I Don't Have to Sell My Soul (He's Already in Me)

After ten months of being together and a brutal fight where Mike and Will both aim where they know will hurt, Mike leaves the Wheeler's house in the middle of the night leaving them both with broken pieces of what they were.

~

A complete season 5 re-write/fix-it following TSTYK with a primarily byler focus set October 1989. While there are a few scenes/concepts from s5 that will appear, this is not just s5 rewritten to include byler.

Multi POV

Notes:

Could you technically read this without reading TSTYK? I guess, man, but they've been doing shit for ten months and fought just before this. Pretty much all the context you need????

I wanted to take a break, a real honest-to-God break. But lack of media literacy has people who have never read my work not understanding it and talking about it as if they had, so I rushed to get this out for you all. Is it my best work? No. Am I proud of it? Originally no, but I kinda ate, not to pat my own back. Enjoy anyways. Fun fact, if it's a byler fanfiction, Mike Wheeler likes men, I don't care about canon because I am not WRITING canon.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - physical and verbal (child) abuse. HEAVY homophobia and slurs thrown around. Childhood sexual assault depicted, because let me be clear, what Vecna does is sexual assault. Nothing explicit occurs though there is one IMPLIED sexual scene. It is a question, an answer, and fade to black. Do not come for me because I'm so deadass if you don't understand the importance there and how it relates to Will's actions this just isn't the fic for you.

Please keep in mind tags are to be updated, and I chose not to use archive warnings, that is NOT the same as no archive warnings apply. I may change this at a later date, but for now that is how I've chosen to tag it.

Alright, let's place our bets. I think I can complete this in 25 chapters.

I already don't believe myself, hence the fact I listed 35.

I tried something with this chapter... I hope it comes off correctly, but also if you ignore it I won't be offended.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Morning sun beamed in through the crack in the curtains, almost as if God hadn’t received the hint as to what had occurred the night before.

Will stirred in bed. In Mike’s bed. He’d left the night prior.

He’d left.

1975

Lying on his stomach on the pavement, Will drew lines with chalk, waiting patiently for his parents to come back out.

They were inside a small, pretty building with flowers all over.

Apparently, it was a kindergarten.

He’d be going in a few months, according to his mom. He’d get to meet people. Make friends.

It made him smile.

He wanted friends.

He wanted to meet the nice people his mom kept telling him about.

The large doors of the building opened, his mother and father walking out.

“Thank you, Miss Clementine.” His mother was smiling, shaking the hand of the woman who escorted them out.

“Of course, Mrs. Byers.” The woman, Miss Clementine, like the fruit, said, looking towards Will, “We are all very excited to meet you soon, Will.”

Will looked up with his large doe eyes, grinning, “I’m excited too!” He announced.

“Let’s go, Joyce!” His father called out, and Will followed him with his eyes.

His father stepped right into the center of his drawing.

“Let’s go, Joyce!” He shouted again, ignoring Will entirely.

His mother’s smile slipped for just a second, “C- coming!” She called back, hurrying to motion for Will to stand.

Will clattered to his feet, stumbling as his mother rushed him to the car.

1976

“What boy doesn’t play outside?!” His father was yelling from the living room.

Will sat in his room, sunk to the ground, his back to his door, tears rolling down his reddened face.

He didn’t understand why his dad was so mad.

He’d been outside like he asked.

“He was! He was playing outside, Lonnie!” His mother argued.

Will sniffled, nodding in agreement even though they couldn’t see him.

The echoing sound of a slap could be heard.

Will flinched, curling further into himself, crying into his knees.

“He was picking flowers, Joyce, don’t be ridiculous!” His father’s voice was just as loud as he spat the words.

He scoffed, and Will could see it if he closed his eyes. The way his father was probably pacing, beer bottle in hand, the liquid splattering when he jolted his arm too hard, shaking his head.

“He doesn’t talk, Joyce! He’s mute! And he’s- he’s—!”

“He has some issues, we’re handling it! He can talk, he just doesn’t like to! When he makes friends, he’ll talk!”

He thought the flowers had been pretty.

His mom had been so happy the last time he’d given her flowers, he just wanted to see her smile again. He’d heard her crying the night before.

He couldn’t understand what the problem was.

“He was- I won't do it, Joyce. I wont— I won’t be humiliated like this. I won't be the father to a fag. A fag who doesn’t even speak!”

“He was doing something nice, Lonnie, he wasn’t- he’s not a… a—“

His mother must have lowered her voice because he couldn’t hear her anymore.

‘A fag?’ He thought, ‘What’s a fag?’

“Lonnie,” he could hear the crack in his mother’s voice then, “Lonnie, where are you- where are you going? Lonnie! Lonnie, get back here!”

The front door slammed shut.

1976

That had been the last time Jonathan or Will saw their father for a few months.

Their mom had explained it to them.

“Everything is alright, boys. Your father just… he had a trip he had to take. It’s okay, though. It’ll be fine. We’re fine.” She had assured, and there was a red blotch on her face where he’d struck her, tears in her eyes.

Will didn’t bring her flowers this time. He didn’t want to make things worse.

1976

Will sat alone on the swings, rocking back and forth, sniffling, his eyes wet with tears he refused to let shed.

His mom was late for pickup.

She was working more recently, away from the house.

He kept rocking.

Back and forth.

Kindergarten wasn’t everything his mom and Jonathan had promised.

It was okay, he guessed.

He still didn’t have many friends.

None except Mike.

Mike’s mom had picked him up already, though, so once again he was alone.

Back and forth.

He could see them.

He saw it all the time.

Adults huddled together the same way kids did.

They were quiet, but not quiet enough, whispering about, looking towards him.

“Poor kids, you know? I mean, how is Joyce supposed to raise two boys on her own?”

“Well, maybe Lonnie had a point. His kids are going to end up… like that.”

“If he’d stuck around, maybe he could have stopped it. Before Joyce makes it irreversible.”

“I mean, have you ever seen the boy play with any of the others? Talk?”

Back and forth.

Again and again and again.

1977

“Lets go! Practice starts in ten!” His father yelled out.

Will’s heart sped up, an anxious kind of beat in his chest as he hurried after his father.

He’d been popping up a little more lately, taking Will to this little league team he’d found.

He kept telling him he’d like it.

It was the kind of thing boys did.

The things they enjoyed.

The crack of the bat with the ball shouldn't make him flinch.

The heat of the sun wasn’t something to complain about.

Will just wanted to make his dad happy.

Maybe he’d come back if he did it well enough.

1977

Mike had been annoyed that Will wasn’t able to come around much anymore to play.

“Why? We have a campaign, Will!”

“My dad is coming. He’s taking me to practice.”

He’d convinced his mom, Karen Wheeler, to let him join, too.

Mike was sitting on the bench when practice ended, a frown on his face, eyebrows pulled tightly together, his hands fidgeting in his lap, knees bouncing.

Will came over, “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head quickly, “Nothing, I’m fine.” He said, and his voice cracked a little.

Mike had hit himself in the head with the bat earlier, it was the reason he was on the bench, sitting it out.

He wasn’t very good at the game. Not that Will ever told him that.

Will frowned, “Are you hurt?”

“No!” Mike said quickly.

Will reached out, poking the side of his head.

Mike let out a whine, face twisting in pain.

“Liar.” Will accused. “Hurts?”

“Little.” He mumbled, wiping his nose.

“I can fix it!” Will announced, grinning at Mike.

Mike frowned again, “How?”

“I’m a Cleric.” He said, as if it were obvious, “I can use my powers to heal you.”

To prove it he leaned closer, standing on his tippy-toes, pressing a kiss to the top of Mike’s head where the bump lay.

He pulled back, still smiling, “Healed?” He asked.

Mike’s eyes were wide, staring at Will. Tentatively, he reached a hand up, fingers brushing his head. He didn’t flinch. He grinned, nodding, “Yeah. Yeah! You healed me!”

1977

“Get him, Will the Wise! Get him!” Mike yelled as they ran on the field, fighting an invisible demogorgon that had decided to attack while they waited for Will’s dad to come pick them both up for their playdate.

“Fireball!” Will yelled with a laugh, aiming towards the creature.

Mike picked up a stick, holding it up like a sword, “Again! Again!” He laughed, swinging it around, pretending to hit the creature.

Will stopped, holding his hands out at the fake creature, closing his eyes, focusing, “FIREBALL!” He yelled louder.

A second later, Mike was jumping up and down, cheering. “You did it! Final blow!” He laughed, running over and hugging Will tightly.

Will laughed, stumbling back. He hugged Mike without question.

Troy, this boy from their class and on the little league team, snorted. “So the fairy can speak.”

Mike pulled away from Will, turning towards Troy, “What did you say?”

Will felt his blood run cold, swallowing, his tongue going dry.

He ducked his head as Mike stepped in front of him. he wasn’t totally sure what that word meant — fairy.

It was confusing; the fairies in the stories his mother would tell him were always good. The way people like Troy said the word, though, was with the same kind of spat his father used with the other f-word.

“What did you say?”

Will tugged at Mike’s wrist. ‘Stop, stop, stop. You’ll make it worse.’

Mike glanced back, “No.” He said, softly, “It’s not nice.”

“I said he can talk.” Troy repeated, “Wow.”

“Of course he can talk.”

“Then why doesn’t he?”

“He just doesn’t want to talk to mouth breathers like you.” Mike spat.

Troy’s face hardened. He stepped forward, pushing Mike.

Mike stumbled back, eyes widening. “Hey!”

“What did you say, freak?” Troy asked.

“I said you should mind your business!” Mike snapped, pushing Troy back.

“Hey! Hey!” Will looked over at his father’s voice.

He was storming over.

Troy and Mike froze at once.

“He started it!” Troy said, pointing at Will.

His father's head snapped towards him.

Will opened his mouth, eyes wide. His hands trembled at his sides. Nothing came out; the fear was eating away at him.

Mike looked between the two, “I- I started it,” he said, stepping in front of Will, “It’s- it’s my fault, Mr. Byers.”

‘No. No, stop, he’ll hit you.’ Will thought. He didn't dare reach out for him, though; it would only make things worse.

His father looked at Mike. The anger on his face shifted, “Just… don't do it again.”

‘What?’

“Yes, sir.”

1977

“Come on, get in the car.” His father snapped, grasping his wrist.

“I don’t want to.” Will cried, trying to pull free.

“This isn’t a game, Will!” He yelled, letting go and backhanding him in one go.

Will stumbled back, falling flat on his ass. Tears welled in his eyes.

“What?!” He asked, “You can’t handle a little pushing? It’s pathetic, Will! Look what your mother’s done to you!”

“Stop. Please stop.” Will begged, sobbing.

His father stormed across the room, grabbing his pile of drawings, “You’re not some fag! Be a man, Will! A man!” He started ripping the pictures before him. “Men play baseball! Men don’t sit around all day coloring like a- a faggot.”

Will sat there, shoulders shaking with each sob as he watched his drawings be torn to shreds.

1978

Troy had pushed him on their way out of school that day. It wasn’t for any reason. He was talking with Mike and with Lucas — Mike’s neighbor and their new friend — bouncing on his feet as they went, explaining D&D to him.

Lucas had transferred schools for the year. They’d known of him, seen him around, waved before, but he’d been going to this private school before transferring to Hawkins Elementary.

Will had been explaining the difference between a Chimera and a Cockatrice — not to be confused with a basilisk, despite their similarities — when Troy pushed him.

He didn’t even stumble, falling onto the pavement, his knees scratching as he went.

“Will!” Mike and Lucas both called.

“Troy!” An older woman gasped, hurrying over.

She rushed past Will, grasping Troy by the wrists, “Don’t touch him!” She hissed, rummaging in her bag, pulling out a pack of wipes, wiping his hands, as if touching Will would pass something onto him.

Will watched, tears in his eyes as the woman dragged Troy away, not bothering to even check if he was okay or apologize on behalf of her son.

Mike helped him up without question, “Are you okay?” He asked, face twisted with fear. He looked at the blood on his knees, “C’mon, let’s get you home. My mom can help.”

1982

“He’s not coming back.” His mom said to Mrs. Wheeler, her voice quiet, as if Will wasn’t supposed to hear. “We signed the papers this morning.”

He supposed he wasn’t.

The moms had sent them away with Nancy to distract them. He’d snuck upstairs to grab a comic from Mike’s room.

