Chapter Text
Chapter One - I Was Made for Loving You
April 26th, 1986
It’s been a month. Well, tomorrow will be. Mike’s slumped over on the edge of his bathtub, pale face in his aching hands. The act of holding up his head feels nearly impossible, every muscle in his body pulsing violently against his skin. He feels limp and heavy, and he’s just so tired. Mike is so tired.
A shaky sigh escaped his chapped lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. The familiar stinging prick of tears daring to fall. The dark circles surrounding them would have to be enough to hold the tears in — he couldn’t let them fall. He wouldn’t. He was so tired of crying. He felt pathetic, picturing all the times over the last month — the last year, if he’s honest — he’d wept bitterly behind closed doors.
His house had never really felt like home — a thought he felt selfish to even feel. Mike knew he was fortunate, he knew he was lucky to live in the house he did, to have food on the table and parents who provided for him. It was stupid and childish for him to feel unhappy about his home life, but Mike had long-known he was selfish, and no one hated him for it more than himself.
His dad’s constant criticism and shitty comments had only gotten worse since Mike started high school in August — and although he knew better than to care about what his dad thought or said, it didn’t help the already sinking feeling settling in his gut.
Every once in a while, on the nights his mind and his house were particularly suffocating, Mike found himself at Eddie’s trailer.
Eddie was older, a new friend who’d taken him and Dustin under his wing that year. Lucas, too, but as he started the basketball team, Mike found him and Dustin spending more and more time without him.
Eddie was effortlessly cool, and for reasons Mike never understood, he didn’t seem to mind hanging out with Mike.
The first night he’d found refuge at Eddie’s, he’d actually been thinking of Max. It was late and she’d kill him for showing up, but he didn’t care. They’d been spending a lot of time together, just the two of them, since last summer ended. The summer Billy was murdered and Will left for California.
They’d both pretend to dread the other’s company, but deep down, they’d found a sort of relief in the other’s presence. They could sit in silence or bicker about shit that doesn’t actually matter, without having to acknowledge the reality around them. The reality of what their lives had fallen into.
Clinically, Mike and Max were depressed. Deeply depressed. But neither of them would ever admit it —claim it. They didn’t work like that. Didn’t let themselves cling to reasoning. Neither felt as though they deserved to feel as depressed as they did, and they sure as hell weren’t going to wear the word like some excuse for who they were.
Mike and Max somehow believed they deserved all the pain and suffering of their depression, but not the understanding or support the diagnosis might bring them.
As high school started and life slowly moved on around them, Mike and Max blurred further into the background. Hawkins was on the mend, bandaging up the tragedy of the “mall fire,” and hurling toward the new school year with excitement. Neither Mike or Max could put a bandaid over the gaping hole the Summer of 1985 had left in its wake, though.
They do say misery loves company — and no one else seemed to be just as miserable as Mike or Max felt.
Realistically they knew that wasn’t true. They knew the others were hurting and grieving what had happened, too. But Lucas wanted to talk about it. He wanted to make it better, to be there in it with Max. But Max didn’t want to be in it at all, she didn’t want to talk through it or make it better. It couldn’t be better, not ever. And Mike knew the party missed Will — and El — but it wasn’t the same for him. Mike felt lost without Will. Will was his best friend. His lifeline through all the bullshit they’d come up against, and suddenly he was just….gone.
The distance between them tore away at his insides. He didn’t feel like himself in Will’s absence. He felt lonely in a way he never had before. Sure, he had the others, and they’re great — but him and Will — he just needed him. Mike missed him.
He’d spent every agonizing moment of the last few years clinging desperately to the boy, pleading with the universe not to take him away, and yet, he had once again lost him. It seemed to be what he was best at — anticipating and resisting losing Will. Fighting desperately to keep him. To keep him safe and close.
That Summer, before the Byers moved, Mike tried so hard to keep his feelings in check. To create distance for the sake of not spilling his guts to Will and ruining it all. His head had caught up to his heart, and in the startling clarity of just how much Will meant to him, he was terrified. He feared that the fluttering in his heart that he felt for Will would be the final blow — that he’d lose him once and for all. It was a summer spent digging into the flesh of his heart, burying his love for Will deep as a secret. He’d condemned himself to a life of loving him silently.
In the end though, the more he tried to distance from Will, the more glaringly obvious it became that there was literally nowhere else he’d rather be. Mike pulling away only hurt them both. That summer was the first time they’d fought in a way that felt bigger. It wasn’t bickering or an argument over something small. Mike had hurt Will.
He’d blown up a lifetime of trust in a single moment, the words so many had twisted and thrown at Will over the years crashing down between them. It was raining that afternoon, a heavy downpour. Lightning shattered the sky apart, as the words landed between them. “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”
Will’s chest was rising and falling anxiously, his breaths leaving his body in utter shock at the betrayal. Mike’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach, his face falling immediately. He instantly tried to fix what he’d just broken, but Will was gone. Taking off through the flooding streets, as Mike called after him.
He grew to resent himself for how he acted that summer. It seemed as though California was hell-bent on mocking Mike Wheeler — taking the distance he so desperately attempted to keep from Will, and multiplying it by thousands of miles.
Mike had lost Will to deserts and state lines, and he didn’t want to talk about it with anyone but Will. He didn’t want to talk about it at all, really, because then he’d think about why it hurt so bad, and what those feelings meant about him, and how it would inevitably implode and bring him right back where he started: losing Will.
Existing around Will was a double-edged sword. It was Mike’s favorite place to be, while also the most impossible place to be. Every moment spent in his company just amplified the feelings brewing within Mike. But a year of no Will at all had felt even more impossible.
His house was far from a home, and Hawkins wasn’t a home at all without Will Byers in it. Mike Wheeler was completely and utterly homesick.
The sidelines drew Mike and Max together, and over the first semester of their freshman year, they sank deeper into depression’s depths side by side. A pact sworn in eye-rolls and sarcasm. An unspoken understanding hovered between them, a solace in that void of a town.
Still, showing up on her doorstep at 11pm on a Wednesday would definitely be met with an eye roll, an annoyed scoff in tow. Probably a slammed door to his face — but he figured she’d reluctantly open it back up and drag him inside — he was about 99.9% sure she would be awake, anyway. Neither of them had been getting much sleep those days.
As he rounded the corner onto her street, Mike’s converse scuffed along the dusty asphalt in front of Max’s yard.
“Wheeler?” A familiar voice called, curiously from behind him.
Mike’s head shot over his shoulder. Across the way was none other than Eddie Munson. He was leaning against the railing outside his front door, smoke curling around his frame.
