Work Text:
He scrambles for his sword, back hitting the hard wall of the cave. Sweat builds at his temples, mouth dry- there’s chills traveling through his body, but the air is getting steadily warmer. He shivers against a strong wave of warmth, a faint red halo lighting up the dark entrance of what is shaping up to be his final resting place. The three-headed dragon is getting closer, and he’s alone. He grips the sword tighter, trying faintly to get up, but his wounded thigh won’t let him. He screams in frustration, feeling pathetic as a voice in his head prays for a miracle jfjdkfjkl
Mike scoffs, long fingers smacking the keyboard at random a few more times. His eyes are starting to burn; he hits the backspace button with a special kind of spite, deleting the key-smashing. He can’t seem to move past this point in his stupid new fantasy novel, a whole morning gone by in a blink of writing and re-writing his protagonist stuck in a cave with no way out.
He stands up to stretch and peek out of the window, rubbing his eyes and making the pink hues of the early afternoon sky blurry for a second. He holds his unruly long hair up in a bun with one hand, contemplating whether he should be the one to scream in frustration outside the window of his old bedroom and dent the quiet dullness of the street below or– call Nancy.
Groaning up at the ceiling he draws the blinds and lets go of his hair, making a beeline for his phone left on the bed. He ignores the ‘1 month til 1st draft’ reminder on his homescreen and dials his sister.
Maybe he should have just continued down the horror road, it worked after all. Maybe this was a mistake and he can’t handle a fantasy plot, maybe he’s actually awful at writing and his first book was a fluke. Maybe he should just suck it up and write a sequel instead of changing genre for his second work. He drags the comforter up around his head, folding up his legs and resting his head on his knees. The call connects but a few seconds of shouting go by before Nancy’s voice buzzes through. “Mike?”
“I’ve written myself into a corner, Nance.” Mike hunches further in on himself, holding the comforter together under his chin. Nancy clicks her tongue sympathetically at him. “Still no getting out of that cave? Jordan, I need edits for that article right now!” Mike is used to Nancy doing five things at once, so he just hums and spares a thought for whoever this poor Jordan is.
“Why did I even put him in a cave? Why can’t I just– think of what happens next? Nothing feels right. This is so stupid. I should scrap the whole chapter. I should scrap the whole book, Nance, let’s be real, I was just lu-”
“Hey,” Nancy’s voice sounds clear, like she doesn’t have her head turned slightly away from her phone anymore. “Were you seriously about to tell the person that basically got you published that you were ‘just lucky’?” Mike can feel the air-quotes. He winces.
“Mike, I proofread that entire book. I begged every publishing company connection we had at the magazine to give it a chance because I knew without a doubt that it was good.” Mike can feel his mouth twist sideways in embarrassment; Nancy sounds so sure. He picks at a thread hanging by the edge of the comforter right by his face, eyes low as if Nancy was standing right in front of him and he couldn't quite meet her eyes, reminiscent of how she stood in his room two years ago telling him that he was an excellent writer and that she was going to make sure what he’d written would be put out there for everyone to read.
“You work hard at what you do, and you do it incredibly well. Give yourself credit, shithead.”
Mike is startled in a laugh; that’s his annoying older sister alright. “Jeez, love you too, bossy pants.”
“That’s right,” shouting frames her voice again, the chaos of her office breaking through the moment. “And as life-long elected bossy pants I demand that you stop the sheet-troll routine and get out of your cave.” Mike blinks down at himself, face currently the only thing emerging from his cotton-cocoon. He whines, flailing his limbs and falling backwards on the bed.
“How did you know?”
“Please,” she dismisses, the do you even have to ask? clear in her tone. “You graduated college last week and you’ve been holed up in your room every day since. A change of scenery might be good.”
“I thought coming home after college instead of staying in Chicago was supposed to be the change of scenery needed to move along with this damn draft.”
“You went from your dorm room to your old room, Mike, it’s still four walls and a bed with dirty socks on the floor.” Mike splutters, protests unheard over Nancy yelling Jordan, the edits! again.
“Go for a walk. Pack your laptop and go write in the park. Take up residence at the library. Or– oh!” It sounds like she snaps her fingers, a faint clack backing up her exclamation. “You should go get coffee. There’s a new café on Main Street; remember where that old abandoned drug store with the huge yellow sign used to be? It’s been there in its place for a few months, it’s called Castle Byers. It’s very cute.”
Byers. Huh. He smirks, humming thoughtfully. “Byers? Didn’t you have the biggest secret crush on Jonathan Byers back in high school? Does he happen to run this café, Nance?”
“The whole family happens to run this café, asshole.” Mike cackles at her indignant rebuttal, trailing off awkwardly when whole family catches up with him. He scrambles to fill in his end of the conversation, not wanting Nancy to zero-in his slight stumble, but she beats him to it.
“They make a mean coffee. Besides,” she starts; Mike can just picture her grinning smugly at him. “Weren’t you weirdly obsessed with Jonathan’s younger brother?”
Mike drags a hand down his cheek, sitting up. “I was not obsessed with Will, he was just– he was a really good artist! We talked maybe a handful of times total!”
“Uh-uh,” Nancy laughs, seeming to thankfully let him off the hook. “Sure. But really, Mike. Get out of the house for a while. The idea is good, the characters are great. You can handle whichever genre you decide to pour yourself into. You got this.”
Mike sighs, nodding a little. “Thank you, Nancy. You’re right.”
“I know.”
He rolls his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. “Whatever, you’re so annoying.”
