Chapter Text
The question lingered in the air, and Will was near suffocated by the atmosphere. In front of him, Max and Lucas wore expectant looks on their faces. Will’s fingers began to pick at his cuticles, the black polish already chipping.
“Oh, you know how it is with writers,” Will shrugged. His eyes avoided theirs—eyes he knew were filled with scrutiny. “Mike’s just really in his head these days. He’s really committed to finishing his novel.”
Max’s hair blasted with the wind as they stood outside the arcade. Lucas was beside her, his arms crossed. Both their eyebrows sunk into a furrow as Will delivered the excuse, though there was a distinction: Lucas was visibly worried, and Max, well, she was not believing any of it.
“Oh, yeah. I bet that novel is knocking the sleep out of him,” Max pitied, a smile blooming on her face. “Seems like it’s really consuming his time. Haven’t been seeing him at work, either.”
There was a pause. Both Will and Lucas gawked at her, eyes wide as if she’d spoken in tongues. Lucas’ eyes darted to and fro right before he spoke.
“Max, what do you mean? You haven’t told me about this.”
“I didn’t know about this either,” Will added.
“The bakery’s a few blocks away from the mechanic. I always stop there on my breaks,” she said, her right hip lazily dropping to the side. “Haven’t seen him for the last two weeks. How didn’t you know about this, Byers?”
A million thoughts came to Will, but none of them materialized. The silence stretched out, giving way to a wave of nausea that began to swirl inside his gut.
Will’s voice cracked with betrayal. “What are you talking about? Mike would tell me if he quit his job.”
Lucas sighed. “Seems like he didn’t, Will.”
Will huffed, incredulous. “You believe her? Max, this is just another one of your jokes, right?”
Will’s remark made Lucas doubtful. “Max, why would you choose to tell us two weeks later, anyway?”
She was swatting at her hair, growing increasingly annoyed at the wind. “Lucas, please, he’s a grown man. He can choose when he quits his job,” she sighed. “ I didn’t think it was important until he started skipping all of our arcade days.” She handed Will an accusatory look. “And when Byers here started making up stories for his unemployed best friend.”
Will winced, his eyebrows dipping into a sea of shame. “I wasn’t making things up, Max. That’s what he’s been telling me, I just…”
“Don’t believe it?” Max's head cocked to the side. She wore a big, taunting smile.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Will scoffed.
Lucas stifles a laugh and says, “Yeah, man, but you thought it.”
Will dragged a careless hand across his face, unconcerned about smearing the black eyeshadow around his eyes. “You guys aren’t helping. I just found out he’s been lying to me,” Will muttered. “Every time I come back home, I ask him about work, and he always answers me with ‘It’s been fine’.”
Lucas' face contorted into a grimace. "Damn Will, that’s… bad.”
Max rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Lucas, for your input. Hermit Wheeler can stay at home. Let’s go inside, this wind is killing me.”
Will watched as Max and Lucas headed for the door. He started towards them, but his legs felt weak, and his step kept faltering. The nausea he’d felt when Max had broken the news hadn’t left—it was only growing. The sides of his fingers were already bleeding from the picking. The queasiness was enveloping him like a vice. The urge to speak to Mike about what Max had told him was immediate, but all he could do was stay still.
“Will, you coming?”
For Will, every noise and sound—including the blow of the winds— became muted. Anything that should’ve mattered was no longer Will’s priority. The priority, now, was to see Mike. To see that everything was okay. What has he been doing all these days, then? Just staying at home? Alone?
Will’s hand itched to grab at his nape, but he interrupted the movement. The anxious habit hadn’t left him. It made him easy to read, and he couldn’t allow that. Not in front of his friends.
“Will, dude, my hand hurts from keeping this door open. Hurry up,” Lucas pressed.
Will blinked. He needed to snap out of it.
“Yeah, sorry,” Will sputtered. “I think I ate something shitty earlier today. I’m sure it’s passed, though.”
Lucas offered him an understanding look, and it only made Will feel worse. He already felt horrible for caring too much. Now, he was left bearing the weight of being dishonest to his friends. Will wishes he could be more like Max, easily withholding care from meaningless things. But this was weird. It wasn’t meaningless. Mike had lied to him, and they don’t do that—at least, not to each other. How could he explain this to Max and Lucas?
The air of the arcade hugged him into an icy, though sort of smelly, embrace. The place swirled with the fumes of several drinks, hot-dogs, cheetos, and a variety of other items from the snack bar. The sheer filth of the air was enough to startle Will’s thoughts from Mike to the present moment. Will took a breath and smiled as he watched Max and Lucas start fighting over who got the first turn. This is fine, Will thought. Everything will be okay.
Will interrupted their brawl, teeth gleaming. “It doesn’t matter which one of you goes first, guys. Not when I’m beating your highscores either way.”
Lucas’ arched his eyebrows playfully. “Oh-ho-ho, someone’s sure of themselves!”
Max turned with visible excitement. “It’s so on, Byers!”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The sun was already dipping beneath the horizon as Will headed home. The walk alone was too silent—the air stagnant and so awkwardly fresh—when it should be smelling of Mike’s burning cigarette, mouth busy as he complained about Mr. Johnson from English Lit.
…
“God, Will, no. I can’t stand him. He marks absences by the hour. Who the hell does that?”
Mike flailed his hands about, exasperated. “I can’t even stop by to see you—you know, whenever I’m bored.”
Will’s lungs deflated with a heavy sigh, his gloved hands warm and intertwined. “Mike, about that. You’ve got to quit it. My friends keep asking about the ‘crazy nutjob’ that waves at me through the windows.”