“Joyce,” Mrs. Wheeler said softly, reaching a hand out, grasping hers, “I am so sorry. Whatever you and the boys need. Ted and I are here, you know that. We love your entire family.”

His mom nodded, “Yeah, yeah, of course. Maybe just a little help now. In the beginning. I need- I need to pick up some more shifts.”

“As long as you need.” Mrs. Wheeler said instantly, “Mike will love having Will around more.”

“I just wish… I wish it would have been different.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Joyce, this will be better for you. For the boys.”

“The boys deserve to have their father around. What can I- what can I teach them about being good young men? It’s not like you have with Nancy, Karen.”

The words sank into Will’s tiny head.

He turned around, hurrying back to the basement.

It was his fault.

It was all his fault.

If he’d just tried harder. If he had liked baseball. If he’d been normal.

His father would have stayed; his mom wouldn’t be this unhappy.

1983

“I’m telling you!” Mike was bouncing with excitement, grasping Will’s hands, “It’s going to be so awesome! Dustin’s going to lose his mind!” He’d been telling Will all about this campaign he’d planned for the next weekend.

Will had been listening intently, watching Mike pace around the room, arms flailing. He was grinning almost as wide as Mike was.

When he grabbed his hands, Will’s eyes dropped to them for no real reason. They felt nice there.

Comfortable.

Warm.

Like they belonged.

Mike pulled them away just as quickly, hands flailing once more as he described the monster.

1983

“I’ll be back! I’ll be back!” Mike announced, nodding at Will as he left him by the lockers, running into a boy in their class — Paul — as he rushed for the bathroom before his mom could pull up and he’d have to wait.

Will watched him run off, head drifting to the side, following his movements. He hadn’t even realized he was still grinning.

“Aww,” Troy’s mocking voice said from behind him.

Will flinched, turning around quickly, his smile dropping.

“Is that your boyfriend?” He asked.

Will’s face grew warm, “What? N- no! Gross!”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“Shut up!” He snapped, the redness in his face intensifying. It was embarrassing. He didn’t like Mike. Well, he liked Mike, just not like that. That was all.

Troy snorted, “Okay, fairy.” He laughed, moving past him.

“Hey, you ready?!” Dustin asked, grinning at Will.

Dustin had joined their party three years earlier when he’d moved to town. He was a great friend and insanely smart, as obsessed with D&D as the rest of the party, but sometimes he missed the things right in front of him.

Will swallowed, still shaken as he watched Troy disappear, “What?” He asked.

Dustin found, “The game tonight. Mike said it’s the coolest one yet.”

1983

“Oh, I got it!” Will said, grasping the dice they’d lost. He hurried over to Lucas, “Does the seven count?”

“It was a seven?” Lucas asked.

“Mmhm.”

“Did Mike see it?”

He shook his head.

“Then it doesn’t count!” Lucas decided.

Will turned, putting on his puffer and grasping his backpack. The three hurried up the basement stairs. They said their goodbyes to the Wheelers, heading out through the garage, hopping on their bikes.

Lucas pulled out first, Dustin following. Will hesitated.

He wasn’t sure why, really, but “It was a seven.”

“Huh?” Mike turned towards him.

“The roll,” Will explained. “It was a seven.” They didn’t keep things from one another. None of them did.

Mike’s eyebrows twitched down a little.

“The demogorgan.” He shrugged, “It got me.”

Mike didn’t answer, his eyes glued on him.

“Well,” Will’s voice was a little tight as he pushed up on the bike. He didn’t notice Mike’s eyes tracking him as he moved, “See you tomorrow!” He pulled off, the lights flickering twice as he rolled away.

1983

It was cold where he was.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. One second, something was coming for him in his shed, and he’d loaded the shotgun exactly as his father had taught him to, holding it, ready to fire. The next he was in Castle Byers, shivering, trying to keep warm.

There was no one around. He’d gone looking.

It was dark and scary here, everything tinted an odd blue. He hid as best as he could.

There were monsters out there. Plants that moved, things that wanted him dead, or to torture him.

He shook again, but this time it had nothing to do with the cold. He thought about the stories he’d hear about bad people ending up in hell.

Had he died?

Was this hell?

Maybe God got confused.

His lips trembled.

Was it what everyone said? Had he heard that and also decided it true?

Will Byers had died and gone to Hell.

1983

Will groaned as the moving vines wrapped around him, lifting him from the ground.

He was just barely conscious. His body ached and trembled, his stomach growled with hunger.

He’d never given it much thought, but he thought it would be safe to assume that when you were dead, things could no longer hurt.

Everything hurt.

He fought to try to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t.

He was tired.

So, so tired.

He could make out the breathing of someone — something.

“At long last,” it said in its growl, “we can begin.”

What did that mean?

This wasn’t it?

This wasn’t the end?

He’d lost.

The monster, it got him.

This was supposed to be the end.

Something rough and prickly attached itself to his mouth, suctioning it, forcing his lips open. There was no time for his brain, already lagging to process.

Something cold, large, and covered in slime came out of the tendril, forced into his mouth, and down his throat.

His eyes snapped open, rolling into the back of his head as he thrashed, the vines holding him still. Whatever it was was forced past his tongue, down his throat, as he choked.

‘Stop! Stop, please!’ He tried to beg.

This was Hell.

Hell for a sin he hadn’t committed.

A sin he was sure he was being punished for.

1984

Hawkins didn’t feel like Hawkins anymore. Not after the events of the Upside Down.

He was alive.

Supposedly.

A part of him was still convinced he’d died.

The bullying got worse.

The town had taken to calling him Zombie Boy.

It wasn’t like he didn’t understand it. He’d died and come back. What would you call that if not a zombie?

People watched him more, now, and the bullying was more verbal and less physical. He didn’t get pushed around, as if everyone was scared they’d catch whatever he had.

He was certain it wasn’t just the Zombie thing that put them off him.

Jonathan hadn’t wanted to tell him what people had said when he’d gone missing, but the town talked; they whispered.

They said some of it to his face.

He’d gone to Mike one day in tears, begging him to just rip the band-aid off and tell him.

Mike had held him, comforting him.

Mike was never scared of touching him.

He told him the truth.

All of it.

The names, the rumors.

At least someone didn’t lie to him.

1984

The visits to the doctor didn’t help the rumors.

If anything, it made them worse.

He was infected.

Death.

Queerness.

Sick.

1984

“Did he fuck you?”

Will froze.

He was in the arcade with the other boys, having left for just a minute just to pee.

He stood at the urinal as these two older boys he didn’t know came up to him. “That’s what you wanted, right? Why you ran away.”

“I- I didn’t… I didn’t run away.” He stammered, zipping his pants up. He tried to get around them, but they were taller, bigger, blocking his way.

“We just want to know if you really let the guy fuck you.” The other boy spat with a laugh, “God, you look like you would.”

“I wasn’t- I was alone. I was- nothing happened to m- me.”

The bathroom door opened.

“Will?” Mike called.

One of the two boys snorted, and they both left without saying much more, just giving Will a look that said they didn’t believe him.

“Will, hey, you okay?” Mike murmured, rushing to his side.

“I’m fine.” Will cut him off, stepping around him, “Let’s- let’s go play.”

1984

Will stirred awake.

His brain was fuzzy, shifting somewhere between reality and some dark place inside his mind, fighting for control with the thing inside him.

He sucked in a breath, pain radiating through his body. Sweat stuck against his skin, his hair wet, his clothes soaked. He jolted, lifting his head.

Around his left wrist was a restraint.

‘What?’ he thought, looking to his right to find the same. He kicked his legs, finding them also tied to the bed.

“What’s happening?” he asked, memory hazy. He looked at his brother for help.

Jonathan was sitting in a chair, hands in his lap. Nancy, Mike’s older sister, was standing by him.

“It- it hurts.” He gasped. The pain intensified with each slip of consciousness, “Oh! It hurts! It hurts!” he cried.

He thrashed, trying to get free from the restraints, the words spilling from his mouth again and again.

Why was he here? What happened?

“Let me go! Let me go!” he screamed.

From the side, his mother moved towards the radiators, turning the dial to warm the room further.

Will screamed; he screamed until his throat grew hoarse, his thrashing growing more erratic.

His consciousness was deep in his mind, something else clawing its way at the front, fighting against him and the heat.

Still, he could feel it all.

The heat burned, scalding against his skin, his nerves alight.

He was burning alive. He was burning at the hands of his family.

“Mom! Mom!” he cried.

“It’s not working!” Jonathan snapped, “Mom, are you listening to me?!”

“Just wait!” His mother snapped back.

His eyes had rolled into the back of his head, no sound made it out his mouth, it felt like he’d swallowed his tongue.

Jonathan reached out, grabbing his wrist; somewhere within him, he could feel it.

“No, leave it!” His mother cried.

“Mom, you’re killing him!”

“Jonathan! Jonathan, his neck!” Nancy cried.

Will’s vision went dark as if death had claimed him at last. For one moment, a peaceful moment, he sank deep into it, allowing the creature to take hold of his body.

He wondered if this was what it actually felt like.

Hell.

Not like the cold, unforgiving darkness that was the Upside Down, but rather this. Being burnt alive in front of those closest to him as he withered in pain, a pain so debilitating he could no longer express.

All that was left for him was this.

Behind all the screaming, the deep, debilitating shame inside him that found something sacred in the way his best friend had cared for him throughout this all, if this was what he deserved.

Maybe this would help.

Maybe it would solve what he could feel growing.

Maybe this was meant to happen; that was why he’d been chosen.

They could exorcise not just the demon within him but something else – tragic and broken. The thing everyone had seen before he could understand what it meant.

Something scalding was shoved into his side, burning him, marking him, forcing him back to reality, the creature leaving in a cloud through his mouth.

‘Take it. Take it with you.’

He passed out.

1985

“He’s late.” Max groaned, her head tilting back as she walked in a circle outside the newly opened mall.

Will snorted, “He’ll be here.” He said, even as he checked his own watch.

“I don’t care if he’ll be here. The movie started five minutes ago!”

Lucas rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t stop smiling at her, “He’s probably with El.” He said, pursing his lips in a mock kiss.

Will cringed, looking away, “Gross, Lucas.”

Lucas laughed, “Come on, you know it’s true. They’ve been inseparable.”

“So have we.” Max said, crossing the space towards Lucas, grabbing his hand for added effect, “You’re never late to anything, though.”

Will glanced over at them, smiling softly, something twinging in his chest.

“I, uh, I’m gonna get a Coke.” He said, nodding towards the vending machine. He didn’t wait for them to respond, pushing off the bench.

He liked Max. He liked Lucas. He liked them together. They were good together.

It wasn’t like Mike and El.

He grabbed a coin from his pocket, shoving it in the machine, pressing the button for the cherry Coke.

Max and Lucas were always around; they still hung out with him. Mike never did anymore.

It was fine.

He understood.

At least, he tried to.

For some reason, it stung, though. He’d be late, or he just wouldn’t show.

Why could Lucas still show up when Mike wouldn’t?

He bent down, pressing the plastic partitioner in, dragging his can out.

A hand landed on the machine, startling him. He jumped back up, eyes wide.

“Cool, cherry. Thanks.” This guy Will recognized from school said.

“Hey—“ Will started as he took the can from his hands.

“Your boyfriend ditch you? Got a better offer?” The guy asked.

Will’s face dropped, the annoyance faltering at the question. “I- what?” He asked, looking around.

“Your boyfriend. Where is he?”

“I- he— he’s not my— he’s not my boyfriend,” Will answered, his voice quiet, afraid of drawing more attention in.

The guy’s grin widened, and he laughed, almost as if Will had answered something without answering it. “Thanks for the Coke, Zombie Boy.”

1985

“Again? Seriously?” Steve Harrington asked, standing in his Scoops Ahoy uniform.

They’d spent weeks having him sneak them into the movie theater since that day, and today was no different.

Different movie, same situation.

They were in the middle of watching it, the lights having just flickered back on.

A cold chill ran over Will’s body, his neck prickling. He reached up, pressing his hand against it,

“Hey,” Mike whispered.

He gasped, looking over quickly, his hand dropping.

“You okay?” Mike asked.

Will hesitated before nodding, “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, voice laced with worry.

Will’s heart did a weird thing in his chest, tightening at the tone Mike was using with him. He found his eyes drifting down to Mike’s lips for no reason.

It was loud in the theater, the movie, and people around them chewing with their mouths open. Mike was talking quietly. He was just… reading his lips.