“I’m letting this slide only because I also happen to know for a fact that you’ll be thanking me profusely again for all the inspiration I just pointed you to.”
“Somehow I really doubt it.”
“We’ll see,” Mike’s grin gets bigger at the smile in her words. “I’ll talk to you later, Mike- seriously, can I have these edits or what?!”
“Bye-” the dial tone beeps back at him already and he shakes his head, pocketing the phone. He frowns at the laptop on his desk, staring with his hands on his hips at the accusatory blinking of the cursor marking his last written word. He sighs, throwing his head back. Coffee does sound nice.
*
mike: you guys know about the new café on main street?
dustin: yea went when i came home 2 visit. the byers run it!!
Mike slows down, ratty Converse scuffing along the pavement. He bites back a nonsensical ‘why didn’t you tell me’, because why would they? Sure, both he and his best friends Dustin and Lucas fawned over Will graciously lending his frankly amazing art skills to their Dungeons and Dragons club every now and then, but they were never close with him. They did try and rectify that more than once, but Mike always had the distinctive feeling of trying not to spook a particularly melancholic woodland creature the times he talked to Will; his gaze seemed sad all throughout high school, a resigned slump to his shoulders. He stuck mostly to his sister Jane, and she did the same. They were two of the people who got bullied the worst in that hellhole of a school, resilient in a way Mike, Dustin and Lucas hadn’t been forced to be despite them being teased as well.
Mike feels a swirl of guilt in his gut; he should have tried harder back then. Will always seemed pleased when they praised him, or when Mike would wave at him in corridors, or when he would glance down at what Will was doodling, sitting next to him in English, letting out a soft wow, that’s so cool! as to not startle him too much. The smiles he got were so tentative, burning bright for a second before going quiet again and retreating into being a hint at the corner of his lips. He stops walking all together to squint better at the screen, another ping signaling a response from Lucas.
lucas: Same. It’s pretty great. You going there? It’s covered in Will’s art
dustin: dude litrlly covered u might get inspird 4 ur writing again
Mike flushes, rolling his eyes at himself and at Dustin’s terrible text-spelling. The wind blows the wisps of curly hair escaped from the bun he haphazardly tied up, and he uselessly tries to keep them out of his face. He picks up his pace again, making his way downtown.
lucas: It’s not shadow monsters doodles but you’ll see soon enough
mike: will you ever let that go
dustin: u wrote a bestseller cause u were obsessed with him and his art and u caught a glimpse of a curazyy scary eldritch thing he was drawning
mike: i was NOT obsessed with him god
mike: and so what if that inspired the monster for upside down!
lucas: So us and the Times bestsellers list can’t let that go
dustin: ever
“Ow!” Mike stumbles back as his shoulder hits a streetlamp, a kid sipping on what looks like a brightly colored sugar-drenched concoction laughing at him from a bench nearby. He grimaces, rubbing the sting out of his shoulder. Peeling his eyes from his phone has him actually focusing on his surroundings, and he’s standing a few steps away from a simple wooden sign that reads Castle Byers in big, neat, cursive letters. He makes a face at the kid and reads the last messages he got.
lucas: Say Hi to Will and Jane for us. Get the lemon bars
dustin: defintly get the lemon bars theyre heavenly
He doesn’t bother responding, shoving his phone and his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, messenger bag swinging slightly at his side. He takes an hesitant step towards the entrance of the little café, resolutely ignoring the way his heart speeds up a little and pushes the door open with the same shoulder he smacked moments earlier. An elderly lady smiles at him as he pauses to hold the door open for her exit, a pastry in her hand.
The smell of pastries is actually the first thing he focuses on, his sweet tooth making his stomach rumble immediately at the candied scent. He doesn’t even realize he has the hint of a smile on his face as he takes in the colorful little café, a half-circular counter towards the right that frames flip doors to what must be the kitchen, a scattering of tables occupying the rest of the room. The twinkling of lights grabs his attention next and he focuses on the strings of fairy lights hanging around the corners, their glow more pronounced now that the afternoon outside is getting darker. Murmurs of conversation fill the space, making it cozy and comfortable. He thinks he’s just feeling his sudden nerves settle down when his eyes stop doubling the blinking of the lights and he takes in the walls.
Lucas and Dustin were definitely not kidding when they said the café was covered in Will’s art; the entire place is painted, not a corner left blank except for the large windows near the entrance. A forest is depicted on every wall, trees twisting and branching up towards the ceiling, which is painted a soft baby blue. The finer details show rays of light breaking through the leaves, making the gaze of whoever is looking move down. Various figures are peppered around the forest, from elves to what appear to be tiny gnomes next to a clutter of mushrooms, to fairies painted close to where the lights are twinkling. The more he looks the more he discovers, and he’s so captivated that he finds himself gaping in the middle of the café.
The door chiming with someone new coming in breaks him out of his wonder, and he hastily grabs the strap of his bag with both hands hunching in on himself, embarrassed. He can’t look away from the walls though, and he finds himself following the pieces of a broken sword drawn on the left side of the room. It takes him to a knight brandishing a shield near the counter, looking up at the sky. His eyes go from the knight to the empty stool near it a few times, debating whether or not he would be too much of a bother with his laptop up on it.
If he had any doubts about this being Will’s work they would have vanished completely upon seeing that knight, his style so distinctive in his facial features, the way he was posed, an echo of all the character sheets they annoyed him in doing for the club. This place seems to have been made to house his mind-space. He’ll take his chances being told off from occupying the counter.
