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Mike has been acting… weird. Cheerful, almost, in a way Will hasn't seen him since before Eleven died. Since before everything happened.
He's more carefree now, like the world won't collapse around him if he says or does the wrong thing.
It should be good that he's finally moving on, but it's unnerving, to say the least, and Will has a strange feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.
A scream erupts from the TV, and Will would've jumped along with the others if he'd actually been paying attention to the movie. He doesn't even remember what they're watching, he's so focused on the boy sitting beside him, Mike's leg brushing Will's every couple of minutes.
It would be comfortable, if he wasn't so damn unsettled.
Mike’s grinning, laughing a little too loudly at a joke Lucas has made, but the way the boy's dark eyes dart across the room, anxiously bouncing off of the walls undercuts the sincerity of it, like he's acting.
Mike had joined the drama club their Junior year.
Will had encouraged him, hoping it could get Mike out of his constant sulking, and it did, for a couple of months. The boy had only been in one production, a modern retelling of A midsummer night's dream, but he'd seemed to enjoy it.
He was good at it, too.
He'd played Puck, and Will had gone all four nights to see him perform, because, in a way, although he’d been playing a character, it was like having the old Mike back. He’d smiled, and talked animatedly, arms moving in grand gestures as he spoke, and it felt all-too reminiscent of simpler times, back before Mike had closed himself off.
Mike quit the club later, but he hadn't quit acting. In fact, Will is pretty sure the boy has been playing some character in front of all of them for months now, masking his feelings like they're some big, scary secret he can't reveal.
This is the Mike that's sitting next to Will now, playfully tossing popcorn into the air for Lucas to catch in his mouth as Max rolls her eyes.
On a particularly bad toss—one that doesn't even make it remotely near Lucas’ mouth—Mike's sleeve rides up a bit, and Will almost thinks he sees something from the corner of his eye, but then Mike's calmly tugging his shirt back in place, acting as if everything's normal, and Will can only leave the churning pit of anxiety to grow in his stomach.
When it's time for dinner, and Lucas and Max excuse themselves, saying bye as they leave the house, Will tries to pretend like everything's okay.
Because that's what Mike's been doing all day long.
He picks at his dinner, rolling a meatball around his plate until eventually spearing it with a fork as Mrs. Wheeler gives him a strange look.
The food barely makes it past the lump in his throat.
After they finish eating, Will and Mike are assigned dish duty as Mrs. Wheeler retreats to her bedroom, complaining of a headache.
For a moment it feels nostalgic, the way they laugh and joke and Mike somehow ends up with bubbles from the sink on his nose.
And then Will realizes the boy's sleeves are still rolled down, water darkening the fabric where it's stuck to his skin.
“Mike, your sleeves are wet.”
Mike stills, hand freezing where he was scrubbing a pan with a sponge.
“Oh, I guess so,” the boy says, and it's painfully obvious he's forcing a steadiness into his voice, one that isn't reflected by his body language based on the way he stiffens.
“Why don't you roll them up?” Will asks, voice soft, and it's an honest question, but also a challenge.
He's daring Mike to confirm his worst fears.
Mike refuses to meet his eyes, instead staring intently at the metal beneath his fingertips as he scrubs.
“I don't really mind it. I'm almost done anyways.”
“Mike.”
Will’s breath hitches as Mike looks up at him, forehead creased and eyebrows drawn.
He looks scared.
“Yeah?”
The word is spoken small, a barely-there acknowledgement that quietly passes Mike's lips.
Will bites his own lip. Should he ask about it? If he does, there's no doubt in his mind that Mike will deny everything. So maybe he just needs to be encouraging, and let the boy come to him about it whenever he's comfortable.
“You can talk to me. You know that, right?” he tries to give a reassuring smile, but it must end up as a grimace judging by the way Mike's gaze falters.
“Yeah, ‘course I do. But there's nothing to talk about. I'm fine.”
He may be fooling everyone else, but Will sees right through him.
“Okay…”
Pressing the issue won't solve anything, so he just gives a small smile and returns to rinsing the dishes that Mike hands him, their fingers brushing with every plate that passes between them. Mike visibly relaxes when he realizes Will’s dropped the subject, his shoulders sinking as the boy draws in a deep breath.
The tension between them lessens, but doesn't fully dissipate. Mike's quiet, quieter than he has been all night, and Will keeps stealing worried glances at him whenever the boy isn't looking.
When they finish up, Mike heads for the stairs without even acknowledging Will.
“Hey, um, Mike?” Will calls out after him, and Mike freezes at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hm?” He mumbles as he turns to face Will, eyes searching.
Shit.
What was he going to say?
“Uh, nevermind.”
Mike's eyebrows knit together in a question, but he doesn't push any further.
“Goodnight, Will.”
He may have done a good job of hiding it during the day, but now, Mike just looks sad, his eyes glazed over as if his mind’s somewhere else. Even his voice sounds empty, devoid of all light, like a black hole, or maybe a shadow.
“Yeah, goodnight,” Will says as Mike disappears up the stairs.
This should be his cue to leave, considering he's been left alone in the middle of the room, and the sky is long past dark. But then Mrs. Wheeler is downstairs again, heading straight for the wine cabinet before noticing Will.
“Oh, hi Will.” She gives a confused smile as she sees the look on his face. “Is everything okay?”
Will snaps out of whatever trance he's in and regards her, nodding politely.
“Yes, I was just about to leave.”
Mrs. Wheeler gives a furtive glance outside and frowns.
“It's completely dark, I'm not sure how I feel about you biking all the way home.”
It's true, and a small part of Will always dreads the trip, particularly in the dark, but he doesn't want to impose on anyone.
“Really, it's fine-”
But Mrs. Wheeler won't hear of it.
“Why don't you stay the night? I'm sure Mike won't mind, or you can stay in the basement if you'd prefer.”
He almost doesn't want to accept it for a moment, before the reality of his other option comes crashing down upon him.
“Are you sure?” He asks, just to be polite, even though he already knows what her answer will be.
“Of course. You can go ask Mike right now.”
Mike's door is closed when Will arrives outside of it. He hesitates for a moment, fist paused midair where he was about to knock, but there's light seeping through the crack at the floor, so he sucks it up and wraps his knuckles against the wood.
There's a shift of movement behind the door, and then Mike's opening it, the light from his room pouring into the dim hallway. He looks surprised to see Will, but schools his expression quickly.
“What's up?” The question is painfully casual, and so Mike.
“Your mom said I could stay the night since it's dark outside, and I didn't exactly want to bike back.”
Mike's hard gaze softens, his eyes flashing with something Will can't quite identify.
“I can stay in the basement, but I just figured I'd let you know.”
Mike gnaws on his lower lip, looking almost guilty.
“No, you can stay up here with me. Just, give me a second,” Mike says as he anxiously peers over his shoulder at something that Will can't see past the door.
“Oh, yeah, no problem.”
Mike smiles before shutting the door again, and it's another two or so minutes before he lets Will in.
The first thing that strikes Will as odd is how spotless the room is. It’s completely tidy, something so uncharacteristic of Mike that Will can't even remember the last time he saw the fully empty floor.
“You cleaned,” he says stupidly, taking in the order before him. The room seems bigger now, and empty, in a way, like the warmth has been taken out along with the trash.