He nodded, looking back at his eyes, before his lips once more.

They looked soft. Pink. A little swollen from kissing El.

“Of course.” He swallowed.

Mike didn’t press further, shifting away, turning back to the movie.

Will swallowed, lingering a moment more before turning back as well.

1985

“They’re lying,” Lucas said.

Will shook his head, “It’s been like this all summer.” He agreed, watching Mike and El hurry away from the group.

“It’s romantic,” Max said, her tone having greatly changed since the start of the summer.

Will’s face twisted, “It’s gross.”

“It’s bullshit,” Dustin said.

From behind him, Will could hear the rest of the party turning away, annoyed but still climbing to set up.

Will stood there a moment longer, holding the red bag in his arms tighter.

It was bullshit.

Dustin had just gotten back from summer camp. Mike should want to see him, to spend time with him.

They’d been friends for years. Instead, he wanted to leave early and go make out with El.

He didn’t even understand why.

It was gross. He stood by that.

1985

“Holy crap.” Lucas breathed out as Dustin flipped the Playboy open, the Party huddled around it.

Dustin had stolen the magazine from Steve Harrington, and Will was pretty sure he had no idea Dustin had it.

Will swallowed, eyes dragging over the pages as they looked through.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Lucas stopped him, staring at the girl in the skimpy blue bikini. “Fuck, look at her, dude.”

Will swallowed, shifting where he stood, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets.

The other three boys were talking, excited and animated as they flipped through it, pointing at a girl with big boobs on one page, or a girl bent over suggestively on another. Mike talked. A lot.

Will looked.

Then he didn’t.

Then he forced himself to again.

He couldn’t.

He looked away again uncomfortably.

There was something wrong with him.

Lucas liked it, Dustin liked it, Mike liked it.

He should like it too.

Right?

He should- he should be as enthralled as they were.

He kept quiet. Just tried to nod along when he thought was appropriate.

When Dustin had walkied them all over, he thought it was something else, something normal, not…

His stomach twisted, not with excitement, but with something sicker.

He was going to throw up.

1985

“Victory,” Lucas said in a monotone voice, high-fiving Mike.

Will dropped his staff with a thud, “Fine!” He snapped, grasping his hat, tossing it to the floor. “You guys win.”

He turned, shutting the juxbox off.

He felt ridiculous, now in the stupid purple costume. “Congratulations.”

“Will, I was just messing around,” Mike said.

He’d turned away from his friends, pulling the cloak off, shoving it in his backpack.

Mike moved around the table, “Let’s finish for real. How much longer’s the campaign?” He asked.

“Just forget it, Mike!” Will snapped, looking at him only long enough to say it before turning to shove his binder in his bag as well.

“No. We wanna keep playing, right?” Mike asked Lucas, looking between the two.

“Y- yeah. Totally.” Lucas agreed.

“We’ll just call the girls afterwards—“

“I said forget it, Mike, okay?!” He yelled, face heating.

He didn’t need his friends pretending to want to hang out with him. He didn’t want them to play along to mock him or pity him.

If they wanted to go be with Max and El, they should just go do that.

Leave him alone.

It wasn’t like Mike wanted to spend time with him, so they may as well just stop.

“I’m going home.” He didn’t wait for them to respond.

“Come on, Will.” Lucas tried.

Will shoved him out of his way, “Move!” He hurried up the basement stairs.

He’d just made it outside when Mike joined him.

“Will, come on, you can’t leave, it’s raining.” He said.

Will didn’t turn, closing the zippers on his backpack.

‘It’s raining.’

Mike didn’t want him to stay. He didn’t want to hang out, to be around him, to play D&D. He just didn’t want Will leaving while it rained. If it were sunny, he wouldn’t be arguing with him.

“Listen, I said I was sorry, alright? It’s a cool campaign. It’s really cool. We’re just not in the mood right now.”

He tossed his backpack on, turning to Mike, his face twisted in pain, “Yeah, Mike, that’s the problem. You guys are never in the mood anymore. You’re ruining our Party!”

“That’s not true!” Mike argued.

“Really?” Will asked, “Where’s Dustin right now?”

It wasn’t only him. He wasn’t the only one Mike was ignoring.

He held onto that like a life raft. “See, you don’t know, and you don’t even care, and obviously he doesn’t either, and I don’t blame him!”

“You’re destroying everything, and for what? So you can swap spit with some stupid girl?!” He snapped, hands flailing, his voice cracking.

“El’s not stupid!” Mike snapped back, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Will felt his anger slip away, give way to something else.

Fear.

Shame.

His eyes flickered between each of Mike’s own. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for.

Maybe something that would tell him he didn’t mean it.

Not like that.

Not like everyone else did.

Like his father had.

The bullies.

The people of Hawkins.

Not like that.

Never like that.

Because Mike didn’t see him as different.

He never had.

Mike had always treated him normally. While the rest of the town went around calling him names, slurs, spatting this idea around, Mike hadn't.

At least, that’s what Will had thought.

Mike’s face fell, shaking his head, “I’m not trying to be a jerk.” He said, voice softer now, “Okay? But we’re not kids anymore. I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never going to get girlfriends? That we were just going to sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?”

‘You’re different. You’re not like us.’ Will’s mind filled in for him.

“Yeah.” He said, sniffling, “I guess I did. I really did.” There were tears forming in his eyes.

He turned, getting on his bike.

He didn’t want Mike to see him cry. Didn’t want him to know just how much he’d hurt him.

“Will. Will! Will, come on!”

He didn’t stop biking.

Mike didn’t care.

Why should he?

1985

Water dripped around him, Castle Byers only doing so much to withhold the pouring rain from outside.

He’d managed to keep from crying, the numbness in his body both thanks to the cold and the empty feeling in his heart.

He reached for the picture he had with the rest of the party from Halloween just a few months earlier, dressed in their Ghostbusters costumes.

It hadn't even been a year since. They’d had no problems dressing up; they’d enjoyed it.

‘Who you gonna call?’
‘Ghostbusters!’

His lips trembled, tears welling in his eyes. “Stupid,” he said to himself, “so stupid.” his voice cracked a little around the words.

His hands clenched around the picture, and he ripped it straight down the center, between him and Mike.

He tossed it to the ground, grabbing the Will the Wise drawing he’d made next, crushing it. “So stupid.”

He was an idiot.

An actual idiot.

The Party was too busy now. They didn't care about games and dressing up.

‘I’m a Cleric. I can use my powers to heal you.’

They had better things to do.

‘I won't be the father to a fag.’

They had girlfriends to kiss.

Tears were spilling, rolling down his cheeks. He looked to his left, the baseball bat from when his father had tried to turn him into a man, sitting there.

‘Men play baseball! Men don’t sit around all day coloring like a- a faggot.’

He grabbed it, standing, moving out of the shelter into the rain.

The bat shifted in his hands as he held it, getting it into position, tears running as he looked at his safe place.

He felt childish for it, now.

It was stupid.

A castle.

He was too old for it.

‘Get him, Will the Wise! Get him!’

In one single swoop, the bat hit the sign. He paused for a second.

Just long enough to let it sink in.

‘You can’t handle a little pushing?’

He hit it again.

‘It’s pathetic, Will!’

Another swing.

‘Look what your mother’s done to you!’

Another.

‘The boys deserve to have their father around. What can I- what can I teach them about being good young men?’

Another.

‘Is that your boyfriend?’

Another.

‘At long last, we can begin.’

Sob after sob.

‘If we go crazy, we’ll go crazy together, yeah?’

Another hit.

‘Did he fuck you?’

The sign fell to the ground.

‘That’s what you wanted, right? Why you ran away.’

He hit the side.

The structure.

‘Your boyfriend ditch you? Got a better offer?’

He wanted it torn down.

‘Sorry, man, curfew.’

He wanted to be like them.

‘Fuck, look at her, dude.’

He didn’t want to be different anymore.

‘We’ll just call the girls afterwards—’

The bat wasn’t destroying it fast enough.

His father was right. He was weak.

He dropped it, the metal clanging even against the muddy floor. Maybe it was just the ringing in his head.

‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!’

He reached up, tearing it down with his bare hands.

‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!’

Will dropped to the floor, his throat hoarse with the sobs that wouldn't stop.

‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!’

He wanted to be able to joke with them and understand and relate to what they said.

There was so much about him that was already different.

Why did this have to be, too?

1985

They settled into California quickly. There wasn’t really much time for them to adjust, getting thrown right into the shark pool as soon as they arrived – high school.

Will knew enough, by now, to get by.

He kept his head down, didn’t go out of his way to cause a scene.

If he could keep to himself, maybe, just maybe, he’d make it through the next four years in one piece.

El– Jane didn’t get the memo.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind to explain to her that not all kids were as nice as the Party. Sure, she knew to an extent. She’d seen the bullying, heard the harassment, but she didn’t know that being different made you a target.

She was having a hard time finding her footing, where she belonged, and Will wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure how to without making himself a target.

Besides, he was dealing with his own issues.

Leaving Hawkins was great in a lot of ways. It felt like putting his trauma behind him at last. It also came with a lot of sorrow. He missed his friends. He missed his people. He missed Mike.

Mike.

It was a bittersweet kind of feeling when it came to him.

Over the summer, watching him run off with El – Jane. With Jane. – be happy, grow up. It all stirred up things he’d refused to really look at.

He hadn't wanted them to be right.

It wasn't fair.

They just knew he was gay.

They knew, and they labeled him, and they’d never even given him the chance to figure it out for himself.

When Mike had said it, though – ‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.’

Mike had said it, and whatever dam was holding it back finally gave way to the water, to the truth.

Mike said it, and suddenly Will could no longer pretend he didn’t see it.

He’d held onto it until they were in the car, pulling away from his childhood home.

That was when the tears finally fell again, and he named it, even if just to himself – ‘I’m in love with Mike.’

So as much as he missed him, it was for the best.

Here, he could keep his sickness away from Mike.

Separating them was smart.

Kill the cancer before it has time to grow.

Mike was in love with Jane. With Will’s new sister.

The feelings would die down.

He was certain of it.

Without Mike around to fuel the flames, Will would move on.

So he was gay. He was a queer, a fairy, a faggot. He was disgusting and sickening.

That didn’t mean he had to love his best friend.

If Mike knew…

Will didn’t want to think about it. He did anyway.

The thought he lingered on most was that if Mike knew the truth, not just that Will liked him, but that he loved him the way Mike loved Jane, that he wanted him in the way he did her, wanted to kiss him, and be held by him, and taken on dates, Mike would find it funny. Mike would find it funny because what was it if not ridiculous. Boys didn't like boys like that.

He’d find it funny for all of three weeks. He’d tease him, and he’d tell the Party, and it’d be a joke for three weeks.

Three weeks until Will would do something that he didn't mean in any way, but that Mike would interpret as if he had.

Why wouldn't he? Anytime he did anything, people would joke about Mike being his little boyfriend. They’d ask him questions he didn't have answers for. Of course, he’d do something small like get excited and grab his arm, or maybe they’d hug, or he’d sit too close while they played a game, or their feet would brush under the table when he stretched.

Something so careless.

It would change everything.

Because he could see it in his mind. Mike tensed at the touch.

He wouldn't push him away; he wasn't the kind to.

But there'd be a shift.

He’d hang out with him less and make sure the others were around. There’d be no more comic book nights on his bed with the door closed.

He wouldn't touch him anymore, scared of getting sick, of catching the thing inside Will that made him this way.

And in the end, he’d do what he always did.

‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.’

He’d say something mean and true. ‘If I’d known they were right about you, I never would've searched for you. You should've stayed in the Upside Down.’

There wasn't a doubt in Will’s mind that if he went missing today instead of three years ago, and if Mike knew how he felt, what he was, Mike wouldn’t go searching.

‘He’s a fag, where do you think he went? Probably with some other guy to get fucked. What do I care?’

He was gay.

He could handle that.

But why did he have to fall for his best friend?

1985

The letters were sparse as time passed.

It was the end of November, almost Christmas, and he only had about a handful of letters from Mike.

They were supposed to go back to Hawkins for Christmas. His mother had decided it was best they didn’t, though, what with the whole bad memories and El — Jane, she was going by Jane now — was supposed to be in hiding.

He’d told Dustin in a letter early in November.

Still, he’d hoped his mother would change her mind.

The phone rang. He looked up, the thought crossing his mind quickly and unwelcome — Mike.