He leaves his messenger bag on the floor near his stool, laptop already in his hand and placed in front of him. The flip doors of the kitchen swing gently with a soft swoop, Jonathan Byers making his way towards the counter, a rag slung over his shoulder and an apron around his waist.
“Mike? Wheeler?” Jonathan sounds surprised; he makes his way in front of Mike, absently wiping the rag along the counter. Mike waves awkwardly, fingers barely coming out of the sleeves of his hoodie. “Hi, Jonathan. Uh, congrats. On the café. I just found out.”
Jonathan smiles, eyes crinkling. He looks– happy, Mike thinks. There’s the evergreen bags under his eyes that Mike remembers always being on his face the times he’d seen him pick up Will and Jane from school, but the tortured aura around him seems to have peeled back, uncovering a solid kind of contentment showing in the lines by his eyes, his mouth. Smile lines. Mike feels his own smile relax into something more genuine than awkward.
“Thanks, Mike. Nance has been here a few times.”
Nance, huh. Interesting. “Yeah, she was the one that told me about it. I bet she’ll be here every day once she’ll come visit from New York again.”
Jonathan gives him a deadpan look, never stopping his movements with the rag. He hums, turning to his left to fiddle with a pastry display that looks incredibly good, actually. Mike’s stomach rumbles again. “Congrats to you on the book, by the way. It’s really good. Pretty amazing that Hawkins can brag about having such a young bestselling author.”
Mike rubs a hand on his neck, shyness getting the best of him. “Thank you. It was mostly Nancy’s doing that actually got me published, I just wrote a silly story between high school and college.”
Jonathan chuckles, closing the display once he’s satisfied with how it looks. “Nothing silly about a monster from an alternate dimension. Can I get you anything?”
Mike swallows, mortifying warmth spreading through him like always at knowing someone actually read his book. He chooses to spare himself further embarrassment and nods, fingers lightly tapping a rhythm on his keyboard. “I’d like a mocha and some lemon bars, please.”
Jonathan nods in return, going for the kitchen. Mike’s fingers tap faster against the keyboard. “This is– pretty incredible,” he blurts out, making Jonathan spin around with an inquisitive sound. “The art, I mean. Will, right?” His heart is loud in his ears.
Jonathan’s eyes twinkle with something, swinging his arms by his sides. “Yup, all Will. Incredible, isn’t it?” That something in his eyes turns into unfiltered pride, and he beams when Mike nods his agreement at him. “Jane is the baker. Will decorated everything. They make an amazing team.” Jonathan smiles again, leaving Mike to stew in his flushed cheeks and restless hands.
Mike looks around, catching himself trying to get a glimpse of Will. He shakes his head and focuses back to his left, towards the knight. He tries to find what it is that he’s looking at in the painted lines around him, but tiny details keep catching his attention; the barks of the tree behind the knight seem to be burned, slightly darker with pieces peeling off. The shield is broken, a piece missing from its corner. He’s so absorbed in his analysis that he’s stopped tapping the keyboard, leaning his head on his open palm.
His elbow slips off the counter when a deep - deeper than he remembers - voice calls softly, “A mocha and lemon bars?” And here there’s Will, holding a plate and a cup. Mike scrambles to right himself again, arm shooting up before he knows it. He cringes at himself when Will catches the movement, recognition lighting his soft brown eyes up, mouth slacking in surprise.
Mike takes advantage of this moment of stillness between them to take in Will's face, sharp jawline never once overwhelming the softness of his demeanor. The beauty mark near his lips is a blessed alibi for the way Mike's gaze goes to his lips. There's a flush steadily coming in high on his cheekbones, and he seems taller than the last time he saw him during graduation. He has a rag slung on one shoulder mirroring Jonathan, only his shoulders are much broader. He blinks after what seems an eternity, and a lock of hair falls over his eyes; that's when Mike focuses on how long it's gotten, familiar but grown over the severe lines he used to have it in during high school, little waves curling around his neck and his ears.
“Mike?”
“Will! Hi– hello. It’s me– I mean, the order. It’s mine.”
“Oh– of course.” Will grips the plate a little harder, hurryingly setting it in front of Mike along with his cup. The brief lull of silence around the café dissipates after the owner of the order is found, and Will drags his hands down the apron around his waist a few times. “I’m sorry, Jonathan didn’t mention you were here, he just gave me the order.”
Mike shakes his head, grabbing the cup and the plate to give his hands something to do other than keep tapping on his keyboard or spill coffee all over his laptop all together. He looks away from Will’s hooded eyes, noticing the little flowers along the border of the plate. They’re a little raised, like they’ve been hand-painted. “It’s totally fine! Congratulations, Will, I didn’t know you guys opened a café. Nancy told me today. It’s– magical, really.”
Magical. His fingers twitch to keep from cringing again; it’s not a lie, it really is magical, doesn’t mean he can take blurting it out in front of Will. He sips at his mocha to hide for a second behind his cup, the sweet warm taste a welcome soothing balm for his nervousness.
Will lets out another oh, trailing off in a sheepish laugh. He scratches a little at his cheek, bringing attention to his deepening blush. “Thank you, Mike. Jane has always loved baking, when we saw the old drug store was being sold at a good price we all decided to chip in and–well, take a chance.” He raises his shoulders a little, arms gesturing about the room.
Mike nods, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ears. He’s suddenly aware he must look a mess, and he tries to bunch up his left sleeve further into his palm, covering a tiny little hole in the fabric.
“She’s been really happy, it’s been good so far.” Will’s smile starts tentative like the old ones Mike remembers, but instead of burning and trailing off it stays bright, something so cozy about it that Mike feels a whisper of wistfulness lift up a corner of his lips in response, making his nose twitch a little.