Yeah, something's definitely wrong with Mike.
“It was messy,” the boy replies, his tone equally clipped, and Will almost wants to scream at him that he’s a liar.
“Right.”
Will’s eyes land on an uncapped pen on Mike's desk. Has he been writing?
“I can sleep on the floor,” Will offers, already moving to grab a blanket from his friend’s closet like they normally do.
“No!” Mike rushes forward, grabbing Will's arm and keeping him from opening the closet door.
Will blanches, Mike's grip practically burning a hole straight through his skin.
“I mean, just- we can share my bed.” Mike quickly pulls back as he says it, eyes downcast.
Mike's bed is definitely big enough, and it was never an issue before, but they don't sleep together anymore. Not since Will came out.
He tries to pretend like it doesn't hurt, but he understands. They'd stayed friends, which is more than Will could've ever asked for, but Mike has certainly pulled back a bit. Everything that they'd never thought of as important before—like sharing a bed at sleepovers or all those lingering touches—became different, something to be over analyzed. It’s fair, he knows, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.
Maybe Mike has finally gotten over it, though, and figures Will has too. Or maybe, he just really doesn't want Will to open his closet.
Either way, Will isn't complaining.
“Are you sure? I really don't mind-”
“Yeah,” Mike cuts him off. “‘Course.”
The air feels thick around them, stagnant, in a way, but also strangely comforting.
“You can borrow one of my shirts,” Mike waves his hand towards his dresser dismissively, and Will nods as he grabs the first one on top and faces towards the wall as he strips down to his boxers and pulls the faded band tee over his head.
When he turns back around, Mike’s already staring at him. The boy looks away quickly, taking a sudden interest in his own feet, a slight blush creeping up his neck and cheeks.
Will clears his throat, mostly to dislodge the lump that’s settled there. He knows he’s reading into things, his brain picking up on insignificant details in a valiant attempt at requited love. A small part of him wants to believe it, but the larger, more realistic fraction of his brain knows it’s probably just because the boy is uncomfortable. Mike’s been uncomfortable with him, ever since he found out he was gay. So it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that he’s acting like this, not even able to meet Will’s gaze.
“Sorry,” Will apologizes, because he’d rather say something than let this awkward silence stretch on forever.
Mike’s head snaps up, eyes finally meeting Will’s, and he looks confused.
“For what?” the boy asks, and for a second, Will thinks that maybe he’s misread things. But then he remembers all of their past interactions, marked by a similar tension that couldn’t happen to be coincidence.
“I-” Will falters. What should he say? Should he bring up the shift in their dynamic, or will that make things between them even more awkward? Is it best to just forget about the whole thing and sleep it off?
“Sorry,” he finally continues, and Mike still looks at a loss for words. “You’ve just been acting a bit weird, so I thought maybe it was something that I'd done to make you…uncomfortable or whatever.”
Mike’s face falls, his expression once again reflecting guilt, and Will feels his own heart clench within his chest.
“No, no.” Mike’s words are soft around the edges, and he’s using that voice that Will likes to think he only uses with him, and then the boy’s stepping closer, bridging the gap separating them until he’s less than a foot away. “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just been…” he shakes his head, ending the sentence there. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Will. Okay?”
Will nods, and hates how he can feel tears pricking at the backs of his eyelids.
And even more than that, he hates how Mike notices almost immediately.
“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”
Mike’s hands are on his shoulders now, anchoring Will to the moment like an insect pinned under a microscope.
What can he even say? That he’s scared? That he knows that something’s going on with Mike, and it hurts that his best friend won’t talk to him about it?
He shakes his head, trying to will-away the tears, but all it ends up doing is dislodging them, and he stands still, frozen with horror as he feels the first one slip down his face.
Shit.
Mike stares at him wide-eyed, as if he’s hanging onto words that haven’t even left Will’s mouth yet.
“I’m scared, Mike.”
When he finally chokes out the sentence, his voice cracks straight down the middle. Mike’s eyes are incessant, searching in a way that makes Will feel both seen and terrified at the same time.
“Why?”
Mike’s hands burn where they touch Will, the boy’s heat radiating through the thin cotton covering Will’s shoulders.
“Because you’ve been wearing long sleeves all summer.”
The room grows so silent, Will swears he could hear a pin drop. Mike pulls back slightly, eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Will thinks, almost fondly, that the boy looks like a deer in headlights.
“What’re you talking about?”
Will doesn’t know whether he wants to bark out a bitter laugh or scream. Maybe he’ll do both. But then Mike is looking at him, really looking, as if the boy’s trying to discern how much he knows.
“Why can’t you show me your arms, Mike?”
More tears slip down his face, and he would be embarrassed for crying if it didn’t look like Mike is about to join him.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Mike whispers, shaking his head like he can somehow stop the conversation if he hopes hard enough. His eyes are glassy, staring straight past Will at his damn closet.
Will feels a pang of guilt in his chest for making his friend feel this way, until he remembers why he’s bringing this up. Because he’s scared. He’s scared for Mike.
“Please, just- If you have nothing to hide, just show me, and we can be done with this conversation. But I- I need to know.”
Mike turns away, like he can’t stand to face him, and Will tries to stifle a sob.
This means it’s real. This means it’s true.
“I can’t do that.” The words are quiet yet resolute-sounding; much steadier than Will would’ve thought the boy capable of, given the circumstances.
Will feels hot tears cascade down his cheeks.
“Then- then can I at least hug you?”
He waits for Mike to say something, anything, but the only reply he gets is a subtle nod. Mike doesn’t even turn to face him, just stands still in the middle of the room, like if he refuses to accept it, the conversation can be taken back.
Will silently notes the way the boy’s hands are closed into fists at his sides, and the way his frame rises and falls unsteadily, like he’s crying silently. Will wraps tentative arms around him from behind, and Mike immediately stiffens. He almost pulls back, thinking he’s made the wrong decision, when Mike relaxes a bit, chest still heaving. Will can feel the boy’s body moving against his own with every sharp inhale, and now he knows that Mike’s crying.
As if on cue, a sob is ripped from the other boy’s throat, and Will grips him impossibly tighter to let him know that he’s safe, he’s being taken care of.
Maybe it’s stupid, but Will can feel his heart rate spike as Mike spins in his arms to face him, all without breaking their hug. Before he even gets a chance to register what it could mean, they’re face to face, close enough that Will can feel the soft ghost of breath against his skin.
He knows he’s being selfish when he sees the overhead light reflect off of the tears glistening on Mike’s face.
“I never meant for you to find out,” Mike whispers, and the words sting.
Because that’s almost worse than anything else he could’ve said.
Will wants Mike to feel like he can talk to him, like he can talk to his best friend. What ever happened to friends don’t lie?
“How long?” Will chokes out, and his voice sounds just as broken as Mike’s.
Mike bites his lip, still avoiding his gaze, like he can’t stand to see the hurt there. If he’s anything like Will, he probably feels guilty for causing it.
“About a year, maybe?”
