Chapter Text
Ninety degrees and sunny.
That is the forecast for the week. Cerulean cloudless skies, sunbeams, sunscreen, and friendship. A rented four-bedroom house with a five-minute walk to the beach, an entire strip of bars and restaurants, and the inevitable rise of questionable decisions.
Will has never been to Florida before.
The Party had insisted on taking their vacation there—mostly due to an idea Dustin and Lucas refused to let go of. Ever since they saw the footage on MTV in ‘86, they had become obsessed with the idea of participating in Spring Break. The reckless abandonment of morals, slipping and blending into crowds of chaos, letting go, living dangerously— the full “college” experience. Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken much convincing. Just a few ‘come-ons’ and ‘pretty pleases’ later, and the tickets were booked.
It's one last adventure as irresponsible students before graduation in a few months—the final showdown before stepping into the real world of nine-to-fives and taxes.
The Daytona airport had been littered with spring breakers—flocks of girls and guys buzzing with energy and enthusiasm, all eager to check into their hotels so the first drinks of vacation could be cracked open. The sea of young adults passed by in a blur of bright colors and wild patterns. Some already clad in beach attire, others clearly not dressed appropriately for the Florida heat. The highlight, however, had been the frat guy stumbling off the jet bridge running straight for the nearest trash can; a result of one too many complimentary beverages on the flight in from New York.
Will chuckles to himself at the memory as he steps out into the humid air, grabbing his belongings from the trunk of the taxi.
The house is huge, exceeding his expectations. A pale yellow exterior with white shutters, two stories, and a porch that wraps around the entire structure. The foliage around the yard is filled with vibrant reds, oranges, and pinks—coral honeysuckle and firebrush nestled around large palm trees on either side of the driveway. It looks cozy. Like it is pulled directly from a magazine.
He takes a deep inhale, reveling in the saltiness that fills his nostrils before climbing the stairs to ring the doorbell.
He barely lifts his finger from the button before the door swings open.
"Will! It’s so good to see you. It’s been way too long, man,” Lucas exclaims, immediately wrapping him in a tight hug.
Will drops his duffel bag onto the floor, melting into the embrace.
“I know! I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to make it for Christmas this year. I was so stressed with my final project that I spent the entire holiday locked in my house. Even my mom couldn’t pull me away.”
Lucas releases him, a hand lingering on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it. We know how focused you’ve been. I’m just happy you were able to make it for this!”
Will shoots Lucas an appreciative smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
He takes a moment to process the interior of the house.
A long, narrow hallway leads the way to soft periwinkle walls decorated with cheesy nautical art— A “Life’s a Beach” canvas hung by the door leading to a bathroom, paired with seashell and starfish knick-knacks on a nearby bookshelf. White tiles decorated the floors, covered strategically with a few coral reef-patterned rugs. The kitchen spills into the dining and living rooms— the open concept of the house makes the space feel bigger than it appears. There are two large, plush gray couches and one love seat circled around a large oak coffee table, creating plenty of room for all of their friends to fit comfortably. A few wicker barstools line the counter, adding additional seating for meals to the small dining table in the breakfast nook. The back patio door is open, inviting the salty sea breeze to sweep through the house.
“This place is fantastic! How did you find it again?” Will inquires.
“My dad has a friend from college who lives down here and flips properties. This was one of his newer projects, so he let us rent it at a discount!” Lucas explains, walking further into the house and sitting down on the far couch.
“And you said there are four rooms?”
“Yeah. Two upstairs and two down here. Plenty of space for all of us.”
More than enough space if Will is doing the math correctly. He assumes Lucas and Max have already laid claim to one, Dustin and El would be in another, which leaves him and Mike for the third. They would have an entire extra bedroom to spare.
Maybe he is jumping to conclusions, assuming Mike would want to share. He is allowed his own space, of course, but they have been sharing rooms on vacations their whole lives. Will figures this trip wouldn’t be an exception.
The patio door screen slides open as Max steps into view. She is dressed in jean shorts and a red and blue striped tank top, her fiery hair curlier than normal, cascading down around her shoulders.
“He’s right, Byers. We missed you at Christmas. Without you around, I was forced to tease Mike alone!”
“Max!” Will crosses into the living room, reaching out to pull her into his chest.