“I’m glad. And you– you look good as well. Happy, I mean-happy. Yeah.” He writes for a living, he should know how to use words. This is so embarrassing. He picks at some crumbles on the plate by the lemon bars. Will seems flustered too as he searches for a reply, but Mike’s mouth can’t seem to stay shut for more than a second, so he goes on. “And all the art! This is enchanting, Will, you’ve always been so talented but this is just astonishing.”
“It’s nothing, really.” Will looks around the cafè for a moment, shrugging. “Jane liked the idea of this theme, and I’ve always enjoyed drawing fantasy settings.” He inclines his head knowingly at Mike, a playful smirk alluding to the bards, paladins and elves they described in detail for him to design. Mike laughs, surrendering to another wave of prickly warmth from the mortifying ordeal of being known through the stories you write when Will adds, “You, though. Congratulations feels too small of a word for what you accomplished. Upside Down is an incredible book, Mike.”
“You’ve read it?”
“Several times,” Jonathan’s voice comes from behind Mike, making him jump a little. He breezes past with a stack of empty plates in his arms, throwing them an innocent look, ignoring the glare Will levels him with.
“Really?” Mike turns towards Will again, hands gripping the sides of his laptop. Will runs a hand through his hair, and he seems to be trying to make himself smaller, shoulders tight.
“Ye-yeah, It’s a favorite of mine. I quite like horror and it’s a gripping story. The details are intricate and they’re all full of significance. Each thread comes perfectly together in the end. I particularly liked how the subtext suggests each character is color-coded and the concept for the monster is very original. Your writing is exceptionally good.” Will bites his lip to physically stop himself from rambling, twisting his fingers in his apron. They stare at each other, Mike gaping at him, so flattered he fears he could blurt out something way worse than what he’s spewed so far.
Mike’s stomach chooses that moment to rumble again, and he looks instinctively down at it. It surprises Will into a laugh, so Mike only feels marginally self-conscious about it.
“I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from eating.”
“No, no! Not at all Will, thank you so much I– you don’t know how much this means to me, really. I’m currently stuck trying to write my second book and nothing feels right, so hearing that, how much you liked Upside Down, is just– so great. Thank you again.”
Will waves his thanks away, pointing at the lemon bars before pinching the bridge of his long nose a little, blush now going down his neck as well. “It’s the truth. Please try them, they’ve been both Dustin’s and Lucas’ favorite sweet the times they’ve been by.”
Mike hums, taking the out Will has put forward. “Oh yeah, they raved about them. They also say hi, by the way.” He picks up one of the perfect little yellow squares, powdered sugar immediately sticking to his fingers. “I’d like to say hi to Jane as well– oh my god, these are delicious.” The words come out in a jumble through the mouthful he bites and he licks his lips to chase the flavor.
Will giggles, rag coming down to brush away a few crumbles flown outside the plate.
“I’m glad you like them. Sure, I’ll see in a while if Jane can step away from the oven for a bit, she just put in another batch of danishes for the afternoon.”
Mike already has the second lemon bar in his mouth so he just throws a thumbs up at Will, hoping to be not too catastrophically lame.
Jonathan steps behind the counter again, intercepting someone asking for a coffee to go. Will hesitates, looking from his brother to Mike. “So,” he says, resting his forearms near Mike’s laptop, “you’re stuck?”
Mike nods, swallowing as fast as he can without risking his life in front of Will. “Yeah, I’m writing a fantasy novel, but I pretty much just trapped my protagonist in a cave with no way out.”
Will’s eyes widen in interest, short nails scratching the dark wood beneath them. “Fantasy? That’s really cool, Mike, I’m sure you’ll make it work.”
Mike endlessly appreciates that this is Will’s reaction and not a but what about a sequel instead? that so many had thrown at him, his publisher included. He and Nancy negotiated a contract with shorter deadlines just to give him a chance at writing what he felt he had to write.
He can’t help but grimace a little though, thinking about the three-headed dragon coming his way as well. “Unless I make a miracle happen, and that feels a little– disingenuous. Stupid,” he mutters.
Will looks thoughtfully at his own painting of the knight poised with the shield on the wall next to them; he hums, moving his doe eyes back to Mike. “But isn’t that why we read certain stories sometimes?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t we read for that– that miracle, that plot twist we know is going to happen? It’s comforting to feel trepidation for a surprise you know is coming, yeah? To know the good guys are going to win no matter how many hardships they face, to know a miracle will happen for them no matter how little hope they have. I think sometimes we need that.”
Will hums again, a bashful hand on his neck as if he didn’t just kick Mike’s visceral need for technical plot perfection at all times out of a three-story building.
Mike has been staring a lot, but he thinks he’s justified after three years and the realization that if he goes for a Deus Ex-Machina just once the world won’t end. He’s just sitting there, laptop illuminating his face, looking at Will with his cup of mocha half-way to his mouth.
“Will! Can you come in the kitchen for a second?” an apologetic voice calls; it must be Jane, sounding muffled through the doors of the kitchen.
“Be right there!” Will straightens up, tightening the apron around his waist. He sighs into another smile, pushing himself away from the counter. “I’ll see you later, Mike.”
Mike looks from his retreating back to the cursed blinking of the pointer on his screen.
“Yeah. Later, Will,” he breathes out, the doors already flipping closed in front of him. He finally brings the cup all the way to his mouth and takes a sip of mocha. A miracle, huh?
