Chapter Text
There’s something about the way Mike is dressed that makes Will’s heart swell when they see each other. It’s so unlike him, and he looks so peculiarly foreign with his classic Cali-tourist getup; it’s so unlike Mike that it makes perfect sense.
It’s been a long time since Mike’s last visit and his hair has grown all long and curly. His face has gotten sharper too, and Will determines the sparsely sent photographs really haven’t done him justice.
El stands on her tip-toes and calls out from across the room. “Hello, Mike!” His eyes light up when he spots the group, swiftly rolling his luggage over. (It’s endearing when the wheels bump his ankle and he turns around to act offended.)
“Hi! Long time no see!” He drops his suitcase to reach for one of the most awkward embraces Will has ever seen between him and El. She politely pats his back and he almost sways back and forth, as if he can’t decide if he’s really committed to the contact or not.
“Sorry,“ he starts.
“No. It is fine.” El smiles, showing him a well-rehearsed thumbs-up and taking a step back. Mike smiles tensely and lifts a hand to the back of his neck.
Will’s a little conflicted on whether or not he’s supposed to go in for the hug first, if Mike would even want to hug him, and he’s a few moments away from embarrassing himself when Mike tugs him in close, albeit awkwardly.
“Jeez man, is Joyce feeding you?” Mike’s hand moves almost imperceptibly across Will’s shoulder blades. He shivers.
“It’s all good,” Will says, laughing a little.
Mike pulls away, his hand wavering just a bit—it’s as if he wants to pat Will’s shoulder but thinks better of it.
He looks out of place here. “So… how’s everyone doing?”
El smiles. “I am doing well. I made plans for today, we should leave now.”
Mike drops his jaw for a moment, as if to protest. He thinks better of it and picks up his suitcase. “Alright, where are we off to?”
Will had his money on Rink-O-Mania. Upon the move to California, El had started spending a lot more time skating. She still didn’t have many friends—apart from him, of course—but she was otherwise well adjusted. “It’s like floating,” she had told him last month. “It makes me feel… happy.”
“We are going to Rink-O-Mania!” Mike turned to Will with a somewhat inquisitive look.
“It’s rollerskating,” he said. “She’s super into rollerskating.” Mike’s mouth morphed into an ‘O’ and he nodded.
When they’ve all piled into the backseat of Argyle’s van, Mike leans over and whispers quietly in Will’s ear. “Who even is this guy?”
“It’s Argyle.” Will states simply.
“And why does… ‘Argyle’ smell like skunk and dirt?”
“He’s really into smoking. Like, really into it.”
Mike’s eyes flit between Jonathan and Argyle. “No, yeah, that tracks.”
The view of Rink-O-Mania approaches swiftly. It’s packed to the brim with teens around Will’s age, but he recognizes approximately one person. It’s Lizzie McAllister, the girl who (he thinks) is flirting with him in class. Something about her makes him feel a little ill.
“Shit, this is twice the size of the arcade.” Mike mutters.
“Do you still go?” Will almost hopes he says no. He thinks of it as one of their spots, the two of them, and it hurts to imagine all the ways Mike has moved on.
“Once in a while, I guess. It’s… not the same.”
“Aw, you miss me?”
Mike laughs weakly. “That place just has some bad energy.”
Yes, that’s true—Will had seen one of his first visions of the Mind Flayer then—nevertheless, it hurt to hear.
No shit he doesn’t miss you, he thought bitterly. You don’t matter enough to change anything.
“Come on! I want to skate now.” El slides the door open and tugs on Will’s arm lightly. “I hope my lucky skates are still there.”
“You have lucky skates?”
“They are number eleven. Those are lucky to me.”
They clamber out of the van one by one, and Jonathan wishes them farewell. He looks at Will like he knows something he shouldn’t.
“Have fun, okay?”
“Yeah.”