She squeezes him back, giggling as he spins her around in a circle.
“I’m sure you were able to give him plenty of hell without me.”
“Oh, you know it,” She winks as Will sets her back down.
“Speaking of Wheeler, have you heard much from him?” Max asks, raising an eyebrow.
Will’s smile falters.
He hasn't heard from Mike in several months. The last time they talked was around Thanksgiving, a normal two-hour phone call to check in on one another, talking about everything and nothing all at once. However, since then, it's been radio silence.
It is unusual. Their normal weekly cadence was abandoned out of nowhere. At first, Will had been so distracted with school and work that he hadn’t noticed. He was swamped with finals and had increased his shifts at his job, so that he could enjoy the extra money during the holiday season. But over the last few months, every time Will called, the line always remained unanswered.
He tried to tell himself he wasn’t bothered by it. That it didn’t matter. Mike was probably also busy with school and work and just forgot to return his calls. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the sinking feeling in his stomach every time the line went to voicemail. How disappointment festered in his chest and settled uncomfortably under his skin the longer the silence stretched.
They hadn’t gone this long without talking in years, not even when they moved to different cities for school and had opposite schedules. They always made time for one another, even if it meant staying up into the late hours of the night and denying themselves much-needed rest. An unspoken vow to never repeat the fall of ‘85—to always make time for one another, no matter the circumstance.
Will never expected that promise would be broken, not after everything they’ve been through. But the last four months of silence are undeniable evidence that something has changed.
He knows something is different, but he has no idea what it could be.
He’s plagued himself with intrusive thoughts and theories on why Mike would be ignoring him. He replayed hours worth of their conversations over in his head, looking for any sign or indication that would push Mike away. Had he said too much? Had he not said enough? It's redundant at this point, since he could ask Mike about it when he got here. Yet, the pit in his stomach is ever-present, acting as a vacuum and sucking the air out of his lungs.
“No, actually…I haven’t. I, uh, haven’t talked to him since November. Have you?” He tries to mask the hurt that leaked into the question. He doesn't need to start this vacation off with pity from his friends.
“I have…he called a few weeks ago asking if there was enough room in this place for a plus one,” Lucas interjects.
Will’s stomach drops.
“A…a plus one? Like a friend or…”
“His girlfriend.”
The nausea rolls through Will’s body like a tsunami.
Suddenly, everything makes sense. The lack of calls, the silence, the distance. Will is no longer number one in Mike’s life. Someone has filled his spot on Mike’s priority list, dethroning his reign and pushing him to a less important position.
His heart thunders in his chest.
For a moment, he is transported back to that lonely summer: Rain, failed campaigns, and suffocating heat. He remembers the feeling. The ugly green venom of jealousy that curdled his blood from watching Mike constantly ditch everyone. When Mike all but abandoned their friendship.
Will’s shoulders sag. It is unfair of him to assume Mike would never get into another relationship. It’s not like they hadn’t discussed girls before. Mike told Will about a handful of his hookups over the last several years. But that was all they had been. Short-lived, singular. It was never anything beyond that. And as much as Will hates to admit it, he is happy it was never anything serious.
Even though he is older, on the brink of adulthood, he hasn’t been able to outgrow his love for Mike. It is part of him, woven so deeply into the fabric of his existence that he struggles sometimes to see where he begins and the love ends. He doesn't remember a time when it didn’t consume his entire being. Where Mike was just a simple best friend.
He has always been more. Mike has always been everything. Which is the unfortunate reason why Will has had multiple failed relationships over the last three years. Every time he gets close to something serious, the invisible leash around his heart pulls him back. These men, though attractive and kind, attentive and generous, will never be enough.
They will never be Mike.
It was a brutal revelation, though not surprising.
Truthfully, how could anyone compare? Together, they’ve seen things they could never discuss with anyone else. They have, quite literally, been to hell and back. The events of their lives are so devastating and traumatic that it binds them together. An unbreakable connection, no outsider would ever understand.
It's an excuse. Will knows he should try harder. Give someone else a chance to win him over. He knows he is pathetic for his incessant yearning to be more with his best friend. His best friend, who isn’t even into guys. It is an undeniable recipe for disappointment and disaster.