Shit.
“Oh, uh what’s up, man?” Mike called back awkwardly. He had been so lost in his own head, that Eddie’s sudden appearance had startled him.
A slight smirk spread over Eddie’s face, and he rocked forward on his feet, gripping the railing with both hands, a lit joint between his lips.
“Were you just in the neighborhood?” He questioned sarcastically.
Mike felt his face flush, and suddenly realized how weird he was being — showing up in Max’s yard in the middle of the night. How far apart they were standing for this conversation, and how late it was. He shook his head absentmindedly, his curls brushing over his forehead at the movement, and hurried away from Max’s and over to Eddie’s.
“Oh, you know me, just taking a night stroll.” A night stroll, really? Jesus Christ, he hated himself.
Internally, he grimaced. Eddie made him nervous, Mike always felt flustered around him. Because he was older and cool. Just like Dustin did. And Lucas. No other reason, of course. Everyone felt flustered around Eddie Munson. A fact Mike had adamantly reminded himself of whenever he felt that nervous blush rising to his skin.
“Riiight.” Eddie said, dragging out the word, as he cocked his head, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“So do you often take late night strolls to Sinclair’s girlfriend’s house, Wheeler?”
“I-wha-she broke up with Lucas- I mean, technically she’s not his girlfriend. No! I mean wait, no, I’m not- we’re not-“ he stammered, face glowing red through the shadows of nightfall. His mouth just couldn’t help itself, always rushing past his brain, words tumbling out in all the wrong ways.
“That came out wrong — I just, Max and I — we’re friends. I mean, her and Lucas were dating, but now they’re not. I’m not dating her either! I just. I was just seeing if she was up for a movie.”
Sigh.
He wanted to die.
Like actually die.
Eddie chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke over his shoulder, before cutting Mike’s nervous rambling off.
“Yeah, I’m just gonna take your word on that. As for your “stroll,” you’re full of shit. Why are you out here so late? Shouldn’t you be at home?” Eddie asked, his eyes flickering across Mike’s hollow frame.
It was a nice night, the last sweat of Summer subtle on the September breeze. It rustled through the trees around them, and Mike shivered, suddenly all too aware of how exposed he felt near the woods.
“It’s nothing, I just needed some air.” His hands fidgeted with his bike handles, and he shifted his gaze anxiously.
“What movie were you gonna watch?” Eddie asked suddenly, Mike’s unease palpable in the air between them. He decided not to pry — for now — and changed the topic for Mike.
Scoffing, Mike replied.
“Max would definitely not let me pick. Probably just rewatch ‘Nightmare on Elm-Street’ or something.” He mumbled.
Eddie nodded, inhaling the last hit and stubbing the embers out in the ashtray in front of him.
“I got something to take your mind off whatever it’s on. Come on, Wheeler.” He said, nodding his head toward the house. He dramatically pulled the door open, holding it for Mike to walk through.
A furrow tugged between Mike’s eyebrows, a moment of shock and confusion at being invited in, before he smoothed it out and cleared his throat.
“Y-yeah uh cool.” He said, propping his bike along the side of the trailer and making his way up the steps and inside. He glanced back over his shoulder toward Max’s, and Eddie followed behind, closing the door.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” He joked, his arms outstretched toward the living room. Mike took in his surroundings, the smell of weed lingering on the furniture. The stacks of vinyl adorning every surface his eyes could see. It was a small space, but it felt like Eddie. It felt like Mike could breathe for a moment. His shoulders relaxed a little.
He followed Eddie down the hall to his bedroom, where Mike’s jaw hit the floor at the sight of the electric guitar resting against his mirror.
“Dude! That’s sick!” He blurted out, stepping toward it to get a better look. Eddie chuckled, a smile of pride dancing across his features.
“Yes, in all her glory. Take it in, Wheeler. Take it in.” He revered, leaning against the wall behind him.
“Please tell me you’ve been listening to the metal I told you to.” Eddie said, arms crossed over his chest, watching Mike move further around the room. Posters and cassettes flooded his eyes, his fingers grazing over a few.
“About that…” Mike started, nervously. He rolled his eyes as Eddie feigned a heart attack. Always so theatrical.
“You’ve ended up here for a reason tonight, Wheeler. It’s time to change your life.” he declared, his hand landing over Mike’s shoulder, before he moved determinedly toward his music collection. He rummaged through tapes, gathering the essentials and leading them back out to the living room.
They spent the next few hours sitting on the couch, listening to what Eddie deemed a far better distraction than ‘some slasher.’
Eddie’s taste was pretty good, Mike thought. It seemed to only accentuate his effortlessly cool demeanor. Mike hadn’t listened to much metal before that night, but over the months that followed, he’d gotten into the habit of listening on his own, too.
He wanted to listen to them with Will. To lay next to him on his bedroom floor, and let the music speak for them. Let it wrap around them like a haven — a world entirely for them. He could picture it so clearly — how Will would lean in to the rhythm, feeling each note, lyric, beat.
He didn’t think metal was necessarily Will’s speed, but he knew Will would listen with him, anyway. Will loved music, it had existed as a reprieve for him — an escape in which he happily fled into. Mike loved when they did that, just sat together as Will turned him onto his latest finds. Witnessing him come alive over a song that really moved him always left Mike breathless.
For as long as they’d known each other, Will could lose himself in a song, and Mike would lose himself in Will’s excitement. How he had told Mike — more than once — that he couldn’t wait to show him. How Mike was the first person on his mind when a song resonated. It made Mike feel warm all over — the way Will shared what mattered most to him with Mike. As though Mike mattered.
He loved that Will came to him in his moments of excitement. That Mike was the person he thought of when he loved a certain lyric or beat. He could watch Will listen to music for the rest of his life; how the corner of his lips quirked up when a line hit him in a new way — as though he was understanding it for the first time all over again. Will didn’t just listen to music — he felt music. It drifted from the ribbon of a tape, the speakers of his bedroom — and into his ears, before coasting along his bloodstream. The crease of worry that so often embedded itself between his brows would drift away, that perfect grin overtaking him entirely. He’d bite his lip at certain parts, eyes alight in giddiness. Will loved music, and Mike loved experiencing it through him — with him. He missed him. A lot.
He’d made a few mixtapes for Will that year. California was so far away, and Mike spent every free moment writing to him. But the words spilled out in ink too freely. Too honestly. He quickly realized letters were too revealing. He couldn’t face the words his heart poured out each time his hand met the page, and he definitely couldn’t send them to Will. They’d ruin everything. So, he’d turned to music instead — a piece of Will he still had despite the thousands of miles between them. It made him feel closer to him.