*
The three-headed dragon is getting closer, and he’s alone. He grips the sword tighter, trying faintly to get up, but his wounded thigh won’t let him. He screams in frustration, feeling pathetic as a voice in his head prays for a miracle, eyes falling shut. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, the air getting thicker. This is it , he thinks. And then he notices that while yes, the air is getting thicker, the overwhelming warmth of it is dissipating, chased away by whispers of magic. They turn into shouts as spots of sparks blink in front of him and he blinks wildly in return, afraid this isn’t real. The sparks get brighter as the magic gets louder, roaring with the fierce power of whoever it belongs to when tgfhjklou
“Mike.” The key-smashing this time happens because Jane practically materializes beside him, a brown bag in her flour-stained hands, and he bounces on his stool just a tiny bit. Jane giggles, not looking sorry in the least, and Mike laughs as well. The Byers have some pretty contagious laughs. “Jane! It’s so good to see you. God, the lemon bars are insanely good.”
She goes up on the tips of her toes a little, pleased. “Thank you! Will thought you might like to have the ones that have been left over for today.” She hands him the bag, and Mike cradles it like she had handed him Will’s heart instead of citrusy little squares of goodness.
He huffs, knowing damn well he’s blushing to the roots of his hair. His bun had come undone a while ago during his staring match with the screen, so the curls just fall around his face, tickling him. He chalks up his nervous giggles to that. “Oh, that was so nice of him. Where- can I thank him?” For that and kicking my ass into gear, his narrator voice chimes.
“He’s busy cleaning the kitchen. We’re closing up, it’s seven.”
“What?” He spins around, facing the windows behind him. The sky has gone completely dark; he can’t believe he spent three hours being a disaster in front of Will, staring at his screen and finally starting to go somewhere after smashing the giant builder in his writing path. The café is empty save for him, and he tries not to get stuck again at how special it looks now that the fairy lights are shining even brighter. “I didn’t realize so much time had passed, I’m sorry. I must be holding you up.” He hurries to put away his laptop, neatly pushing together his cup and his plate.
“Don’t worry, It’s okay. We’ll just finish cleaning and head upstairs ourselves.”
Mike nods at her, growing confused after a second. “Upstairs?”
Jane points at the ceiling, long ponytail swishing behind her. “Yes, since Will decorated everything we saved a lot of money, so we decided to rent the only apartment in the building. It makes it easier for me and Will to manage the shop.”
“That’s really cool,” and it is; it sounds so picturesque he has to stop himself from plotting a tale about a brother and sister together against the world, making it better with enchanted sweets and beverages. He taps his forehead when he remembers something.
“Oh right– Dustin and Lucas say hi.”
“Thank them for me, I hope I’ll see them again soon.”
“For sure! I think nothing could keep Dustin away from these lemon bars.”
Jane moves to take the cup and the plate, throwing him what he assumes is a last look, conversation trailing off. He walks towards the door, but she puts a hand on his arm, prompting him to look back at her.
“Mike,” she starts, tentative. “High school was– difficult, for us. Especially Will.” She seems to be debating with herself about continuing or not, opting for the former. “But you’ve always been kind to Will, and he’s never forgotten that. Now you’re back. Just– keep being kind to him, okay?” She squeezes his arm, and he inexplicably feels his eyes get misty, trying to mask that by rubbing his nose. He nods, resolute. “Of course. I would never– I would never hurt him.”
She seems satisfied, patting him once and walking towards the back of the café. He swallows and makes for the entrance, door chiming when he opens it to step into the chilly evening air.
“Oh, Mike! I loved Upside Down, by the way. The monster was really scary.”
He groans at her mischievous tone, gently pulling the door closed behind him.
*
mike: lemon bars were great actually
dustin: told u
mike: will and jane say hi back
dustin: <3
lucas: How did writing go?
mike: much better I got a little forward
dustin: william stays inspirational
mike: the fact that thats the sentence you chose to spell without a mistake
Lucas: It’s to make sure your everlasting crush on him comes across loud and clear
mike: im literally going to kill off both the characters i based on you assholes
dustin: <33333
Mike lets his phone fall by the side of his face, turning his back on it and curling up to fit his legs better in his old bed. He tsks at the empty room, trying to fall asleep.
*
He lasts the whole morning only because he actually gets another entire three sentences done, interrupted by him bouncing off the walls, scrolling through his phone, remembering someone mentioning Howl’s Moving Castle in the café yesterday while he stared at his laptop screen and putting the entire soundtrack on, piano taking his mind back to Will and the fact that yeah okay, maybe he’s had a crush on him for literal years, torch burning in his chest quietly like a fire demon had kept it safe all this time. He should totally dress up as Howl this Halloween.
He gets flustered and then he gets cranky for getting flustered, sitting down and writing a fourth sentence. It drains him a little, so he gets his phone again and searches Will Byers on Google, finding no social media but an entire website called willbyerspaints.com where people can commission him to do all sorts of stuff and another hour vanishes going through Will’s online portfolio.
His mother saves him from his breakdown, dragging him down for lunch. His younger sister Holly laughs at his hair and he lets her put tiny braids in it in the early afternoon, trusting that she does indeed get them all out because she’s still feeling magnanimous thanks to the lemon bars he shared with her the night before.
It’s four o’ clock and he bundles up in a nicer hoodie without holes by the sleeves, laptop in tow. He’s thinking about how to shape up the new character he has started to introduce when he realizes he’s already at Castle Byers, the walk gone in a blur. The door chimes and he’s surrounded by magic again.