Still, no matter how hard he tries, Will is constantly falling back into Mike’s gravity.
Just when he thinks he has made headway in moving on, Mike will call. He’ll talk about a new concept for a story that came to him in a dream. Talk about how one of the characters is inspired by Will— strength, bravery, and determination all laced into the hero’s persona. He’ll talk about how he misses Will’s art and asks that Will send him some updated drawings for his bedroom wall.
He’ll talk about how he is excited to visit New York again. How his last trip hadn’t been long enough, and how he is going to stay a full week next time. Mike will tell Will how much he misses hanging out all the time. How he took for granted their late nights in his basement as kids. How he wishes sometimes they could go back, just the two of them, even if it was only for one night.
Mike always tells Will how much he misses him.
And suddenly, Will is right back to square one. Hopelessly and painfully in love.
He knows he deserves better, but Will has come to terms a long time ago that no man would ever be able to love him enough to erase Mike from his heart.
So, he's learned to settle when looking for companionship.
Sex is easy, simple. Feelings and emotions are far too complicated.
“Oh…I-I didn’t know he was seeing someone,” Will replies, his voice small and distant.
“Neither did we. He was very vague about the whole thing. It took us forever to even get him to tell us what her name was,” Max says with an eye roll. “Typical Mike, being weird and shady.”
“Well…what is her name?” Will asks, curiosity getting the best of him.
“Weslie. Not what we were expecting, but it’s unique, that’s for sure.”
Weslie.
He crinkles his nose, face twisting with disgust.
Who even names their daughter that?
Will has never met a girl with that name before. He quickly decides her parents are clearly trying way too hard to be different. An attempt at being artsy or creative. To outshine their friends with a unique baby name.
‘A failed attempt,’ he thinks to himself sourly.
He wonders if she, Weslie, is often teased for it, knowing firsthand how ruthless and unforgiving kids can be. Secretly, he hopes she is. After all, it is a stupid name, sounding entirely too masculine for any girl.
He scoffs, breath leaving his lungs unnaturally, a dull ache erupting through his chest.
The fourth bedroom would be occupied after all.
“Well, that’s… a new one. I’m sure she’s…great?”
He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question. He doesn't mean to sound insincere.
Lucas shrugs, hands extending out to the side. “I guess we’ll see. They won’t be here until tonight, though. The cheapest flight they could find doesn’t land until seven.”
Seven.
That gives Will approximately nine hours to get his shit together. Not that he isn’t used to it, after an entire life of suppressing, hiding, and denying his feelings for Mike. He just thought he wouldn’t have to put more conscious effort into it on this vacation.
“Yeah…I guess we will,” Will sighs, then quickly shakes his head, an attempt at releasing the tension from his body. “In the meantime, though, how about a tour? Or a swim? You mentioned when we booked this place that there’s a pool in the back, and it’s hot as fuck outside. Wanna get this party started?”
Max smiles deviously.
“Only if you take a shot with me first,” she challenges.
Will laughs at the suggestion, but his resolve quickly crumbles. He could use a drink to blur the wave of anxiety he now felt for the impending doom of this evening.
“Why not? We are on vacation after all. Lucas, do you want one too?”
“Nah, man, I have to wait for Dustin. He made me promise I wouldn’t have my first drink without him. He and El should be here within the hour anyway.”
“Suit yourself, loser!” Max teases, grabbing Will’s hand and dragging him into the kitchen.
“Vodka or tequila?” She asks, grabbing two opposing handles from the freezer.
“Tequila.”
“Yikes! Choosing violence this early, are we?” Max laughs, impressed at his decision.
“I’m not choosing violence! We’re at the beach, and I could use a margarita,” Will defends.
“Hey, whoa, I’m not a cop! Just surprised, that's all. I’m also not complaining. I’m happy to encourage reckless decisions on this trip.”
“Yeah, whatever. Just pour one up for us before I change my mind,” Will chuckled, leaning his hip against the counter.
Max returns the smile, filling two shot glasses to the brim.
“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?”
Max tilts her head nonchalantly, carefully picking up one and sliding the other on the counter toward his hand.
“So what if I am? I thought that’s what spring break was for?”
“Well, yeah, but don’t you want to at least wait for everyone to get here?”
