The boring stuff. The weather and whether the Knicks were going to finally make the playoff this year. It was antagonizing. Mike wanted to rip out all of his hair. His best friend in the whole world was right across from his and yet somehow a million miles away. 

He took another sip of his drink, trying to convince himself that this was fine. That they were fine.

Will seemed to be having the same thought.

“So,” he said eventually, swirling the ice around in his glass. “Tell me something.”

Mike glanced at him. “Something?”

“Yeah.” Will shrugged, looking almost casual. “Anything.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

Will smiled faintly. “Okay. Valerie.”

Mike blinked. “Valerie? What about Valerie?”

“How did you and Valerie meet?” Will took a sip of his vodka cranberry. “Because you mentioned earlier that you already knew her before you started teaching.” 

Mike leaned back. “It’s not really anything special. Val and I met while we were at NYU.”

“That’s it?” Will asked incredulously. “You just spoke so highly about her, I thought there was more.”

“Well, there’s a little more,” Mike confessed. “Okay, so Val was the first queer person I met outside of you— Well I guess Robin too, but I didn’t know that at the time.” He dragged his finger along the grooves in the wood table. “Anyway, my college roommate walked in while I was… uh, getting familiar with another guy and he told me to pack my things and get out. He wasn’t going to be living with a fag.” 

The word came out so broken and choked that Mike didn’t even recognize it. All of the shame and embarrassment from years past crept over his shoulders and swallowed him like a blanket, holding his words in. 

This is where Will would realize that Mike still isn’t as brave as he thought. That he’s a coward who runs away and pushes his feelings down when things get hard. That underneath all the years of pretending he'd moved on, Mike was still the same coward who ran away and pushed his feelings down whenever things got hard. 

And maybe, if Mike was really unlucky, Will would finally realize that the thing Mike was most afraid of saying tonight had nothing to do with Valerie at all. 

Will reached over the table and brushed his finger against Mike’s, sending a spark through him. “You don’t have to tell me the rest, Mike. Not if you don’t want to.” Mike half expected him to pull away after, but Will’s hand stayed put, rubbing Mike’s pinky. 

They stayed like that for a moment, Will soothing Mike as he was trying so hard not to cry in front of him.

Mike took a shuddering breath. “Anyways, Val found me crying outside her door at one in the morning. She took me in and gave me a place in her home. And she told me that it was going to be alright and that we would figure it out together. I barely even knew her.” 

Will didn’t say anything right away. His thumb kept tracing that small, steady arc against Mike’s pinky, grounding him.

“That sounds pretty special to me,” Will said softly.

Mike huffed out a weak laugh, scrubbing at his eye with his free hand. “Yeah, well. Don’t let her hear you say that. It’ll go straight to her head.”

“I think she’s earned it,” Will replied, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Then, after a beat, quieter, “I wish I’d been there.” The words landed heavier than Mike expected.

Mike looked up. “What?”

Will shrugged, but his hand didn’t move. “Back then. When all of that happened. I just—” He hesitated, eyes dropping to where their fingers touched. “I wasn’t exactly… easy to reach.” There was something loaded in that understatement, something Mike could feel pressing at the edges of the moment. Fifteen years of it.

Mike swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. “Well. You were all the way in California, doing big, important art things.” He tried for a teasing tone, but it came out thin. “Kind of hard to compete with that.”

Will shook his head, a faint, almost pained smile crossing his face. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” Mike asked before he could stop himself. This was everything that he wanted to know and more. Will stilled. For a second, Mike thought he’d gone too far. The noise of the pub swelled around them, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly a few tables over, the low hum of music thrumming through it all. And yet, right here, it felt like everything had gone quiet.

Will finally looked up, meeting Mike’s eyes. “I thought,” Will started, then stopped. He let out a breath, like he was bracing himself. “I thought if I stayed away long enough, it would go away.”

Mike’s chest tightened. “What would?”

Will let out a short, humorless laugh. “You really don’t know?”

“Will–”

“I was in love with you, Mike.” 

There it was. Simple. Past tense. Mike’s brain short-circuited. 

“Oh.”

Will scoffed. “Yeah. Oh.”  

