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Will Byers was forty-four years old, alone, and nostalgic. He had left Hawkins long ago, trading the small town out for New York. People were better to him there–at least that’s what he told himself. Being away from Hawkins had meant he had gotten a fresh start. He was no longer “Zombie Boy.” In fact, he was no longer a boy–he hadn’t been for a long time. Instead, he was a man.
A man who had not seen Mike Wheeler in 28 years.
The two had tried to keep their friendship steady after everything. For a period of time, they would call, send letters. But eventually, the calls got shorter, the letters less personal. It was like Leonora all over again only this time, things would never fix themselves. Not after their final conversation–a shameful admission of Will’s feelings that turned sour with Mike’s refusal to accept his own feelings, to accept himself.
For a while, Will accepted that excuse but he knew that he couldn’t stick by Mike’s side anymore. Sure, they were friends but Mike was also his first love–his only love. And so, he cut him off-- a pathetic attempt to move on. But now–standing in the middle of a Brooklyn grocery store with a basket of snacks in hand, he couldn’t help but to think back to Mike, to what could have been.
He had just heard the news, broadcasted on a nearby TV: the Supreme Court had ruled to legalize gay marriage.
People around him had celebrated. Someone laughed, another clapped. One woman had shyly wiped tears from her own eyes, overwhelmed with what that meant to her. But Will, he stood very still–a heavy feeling sinking in his chest, his head repeating the same word over and over again.
Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike.
Will couldn’t help but to wonder: would things have been different–if gay marriage had been legal back then, if people had been more accepting? Would Mike have been willing to take the risk, accept who Will was, who he too was, deep down?
Will could almost picture him: Mike. He imagined he’d have grown more into his looks, that his hair would be longer now, shaped and styled like his father. He would wear glasses as he typed out his latest passion project: an essay, a literary journal entry, a novella.
The most important thing in this image though was Mike’s face. Will imagined he was happy, that he had found peace. That he too would sit down and stare at old drawings and dice that hadn’t been used in years, that he would pick up his phone, preparing to dial a number he would never truly call.
Will swallowed, too aware of his surroundings. He wasn’t alone. The thoughts he was having were too much to have in such a public place. And so, he paid for his items mindlessly, left the store shakily, and returned home a wreck.
Sitting on his bed, he stared at his phone, locking and unlocking it, anxiously looking at the picture that rested on his lockscreen–one taken years ago, digitized much later. The party, all of them–Dustin, Lucas, Will, and Mike–Mike who looks so young, so happy, so foreign.
Will knew he would not call, he never would call. But there was a part of him that wanted to reach out, to ask if things would have changed, to ask Mike what they could have been if he hadn’t been so afraid.
Mike, too, heard the news. He was in his office, too aware of the chatter that had emerged, laughter and shouting–some happy, some not so much. He had always been curious so it shouldn’t have surprised anyone that he stood, anxiously exiting his office cubicle to peer at a TV in the hallway–a TV that showed rainbow flags, ‘unconventional’ couples kissing, and huge, emotional crowds.
Gay marriage had been legalized in all 50 states.
Mike felt something twist inside of him–he felt sick. He thought of Will–Will who hadn’t left his mind since their last conversation, since his earlier admission (“I don’t like girls. I like you”). Mike couldn’t let himself think for too long, if he did he knew he would be a goner, buried in his own misery and in the past.
He had moved on, or at least tried to–and he had, as well as a closeted gay man could do, now distracted with family and hookups whose eyes were the same shade as Will’s. His dad, now in his seventies, still asked the same question when he came to visit: Won’t you ever settle down? Each time his answer stayed the same: I’m not ready.
It had never been a lie, not really. He hadn’t been ready then; he never would be. He had ruined his chance at happiness when he refused to accept who he was 28 years ago–a mistake he didn’t think he could ever fix. Now, he was stuck reaping the consequences of his actions, thinking of Will’s smile and eyes and hair, his mind repeating the name again and again like a prayer.
Will. Will. Will. Will.
Mike was shaken from his thoughts by a hand slamming onto his back, a coworker whose laughter echoed in the hall, “Can you believe this? They really legalized it.”
That they did, Mike thought, mind racing with possibilities.
If things had been different, if being queer hadn’t been looked down upon so much then he could have been happy. He could almost imagine it, walking into a courthouse in a suit and tie with Will’s hand in his, a small and imperfect ceremony full of love, of promises of forever–a forever Mike would never get to have.
He had never let himself think this far ahead before, too scared that doing so would cross a line–a line he could never come back from. And now, now that he had imagined it, he knew this to be true. Because now, this scenario could have been real, it could exist and it did for many couples now–but it would never exist for him and Will. It couldn’t–not after 28 years of silence.
That night, in two different cities, the two men sat on their own beds quietly, reflecting on each other–of what could have been.
Neither one reached out–they didn't need to.
The world had changed around them and yet they had stayed the same.
They always would, too stubborn to imagine what they could have now.
Too focused on what could have been, many years ago.