In his darkest moment, after seeing Will’s “body,” be pulled from the water all those years ago, it was music that brought Mike home. The sound of Will’s gentle voice singing over the static of his walkie.
‘Should I Stay or Should I go’ had become a psalm to Mike. A melody he clung to, clasping each lyric between his palms desperately. It had been those words on Will’s breath that unraveled the sight of a body pulled from the quarry. That promised him his best friend was out there. Alive. It comforted him even now, with Will so far. Music had brought him home, it had brought him Will in the moment all felt most lost.
As he delved deeper into new songs, finding favorites, Mike carefully pieced the perfect track lists together for Will. Songs he knew Will loved, songs that reminded him of Will, songs he’d found comfort in lately, songs Eddie got him into, songs Mike knew Will would adore.
He’d collected them like trinkets, recording mix after mix, swearing someday he’d be brave enough to send. If he couldn’t send his own words, he could at least send others. He never did, though.
He figured after months and months of calling with no answer, Will just didn’t care about him anymore. Not enough to receive some mixtape in the mail. So, they sat unheard on his dresser.
Mike loved those nights in Eddie’s trailer, he loved being able to just exist in a space where all the chaos — all the things that made him crazy — weren’t known. Eddie hadn’t been touched by the darkness that seeped its way into Hawkins over the years. There wasn’t the weight of trauma forged in every shared moment between them. It was nice to pretend he was normal. He’d been going crazy, and without Will there to go crazy with him, Mike needed to feel normal.
Eventually, Eddie came to understand why Mike spent most nights out of his house, they’d talk here and there about his dad or how he felt like a disappointment to his family. Eddie could sense that Mike didn’t like being alone with himself. That the thoughts in his head weren’t exactly kind.
One night in October, after Mike had stormed off from family dinner, they found themselves in Eddie’s room. Mike sat across from him on the floor, watching intently as Eddie played his guitar. Over the months, he’d shown Mike how to play a few chords, how to hold the guitar properly — had corrected him every time Mike forgot to call guitars “she.”
Mike would roll his eyes, but his heart would speed up behind his ribs in those moments. He liked watching Eddie play. The way his rings adorned his strumming hands, how his bangs fell across his eyelashes as he focused on the melody he was bringing to life.
He also liked the way his stomach flipped when Eddie leaned over to adjust his finger placements for him. Anyone would, though, right? Right?
Mike and Will had spent their lives building entire worlds together, between Will’s drawings and Mike’s way with words, it’d come easily to them. Eddie, however, could build entire worlds with the strum of guitar strings. Could pull music from thin air, as though it bled from him, from his calloused fingertips.
Mike felt like maybe it was to Eddie what writing was to him. When he wrote, his mind unraveled — his feelings pouring out of him without a second thought. The page had a way of splitting Mike open, heart and soul. He figured that’s how Eddie felt when he lost himself in the familiar chords.
———
He’d done it again. Lost himself in a runaway train of thought. Mike’s body felt numb, and he shifted uncomfortably along the edge of the bathtub. He’d kept the bathroom light off, because his head was pounding. He’d been getting the worst headaches the last few days, and the pulsating sounds coming from the basement below had become too much.
It was all too much, really. He just needed a second to breathe, but Will had practically ran to lock himself in the basement bathroom, and Mike found himself stumbling upstairs to his own.
Tomorrow will be a month since Eddie died. A month since Vecna stopped Max’s heart. She’d come back, a miracle Mike couldn’t bear to imagine ending any other way, and luckily she’d escaped with just a broken arm.
Eddie though, Eddie was gone. Mike felt the heat of fresh tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and he raked his hands through his hair in frustration.
“Fuck.” He mumbled bitterly to the space around him, as hot tears fell down his cheeks.
How did they get here? How had this become their lives?
He’d returned home from Spring break to the world he knew evacuating. Hawkins had split open under the cruel hand of Vecna, leaving viscous gashes along the earth. It’d been covered up as an earthquake, and slowly the town had gathered together to move forward from the disaster.
He remembers feeling like it couldn’t get worse than that — than standing on the hillside with Will, a swarm of black and red clouds rolling over their home — witnessing the Upside Down catastrophically invade more and more.
How wrong he had been.
As everyone reunited and clung to each other gratefully, tears and words streaming frantically between them about what had happened over Spring break, Mike felt a gate tearing its way through his own body. Dustin and Lucas had sat with him in the basement, Will, Max, El, Steve, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan were there, too.
Dustin couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bear to. He just sobbed. Tears cascading down his cheeks, his throat, his shirt. Mike thought they’d never stop, that they’d all be carried away in the flood of Dustin’s grief. It terrified him, he kept asking them to tell him what was wrong, to please just tell him.
Lucas had been the one to finally break the news. His voice was tight with the tears he fought to hold back, and he rested a grounding hand over Mike’s shoulder as he told him Eddie had died.
Mike remembers the ringing of his ears. How his hands shook and his blood ran cold. He remembers shaking his head, repeatedly saying no.
No, no no.
Because this just wasn’t happening — it couldn’t be. Eddie was alive, he had just seen him a week ago at the campaign. Had just been at his trailer days before, eating snacks and avoiding his own mind.
The Wheeler’s basement had been heavy and tear-soaked that night. They’d collapsed into each other, a huddle of shaking shoulders and agonizing sobs. Eventually, Max, El, and Will wrapped their arms around the three, holding them together as Eddie’s loss shattered around them.
He doesn’t remember how he got to his bed that night or when everyone else left. All he remembers is the warmth of Will’s palms on his cheeks, the gentle press of his thumb over the endless stream of tears. How Will had stayed with him through the night.
The Byers would be living with the Wheelers until they could find a place of their own, but the basement would have to wait. That night, Mike and Will found themselves wrapped up in Mike’s bed, a tangle of limbs and sobs and snotty tears.
Mike didn’t have it in him to speak, to tell Will just how badly everything hurt. But they’d never needed words. They’d spent their lives becoming fluent in each other’s every tell. Will knew Mike’s heart as if it were his own. As if it beat within his body, too. Every pulse, every ache, every wave of grief hammering against his own ribs as he held Mike to his chest.
California had been hard on them, but they’d found their way through it. They were a team. Best friends. Mike had felt so much leading up to that trip, and from the moment he locked eyes with Will in the airport, he knew it was going to be impossible to get through without spilling his heart out.
By the time they’d found El and arrived at Surfer Boy Pizza with a plan, Mike and Will had met each other where they were. Flood-soaked in feelings and tired of fighting. Of not speaking. Of missing one another.