They’re still locked in an embrace, Will’s arms wound loosely around his friend’s torso, Mike’s arms still lying helplessly at his sides. Will almost wants to pull away, hurt by the lack of reciprocation, but he reminds himself why he’s doing this. Mike needs him right now, and if he were to let go, then…
“Jesus,” he hears himself say, although the word sounds hollow, almost fake to his own ears. A fresh wave of tears carve trails down his face, catching on his jaw before eventually losing their grip and landing in wet spots on his shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know you can talk to me, Mike. Why?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Even after everything, even with all of this pain, Mike’s still worried about him. Will would almost feel grateful for it, if it weren’t for the way Mike’s looking at him, like he’s scared Will might disappear at any moment if he blinks.
“This isn’t something you should deal with alone. You could’ve talked to me, we could’ve figured something out…”
“Like what, Will? Like what?” Mike snaps, mouth twisting in a bitter grimace. “This is my own problem, It’s my fault that any of this even happened in the first place, so of course I’m the one who has to deal with it!”
Will feels something in his stomach twist as Mike pulls away from him, stepping back so they’re at a normal distance again.
“Mike, that’s not true, you didn’t do anything-” Will rushes to assure him, but is promptly cut off by a devastated Mike.
“I couldn’t save her,” the boy whispers, a quiet confession that settles between them, stretching the air thin, like a rope about to snap. “I couldn’t even save you.”
“That wasn’t- it’s not your fault, okay? El made her choice, that was her, and I-” Will falters. Did Mike really blame himself for Will’s disappearance back in middle school? It was so long ago, and neither of them ever talk about it. Will can’t remember most of what happened, only running to his house and grabbing their shotgun before waking up in the Upside Down, drenched in goo with his mom and Hopper on either side of him. But Mike, Mike must’ve been struggling that whole week, too. A couple years ago, Mike had briefly brought up the funeral that’d been held, and even then at the memory, the boy had begun to cry. So, given all these painfully obvious facts, why hadn’t Will noticed sooner?
“You didn’t cause that.” he grounds out, taking another step towards Mike to punctuate it.
“But I could’ve prevented it.” Mike’s response is instant, like he’s been mulling this over for years. He probably has.
“Stop. Stop thinking like that. Even if- even if you’d done something differently…” He trails off. As much as he hates to admit it, Mike’s right, to a certain extent. If they’d done things differently, if Will hadn’t ended up alone, in the dark on Merkwood, then maybe none of this ever would’ve happened. But to live in what-ifs is dangerous, he knows. So he has to help Mike through this, to get past that painful line of thought.
“Exactly.” Mike whispers, the word tinged with bitterness, and Will realizes he should’ve said something else, or kept talking, at the very least.
“There’s no way you could’ve known! Besides, if I hadn’t gone missing, then you wouldn’t have gone searching for me, and you never would’ve met Eleven.”
Mike hesitates for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as the shadow of a thought clouds his eyes. “Still, I-” he begins before Will cuts him off, and it feels just like in the van again, with Will reminding him of all the reasons Eleven was worth it. Worth all of it, even Will’s misery.
“Meeting her was the happiest day of your life, remember? So, even if it sucked, like really sucked, at least we got something out of it. I got a sister, and you got a girlfriend, and we were happy for a bit, right? Even as everything went to shit, we still had each other. She had you.”
Mike is still inconsolable, though, the heels of his hands pressing over his eyes, blocking out the rest of the world.
“I’m not so sure she did.” The air grows still around them, thick with whatever Mike’s insinuating.
What is he trying to say?
“Mike, what-”
“She was in my mind. Before she…” Mike trails off, unable to say the word. Will still catches him slipping up, on occasion, talking about her in the present tense, as if she’s just far away, somewhere else. But this confession presses against the sides of Will’s ribs, like a pair of hands squeezing all peace from his body, wringing out new tears.
“She said goodbye. And- and that she loved me.”
Will nods along, trying to be supportive despite already knowing where this is headed.
“I couldn’t even say it back, Will.”
Will has known about Mike’s…issues for a while now. Especially back in California, when it had been such a big deal. But after that, he’d figured Mike and El had finally worked out their differences, because they’d been back to normal, acting as if nothing had been wrong in the first place. So what’s he supposed to say now?
“Is that- were you just not able to, or did you not…y’know?” He tries to be delicate with it, but judging by the look of hurt that flashes across Mike’s face, he’s failed.
But Mike doesn’t seem mad, only guilty, as he shakes his head, confirming what Will had suspected all along.
“I loved her. Of course I did. But I was never in love with her.”
The way he puts it makes so much sense, especially because it’s the distinction Will had to overcome when it came to Mike, nevermind the fact his feelings had been the inverse of what Mike’s describing.
“That… makes a lot of sense, I guess.”
Mike nods his head, and even though he’s still crying, Will can see the relief flooding through him.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Mike says it like he’s trying to convince himself. “I just feel so guilty, y’know? But I couldn’t have my last words to her be a lie. So I kissed her, ‘cause at least I know how to do that, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t. And at first, I thought it was because I’d just found out she was…” Mike takes a deep breath, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his cheeks as he nervously rocks on the balls of his feet. “...planning on sacrificing herself. But then when I really thought about it, that’s what all of our kisses had always felt like, and I started thinking about some of the other aspects of our relationship, and I just- I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter.”
Will wants to hug him again, tell him it does matter, but he can tell that Mike’s already closed himself off again, refusing to meet Will’s gaze.
“No, Mike, you can tell me, I-” he begins before Mike cuts him off, the boy’s eyes shifting everywhere but towards Will.
“It’s nothing.” His voice is quiet, barely audible even in the silence punctured by their sniffling. “I’m gonna, um, go use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
A bolt of panic spikes through Will at the tone in his friend’s voice. Mike’s already on his way out the door, not sparing a glance behind him, and Will surges forwards to catch his wrist before he can leave.
The boy winces as he wrenches his arm from Will’s grasp, as if the touch burned him.
“Mike?”
The boy’s gaze burns, intense in a way Will’s never seen before.
“I’m fine.”
Mike offers a weak, tear-stained smile, and then he’s gone, the door shutting behind him with a dull thud.
Will stands frozen, his feet glued to the floor as he stares at the spot his friend had just occupied.
It’s probably fine.
Mike probably does have to use the bathroom, or he just needs a chance to catch his breath. Either way, Will shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Mike wouldn’t want that.
After Will was taken, everyone had treated him differently. Like he was fragile, and he might break at any second if they weren’t careful. It was infuriating. The constant questions, concerns, and even the way people looked at him. He’d just wanted to be treated normally, like there wasn’t something incredibly wrong with him.
That’s probably how Mike feels now.
Even if it’s easy to get swept up in concern, Will shouldn’t treat him differently. It’s still Mike, after all. Even if he hasn’t been acting like it. So Will doesn’t go after him, or try to yell at him through the bathroom door. Instead, he waits, scuffing the carpet with his bare foot. He can do this.
He can’t do this, he thinks as he anxiously paces the width of the room, nervously chewing at a hangnail on his thumb.
His eyes catch on the closet, and he knows that what he’s about to do is wrong, on so many levels, but he casts the doubt aside as he opens the door, searching for whatever Mike’s hiding.
He has to know, and this might be his only chance to find out.
He’s immediately met with the sight of a small shoebox haphazardly shoved next to the laundry bin, and he hates the way his heartbeat picks up. He casts one last glance towards the door to make sure no one's coming in, and then he’s ripping the lid off and staring at a stack of letters.