He hesitated, forcing himself to stay seated.

One.

Two.

He got up, crossing the room quickly, grabbing the phone.

“Hello?” He asked, hating how his voice jumped.

The response was immediate and loud.

“Byers!” Lucas’ shout.
“Will the Wise!” Dustin’s carried.

“Hey, Will.” Mike’s voice was quieter.

He huffed a laugh, smiling at the sound of their voices. “It’s so good to hear you guys, hold on, let me let, um, Jane say hi—“

He pulled the phone away, taking a second.

Mike was there. It was better than nothing, better than what he’d gotten as of late.

He cleared his throat, “E— Jane. Phone.”

She looked up from her homework, crossing the room.

He turned the volume higher, holding it between them.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Jane!” Dustin said, and Will could almost hear the grin, “Always the chatterbox.”

“We miss you,” Lucas’ voice was closer.

“We’re in Mike’s basement watching scary movies. What are you guys up to?”

“Homework,” Will responded. “Sorry, I wish I could say something more exciting.”

“So, you haven’t taken up surfing yet? Adopted a Valley Girl accent?”

“Not yet,” Will answered.

He swallowed. California wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t as great as they all must have been thinking. They didn’t go to the beach that often, there weren’t any parties or anything.

“So you haven’t gone completely local, then?” Mike asked, sounding closer than before.

Will’s heart skipped a stupid beat.

“You can take the Byers out of Hawkins…”

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid, what is wrong with you?’ He thought to himself.

“We have become fans of their breakfast burritos, however,” Jane said with a grin, leaning closer to the phone.

Will’s chest twinged.

It was stupid.

The line had gone quiet. He rushed to fill it. “I wish we could be there, seriously. I miss you guys.”

‘I miss you, Mike.’

“We- we both do.” He added, looking at Jane.

“But things are okay here,” Jane says quickly, her face twisting with guilt as if they could see her. “Things are good.”

Will looked up at her.

Good wasn’t how he’d describe any of it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean, we’re doing all right.”

It went quiet again. That was odd, too.

He knew they talked a lot in letters, but Will had figured both Jane and Mike would be rushing to talk to one another.

1986

Spring came, and then Summer, and the school year started again with the Fall.

It was December again.

He wasn’t sure when they’d stopped, just that they had.

Day after day, he’d check the mail on the table, and day after day, he wouldn’t find any for him.

The letters for Jane, however, grew more frequent.

They’d practically doubled.

He tried not to let it sting, but it did.

They’d been best friends for ten years.

He’d been dating Jane, what, three?

He set the envelopes back on the table, letting out a sigh.

If he were honest, it was starting to get to him.

Why wasn’t he reaching out? It wasn’t like he lacked the time.

When he lived in Hawkins, they talked all the time. He thought they’d fixed their issues from that summer.

‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.’

No.

He closed his eyes. It didn’t matter; he didn’t care. Mike hadn’t meant anything by it.

Unless he had.

Like everyone else in that town.

Had he done something? Maybe in a letter or a call.

Mike had figured it out. Figured him out.

That was why he wasn’t reaching out, wasn’t it?

“Will, school!” Jonathan called.

1987

It was the second semester of sophomore year, and nothing had changed, really.

Actually, it had gotten worse. For Jane, that was. Angela and her group had taken their teasing to another level.

Unlike in Hawkin's, Will wasn’t bullied, though. The people of California didn’t know about the whole Zombie Boy thing, the dying and coming back to life.

They were more accepting, too.

Not that Will had come out as gay or anything. He hadn’t— no one knew.

The names didn’t follow him, though.

Maybe it helped that he didn’t really have friends, either. There were a couple of people who were kind, but he didn’t hang out with them outside of school.

Well... there was one boy.

It wasn’t anything.

His name was Liam. He was tall and a little on the buffer side, blonde. He listened to punk music and liked art, but didn’t like reading. He preferred history.

The exact opposite of Mike Wheeler.

1987

“So, what’s the scar from?” Liam asked, nodding at the scar on Will’s side.

Will looked down, the water moving around them. He was sitting on a yellow surfboard, though, so it was doing nothing to hide him.

“Oh, uh, stupid accident from when I was a kid. I got poked with a fire iron.” He explained.

“Shit.” Liam hissed, “That must've hurt.”

Will nodded, “Yeah. yeah. It did.”

The memory came quickly, his eyes glazing over.

He remembered the pain, thrashing around, but what he remembered most was his mother and brother.

'It’s not working!’ Jonathan snapped, ‘Mom, are you listening to me?!’

‘Just wait!’ His mother snapped back. ‘No, leave it!’

‘Mom, you’re killing him!’

Sometimes, he’d wake after a dream, and he could feel it.

The memory was more scar than the actual physical embodiment of his exorcism.

They’d succeeded with one monster, but they gave up too easily. The other one had lain dormant until it couldn’t anymore.

He was just short of sixteen, and with the age came a wonderfully horrible phenomenon that left him feeling dirty.

More often than not, he found himself waking with a stir in his abdomen, the remnants of a dream with Mike Wheeler doing things he never would – not to Will.

Not to a guy.

Those mornings, the scar would burn as if fresh.

He wished his family would tie him down once more and burn it out of him as they had the Mind Flayer.

“Anyway, it’s easy, really,” Liam assured, his hands on the surfboard Will was sitting on.

Will was dragged back into reality.

Why he was sitting on a surfboard, he wasn’t quite sure.

It was the end of February now, and he and Liam had been spending some more time together, so when he offered to teach him how to surf… how could he say no?

He wanted to.

It sounded fun.

It had nothing to do with the recent announcement from Jane that Mike was coming to visit for spring break.

Nothing to do with the fact that he hadn’t told him himself.

Even less to do with the stupid painting he’d started when Jane told him.

So his best friend didn’t tell him he was coming, so what?

He was still coming.

Besides, it didn’t matter.

Will had a life here.

He had friends, he had hobbies, he had Liam.

And if he was maybe hoping that would upset Mike a little, remind him he existed, so what?

He’d forgotten about him. Will could forget, too.

“And then you’re standing!” Liam finished explaining with a grin, “You got this, Byers.”

He did.

He could do this.

1987

Will didn’t bring people home, really. Jane never had any friends over, so it felt a little weird. Besides, the people he hung around weren’t exactly home friends, just school friends.

Acquaintances, more than anything.

He wasn’t sure how he and Liam had ended up back at his, in his room.

Will swallowed, looking towards his easel that held that painting he’d been making Mike. It was something dumb. The Party, as their D&D counterparts, fighting a monster.

Honestly, in that moment, he was a little embarrassed by it, like maybe Liam could see right through it at all, the care and detail Will had placed into it.

The love and want. Hope.

His face was warm.

“Your room's awesome.” Liam said, looking at the posters on the wall, “Ah, I love Jaws.” He nodded at the poster by his bed.

Will nodded, “Yeah, yeah. Uh, no, actually, I hate sharks. My- my friends thought I should hang it up, though, something about the beach.”

Liam glanced at him, “That’s… okay. Uh, you like- you like Little Shop of Horror?”

That was another, smaller, posted on his wall.

“Haven’t seen it.” He admitted, sheepishly, “Jane did, and she gave me the poster. I thought it looked cool.”

Liam hesitated, like he wasn’t totally sure what to say to that.

“I like horror movies.” Will said, filling the silence, “My- my mom doesn’t, though, so I don’t- I don’t put those posters up. She thinks they’re grotesque.”

“Oh, no, yeah, that- that makes more sense.” He said, turning back to Will. He crossed the room towards him, still looking around, “It’s nice. It’s really nice.”

Will’s throat bobbed, his lip tugging between his teeth the closer Liam got.

He was just a few inches away, then. Will could smell the salt of the sea still on him, clinging to his skin the same way a cologne would. His hair was brighter now that it was sunnier out and his skin had tanned a little, blue eyes striking against it, not one freckle in sight.

“I had fun today,” Will said, his voice coming out a little deeper and breathier than he recognized.

“Yeah, it was- it was great.” Liam agreed, and Will would swear he saw his eyes drop to his lips.

‘This is it. This is it.’ He thought, a grin spreading over his face.

Finally, he wouldn’t be different. He’d have kissed someone just like his friends did; it didn’t matter that it’d be a guy, they would never know, he’d just be like them.

The front door opened and shut, “Mike wrote!” Jonathan called out.

Will stepped back, turning his attention to his room door like a dog with a bell when he heard the name. He could see it in his mind, Jonathan flipping through the mail, seeing the name — the ‘From, Mike’ or in Jane’s case ‘Love, Mike’ — and dropping them on the table as he always did in a little pile, Will would flip through in hopes he’d find one with his name.

Just one.

That was all he wanted.

All he needed.

Proof his friends hadn’t forgotten him.

Proof they still cared.

Mike cared.

Liam followed Will’s eyes to the door, “Uh, who’s Mike?”

Will quickly turned back to him. For a second, just one, he saw a mop of black hair that curled at the ends, pale skin dotted in hundreds of freckles, soft brown eyes that knew him inside and out.

He blinked, and he was gone.

“No one.” Will said quickly, trying to convince them both, “Jane’s boyfri— no one. He’s no one.” He moved back towards him, leaning up to kiss him.

Mike didn’t know him.

Not anymore.

He didn’t care to.

“You know, I was thinking,” Liam said quietly, placing his hands on Will’s arms, stopping him just a breath away.

Will froze.

“If you’re… if you’re cool with it, maybe you could… blow me.”

It took a second for the words to settle in, sinking deep into Will. His mouth parted, face twisting, “Oh. Uh, I mean… maybe- maybe we could, uh, k- kiss… first?” His face had gone red, embarrassed at asking.

Liam made a little noise, stepping back, “You know what, it was a stupid question, Byers, forget it. I’m just gonna head out.” He said, slowly moving away from him, reaching for the bag he’d dropped when they went in.

Will’s eyes widened in panic. In a split-second decision, he reached out, grasping his arm, “No, wait. I— I’ll do it. Yeah. Yes.”

Liam turned back, eyebrows raising, “Yeah?”

He hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah.”

1987

Mike's plane had just arrived. Will, Jane, Jonatha,, and Argyle were all waiting for him to deboard.

It’d been a few weeks since he last saw Liam. Since he…

He was busy. So was Will. It didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything.

He was focusing on Mike.

He’d finished his painting just in time. His hands fidgeted around it, a grin on his face. He couldn’t wait to see him. Everything would be fine once he did.

The lack of letters and calls wouldn’t matter anymore. Things would be back to normal as soon as they saw one another.

Whatever had happened with Liam didn’t matter either. Not this week.

Jane stood up, “Mike!” She called, waving.

Will looked up. He waited. The same way he did when the phone would ring.

Jane ran across the room, practically jumping into Mike’s arms, his own wrapping around her as they kissed.

He looked stupid.

Charmingly stupid. He was wearing white sunglasses despite being inside and a stupid orange tropical hat with a bright yellow shirt on top of a purple one.

His hair was long. Way longer than the last time Will had seen him.

He’d seen some pictures that Mike had sent Jane, but even then, it was hard to conceptualise him with the Mike he knew.

He walked over with Jonathan and Argyle.

He walked a little too fast, trouble controlling his face.

“They’re perfect. Thank you.” Jane was saying, stepping around so Mike could greet the rest.

“Oh,” Mike said.

Will’s grin widened, reaching out to hug him.

Mike, half patted him on the back instead, “Hey. How you doing?” He didn’t linger.

Will’s smile slipped, shame washing over him.

“Hey, Mike,” Jonathan said.

“Hey, how you doing?”

The same exact way he greeted Will.

Will looked towards Jane with her flowers, looking at the note Mike had written her.

“Yeah. Good man.”

“Great,” he looked back at Will, down at the rolled up painting in his hands, “What’s that?”

Will shook his head, hands fidgeting around the painting once more, “Uh, it’s nothing. It’s just this… painting I’ve been working on.” He explained, waving it around a little for emphasis.

“Cool.” Mike nodded.

And that was that.

No follow-up questions. Nothing.

It was almost like Will was… nothing.

A decade of friendship between them, but he was treating him like nothing more than Jane’s brother. Like he was just there.

‘Why didn’t he hug me?’ He wondered as they moved through the airport, watching as Mike pulled Jane closer.

The worry started to dig in. Had he said something in one of his last letters? Did Mike- did he know? Had Will messed up?