It’s El’s lucky day, because her special skates are waiting for her. The worker seems to recognize her. Will doesn’t skate anywhere near as often as El—maybe it’s was the swaying, or the music, but he always feels ill afterward. He was a much bigger fan of his painting—as cliché as it sounded, it was how he expressed his emotions. Especially now, so isolated from his friends, the canvas had become his medium for conversation.
“Aw, I need socks?” Mike groaned. “I just brought flip-flops.”
“That was a stupid thing to do.” El shrugged.
He turned to her indignantly and a little smile crept onto her face. “She’s kinda right. I don’t think I have a single pair of flip-flops and I live here for god’s sake.”
“Why are you teaming up on me! I came here out of the goodness of my own heart!” Mike held his hand over his chest and feigned hurt.
“You should’ve just brought socks, dingbat.” Will stands now, a bit wobbly on his feet but standing nevertheless. “I’ll wait for you.”
Mike huffed. “Okay, hold on.” He fished a 20 out of his wallet and made his way to the counter with an air of annoyance.
“I like seeing you happy, Will.” El perched her head on his shoulder and followed Mike with her gaze.
“Are you sad to see him?”
“No, not anymore. I am happy he is not my boyfriend now. I think we both feel better.”
Will nodded, but couldn’t really understand how she could be happy after breaking up with Mike Wheeler. Maybe he was biased. (‘Maybe’ was an understatement.)
Mike comes back with the most hideous pair of socks Will’s ever laid his eyes on. “Look, they had my favorite color!” He grins like he’s said the funniest thing in the world, and Will can’t help but agree with him.
In the rink, Will looks on with envy at El’s smooth glide around the floor. She does a little spin, finishing to stare backward and wave at the two boys she’s left behind.
Will cringes. “I think I look more like Bambi on ice than a figure skater.”
“I’m guessing you don’t come here too often?”
“No, skating is more of El’s thing. I don’t do too well with the movement, I guess. And I prefer spending my time on other things.”
“Like what?”
“Painting, mostly. It’s nice and quiet.”
“Will you show me some of it when we’re at your house?”
“I don’t have a lot to show yet.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure whatever you’ve painted is pretty. You’ve always been good at it.”
He knows it’s supposed to be an innocent compliment, but Will’s cheeks still burn a little redder. “Yeah. Thanks.”
A little wobble in his knee sends Will near-careening into Mike, gripping at his stupid yellow shirt. Mike catches him before he gets too close to the ground with a firm hand on Will’s waist.
“Bambi,” Will mutters plainly. His face is on fire and Mike’s touch leaves a searing print on his midriff. His hand is gone the next moment.
“We can sit out if you want, I doubt El would even notice.”
The aforementioned girl is involved in some peculiar game of roller-rink limbo, drifting effortlessly back and forth. There are a few people cheering her on—it’s lovely to see.
When the Byers arrived in California, Will took it upon himself to protect her as much as he could. As time went on, he saw that she was perfectly fine without him—it was bittersweet.
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m hungry. Apparently they don’t give you food on every flight, which is so stupid. Like yeah, it was five hours, but I’m a growing boy.”
A loud cheer sounds from the center of the rink as El bends under the bar perfectly. She picks herself up from the ground and makes her way over to the boys.
“Did you see that?”
“Yeah! It was sick!” Mike reaches out to give her a high-five.
“Bitchin’.”
“We were gonna get something to eat, wanna come with?”
El nods happily. “You should have a milkshake. They are my favorite!”
They find a table nestled in the back corner and Will unlaces his skates. “I don’t wanna embarrass myself,” he explains.
“I’m gonna get uh… piece of pizza.” Mike’s face contorts as he tries to read the concession sign from across the room.
“And a milkshake,” El adds.
“And a milkshake. What do you want, Will?”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“You’re not gonna eat anything?”
Will isn’t used to people questioning his decisions like this, but it makes sense that Mike would be the one to notice. Mike always seemed to see right through him.
“Yeah, I’m just not hungry.”
He almost seems to accept it until El chimes in. “But you have not eaten today. That means you are supposed to be hungry.”
He just stares. “I had breakfast, I’m not hungry.”
