It's not just his life. It's his mother's, it's Jonathan's, it's Mike's. He's not the only one who has helped in stopping the end of the world and he's not the only one feeling the effect of it. They're all reeling for a distraction, a change of pace that's free of violence and nosebleeds and insomnia.
When the summer arrives, Hawkins comes alive. The distinct scent of clementines follows Will wherever he goes and the sky blushes pink, mixed with a tint of golden. It's a refreshing change from blood-red skies Will will spend a lifetime trying to forget.
Like any self-respecting teenager with a life, the Party finds themselves at the arcade, trying to beat Max's high score. Will is chomping down on his ice-cream - a habit that Mike hates with a burning passion, but he's not here today to complain. Will both hates and loves that fact. When Will asks Lucas (though a part of him already knows the answer), he gets a raised eyebrow in response.
"He's with El."
Ah, figures. Dustin is off trying to communicate with his fictional girlfriend or hanging out with Steve at Scoops Ahoy, Jonathan is with Nancy and Will would rather not think about what they're doing. Lucas has his arm slung around Max, who doesn't seem to notice as she's busy trying to annihilate her own high score.
Everyone seems to have something to do with someone else. Everyone except Will.
He's not surprised to hear about Mike though. Mike has been over at Hopper's cabin all summer and they've barely seen Mike or Eleven. Lucas says they're getting serious. Will tries to ignore the flip in his stomach at the sound of that.
Will can count the number of times he's seen Mike this summer on one hand. A few years ago, they would've been inseparable. The Party always found new things to do, be it new campaigns or reading Daredevil Issue No. 1 in Lucas' bedroom. They were content even with the simple act of riding their bikes with no destination in mind.
Will misses everything about those days. He misses the normality and he misses being engrossed in a campaign that he would spend days and nights thinking about. It's jarring how much things have changed. Now, the last thing on Will's mind is if Troy and James are near him, armed with rocks and sharp words that hit too close to him.
Now, he's worrying about the end of the world, about what will happen if El pushes herself beyond her limit, about what will happen if the darkness inside him rises from the ashes and consumes him whole.
He has important things to worry about, but the thought of Mike and El together… it's distracting in the worst way possible.
Moments like these come by way too often. While the thought of Mike and El makes Will want to vomit (if it's because she's his sister or because Mike is… Mike is yet to be determined), he's come up with rules to keep himself from spiraling. Well, just one rule.
It's simple.
He doesn't think about Mike at all. He tries not to. He keeps those thoughts reserved for the dark of his room, where he blends in with everything else around him and there's no one around him to know. He's afraid that one day, the thing on his mind - the one thing that's always on his mind - will be written all over his face.
Max beats her high score and she shrieks, which is the loudest she's been in all the time that Will has known her. Will quietly excuses himself. Lucas and Max loudly protest, but ultimately, they let him go. He knows he's acting abnormal and it's become obvious as the days go by. A part of Will wishes he could pack up and move away, far from the concerned looks.
Will wishes he could disappear. Just for a while.
Mike and El break up.
It's a whole thing. Lucas, Mike and Will sit in Mike's basement, cross-legged and eager to listen to the story (No, Will is lying, he isn't eager). Will continues setting up the campaign as Mike continues droning on about girls and emotions and logic and Lucas is invested, nodding so hard Will worries that his head might fall off.
"I just… I don't understand! How am I supposed to tell her that her old man is a total nutjob?!" Mike exclaims, picking up one of the pillows on the couch and he throws it down. "Do you know what he said to me? He said he'll feed me to a demodog if there's even a scratch on El. What a psycho."
Despite the threats against his best friend's life, Will can't help but grin at Hopper's comment.
"Blasphemy." Lucas mutters, which makes Mike blink.
"Excuse me? Blast-what?"
"Blas-phe-my. It means sacrilegious. You know, saying bad things about God or whatever."
"You've been hanging out with Max too much." Mike states.
For the first time in Will's life, he sees Lucas blush pink like a schoolgirl. It's almost adorable, but that feeling wanes when he's reminded of the gaping hole in his chest. The emptiness stays with him, sticks with him like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. No matter how much he tries to scrape it off, some part sticks behind.
Will knows he's abnormal, that he's wrong. He's a person not meant to exist. He was once thrown into an evil alternate dimension, being choked with a tendril and breathing nothing but spores the entire time. When he was brought back, he was the host of an otherworldly being trying to destroy their world. He was possessed and a spy for him and it makes Will miserable when he thinks about it.
The thing is, he thinks about it all the time.
The fact that he'd been missing for the one long, painful week - one of the worst times Hawkins had ever been through - keeps him up at night. While Mike and Dustin and Lucas had been busy saving the world, he was shivering in the Upside Down's version of Castle Byers.