In the back of that van, they’d shared a moment. Will had gifted him the painting he’d noticed at the airport. He’d told Mike everything he’d ever hoped to hear Will say — things he dreamt of, selfishly. Things he knew deep down, Will would never reciprocate.
In that moment, the feelings he’d spent the last two years shoving down, floated to the surface, and he let them. He let them stay. He let his mind and his heart sit with it. With the fact that he loves Will Byers.
Once Will had explained that the painting and the words that followed were from El, Mike couldn’t hide the way his own face fell. The way his fluttering heart had stopped and sank. He understood suddenly, that hoping they had come from Will rather than El was the final straw. He couldn’t go on like this, he had to be honest with El and end things. It wasn’t fair to either of them, not when he knew his heart wasn’t in it.
———
That first night back home, as he sobbed into the crook of Will’s neck, the realization that he’d never see Eddie again hit him over and over like a tidal wave. He couldn’t breathe, his lungs ached, and his shaking body clung desperately to his lifeline. He pushed away the voice in his head telling him to pull back. To hide.
They’d spent too long choking on the distance between them. Miles and miles of desert and state lines. He didn’t care if he’d regret it in the morning, he didn’t care if his snot and tears were soaking Will’s shirt. He didn’t care if he was ‘supposed’ to find comfort and home in the arms of someone else — nothing mattered except for Will. The grief tore through him violently, sending shockwaves of memory through his nerve-endings of every other time he’d felt this feeling. Sobbed these endless tears. This sickening grief. The night Will had been declared dead, his body drowned in the water. The November Mike watched helplessly as Will thrashed in agony in the Mind Flayer’s possessive grip — it mixed with the grief splitting him apart over Eddie.
Mike couldn’t stop himself, the cruel memories only brought him closer against Will’s skin. Nothing else mattered but Will — Will who was holding him back tightly.
Will, whose steady presence wrapped around Mike like a shield. Whose strong arms and broad shoulders engulfed him completely, anchoring him as his body sank in the depths of mourning.
Will, whose gentle touches and familiar scent eased the breaking of Mike’s heart. Will, who wiped his tears and pressed tender whispers into his curls.
They’d spent almost every night since then falling asleep together. It had just become natural — at the end of everyday, they’d crawl into the blankets beside one another, the weight of the world washing away. There, in the safety of Mike’s bedroom, they could breathe deeply. Fully.
It was becoming incredibly difficult to love Will silently. Every moment they were together, the words hovered in his throat, longing to be released. His body was a dam — weather-worn and bursting at the seams.
A dam he’d fully accepted would break back in Nevada, before all hell broke loose. Before he’d been backed into a corner, back into that same, tired role of normal — of El’s boyfriend.
With Will’s hand on his back, and his calming voice guiding him through the chaos, Mike found himself forcing out words meant only for Will onto El.
They’d broken up shortly after returning to Hawkins. It had been gentle and mutual, as they held hands and promised each other they’d stay friends. Mike wanted that, he cared for El so much, and he was thankful not to lose her after the shitty boyfriend he’d been. She knew they were better off that way, too, and she seemed relieved to finally lay their relationship to rest.
———
Mike’s face was red and tear-stained, his hair was a mess. The distant lull of music hummed through the floorboards, echoing from the basement where everyone hung out. They’d gathered together for a small kick-back, a night to honor Eddie. It was just the party now, the rest of Hellfire — the only other people who knew Eddie wasn’t some satanic murderer; that he was someone worth missing — had left a little bit ago.
He’d started the night off feeling okay, as okay as he could be despite the state of, well, everything. Jonathan had left his weed hidden — poorly — on a shelf in the basement, and Dustin had been quick to say they should give it a try.
Mike didn’t mention the handful of times he’d smoked with Eddie. At the time, it never felt like something to talk about. It was just something he did in the dead of night to quiet the spiraling of his thoughts. And now, at the kickback, he didn’t have it in him to recall those memories. Not without completely falling apart.
He just took a hit as it was passed to him, waiting for the numbness to overtake his body. He loved the haze that smoking cast over his brain — how slow and light he felt. He’d always drift toward thoughts of Will. The purest, safest escape he’d ever known — more potent than any drug.
Eddie had asked about Will fairly often whenever they’d hang out. He’d come up a lot during Hellfire, too — the boys filling the club in on a DnD memory involving Will.
Mike had even made a Hellfire shirt for him, so that once he was back home, he could join their party. So everything would finally be complete. Nothing ever felt complete without Will.
The shirt was hanging in his closet, he had yet to even mention it to Will, and he didn’t really see the point anymore. Eddie was — he shook his head violently to rid the word “dead” from it — and Hellfire was being cast as some satanic cult. It was all so fucked. He couldn’t even imagine any of them playing DnD anytime soon.
On the nights Eddie and Mike found themselves lingering on Will’s name, Mike tried hard to keep himself from stuttering or blushing. He tried desperately to play it cool, like Dustin or Lucas would — like a friend would. The thing about Eddie Munson though, was he saw right through bullshit. Every. Damn. Time.
He’d teased Mike relentlessly about how he always found a way to bring their conversation back to Will Byers. How every time a song hit him square in the chest he “had to write it down to show Will,” how Will would fit so naturally into Hellfire, how he found certain album art to be nothing compared to Will’s art. Will Will Will Will.
Eventually, Eddie picked up on how tense his teasing made Mike, and so, he tried to proceed cautiously.The subtle mention of a musician who was out as gay, or how hot he found a certain drummer. Just casual comments to let Mike know if there ever was something he needed to get off his chest, Eddie would listen. Eddie wouldn’t think he was some freak for it.
They didn’t have to say it, or talk about how Will fit into it all. They could simply sit in the unspoken comfort of knowing neither of them were too much of a “freak” to the other. Mike needed that. He held onto it.
———
He knew he couldn’t hide in his bathroom forever, that he needed to head back down to the basement — but he just couldn’t bring himself to stand. The night had started off heavy and tender.
Everyone had shown up around 8pm, and gathered comfortably around the couches and beanbags. Steve had graciously agreed to leave them some alcohol, after making them swear they’d stay home — “no biking drunk,” he said sternly, a hand on his hip, “and you — no driving.” He’d directed at Max, a wave of nausea passing over his face, at the memory of the last time he’d come-to in the wake of Max Mayfield barreling down the road.
They sat, red solo cups in hand, and they reminisced over memories of Eddie.
There was lots of crying, sniffles filling the basement. Mike stayed close to Will, their thighs flush, eyes meeting every few minutes.