Mike’s gaze flits between the two of them. “El, will you come with me to, uh, carry things?” She nods.
They both skate off to get the food. Will tries to read their lips, but all he sees is concern.
Jonathan and Argyle are back to pick them up much quicker than anticipated. Will is thankful to get out of that place and off his feet, but just as upset to see the time pass.
He gets stuck in the middle seat again, left thigh pressed uncomfortably next to Mike’s. (He was about 97% sure he’d never been so tense in his life, and god was that saying something.)
“Where do they even go? They’re definitely not working, I feel like they just sort of… drift around when we’re not looking.” Mike whispered.
“It’s really boring. They play golf at a junkyard and get high like, 25/8.”
Mike giggled. Something incredibly emotional worked its way into Will’s chest, crawling up to his sternum and straight into his throat. He remained hyper-conscious of the contact between them.
A few more high-speed not-Joyce-approved turns left the group in front of the house. Will was fairly certain he’d made his room as presentable as possible for the slim chance Mike would stay in it. (Mike could stay in it with him.)
“Alright dudes, pile out. We have pressing matters to attend to.”
Jonathan sneezed. “We do?”
“Incredibly pressing.”
“Okay… so pressing.”
Mike laughed again, that heavenly sound, and slid the door open. He was gone before Will had even remembered he had to unbuckle his seatbelt. He blinked twice, harshly, and the world blurred a little less.
Upon entering the house, Joyce was nowhere to be found. Chances were she was at the store (they were due for a grocery trip) or on the phone with Murray. Something had been going on recently, and while Will didn’t know the specifics, he was certain it was important.
“I have to work on a school project.” El said, untying her shoes and retreating to her room.
“What? It’s spring break.” Will muttered.
“It is a project to help with my spelling. It is from my English teacher. I think if it makes me better at writing letters, it is ok to do on spring break.”
“Yeah, fair enough.”
Mike leaves his luggage in the entryway. “Soo…”
“The weather isn’t too bad. We can sit outside, if you want.”
“Sure.”
They don’t sit for very long. Mike is the first to stretch out with his legs in the sun and his face obscured in the shade of the roof. It can’t be comfortable with his head on the concrete patio like that, but Will joins him regardless.
“Will?”
He hums in response.
“Are you actually getting enough to eat? I know you kinda laughed it off when I asked, and I’m sorry to press, but I just wanna know if you’re ok.”
“Yeah, sorry. We’re okay here. Money isn’t as bad as it was in Hawkins, I think. Obviously I don’t know everything… but it’s good. We’re good.”
“Okay. You know you can tell me if anything isn’t good.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Mike sighs and shifts a little closer. When their hands brush, he laces them together so tenderly it could make Will cry.
“I’m glad you’re here.” He whispers it so quietly, so close that only Mike can hear. He whispers it like a secret. He whispers it like they’re the only two people in the world.
“I am too.”
They talk for a while longer, enjoying the soft sounds of the breeze and joyous laughter from the surrounding neighbors.
Will learns that he’s missed a lot. Max and Lucas don’t talk much anymore. Nancy’s running the school paper now, and that makes perfect sense. Dustin and Suzie are still together, and it makes Will believe in love a little more. He’s joined a new D&D club—Hellfire—and befriended ‘the scariest senior in Hawkins.’
He wishes he could tell Mike how things have been going for him here in Lenora. But when he considers it, he imagines the possibility that Mike would let go of his hand, and that’s enough to keep him quiet.
It’s so perfect and it’s so terrible all at once. It’s too easy to imagine this could be romantic, and it’s equally painful to understand just how far from the truth that is.
The door slides open with a squeak and Mike’s hand retreats from Will’s closer to himself. “Oh hi, Mike!”
It’s Joyce, home from wherever she’s been, hair disheveled and eye-bags prominent. Despite her apparent exhaustion, she wears a face full of joy. She’d never admit it, but the silence in the house has been hard on her as well.
“Hi, Joyce.” He stands to hug her in the same way he did as a child—the only difference being the extra foot of height on him.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to say hello, I went out to get groceries. Is pasta okay for you?”