He must’ve.

The last time they’d seen each other — sure, a year and a half ago, now — Mike had hugged him no problem.

1987

“Not there?” Will asked as Mike came out of the women’s restroom at Rink-O-Mania, searching for Jane.

The whole day had been ridiculous. Ever since Mike stepped off that stupid plane.

“No.” Mike didn’t even stop to face him, turning the corner.

Will followed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at him.

“You should’ve told me she was having trouble.”

Because that was his responsibility?

“I didn’t know they were gonna be here, Mike.”

“Yeah, well, you knew she was having trouble for like a year and didn't tell me.”

He was still walking away from him, expecting Will to follow.

Will’s brows pulled together walking behind him, his anger bubbling with each word. “I didn't know she was lying to you!”

“Which is why you decided to be a douche to her all day?”

He was one to talk.

When was the last time Mike picked up the phone and called Will?

When was the last time he asked how he was doing?

It wasn’t like Mike was treating him any better.

Jane had put him in a fucking terrible situation, basically telling him to lie to Mike, to keep up her little charade, and now Mike was mad at him as if he’d caused it.

“I wasn’t being a douche.”

“You were!” Mike spun around, hands flailing out in front of him, between them, “You were. You were rolling your eyes, moping. You were barely talking. You basically sabotaged the whole day.”

“Well, she was lying to you, Mike!” Wil’s hand jutted out, trying to get it to stick.

Why did it matter how he was acting?

Jane had been lying.

They’d been treating him like dirt all day. Like a third wheel. They barely wanted him around. He should've just gone off with Jonathan and Argyle.

“Straight to your face ever since you got here!” he shoved his hand into him. “And I–” he looked off.

“And I’ve been a third wheel all day. It’s been miserable. So sorry if I wasn't… if I wasn’t smiling.” his shoulders bounced with the ridiculousness.

Mike’s mouth worked around nothing, maybe an excuse. He liked those. “Yeah, whatever man,” he turned, walking away.

Whatever?

Will didn't follow him that time.

“Wel,l what about us?” the question tumbled out.

Mike turned, “What?”

Will stepped up to him, “Well, you’re mad that I didn’t talk to you? Seems like you’ve made it super clear that you’re not interested in anything I have to say.”

“That’s just not true.”

“You called maybe a couple of times. It’s been a year, Mike. Meanwhile, El has like a book of letters from you.”

“Because she’s my girlfriend, Will.”

“And- and us?” Will asked.

They were meant to be best friends.

“We’re friends. We’re friends.”

“Well, we used to be best friends!”

Mike swallowed. He glanced away, “Well then, maybe you should've reached out more,” he said, voice turning a little softer. “I- I don’t know. But why is it on me? Why- why am I the bad guy?”

Will turned his head down, looking away.

Because he was already writing.

The same stationery, the same pen, the same post office, the same delivery address.

If anything, Mike had to have gone out of his way not to write to him.

‘Best friends my ass.’

“Let's just find her, okay?”

Right, because why would Mike care about their crumbling friendship when Jane was there?

1987

“Can I… Can I show you something?” Will asked.

Mike nodded.

He turned, slowly, reaching for his bag, for the painting he’d spent months making.

He wasn’t totally sure why he was doing it.

Mike didn’t want it.

He grabbed it, twisting it in his hands.

Still, he handed it over, glancing at Mike as he did it.

Mike didn’t hesitate, grasping the rolled-up painting and pushing the map to the side.

Will’s eyes lingered on his face even before it was unrolled.

He’d poured so much time, so much effort into it.

It wasn’t meant to be romantic.

Not originally.

Not in any sense that mattered.

It was a painting.

Just a painting.

Something he made because he missed him.

Something he worked on when he couldn’t get him out of his head.

It wasn’t romantic.

Slowly – too slow for Will’s liking and anxiety – Mike unrolled the painting, eyes scanning over it as it opened, revealing the painted canvas.

His eyebrows jutted up as Will held his breath.

It wasn’t like it was anything scandalous.

Not like the many drawings he had where he’d practiced Mike’s face, desperate not to forget every little detail.

The expressiveness of his eyebrows, the bump of his nose, the freckles that painted over his face in delicate little patterns that almost resembled constellations.

Each one memorized and noted in Will’s mind and then on paper.

No, the painting he was giving Mike – gifting Mike – was simple.

It’d taken hours, days, but it wasn’t anything important.

Just the Party fighting a dragon.

A smile broke through Mike’s face, the first Will had seen in a while.

“This is amazing.” He said.

Will’s chest felt like it exploded, bursting with air at the statement. He nodded, fighting back his own smile.

Mike’s head spun around towards him, “Did you paint this?”

“Y–” he shook his head, smile plastering on his face, “Yeah. Yeah. I mean…” He looked away quickly, “I mean El…”

He paused for just a second, conceptualizing what he was doing.

“Asked me to,” he finished, “She commissioned it basically. I mean, she told me what to draw.” he was looking out the car window now, watching the desert as it passed them by.

It was a lie, but a necessary one.

That was the thing, though.

Will couldn't lie to Mike.

Not truly.

Even as kids, he’d struggled with it, telling him the stupid number he’d rolled in their campaign despite the fact that it would mean the Party would lose.

He couldn't look at Mike and lie.

“Anyway, my point is,” he forced himself to turn back to Mike.

To his best friend.

He looked down at the painting, pointing at the version of Mike he saw. The one who protected and believed in him, in all of them.

“See how you’re leading us here? You’re guiding the whole Party. Inspiring us.”

He didn’t need to know just how deeply Will meant it.

That he was the inspiration behind everything Will did.

Everything Will created.

There wasn’t a thing Will touched that wasn’t painted – or tainted, depending on the perspective you looked at it with – with what he felt for the other boy.

“That's- that's what you do. And see your coat of arms here?” he pointed at the heart on the shield. “It’s a heart. And I know it’s sort of on the nose, but that’s what holds this whole Party together. Heart. Because…”

He pressed his lips together as Mike turned to look at him, lips parted, staring intently at him.

It was true.

Mike held them all together.

He was the reason the Party existed in the first place.

He’d asked Will to be his friend on the swings.

He’d invited Lucas – his neighbor – to join them.

When Dustin had moved to town, he’d invited him too.

Without Mik,e the Party wouldn’t exist.

Will had to look away. It was too difficult to face Mike when he looked at him like that.

Not when Will knew it wasn't in the way he wanted.

“I mean, without heart, we’d all fall apart.”

“Even El. Especially El.” he looked back at Mike.

There was something even truer there.

Not in El.

In himself.

He swallowed, turning away, “These last few months… she’s been so… lost without you.”

It was something he’d never thought to be grateful for until it was gone.

“She’s just so…” the words stuck in his throat, “different… from other people.”

From the Party.

From society.

“And when you’re… when you’re different… sometimes…” he breathed out, tears pooling in his eyes as he looked out the window once more.

‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.’

Different.

It was a nice way of describing what he was.

Gay.

A queer.

A fag.

“You feel like… a mistake.” It was a miracle he managed to keep his voice from cracking on the word.

“But you make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all.” he turned to Mike quickly, his chest tight, “Like she’s better for being different.”

Despite it all, it was true.

Even when he wasn't around, Mike brought him an alarmingly calm sense of comfort.

“And that gives her the courage to fight on.”

At least, it gave him the courage to fight on.

Day after day in the Upside Down.

Month after mont,h struggling to find where he belonged in California.

“If she was mean to you or- or she- she seemed like she was pushing you away, it’s probably just because she’s scared of losing yo,u just like you’re scared of losing her.”

Except Mike wasn’t scared of losing Will, not the same agonizingly terrifying way Will was scared of losing Mike.

“And- and if she was going to lose you, I- i think she’d rather just get it over with quick. Like- like ripping off a bandaid.”

It’d be easier that way. For Mike to just turn him down. Push him away for good.

Not like he had the last few months with the letters slowing and no phone calls.

Just gone.

Over.

No more friends.

Nothing.

No more Mike.

It would be easier.

That’s why he hadn't reached out either.

It was easier that way.

Dismantling the friendship right at its core.

“So yeah. El needs you, Mike. And she always will.”

It hadn't worked.

Despite his efforts, it hadn't worked.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin gave way to dark curls and large brown puppy dog eyes with freckles.

Time and time again, it was Mike who visited him in his dreams, in his hands, in his bones.

Mike, Mike, Mike.

“Yeah?” Mike asked quietly, with a soft smile.

Will nodded, fighting back the tears, “Yeah.”

Mike stayed watching him, his eyes soft and caring, the way they always were.

The way that had first tricked Will into falling for him.

Will turned before Mike did.

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't offer up his truth painted in blue and yellow and green and wrapped in the nice little bow that was Jane’s existence – in what was right and real and acceptable – and still face the way Mike looked at him.

The tears fell then.

It wasn't fair.

The painting was never meant to be this.

But Mike needed i,t and he needed it from Jane, not from him.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, breath stuttering out of him, screwing his eyes shut as tears ran down his face.

This was how it was meant to be.

This was how it had to be.

What Will wanted didn't matter.

It never would.

1987

“El? El, can you hear me?” Mike asked as they dragged her out of the water and to the table. “El? El. El!”

She was choking in front of them, struggling to breathe.

Will’s eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to hold on to the place she was in within her mind.

He reached out, placing his hand on Mike’s shoulder.

Mike whirled around to face him.

“Don't stop.” Will said, watching him, “Okay, you’re the heart. Okay? Remember that. Youre the heart!”

Jane needed them. She needed Mike.

She needed to know what Mike felt, how he felt.

Even if it hurt Will in the process.

Mike turned back to El.

There was a moment of hesitation, Will’s hand still on his shoulder.

‘You can do this. Just tell her how you really feel.’ Will thought.

It’d be good for all of them.

Mike needed to say it, Jane needed to hear it, and Will needed to hear it, too.

He needed it in perspective.

He needed to hear Mike say it.

Crush any hopes he may still have.

“El? I don't know if you can hear this but... if you can, I want you to know I'm here. Okay? I'm right here. And…”

Will’s eyes flickered between the two, listening to the slight breath of hesitation in Mike’s voice.

“I love you. El, do you hear me? I love you. I'm sorry I don't say it more, it's not because I'm scared of you. I'm not. I've never felt that way, never! But I am scared that one day you'll realize you don't need me anymore. And I thought that if I said how I felt, it would somehow make that day…”

Will’s brows pulled together, looking at Mike, the moment sinking in.

“Hurt more. But the truth is, El… I don't know how to live without you. I feel like my life started that day we found you in the woods.”

Will felt something twist inside his chest.

‘Oh.’

There it was.

What he needed so desperately to hear.

The day he’d gone missing. It may have been the worst day of his life, but for Mike… for Mike it had been the best.

“You were wearing that yellow Benny's Burgers t-shirt, and it was so big it almost swallowed you whol,e and I knew, right then and there in that moment that I loved you.”

He could remember how cold it had felt. How certain he was that he was in Hell.

The soft glimmer of hope that maybe someone would find him. That he’d be okay.

He’d gone and disappeared, and Mike had found the love of his life.

Maybe if he’d never done it, things would be different.

It was a horrible thought or wish.

If he hadn't gone missing, so much would be different.

Jane might have still been in that lab, or worse.

It didn't matter.

If it hadn’t been her, it would've been another girl.

Still.

The worst day of his life had been Mike’s best.

It didn’t matter that he was gone.

It didn't matter that he was cold and hungry and running for his life.

That just a few nights later, he’d been caught and… defiled in a way that permanently scarred him.

Sometimes he wondered if maybe that was the moment that had made him what he was.

If somehow it had irrevocably changed him within.

Maybe he hadn’t always been this way.

Maybe he could have been normal if that creature had never stuck its vine down his throat and pumped him full of its children.

The best day of Will Byers' life had been when Mike Wheeler asked him to be his friend on the playground, at the swings.

The best day of Mike Wheeler’s life had been when Will Byers had died.

“And I've loved you every day since. I love you on your good days, I love you on your bad days. I love you with your powers, I love you without your powers, I love you for exactly who you are. You're my superhero! And I can't lose you! Okay? Do you hear me? I can't lose you! You can do anything! You can fly, you can move mountains. I believe that, I really do. But right now, you just have to fight. Okay? El, do you hear me? You need to fight! You have to fight! Fight! Fight! That's it, El, fight El. Fight. Fight!