His blood runs cold.
He tries to tamp down the rising panic as he reaches for the stack of papers, and when his shaking hands pull them out of the box, his eyes land on matching envelopes at the bottom, waiting to be used.
The first letter is addressed to Max, and Will quickly sets it aside after he catches the first phrase.
I’m sorry.
The next one is for Lucas, and it begins along the same lines.
I’m really sorry.
As he rifles through the stack, he notes the other names; Dustin, Nancy, Holly, Mom, even El, like she’d ever be able to read it.
And then Will’s staring at his own name, the ink a smudge through his watery vision.
He knows he shouldn’t read it. That it’s probably deeply personal and this is definitely an invasion of privacy, but it’s meant for him. Plus, there’s only one reason anyone would write all of these letters in the first place, and he needs to figure out how he can help.
~~~
The bathroom door clicks shut behind him as Mike stares at his reflection, his red-rimmed eyes filled with a bitterness that finally seems to reflect how he’s feeling inside.
He wants to scream, and bang his head against the wall until he sees stars, or punch his reflection. Anything to dispel the pent-up anger churning in his stomach.
This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.
Will shouldn’t be here.
When he’d planned everything out last week, Mike had chosen today to be the perfect time. He would’ve gotten the chance to see all of his friends one last time, and then done what he needed to do.
Except Will had fucked everything up, showing up at his door and asking to stay the night. And even if it made him angry, Will ruining his plans, Mike couldn’t say no. Because he’s hurt Will enough for a lifetime, and doesn’t want to any more than necessary.
But still. The boy’s presence means he’ll have to postpone it, at least until tomorrow.
Except, Mike can already tell that Will is onto him.
He’d picked up on the long sleeves, a detail Mike had naively hoped would somehow just fly under the radar. And it had, for the majority of summer. But then he’d been messing around, careless when he couldn’t afford to be, and his shirt had slipped up. He’d casually slid it back in place, figuring no one would notice, so long as he didn’t make a big deal of it.
How wrong he’d been.
He laughs bitterly, regarding his reflection as he white-knuckles the counter.
Of course it had to be Will.
It’s always goddamn Will Byers.
Everything from his entire life seems to revolve around the boy, like a planet in orbit around a sun. That’s all he is, a rock in Will’s solar system, desperately hoping he’ll be noticed.
And when he finally was, he couldn’t even handle it.
He should’ve said something, explained how he felt rather than letting Will believe he was suddenly uncomfortable around him. And sure, maybe he was a bit, but not because of any homophobia or thoughts about how Will had once liked him, but because he couldn’t control his own thoughts, and that scared him. It still does. Even though he’s had years to grapple with his identity, he still for some reason can’t come to terms with it.
Maybe it’s because of his dad’s politically incorrect beliefs, or the way his mom always rolls her eyes whenever gay rights activists are shown on the news, but he just can’t imagine a world where he can ever unequivocally be himself. Will’s strong, stronger than him, and doesn’t seem to need validation the same way Mike does. He doesn’t feed off of praise, or vie for attention through academic success. He’s just himself, something Mike wishes he knew how to be. So he’s able to make it work, and Mike hates how resentful he feels, the way he’d clenched his jaw so tight it’d started to ache when Will had come out to a room full of people like it was nothing.
Okay, maybe not like it was nothing, but it was still way further than Mike had ever gotten. Way braver than anything he’d ever done.
Because everyone loves Will, and cares about what he has to say. Joyce had hugged him and said it was all right, and Mike had felt like the earth was collapsing underneath his feet, because there’s no way in hell that his mom would ever utter the same words.
The casual homophobia that permeates his house sometimes feels like a miasma, oppressive and stifling in all the worst ways possible. How can he ever accept himself when his own parents won’t?
His reflection stares back at him, twisting until his features are almost unrecognizable. It’s the first time he’s been able to meet his own gaze in months, but he regrets it immediately.
His skin burns and itches beneath his sleeves, both from the healing cuts sticking to the thin fabric of his shirt and the urge to add to his rapidly growing collection of scars. He figures he’s still got a couple of minutes before Will gets too freaked out and comes banging on the door, which is enough time if he’s quick.
He refuses to look at himself in the mirror as he rifles through his drawer as quickly as possible while still making sure to keep quiet. When he finds what he’s looking for—a razorblade he’d swiped from his dad’s shaving kit, as well as an old cloth to stop the bleeding—he makes quick work of rolling up his sleeve, wincing as it catches on a scab.
Without further thought, he does what he’s best at.
He feels guilty doing this, knowing Will is just one room over, likely worrying about this exact thing. But he can’t help it, the way desperation claws at his insides like something primal, carnal urges drawn to the surface of his skin in crimson rivulets.
While he cuts, and blood rushes to the surface, so does everything else; the painful memories that haunt him every night, and the way Will had looked at him when he’d found out. Like he was broken, something to be pitied.
The thoughts are cruel and relentless, just as he is, except he knows he has to stop soon, before he goes overboard. He sets the blade down with shaky fingers and reaches for the cloth, pressing it to his forearm and applying pressure to stop the bleeding as soon as possible.
He’s been leaving his wrists relatively clean the past couple of days, so that when he makes those final cuts it’ll be smoother, more satisfying.
Mike knows he’s fucked in the head, but he also knows he deserves this.
He places bandages over some of the larger cuts before rolling his sleeve down and wiping the tears from his face as if nothing happened. He’s gotten good at this part, of pretending like everything’s normal, acting like he’s not about to lose his mind.
So far he’s fooled everyone, aside from William goddamn Byers.
As an afterthought he splashes some water over his face, hoping it’ll hide the fresh wave of snot and tears. Once he feels ready, he sucks in a steadying breath as he heads back for his bedroom, rolling out his shoulders like he can shake off the lies coating his skin.
When he opens the door, Will’s staring back at him, a letter gripped tightly in his hand.
~~~
Will watches as all color drains from Mike’s face, leaving him sheet-white and trembling in the doorway.
The boy looks like he’s deciding between running away or simply throwing himself out of the window, and Will has to bite his bottom lip to keep it from quivering so much as he chokes back sobs.
He doesn’t know what to say.
There’s no advice he’s ever been given that could help him with this situation, no guidebook to explain what to do.
So he takes his best guess, raising the sheet of paper in front of him and clearing his throat.
Dear Will,
He reads, and if he thought Mike seemed sick before, the boy looks positively haunted now. His eyes are wide and glassy, like disassociation can save him from this, and his face is red with lips swollen from crying.
He looks positively wrecked, both physically and emotionally, and Will can’t bear to see it any longer, so he focuses his eyes back on the note lying heavy in his hands.
I have so many things I want to say to you, and no idea how to make any of it make sense.
The words tremble as they leave his mouth, cracking open once they reach the air. He’s already read the whole thing through twice while Mike was gone, but he still doesn’t know if he can handle this.
Do you remember when we met? I think about it all the time. It was the best day of my life. I know you probably don’t believe me because of what I said to El in the pizza freezer, but I really mean it. What I was saying then, I was thinking about you I thought it was right. I thought if I pretended hard enough it would make it real. But it didn’t.
This probably isn’t how I should start a suicide note, but I’m being honest here, because I care about you you don’t deserve any more lies from me.