“It’s no big deal! And yeah, pasta’s great. Thanks again for letting me stay.”
“Oh, honey, of course. You’re family. Will, pasta okay for you too?”
He hums noncommittally.
“Good, good. Come inside and get your room ready, Mike can have the air mattress.”
Mike waits patiently, almost dog-like, for Will to enter the house. He trails after him toward his room—Will almost forgets the painting he’s been working on isn’t tucked away.
“Hold on! I have to put something up.” Mike raises an eyebrow. “Just—stay here, for a second.”
“Okay, I’m not going anywhere.”
He slides through the barely opened door and closes it politely behind him. The painting is quickly stowed under his bed, the easel tucked neatly in the closet, (he won’t waste time painting while Mike is here) and the collection of paints put up and away.
On the way back to Mike he trips over a sock (of all things) and stumbles into the door.
“Dude, are you okay in there?”
Will swings the door open and leans faintly on the frame. “I tripped.” Mike grins.
“Can I come in now?’
“Yeah, yeah. I cleaned, so there’s space for the air mattress. Or you can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor, whatever is fine.”
“What? No way, I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
Mike reached a hand up to Will’s shoulder, looking at him with a knowing gaze and a smile. “I know. That’s why I’m not letting you do it.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Mike repeats with a grin. “Can I pretty please come in now?”
“Sorry,” Will muttered. “Yeah, come in. I can show you some of the paintings you asked about, if you want.”
Joyce’s voice sounds abruptly from the kitchen, calling them in for dinner.
“Ah. Later then, sorry.”
Mike shrugged. “It’s no big deal, I’ll see it later. I mean, I’m sleeping in there. So.”
Will laughed a little, awkward sound. “Yeah. Yeah, you will—you are.”
The table is set with the fine china—chances are it hasn’t seen the light of day since Thanksgiving three years ago. There are flowers in the vase on the table. There are never flowers there, but it’s nice. It’s special.
Steam rises from the pretty ceramic pasta dish on the table. It’s another relic he vaguely remembers stowing away in bubble wrap before the move. The food is a pale yellow. It looks good, and it hurts.
Jonathan and Argyle are next to show up, rushing in through the front door with an apology to Joyce and that terrible smell again. She pretends she doesn’t notice.
El comes in just a moment later in new clothes and with her hair up. There’s a little ink smudge on her right pinky finger where she’d been writing. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal. Stuff just comes in a box. A stray dog could cook this.”
Jonathan sighs. “Cmon, mom, don’t talk down on yourself like that. It’s good.”
“Yeah, dude. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Argyle stares at her, unblinking. (Mike still isn’t entirely sure who this guy is or why he’s always… around.)
Will’s plate is still empty and he’s in a staring contest with the dish. He doesn’t really notice how severely his leg is shaking until Mike presses a sturdy leg against his own. Intentionally or not, he feels himself short circuit.
“You ok?” Mike mutters from beside him.
“Just zoned out. I’m good.”
He spoons some of the pasta onto his plate. (It’s white and blue with flowers on the edges.) As he eats, Mike’s presence against him serves as an anchor.
Jonathan fills the silence with a long-winded tale about college that veers dangerously into the “what happens if I don’t go” theme. Joyce shoots him a look that he pointedly disregards. He talks until the food’s gone, and then talks some more.
“Will, honey, will you get the air mattress from the closet? I’m sure Mike’s tired, long flights always do that.”
Argyle breathes through his teeth. “Yeah, that’s gone.”
“What? The air mattress?”
“It is no longer with us.”
Joyce stares at the two in indignation. Jonathan gives her a sheepish smile and a mouthed ‘sorry!’
“It’s fine, really. I can sleep with Will, if that’s okay.”
Will clears his throat harshly and looks up. “Yeah. I mean, yeah, fine.” He worries that he may have answered that too quickly.
“Aw, it’s like a sleepover! If you’re both sure, I think it’s a great idea.” Joyce smiles kindly.