Mike’s voice rang with a playful giggle. “But, Will…I love watching you draw. It’s the only entertaining thing I can get a hold of. All Mr. Johnson talks about is linguistics and rules I already know about—you know, because I’m so smart.” Mike’s hands were now stuffed inside his pockets, a cocky smirk stamped on his face. “Maybe if your drawings were as shit as whatever he spews, I wouldn't come around.”
Will couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, his cheeks warming up with Mike’s praise. “Geez, you wouldn’t support me if I sucked?”
Mike stopped in his tracks. “Don’t say that. Of course I would.”
A smile ghosted over Will’s sullen mouth, the memory distant. The steps to the apartment felt too spacious, too wide. For four arcade days in these two, long weeks, Will has walked this path alone. He used to complain about how Mike could never walk in a straight line—always invading his space and cramping things up— but now, everything was too empty.
Will got to their apartment door. He waited for several ticks, his hands stiff and unsure as he held onto his keys. He knew Mike would be there, laying on the couch, eyes heavy with exhaustion. It would all be the same. A tremble rose to his wrists as he turned the knob with a click.
Will was surrounded by warmth. His body thawed with the heating, though everything within him felt rigid. As he placed his keys on the entryway table, the brass clinked at a small distance from another pair. There, sprawled over the white acacia, a warm glow cast on the matching keychains Mike had bought after the move—the aluminium figurines of a sword and shield refracting the light from the living room. In the quiet, Will could hear the small huffs of Mike’s breathing.
Will peeked around the corner of the hallway to find Mike asleep on the couch. The TV was still on, restlessly humming along with the lull of the fridge. Mike always waited for him like this, though the nap was unusual. It was seven o’clock at night, and he never slept this early. Will let himself lean back against the wall, making the space to silently study Mike’s frame from afar. It’s nothing he hasn’t done a million times—though, it’s something he had to stop. Ever since they made up for the distance wedged between them, everything went back to how it was. Everyone catched up with their lives—Will pursued art school in NYC, Max studied at an automotive trade school in Queens, and Dustin studied astrophysics in Boston—but Mike… Mike did something unexpected. He asked to move in with Will.
…
“With Jane… yeah, it’s not really going well.” Mike’s eyes drifted, settling on his own hands. They were laced together with a nervous tightness.
“Oh,” Will breathed. He glanced at Mike with understanding. “Did you get into a fight again? Is it about— you know, what she wants you to say? Are you not saying it often?”
Mike winced, his eyes crinkling with unease. “No, no, Will, it’s nothing of the—”
“Because if it is,” Will interrupted, “I can help. You know, I could talk to her. Maybe we could figure some of these feelings out or something.”
Mike paused, his eyes carefully wandering to Will’s. They were dancing across Mike’s face, searching to see where the problem was, where it hurt, how to make it feel better. Mike had seen it thousands of times—when he had fallen off his bike, when he had gotten a fever, when he’d been picked on by the kids at school. Mike used to find it endearing. Suddenly, he felt nauseous.
“Will,” Mike let out, “We broke up.”
Will stood silent for what felt like minutes, his lips pursing together with thought. Will’s breath huffed out with what seemed like defeat—though it was unclear what he was defeated by.
“Is she…okay? Did it happen just now?”
The lack of reaction took Mike aback. “Uhm, yeah, I think so,” he mumbled. “It did. It wasn’t because of anything you’d think. You know how my dad got after the demo attack, blaming it on you guys and all,” Mike sighed. “ The religious stuff.”
“Mhm,” Will nodded.
Mike continued. “And, well, I had to hide everything D&D. Our binders, the board, guides, all of it. Once Jane heard of it, she tried urging me to move out with her. To go somewhere beautiful, like I’d said.” Mike paused, feeling like his words were coming out weird and wrong. “I told her I couldn’t.”
“...Because of your dad?” Will asked, confusion nestling between his brows.
Mike breathed. “No, not really.”
Will pried deeper. Mike never liked it, when Will did this. “Then why?”
Mike’s throat felt lodged and constricted. “I don’t know."
With this empty explanation, he stared at Will for what felt like a very long time.
Will blinked the moment away. He realized that Mike was on what was meant to be Will’s couch. Mike was living in what was meant to be Will’s apartment. But Mike was here, on their couch, in their apartment. The last two months hadn’t felt real to Will, not at all. Mike was supposed to be with Jane. Will was supposed to be here, alone, painting the streets of New York. Mike almost seemed untethered to the past Will was trying to escape. Mike was always everywhere.
It didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t go with Jane, but he’d move in with Will. Mike had gone to his house the moment he found out that Will got a scholarship in NYU. He had beaten around the bush, driveling on and on about how happy he was, how writing careers in New York always seemed to take off, and how he’d been thinking about studying there, too. How moving together would be more convenient, given the expensive housing.
Will’s eyelids were heavy and closed, his head rested against the wall as he submerged himself in thought. He took a deep breath, and the air smelled like the both of them. It smelled like the incense Will burned this morning, the floral scent suddenly invaded by the smell of charred toast Mike had ruined for breakfast. The place was theirs, the evidence was everywhere—even in the air. It took everything for Will to finally open his eyes; to look at this beautiful boy on their couch and know it was all he’d ever dreamed of. All he’d ever wished for, in the worst ways.