Mike was quiet tonight, his mind was everywhere and nowhere all at once. But he was thankful to be there, to be in a room that loved Eddie for who he was. It had been exhausting and infuriating watching him be demonized around town. There, in the refuge of that room, though, love hung heavy over their shoulders.
None of them had ever really drank much. Lucas a few times with the basketball team, but even then, he hadn’t had more than a cup or two. Max and Will stuck to soda, which didn’t surprise Mike, he knew all too well how Will felt toward the drink.
The memories of Lonnie that came to mind sent a shiver down his spine, and he knew Will felt it, too. He hadn’t planned on drinking either, but especially not with Will spending most nights in his bed. Mike hated the idea of smelling like liquor — of reminding Will of bad memories.
Max on the other hand, Mike figured, avoided alcohol because of her mom and stepdad. He didn’t need to know all the details to know things got rough at home.They were slightly better now that Billy’s dad had left town, but over the past year, she’d opened up a little with him about her mom’s struggle to cope. He made a mental note to check in on her at some point throughout the night.
The hours rolled by comfortably. A movie playing quietly from the T.V, and Mike had a steady rotation of tapes that Eddie liked drifting from the speakers.
Max and El were cuddling on the couch, El doodling along the yellow cast Max wore. Dustin sat with the guys from Hellfire, deep in conversation, the movie and music a gentle soundtrack to the night.
Lucas, Mike, and Will had sat in their usual seats at the DnD table. They ebbed and flowed between conversation and comfortable, solemn silence. Looking at the figurines among them ached in a way Mike hadn’t anticipated. A game that had always been a safe place, now tainted more and more by the reality around them and the absence of Eddie.
“It’s weird, I keep expecting him to show up.” Lucas said, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance, like he was watching a memory play out.
Mike swallowed the lump in his throat, shifting in his seat.
“Yeah, me too.” He said, his voice frail.
Will sat across from him, the warm glow of his presence soothing Mike’s anxious mind. Will’s eyes bounced thoughtfully between his best friends, before he spoke softly.
“What would he want to be doing tonight?” He asked, a nervous tremor in his voice.
Mike’s face flickered with a smile. He liked how Will had said it — how the question brought to mind so many good things. He liked feeling like he knew what Eddie would’ve been thinking, too.
“Holding his baby.” Mike said, lost in his head, eyes focused on the table.
Lucas and Will looked at him as if asking what the hell he meant.
“His guitar, he always called her his baby.There’s honest-to-God nothing he’d rather do more than play that guitar.” Mike explained, thoughtfully.
His eyes found Will again, and he was taken-a-back by the teary smile he was giving Mike.
“He was so much cooler than us, dude.” Lucas said with a quiet laugh, shaking his head at the thought.
“Is that hard to do?” Will offered light-heartedly.
The friends laughed. A sweet glimmer in all that darkness.
“I wish you could meet him, Will.” Mike said, their eyes locking. Will gave a sad smile, nodding his head in agreement.
“He practically knew you though with the way Mike never shuts up about you.” Lucas replied.
Mike slouched back slightly, a defensive “Hey!” fleeing his lips.
Will’s face deepened in crimson, and he looked anywhere but at Mike.
“It’s called being a good best friend, Lucas. You know, missing them when they’re across the country.” He said with an eye roll.
Will’s cheeks grew even more crimson, and Lucas just stared at Mike with that look he always gives Mike when it comes to Will.
“What are we talking about?” El interrupted, appearing between Mike and Lucas.
Mike’s gaze snapped away from Will, as Lucas answered.
“Just talking about what Eddie would be doing right now.”
A curt nod of understanding, and then “Dustin said he liked to smoke the same smelly plants Jonathan does. The ones he found earlier on the shelf.” She says, inquisitively.
Will, Lucas, and Mike’s mouths are agape, to which El just shrugs. The sudden silence from their side of the basement catches Dustin’s attention, and he comes over slowly.
“Hey.” He says softly, the toll of his sadness thick upon his voice.
A chorus of soft “hey’s” greeted him, and he took his usual seat.
“How’s the movie?” Will asks after a beat of silence.
“Good — one of Eddie’s favorites. We weren’t really watching though. Just thinking.” Dustin says, his eyes far-away.
“They’re gonna head out in a few, I’m glad they were here though.”
Everyone nodded, a silence falling between the group.
“Mike was telling us about Eddie’s “baby.”” Lucas said, drawing Dustin back.
“Man, he loved that thing. He played the most metal concert the world will ever see.” Dustin said with a breathy laugh. A smile dusted across his face, fading quickly.
Mike’s chest heaved painfully thinking about Dustin being there in that moment. Holding Eddie in his arms as he breathed for the last time. He couldn’t bear to think about it, Dustin should never of had to endure that. The guilt he felt for not being there sat like a boulder in his stomach, one he tried to push away with knowing had he not gone to Lenora, Will and El would’ve faced the chaos there alone.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you.” Mike blurted out suddenly.
All eyes landed on him, and he froze.
“I-I’m sorry you had to see him like that alone.” He said, quieter, his eyes searching Dustin’s with remorse.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him before….” Dustin said after a steady silence, his voice trailing off, wet with welling tears.
The air around them was a held-breath. Tense and hopeful. Vulnerable.
“I just — I keep thinking about the last time I saw him. How I just assumed there’d be a next time.” Mike said, the confession brushing over the conversation sadly.
“He was Eddie, even till the end. Ya know, he totally shredded “Master of Puppets,” on top of his trailer in the Upside Down.” Dustin said fondly, scoffing in awe at the memory, and Mike’s heart clenched with ache.
“He was definitely too cool for us.” Mike said with a chuckle, glancing toward Lucas who shook his head with a sad smile.
“What are you losers talking about?” Max cut in, coming out from the bathroom, and joining between Lucas and El.
“Smelly plants.” El said at the same time everyone else said Eddie.
Max shot her a confused look of amusement, and El giggled.
“Thank you for reminding me, El.” Dustin said, mischievously. He crossed over to the shelf they’d found the Purple Palm Tree Delight stashed, and brought it over.
“Who’s in?” He asked, and they all moved to sit on the floor. It was cozy and tender — the warmth of being surrounded by your best friends. A bubble of safety in a world so dark.
Dustin’s eyebrows were raised in anticipation, the dark circles beneath his eyes revealing how little he’d been sleeping. How little they all were. Mike didn’t have to ask to know that the nightmares they’d suffered from over the years had only escalated.
El fiddled mindlessly with a strand of Max’s auburn hair, twirling it around her fingers gently. Her rosy cheeks were flushed, and the airy energy radiating from her definitely had to do with the cup of whatever concoction her and Dustin had braved earlier. Tipsy suited her, though. It was the most care-free she’d looked since everything had happened. Honestly, since before the chaos at Rink-O-Mania happened, Mike thought.