“Hell no! You snooze, you lose, Byers. Now come on, what are we toasting to?”
Will shakes his head and grabs the glass, clinking it against Max’s.
“To making bad decisions, and one hell of a vacation,” he replies.
Her lips quivered into another grin. “Cheers to that!”
They tilt their heads back, swallowing the liquid as the familiar burn coats their throats, sucking on freshly cut limes to soothe the pain.
It is going to be one long afternoon.
—
The sun dips closer to the horizon, saturating the sky with warm yellow and orange hues. The temperature is steadily dropping, changing the atmosphere away from the oven they had endured all day to one that is much more tolerable. Will finds himself lounging in a watermelon-themed inner tube, floating casually around the pool, red solo cup in hand. He stares up at the sky, admiring the pigments, fingers twitching and eager to capture the shades with watercolor on canvas. His vision is hazy and soft around the edges, and he feels light. A result of the pleasant hum of alcohol coursing through his system.
He sighs, content, as he brings the drink to his lips.
The afternoon passed with remarkable speed. El and Dustin had arrived shortly behind Will, and after a quick catch-up, promptly changed into their swimsuits and joined in with the festivities. They spent all afternoon swimming, playing games, and throwing back drinks. To Will, even though it had been months since they had all been together, it felt like no time had passed at all. He loves how they could easily slip back into their old routine. The teasing, the banter, and the jokes all rush back in naturally.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed this. A break from school and the lingering winter weather of the north. How much he missed his friends and their dumb jokes and annoying laughter. It fills him with a sense of peace he hasn't felt in a long time. It feels like home.
Needless to say, he spent all afternoon with a smile pasted onto his face and a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest.
His tranquil reverie is interrupted by his name piercing through the backyard. “Will! Hurry up and dry off. The burgers are almost done!” El calls from the porch, a stack of plates in her hands.
He tilts his head toward her, eyebrows furrowing.
“Oh, come on, five more minutes? Please? I’m completely relaxed right now!”
“No, I need help setting the table. Lucas and Max ran to the store to get more ice, and Dustin doesn’t want to leave the grill. Plus, it’s almost seven. Mike and his girlfriend will be here soon!”
Right. Mike and his girlfriend. Fantastic.
Will rolls his eyes as an annoyed grunt escapes past his lips. He splashes clumsily back into the water, wading slowly toward the stairs. He has been so caught up in the events of this afternoon that he has almost forgotten about Mike and his plus one. Almost.
He sets his empty cup down and grabs his towel from the nearby chair, drying himself roughly, probably a little too aggressively to be considered casual.
He is trying hard not to be frustrated or hurt. He doesn't own Mike. Mike isn’t his…he never has been. They are best friends, and best friends should be happy and support each other in new relationships.
‘Maybe I would feel different if he had told me ahead of time instead of ignoring me for the past four months,’ Will thinks bitterly to himself.
He sighs again, louder. He knows he isn’t being fair.
Mike has no idea the depth of Will’s feelings, considering they are tucked away and hidden behind a carefully constructed wall he's spent his entire life building. Once Will discovered what he truly desired, he became a master of caution. A skilled magician, able to distract the one-man crowd from seeing the true contents of the cards in his hands. Though he did toe the line several times throughout the years, he always remained firmly planted on one side. The safe one. Friendship. Afraid that if he pushed a little too hard, he would make Mike completely uncomfortable and lose him for good.
The thought alone of Mike no longer being a part of his life in any capacity is enough to turn his blood to ice. He wouldn’t be able to survive a loss of that magnitude. Will is sure the void it would leave behind would kill him.
Being a background character in the story of Mike’s life is infinitely better than being written off entirely.
So, it’s the sacrifice he pays to keep Mike around. Disguise his feelings, deflect his want, and disappear safely behind the veil of friendship.
His shoulders slump, and his feet drag as he climbs up to the porch, heading for the door.
He is pathetic.
“Where are you going?” El questions, her eyes laced with concern. It is both endearing and annoying how easily she can sense a change in Will’s behavior.
“Just… going to change into something dry. The sun’s almost gone, and I don’t want to be wet eating dinner.”