“No, I just–” Mike ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts tripping over each other. “I mean, I didn’t– I wasn’t– I didn’t know I could–” He let out a frustrated breath. “It’s just that I didn’t even know I was gay back then, Will. I barely knew anything.”

“I know,” Will said quickly. “I know that now.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” The question slipped out sharper than Mike intended, edged with something raw and painful. Fifteen years of thinking that Will had just gotten sick of him. Fifteen years they could have already been together. “Why just… disappear?”

Will flinched, just barely. “Because I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

Mike blinked. His heart pounding deep in his chest. Mike opened his mouth before he could stop himself. 

“But you didn’t even give me the chance to decide that.”

Silence stretched between them again, tighter this time. Mike felt sick.

Will’s hand finally stilled, but he still didn’t pull away. “I was eighteen,” he said quietly. “And terrified. You were–” He shook his head slowly, letting out a soft chuckle. “You were everything to me, Mike. My best friend. The one person I didn’t want to lose. And I thought if I kept talking to you, or if I stayed, it would all come out eventually and then I’d lose you anyway.”

Mike’s throat felt thick. “So instead you just… left first.”

“Yeah.” Will’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Guess I thought it would hurt less that way.”

Mike let out a shaky breath, staring down at their hands, pinkies now interlocked tightly. “It didn’t.”

Will let out a garbled, wet sounding laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I figured that out.”

Mike shifted his hand slightly, turning it so his fingers curled more deliberately against Will’s. Testing. Will’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t pull away. “Hey,” Mike said, quieter now.

Will looked up, wet hazel eyes barring into Mike’s soul.

Mike held his gaze, heart hammering. “For what it’s worth…” He hesitated, then pushed through it. “You wouldn’t have ruined anything.”

Will searched his face, like he was trying to find any hint of doubt, any sign that Mike didn’t mean it.

“And now?” Will asked, the question fragile in a way Mike had never heard from him before. 

Mike exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing once, tentative, over Will’s knuckle. “Especially now, Will.” 

The corner of Will’s mouth lifted, something hopeful flickering there. “Good.” 

Mike didn’t let go. He wasn’t even thinking about it anymore, his hand still wrapped around Will’s, thumb resting where it had brushed before. Like if he moved, something might slip out of place again, like Will would leave again. 

Will looked down at their intertwined hands and let out a small huff. “I think I would have died on the spot if this happened fifteen years ago.” 

Mike glanced down at their hands again. Their pinkies were still hooked, fingers pressed together more deliberately now. When did that happen? He didn’t remember deciding to hold on like this. He just knew he didn’t want to stop. There was something grounding about it, something that kept this from feeling like it might vanish if he blinked.

 “Can I ask you something?” 

Will nodded. 

“When you say you thought it would go away… did it?”

Will didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. His gaze dropped for a moment, then came back, steady despite the shine still clinging to it. “No.” 

Something in his chest twisted guilt, maybe, or something adjacent to it. Not because Will felt that way, but because he’d felt it alone. Because Mike had been right there and hadn’t known. 

Will gave a small, helpless shrug. “I tried. Dated other people. Kept busy. Moved across the country. All the cliché stuff you’re supposed to do.” A faint, self-deprecating smile flickered across his face. “Turns out that doesn’t actually fix anything.” Will glanced out the window. “Really, it just makes it worse.” 

“Yeah,” Mike said softly. Because I didn’t get over you either. The thought slipped in. Will had always been there. In the background of everything. Mike knew deep down then that he treated Will differently from their other friends. Every almost, every maybe, every relationship that never quite stuck the way it was supposed to. Mike had just… never followed that thread far enough to understand why. Not until it was too late and Will had already left. 

Will studied him again, more carefully this time. “What about you?”

Mike blinked. “What about me?” 

“Did you ever–” Will stopped, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t know. Think about it? About… us, I guess.” 

Mike let out a slow breath, his thumb unconsciously brushing back and forth over Will’s knuckle now, a little less tentative than before. Don’t lie, he told himself. Not now. Not after everything. This was the moment Ernesto was talking about. Don’t fuck it up, Wheeler.

