February 15, 1987

Mike stared at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on his ceiling and wondered what Will's lips on his neck would feel like. It wasn't an unwelcome thought, nor an unpleasant one at that. It simply was. And it had been for quite awhile.

A stifled noise came from down the hall.

Rolling over on his stomach, Mike buried his face in his pillow. It was hard to fantasize about Will Byers lying next to him when their siblings had locked themselves into Nancy's room. They could have gone to Motel 6. But no, they insisted on spending the night in Nancy's childhood bedroom (gross) to "save money." It was bullshit. What was worse was that Mr and Mrs Wheeler had actually been okay with it! They had just told Holly to sleep with them for the two nights Jonathan was staying. What about me? Mike had demanded. What about you? had been his parents' response.

Mike heard the unmistakable creaking of bedsprings. That was it. He was done. Mike threw off his blankets and staggered to his door. He was exhausted, and maybe a little drunk. But he couldn't sleep. Not with Nancy and Jonathan fucking down the hall.

Mike crept down the stairs. His bare feet were soundless on the carpet. His fingers trailed against the wall, ready to catch himself if a particularly strong wave of lightheadedness hit. Darkness surrounded him, casting haunted shadows on the floor, but he'd lived in that house his entire life; he didn't need to see to find his way to the basement door. As quietly as possible, Mike turned the doorknob. He hesitated for all of two seconds, before pulling the door open and slipping past. The door creaked ear-splittingly. Mike swore under his breath.

"Is that you, Mike?" A soft voice called.

"Yeah,'' Mike whispered. Then, as loud as he dared, "Yeah, it's me.'' Stepping as lightly as possible on the creaky old stairs, Mike made his way down.

Lying on his stomach, a blanket that wasn't quite long enough tossed over him, was Will. He had an impossibly thick paperback novel propped up on a pillow and was reading by the light of a single lamp. He looked up when he saw Mike. Will smiled. Mike smiled back. He had the ridiculous urge to giggle. He swallowed it, blinked hard, and sat down beside Will. "You know the couch is right there.''

"I like the floor,'' said Will simply.

They were quiet for a long moment. Mike folded his long legs underneath himself. He rubbed his bare arms, wishing he'd worn something long-sleeved with his flannel pajama pants. "Jesus, it's freezing down here.''

Will shrugged. He had a long sweater pulled over his pajamas and he was wearing socks and he had several blankets. He looked rather cozy, and Mike wished he could share some of his warmth.

They lapsed into silence again. Mike searched for something, anything to say. He cocked his head, trying to read the name on the spine of the half-open paperback. "What're'ya reading?" His first two words were slightly slurred together.

Will dog-eared his page and flipped the book closed. Mike leaned forward. The cover portrayed a storm drain and a white paper boat. "IT,'' Mike read aloud. He recognized the name above the title. "Is that another sci-fi?"

"No,'' said Will. "It's more of horror coming-of-age novel.''

"Oh.'' That sounded . . . familiar. "What's it about?"

"It's about these friends who were haunted by a shapeshifting clown-demon when they were kids in the 50s. Now they're adults and all rich and famous and stuff and It - thats what they call the clown - is back and murdering people again so they have to reunite and try to kill it.''

Mike stared at him. "What the fuck?"

"What?" Will said.

"Why are you reading that? After everything that's happened . . . I mean, does it even seem like fiction to you?''

Will shrugged again. "Yeah because I know it isn't real. But it's kind of comforting, you know? To read about other kids having freaky shit happen to them. Seeing them moving past it. Growing up. Forgetting. It's weird, man, I can't really explain it. It makes me feel . . . I don't know. I don't know. A little less alone, I guess. Normal.'' Will sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "That probably doesn't make any sense.''

It didn't really, not to Mike. But he nodded anyway and lied, "No, it makes sense. Uh, so is it any good?"

"I think so.''

"Is it like,'' Mike thought for a moment. "Like Frank Herbert good?"

Will grinned at the mention of his favorite author. "Not quite. I think you would like it though.''

Mike propped his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his hands. He was immensely relieved that they'd fallen into easy conversation again. "Why's that?"

"Well, for starters, the chapters are pretty long, but they're divided into little sections; I know you like that. And there's a lot of cool history about their town, which is actually kinda like Hawkins. Um, the characters are pretty cool too. One of them is named Eddie.''

Mike stiffened. "Oh?" It came out more icily than he'd intended.

Will didn't look away. "Yeah,'' he said. "But he's not much like your Eddie.''

Mike sat back. "He's not my Eddie. We're all friends with him.''