Yeah.

Mike would never love Will back.

Not the way Will wanted.

Maybe not even the way Will thought he did.

Maybe they weren’t as close as he’d once thought.

His delusions and wants had clouded his judgment.

Mike was his best friend, and that was all he’d ever be.

It was a sickening thought, but maybe it’d be enough to ensure he’d never get his hopes up again.

Mike would have been happier if that had really been his dead body they pulled from the lake.

He should have stayed dead.

It would have been less painful.

1987

They’d been living with the Wheelers for a few months now.

They’d worked through their issues back in Lenora, and things were finally back to normal between them.

Living with Mike just felt like a long, never-ending sleepover.

The best part of it was that he got to see the ugly.

It wasn’t like in Lenora when he could make Mike bigger in his mind, turn him into this great person.

Here, living with him, he had to deal with how loud he was, the arguing with Holly and screaming at Nancy, and the long showers that used up all the hot water.

He also got to see how kind he was with Holly outside of public perception. The care he put into helping her with her homework or doing her hair, even as he complained about it.

He got to spend nights up late with Mike watching movies and eating pizza.

Getting over Mike should have been easier now, but if anything, he found himself falling deeper.

“Byers!”

He didn’t even fight the urge to roll his eyes, turning around, “What is it, Josh? I’m busy.” He asked, holding up the grocery bag for emphasis.

Josh grinned at him, “Heard you and Wheeler finally did it.”

He blinked at him slowly, “Okay.” He muttered to himself, shaking his head. He lowered the bag, “Did what?” He asked.

Over the year,s he’d found it was easier to just go along with it. It kept from the pushing and the shoving. He could take a couple of stupid jokes.

“Well, I don’t kno,w and I don’t really want to— gross. Surprised your parents are fine with you two living together. You sleep in his bed? Cuddle?”

“Hilarious. Are you done?”

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he’d said it.

Josh grabbed him by the shirt, shoving him into the brick wall.

He winced, eyes shutting.

Josh leaned closer, voice dropping, “Listen, queer, just because you get to live with your little boyfriend now, doesn’t mean things are different.”

Will swallowed, nodding. “Okay. Got it.” He whispered, praying he’d just let him go.

Josh dropped him, stepping back, “God, I hope for Wheeler's sake you know how to keep your hands to yourself.”

1988

When Mike had asked him to help him sneak out to see Jane, Will had thought that was finally it.

He’d be able to get it in his head that what Mike and Jane had was serious and real, and there was no chance.

There was no chance.

But Mike would get home, and he’d look a little lost until his eyes landed on Wil,l and then a smile would stretch across his face, and he’d drop onto the couch next to him, arm drifting closer every night.

During the day, though, he’d be off with Jane.

Lucas spent a lot of time at the hospital with Max, and though Will tagged along at times, sometimes it felt like he was third wheeling. Even if she was in a coma.

Dustin wasn’t exactly up for hanging out either. He was still mourning the death of Eddie, and Will understood, just didn’t exactly make him pleasant to be around.

It left him alone more often than not. He tried to stay home, but it was awkward. He hadn’t quite settled into being at Mike’s without him.

He knew he was welcome there any time before, and that the Wheelers had graciously invited them to live with them.

Still, it lingered.

There were whispers when he was out, though, and lingering looks.

He tried to stay away from where he knew the guys, like Josh, liked to hang out.

Sometimes it was like they searched him out on purpose, though.

Hawkins was still Hawkins.

1988

"There’s music and food — good food, not like the snowball five years ago.” Mike was explaining. He’d been running around all day planning the dance. It was weird in a… charming kind of way.

Fuck.

He sat back in his seat, glancing at Will once more, “You wanna go?”

Will blinked. Double fuck. The question slipped the image into his head. The two of them at the dance in matching ties, slow dancing to one of the songs.

“… What?” He asked.

“Yeah. I mean. If you want. You don’t have to. I was just—” he gestured vaguely with the clipboard, the crepe paper, “—thinking about attendance.”

‘Obviously.’ He thought to himself, nodding.

Lucas closed his eyes. “Did you just ask Will to the dance?”

‘At least I’m not insane.’

“I asked if he wanted to go. There’s a difference.” Mike said defensively.

‘See? It’s just your imagination.’

“And this is for… attendance?” He asked, trying to make sure it stuck in his head.

“Yeah.” Mike swallowed, looking at the whole group, “Like, all of us. We need numbers, guys. Not enough people bought tickets — probably because until I took over, there wasn’t a theme.”

“All of us,” Will said quietly.

‘Same as always. Friends.’

Mike looked at him, his eyebrows pulling down as he did. “Yeah, I mean, I just asked, 'you wanna go?' I didn’t, like, I didn’t specify.”

“You were looking right at Will,” Dustin said.

“Mike!” Someone screamed, popping in through the door, “Todd says balloons are trying too hard.”

Mike stood up, quickly, grabbing the clipboard, “Think about it. Gotta go again.”

“We have history!” Dustin yelled as Mike ran out of the room, right past the incoming teacher.

“Who the fuck is Todd?” Lucas whispered.

Will was still staring at where Mike had been sitting.

Mike wasn’t gay. Mike had a girlfriend. A girlfriend he’d be going with if it weren’t for her hiding from the government.

Class went by in a flash. Mike hadn’t come back throughout the lesson. Will didn’t wait for Lucas and Dustin as he left the classroom, searching the hall for Mike.

A hand came down on his shoulder.

“Lucas—“

“Keep walking, Byers,” Paul said, pushing him forward, walking on his left, Josh at his right.

Will swallowed but did as they said, “What do you want, Paul?” he asked, glancing back just once.

Josh clapped his hands, “You know we saw that whole thing.” He said, clicking his tongue, inhaling sharply with a wince, “Ouch. You didn’t think Wheeler was going to ask you did you?”

“N- no.”

“Good. Good. Because you know you may be a fag, but Wheeler isn’t.”

Paul snorted, “Unless you’ve rubbed off on him, that is. You rub off on Wheeler, Byers?”

Josh was laughing before Paul had even finished the question, “Aw, is that what you want? You wanna rub off on Wheeler? While he’s off planning this—“ he ripped a flyer from a locker, snapping it, “nerdfest.”

“Mr. Moore. Mr. Miller.” Miss Campbell said from the door to her classroom, brows raised at the boys, “Class. Now.”

Josh dropped his arm from Will, nodding, “Of course, Miss Campbell.” He stepped away, grinning at Will, “Maybe he will ask you, Byers. Then you can have all your little gay fantasies come true.”

Paul laughed, high-fiving Josh as they left Will.

1989

“Things? What kind of things?” Mike asked, both ends of his snapped pencil tapping against the desk.

Will tapped his pencil against the desk, copying Mike’s rhythm. “The kind that makes you take an hour in the shower and means I have to use the one in the basement. You guys really need to invest in a water heater down there.”

Mike turned around, jaw going slack as he did so, “What?” He hissed as the bell rang.

Will’s eyebrows raised in shock at the response.

It was easy to play this confident kind of role when Mike’s back was to him, but when he looked at him, it reminded Will of what was real, what was on the line. Years of friendship for something he wasn’t totally sure was real.

His mouth worked soundlessly for a second, head ducking in embarrassment before looking back up at Mike, “Just, I don’t know, if it’s chronic — your grip issues — sounds like— just, you know, if you ever… need, like… help with that…”

Mike was staring at him.

Will was blushing red. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't have been doing what he’d been doing. ‘You went too far, you went too far, you went too far.’

“Hey!” Lucas called out, standing at the door, “What the hell are you guys talking about? I want to go to lunch.”

Will stood, grabbing his bag, “You guys go ahead. I- I’m gonna go to the art room.” He explained, hurrying out.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Mike isn’t ga,y he’s not- he doesn’t like me.’

“Hey, Byers, quick question.”

“Not today.” Will snapped back at Josh, walking faster.

He already felt stupid; he didn’t need a reminder.

“Hey.” Josh snapped, pushing Will into the lockers.

Will stumbled, shoulder hitting the metal with a clang. He pressed his lips together, straightening back up, looking back at Josh, “I’m really not in the mood for this today, okay? Can we just- just tomorrow. Do it twice tomorrow or whatever. I can’t— please.”

“Look, man, I’m not here to call you names or push you around.”

Will fought back the urge to mention that that was exactly what he’d just done. “What do you want, Josh?”

He shook his head, huffing softly, “I’m just wondering what it is you and Wheeler are always whispering about.”

Will’s heart beat sped up in his chest. He could feel his ears heating up.

“It- no. I don’t- just, like, D&D stuff. It’s not- it’s nothing.”

“Is nothing why he looked at you like you just offered to suck his dick?”

His eyes widened, “I- I didn’t— that’s not what— I wouldn’t— no.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So you don’t suck dick?”

Will’s eyes flickered, just a second.

Barely anything.

A fleeting thought, a memory back to California, to a boy who didn’t talk to him again after he’d done just that, a boy he never kissed, a boy he hadn’t thought about since Mike stepped back into his life.

It was enough for Josh, though.

Josh’s face lit up like Christmas Day, “You do.”

Fear flashed across Will’s face, “I- I didn’t— I don’t.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Byers. God, I knew you were a fag, but you’ve actually— ugh, fucking disgusting.” He scoffed, shaking his head, backing away, as if the confirmation was more than enough.

1989

“How is he?” Lucas pushed off the locker, walking to Will.

Will shrugged. He’d just left Mike and his parents; they were taking him home early due to his suspension for punching Josh. “He’s fine. He’ll be… he’ll be fine.”

He would be.

The whole thing would blow over by the time his suspension was over, or his parents would handle it.

He sighed, his thumb finding its way to his mouth, nipping at it anxiously.

Mike had always defended him; that wasn’t new by any means, but he usually managed to contain it, keep it from turning physical.

It wasn’t like people didn’t say things, anyway. They always did.

He didn't understand why this time Mike had reacted violently.

He didn’t understand why he kept saying he hadn’t done it for him.

‘That you might get ideas.’

It wasn't a new sentiment by any means.

The guys who picked on him were always doing it. Implying him a relationship with other members of the Party. Usually Mike. Almost always Mike.

Especially since moving in with the Wheelers.

“We should get to class,” Lucas said quietly, frowning at Will like he could tell his head was elsewhere.

Will nodded, following just a pace behind.

‘What if I do?’

It was such a dumb response.

Honestly, somewhere between New Year's and today, he’d lost all his senses.

He blamed Mike.

Mike and his stupid New Year's kiss, and the stupid gum he took from his mouth, and the stupid game they kept playing in chemistry.

He blamed himself.

He knew better.

He still did it.

He shouldve been paying attention; maybe then he would’ve noticed Josh.

“Where the fuck is Wheeler?” Josh snapped, his arm slamming into Will’s chest as Will was thrust back against the wall.

Will flinched, air knocking out of him. His head hit the wall hard, eyes screwing shut.

“Hey!” Lucas yelled.

Will opened his eyes, ignoring the ringing in his ears. His head turned towards Lucas, held back by two other stupid jocks.

Josh’s arm slipped up until it pressed into his throat, pinning him in place.

Will inhaled sharply, eyes going wide as his throat started to close, restricted by the action.

“Just tell me where he is, and I’ll let you go.” Josh said, “I don’t want anything with you. Your little boyfriend punched me in the face, and I need to teach him a lesson.”

“He went home, Josh, let Will go.” Lucas snapped, pushing the other two away, coming up by Josh. he didnt reach for him or try to push him off, though, like Mike probably would have, it would have only made things worse.

Josh was breathing heavy through his nose, his face red in anger, nose bruised. If he were one of Holly’s cartoons, Will was certain there’d be steam coming from his ears. His arm pressed deeper into Will’s throat.

Tears prickled at his eyes, not from sadness or fear, just from the lack of oxygen. He was going to start turning blue in a second.

Josh leaned closer, his face almost pressed against Will’s.

He always found that ironic.

They were so scared of him being gay, but then they’d touch him to push him, or they’d get real close and personal, or they’d talk about him getting fucked.

He was half convinced they thought about it more than he did which, if you asked him, was pretty fucking gay.

“He’s lucky he’s not a fucking faggot like you.” Josh spat, his voice low and demeaning. “I’m just gonna mess him up a little bit. If he were, I’d bash his fucking head into the wall.”

He pushed him once more before backing away, wiping his nose.

Will stumbled as his feet hit the floor again.