“Yes,” Mike said, the words slipping out faster and more desperate than he wanted them to. “All the damn time.” 

Will’s expression softened, something like disbelief easing into it. “Really?”

Mike’s mouth kept running. “I still do. I–I– just didn’t have the words for it. God knows I was an idiot back then and it took a lot of time and I’ve been working on this for a while and–”

“Mike–” Will stopped him. “Do you have them now?” 

Mike met his eyes, steady this time. Do I? His heart was still hammering, his thoughts still tripping over themselves. Here was the final inning, bases are loaded as his father would say. Gross, Wheeler, why are you bringing your father into your love confession? You are so close, just hit the landing. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

Will’s eyes stared at him, hazel baring into his soul.

“Will,” he went on, voice steadier than he felt, “I’ve been in love with you for the past fifteen years.” His thumb stilled against Will’s hand. “I think I always was, even before you left. I just didn’t understand it, or I was too scared to.” He let out a breath, not looking away. “And I’m really sorry it took me this long to say it out loud.” 

“You always–” Will started, then stopped. His voice came out quieter the second time. “You always were?” 

Mike nodded, a small, almost helpless motion. “Yeah.”

 “I thought…” Will shook his head, a faint, disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth. “I thought I imagined it. Back then. Or–” He let out a soft laugh. “Or that I just wanted it so badly I made it up.” 

“You didn’t.” Mike's chest tightened. Oh, he hated that he ever made Will feel this way. Mike wanted to be there for every moment from now on. He wanted to see Will’s hair grow sliver and smile lines deepen and damn, Mike wanted to be the reason why Will’s hair is gray and his wrinkles more prominent. 

Will’s fingers shifted in Mike’s grip. “You know,” Will said slowly, “I used to rehearse this. Conversations like this.” He took a shaky breath. “Different versions. Sometimes you said yes. Sometimes you didn’t. Sometimes I didn’t even get the words out.” 

Mike let out a quiet, almost pained laugh. “Yeah? In mine, I usually chickened out before I got this far.”

Will laughed softly. “Why are we like this?” 

“Who knows?” Mike shrugged. “Maybe it was all the Upside Down ash we inhaled. Made us crazy.” 

Will’s shoulders loosened, just a little, like something in him finally unclenched. “Then we’ll go crazy together,” he finished, giving his hand a squeeze.

Mike is so unbelievably fucking happy. He’s wished in the past that Will would have seeked him out again or maybe Mike was brave enough to chase him down in California. But that didn’t really matter now. Mike loved Will and he told him and Will looked pretty damn happy about it too.

In an act that Mike wasn’t sure was fueled by bravery or lovesickness, he lifted Will’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the soft skin there on the back of his hand. 

“If you’ll let me.” 

Will’s face flushed a magnificent red. Mike vowed to himself that he was going to try to achieve that reaction as much as he could from now on. Will stared at him for a second, like he was trying to decide whether Mike was joking.

Then he smiled.

Not the small, careful smile Mike had gotten used to over the years growing up. Not the one Will used when he was trying to make everyone else feel better. This one was wide and helpless and so openly happy that Mike felt something in his chest crack straight open.

“I think,” Will said, his voice barely above a whisper, “you already have.”

Mike blinked. “What?”

“The reaction.” Will glanced down at their joined hands, then back up at him. “You said you wanted to be the reason I got gray hair.”

Mike's face went hot. “I—”

“You know you said that out loud.”

“I was having a moment. This is a little overwhelming in case you haven’t noticed.”

“A very very much appreciated moment.”

“Will.”

Will laughed, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

Mike couldn't stop smiling. He tried, because apparently there was a limit to how much smiling one person's face could physically withstand, but it was impossible. Everything felt too bright. Too easy. After years of wondering and second-guessing and telling himself that maybe some things were better left unsaid, here they were.

Will was here.

Will loved him.

And Mike had somehow managed to tell him.

He squeezed Will's hand again. “So... that's a yes?”

Will looked up.

For just a moment, the teasing fell away. His eyes were soft, shining in a way that made Mike's heart stumble and fall in love all over again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Mike, that's a yes, you dork.”

Mike exhaled a laugh that sounded embarrassingly close to a sob.