El’s eyes bore into his own, flitting from left to right. Her mouth is set in a hard line, and her hands twist restlessly together. He knows she doesn't believe him. But he also knows she isn’t going to push.
She lets out a long breath, dropping her hands to the side. “Okay…as long as…you’re sure that’s all?”
Will reaches out, taking one of her smaller hands in his.
“I’m fine, El. I promise. I’ll be quick, and then I’ll be back to help you set up.” He squeezes her fingers and forces a reassuring smile before turning to head into the house.
He pads quickly to the stairs, taking them two at a time. The other couples have claimed the first-floor bedrooms, which means Will is stuck sharing the upstairs quarters with Mike and his guest.
He slips into his bedroom at the end of the hall, closing the door behind him a little louder than he intended. Will flops himself face down on the mattress, releasing a long, frustrated growl.
Since when did this trip turn into a couples retreat plus their permanently single friend, and unfortunate seventh wheel, Will Byers?
He needs to breathe. Calm down. Relax. He is being dramatic and behaving way too childishly, considering he’s never even met this mystery girl.
He inhales deeply, the lavender scent of laundry detergent acting as an extinguisher on a rapidly spreading nervous system fire. He hooks his elbows underneath his chest and pushes himself up, resting his head against his palm.
He stares straight ahead, almost surprised to see himself staring back. He did choose this room for this very reason— instead of the closet doors being made of typical wood panels, they are composed of full-length mirrors. In a way, it makes Will think of art, of a piece in his gallery back in New York. It is fascinating. Maybe a little creepy being next to a bed, but utterly intriguing nonetheless.
“You need to get it together. You need to stop being hurt and get over yourself. You knew this would happen one day. So why are you acting like you could’ve stopped it?” Will lectures his reflection, urging himself to snap out of this funk. He can see the pain in his eyes staring right back, a scowl twisting his lips to match the discomfort.
“You can do this. He’s your best friend. You have to do this. If not for you, then do it for him.”
He nods as if that would trick himself into believing it. He is running out of time. He has to be strong. He has to be okay with this.
He gives one final firm nod before pushing his body off the bed.
—
“See, I told you guys my grilling skills have improved!” Dustin chastises playfully, biting into his second sandwich in less than five minutes.
They sit around the outside table, a spread of burgers, potato chips, and ripe, raspberry-colored Florida watermelon laid out for their enjoyment. Lucas has prepared and lit the fire pit, the soft glow of the flame acting as their primary light source as night had completely fallen.
Will nudges the chips around his plate, not quite refusing to eat, but not indulging like his friends. His appetite has abandoned him over the last hour, so he has opted to stick with the liquid diet he had been consuming all day—tequila, Sprite, and lime.
“Dude, slow down. At this rate, you’re not going to leave any for Mike or his girl!” Lucas teases, taking another sip of his beer.
“It’s not my fault! I’ve officially mastered the composition of a perfect burger.” Dustin bites back. He lifts the top bun, exposing the inside of the patty. “See? One expertly grilled patty, cheddar cheese—not American—a single bed of lettuce, two tomatoes, three medium-sized pickle slices, dill, of course, a light shmear of mayo on the top bun, ketchup on the bottom. Perfection. Believe me. This could win a competition,” he finishes with confidence.
Lucas rolls his eyes, and Max joins in with a scoff.
“It is very delicious, thank you for cooking,” El replies, placing a hand on Dustin’s chest and leaning in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Dustin’s cheeks immediately flared bright crimson, his mouth snapping shut as he curled in on himself, bashful.
“Wow, Dustin. If I had known all it took to shut you up was to have El give you a kiss on the cheek, I would've told her to do that years ago. That would’ve saved us all so much time,” Max taunts.
Dustin shoots her a glare, embarrassment creeping onto his features.
“Whatever, Maxine…” Dustin mumbles.
Will finds himself watching, smiling fondly at them. While he hadn't expected his sister to start dating Dustin, he couldn't say he was surprised.
Over the last few years, they grew increasingly close, both living in Massachusetts for school. Dustin was a part of an advanced engineering program at MIT, while El was attending a local community college to obtain a social work degree. She had decided to move after the Party’s first visit, claiming she fell in love with the fall foliage and mystical atmosphere. Will thought at the time it made sense, the autumn colors were captivating, and Boston had a fascinating and unique historical quality to it. But the more he thought about it, maybe it had less to do with nature and architecture and more to do with the aftermath of a night out where El didn’t join him for bed on their shared inflatable mattress.