He was glad they were doing this. Hanging out all together. Sitting with the memories of Eddie — keeping him alive. Who gave a fuck what the rest of the world thought? There in that room were the people who really knew and loved Eddie Munson.
Mike’s eyes flitted over to the rest of Hellfire, they were crowded around the T.V watching one of Eddie’s favorites. Popcorn littered the floor. It was nice that they’d shown up, and Mike hoped they were doing okay. They’d always been nice to him, they’d welcomed him in as Eddie had, and he knew losing him hit them hard.
They may not have known the truth of his death, but they didn’t need to know it to realize what the rest of the world was saying about Eddie was lies. They were grieving their friend, and Mike felt thankful for the basement. He felt grateful for the refuge it gave the people he loved. Will was beside him, and he felt at home.
The party had fallen into overlapping conversation, and Mike got up quickly as the rest of the Hellfire guys came over to say goodnight. He walked them to the side door along the basement wall, and everyone gave them warm goodbyes.
Taking his seat beside Will again, his knee landed gently against his. Will pressed closer into the touch, sending Mike’s heart racing.
Even after falling asleep beside each other over the last month, their lingering gazes, and constant gravitating touches — Mike still found himself dizzy with adoration every time.
“So…everyone in?” Max asked, glancing around her friends.
Will was down to try. He’d witnessed it bring a calm haze over Jonathan in Lenora, and though he was annoyed at how often his brother had been stoned that year, he couldn’t help but lean into his curiosity. He hoped it would calm his own body, maybe tune out the shivers that haunted the nape of his neck.
Mike was definitely down. He was ready to slip into that smoky, tingling sensation — to float away from the relentless spiral of his mind.
Everyone nodded, except El who was curious to see how her friends would act while high.
Mike focused his attention on Dustin, who started attempting — and failing — to light the joint. After what felt like an eternity, and many snide comments from Max, it was finally lit.
Dustin’s eyes gleamed proudly, before his smile wavered a little bit. He lowered his voice, and locked eyes with Mike and then Lucas. “For Eddie.” he said softly.
It may have seemed strange or silly, but they all felt it — the weight of his absence in that moment. And while smoking weed wouldn’t bring him back, it was still something Eddie enjoyed. It was a piece of him they could hold onto. Besides, if anyone in Hawkins, Indiana deserved to feel high, surely it was them.
“For Eddie.” Mike and Lucas whispered, and Mike felt Will lean in closer where their knees touched. A grounding reassurance that soothed Mike’s heart.
Dustin brought the joint to his lips and inhaled deeply, breaking out into an immediate fit of coughs. Lucas shook his head and patted his back.
“Let me show you how it’s done.” He said, slyly, taking the joint and pressing it between his lips confidently.
“This should be good.” Max said sarcastically.
A fit of coughs burst from Lucas’ own lungs, and Dustin glared at him, a smirk forming over his face.
“You were saying?” He teased, watching as Lucas caught his breath, irritated. He rolled his eyes, and tried to pull himself together as he turned to Max.
“Uh, did you-“ he started, eyebrows raised gently in question toward her. She rolled her eyes, a small smile twinging her lips, as she took it from his hand.
“I’m in, Stalker.” She said lovingly.
Their fingers brushed, and Mike noticed the shift between them. They seemed better, as though they’d worked things out since before Spring break.
The ghost of a smile tugged at his own lips. Good, he thought. Max and Lucas deserved to be happy after all the bullshit they’d suffered.
It felt good to see her smiling, it helped ease the ache that her bright yellow cast brought to his chest. He reminded himself it could’ve been much worse — Vecna could’ve snapped all four limbs. He could’ve killed her. He had killed her — Lucas told them her heart had stopped for over a minute. The thought made his stomach flip.
The realization that he could’ve come home to Max and Eddie both gone — it was too much. The thought jumped out at him violently, his hands twitching in anxiety. His mind flashed with images of Dustin cradling Eddie as Lucas cradled Max.
The all-too-familiar self-hatred was bubbling up inside of him, as he realized where he was during it all — holding El’s hand, and confessing words he knew he didn’t mean — not in the way he should.
He needed a hit, he needed to get out of his own head.
From the corner of his eye, he could feel Will’s worried gaze. He knew he’d had noticed the twitching in his hands, he always noticed when Mike was anxious or agitated.
He turned to meet his gaze, and they both smiled softly — a million words passing between them silently.
I love you. Mike thought loudly, hoping Will would hear it — feel it. That Mike’s love for him would be so palpable, Will could sense it in that lingering gaze.
As they passed the weed around, taking turns coughing and laughing, Max handed it to Will, leaning her head against El’s shoulder in contentment.
Mike’s gaze stayed glued to Will’s nervous fiddling of the joint. The way it sat between his delicate fingers — the same ones he’d admired as they held a pencil or a paint brush. The ones he ached to interlock his own fingers through.
Will was beautiful, and Mike couldn’t bring himself to look away. He watched in silent adoration, as Will brought the joint to his parted lips, cupping his free hand around the end to relight it.
Fire danced to life, illuminating his perfect face. The flames warmed his tanned skin, flickering over the green of his irises. Mike didn’t even process his own hand reaching to hold Will’s cupped one, who — at first — seemed surprised by the forward contact, but relaxed into it, inhaling slowly.
He exhaled with his turn of endless coughs, and Mike’s other hand fell to his back, where he rubbed reassuring circles across Will’s flanneled shirt.
As the coughing fit ceased, and smoke curled around them, Will turned to face him. His cheeks were tinted pink in embarrassment, but Mike thought Will looked so pretty. He smiled at him sweetly.
“You okay, Will?” He asked gently, his voice that tone reserved solely for the boy beside him.
“Y-yeah, Mike. I’m good, just don’t know how Jonathan does it without choking.” He spoke, a breathy laugh coating his words.
“Why didn’t I get a back rub, Lucas?” Dustin asked exasperatedly. Heat rose to Mike’s own cheeks, and he shot him a wicked glare.
“Shut up, Dustin.” He snapped, but there was no real malice in it.
The circle erupted with giggles, and Will held his hand out for Mike to take a hit. Their fingers brushed, and neither pulled away. A bolt of electricity zapping between their fingertips.
Mike drew back slowly, relishing in the feeling of Will’s skin on his. Bringing the joint to his lips, and feeling the familiar burn along his throat, he inhaled smoothly.