“Oh.”

Will's smile softened. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Oh.” Mike shook his head, overwhelmed all over again. “I just– I've wanted to hear you say that for so long.”

“I know.”

Mike frowned. “You know?”

Will's thumb brushed over his knuckles. “I think I've always known.”

That shut Mike up.

Will shifted closer until their shoulders touched. “I just didn't know if you'd ever know.”

Mike looked at him, really looked at him, and suddenly fifteen years felt both impossibly long and heartbreakingly short.

“I know now,” he whispered.

Will nodded.

“Good.”

“Good.”

Neither of them moved. Their entrees arrived and they picked at them. Mike honestly couldn’t eat, his stomach was doing gymnastic routines in his body. 

Eventually, Will glanced toward the windows. “Uh…”

Mike followed his gaze.The sky outside had gone nearly black. Rain streaked down the glass in thin, restless lines, and somewhere beyond the restaurant, thunder rumbled low enough that Mike felt it in his chest.

“Was it supposed to rain?” he asked.

Will shrugged. “I don't think so.”

Another rumble. Then the rain came harder. Within seconds, it was hammering against the windows.

Mike stared. “That's…”

“Yeah.”

“That's a lot of rain.”

Will laughed. “Very observant.”

Mike looked at him. “We have to walk home in that?”

Will's smile slowly disappeared. “Oh.”

They paid as quickly as they could, neither of them bothering to pretend they weren't watching the storm through the window. By the time they stepped outside, the sidewalk was already flooding at the edges.

Mike took one look at the downpour. “Nope.”

Will laughed. “What?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Mike, we have to get home.”

“I know, but—”

A flash of lightning lit up the sky. Mike grabbed Will's hand.

“Run.”

“What?”

“RUN!”

They bolted. The rain swallowed them instantly. Within seconds, Mike's hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back. Will was laughing so hard beside him that he nearly slipped on the wet pavement.

“Stop laughing!” Mike shouted.

“I can't!”

“You're making this worse!”

“How am I making it worse?”

“I don't know!”

Will squeezed his hand. “Faster!”

They ran. Cars hissed past them, sending sheets of water onto the street. Mike tried to shield Will with his arm, which was completely useless considering they were both already soaked through.

“Your apartment!” Mike yelled. “How far?”

“Five minutes!”

“Five minutes?!”

“Maybe three!”

“That's not better!”

Will laughed again, breathless. Mike couldn't help laughing too. They sprinted down the sidewalk, slipping and stumbling, hands locked together as if letting go wasn't an option.

At one point Will's foot went out from under him.

“Whoa—”

Mike caught him around the waist. For a second they stopped. Rain poured over them. Will looked up at him, dripping wet, hair stuck to his forehead, cheeks flushed from running. Mike couldn't stop smiling.

“You okay?”

Will nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”

Mike's hand was still around his waist. Neither of them moved. Then thunder cracked directly overhead.

Will jumped. “Okay!” he shouted. “Apartment!”

Mike laughed. “Right!”

They took off again. By the time they reached the building, they were both soaked beyond saving. Will fumbled with his keys while Mike stood behind him, shivering and laughing.

“Hurry!”

“I am!”

“You're not!”

“I can't feel my fingers!”

“Will!”

“Mike!”

The lock finally clicked. Will shoved the door open. “Inside!” They stumbled into the hallway together, dripping water onto the floor of Will’s hallway.Mike leaned against the wall, completely out of breath.

Will looked at him.

Mike looked at Will.

Then they both burst out laughing. “We look ridiculous,” Will said.

“You look cute.”

Will rolled his eyes, but his smile gave him away.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let's get you warm.” They slipped off their wet shoes and socks, leaving them in a pile by the door. Will started to walk into the rest of the apartment to grab them a few towels.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Will said, stepping around a stack of boxes. “I haven’t really gotten around to unpacking yet.” 

“It’s fine,” Mike said, his eye catching a frame. Mike smiled at the hung Bowie poster on the wall remembering Harvey’s excitement on Monday. Crazy to think that Mike was so apprehensive about meeting Will. “I’m sure the museum has kept you busy.” 