If Will's being honest, he is happy they got together. Dustin may be loud, obnoxious, and opinionated at times, but he is also a thorough listener. Fierce in defending the ones he loves, and undoubtedly loyal. After everything, El deserves someone who is wholeheartedly dedicated to her. Who could love her out loud and unashamed. Dustin is different around her. He is gentle, kind, and compassionate. Still enthusiastic, but with a mellow after tone. And he pushes El to be more confident, more sure of herself than she has ever been. He is relentlessly patient with her and always gives her room to grow at her own pace, cheering her on from the sidelines.
Needless to say, their relationship has a sickly sweet innocence to it, the type that would give you a cavity if you indulged in watching a little too long.
“Will, you’ve barely touched your food…” El’s voice interrupts him from his thoughts.
He looks up to see four pairs of eyes watching him.
“Yeah…yeah, I’m sorry. I guess I'm not super hungry.”
It is a weak excuse, but it is all he had. Anything else would open the door to questions he really did not feel like answering.
His eyes drift to Max, her eyebrows raising in a silent question. Are you okay? His brow furrows in return, hoping she gets the message. No, but I’m trying to be. She holds his gaze for a second longer before she looks away. He knows what she meant—We’ll talk about this later.
Suddenly, the high-pitched sound of the doorbell slices through the silence of the backyard. Their heads all whip toward the patio door, an anxious buzz lacing the air.
Mike.
“I uh…I’ll get it,” Lucas announces, pushing his chair away from the table to stand, and disappearing into the house.
Will’s heart instantly accelerates in pace. He can hear the thump thump thump in his ears, the increase of blood rushing to his extremities. He feels himself begin to sweat, damp droplets beading on his brow and the back of his neck. He clenches his jaw, his hands coming to squeeze the arms of his own chair. His breathing strains, coming out in labored puffs. He imagines this is how women must’ve felt during the Renaissance; unforgiving corsets tied too tight, compacting their lungs and stopping the expansion of their ribs for a proper inhale. He is shaking slightly, adrenaline running rampant under his skin.
He is wildly uncomfortable. One movement away from completely crumbling at the table.
Will has no concept of time. Lucas could’ve been gone for thirty seconds, five minutes, or one hour. Either way, he feels frozen in place, like one of the marble statues on display at the Louvre.
Will hears Mike before he sees him. His laughter drifts through the kitchen and the screen door. The sound ignites the furnace in Will’s chest again, warmth coating his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
Lucas appears in the doorway again, a smile on his face, but confusion behind his eyes.
He steps through, followed closely behind by Mike.
Will feels his stomach plummet to the floor.
Mike is wearing an oversized, faded black Thrasher t-shirt, paired with loose black baggy cargo jeans that sat low on his hips, the denim worn and slightly frayed at the cuffs. His signature beat-up black Converse clad his feet, but new accessories adorned his features. A stack of colorful bracelets covered his right wrist, the solid, shiny band of silver rings wrapped around his middle finger and thumb on his left hand, nails painted a solid shade of black. He has a medium-sized silver-chained necklace to match, one that drew attention to the pale skin of his neck. His hair has grown out again, shaggier than the last time Will saw him. The curls are still present, but they are looser and more unpredictable, as they fall over the tips of his ears and frame his face perfectly. Will is always blown away by Mike’s facial structure. It's always been his favorite thing to draw. But now, in the soft glow of firelight, the shadows dance across his cheeks, creating deep valleys, carving out his cheekbones, and highlighting the sharpness of his jaw.
Will feels his eyes spasming, a frantic attempt to take in this absolute overload of information. When his eyes finally land on Mike’s, Will's surprised to find him already looking back, an unreadable expression glazing over his dark chocolate irises.
Will flinches, feeling the electricity in his stare.
He can't deny it. The new grungey look he is sporting somehow made sense for Mike. A definite switch up from his usual sweaters and fitted jeans, but he looks…good. Clad in black oversized clothing, jewelry accenting the outfit, hair messy yet somehow perfectly styled.