His eyes finally opened, and Will saw that Mike looked cold. His arms were wrapped around his body, tucked into himself like a butterfly in a cocoon. Will felt a pang in his chest, an ache where he shouldn’t—not anymore, ever since he’d told himself these feelings were over. He reluctantly moved to find a blanket to throw on him, on this liar, a liar that had lied to him for two weeks straight with what seemed like no remorse at all. Will yanked on a white wool blanket from the storage closet, big enough to cover Mike’s frame, and quietly walked back over to the living room. With every step he took across the linoleum, Will thought he could hear tiny erratic huffs of breath.
Will stilled to a halt when he was close enough it was clear—the noise becoming something no longer part of his imagination. He stood inches from the sofa, still unable to see Mike, but able to hear rapid bouts of breathing that could almost pass as sobs. Every vein in Will’s body seemed to drain dry, goosebumps prickling at his skin as all his thoughts stringed into one, single sentence. Is Vecna back?
There was no way. Will’s legs moved for him, anxiously hurrying over to Mike before crouching in front of the pale boy. He checked every side of him, placing the back of his palm to Mike’s forehead, recklessly moving his hands across his neck and arms in a panicked mess. Mike was warm. Will’s sigh of relief was instantaneous, but so was his confusion. Mike, he never had nightmares. Not when they’d have their sleepovers as kids. Will was always the one wrecked with memories of the cold—the dark that had once enveloped him whole. He’d wake up in a sweat, worried he’d waken Mike up, but his eyes were always closed—his hand in Will’s, as if they’d weaved together during their sleep.
They stopped doing that a long time ago, when Ted kept insisting they were growing up. That it was getting weird. Now that they lived together, it wasn’t any different, in their separate rooms. Maybe Mike’s sleeping patterns had changed as well.
“Mike,” Will gently shook his shoulder. “Mike, wake up.”
Mike huffed against the cushion, his breathing causing an incessant rise and fall of the blanket. Will was quietly panicking, plainly disconcerted with the situation—with Mike, trembling with a night terror.
“Mike, come on,” Will pleaded. “You can wake up now. I'm here.”
This is scary, Will thought. He also thought about how scary it was for him, too, when he experienced this. How Mike had always managed to slip his hand into Will’s. Will reached under the covers, finding Mike’s tucked hands, and gently uncurling Mike’s fingers to intertwine his own. It’s been such a long time. Will could feel the pleasant, safe warmth he’d felt back then. The guilt rose up like bile. Will was almost grateful that Mike was needing him, just this once.
Mike’s grip tightened on Will’s hand as soon as he’d held it. Will felt like moving Mike’s hair out of his face, just to see what it looked like. He observed Mike with a curiosity that felt perverted—an ache in his heart that begged him to capture this moment. This was the only time he’d seen Mike express any unguarded emotion since they’ve been kids. The fact that Will could be the one to help him, like Mike had done with him all those years, made his heart swell with devotion.
Will’s eyebrows furrowed with melancholy. His other hand began to softly stroke at Mike’s hair, an unconscious movement that meant to comfort. This felt so weird and so good and it was all so confusing, but the desperation in Mike’s demeanor briefly erased all the remorse, lies and all.
“Um… Mike.” Will tried. “I’m here. You're okay.”
Mike didn’t seem like he’d awake soon, but the words seemed to be working. His breathing began to slow down, though his grip on Will wasn’t subsiding. Will’s thumb started to make little soothing circles on top of Mike’s knuckles—his hand twitching with the movement. Suddenly, Mike’s arms worked to tuck Will closer, pressing Will’s soft palm against his forehead as he curled further into himself.
Oh. A flush rushed to Will’s face. He could feel Mike’s now even breaths ghost over his skin, the moment shifting into something awkwardly…intimate. I really hope he doesn’t wake up, Will thought, embarrassed.
How am I getting myself out of here? This is fine, right?
Will took a deep breath before hopelessly relenting to Mike’s unconscious whims. Will figured that Mike’s grip on him would loosen once he was completely pacified. Carefully, he ran his fingers through Mike’s hair. It was soft, slightly tangled, and prettily messy as it fell down his shoulders. The moment was peaceful, and for a second, Will felt like everything was alright. In the quiet, a soft murmur escaped Mike’s lips.
“Will…”
Will startled. Is he awake? Mike’s eyes were still closed.
"Mike?" Will asked, “Are you awake?”
Mike’s lips were brushing over Will’s wrist as he spoke. His eyebrows furrowed with a delicate distress.
“M’so sorry, Will.”
What? Will’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Mike, what are you on about?”
“Oh… don’t go,” Mike babbled.
“Mike, I’m not going anywhere,” he assured.
“Don’t go.”
Will shushed him, voice tender. “I won’t.”
Mike tugged at Will’s hand, guiding it down from his forehead to his cheek. He snuggled into the contact.
“You’re so warm.”
A small, defeated giggle reverberated in Will’s chest. “Yeah, 'cause I’m alive.”
A frustrated whine escaped Mike’s throat.
“I don’t deserve this.”
Will’s free hand froze mid-caress, sitting idle in Mike’s locks. His expression managed to shatter Will into a million pieces. He watched as a subtle, almost inconspicuous tear caught onto Mike’s eyelashes—welling up before trailing down to the corner of his lip. Will’s fingers hesitantly trembled across Mike’s fragility, wiping what sadness he could.
Will was riddled with heartache. “What’s going on with you, Mike?”
Will’s thumb trailed down to Mike’s lower lip before moving to his other cheek, affectionately grazing his skin. He travelled upwards, tenderly brushing against his eyebrows and gathering back up to his hair. Will felt Mike’s grip loosen—though it came with the boy’s waking, his eyelashes fluttering as he stirred.
Oh, Will lamented.