Lucas rushed to his side, but he shook his head.

He didn't want to make things worse.

1989

Will was lying on the bed, his cock pressed between his stomach and Mike’s mattress.

Mike was on top of him now, his cock sliding between his ass, but never dipping inside. “C’mon then, ‘m close, and I wanna get one more outta you. Hump the bed, baby. Fuck my mattress. Can you do that for me, my Cleric?”

Will shook his head.

He was too sensitive.

It was too much.

His body wanted more.

He pressed down into the mattress with a whimper, matching each thrust of Mike.

If he closed his eyes, if he let himself imagine it, it was almost like Mike was fucking him.

God, he felt so big.

He was big.

Will wanted him. He wanted him so bad.

“You want to know why— shit, Will, why I won't fuck you?” He asked, hips smacking against his ass.

Yes.

Yes.

Will wanted to know.

He wanted so desperately to know why.

Why tease him with it? Why bring it up, and just not do it?

‘Fuck me,’ he wanted to beg. He wanted to feel Mike inside of him. Feel him stretch him out and pound into him until he forgot his name, until the only thing he could think was, ‘Mike, Mike, Mike.’

Fuck him until he was stupid with it.

Fuck him full.

Fuck him until Mike was dripping out of him, leaving him claimed and as his.

“I want to take my time with you, Will. I’m gonna—“ Mike cut himself off, moaning as he hid his face in Will’s neck.

Will moaned, stretching his head to allow Mike to kiss his neck as much as he wanted.

“I’m gonna take you out for dinner first. Something n- nice. Wine and dine you. And I’m not fucking you somewhere where someone could find us. I’ll make that barn real nice for us, okay? Lots of blankets, lots of candles. I’m going to make it as good for you as I possibly can.”

Will panted. He didn’t interrupt.

How could he when Mike was saying something so romantic?

Mike gasped, his hips stuttering. He pushed himself up, thrusting faster.

“Will, Will, fuck, I’m going to fuck you so good, I promise, just not today. Not today. Gonna fuck you stupid. Will. Will, baby.” He moaned, cum sputtering out of him.

Will gasped, feeling it. Mike’s cum driping between his legs as Mike pulled back.

He could feel it slipping between him, bound to pool on the sheets below them.

He reached his hand back without quite thinking, moaning as he found Mike's cum.

It wasn’t really a thought, more a want. A need. He needed Mike inside him.

Will ran his finger through it, collecting as much as he could. Slowly, he pressed his fingers to his hole, moaning as he pushed them in. He didn’t even find his prostate, the mere thought of Mike’s cum buried deep inside him, of Mike watching him do it, pushing him over the edge, his cock sputtering one final time.

Mike’s lips pressed against his back, trailing up his spine. “You’re amazing. You’re so amazing, Will, you gotta know how much I want you.” He panted as he crawled off of Will, dropping next to him. He turned towards him, tugging him into his arms.

Will let himself be pulled, snuggling into Mike’s arms, his eyes closing.

He loved this.

He loved the during, but he loved the after more.

When he found himself a little stupid, drunk on Mike. When Mike would pull him into his arms and soothe him.

Mike ran his hand over his back, “You okay, baby?”

He loved the way Mike called him baby and checked in.

He loved that when Mike fucked him, even when he didn't fuck him, he felt safe. His mind would slip into this quiet little place, leaving Mike to manhandle him as he pleased, Will pliable and putty in his hands. He trusted Mike.

He nodded, “Good. So good. So… thank you. Even if you didn’t fuck me.”

Mike laughed, resting his chin on the top of his head. He tilted his face, hiding it in Will’s hair, breathing him in.

Another thing he loved.

That Mike was as obsessed with him as he was with him.

“I broke up with El today.”

Will stiffened in his arms. His eyes opened slowly, a wave of reality crashing over him, dragging him out of the place he felt safest.

‘No.’

“You broke up with her,” Will said quietly.

Mike nodded, face buried in Will’s hair. “Yeah. Yeah. It went… It’s over.”

Will sank deeper into Mike’s arms, searching for that relief and safety he always felt in them. It didn’t come.

All that he could feel was cold and scared.

Sure, Jane didn’t deserve to be cheated on, and yes, Will wanted to be chosen. He wanted Mike. He didn’t want to share, not really, even if it brought an odd, guilty kind of thrill.

But she was safe.

The same safe Will felt in Mike’s arms, they could feel out in public in the real world in society because she hid them. She hid what they had. What they were.

Lucas would have questions.

‘You did what? Why would you do that? You love her. Dude, you’ve been dating since you were twelve. Why?’

Questions Mike couldn’t answer.

Not if the answer was Will.

Dustin would be upset. He wouldn't understand.

‘You broke up with her? Are you insane? Did you lose your mind? What? She has to hide from the government, and you just can’t be with her anymore? She’s alone already! You dumped her?!’

And it wouldn't just be them, they’d just be the most direct about it.

Both their families would have questions.

People at school knew Mike was seeing someone, that he had a girlfriend.

If word got out somehow, Will could only imagine what would follow.

“You realize how stupid this is, don’t you?” He asked, tears slipping from his eyes. “If people- if people ask you questions—“

“You don’t have a girlfriend.” Mike cut him off, “No one ever asks you questions.”

Will snorted.

No.

They didn't ask questions.

They called him names.

They pushed him.

They made crude remarks, asked questions Will hadn’t had answers to, far too early in his life.

They teased him and mocked him for it.

Will being gay had never been a question; it was decided for him before he even knew what it was to be gay.

“People have been calling me names since I was a kid, Mike. I don’t need a girlfriend, they’re going to think it no matter what.”

Mike burrowed further into Will’s hair, “We’ll be careful. No one will find out. No one will… this is good, Will. This is good.”

He was stupid.

This wasn’t good.

No matter how careful they could be, it wasn’t a certainty. Jane and Mike were a certainty.

It kept Lucas and Dustin from looking too close.

It kept their families from noticing that they stood too close to one another, that Will would sneak up into Mike’s bedroom almost every night now, and when he didn’t, Mike would sneak into the basement.

“Just hold me, Mike.” Will whispered, “Please. I just… I need you right now.”

Nodding, Mike tightened his hold around Will.

Will tried to let it calm him.

Still, in the back of his mind, he could see it.

The beginning of the end.

1989

“Did you have fun?” Mike asked.

Will smiled. It was such a ridiculous question.

“Always have fun with you.” He said, elbowing him lightly.

“Even with Holly?”

“Especially with Holly.” Will whispered like it was some big secret, “She got you to hold my hand. I think she likes me with you.”

Mike’s eyes widened, huffing a laugh, “Uh—“

“Relax. I’m kidding. She’s ten. She doesn’t know.” He assured Mike.

Even as he said it, though, he couldn't stop the wandering question about what it would be like if she did.

It was things like that that were dangerous. The kind of moments where he felt himself questioning what it would be like if their siblings knew the truth about them – about their relationship, whatever it was they wanted to define it as. Friends, best friends, something more, something less.

The danger didn't come in the dates that weren't dates, it didn't come in standing close or in holding each other's hands in the darkness of the movie theater, or in grasping a belt loop or two.

It didn't come in dirty little secrets whispered into each other's ears or in breathless kisses they couldn’t quite contain, or in the look across the table or room that they wanted something.

Wanted each other.

No, the danger came in the normalcy of it all.

The threat of thinking what they had could actually be something serious, something real.

The maybe, somehow, someway, they could look Holly in her 10-year-old eyes, and say that yes, they were best friends, but they were also something more. That they liked to kiss and go out with each other, and maybe call it something other than friendship.

Their relationship had always been different from that of theirs with Dustin, Lucas, or even Ma,x and apparently even Jane.

Maybe they could define it now.

Something more than friends.

More than best friends.

Best friends had always been a clutch. Something nice and simple they could reach for when things got too close to the truth.

That the way they looked at each other, the way they felt inside wasn't just friendship.

It was more than what they had for the Party, but it was supposed to be less than the reality.

Maybe, though, the reality of the term boyfriends wasn't so out of reach.

With Jane in the picture, with Mike going out with her, dating her, kissing her, loving her, there was no need to define what they were. Mike and Will could just be Mike and Will the same way they always had been, the same way they always would be.

Friends.

Best friends.

“I’ve been thinking about yesterday.” Mike blurted, cutting through Will’s thoughts.

Will’s eyebrows jumped, a flush quickly seeping onto his cheeks.

Yesterday.

Yeah, Will had been thinking about yesterday, too. It was hard not to. He could still feel the way Mike felt over him, pressing down on top of him, sliding between him so close to what he wanted and so far all at once.

Mike looked over, his own face flushing red, “I— no. No! Not—“ he laughed, and Will could tell it wasn’t out of mockery but rather his own embarrassment. “I mean, yeah, that was… fuck, Will, I wasn’t talking about, uh… I was thinking maybe- maybe we can drop Holly off at home and then… go to the barn?” He offered, slowing to a stop.

Will stopped, turning to him, the air punched out of him. His eyes were wide, unbelieving. He swallowed, Adams's apple bobbing, “The barn?” He asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice.

It was ridiculous. He wanted to pretend it didn't matter, act like he hadn't spent every waking moment since that drive in with the stupid condom thinking about it, imagining what it would be like to have Mike fuck him, imagining what if it would feel like to be so full of him, so desperate for him, feel him stretching him to the very brink of existence, feel him pounding against him, feel him fill him, and drip, drip, drip, drip out of him.

Mike nodded, “Tonight. Or... this weekend, maybe. We could… we’d be alone.”

Will looked away for a second, glancing around the mostly empty street. He wanted to be sure they were really alone. He stepped closer to Mike, “I could make the- the time for… that.”

He said, trying to play cool, maybe a little coy.

Mike smiled, a little shy and hidden, “Cool.” He murmured. It was always nice to know he could have that effect on him. He loved it when Mike was confident, when he took charge and led the Party – led him. There was something about it, though, when it came to these things, that made Will’s chest warm at the way Mike talked quietly. If he gave himself room to think about it, he could probably come to the conclusion it was because it made it obvious he cared at least half as much as Will did. That there was something as sacred there for him. That he hadn’t done this with Jane.

This was meant for Will, and Will alone.

It was happening. It was finally happening. He was going to have sex with Mike Wheeler.

He hadn’t even noticed Holly’s reappearance until her voice cut through the fantasy.

“What’s a fag?”

Will's face paled beyond reason, slowly, turning his head towards the girl at the word he had heard a million times before directed towards him.

‘I won't be the father to a fag.’

“What?” Mike asked, the word quiet and small, unlike Holly’s question.

Holly’s face flickered, as if even though she didn’t understand the word, she realized she’d said something bad. Her eyes flicked away, towards the street she had come back from.

“Where-“ Will swallowed, “Where did you hear that?” He asked.

It was a dumb question. Where else could she have heard it if not on the street where she'd come from?

From the small town of Hawkins, Indiana, where they threw the slur around like sugar in their morning coffee.

‘Go,d I knew you were a fag, but you’ve actually— ugh, fucking disgusting.’

She opened her mouth, looking back up at Mike.

“Holly.” He whispered.

“I didn’t hear it.” She mumbled, and her eyes flicked away again.

Mike looked towards Will.

Will didn’t look back. He could feel it in the way he always did when Mike would look at him, bearing into his soul, as if he could read every molecule of his being.

‘Aw, is that what you want? You wanna rub off on Wheeler?’

Mike didn't say a word before he moved. One step after another, Mike went down the street, turning that avenue Holly had come from.

This couldn't be happening.

“M- Mike.” Will found his voice, following after.

Mike slowed to a stop in front of the theater.

In dripping red paint, the sign that listed the movie for the day read ‘Mike Wheeler is a fag.’

Will felt his heart drop.

“No.” Mike whispered, “No. No, no, no, no, no.” He hissed.

It took Will a second, maybe two, before he finally reacted, before it really set in.

There were a million questions in his mind.

Who had done this?

Why had they done it?

Why Mike?

Why not him?

It was always him, why not him, it should've been him, why not him?

Why not him?

It should've been him.

It wasn't.

The sign didn't read anything about him. It was just Mike's name there, as if he alone had done this to himself, as if Will had had no action behind it, as if Will hadn’t caused it, taken advantage of the situation, manipulated it for his own gain.

‘Then you can have all your little gay fantasies come true.’

“Mike,” Will’s voice was quiet, soft, moving towards Mike. “Mike?”