Across the table, El disguises the beginning of a giggle with a cough, hand over her mouth. Will glares at her with as much fervor as he can muster.
“I think we’re going to get ready for bed now.” He stands abruptly and takes Mike’s bicep into his hold.
“Thank you for dinner! It was really great!” Mike calls over his shoulder, already being dragged away by Will’s firm grip.
“Jeez, you okay?”
“I just thought you’d be tired. Sorry.”
“No, no it’s fine. I wanted to see your room anyway.”
“It’s not totally clean, don’t mind the mess.”
He swings the door open and lets Mike go ahead of him. He stands in the middle of the room for a little while and looks around at everything in detail.
Gone are his crayon drawings taped to the wall, his hand-painted wizard figures (a lot of which Mike helped with), his x-men poster with the left corner that never stayed up. The room is still Will, they know this, but it’s a Will who’s grown out of being a child far too soon.
“It’s nice.”
Mike sits down gingerly on the bed before stretching out and moving close to the wall. It feels like an invitation—Will follows suit.
“It’s okay. I miss my room in Hawkins. I miss a lot about Hawkins.”
“It’s not the same without you. We miss you a lot. I miss you a lot.”
Maybe on another night he’d have said ‘I missed you too, Mike,’ and left at that. But tonight he’s feeling emotional, neglected, and incredibly envious of the life Mike is leading without him. Tonight, he speaks up.
“If you miss me,” his voice wavers. “Why don’t you ever call? Or write? I’m still here.”
The bed is ominously still and the room grows increasingly quieter. The moment for Mike to speak passes and he’s still silent beside Will.
Will starts to sit up. “I’m going to take a walk.”
Mike grips his arm and tugs him back down. “Don’t go yet. I have to tell you something… I just need a moment to think of how to say it.”
“You’ve had your moments, Mike. The last year has been one big moment of silence. You should know what you want to say by now.”
Mike breathes a long, anguished breath into the cold dark.
“I’m in love with you.”
“You’re what?”
Will sits up to just stare at him. It’s dark, but the speckles of moonlight illuminate Mike’s face so perfectly he dosn’t think he can be mad. Mike shifts to sit up next to him, shoulder to shoulder with hand grazing hand.
“That’s why I didn’t write. First I was so scared that I liked a boy, then I was even more scared because it was you, it was my best friend, and I’m not—I’m not supposed to feel like that. I was so scared.
“That’s why I broke up with El, too. And I told her why, I didn’t lie about it. I needed to tell someone what was happening and I just—I trust her. I didn’t write because I was scared how much I loved you. And I wanted it to go away so I wouldn’t hurt you. But fuck, I guess I already did. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and I’m sorry I told you like this.”
Will looks at him for longer than he ever has. And he really, really looks. Mike’s eyes are glazed over with a sheen of tears that escape bit by bit onto his cheeks. He doesn’t move to the stop them. He stares back.
“I’m just—so, so sorry.”
“No,” Will murmurs. “Please don’t apologize for that.”
His hand reaches to hold Mike’s cheek. One of his tears slips onto his thumb and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt in his life.
And then, he kisses Michael Wheeler so sweetly the world stops.
Will is kissing his best friend in the dark, in his bed, in his room in California. It’s so real, and so tangible, and he has living proof that he didn’t love for naught. His proof is kissing him back in his dark room. Mike is kissing him back in his bed, and he’s holding his hand, and he’s crying onto Will.
Nothing could ever be more beautiful.
“I need—I just—“ Mike starts to choke out, wrapping his arms around Will with such security he feels invincible. Will’s hands curl around his neck and into his hair with a gentle caress at the base of his skull.
“I’m in love with you too.”
Mike is silent now—no sobs, just quiet breaths into Will’s green striped t-shirt. He’s warm, and real, and here.
“I’m so—I’m so tired.”
Will laughs quietly and tightens his grip on Mike.
“Can we stay like this? I don’t want to let go yet.”
Mike whispers back, “I don’t ever want to let go.”