Mike dazedly palmed at Will’s arm before rubbing at his eye, feeling the damp of his eyelashes seep into his skin. He glanced to see what it was, staring at what remained of his tears, and he sighed—right before realizing Will was there.
Mike’s eyes widened as they met Will’s—green and regretful. His eyes locked onto Will’s hand, the one he was still holding, before abruptly letting go. Will reeled back into himself, grabbing at his upper arm in abashment. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it in hesitation.
Mike exhaled a weak breath before asking,
“How long have you been here?”
Will stiffened. There’s no need to make it awkward, right?
“Not that long,” Will bluffed.
Mike sat up.
“You’re lying.”
Will scoffed, incredulous.
“Does it matter?”
Mike’s face contorted with betrayal. “What do you mean? Of course it matters, we don’t—”
“We don’t lie,” Will cut off, “Yeah, Mike, I know.”
Will’s lips pressed into a thin line. Mike looked an absolute mess. The length of his hair was sticking out of his head, a few black strands shedded and scattered on the cushions. He was gnawing at the inner flesh of his bottom lip as he bore holes into Will, petrified—the dark circles dull around his eyes. Will deflated with his resolve.
“Have you been sleeping alright?”
Mike wrapped the blanket around himself. The blanket that definitely wasn’t there before. It settled snug around his shoulders, his fists bunched up around the fabric.
“I’ve…been struggling a bit. It’s probably some bout of insomnia.”
Will had sat on the ottoman arranged across the couch. His elbows dug into the edge of his thighs.
“Mike.”
“Yeah?” He brought his knees to his chest.
Will met his eyes. He was hoping he’d find sincerity there.
“Is it the nightmares?”
Mike shifted, uncomfortable. The question brang a silence that stretched out across the apartment. Will could hear the ticking of a clock—the one that hung on Mike’s bedroom wall.
“I don’t…” Mike stuttered, “I don’t have many of them, trust me.”
Will said nothing.
He continued. “I promise. Seriously. It’s not that bad, it’s just random anxiety.”
Mike’s gaze was locked on the decorative vase atop the coffee table, irises occasionally flicking over to Will’s.
“Like, my brain just takes stuff from the horror stuff we watch on movie night, and, you know, makes things up.”
“So, it’s nothing serious?” Will pressed.
“No, Will.”
He searched for Mike’s eyes, still glued to the vase. A sad exhale let out from Will’s nose.
“Are you lying?”
Mike’s head dropped to his open palms. He wasn’t sleeping well. It was clear with the way he rubbed at the headache in his temples.
“...No,” he muttered.
Will grew uneasy. Mike was being overly withdrawn, unable to look Will in the eyes. Will saw that they were puffy and tainted with sleep.
“You cried.”
Mike shook his head. “No.”
“You did.”
“I’m not doing this, Will,” he cautioned.
Will ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “You don’t tell me anything anymore.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mike grumbled.
Will watched as Mike got up, dragging the end of the blanket along with each step. He was going to lock up in his room.
“Mike, please, can’t we talk?”
“I’m too tired for this.”
“What is this?”
Mike beelined toward the hallway with a gait that seemed… a little sideways. His voice grew distant with every stride.
“The thing you’re doing! The way you’re talking to me is freaking me out.”
Will gasped with indignance. “Me caring about you is freaking you out?!”
“I’m fine, Will!” he blurted out, “There’s nothing to care about!”
Mike hadn’t felt Will behind him until he was two steps from the door. Will’s hand beat him to the door handle, and, without any time to waste, he was standing in front of it. He faced Mike, hands pressed to the sides of the door frame.
“No,” Will demanded.
“Will, move.”
“No, I’m not moving. We said no secrets.”
Fed up, Mike rubbed at the back of his neck. “That was ages ago.”
“Is our friendship any different? Does it no longer apply because you said so?” Will stressed. “Why are you the one who always gets the say in how things go?”
Mike cracked.
“How could you say that?!” His fists were clenched, tight around the things he couldn’t say. “Jesus, fuck, Will, almost everything I do revolves around you!”
Mike’s eyes were glazed over, red with unsleep. The salt pricked at his eyes, but nothing fell. Will saw it. The way Mike choked back his feelings—the way he was willing to drown in them.
Will’s voice softened, saddened. “Sure, Mike. It just hurts to have you push me away. I can’t stand—” he stifled, the words too big for his throat, “ —I can’t stand to feel useless around you. You’re always there for me.”
The words pulled Mike out of his agitation, his hand nervously lowering from the picking he’d subjected to his neck. He’d made Will upset. He saw how his bottom lip was jutting out, quivering the way it did when tears were being held back. Mike felt small—insignificant and worthless. Why do I always fuck shit up?
“I’m sorry.” Mike faltered. “I didn’t mean to avoid you. Please, Will, can we forget about this?”
Wow, Will thought.
“You’re fucking incredible,” Will sighed. “You say you don’t mean to avoid me, but you keep doing it.”
An impatient whine ripped through Mike’s throat. “Please, let me go to my room. We can talk about this tomorrow, I swear.”
Mike tried to grab at the handle, pawing at Will’s hand with incoordination. Will took in how Mike squinted with his headache, his fingers jittering and restless—eyes distant, never on Will, not like always.
Will had done it without thinking.
He shot up to grab at Mike’s sweatshirt, pulling him closer. More than they’ve ever been in a long time. Mike’s breath hitched with the movement, eyelashes fluttering over wide, red-rimmed eyes. He felt the fabric tightening around the back of his neck, stretching forwards in Will’s grasp. Mike watched as Will leaned over and painfully hovered over the pulse that thumped so loudly in his jugular. Will’s breaths were almost tangible, warm against the skin—and it was wrong, how Mike almost tipped his head back, shamelessly exposing his neck bare.
