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“When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never conscious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversations.” — E.M. Forster, Maurice
Carrie Bradshaw was absolutely insufferable sometimes.
Will had felt completely lost in New York. Jumping from a small town in Indiana to bustling New York had been quite an adjustment. When he had first moved into his apartment, surrounded by empty walls, a pile of books, old art supplies, and ratty furniture, he had never felt more alone. The city hummed with life outside his window, cars honked and conversations melted into the wind, melding into a symphony he could see himself getting used to. It had never felt less like home. Somehow it didn’t feel strange. And yet something was missing. Will assumed it was the bodies that always circled him in Hawkins, huddled close together for warmth in a town that didn't look like his home anymore.
It was the pull a rope, pulling him toward loneliness or freedom. Somehow he felt both. Alone in a city where nobody knew him. Where he could be more than the ash that rushed through his lungs and that cold week in 1983. Nobody knew him, but then again, nobody knew him.
A couple months later, somewhere in Manhattan, he stood in front of a gay bar. Far from Brooklyn, still afraid of neighbours peeking through their windows and knowing this about him. He had considered not even going in. The bodies there had not felt the cold of the upside down, the slimy tendrils that stuck to every surface there, the agonizing roiling of red thunder across the sky like blood. They lived normal, happy, unassuming lives, devoid of nightmares, devoid of intrinsic fear of flickering lightbulbs and cold rooms. How could he ever really connect with people? He felt ridiculous.
The bar did not look much different than a regular bar he’d seen across New York so far, but it felt different. The air was charged, glasses clinked in every corner, liquid spilling on their shoes and giggling at the display. Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, but a particular spot had the most consistent plume of grey pooling to the ceiling than any other patrons. A curly blonde head of hair and a glass in her hand, chatting away to a bald man in sunglasses next to her. They seemed interesting. And he needed to truly give this city a chance. He walked up the bar, careful not to inhale too much of the smoke wafting his way.
The curly haired woman looked up from her drink and piped up from across the bar, “Oh my god, I love your bowl cut!”
And the rest was history.
And Carrie was still insufferable.
A character in her own right, of course. And he treasured their friendship greatly. They were not always compatible, and she was often rude and ignorant towards anyone’s feelings besides her own. And it was so different from anything he had ever known. People in Hawkins did not act like Carrie. And he absolutely adored that about her. But only she would drag him along to an event thrown for a person she barely knew. An author she shared an agent with, apparently. Some celebration for a recent successful book that Will had been prohibited from looking at in preparation. Will suspected Carrie had some type of plan up her sleeve. And he never liked a Carrie Plan. They somehow always ended in disaster.
“Will, you need to loosen up.” She grabbed him by the shoulders, cigarette still in between her fingers. “There’s going to be drinks, and food, and I honestly think the author is a little bit gay.”
“Carrie.” Will shook out of her grasp, rolling his eyes as she laughed. “Stop setting me up with every gay guy you know.”
“You’re so tense all the time,” She took a drag. “And you won’t let me set you up with Stanford.” She exhaled the smoke, careful to direct it away from Will after he had complained about it enough times.
“It’s making me think that Stanford is the only gay guy you know.” Will started walking again, Carrie followed quickly, her heels clacking on the pavement. “And me and Stanford are never happening, not my type.”
“Well I actually know three.”
They stopped for the crosswalk, cars whizzing past them in the dark. “Three? Did Stanford finally introduce you to his friends?”
“No,” She pouted. “But the author–” Will groaned, rolling head back. “I’m like seventy percent sure he’s gay.”
“And who made you the expert?
The light sprung to green, setting everything back into motion again. The habit of walking across the city had been like learning how to ride a bike for the first time. Unfamiliar on his feet, uncertain about his form and the eyes that could be watching him fail. But after three years, he could never imagine living somewhere where a diner, bodega and sex shop were not within a five minute walk of his apartment.
“My investigative journalism abilities.” She preened.
“Oh god, Carrie what did you do?”
“Well he is cute, I didn’t lie about that, and I may have…” She trailed off, pursing her lips and waving her hand around, leaving a spiral of smoke in its wake. “Well…”
“Holy shit, you tried to sleep with him.”
“And he rejected me!” She spread out her arms, curls bouncing with the movement. “And I was wearing that black dress I wore at Charlotte’s friend’s funeral, the backless one.”
“I still can’t believe you wore that, her father was ogling you all night.” Will shook his head. They were getting close to their destination. The lights from the city flickered in the background, as they often did. Serving as chaotic stars in a lawless night sky. “So any guy who doesn’t want to have sex with you is automatically gay?”
Carrie shrugged. “He might as well be.”
“Wait, is that why I’m here?”
She seemed sheepish at the accusation, taking a drag and shrugging. “I’m writing about gaydar–”
“Carrie, I’m going home.”
Carrie threw the stub between her fingers onto the stone before grabbing Will by the hands this time. “Will, please. And I do think you’ll like him. He’s nerdy and artsy, like you!”