“It has,” Will sighed, “The art world never stops. Let me get you a towel.” Before Mike can respond, there’s a soft thump from somewhere deeper in the apartment. Then another. Then the unmistakable sound of something skidding slightly across hardwood.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me you had a roommate?” 

Out from behind a stack of boxes emerges a cat, black and white, medium-sized, fluffy, with a tail that flicked towards Mike. It stops a few feet away, staring Mike down with intense, unblinking curiosity. 

“You have a cat?” Mike said, looking at Will, not even hiding his glee. 

Will knelt down and scooped the feline up in his arms and took a few steps towards Mike so that the cat could get a sense of him. Mike lets the cat get a good sniff of him before tentatively petting the feline in Will’s arms. “His name’s Merlin,” Will said, readjusting his hold on the cat.

Wait…Mike looks up slowly. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Merlin, you know,” Will said, nervousness creeping into his voice. “Like the wizard.” 

“I know what you meant,” Mike cuts in, staring at him. “Will.” 

“What?” 

“Will,” Mike says again, a grin starting to break across his face, “my cat’s name is Arthur.”

Will giggled. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Mike patted his pockets for his wallet. Taking it out, he flipped through it until he found what he was looking for. Will leaned over his shoulder, warmth radiating from both the man and his cat on Mike’s body. “This is Arthur.” 

Will cooed at the picture of the tabby in Mike’s palm. “He’s adorable.” Will handed the picture back, but neither of them moved.

Merlin had settled comfortably between them, purring so loudly Mike could feel the vibration through Will's arms.

For a long moment, the apartment was silent except for the cat.

Mike couldn't stop smiling.

Neither could Will.

Mike's gaze dropped, just for a second, to Will's mouth. When he looked back up, Will was already watching him.

There was a question there.

Mike didn't trust himself to speak, so he leaned forward slowly, giving Will every chance to pull away.

He didn't.

Their foreheads bumped first.

Will laughed under his breath.

“Smooth,” he murmured.

“Shut up.”

“I've waited fifteen years. I think I'm allowed to make fun of you.”

Mike smiled. “Fine.”

He tilted his head.

This time, when their lips met, there was nothing uncertain about it.

It was soft. Almost tentative, despite everything they'd just said. Like neither of them quite believed this was real yet.

Mike felt Will smile against his mouth. And then Mike was smiling too.

Fifteen years.

Fifteen years of loving him, and somehow, finally, he got to kiss him.

When they pulled apart, they stayed close, noses brushing. Will's cheeks were still red. Mike grinned.

“What?” Will asked.

“Nothing.”

“You're staring.”

“I like looking at you.” Will rolled his eyes, but his smile gave him away. Mike squeezed his hand. “I'm serious,” he said quietly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Will's expression changed. For a second, Mike worried he'd said the wrong thing. Then Will leaned into him, resting his head against Mike's shoulder.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Mike rested his cheek against Will's hair.

Okay.