Before Will could notice how Mike’s heartbeat was bordering on irregular—before Will could touch any more of him, Mike stumbled back in a frenzy.
“W-what the fuck is wrong with you, Will?”
Mike was patting at the wall, looking for balance. The rush of adrenaline had him feeling sick. He clutched at his abdomen, and he pretended to catch his breath. Except, it felt like it’d be the floor doing the catching; of his stomach contents, that is.
Will’s pupils blew wide at the realization.
“Have you been drinking?”
Mike immediately looked up. His composure shrunk. He looked at Will with heavy eyes, glazed with guilt and untruth. A stray, black curl had fallen to the side of his eye. How could he look so innocent, caught in a lie?
Will shoved the thought back. Is this why you haven’t been at work? Shove. Is this why you don’t want to tell me anything? Shove. Are you ashamed? Shove.
Will couldn’t affront Mike with another of his lies. He wanted Mike to say it on his own. Why couldn’t he be truthful, out of his own volition? Will was tired of coaxing anything, everything, out of Mike. He wasn’t doing it again, not for this.
“No, what are you talking about? I’m fine. Like, I’m speaking fine. And moving.”
Mike shook his leg, as if to prove a point. “Why would you think that?”
“I smell it on you,” Will deadpanned.
Mike glossed over the words with deliberate disregard. “It’s probably my new cologne or something.”
“You don’t even wear cologne. What’s the scent called? Deadbeat couch dad?”
Mike hiccuped, a soft gasp evaporating into the air.
“I’m not like him. Don’t ever—”
Will’s heart racketed against his chest. He didn’t mean that. It was a joke, a bad one. It flew right over his head.
“No, Mike, I didn’t mean it like that,” Will interrupted.
Mike wasn’t listening anymore.
“No,” Mike huffed, panic erupting from his mouth. “Don’t think of me that way. Please.” His face was hidden between his fingers, the quiet pleas muffling into his hands. “It’s already hard enough. I’ve got to—” he sobbed, “I’ve got to move out, away from you, if you—” Another sob. “I’m not like… I’m not like Lonnie.”
Mike sobbed. Mike was crying. He stood undone, the anguish unraveling with every weep. It was Will’s anchor. A way to the truth. The sight tugged at Will’s sympathy—and the guilt rushed up to his head, dizzy and weighted with worry. He beheld the way Mike slid off the wall, helplessly succumbing to the alcohol that inhibited his thoughts. Will warily went toward him, but Mike didn’t stir. It was almost as if Will wasn’t there—it was only Mike, alone.
Will sat beside him. Every sob came with a hitch, a jerk of his shoulders. It was raw—everything Mike never was. To Will, it felt like rekindling with the boy on the swings. This was fragile, almost pure. Most importantly, this was honest. Mike was hugging his knees, and Will pressed the sides of his tucked legs into Mike’s, letting him know he was there. Mike let out a soft sigh at the contact, the reassuring warmth seeping into his skin. No flinching. It seemed that in Mike’s torment, it didn’t matter. Will found one of Mike’s hands, tight around himself, and held it.
“You know I could never, and would never, see you that way, Mike,” Will whispered.
Mike’s breath stuttered helplessly as he spoke. “But, you im—implied it, Will,” he gasped; he did right into his sleeves, wet with tears and drool.
“That man’s dead to me, Mike. Barely give his existence a thought,” he shushed, talking him back into reality. “It was meant to be a snarky remark. Not a hit on you. I wouldn’t use that against you.”
A soft whine. More weeping. A few coughs, from the saliva lodging in his throat.
“All I do,” Mike hiccups, “All I do is hurt you,” he choked, frustrated. “ ‘M a bad f-friend, Will. I couldn’t save you from the—” the tears fell with fervor, insistent to drown Mike in his suffering, “Can’t look at you without—” Mike blabbled, incoherent, the mess of his sadness pooling on the tile.
Will couldn’t handle a minute more of Mike’s sobbing. Will had wanted this, his honesty. Mike came to him with anguish. It ripped through every layer of Will’s resentment, the bitter taste of Mike’s lies now unbearably salty with sorrow. No apology, but Mike was forgiven. He’d repented in tears.
Will’s arm curled around Mike’s hunched shoulders. He shuffled closer, the sides of their tired bodies pressing together. Warmth met where they touched, and it seeped through like a sweet embrace. Mike gave into it, almost entranced, resigned, or simply drunk. Their heads were touching at the sides now—quietly huddled, and Will could remember doing something like this, with Mike, at Castle Byers. The peace they’d felt back then seemed to transpose into this moment, as a gentle reminder of who they were to each other. Again, they were Mike and Will. Again, they were kids.
Except, the air was heavy with something that transpired more than peace. What seemed to suffocate them grew uncontrollably with the years, the gaps of silence swirling with things unsaid. Will didn’t think anything he could say would fix this, not in a way that would go over smoothly. It was clear, now, that something was deeply wrong with Mike Wheeler. That was all Mike had to offer tonight. So it was in silence that Will turned his head to press his lips to Mike’s tangled hair, and it wasn’t embarrassing. It wasn't weird—not with Mike like this, not when he’d probably forget in the morning, not when Will’s lips didn’t amount to the things he’d give for Mike’s pain to end.
Mike murmured into himself, the whispers unintelligible. Will spoke into his hair.
“What’s that?”
Mike shifted, adjusting so that he was no longer speaking into his arms. His voice croaked through the air.