Dark. Wet. Lonely.
He wishes someone could've been there with him.
It's moments like these that give Will pause. How can Mike and Lucas go on about such mundane things like girls and their chests and the challenge harder than any game level: appeasing them, when Will is still stuck on the horrors of what they've been through. The deaths, the blood, the tears.
His mother calls it being stuck in the past. His brother calls it a phase that'll pass. But, Will is the only one who knows the depths of his fear. That one day, he'll blink and Mike will be gone, and it'll be just Will. And him, if Will is unlucky enough.
Will knows he's not normal. Normal people don't fear for their lives the way Will does. Normal people don't wake up gasping in the middle of the night, close to tears after being plagued by a nightmare. Normal people don't look at their best friend and wish for something more.
That's not what normal people do.
It's a loud snap of someone's fingers that draws Will out of his thoughts. Will blinks once, his gaze meeting Mike's. Mike isn't a good liar and the concern is painted with wild strokes all over his face. If it were anyone else, Will's vexation would be a cauldron boiling over, but when the worry comes from Mike, Will can't complain.
He can't complain about Mike. He's never been able to.
Will expects Mike to ask him for advice on El, but Mike's mouth is set in that frown. Lucas' eyes travel between the two of them, probably torn on whether or not he should intervene.
"You okay?"
Will has become a good liar. Like most habits, lying takes practice – something he's had a healthy dose of lately. He lies when he tells his mother he's okay, he lies when he tells Jonathan that he liked a cute girl at school and he definitely lies to Mike. A lot more than he should.
This time, it's not different.
Will sets the wizard figurine down. "I'm fine. And the campaign's ready. Let's go."
Will won't admit just how much time he's spent on this campaign. He'd pulled the idea from one of his old, half-finished journals and he'd been working on it for longer than necessary. Nights and days that could've been spent on something far more productive, but it's the desperation to be normal that pushes him to sink so much time into a thing that doesn't matter.
It hurts beneath his ribcage when Mike and Lucas don't seem quite as invested in it as he is.
The distraction is easy to pick up on, even to someone as oblivious as Will. Mike is taking the piss out of it, Lucas encouraging it with his laughter and all Will can see is his attempts at normality being flushed down the drain.
A few years ago, he wouldn't have cared. Will was never the type to hold grudges or residual anger, but a lot of Will has changed since the Upside Down. The anger, the sorrow, the loneliness comes a lot easier to him now.
It happens again. The goosebumps, the bile rising up his throat. Will closes his eyes as he feels the red hot frustration burn beneath his fingertips. He's trying. He's trying so hard to be the person everyone wants him to be.
Will closes his eyes, grits his teeth and he gets up and leaves.
It takes a second for Mike and Lucas to sober up and a tirade of apologies follows Will up the stairs. The wooden floor is cold beneath his feet, the muted sound of raindrops hitting the roof providing a much needed distraction.
"Will!"
"Will!"
The garage door has been left open, the cold breeze hitting Will square in the face. He takes a moment to breathe and the sharp rain carried by the wind feels like pin pricks on his face.
Mike's footsteps hit the ground with loud thuds and Will takes a deep breath. He should've gotten out of here when he had the chance. But, a sadistic part of him wanted this fight. The part of him that wanted Mike to know exactly what he's been thinking all this time.
Will doesn't hate Mike, he never can, but in all the years they've known each other, this is the closest he's come to it.
Will hates it when they argue.
He's thrown back in a world where his father is still home and his mother's voice is hoarse from all the screaming. He'd never hear any of the words because Jonathan would turn the music up, loud, loud, louder until Will's eardrums were ringing. All Will remembers from those fights was the sick feeling unfurling in his chest.
This fight with Mike? Somehow, Will knows he'll remember it till the end of the world that may be coming sooner than either of them can anticipate.
"It's not my fault you don't like girls!"
Will's heartbeat stutters and the ground beneath his feet seems to sway. Mike's face is contorted in anger, but Will can feel the color draining out of his own face, toes curling inside his torn shoes. Will's brain is running in overdrive and he's trying to piece everything together.
There's no way… there's no way… he can't know.
Will takes a step back without realizing, his heart thumping away uncomfortably as he struggles to even his breathing. The tears burning in the back of his eyes threaten to spill. Mike can't know. He can't.
Once again, the goosebumps rise. Will wishes he could disappear, be washed away with the pouring rain. He wishes he could be erased, that he'd died in the Upside Down, that he'd never known and fallen in love with Mike Wheeler.
Mike knows he's said something wrong when Will doesn't fight back. He calls Will's name, laced with hesitation. Will always loved how Mike called his name. Soft, meek, his mouth shaping around the word perfectly. This time, it sounds more like an apology.