He held it in for a moment, before exhaling slowly. A slight cough followed, but nothing like his friends had sounded like. He lowered his gaze to the floor, as he passed the joint back around to Dustin.
“Dude! What the hell?” He said in astonishment, pulling Mike’s gaze up. Everyone was staring at him in shock and confusion, and he felt like closing in on himself.
“What? It’s not my fault you can’t handle your smoke.” He said light-heartedly. Dustin gaped, and Lucas rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, okay, stoner.” Lucas said sarcastically.
“Oh shit, did you smoke in California, Wheeler?” Max asked, a glimmer in her bright eyes.
“No!” Mike and Will said in unison, turning to each other with flushed cheeks.
“Then how come you didn’t hack up a lung like the rest of us?” Dustin complained, taking another hit and coughing only slightly less this time around.
“I guess I’m just a natural, what can I say?” Mike offered with a shrug. He hoped they’d brush it off, and move on so he didn’t have to talk about the many nights he’d spent getting high at Eddie’s.
“Bullshit! Give me that, Henderson!” Lucas said, grasping to take it from the boy’s hands. They went around like that, inhaling and exhaling slowly, the coughs calming down with each round. Smoke billowed around the basement, and Max pointed out how pissed Karen would be.
Luckily though, his parents were out for night with Holly, and once they did get home, they wouldn’t come down to the basement, since Jonathan and Will had been living down there.
As they slowly burned through the joint, they’d dissolved into laughter and a chill haze. Max and Lucas moved over to the couch, lying with their heads on opposite sides, and their legs tangled together.
El and Dustin flopped onto the beanbags, sipping generously from red solo cups throughout the night. They gagged at the taste and laughed harder. It was nice to hear Dustin laugh, it had become a foreign sound in the wake of Eddie’s passing.
Mike and Will gravitated toward each other all night, bodies leaning in with touches that lasted longer as the night went on. Mike would tap his fingers gently against Will’s thigh, completely unaware of his own movements. It just came naturally. Like before the Summer he moved. Before touch carried weight and meaning and judgement. They were just back to being who they always were together. Best friends.
As the party sank warmly into their high, Mike and Will sat against the bookshelf where the speakers played. He’d put in a mix Eddie had given him awhile back — it was metal and rock, mostly — and tried to ignore the tugging of his heart strings.
He felt his fingers twitch with the memory of the guitar in his own hands. He’d really liked learning to play, but the thought of keeping at it right now hurt too much.
“I like this one.” Will’s voice said, clearing through Mike’s mind. He bumped his shoulder against Mike’s.
They were side by side, their bodies light and loose from the weed.
He wanted to rest his head lazily against Will’s shoulder and relax into the fuzzy feelings humming through his body.
“I was made for loving you.” Mike said, with a lopsided smile, eyes locked on Will’s.
Blush pooled in Will’s cheeks, and his eyes widened.
It was then that Mike’s brain caught up with the words he’d said, and he stammered to explain.
“Th-the song! It’s called ‘I Was Made for Loving You,’ uh Eddie showed it to me.” He stuttered out, face warm and pink.
“O-oh.” Will said, studying Mike’s features delicately.
I was made for loving you, though, Mike thought to himself. The song title capturing exactly how he felt. His body was filled to the brim with love for the hazel-eyed boy before him. Every cell, nerve-ending, muscle of his being coursed with love for him. He’d loved Will all his life. Before his brain even knew what it meant to love someone so completely and irrevocably.
“You like it, though?” Mike asked, leaning into the conversation. A pool of warmth spreading through his chest, as he realized the moment he was in. He’d thought about this exact moment a million times. Sharing music with Will, sitting in the space between lyrics and instruments and basking in his steady presence.
“Yeah, it’s good. Different than your usual tastes,” a breath of a laugh fanned over Mike’s face, to which he grinned madly. “But good different. Eddie seems really cool, Mike.” Will said, his voice soft.
Mike’s heart ached with love for him, at hearing Eddie’s name on his lips. The care with which Will held for everyone — even people he didn’t know. This world had been most cruel to Will, and yet, he remained kind. Will was the best of this world, the best of all things.
He wished they could meet. Will Byers’ sass would’ve broken down Eddie’s tough exterior so fast, just like Erica’s had. Mike always found Will to be the funniest person he knew. He seemed quiet to those who didn’t know him well, but Mike had always known every shade of Will. The softest hues to the brightest ones, too. Will’s laugh was a light in the darkness, a kaleidoscope of rainbows in an otherwise gloomy world. He had genius comedic timing, and he just got Mike like no one else ever had.
Mike loved when Will loosened up, when the walls fell down and they could just be.
Will deserved to simply be. He had to be so strong for too long, and Mike ached with the need to reach out and hold him. To protect him.
A flash of the painting Will had made for him surfaced like ripples on the lake of his mind. Mike dressed in armor, bravely bearing a heart shield. He wanted nothing more than to be Mike the Brave for Will, but he hadn’t felt very brave in a long time.
Metallica’s ‘Fade to Black’ drifted from above them, and Mike rested his head against the bookshelf, his gaze never leaving Will’s. A sigh escaped his lips. This was nice.
Despite the reason for the gathering, and the grief sewn into his chest, sitting with Will was so peaceful. Mike allowed himself to relax into it. He ignored the selfishness clawing its way through his body, and let the high carry him further adrift.
“We listened to music a lot together, Eddie knew all kinds — I talked about you a lot.” Mike said, inhibitions abandoned.
He savored the crinkle that adorned Will’s smiley eyes. God, their faces were so close. His eyes fell to Will’s parted lips. They looked so soft, so delicate. He’d dreamt of kissing Will for so long. He didn’t even try to pull his eyes away, locked in as words fell from those parted lips.
“Oh yeah? What about?” Will asked playfully, shifting to bump his knee against Mike’s. A grin spread across his beaming face, and Mike’s breath hitched in his throat.
He chuckled softly, if anyone could get a laugh out of him these days, it was Will.
“More like, what didn’t I talk about.” He said playfully. “Just everything really, just how much you love music. How it’s one of my favorite things we do together — listening to it. I told him how much I wanted to share the songs he showed me with you. I talked about your favorites, and about the way you come to life over them. And your art, of course your art. I talked about our campaigns, how you really are Will the Wise. Not just in DnD, but always.”
The words poured out of him like honey, slipping into the dwindling space between their shared breaths, and Will hung onto every word, every syllable. He loved when Mike was open like this, when he could see the walls crumbling around him. It reminded him of when they were younger, before everything got so complicated, and Mike stopped opening up as much. They’d always been each other’s safest place — the space in which they could feel and be and say whatever they wanted.