So, if I’m being honest, I need to explain why I’m doing this. I guess I should probably do that regardless. Whatever I’m doing this for a lot of reasons, but mainly because I’m not strong like you I don’t deserve to live. I’m a bad person, and a terrible friend, and I only hurt the people I love. I let you get taken, and I let all sorts of bad things happen to El even though I was supposed to protect her. Hell, I didn’t even notice you liked me. I was so self-absorbed, I couldn’t see what was right in front of me, which makes me an awful friend.
And I was an even worse boyfriend to El. When we first liked each other, it was easy, because she was different from all the girls I knew. She looked so much like a boy while her hair was still short and before we got older, and I didn’t really know what it meant at the time, so I just tried to ignore it. But then, when we things started changing, it got harder to pretend, and that was around the time that I began realizing things about myself. Things that scared me. But I had the most amazing girlfriend in the world, right? So there had to have been something wrong with me not to care about her. That was also when I started noticing you, with your stupid bowl cut and that one mole above your lip and I guess it really freaked me out. I didn’t want to break up with El, because I didn’t want to hurt her, but now all I can think about is how being together hurt both of us more than a breakup ever would have. I should’ve just told her the truth while I still could have, before it was too late. Which is the main reason I’m telling you all of this now, because I want you to know. Before it’s too late.
I know this is stupid, and probably overly cliché-sounding, but I really don’t think I belong in this world. I’m not brave like you are, and I can’t do what you did and come out tell everyone how I feel. I’m going to end up working some boring corporate job then settling down with a random woman my parents approve of, and I can’t let that happen. Jesus, I can’t even say it. I can’t even write it, Will. Fuck. What else am I supposed to do? I’m really sorry, because I know this is going to hurt you even more, but I really do think it’ll be better for everyone in the long run. I know everyone always says killing yourself isn’t the answer, but they also haven’t fought monsters and destroyed a wormhole before. I think I’m entitled to a difference of opinion. God, how weird is it that I can say I’m going to kill myself so easily, but I can’t even say I’m gay? That was a stupid joke, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you any of this in person, but I probably would’ve started crying like a baby and you might’ve guessed where this was going. But I’m telling you now, even if you end up getting this a little late. I told Nancy to hand these out in her letter, so hopefully she doesn’t take too long. I didn’t want to leave it out because I don’t trust my mom not to go through it, and on the off chance that maybe I fail just like I always do I don’t want to come back to her and my dad yelling at me for being a faggot different.
I hope you’ll understand, and I want you to move past this. I know you can.
Love, Mike
The room is so quiet, Will half-wonders if Mike's even still there. But when he raises his eyes from the tear-stained page, Mike's brown irises are staring back at him through a layer of water, wide and unbidden.
And just like that his heart is clenching within his chest, a fist wrapped tightly around it, squeezing every drop of blood from the pumping muscle.
He’s not even sure if he’s breathing. If he is, none of the air is entering his lungs. The room is spinning around his shaking body, and it’s like everything is coming in short bursts of cognizance; The lights overhead, which now feel too-bright against the black backdrop outside, and Mike’s face, pale and full of regret.
But does he actually regret it, or just that Will found out? He has a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.
He wants to say something, anything, to scream or lash out or throw up, but it’s like he can’t move anything, neither his body nor his mouth. All he can do is stay rooted in place, his feet digging into the scratchy carpet, and look at the boy he’s loved for as long as he can remember ever loving anyone.
Mike scrubs a hand over his face, like he can hide from Will, and his sleeve slides down ever so slightly. A flash of something white catches Will’s attention, and then it’s gone again, like it was never visible in the first place.
If Will was angry before, he’s practically seething now.
“What the fuck, Mike?” he hears the words tumble from his mouth before he can think them through.
Judging by the look on Mike’s face, the boy thinks this is about the letters. And it definitely still is, but it’s also the fact that he had the audacity to lie straight to Will’s face while he hurt himself in just the room over. After Will had made it abundantly clear that Mike could talk to him about his issues.
Mike’s rocking back and forth on his feet, and a hand finds the side of his neck before he’s nervously scratching the skin there with trembling fingers, his nails leaving red claw marks in their wake. He looks like he wants to curl up in a ball and die, or jump out of his own skin, or maybe even do both at the same time.
Even if he’s not meaning to, he’s hurting himself right now. Right in front of Will.
And Will can’t have that.
So even though he’s furious, and wants to bitch slap some sense into Mike, he forces a kindness onto his face. One that he hopes will be reassuring.
And, based on the way Mike’s gaze softens slightly, Will is sure he’s succeeded.
He sets the letter down on the desk and then steps forward, until he’s standing right in front of Mike, and he pulls the boy fully into the room, shutting the door behind them.
He catches Mike’s wrist, the one attached to the hand that’s currently scratching painful streaks into the soft column of his neck, and gently pries it downwards. Mike’s breath catches in the back of his throat as his mouth twitches into a pained grimace, and even though he tries to hide it, Will immediately sees right through him.
“Can I?” Will asks as he lightly tugs at Mike’s sleeve with gentle fingers, his voice tender as it falls between them.
Mike bites his bottom lip, tears streaming freely down his face.
“You won’t ever look at me the same,” the boy chokes out, the words broken and fraying around the edges.
Will shakes his head, hoping to dispel Mike’s negative thoughts.
“You’re still Mike, okay? The same boy who slept in my hospital room with me, or on the floor of my bedroom when I was too scared to go to sleep. You were the one who walked up to me in kindergarten, when I was too scared to talk to anybody else. It’s still you, Mike.”
The boy in front of him only seems to cry harder at that. He looks like he wants to shrink into the smallest shape possible, and Will wants nothing more than to comfort him.
“You probably think I’m crazy.” The words are bitter once they leave Mike’s tongue and hit the air.
Will has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from sobbing.
“Well, crazy together, right?”
Will can see as the rest of the fight leaves Mike’s body, the boy slouching his shoulders as he offers a single, curt nod.
He’s giving him permission.
Will shifts his grasp from Mike’s wrist to the boy’s hand, softly tracing the pad of his thumb against the smooth skin found there. Once he does this, there won’t be any taking it back. But he has to see, because Mike needs to feel seen, to feel supported in all the ways possible so he doesn’t end up doing anything stupid.
Like killing himself.
Will sucks in a deep breath, mentally preparing for the worst as his fingers grip the thin fabric and tug it upwards.
He tastes blood inside his mouth where he’s biting, but he only clamps his teeth down harder on the soft flesh of his cheek as his eyes graze over Mike’s forearm.
Where he once knew the skin to be smooth and uniform is now disrupted by hundreds of criss-crossing and intersecting lines, all in various stages of healing. Some of the oldest ones are fully white, while the others range from angry red scabs to purple-ish scar tissue.
There’s also a couple bandages, which was what had caught Will’s eye in the first place, and one of them is already soaked through.
Will presses the heel of his unoccupied hand against his mouth to stifle the sob that rises from the back of his throat. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this, not here in front of the boy who obviously needs him, but he can’t help but fall apart.
Mike looks down, clearly feeling guilty, and Will thinks he can’t stand that sight even more than the evidence of the boy’s pain carved deep into his flesh.