Will is behind the counter, handing a pair of teenagers two cupcakes and their change; Mike goes straight for it, set on the same spot as yesterday. He sits down, opens his laptop, and waves at Will maybe a little too enthusiastically when their eyes meet. Will doesn’t seem to mind the enthusiasm, bidding goodbye to his customers and walking in Mike’s direction next.
“Mike! I’m glad you’re back. Writing again?”
“I’m glad to be back. Yeah, I made progress yesterday, being here helped a lot. I mean,” he waves a hand around, “how could it not? It’s like you painted this specifically for my current brain-space.” Will looks quietly delighted, tucking a little notepad scribbled with what must be orders in the front pocket of his apron.
“I’m happy it helps; although I never would have guessed with the way you were trying to make your laptop explode just staring at it yesterday.”
Mike gasps loudly, narrowing his eyebrows in mock offense, mouth betraying him with a smile when Will laughs that contagious, deep laugh. “I’ll have you know the writing process is hard and torturous.”
“I saw that. I figured some more sugar might be comforting after you attempted telekinesis on your computer.”
Mike reaches over to shove him a little bit in jest, but he lingers for a moment, fingers trailing slowly back from Will’s arm. Time seems to move in slow-motion, and Mike looks at Will’s lips way more than it should be possible in the span of thirty infinite seconds. He snaps out of it when Will bites his lip and Mike draws back, sitting back down heavily. “It was. Comforting. I appreciated it a lot, I love sweets.” He says, looking down at his keyboard.
“Cool,” Will says, voice a bit hoarse. He clears his throat and points at the pastry display on his left. “Want to try something new? The croissants just came out of the oven.”
Mike nods, noticing that the plate he gets today has bees painted on the border. It’s so cute he feels like falling over the stool. “Mocha as well?” Mike nods again and Will disappears in the kitchen.
Each table is occupied today, and it’s easy to tuck himself away beneath the buzzing of mellow conversations; he loses himself for a while following a group of pixies painted on the other side of the room, catching the eyes of the same elderly lady he held the door open for the day before. She’s sitting at a table, a book open in front of her, and she mouths pretty, right? moving her head towards the mural. He shakes his head yes in agreement and turns back to the screen, holding back an outright moan at the first bite of the croissant he takes.
The cave echoes with the dull sound the staff makes when it collides with the ground, robes flowing behind the person that just appeared in a storm of sparks before him. He’s still not sure if this apparition is not just the blood loss getting to him, but the imposing voice calling enchantment after enchantment feels real reverberating through him. He fights the dizziness trying to take him under, keeping his eyes on the pair of leather boots turning around and coming towards him. He sees electricity in the air, the distinctive burnt-sugar smell of magic all around him, and suddenly his vision is filled by a pair of concerned brown eyessssssssss
“Here you go, Mike.” That same but non-fictional pair of brown eyes shines at him from behind the laptop, a gentle hand setting a cup down by it. Mike lets go of the s button, sighing at his treacherous speeding heart. Will walks backwards towards the register, still looking at him. “You found your miracle?”
Mike chokes a little on his mocha. “I really did.”
*
He goes to the café every afternoon after that, writing just feeling easier there. It grounds him in a way that soothes his restless energy, always surging up when he's actually making progress, as if some part of him wants to hold him back; here he can just sit and contemplate if he wants, everyone just sensing when it's time for him to hold a silent eye-fight with his screen. If he lets the restless energy win he just looks and looks and looks all around him, inspiration a simple gaze away. And the best part is that he gets to see Will, and actually be his friend.
One afternoon Will leans against the counter, arms crossed, and Mike learns that Will had chosen to attend Hawkins's Community College to stay close to his family, pursuing art and getting a website for commissions up and running, which is going really well. Mike oohs and shoves the chocolate èclair that is crumpling a little in his grip directly in his mouth to avoid spilling that he already knows each piece shown on that website by heart.
Another afternoon he gets peanut butter cookies as big as the star-decorated plate they're resting on, and Will tells him about a commission he's putting together in the evenings, a big scenic piece of a meadow dotted exclusively with flowers in each shade of blue. Mike demands to see a preview and he compliments himself on getting Will's number, blushing only a little when he adds a sparkle-emoji near his contact name that night.
mike: heyy :D its mike
will: I know, you dork
mike: i resent that
will: Do you really?
Mike doesn't scream into his pillow during the entire exchange. Really, he doesn't.
He's content, and when another afternoon finds him eagerly telling an attentive Will about the cleric that is going to be the key to saving the world in his book, he realizes that he's found joy in writing again. He's having fun with it, not agonizing over each and every single world like the first time around. He has a slice of cheesecake that afternoon and a carefree smile on his lips, seeing sparks around Will’s hands.
*
"So, are you ready to send the first draft?"
"Yeah Nance, it's not complete by any means but it's half of what the entire story is going to be– I have the entire plot sketched out." Mike kicks a little pebble in his path, eyes on the pavement. "Plus I have another week, I might get more done."
Nancy sounds impressed. "That's great Mike, considering you were stuck like, two weeks ago, it's incredible that you got that far. Must be all the sugar you're getting."
"I am not getting any sugar!" Mike screeches, some passerby turning to frown at him. He groans and walks a little faster.
"Aren't you getting sweets everyday at Castle Byers? How much more sugar would you like to get?" she teases slyly, laughing at him whining. "Nancy, god, you’re so lame."
"I'm just saying, you might as well ask Will out while you're basically reserving a spot in their establishment."