“Feels good.”
Will couldn’t help but let a sad smile bloom against the boy’s head. His other hand, previously wrapped around Mike’s shoulders, had lifted to work through the other side of Mike’s hair. His sobs had been reduced to quiet, soothed hums.
“Mm,” Will acknowledged. He was half dazed on Mike’s body warmth, breathing in the musky smell of his shampoo.
Mike shook with a sigh. “Haven’t…had such a nice dream.”
He thinks this is a dream? How fucked up is he, really?
“Mike, I’m real,” Will corrected. He hoped his hands felt real. Grounding.
Mike stilled. He spoke a quiet Oh into the silence, the shame boiling over.
“W-why would you, do, um, that?” Mike stuttered. He nervously rubbed his feet together, little balls of fuzz bunching up on his black socks. Will exhaled, tired. He dropped his hands to his sides. Mike shuddered at the loss, but Will didn’t catch it.
“Comfort you?”
“S’that… how you comfort people?” Mike asked, tentative. He wasn’t making an effort to pass sober anymore, his words slurring, unleashed.
Will shook his head. “No, it’s how I comfort you.”
Mike’s voice hardened. “Why?”
“Because, it’s you? Because, well—” Will winced, “Does it matter? You said it felt good.”
“I don’t need t’ feel gooood. Rather you hit me,” Mike drawled.
“I would never—what?” Will choked. “Why would you want that?”
“It’s appro…appropriate,” Mike explained, “after everything, maybe getting f-fucked up by you, anyone, will make tis’ hurt less,” he babbled. Mike’s ankle was now red, rubbed raw.
Will snapped his hand over the shin of Mike's leg, discouraging the movement.
“Stop that,” Will warned. “Getting hit won’t get rid of whatever you’re feeling.” He gave Mike a squeeze—though it was gentle, affectionate. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
Mike’s head burrowed deeper into his lap. “Mm-mmh.”
“You want me to ignore this?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you expect me to?”
“...Mn.”
Will reached in for Mike’s jaw, tucked in tightly with the rest of his body. It was wet to the touch, still damp from crying.
“Look up and talk to me,” Will directed. “Properly, please.”
Mike hesitated, resisting the pull of Will’s fingers.
“But…m’ugly.”
Will frowned.
“Let me see.”
Mike’s eyes squinted hard into his face. His speech was muffled, throat wet.
“You aren’t mmmeant to.”
What the fuck does that mean?
Will slid his fingers up and down the trace of Mike’s tucked jaw, pensive. “Who else is supposed to be here when something’s up?”
“Nobody,” Mike answered.
Will sighed. “You know that won’t do with me.”
“Mm-hm…this ‘s a mistake. Nnnever should’ve fallen asleep,” Mike sniffed. “Now you’ve—you saw.” He shook, as if just now realizing—a flash of sobriety threatening to reveal what he had done. “Oh fuck, Will,” he said, a whine leaving him, “M’so sorry.” Cough. “Ssso sorry. M´sorry.”
“Shh,” Will hushed. “Mike, look at me.”
Mike’s head moved with the gentle drag of Will’s hand, finally looking up at him with unfocused eyes. He blinked. Slowly, tired, though not in the way you’d be if sleep deprived—it was another kind of tired Will didn’t understand. He could feel Mike’s breaths on him, ghosting warm over his skin. He could feel the dampness of his cheeks, thumb grazing over his freckles. He could almost feel the floor move from right underneath him when Mike’s pupils finally closed in on him.
Will paused.
“You’re not ugly.”
It felt like a confession. Mike looked away. Looked back.
“Uh-uhm,” Mike swallowed. “Thanks.”
Will’s hand crept up to thumb at Mike’s eyebrow, rubbing at a small, missing patch of hair he’d botched in an attempt to make a slit.
Will found it amusing. “You’re trying to copy me?”
“What? What are you—oh,” Mike blushed, reaching for Will’s hand, thumb still on his brow. “I thought…I thought it looked c-cool,” he pouted.
“Next time, ask me to do it,” Will giggled.
Mike’s chest tightened at the noise. At the touch. Will’s eyes were on him, and he would manage in every other moment, but this was too much. Will had a knack of looking at him when he didn’t want to be looked at. Mike had a knack of looking at things he shouldn’t be looking at. His eyes wandered to Will’s lips. He desired. He burned from within and feared the flames. It felt like conviction. Mike’s nails dug into his hands, and when he felt Will notice his gaze, his eyes shot down. He looked at the arms of his sweater, his neckline wet and drenched.
“I’m so gross.”
That, too, felt like a confession.
Will looked over Mike’s clothes and opened his mouth, lingering on a suggestion. “Yeah, you should go get changed…” He bit at his lip, feeling torn. “Are you..able?”
Mike scrambled to stand up. “Yeah! Yeaah, I can do that. I’ll just—” His foot crashed into the corner of the wall, the one leading up to his room. “OW, fuck!”
Mike yelped, hurriedly reaching to hold his foot, jumping on one leg. “ Fuck, ffffuck, ow, that hurts.”
“Oh my god, stop moving! You’re going to fall.”
Will was already behind him, steadying Mike just above his waist, where it was easier to reach him. The way Mike flexed with pain caused his ribs to flare, and Will could feel every bone, all the ridges off Mike’s body. It was like he was shirtless. Will tried to adjust his hands to feel less of him, to simply hover over him, but he already felt as if he’d invaded something, given there was an immediate desire to draw it—the silhouette of Mike’s body.
The thought took Will aback. When Mike stabilized, Will’s hands startled back to his sides.