So, without thinking, he draws the boy’s hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, his touch soft. It’s a small gesture, one that, in retrospect, shouldn’t even make a difference. But Mike’s eyes snap up to meet his, and for a brief moment, everything feels a little less heavy.
“Will?” Mike’s voice is hoarse, a small, barely-there croak in his quiet bedroom.
“Yeah?”
“Does it ever get less scary?”
Will doesn’t know which part of it that Mike’s referring to, whether it’s grief, or guilt, or the nagging feeling of being a burden.
But there’s heat on Mike’s cheeks, tinting his face ever so slightly, and maybe Will knows what this is about now.
Because it was written in that damn letter, over and over again, even if half of it was half-heartedly crossed out.
I’m not strong like you.
She looked so much like a boy.
I began realizing things about myself. Things that scared me.
I started noticing you.
And then the obvious ones, barely legible beneath scribbled lines:
I can’t even say I’m gay.
A faggot.
And Will just nods his head, smiling through tears.
“Yeah, it does.”
And fuck, Mike looks hopeful, his puppy-dog eyes wide, locked onto Will like he’s the final word on self acceptance.
“Especially,” Will continues, idly tracing Mike’s scarred-over pulse point. “After you realize that there’s nothing wrong with you, and that you’re not as alone as you thought.”
Will feels proud of the advice he's giving, because it really could fit both aspects of Mike that the boy has laid bare before him.
Because Mike isn’t alone, even if he feels like it. He’s surrounded by people who care about him, and love him. People like Will.
But Mike still doesn’t look fully convinced, like he’s grappling with some impossibly large truth that hurts to hang onto, like a palm sliding over rope.
“But my parents-” Mike begins before Will hurries to cut him off.
“-Don’t know shit. Hawkins was literally crumbling beneath their feet and they didn’t even notice for years! I know it sucks,” Will’s voice drops an octave lower, eyes darting to where his hand is still connected to Mike’s. “Having a parent who hates you for who you are, or would, if they knew. But you have so many other amazing people who care about you, like Dustin, and Lucas, and- and me. So fuck them. Who cares what they think?”
Mike sucks in a shaky inhale, like he wants to say that he does, he cares about what they think, but no words escape the boy’s mouth. Instead he just looks up, like he’s trying desperately to prevent the tears pricking the corners of his eyes from falling.
“Do you… wanna talk about it?”
Mike’s mouth twists downwards in a confused grimace.
“About my parents?”
“No. I mean- if you want to, I guess, but- no. I meant, like, about some of the other stuff you said.” About me, Will thinks to himself. When you said you started noticing me.
For the longest time, Will had thought he’d been going crazy, imagining and misinterpreting signals from Mike, like his mind was playing some cruel joke on him. But now, with added context, maybe he’d been right all along.
Mike seems to catch the hint, because heat rises on his face, the soft rosiness a stark contrast to his sharp features. Will’s eyes catch on his friend’s cheekbones, like if he blinks he might miss something incredibly interesting.
When Will finally tears his eyes away, Mike’s already looking at him, eyes full of a sad understanding.
“This is what I mean, when I say I ruin everything.”
“You don’t-” Will tries to argue but Mike holds up his free hand, signalling for him to stop. Will hates the way his mouth goes dry on instinct. Will doesn’t continue, no matter how hard his mouth tries to, because deep down he understands how much Mike needs this. A chance to talk, without any interruptions while someone listens. So Will slides his hand slightly lower, threading their fingers together in a show of solidarity.
If Mike’s appreciative, he doesn’t show it. But he does falter slightly, eyes catching where their hands fall between them.
“I do, Will. I’ve hurt so many people, just ‘cause I couldn’t get my shit together and say how I was really feeling.” Mike looks lost in thought, forehead creased in concentration, like opening up about this is taking every bit of strength he has left in his body. “I think it’s just easier to pretend, especially when everyone else already has this idea in their heads of what you’re like, of who you like. And I guess I decided it would just be easier to go along with it.”
Will nods along, tracking the movement of Mike’s eyes nervously flitting to different points across the room. He understands, to a certain extent, what the boy’s talking about, even if it’s a bit different from his own experience. While Mike had been lying to multiple people for years about himself, Will had more so just… omitted the facts. He just always pretended like he wasn’t interested in anyone, always focusing on his schoolwork or paintings or the Upside Down, whenever that was applicable. But Mike’s circumstances had been different. He’d had a girlfriend, for God's sakes.
And the whole time Will had been regarding him as his impossible crush, the straight best friend who never wavers, Mike had been internally struggling with all of this. Latching onto his safe—albeit doomed—relationship like a captain sinking with his ship.
“You don’t need to be told what it feels like to not like girls, but-” Mike cuts himself off with a small shake of his head, and Will laughs a bit, even if it’s undercut by the thick current of melancholy nearly tangible in the small room.
“-You’re different from me, Will. We’re different. When you came out, it was like something suddenly clicked for everyone. It made sense. But if I were to-” Mike huffs as he rakes a hand through his already disheveled hair, and he looks almost ridiculous with the way his curls are all standing at odd angles. Will wants nothing more than to reach forwards and tangle his hands there, running them through the fine strands while the rest of the world melts away and all that’s left is the two of them standing there, in the middle of Mike’s childhood bedroom, but maybe that’s just him being selfish.
Mike gulps, and Will pretends he doesn’t trace the movement of the boy’s throat with his eyeballs.
“If I were to come out, I think people would just be confused. They have certain expectations for me, y’know? One’s that they didn’t necessarily have for you. Obviously we all assumed you were probably straight, ‘cause that’s, like, the default or whatever, but we also never really ruled you being gay as out of the question either, because you never showed any interest in girls. But me, Will? How am I supposed to explain everything to the party? They won’t understand, not like you do. They’ll think I'm lying, or- or they won’t get why I hid it for so long. And even if I tell them—that’s a big if—then they’ll just think I’m a bad person for never telling Eleven the truth, and for leading her on like that.”
Mike sucks in a deep breath as he finishes talking, his lips pressing together in a flat line.
This is perhaps the most Mike’s ever opened up to him before, and it almost feels sweet, how much the boy trusts him with all of this, until Will remembers the events leading up to this conversation. While Will doesn’t doubt for one moment that all of these points are very true, and very real issues that Mike’s having, and this conversation about his identity is no doubt important, it’s still not the main issue on the table. For all he knows, maybe Mike’s doing this on purpose, shifting all focus to this rather than addressing the elephant in the room.
Because yes, while being gay definitely sounds like a large point of contention within Mike’s mind, it also can’t be the only reason why the boy wants to kill himself. Even all the guilt as well couldn’t possibly drive him to such a drastic conclusion in the first place. So what’s wrong? And is it the same reason why Mike’s become so well-aquainted with a blade?
Will’s never been in this situation before, and he feels so conflicted between continuing their heart-to-heart or calling his friend out, that he needs a moment to think.
Except he can’t think, because Mike’s looking at him again, his eyes all dark and intense in that way that only Mike Wheeler is capable of.
Will wants to scream, because even after everything they’ve been through, this is too much for him. He’s out of his depth, and is afraid that if he slips up at all and says the wrong thing then he’ll ruin everything.