"I am- and Will doesn't- how do you even know I'm getting sweets every day?" his vocal chords have chosen high-pitch indignation and there's no getting them down.
"I have my sources."
"These sources don't happen to be someone with a name that starts with J and ends with onathan Byers, do they?"
"Professional secrecy. A journalist keeps their sources close."
Mike snorts, squinting at the figure holding a sizable square-shaped something wrapped in brown paper, standing near a green car parked in front of the café that looks straight from the eighties. It's Will, chest heaving a little with effort, looking up at the window above his shop.
Jonathan sticks his head out of the window a moment later, holding up a closed fist for Will to see. “Here!” he calls, and throws a clinking set of keys down, Will catching them one-handed. Mike doesn’t know why that makes him blush, but it does so sue him.
“Mike? Are you still there?”
“Yes, sorry. I’m in front of the café. Don’t even,” Nancy laughs at him long and obnoxious.
“I’m still waiting for my thank yous!”
Mike hangs up, shaking his head. He jogs a little over to Will, calling a greeting that makes him turn his head towards him, eyes a golden brown from the afternoon haze.
“Do you need a hand?”
“Hey, Mike– would you mind holding the painting for a second?”
Oh, so that’s what it is; it must be the blue-spectrum meadow commission. He holds it as gently as he can by the sides, open palms pressed on the edges to avoid gripping it, completely focused on it. Will giggles, picking the key from the set to open the car.
“It won’t break, don’t worry.”
“Trusting my gangly limbs is an amateur mistake, Will. You should know better.”
Will nudges him a little, amused. “I think they’re more than fine.”
Mike opens and closes his mouth a few times, like each time Will’s calm confidence whacks him over the head. They both maneuver the painting on the back seat, settling it in securely, car door thudding shut.
“Thanks, Mike.”
“It’s no problem. Is it the exclusively blue meadow?”
“Yes– it’s for a woman that runs a crystal shop in the next town over. I was supposed to deliver it tonight, but she called to ask if I could come earlier since she can’t stay after her closing hours anymore.”
Mike shoves his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders to try and not tower over Will; sure, he got taller, but he was still a bit shorter than him. He gnaws the inside of his cheek in hesitation, fiddling with a curl near his temple. Will’s eyes follow the movement but Mike doesn’t notice, too busy working up the nerve to ask him, “Would you like some company?”
Will’s eyes snap from his hair to meet his gaze, looking a little nervous. “Oh, it’s a thirty minute drive, I wouldn’t want you to waste an hour in a car when you could be writing.”
“It wouldn’t be wasted at all,” he says, too earnest, maybe. “I love spending time with you.”
It’s Will’s turn to gape, moles getting darker against his blushing skin. He nods slowly, looking maybe too earnest as well. “Me too. I would– love the company.” They smile at each other for a soft beat, before Jonathan’s voice comes from upstairs again.
“Don’t forget to fill up the tank before you guys drive back!”
*
“I have never seen that much blue stuff in my life,” Mike exclaims, body tuned towards Will steering the car. They’re almost back, and Mike had been given music privileges both to and fro, so he’s thumbing his phone, music filtering through its tiny speaker.
The delivery had been a success; the owner of the shop had welcomed them inside animatedly, hands clapped together in anticipation while Will unwrapped the painting. She clutched her chest when she saw the strokes of blue, each shade complementing something in the shop- which was, well, entirely blue. Azure crystals, cobalt candles, sapphire charms; from the walls to her simple light blue dress, everything was in one shade of the sky.
Mike was poking around the shop, fingers trailing the spine of a dark blue-bound book while Annie, the owner, held Will’s face in both her palms, praising him. “Oh dear, such talent, such gentleness with the brush. I couldn’t be more delighted.” Mike laughed when she squeezed his cheeks before letting go, flustering Will. “It’s my pleasure, I’m happy you like it. Thank you for commissioning me.”
“And I will again! Oh, this is just gorgeous.” She was still admiring the painting over her half-moon spectacles when Mike just had to ask. “So, why all the blue?” he winced when Will elbowed him in the ribs, Annie laughing heartily.
“Why not? It’s such a rich color. It means so many beautiful things– imagination, tranquility. But also energy, restlessness! It’s the color of loyalty and devotion.” She pointed a long nail at Mike, squinting her eyes. “You’ve got something quite blue about yourself, young man.”
“I do?” he pointed at himself in return, quizzical. “Indeed,” she had tutted, grabbing two identitical bracelets with a blue flower hanging off of them, pressing each of them in one of their hands. “These are from me. Besides,” she patted their hands, “looking at that gorgeous painting it’s clear Will must love blue as well. Isn’t that right, dear?” Will had just fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt in response, looking down at the bracelet.
The flower swings from his wrist as he moves the wheel, laughing; Mike touches the pendant of his own bracelet absently.
“Me either, at least not physically in one place. It was really cool, Annie is great. Plus,” he shakes his wrist around for a second. “We got matching bracelets.”
“In the most whimsical of circumstances, if I do say so myself. I can’t believe I’ve filled up my quota of charming adventures for the week already.”
“A good break from the fictional dragon-slaying adventure daily quota.”
“Oh, yeah, that dragon has no chance.”
They laugh, a comfortable silence hugging them both, filled by the shuffling music Mike’s mentally checking into a list so he can make a painfully specifically-titled playlist later.
“Mike.”
“Mmh?”
“Thank you.” Will says softly, facing him for a split moment and going back to watch the road. “For–being my friend.”