If Will has to be honest, right hand over his heart truthful, ‘good’ doesn't even come close to describing what Mike looks like right now. He looks dark, he looks mysterious, he looks…hot.
Fuck.
“Hey guys… long time no see,” Mike addresses the crowd, hand coming to nervously tug on the curls at the base of his neck.
A mumbling of ‘heys’ and ‘hellos’ echoes amongst the group.
“Did you come alone? I thought you were bringing someone with you?” Dustin questions, addressing the two-ton elephant in the room.
Mike grimaces.
“I…yeah, I uh, I brought—”
“—Oh! Hi everyone! It’s such a pleasure to meet you all!” An unfamiliar voice pierces the air.
Behind Mike, a person appears. But it isn’t some preppy cheerleader, or a shy indie girl Will had been picturing. It is…a guy?
The silence amongst the group is deafening.
This… guy…is interesting.
He is shorter than Mike, maybe by a few inches. Light dusty brown hair with blonde highlights, cut short enough so it lies above his ears, but long enough that a few strands cover his forehead. His skin is tan, sun-kissed, like he spent the majority of his time on a surfboard at the beach. His cheeks are plastered with freckles, and his smile is slightly crooked. Languid, like he is putting minimal effort into the action. His eyes are a bright emerald green, reflecting the flame from the fire.
His outfit makes Will’s eyes narrow. Light wash denim jean shorts, cut mid-thigh and loose. A soft yellow and red striped tee that swallows his shoulders and chest. A stack of bracelets on his left wrist that look similar to Mike’s, white and black checked mid-rise Vans, an indication maybe Will isn’t far off with the surfer or skater boy assumption. He is lanky, mirroring Mike’s body composition, like if the wind blows too hard, he might go with it.
Since when is Mike Uncoordinated Wheeler friends with skater boys?
Max graciously breaks the silence.
“And…and you are?”
“I’m Wesley,” the boy replies, raising his hand up in a wave.
Dustin chuckles.
“Oh shit, Mike! This is Wesley? Our bad man, we all thought you were bringing a new girlfriend or something. But, we’re always happy to have new friends,” Lucas chimes in, gesturing to the table as everyone nods in agreement.
Will remains agonizingly still.
Mike laughs uncomfortably, as Wesley’s face twists in confusion. He leans in to bump Mike’s shoulder, a gesture Will is all too familiar with. He bites down hard on his tongue, fingers flexing against the chair.
Will hates him.
“Yeah well I… uh… about that—”
Mike shifts from side to side, fingers picking at the skin around his nails. A nervous tic, one Will memorized when they were teenagers.
Mike is anxious. Something is off.
“I thought you told them?” Wesley whispers under his breath, not quite quiet enough to be as subtle. His hand comes to rest on the small of Mike’s back.
This catches Will’s attention, as a white-hot rage bubbles within him. His patience is thinning.
“Tell us what?” he asks, sharp and pointed, as he lifts his chin and stares at Mike defiantly.
Mike’s eyes widen, and he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, avoiding Will’s eyes altogether.
Wesley’s hand nudges Mike’s arm, and he tilts his head forward, an indication he, too, is waiting for Mike to answer the question.
“I…Well I… I was going to tell you all. But, I kinda thought that maybe…this would…it would be better, or uh-easier this way,” he fumbles.
Everyone at the table shares skeptical glances. Puzzled.
“Mike…what are you… trying to say?” El offers, gently.
Mike takes a deep breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. Wesley remains unmoving at his side.
Mike closes his eyes, as if gathering courage or preparing for a blow.
“Wesley…or Wes…he’s not uh-he’s not…he’s not my friend. Not exactly,” Mike swallows.
No one dares to breathe.
Will feels his eye begin to twitch. His body begins to shake.
“What exactly is he then?” he bites back, cold and harsh. The blood is draining so fast from his head that he is almost positive that if he moves, he’ll pass out.
Mike closes his eyes, head bowing forward. When he opens them, he looks up at Will from under his lashes.
Thump.
“He’s not my friend,” Mike states more confidently.
Thump.
Mike reaches out, taking his hand and intertwining his fingers with Wesley’s.
Thump.
“He’s…He’s my boyfriend.”
Will feels his heart stop.