Mike looked to the ground, feeling his foot throb underneath his sock.
"Sorry."
A short exhale let out of Will’s nose. “You’re fine. Let me walk you.”
Will gently slung Mike’s arm over his shoulder, so he'd have something to lean on. Mike complied, and maybe Will was crazy, but he could feel Mike’s gaze on him the entire five steps to the door.
The doorknob twisted with a bit of resistance, and they were inside the room. The air smelled terribly like…boy. Mike’s bed was messy, the fitted sheets coming off the corners and revealing the mattress. His unfinished comic laid there, open beside his pillow. The typewriter—set atop his office desk—collected dust around the edges, clean on the keys Mike pressed the most. A small trash can laid next to it, overflown with dozens of scrapped, crumpled papers. Will rowed through the clothes on the floor, one of the articles being Mike’s boxers. Will pretended he didn’t see that. Throughout the shuffling, Mike let out a small snort.
“Hah. I can see the top of your h-head.”
Will rolled his eyes. He sat Mike down on the edge of the bed.
“Not anymore.”
Mike stared up, head lazily tiled to the side. His adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. He’d never seen Will at an angle like this, and he looked so pretty, stood above him. He flinched and looked away.
“Will. Need a smoke. The box s’ at the corner.”
Will grumbled, peeved. “Are you trying to die?”
“You’re stupid,” Mike giggled. “Won’t kill me.”
“You’re already drunk,” Will said. “I’m not giving you a cigarette."
Mike whined, tilting his head back—his own version of a tantrum. “Will… Please.”
Will rubbed his eyes. Sighed. “Get changed first.”
While Mike struggled to kick off his pants, Will walked over to the corner of the room. He stopped at the far end of Mike’s window. The pack of Marlboro reds sat half empty across the sill. Next to it was a lighter. Convenient.
By the time Will turned back, Mike’s shirt was already off, pants thrown on the floor. He could see the moles scattered on Mike’s bare back. Will quickly averted his eyes, pushing down the blush that spread to his neck, and scanned the rest of the room. His eyes landed on Mike’s closet. He hurriedly opened the worn, bifold doors, and grabbed something that seemed comfortable and sleep-worthy.
Will chucked over some blue, plaid sweats, as well as a loose T-shirt, which had Bon Jovi’s Slippery When Wet stamped in the center. Mike started to poke his head through the hem whilst mumbling the lyrics to Livin’ on a Prayer.
Will picked out a figurine off of Mike’s display shelves, deliberately distracted from Mike’s bare body. “You done?”
“Mm-hmm.” Mike hummed.
Will quickly passed the cigarette. Mike stared at it. Opened his mouth. Will frowned.
“Just take it.”
“‘M scared to drop it,” Mike said, mumbling through a pout.
“Are you dumb?”
Mike didn’t answer. He opened his mouth again.
Will felt a tingle in his stomach. Mike’s mouth was slightly agape, waiting for the cigarette. This is fine. He thought. Yep. Yeah, he'd probably drop it. Will gave in. It was an awful pattern he had, when it came to Mike. There was a slight tremor in his hand as he watched Mike’s lips close around the filter. Will flickered the lighter, igniting the butt of the cig.
Mike inhaled, deep, chasing the light-headedness that came with each puff. He blew the smoke through the corner of his mouth. Inhaled again. Let out. He opened his eyes, and there he was. Will, above him, again. Like an angel. He inhaled again. Let out. Pretty. His throat was burning. He felt his palms burn, too, nails digging into them. He did that often. The smoke wasn’t helping the thoughts—they felt exacerbated. He felt anger, raining from above.
Chsss.
A slap. The noise echoed throughout the room. The smell of tobacco seeped through the open window.
“What the fuck are you doing!?”
He let the bud drop to the floor, and Will hurried to step on it.
“Ah,” Mike mumbled. His wrist stung with the cigarette burn. He observed how besides his wrist, his skin bloomed red, right where Will had slapped it down.
Will scrambled to hold it. Mike tried to pull away, but he couldn’t, not in time. Will moved Mike’s bracelets out of the way, up his arm, and took a look at the burn. He saw the circular, white scars beside it.
Silence. That’s all there was. Mike could hear the fridge, far away in the kitchen, start to make ice.
Will got up. He left, for just a while. In the distance, Mike heard water run. He stared numbingly at the wall. He hadn’t meant to, in front of Will. It was a habit. It pained him so deeply, he felt like doing it again. Like forgetting. Because it was his fault—drunken mistake or not—that he’d seen him. He wished Will would never come back.
He did.
Will hurried back with a damp rag. Mike felt the bed dip beside him, eyes still fixated on the wall. He felt Will take his hand, his body jerking as the cool water made contact with his skin.
“I di-didn’t mean to,” Mike coughed out.
“I know,” Will assured.
“I’m so sorry.”
Will shook his head. “We’ve been through worse.”
Will didn’t mean to minimize it. Mike knew that, in his haze. He meant that they would find a solution to this, too. That they were strong. Mike wasn’t sure that was true for him.
Mike felt like sobbing again, teetering on the edge of another breakdown. He didn’t want to be consoled again, so he held back.
Will’s eyes were glazed with tears, red with anger. He was angry at Mike, because he’d do this to himself. It didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t. But today, he found out he quit work. He found out he had lied. He found out he was having nightmares. He found out he had drunk. Worst of all, he found something on the surface of his wrists. All because Mike had accidentally fallen asleep on their couch. Today, Will saw that something inside Mike had broken—and he hadn’t realized. Will hated himself for it. He hated his college hours. He hated his work. He hated every second of time he could’ve used to figure this out sooner. He felt like he’d neglected him, in every way possible.