Mike swallows, afraid of breaking the bubble framing them. “I never forgot how much you tried during high school– It was just. They were difficult years because of– mostly because of my biological father showing up again, and the bullying, and.” Will grips the steering wheel tighter, Mike reacting to the movement by straightening up against his seat. “It was dark for a while there, but you were always a bright light. So, thank you.”
Mike feels his eyes wet with tears, an overwhelming affection blooming in his chest. “Will, you don’t ever have to thank me for anything. You just– bring inspiration to my life.” He figures there’s no time like the present to cut his heart out and put it on a plate, so he soldiers on. “You’re the reason I even wrote my first book in the first place.”
“What?”
“It’s true. I caught a glimpse of a spidery creature you were drawning one day during English, and I just stared as you filled in the details. The more I watched you draw the more the story came to me.”
“Are you serious?” He looks shocked, blinking rapidly.
“Dead serious. So, thank you. For being you, y’know.” Will’s big eyes are heavy with unshed tears as well, but Mike thinks it’s okay if they’re anything like his own; it means they’re filled with relief, the longing for a piece missing laying to rest.
“That’s just– incredible, Mike, I would have never imagined.”
Roses are falling, a song croons in the background, roses from falling for you. Hawkins is coming closer, their elbows trying to do the same until they’re pressed together.
“You do realize you didn’t even thank me vaguely in the acknowledgements for Upside Down, right? Where’s the recognition?”
Mike laughs so hard he smacks his head against the window.
*
mike: told will about the mindflayer
dustin: oh snap
lucas: What did he say?
mike: that its incredible and then we almost both cried
dustin: thats adorbs
Lucas: Screenshotting this for the wedding
dustin: wait lemme thrw a peace sign up
mike: im killing your characters a slow and painful death and ill enjoy it
*
The afternoon before he’s set to send his first draft is when he finds it. He has his head nestled in his crossed arms, facing the knight on the wall. He has already asked for lemon bars today, waiting for Will to come back from the kitchen. He feels a little nudge on his arm, turning his head to see Jane smiling at him, checking the pastry display. He smiles back and tries to focus on his quest of finding what the knight is facing. “You should try looking up if you haven’t already,” Jane says, not giving him the time to respond before she’s waving at a few customers and answering a question about the pie of the day.
Mike knits his eyebrows together, leaning forward on his stool to get closer to the wall. The knight, the burned trees, the light coming from above; he goes up, up, up until the wall becomes the baby blue ceiling and that’s when he sees a small figure that he’s sure he’s never seen before. It looks like a three-headed dragon flying high in the distance.
He does fall from the stool, getting back up on it as soon as his brain restarts again. His eyes are wide, head turning to the sound of Will’s voice coming closer. "There we go! A plate of lemon bars to placate your sweet tooth.” His eyes are dancing with mirth, and Mike looks dumbly down at the plate adorned with a pair of tiny acorns set down by a hand with a smudge of black paint on it and god, Mike likes Will so much.
“Please go out with me.” He blurts out, body slumping forward with the relief of having finally said it, only to go tense again when Will stands frozen in front of him. Panic floods him and he starts to ramble. “I like you so much, Will, and this month has been amazing because I got to see you everyday and you’re literally the cleric that is gonna save my entire fictional world, so please.” He never looks away from his shocked eyes. “Go out with me.”
Will breathes out instead of breathing in, holding on the counter as if he needs support not to crumple over. Eternal seconds go by before he’s nodding slowly, faint smile painting his features a pretty happiness. “I- okay. Yeah, Mike. Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Mike literally experiences a full body tremble, standing up and leaning forward over the counter to grab Will in a crushing hug. He gets enveloped immediately, Will’s hands moving down his back and up again to engulf his shoulders, and Mike feels like he’s sinking into him.
“Freaking finally!” a voice breaks through them, and they turn their heads around, not breaking the hug, just resting their cheeks together and facing– the full café they’re standing in. Right. The elderly lady Mike has seen here almost as often as himself is throwing her hands up, and she’s not the only one. Quite a few of the regulars are sporting conspiratory smiles, a chorus of about damn time going around. Jonathan is smiling at them, giving a double thumbs up their way before he forks over a green bill to the elderly lady that spoke first.
Will pulls slightly away from him to stare indignantly at Jonathan, Mike instinctively hanging onto him, uncaring of the counter digging in his thighs. “You bet on us?!”
“Joan may have won my five dollars but Mike asked you out before he sent the draft, so Jane owes me five dollars. I’ll go tell her,” he cackles happily, floating to the kitchen, prompting everyone to turn back to their own conversations.
Mike laughs at Will’s expression, nuzzling his cheek. The affection he feels is making him a little drunk; Will melts into him again, and he nuzzles his cheek more to make him turn around. When he does he’s unprepared for the brown eyes he’s stared at a million times by now, so he does what his gut is telling him to do. He pecks his rosy lips once, twice, before he feels the curve of a smile against his mouth. He’s never going to write anything other than fantasy again.
*
dustin: “to my very own miracle cleric: I love you beyond what any words I could use could encompass. I know thank yous are never needed between us, but I want to always offer them to you.” awwwwwww
mike: ive decided it pains me more when you spell correctly
mike: i also regret sending you first copies
will: The best acknowledgments I’ve ever read <3 I love you
mike: love you too <333
will: They’re the best because I don’t have terms of comparison since I wasn’t in the ones for Upside Down, but Meeting in the West will do
dustin: lmaooooooooo i luv u 2 will
Lucas: Screenshotting this for the wedding as well
mike: im gonna base characters off you all literally just to eliminate them next time
will: <3