“They’re not going to think that,” he starts carefully, watching Mike to make sure he’s okay to continue speaking. When Mike doesn’t push back, he takes it as his chance to push forward. “They might not understand at first, but can you blame them? They don’t have much experience with this stuff either.”
Mike nods along with rapt attention, eyes wide as they lock onto Will’s gaze.
“And if you’d like, I could maybe help explain it? If you need help, that is. If not, that’s cool. Totally cool. But I figured since, well, yeah.”
Nice going, Byers, that unhelpful little voice in the back of his head supplies. Totally coherent.
But Mike’s smiling, even if it’s small, and it’s enough.
“No, yeah,” the boy breathes out. “That’s- that’d actually be pretty helpful, I think.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Mike’s voice is soft, and Will’s attention is pulled to where their hands are still grasped together, except now Mike’s the one who’s tracing the back of Will’s hand with his thumb, like he can erase the pain of the evening with such a simple gesture.
And now Will feels even more guilty for what he’s about to say, but he has to.
“Mike?”
“Hm?” the boy hums, picking up on the subtle shift in the atmosphere. His brow creases together in a question, one that Will wishes he didn’t have to answer.
Will closes his eyes as he says it, like if he shields himself from the boy’s face in front of him then maybe it’ll make it less painful.
“Are you still going to kill yourself?”
He’s met with silence, and when Will finally pries his eyes back open, there’s dark brown one’s staring back at him, wider than Will thinks he’s ever seen them.
He vaguely acknowledges that it’s quite the topic shift, and of course it’ll probably take Mike a moment to collect his thoughts enough to respond, but nothing can prepare Will for the pregnant pause that stretches between them.
“Mike?” he asks again, his voice a squeak, and Mike snaps out of whatever trance he was in, eyes brimming with horror and fresh tears.
Distantly, Will wonders if this was what Mike had done with Eleven. When he’d been unable to lie, so he'd picked silence instead, like it could help him.
This time is different, though.
Because it only proves his guilt.
If Will’s face was once dry minutes earlier, he doesn’t remember it. He’d figured his tear ducts would’ve dried up by now, emptied of all contents given the turn the evening had taken, but clearly he was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” is all Mike says, quiet yet resolute. Like he’s beyond saving.
Like he’s worth giving up on.
A sob is ripped from the back of Will’s throat as he pulls back from Mike, feeling betrayed. His hand falls back to his side, cold where Mike’s warm hand had been.
Mike needs help.
Professional help that Will can’t offer, not when it’s gotten this far.
Maybe he’ll walk downstairs, where Mrs. Wheeler is likely getting drunk. If he makes it quick, he can explain everything and drag her upstairs, hopefully before Mike has the chance to do much of anything. Or maybe he’ll just drag Mike downstairs and force him to explain the whole situation to his mom.
No, that seems cruel.
Maybe they go on with the sleepover like they’d originally planned, and Will just stays up all night making sure Mike doesn’t try anything.
That could work for the night, but it’s not a sustainable option.
What he needs to do is get Mike to see the issue with all of this, and understand why he needs help. That not everything is so black and white, and that people need him.
Will needs him.
Mike looks down at his own feet, sniffling as his shoulders tremble with every sob that escapes from his slumped frame.
“You can’t.” Will hates how small his voice is, how it’s barely loud enough to be heard over the combined noises of their crying. He feels broken and helpless, like back when he was a kid hiding from monsters, or even earlier when he’d hide from his father.
Mike looks guilty, like he knows all of this is his fault, and Will wants to scream at him.
But he can’t force anything else out of his mouth, he’s too tired.
He doesn’t want to argue. He just wants to give up. To go downstairs and join Mrs. Wheeler in her drinking, or to go back to the cabin and swipe one of Hop’s cigarettes like he sometimes does when his nightmares are particularly vivid.
Maybe this is what Mike feels like.
“I can,” Mike breaks the silence, and Will despises the utter sincerity in the boy’s tone. “No one needs me.”
Mike has the audacity to offer a small smile in consolation, and that’s absolutely not fair.
Will feels like his entire world is crumbling around him, and he realizes with horror that it is. Because Mike has always been his entire world, what his whole life revolved around. It’s always been Mike, from the very first day they met.
He doesn’t remember a time before Mike, really. And he sure as hell can’t stomach the idea of an after, a time the boy is absent from.
Will shakes his head as he folds his arms in on himself, like his own touch can somehow offer even a modicum of comfort.
“That’s not true.” he chokes out between stunted breaths, and hates the way he can’t even look at Mike right now. He’s angry, he knows, but he also feels like the world is ending, collapsing in on itself like the damn Upside Down.
“I need you.”
When he risks a glance towards Mike, he can tell that the boy doesn’t believe him.
Mike’s already shaking his head, as if in protest, but Will won’t put up with that.
“I’m serious,” Will says, and the way he hiccups doesn’t even undercut the tone of severity lacing his words. “I don’t- I don’t think I could ever- jesus, fuck!” It’s not like Will to swear like this, but he thinks the situation warrants it, given how frustrated he’s become. He wants to scream and rip out his own hair, but his muscles feel too weak to move much if at all. “I don’t think I could ever live in a world you’re not in. I need you, Mike. Seriously. And don’t-” his voice cracks as he raises it, but he continues anyway. “Don’t you dare stand there and say that I don’t because I fucking love you, and I can’t- I need you.”
Will almost doesn’t realize why Mike’s staring at him like he’s grown a third head, until he realizes the words that just came out of his mouth.
Shit.
Mike opens his mouth, then closes, then opens it again, like he’s a fish desperately trying to latch onto bait.
“I thought- you said- but I was your Tammy.” Mike says dumbly, like he can’t comprehend the possibility of Will’s speech being factually inaccurate.
This was a conversation they’d had, a couple weeks after everything went down. Mike hadn’t known who she was, only that he was being compared to her, and had gently asked Will what it had meant.
Will had placed the emphasis on himself, instead of talking about his crush on Mike, and if he’d noticed how Will sidestepped that entire portion of the conversation, then Mike had been too kind to say it.
But now, it’s finally come back up.
Will shakes his head on instinct, like he can dislodge the frustration rapidly mounting in his brain.
“You weren’t my goddamn Tammy Thompson and you know it.”
Mike looks at a loss for words, and Will can’t help but marvel at the boy’s obliviousness.
“I love you too.” When the words finally leave Mike’s mouth, Will isn’t surprised. After all, the boy’s letter had alluded pretty heavily to at least some type of feelings Mike has been keeping secret. Since he was fourteen, nonetheless. But it still feels like a bit of a shock to hear the words out in the open like that. Finally real.
“Then why the hell are you trying to leave me?” Will spits, and he knows anger probably isn’t the correct solution, but it’s already been well established that he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.
“It’s- you don’t understand, okay? I hate myself!” Mike meets him with more anger, his own voice rising as a response.
“I do understand, Mike! Do you think it was easy, loving you while you were dating my fucking sister? No! It wasn’t! And I hated myself every day for it, because I loved her too and she didn’t deserve any of that.”
Mike looks shocked, like he didn’t think Will could ever be capable of such venom in his tone
“Oh, wow, right. There it is.”
Will’s too caught up in his own anger to know what Mike’s talking about.
“What?”