They were already standing in front of the building. Going home now would mean sitting alone, trying not to think about certain people from his past, maybe calling Jonathan or El and passing out on the couch watching When Harry Met Sally for the hundredth time.
Will took a deep breath, looking up at the stars, hidden behind New York pollution. “Fine.”
She squealed, jumping excitedly and making the click of heels echo through the street. The people around them paid them no mind. He loved New York.
“Okay, come on.” Carrie dragged him in by his hand.
It all started perfectly fine. The elevator was broken, so they giggled their way all the way up the stairs, and everything so far seemed like a good decision. He was going to a fun event with a good friend and maybe getting a little tipsy, and he even considered taking Carrie up for the cute author guy the event was thrown for, no matter her… sinister motivations.
“What do you even want to know about gaydar?” Will asked while walking up the stairs to the venue—a set of apartments renovated into a bookstore. He had been meaning to visit this place anyway. Three birds with one stone.
“I want to see it in action.” Carrie said, ominously. “Stanford tried to explain it to me but I prefer field research. And you have no idea who this is or what he looks like, you’re a blank slate, my subject.”
“You’re a horrible person,” Will stated in between heavy breaths.
She grinned, the warm light from the stairwell lighting up her curls. “Don’t I know it!”
It all started perfectly fine. And then Carrie disappeared into the crowd as soon as they arrived, whispering a quick “I’m getting the subject.” before disappearing completely.
The bookstore was very cozy. The books were shoved into the shelves a little messily, the small tables pulled in for snacks and drinks wobbled slightly—barely fixed by a napkin shoved under one of the table-legs. Will tried his hardest not to think about who would love this place. Those thoughts had gotten easier to push away through the years.
And just then, his eyes landed on the books on display. The blue cover and yellow pages were more worn and tattered on his own shelf, annotated and well-loved. The gold leaf branch wrapping around the spine and encasing the front cover were branded in his mind like a mark. Stuck on the back of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. He needed to leave.
Before Will could bolt, he heard Carrie shout his name. He still considered leaving, but his feet stayed glued to the ground, unable to do anything but let his eyes follow the sound of her voice.
And suddenly, Will realized he never got over Mike at all. He had only delayed the inevitable.
Mike was… older. His hair was messier, falling over his eyes and covering the glasses that rested lazily on his nose. A faded shadow of stubble ran up his jaw. But he was still the lanky, uncoordinated kid he knew so long ago. He let himself be dragged by Carrie, eyes wide as they noticed Will. It seemed Mike had the same idea about bolting as Will had.
“Okay, so.” Carrie observed them carefully, looking for a reaction. “This is the fabled author, Mike Wheeler.” She waved a hand between them. “And this is my friend Will Byers.”
Tension pushed on them like a hand, making them bend under the pressure. Will suddenly wanted to ask Carrie for a cigarette. Will’s eyes fluttered over Mike’s face like a butterfly, desperately trying to latch onto anything that wasn’t his eyes, the slope of jaw, the long line of his nose, his dark eyebrows, the messy mop of hair. But like magnets to metal, they always drifted back to what they were destined for. He bent towards them like a sunflower facing the sun, desperate and lonely. Mike’s eyes were just as dark as they had been when he last saw them.
Will suddenly felt the need to act like this was completely normal. Like seeing your childhood best friend–who was secretly your crush, who you fell out of contact with, was completely normal. He was bigger than a childhood crush. He was a grown man who could hold his own, and bury the idea of Mike in the soil.
“Hi.” Will stuck out his hand. He hoped that Mike wouldn’t take it.
“Hi,” Mike replied, taking Will’s hand. He was still warm. Just like when they were kids and the basement got a little too cold for movie night, and he would cuddle up to Will when Will’s teeth started clattering. He was as warm as the sun, and Will felt like a dead body.
“Well,” Carrie clapped her hands together. “I’m going to get some drinks.” Will saw her blonde curls bounce into the crowd from his periphery, but he couldn’t look to follow the movement even if he wanted to. His eyes were firmly glued on Mike’s. Magnets to metal.
“Congratulations.” Will didn’t even really know what he was congratulating him for.
“Thanks, they wanted me to throw a party to celebrate and I really tried to stop them, but my agent said I already cancelled enough parties for my other books and I couldn’t avoid them forever. So, yeah, here I am” Mike rambled just the way he did when they were kids. Letting the words tumble out of his mouth like teeth. Mike’s nose scrunched up as soon as he finished talking.
Will smiled despite himself. “Well this is definitely your best work yet, I would throw a party too.”
“You read it?” Mike gawked, eyebrows high on his forehead. It seemed that if Will stayed silent for just a moment longer, his eyes would pop out of his skull.
“Of course.” Will smiled easily. Just like before. Just like their last phone call six years ago. Their conversations fizzled into the darkness after the distance between became too strong. Whether that was the emotional distance or physical distance, Will was still not quite sure. He tried not to think about it too much. People fall out of contact with old friends all the time. But did it also feel so deadly for other people when they connected again?