For the first time in a long time, the word felt like enough.

~~~~~

Mike hefted the last box onto the growing stack sitting in his brand new living room. Looking around, he still couldn’t figure how amazingly lucky he was that he’s living his dream life. He finally moved out of that shoebox apartment he used to call home. Carting Arthur and all of his possessions just a few streets over to a beautiful art deco third floor walk-up. And the best part was that he wouldn’t be living alone anymore.

Mike would be living with his boyfriend of one and a half years and his best friend of over twenty nine years. But honestly, Mike stopped counting how many years he’s loved or lost Will for. He was just excited to start living his future years to come with the love of his life for however long they might live.

“MIKE, OPEN THE DOOR!” 

Mike snapped out of his thoughts and rushed to open the door. Dustin barrelled past him, nearly toppling Mike to the ground, to set a stack of boxes down in the hallway.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Will,” he swore, while trying to catch his breath. “What did you put in there? Boulders?” Dustin took dramatic gulps of air as Will and Val sidestepped Mike to enter the apartment with paint cans in hand. 

Will laughed at his friend’s misfortune. “It’s not even half of my books, Dustin.” 

Dustin looked up incredulously. “You cruel, cruel, evil person. How does Mike put up with you?”  

“Hate to tell you, but as his former roommate, it’s Will that’s putting up with Mike,” Val said, crossing the room to set down the paint cans by the window. “I mean have you smelled his socks? Disgusting.”

Will nodded, sharing a similar face of disgust. “I know, right? He just leaves them everywhere.” 

“Hey!” Mike said, in mock-hurt. “I don’t leave them everywhere, Arthur just spreads them everywhere.” As if being summoned by hearing his name, Arthur rounded the corner, shortly followed by Merlin. Mike pointed at him accusingly. “It’s him, I swear!”

“Wheeler, are you seriously blaming the cat?” 

Mike turned around to look at who just entered the apartment. Max Mayfield, currently six months pregnant, waddled into the room followed by Lucas and El. 

Mike held up his hands in protest. “He’s a devious creature, Max. Don’t trust him.” 

“Arthur?” El scooched past everyone else and scooped up the orange feline into her arms with a coo. “This cute thing? He would never. It was Mike.” She reached down to pick up Merlin, her arms bursting with cats. “Dustin? Can we get a cat?”

“Don’t you already have one?” Lucas asked, but got a pointed look from Dustin to shut the hell up. 

 Dustin gave Merlin a little scritch behind the ears. “Eggo could definitely use a friend, maybe two.” 

Mike smiled at the two of his friends. A warm hand snaked around his waist, pulling him in closer. Mike looked back at the arm’s owner, AKA his very handsome boyfriend. “Hey you.”

“Hey yourself.” Will grinned cheekily. His other hand found his way to the side of Mike’s neck. Bringing his ear closer to his mouth, warm breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “So when are we going to kick them all out and get some us time?” 

Mike smiled, tightening his arm around Will’s waist. “Soon,” he murmured. “Very soon.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “That sounded suspiciously ominous.”

“I’m mysterious.”

“You’re terrible at being mysterious.”

“Hey, I can be mysterious.”

From across the room, Dustin snorted. “No, you absolutely cannot.”

Mike flipped him off without looking and kissed Will on the cheek.

Will laughed, leaning his forehead against Mike’s shoulder. “You know, I was thinking we could order pizza tonight. Celebrate the new place. Maybe open a bottle of wine.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“And then we could finally unpack the bedroom.”

Mike’s stomach did a strange little flip.

The bedroom. Right.

The bedroom where, tucked inside the pocket of his jacket buried deep within a bunch of grading, was a small velvet box.

He’d bought it three weeks ago. He’d carried it around for two of those weeks before finally deciding that tonight was the night. Not because there was some perfect, cinematic moment waiting to happen, but because there never would be.

There would always be boxes to unpack. Cats knocking things over. Dustin being loud. Will stealing his socks and insisting it were Mike’s fault somehow.

There would always be life.

And Mike wanted all of it.

He glanced down at Will, who was now arguing with Max about whether the living room needed a plant.

He had no idea that Mike was mentally rehearsing the question he'd spent months trying to phrase without sounding like a complete idiot.

Will Byers, will you marry me?

Simple.

Easy.

Except every time Mike thought about actually saying it, his heart tried to climb out through his throat.

Will suddenly looked up at him. “What?”

Mike blinked. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed to stare at my boyfriend.”

Will smiled, soft and familiar. “Yeah. You are.”

Mike squeezed his waist.

His boyfriend.

His best friend.

His home.

And, hopefully, very soon, his fiancé.

Mike grinned to himself.

Okay.

Tonight.

After pizza. After everyone left. After he stopped himself from chickening out approximately seventeen times.

Tonight, he was going to ask Will to spend the rest of their lives together. 

And if everything went according to plan, Mike thought, he’d only embarrass himself a normal amount.

From the kitchen came a crash.

“MERLIN!”

Dustin shouted, “THE CAT KNOCKED OVER THE PAINT!” 

Mike closed his eyes. “Normal amount,” he repeated under his breath. 

Will laughed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He kissed Will’s temple, then turned toward the disaster. “Come on. Before our new security deposit disappears.”

Will followed him, still laughing, their fingers automatically intertwining. Mike looked down at their joined hands.

Tonight. 

Definitely tonight.