“She didn’t deserve any of that,” Mike mimics, before snarling, “You do see it. This is exactly what I said earlier, and you just stood there and said it was fine!”
Will stares at him, incredulous. “I was talking about myself, Mike!”
“But it can be applied to me too, and you know it!”
At this point, there’s no way Mike’s mom can’t hear their yelling, but they’re both too riled up to care anymore. All there is is tension and anger between them, bubbling up like it’s about to boil over, like one of them will say something they can’t take back.
“Yeah well not everything is about you!”
Will knows it’s wrong from the moment the sentence leaves his mouth, but he lets the words keep tumbling anyways.
“You’re so selfish sometimes!”
The words land with a dull echo, bouncing off the walls of Mike’s room.
In that moment, Will swears he can see Mike’s heart shatter right in front of him, and his fingers ache to pick up the broken shards, and piece the boy back together, but somehow it feels too late, like there’s no coming back from this.
But this can’t be it, because that means that Mike will do something, something he absolutely can’t take back, and Will can’t handle that.
“Get out.” Mike’s face is hard as he says it, like he’s fully closed himself off to the rest of the world. Like he’s protecting himself from Will.
And it stings.
“Mike, I-” Will tries before he’s cut off almost immediately.
“No. Don’t.” There’s a hint of pleading in the other boy’s voice, like he really can’t handle any more words coming from Will’s mouth. “Just… go. Please.”
Will can’t help but catch the way Mike’s voice cracks at the end.
He stands there for a while, helpless, as his body decides between leaving or staying. Bitterly, he thinks of The Clash, of his favorite song back when he first discovered what monsters were, what they looked like. How they were real. And not just demogorgons, either, but his own father, hurling insults through drunken rages that often ended in someone getting hit.
Except he can’t leave.
Because if he does, he might never see Mike again.
So before either of them get a chance to say anything else, before Mike can fully kick him out, he strides over to where his friend stands and crashes their mouths together, tangling his hand in the hair on the back of Mike’s neck.
Mike doesn’t push back at first, simply standing there with his arms at his sides like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. For a second, Will thinks that he’s ruined everything, that instead of fixing things it’ll only make it worse. But just as he’s contemplating pulling away, Mike’s hands are cradling his face and pulling him impossibly closer, his mouth finally moving underneath Will’s. It’s rushed and heavy and desperate, with their tears mingling together, and as painful as it is, it’s perfect.
Mike’s hands trail down his sides, eventually landing on Will’s hips, and if a broken noise escapes his mouth, then that’s no one's business but theirs.
Will’s never done this before, and it feels clumsy, but based on the sounds of appreciation falling from Mike’s lips and into Will’s mouth, the boy doesn’t mind too much.
He feels like everything’s falling into place, while also falling apart. Because yes, he’s finally kissing Mike after years of pining after him, but it’s also under some of the worst possible circumstances.
They break apart, resurfacing for air, and as their chests rise and fall erratically, Will can’t help but stare. At Mike, the tears in his eyes, and the way his lips are parted slightly, glistening with their combined spit.
He’s beautiful, and tragic, and tragically beautiful in a way Will would’ve thought reserved for the ancient poets or whatever.
And now that this has happened, he definitely can’t lose Mike.
“I’m not leaving you,” he chokes out past the lump in his throat, and Mike stares back with wide eyes. “And I don’t ever want you leaving me, okay?”
Mike looks down at his feet while he slowly nods, like he doesn’t want to acknowledge what he’s agreeing to.
And it's not good enough for Will.
He needs more, some confirmation that Mike’s actually going to try, instead of a vaguely noncommittal nod.
“Mike, you need help.”
Silence washes over them, a fresh wave of anxiety, and Mike just looks at Will like he’s slapped him.
“I’m serious! Therapy, or medication, or something. But you need professional help.”
Mike stares at him, betrayed, and for a second Will feels the weight of that stare in the pit of his stomach, clawing its way up. Or maybe he's just going to be sick.
“I can’t,” Mike’s voice is broken, utterly dejected, and Will hates how, for a moment, he truly does look beyond repair.
“Look, you- you don’t have to do anything right now. You can sleep on it, okay? And in the morning, I can help you talk to your mom about it, or I can leave then, if that’s what you need. But I need you to think about this right now. Really think about it, Mike. Okay?”
“Why won’t you give up on me?”
“Because you’re not someone worth giving up on.”
The speed at which Will is able to reply surprises him, but the statement is filled to the brim with truth. He has never given up on Mike, not once in their decade of friendship. Even when he was being a jerk, or obsessed with El, and not even when Will was kidnapped into an alternate dimension. He’d clung to their connection through everything, and he isn’t about to stop now.
He doesn’t know when it happens or who initiates it, but Mike’s in his arms again, and they’re clinging together like they can find the answers they both need in each other.
“I can- I’ll try.” Mike says into Will’s shoulder, breath shaky against his skin.
“Really?” hope and pride swell up within Will at the thought. “You’ll talk to someone? Someone who can help you?”
And Mike’s nodding into his shoulder, which is probably the closest to an agreement he’ll ever get, and deep down he knows that later, Mike will probably fight this tooth and nail, but for now, it’s enough. The fact that he’s even entertaining the idea in the first place is progress in and of itself.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m tired.”
Mike’s voice is small, and Will can already hear the traces of sleepiness creeping into his tone. It makes sense; Mike’s had an extremely emotional day, and it's late anyway, so the boy's probably twice as tired as usual. Which is just as well, because Will’s ready to let go of all this stress too, even if it is just overnight. Unfortunately, they’ll have to face things in the morning, which will be unpleasant but necessary, but for now, they can just focus on each other, and the comforting presence they offer.
Mike switches the overhead light off before flopping onto his bed, too tired to be graceful about it, and he gets settled under the covers, visibly exhausted. Where his shoulders were once rigid, they now dip into the mattress, fully relaxed, like all of the fight has left Mike’s body and he’s simply there, waiting for all this to blow over. Will wants to reach forward and touch him, to smooth the still-present crease between the boy’s eyebrows, and he realizes with a certain fondness that he can now.
Will casts one last look over his shoulder towards the pile of letters scattered on the floor by Mike’s closet before climbing into the bed, where Mike has left the sheets pulled back in an open invitation.
It’s a double bed, so there’s plenty of room for the two of them to keep to themselves, but they don’t need to, anymore. So Will only hesitates a second before rolling on his side to face Mike, and closing the distance between them. When their lips meet, it’s nothing like the kiss they shared earlier. It's tender, and they take time exploring each other's mouths, and the warm slide of their tongues together. Will feels like his heart is shattering all over again, but this time Mike’s there to help him clean it up.
When they finally pull apart, Mike immediately fits his head to Will’s chest like it’s always belonged there, and in the darkness, it almost feels natural. Like everything will be okay.
“I love you,” Will whispers into the mop of curls resting just below his chin, marveling at the way the whole thing feels strangely domestic, considering the events of the day.
Mike shifts to look up at him, an overwhelming fondness shining within his eyes.
“I love you, too.”
Somewhere, settled deep in Will’s core is the feeling that Mike will be fine, somehow. That they can get through this, together, as Will and Mike. He’ll get the help he needs, and then things will be back to normal.
More accurately, a new normal, because there’s no way they’re ever going back to a time before they kissed each other.