“Oh, well, uh–” Mike sipped the drink in his hand. “Thank you, yeah, thank you, that’s–uh, very nice of you.”
This was just like the Mike he knew when they were kids. Never getting his words straight, unable to keep his hands still, eyes darting all over the room like they were searching for answers. It was eerie. It was his Mike in the body of a man he did not recognise, but he was so familiar it hurt. Will suddenly felt very sick.
“So when did you move to New York?”
Mike took a deep breath. Grounding himself. He did it when they were kids. Will still remembered the heavy rise and fall of Mike’s chest, the way his eyes would focus on a spot on the ceiling. “Last year. I figured it was time to move on like everyone else did.” He smiled tightly. “So Carrie is your friend?” Mike asked back. It felt more like something Mike felt he should say than something said out of genuine curiosity.
Will nodded. “Yeah, she’s crazy.”
Mike laughed at that. Mike laughed at one of his jokes. It was small, a little strangled and tight, but it was joy extracted from the tightly wound coil that was the man in front of him. And like a budding flower, Will saw his best friend again. Mike’s smile was wider, looser and softer. His head tilted slightly, waiting for Will to speak. Soft petals opening beneath the sun.
Will wanted to tell Mike he missed him, he wanted to tell him about his life, his work, his friends, about all the places he went, the inside jokes he had created that Mike didn’t have a chance to laugh at yet. But he was afraid his true intention would seep through his teeth, showing his cards like he always did. Unable to hide himself from the one person that understood him the best, and scared him the greatest. And even here, in front of a Mike he didn’t fully know anymore, he still felt like Mike could see right through him. Could hear the unspoken words and chose to punish Will for it.
“I’m happy for you.”
Too obvious. Too straight-forward. Will might as well have screamed I love you, I have for as long as I can remember and I’m afraid of what it is doing to me. I wish I could escape you, but I see you in every room.
Mike’s expression softened even further, his cheeks growing ruddy as he pushed his glasses up with a curled finger. “I’m happy to see you.” He said, in that tone that had always been reserved for Will. A soft lilt, a smile with glittering eyes. And suddenly, for just a moment, Will felt thirteen again. Unraveling at the seams. Hopelessly in love with a boy that was nice to him. That cared, that leaned in too close to listen, that cradled his heart and didn’t even notice that he had crushed it with his love, with a brush of his hand. Flowers bloomed at their feet. Lilies, anemones and chrysanthemums wrapped around their ankles and kept them in place. Here, where their eyes locked and no time had passed at all.
He felt pathetic. Truly and utterly, pathetic.
“Here is your manhattan.” Carrie appeared on his right, clutching two manhattans, eagerly assessing the energy between them, but unaware of the flowers that crawled up between them and threatened to choke. She shoved the drink into his hand with raised eyebrows when Will failed to formulate a sensible response, only managing to squeak out a hurried thanks.
When Will looked back to Mike, his face had shifted. Perfectly neutral, his soft smile replaced with a placid one. Like the warmth had never echoed through his lungs and spread past his lips. The lilies dangling from between his teeth wilted.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you around, then?” Mike asked, tilting his head slightly. But Will knew he didn’t mean it. This was never meant to happen. The fates had looked away from their weavings for a moment and Mike and Will’s paths crossed in their absence, uncoordinated and drunk. Falling over each other's feet as they stumbled through a conversation they were never meant to have. An unpractised dance they were wildly unprepared for.
Will smiled, but it didn’t feel like smiling. “Yeah, of course.”
Mike nodded and turned, body rigid and as he moved back through the crowd. Carrie shook him by the arm, cigarette already in her hands again.
“So? Is he?”
Oh right. That. Will felt like he had just been gutted, organs pulled out of him and inspected for the world to see. Like a towel wrung out and bled dry. And now he needed to live again. Go back to his apartment and stare at Mike’s books in his bookshelf and sketchbooks full of drawings that all somehow end up looking like Mike.
Exhaustion suddenly overtook him.
“He’s not gay.”
“What?” Carrie observed Will carefully, eyes darting between his eyes. He had always been so obvious when it came to Mike. “Oh, darling.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him just enough. “I’m sure there are tons of cute nerdy gay guys in New York you can date, hm?”
Will managed a small smile. “So he really just didn’t want to sleep with you.”
Carrie scoffed out a laugh, lightly shoving him. She downed her manhattan and set it down with a slam on the nearest table. Will followed suit, which made Carrie giggle. She whooped as he finished the last of the drink, and promptly pulled him out of the party. “Let’s go, I don’t really like bookstores anyway.”
Will could feel eyes on his back like fire, tracking him as he and Carrie stumbled towards the exit. He couldn’t look back, afraid of what he might find. Afraid of what that answer would do to him. What Mike’s eyes would say if he turned his head. And what would Will’s say back? He felt pathetic. He felt greedy. So he stamped down the hunger and wrapped his teeth around something real, laughter bubbling through his lungs and walking out of the door with a friend.
He would donate Mike’s books tomorrow morning.