Will fought to keep his composure.
“Does…does anyone else know about this?” Will asked. “Jane? Nancy?”
Mike shook his head.
“I don’t do it o-often,” Mike excused. “You don’t have to worry.”
“How long…?”
When I broke up with Jane. When you crept into my writing. When the nightmares started.
“Not long.”
Will brung Mike’s wrist to his forehead. “Please don’t—please just come to me when you feel like it.”
“I do it ‘cause it helps,” Mike slurred. “Can’t feel okay without it.”
“Can’t we,” Will started, “Can’t you find something else that helps?”
Let’s tell someone. Will thought. But who? Self harm, they’ll think he’s crazy. Ted would send him to the looney bin.
Will couldn’t let that happen. He waited for Mike’s reply.
“Can you hit me?”
Will slammed on his mental breaks.
“No.”
“‘M sorry. I just thought, that way, ‘t wouldn’t leave scars.”
“You think stupid shit,” Will spat.
“Sorry.”
This is crazy. Nevertheless, Will considered it.
If he can’t stop, it would be better if— at least I could be careful. He’s not careful. Fuck, no, Will. Get a hold of yourself.
“Can’t we, you know—we can go running in the mornings. Or play basketball with Lucas,” Will argued. “When you feel down.”
Mike turned to look at Will. His lips curved with a sad smile.
“Thank you. Seriously.”
Will knew what that meant. He couldn’t just let Mike keep doing this, not with him knowing. He couldn’t tell anyone. Not without the risk. This had to be a secret, between the both of them.
“If I did…would you stop?” He asked.
“Don’t know,” Mike said. “We can—can try.”
“Let’s…let’s talk about this when you’re sober.”
“I am.”
Will pressed his lips together. “What’s 6x8?”
“48,” Mike answered.
“Recite the alphabet.”
“Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz.”
“Well, you stuttered in the middle,” Will argued.
“Still did it.”
Will huffed. “You’re clearly drunk.”
“Not that drunk, ’s been wearing off.”
“I won’t—I won’t hurt you,” Will says.
“I know.”
A shudder travelled up Will’s spine.
“Can you look up?”
Mike did.
Will used his hand to gently wrap around Mike’s throat. He avoided pressing on his windpipe, careful not to restrict his breathing. He didn’t know if this would work. Barely knew if this was right. All he knew was that he wanted to help Mike. Be there for him, even in the things he was unsure of.
Will squeezed at the sides, restricting the blood flow in Mike’s arteries. Mike closed his eyes, fluttering with euphoria as his pulse slowed. He let out a small, choked whine, and that’s when Will released him.
Mike was dizzy. It felt so good. It felt rehabilitating. It didn’t feel like looking at Will’s lips. It didn’t feel like Will’s breath ghosting at the sides of his neck, it didn’t feel like the heat that simmered within him. It felt like he was atoning for something. It was perfect.
It left no marks.
Will trembled, shaking with adrenaline and something else. He saw how Mike smiled. This was incredibly crazy. This was fucked.
“Mn, I feel like I could sleep now.”
God, he has to be kidding.
“Me choking you made you sleepy?” Will cringed, the words unreal on his tongue.
“Seems like it.”
“...Do you want me to stay?”
Mike rolled his eyes.
“You’re not my babysitter, Will.”
“But what if you—”
“I rarely have 'em twice in the same night.”
“O-okay,” Will said, eyes on Mike’s wrist. “Keep the rag on it for a little while.”
Mike breathed.“Okay.”
Will got up. Before he shut the door, he gave Mike one last look. He was already buried in his sheets, hidden from the world.
After hearing the door click, Mike opened his eyes. He stared up at the wooden, cross effigy that almost camouflaged with the surface of his nightstand. It was a parting gift from his father. One gift, for his entire life. Mike put his hand around his own neck, where Will’s had been. He knew that he deserved it. After a couple blinks, he fell asleep—knowing he’d done well.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
RING, RING, RING
Mike stirred, covering his head with his pillow. He felt a bad, throbbing headache start to grow in the back of his head.
RING, RING, RING
“Oh my god,” he murmured, half asleep. “Shut uuup. No work, I quit, leave me alone!”
RING, RING, RING
Mike grunted, irritated. He’d forgotten to disable his alarm. It used to wake him up at 6 AM on the dot. Not that it mattered anymore. He began to angrily swat at his nightstand, trying to shut it off.
RING, RING, SMACK!
Mike mumbled into his pillows. “Fuck, finally.”
He tried to settle back into sleep. This headache is killing me. I shouldn’t have drunk that much. When did Will come back? Was it seven? Didn’t he—
Mike stilled. Will, next to him. Will, the nightmares. Will, the drinking. Will, the crying.
Will, the burning.
Will, the choking.
“No,” Mike sat up, hands to his mouth. “No, no, no.” That was a dream, right? It was, right?
Mike tripped over his bedsheets before he reached the bathroom. In a frenzy, he dropped to his knees and lurched over the toilet seat. He saw how he salivated into the bowl. He threw up. The bile was acidic, the anxiety forcing what little he had out of him. He coughed until he couldn’t taste any more.
His mouth swished with water before he spit it back into the sink. He ran out to look for his shoes. In the black socks he wore last night, he put them on, tied them in a loose knot, and left his room. He could hear the shower running. Will was showering. He heard the stream stop.
Mike bolted toward the door. He grabbed his keys.
When Will got out of the shower, Mike was gone.