"Okay.'' Nothing about Will's tone indicated he agreed with Mike. There was nothing Mike could do about that though. Over a year ago, when he'd introduced Eddie to Will when the Byers came to visit, Mike could immediately tell that Will had felt betrayed by the new addition to their friend group. Even though Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Max all assured Will on numerous occasions that he wasn't being replaced, Mike knew it didn't matter. It never would. Will was not a jealous person by nature, but he was devastatingly jealous of Eddie. Nothing anyone could say or do would ever change that.

"What about your Sammy?" Mike snapped. Despite the cold basement, Mike's skin felt hot and irritated. He fought the urge to scratch at it until it all peeled away.

"What about him?"

Mike didn't know. He didn't know, but he hated him. No, Mike had never actually met Sam; he'd never even been to California. The Byers visited Hawkins two or three times a year, usually coming as a family. Jonathan had impulsively decided to come see Nancy for Valentine's Day and Will had come with him. Mrs Byers had to work, and El hadn't come because . . . she had other friends. She still called Max every week, but after she broke up with Mike a few weeks after the move, she hadn't really maintained her friendship with the other boys. She had new friends and a new boyfriend in Cali. Mike was okay with it. El was happy and he was happy for her. It was still nice to see her when her family visited, but he didn't find himself lying awake at night and hating her boyfriend. Sam, though. Mike hated him.

"Go to bed, Mike.'' Will's voice was gentle. He reached out and brushed a long dark curl from Mike's forehead. "Please.''

All the hate and bitterness suddenly drained out of Mike. He was left feeling very empty and very, very sad. "I don't want to,'' he said miserably.

"Mike.'' Will sat up. He took Mike's pale hands into his own California-suntanned ones. "You're drunk. You need to sleep now.''

"I can't,'' whispered Mike. His friends had been over earlier that evening. Eddie had brought cheap vodka and Mike may have drunk more than he should have. He'd spent many nights getting drunk off his ass in Eddie's bedroom. Eddie was usually high as a kite anyway; when he drank he became almost manic. That added with Mike's restlessness was a bad combination. The two of them always ended up either opening a window and smoking on the floor or passing out in their underwear on Eddie's bed.

Will's brown eyes were sad as he got to his feet, still holding Mike's hands. Will gently tugged Mike up, steadying him as he swayed on the spot. Their fingers laced together. Mike watched Will's expression shift, his eyebrows knitting. Will stared at their joined hands.

"Will,'' said Mike.

Will's gaze lifted to study his face. His lips parted.

Mike's stomach lurched and he almost said something. Then Will dropped his hands. Will tucked his own hands under his arms, as if physically restraining himself from Mike's touch. "I'm sorry,'' he murmured.

Mike's chest ached. His face was burning and his eyes stung. He wanted to wrap his arms around Will's waist and slide his fingers under his sweater. He wanted to run his fingers over the knobs of Will's spine like piano keys. He wanted to mash their faces together. He wanted them tangled together on the floor of his basement where they used to play Dungeons and Dragons. He wanted nothing between their aching souls except bare skin. But Mike knew he could have none of these things. He knew it, and it fucking hurt.

His knees buckled. Will caught him as he slumped to the ground. Will gently lowered him to the cold floor. Mike wanted to curl up at Will's feet and cry. He didn't. Instead, Mike allowed his old best friend to haul him to his feet and sling one arm around his shoulders. He let Will lead him slowly up the basement steps. Upstairs.

Nancy's room was quiet as they passed it. Mike pictured his sister cradled against Jonathan's chest, his arms around her, them sleeping peacefully under a mountain of blankets. Mike silently hated his sister for having what he could not. He hated his parents for supporting their daughter having a boy in her bed but not their son. But most of all, he hated himself.

Will tucked Mike in. Literally. He helped Mike into bed and then pulled the covers up around him. He fussed for a few moments, then stepped back. Mike had vague memories of his parents doing this, but they had stopped when he was six or seven because he was "too old to be tucked in.'' Mike hadn't known how to tell them he didn't care if he was too old. He pushed the soured memories away. '

"No goodnight kiss?" Mike was only half-joking.

Will didn't smile.

If Mike were Sam he would get a goodnight kiss. God, Mike hated that son of a bitch.

Will turned to leave. Mike caught his hand. "Stay with me.''

"Mike,'' Will whispered. "You know I can't.''

He did. He pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. With Herculean effort, Mike let Will's hand go. His head pounded and he didn't know if it was from the vodka or Will Byers. He was drunk on both.

"Goodnight, Mike.'' Will backed away from Mike's bed. His eyes glistened in the moonlight. He bit his lip. For one single moment Mike thought he would hesitate, but then Will vanished into the dark hall. Mike turned his face into his pillow for the second time that night. The Byers were leaving in the morning. They wouldn't be seen again in Hawkins for at least another five months. The sob started in Mike's throat. It emerged into his pillow, and the tears finally came along with the muffled wracking sobs. But no one was there to hear him.