‘So you don’t suck dick?’

He wanted to reach out, to touch his arm, maybe hold his hand, and tell him he understood. That this happened to him every fucking day of his life. He didn't know how he couldn't make things worse. It shouldn't have happened in the first place. It wouldn't have if Mike could follow what Will said, if he had understood him. Why couldn't he have understood him? This was what happened when you weren't careful. This is what happened when you were foolish, the way he had been just five minutes earlier, considering what it would be like if Holly knew about their secret. Their dark twisted secret, the thing that made them sick and perverse.

‘Did he fuck you? That’s what you wanted, right? Why you ran away.’

“I’m gonna call Jonathan.” He whispered.

Mike didn’t respond.

He wasn't sure why he was doing it. Jonathan didn't know about what they were. He didn't know about Will. But looking at Mike was too painful. Looking at the sign was worse. He heard it again and again being thrown at him. The word.

Fag.

From the bully on the playground, to the guy on the news, to his father before he left their family. Left because of him.

He heard it in the things his friends didn't say. The way they looked through a porno magazine, and Will couldn't find the words to express himself in a way that mattered. In the way they'd glance at him sometimes when they talked about girls or their relationships, like he just wouldn't understand, like he couldn't, like they knew it, and they just wouldn't say it.

‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!’

He heard it in the way Mike would talk about himself.

Mike's need to be normal, to be perceived as the proper son, the proper man.

‘Men don’t sit around all day coloring like a- a faggot.’

Normal.

It was a word Mike had been using for almost two years now, a desperate attempt to hold onto something he no longer could grasp. A word he had let go of or maybe twisted into the definition of what they were now together, except they weren't together, they couldn't be. This was proof of it. This was all the proof he needed. This was all the proof he had known would come someday because what they had wasn't normal – not the normal Mike needed, not the normal Mike wanted in life.

Mike wanted the normal that came with a girlfriend – with Jane – with a wife and kids and a white picket fence and a dog and a 9 to 5 like his father.

Mike wanted a normal that he could not have with a man; Mike wanted a normal he could have. A normal that had always been supplied and handed to him.

No one ever asked Mike.

No one ever assumed.

They didn't label him.

Not like they had Will.

‘You know you may be a fag, but Wheeler isn’t.’

The phone at the booth rang and rang and rang before Jonathan finally picked up.

“Hello?”

“Jonathan?” His voice cracked around his brother's name.

How could he explain what was happening without telling him the truth?

“Jonathan, we- we need you. Mike needs… it says he’s a- he’s a fag. The movie theater. It says… Jonathan, I don't know what to do. We need- I need you.”

‘You’re a freak. But what? You wanna be normal? Do you wanna be just like everyone else? Being a freak is the best, alright? I’m a freak.’

There was a pause on the other side of the phone, like Jonathan was struggling to grasp it.

He didn't blame him.

Why wouldn't he struggle to grasp it?

‘He’s lucky he’s not a fucking faggot like you. If he were, I’d bash his fucking head into the wall.’

Will's head was spinning with the last 18 years of his life, with every slur that was thrown at him, every shove against the locker, every threat.

He thought of all the times people had implied he’d run off with a man when he was just 12.

He thought of every time people had called Mike his boyfriend just to laugh at him and mock him.

“I’m on my way.”

The line dropped.

Will set the phone back down, hurrying out, walking back to the theater. The sign was still there. It wasn't a manifestation of his worst fears. It didn't make any fucking sense.

“Mike?” Holly asked, tugging at his hand. “Mike.”

Will placed a hand on Holly’s shoulder, trying to get her to stop, “Mike, come on. Come- let's go inside.”

People were watching; there weren't that many around to be totally honest, but there were still a couple, just a few people slightly older, looking at the sign.

He wanted to do something, but he didn't know what.

Mike had spent so many years defending him, protecting him, and he just couldn't.

He wanted to, and he couldn't.

He was weak. He was pathetic. He'd gone and infected his best friend, and now everyone would treat him the same way they had treated him all those years, the way they still treated him, the way they would treat him for the rest of his life.

It wasn't like the Wheelers lived far away from the theater, but Will was certain Jonathan had to have run a couple of lights to get there as fast as he did.

“Go home.” It wasn't a question; he ordered it.

“Jonathan–”

“Go home.”

Will swallowed. It wasn’t about Mike. Not the way Jonathan looked at him.

That – that was about him.

He tugged at Holly, "Come on, Hols.” He murmured, trying to get her away.

His eyes lingered on Mike even as he stepped back. This would be best.

Separating them was smart.

Kill the rumours before they start.

A sinking feeling, which he no longer really felt in his day-to-day life, was coming back.

The one that reminded him that this was never supposed to happen. The one that came with his father's voice and the slaps he'd receive.

He walked Holly home to the Wheelers' – sent her up to her room, and went down to his own. He ignored his mother. He ignored Ted. He ignored Karen. He just went down to the basement, quietly sinking onto the mattress, staring at the wall.

He had to fix this, if not for himself, for Mike.

He'd warned him. He'd warned him, and it still happened because he let himself believe that maybe it could actually work.

Maybe they could work despite it all.

Maybe there was a reality where no one had to know. Where this wouldn't have happened.

It was a foolish notion.

He knew better, and he still let them pretend.

‘End this. End it now. You have to end it. That's the only way to stop this. It doesn't matter what he says. It doesn't matter what he wants. It doesn't matter what you want. You aren't important, you never were. This isn't yours to be had. He was Jane’s. He was Jane’s, and you took it, and you ruined it, and you twisted it. You twisted your friendship into something disgusting. Friends didn't look at each other that way. Friends didn't touch each other that way. Friends didn't kiss. Friends didn’t do the kinds of things we do.’

But he had it. He was so close he could taste it. He could taste what he had spent years wanting, what he had spent years dreaming of and hoping for.

It was right there, an inch away – not even.

It was a breath away, noses brushing, spit mingling. It was there for him to reach. He had it. He had it in his hands, but it was never his to hold.

Mike had spent years defending him and protecting him. He pushed bullies. He punched Josh – Josh.

Josh, who had told Will that Mike was lucky he wasn't like him. He wasn't a faggot.

It wasn't anything new, the self-sacrifice of it all. He’d done it years ago in that van, handing over his painting and his feelings in a nice little bow called Jane Hopper.

Mike had spent his life protecting Will from the bullies and the homophobes.

Will could give his to protect Mike in the same way.

He just needed to make it believable. He needed to make it something he couldn't construe into a false sense of security and false sense of hope. What Mike needed versus what he thought he'd need would be painful and would be difficult not to give in to.

If he didn't freak out, if he didn't end it himself, Will would have to.

He hoped Mike would freak out the way he always did. He hoped and prayed Mike would do it so he wouldn’t have to.

Sink back into that necessary definition of normal he had clung to.

‘Don't make me do it. Don't make me hurt you the way you've hurt me.’

Because the way the words dug in wouldn't leave.

Because there was no changing it once they were out there. It was a scar that was meant to sting with water.

But if he didn't, Will would because it was what was right, and it was what Mike would do.

Draw the line.

Draw it where it should have been in the first place.

‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.’

Use what would hurt the most so he wouldn’t hope for something different.

Mike wanted to be normal?

Will would remind him what normal was.

It wasn’t this.

This was a mistake.

Will rolled onto his back, head tilting to his right where Mike would normally be lying, eyes cracking open.

The bed was as empty as it was cold.

He hadn’t rolled over in his sleep, overtaken his side. Will slept like a statue in his own, even in sleep, convinced Mike would tread back in, slip under the covers, and hold him as if all was right in the world.

As if they were right in the world.

His arm outstretched, pressing into the empty side.

They weren’t right.

And Mike hadn’t come back.

For the first time ever, Mike didn’t come find him after a fight.

‘It’s fine.’ He told himself, despite the tears in his eyes, ‘This is what you wanted.’

It was.

It would be better this way.

Safer.

If he’d comforted Mike, it would have been like he was supporting whatever decision he might have made last night for how to deal with this.

What Mike had to understand, what Will understood, was that there was no dealing with it.

He would have to find his way through it and, if he was lucky enough, the town wouldn’t believe it.

Why would they?

It wasn’t as if they had proof.

They should’ve been more careful.

Will knew better, and he had allowed them to get reckless.

He’d lost himself in the joy being with Mike brought him and forgotten the dangers — forgotten reality.

Mike had forgotten as well, that was why he’d broken up with Jane. In a few weeks, he would have snapped back into his senses and remembered where he belonged, what was normal, what was right.

Will was just pushing him there faster, even if it meant hurting him. Hurting himself.

People had believed Mike was straight. That was what was important.

Distance would help. The last thing Will wanted was to make things worse for Mike by being around him.

Will could handle the homophobic bullshit. He’d been handling it since he was a kid.

The town knew he was gay before he did.

The same couldn’t be said about Mike.

This would pass.

Will was certain.

His heart sat heavy in his chest, aching and pained, tears slipping from his eyes with every blink, rolling down the curve of his nose and onto the pillow below him.

Mike could still be straight.

Mike would be straight.

Will would make sure of it.

He wasn’t going to be the reason Mike suffered the same way he had. This never had to have happened in the first place. It was all his fault.

He should’ve never started it. He confused Mike, made him think this was normal. It wasn’t. That was what he had to keep reminding himself. What that sign had reminded him.

Mike was hurt now, but it was just because Will had placed things into perspective.

It wasn’t like he’d said anything true, after all.

Mike had spent years with Jane. Mike had no problems being with women. Not like Will.

But it would have stung his ego enough to send him back to her, just to prove Will wrong.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Mike cared on any emotional level. He’d proven it by throwing the sex back in his face instead of anything else.

No, Mike didn’t leave because Will had hurt his feelings. Broken his heart.

He’d left because Will threatened his masculinity.

Will knew exactly how to do it, too, thanks to Mike.

It was the kind of thing Will liked to tell himself he was over.

That it didn’t matter. It wasn’t fundamental in his life. Just a moment, a fight, or a petty argument, but it was childish. It didn’t follow him into adulthood.

‘It’s not my fault you don't like girls!’

His chest stung as if he’d been stabbed through with a sword.

Yeah... the kind of thing Will told himself he was over.

When it counted, though, last night, he’d taken Mike’s own words and shifted them.

He’d taken his own morbidity, the things he wasn’t able to say easily, and used it. Mike had struggled to tell Jane he loved her. He had needed help. Help Will had provided.

‘It’s not my fault you can’t get it up without a guy sweet-talking you.’

It had hurt Mike the same way the original had hurt him.

‘Good.’ He had thought. He’d been successful. Learned from the best.

Mike Wheeler had a way of making a person feel like the most important one in the room.

He also had a way of making you feel like the scum under his shoe.

Will loved him in both.

That was how he knew where best to aim to hurt, to make sure this mistake wouldn’t happen again.

Will was a mistake.

Their relationship had been a mistake.

Will wasn’t strong.

Not like Mike was.

He needed to make sure Mike wouldn’t come back.

And he hadn’t.

For the first time in Will’s life, Mike hadn’t come back.

“Boys!” Mrs. Wheeler’s voice rang out, “Breakfast is ready! Hurry up before Holly eats it all!”

‘I’m not even sure we’re friends anymore.’ Had been the last thing Mike had said to him.

He shivered, a chill running up his spine, reaching back for his neck, pressing his palm against it. He’d forgotten how cold it was to wake up alone with nothing but his thoughts.

This was how it was supposed to be. He’d get used to it again. Mike would understand once the emotions died down.

Notes:

Special shout out to my girl Lexi for beta reading this chapter for me and ensuring I wasn't going insane because I thought it sucked. She thoroughly enjoyed it.

TO BE CLEAR BEFORE I GET ACCUSED OF STEALING JANES PLOTS AND BEING MISOGYNISTIC - Will just doesn't talk to Lonnie or bullies. Think of it like a trauma response. He's being abused. Nothing he says will be right for them, he's protecting himself.

I cried writing this chapter. I cried a LOT with this chapter actually. I love Will Byers so much and I'm so pained writing out the horrors he's experienced. My goal with this chapter is to put into perspective why Will acts the way he acts within his relationship with Mike. I truly meant what I said above that if after this chapter you cannot understand his actions, this fic just isn't for you because I cannot explain it more thoroughly.

The whole reason he said what he said is because of how much Mike's original words hurt him.

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