Of course, they had that same safety and freedom with the rest of the party, too, but it was different. Mike and Will had always been Mike and Will. From the moment they met on those fateful swings, the world had aligned around them. Fallen in time with the syncing of their heartbeats, and whenever they were apart or fighting or feeling off from one another, the pace of the world quickened in panic. Tilting off its axis, until they mended it together.
Will listened in awe as Mike continued on and on about him, his shoulders lax, mind adrift on Purple Palm Tree Delight. He counted the freckles scattered along the bridge of Mike’s nose, and felt his heart swell with love. Will savored the tenderness of the moment, the joy in Mike’s demeanor, he hadn’t seen in so long. He hated that Mike was hurting. That grief had once again lashed out across him, embedding itself deeply into that precious heart of a boy.
“You’d have loved Hellfire, Will. At first, it was weird without you — like, like I felt wrong for joining the party without you, but Eddie — he took us in. He gave us somewhere to belong, and I didn’t have that anymore. Not once you moved.” Mike said, his eyes shifting quickly to his fiddling hands. He toyed with his fingers in his lap, and avoided Will’s intent gaze.
He could feel his nerves creeping up his spine, urging him to pull back. To say less. To stop being so obvious before he let out the truth hammering against his chest cavity. Because even though he hadn’t said the word ‘love,’ he knew it was evident. That it pulsed vibrantly between the lines. How could it not?
He’d just rambled on and on about everything Will for who knows how long? How many songs had played in the time he’d been talking? He tried to listen for the track, to piece together where they were by music alone. It was useless, he was lost in Will — Will, who reached a hand out to rest over Mike’s own. His fidgeting halted, and he took a sharp inhale of breath.
“Mike.” Will whispered, leaning his head down to catch his eyes.
“Look at me, please.” The whisper was gentle, more gentle than Mike felt he deserved. The high coursing through him was suddenly too much, the rush of hatred he held for himself settling back into focus. The sting of tears threatening to spill over his lashes.
He peered up at Will through his dark curls, and felt every cruel thought melt from his mind. Will looked at him as though he were something sacred. Something good. Mike knew deep down that he wasn’t — that he was bad and he’d messed up too many times to deserve such a tender look — but he let it wash over him, anyway.
“Hi.” He whispered.
“Hi.” Will whispered back, a look so loving locked on Mike and Mike alone. It took his breath away. He never wanted the moment to end.
He never wanted to face the grief or the pain or whatever else the world had waiting for him outside of Will’s gaze.
“I didn’t know you felt like that, Mike. That you feel like you don’t belong anywhere.” He spoke slowly, as if the words hurt on their way out.
Mike replied immediately. “I don’t belong anywhere without you, Will.” His eyes were wide with the startling truth he’d just spoken so boldly. So effortlessly and honestly.
His voice cracked at the end, but he didn’t care. He meant it. He meant it so much, and Will deserved to know.
“I-I know we talked back in Lenora about how-how I felt like I’d lost you. And I’m so glad we’re okay. That we’re a team. I don’t know, it’s just when you moved away,” he trailed off, eyes searching Will’s for understanding.
“It’s like I didn’t fit anywhere anymore. Like without you here, nothing made sense. It’s always been us, ya know? And then high school started, and I’d just assumed we’d start it together. And I tried to call. I called every day, but I thought maybe you were moving on. That you did fit out there, and I wanted you to! Of course you would belong anywhere you went, you’re—you’re Will — but I…I just didn’t. Nothing made sense without you.” He finished, his voice dissolving into a fragile thing.
The longer Will studied him with those gorgeous eyes, not saying anything — the warmer Mike’s face grew. He was sure he was glowing in the dim light of the basement. He wanted to crawl out of his skin, he felt too exposed. Too raw. Too honest. His heart was going to beat out of his chest. He was panicking.
“Nothing ever makes sense when you’re not with me, Mike.” Will said so softly. It was as though time had slowed around them — as though they existed outside of it, entirely. Suspended in that tender moment, nothing but the mingling of their breaths and the warmth of their words.
His heart sped up, and he felt his lips part in awe at what Will had just said. The panic fled, as he clung to Will’s next words.
“I really missed you, Mike.” He whispered, staring at him with so much intention, so much genuine feeling.
He’d missed him. Will had missed him. He knows that he shouldn’t be so surprised, but after months of Will never reaching out, it was the most precious thing he’d ever heard in his life.
“I really missed you, too, Will. A lot.” He said, that familiar, soft tone grazing Will’s ears.
“I’m sorry I blamed you at Rink-O-Mania. I…You said you called every day?” He asked, face puzzled.
Mike swallowed, his throat thick with the shame he felt each time he called to find that Will wasn’t on the other side.
“Y-yeah, every day. Sometimes multiple times—“ he trailed off, his hand running through his curls nervously.
“I…I guess that was a little crazy, I just thought if I called enough, eventually you’d answer.”
Will had the most tender look upon his face — eyebrows furrowed in shock, lips parted, eyes swimming with everything he felt. Like his heart was so full, it couldn’t help but show on his face.
He didn’t respond for a moment longer, but when he did, Mike could’ve burst into tears. Could’ve tackled him in the biggest hug.
“I was going crazy thinking you didn’t care about me anymore. I guess, we did go crazy together, huh?”
He remembered their promise from Halloween all those years before. Mike couldn’t believe Will had held onto it all this time.
A breathless sound escaped Mike’s lips, and he stared at Will for a long time.
“Hey Will?” He whispered, bracing himself with a deep breath. He felt his palms sweating, as his next question hit the tip of his tongue.
“Mhmm?” He hummed sweetly, adjusting where his head was leaned against the bookshelf, to get a better look at him. Between them, their pinkies brushed, and neither of them pulled away.
“I…there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. I-it’s” he paused, pressing his hand firmly against Will’s, until their pinkies were intertwined completely.
“It’s about that day in the van. With the pai-“ he was cut off abruptly as Will’s hand jerked back from his, and he sat up straight.
Mike flinched at the sudden shift, his sentence hanging unfinished in the air around them.
“W-will?” Mike whispered, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.
Had he done something? Was it the hand hold? Oh god, oh god he’d been too obvious. He’d said too much — done too much — he’d made Will uncomfortable.
His mind was swarming with intrusive thoughts, replaying the entire conversation in his head over and over again, trying desperately to pinpoint the exact moment he’d messed up.
“I-I have to — I need a minute.” Will stuttered out in a rush, before rising to his feet and hurrying to the bathroom. He closed the door, and Mike sat in shock and panic, mouth agape.
What had he just done?