"Will." He says, again. He goes to say something and Will will never find what it was that he was trying to say because he gets on his bike, that's thrown to the side haphazardly and drives away in the pouring rain.
The rain is like needles piercing his skin as he makes the familiar ride back home from the Wheeler's house. Somehow, he feels worse. Will's stomach is doing somersaults all the way home.
There's no way Mike knows. If Mike knew, he wouldn't touch Will with a ten-foot long pole. He'd avoid Will like the plague and he'd be disgusted by him. At least that's what his father thinks. It's been a fear festering in him ever since he looked over at Mike three summers ago. The fear of being known, the fear of being a pariah anymore than he already is.
Will can't think of what he'd do if the people he loves more than the moon loves the sun, would hate him for this darkness inside him that he can't seem to get rid of. If Mike knew, he'd hate Will. That's one thing he'll never be able to survive.
Jonathan already knows something is wrong. He doesn't poke, he doesn't prod, just offers Will a glass of orange juice when Will buries his face in his pillow. He's lucky his mother isn't home, she'd never let him go until she'd gotten every bit of information from him. Jonathan leaves him alone, closing the door on the way out but not before he says, "If there's anything you need, let me know."
It's nearing dinner time when someone knocks on Will's door. He's been lying in bed all day, running over Mike's words in his mind again and again and again. That sick feeling churning away in the pit of his stomach isn't leaving him alone. This pressure upon his lungs isn't fading and it only gets worse when the person knocks again.
For a brief second, Will wishes for Mike and then he sees reality.
"Who is it?!" Will calls out, and Jonathan peeks through the small gap, letting in a streak of bright lights into Will's dark room. He can hear his mother puttering around in the kitchen, the sizzle of a hot pan and Will sinks further into his pillow.
"Mike's here."
Will rolls onto his side and he sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers curling into the blanket. He puts the lamp on, flooding his room with slices of lemon chiffon light. Jonathan comes alight in the sudden brightness and he leans against the door, as if preparing himself for a long conversation, but Will's focus is more on the fact that Mike is here.
Why is Mike here? Shouldn't he be busy trying to avoid Will? If Will were in his place, that's what he'd be doing. Avoiding himself like the plague. He tries to picture Mike with that crestfallen expression, the curl in the corner of his mouth and Will really, really needs to get his mind off it. It's not dark enough yet.
"Can you tell him I'm not home?" Which is a lie easier to see through than glass - because where would Will be if not home - but that should give Mike enough of a hint.
Jonathan's face softens. "Everything okay?" Will is so see-through.
"Yeah. Fine. I just need some sleep."
"That offer to talk is still open."
"Nothing to talk about." Will isn't sure he's doing a great job of convincing Jonathan with his gaze fixed on his slippers. "It's fine."
"Okay." Jonathan says, unconvinced, but he's not one to press. That's always been Mike.
Will stares at the soaked debris of what used to be Castle Byers. The rain hasn't been kind, the sign: CASTLE BYERS scratched on an uneven piece of wood with his mother's favorite knife he stole, is found dirty and muddied in a ditch three trees away. Half of the sign is gone, lost to the storm and Will doesn't feel a thing.
He sits down in front of the sticks piled high, cross-legged. He's well-aware of the mud that clings to the backs of his thighs, ruining his shorts, but he can't bring himself to care. The wind is gentle, carrying a fresh tang of humidity and the moonlight makes everything around him come alive. The crickets chirp, the leaves rustle with the promise of a more forgiving weather and twigs snap under the weight of someone's feet as they approach Will from behind.
As a child, eons ago when his father was still around, Will had memorized the sound of everyone's footsteps. His mother's used to be weak, demure like a house cat afraid to make its presence known lest the owners stop feeding it. His father's were loud, brash, unashamed, even when he'd come home smelling like a liquor store and cigarettes that he'd smoked even though he knew the smell made Jonathan vomit.
It was months before Will realized why he didn't know what Jonathan's footsteps sounded like. Will had been doing his homework on the kitchen table, absentmindedly chewing on a PBJ sandwich, when Jonathan had walked up behind him to get something from the fridge. It was the slam of the fridge door that told Will that Jonathan was there at all.
It was like Jonathan had gone out of his way to stay invisible, unheard.
Mike sounds nothing like that.
He isn't worried about Will knowing he's there. Nothing about Mike is invisible. He's unashamed, unabashed and that's one of the things that Will- likes about him. The gravel crunches under his feet and the noise makes Will cringe, shoulders tensing and he keeps his eyes on the carcass of Castle Byers.
They haven't spoken in five painful, never-ending days. Will had spent those days listening to the phone ring, his mother answering the phone with the monotonous "Byers Residence" and hoping that, for once, it'd be Mike calling first to apologize. It'd been radio silence. The only indication that the Wheelers hadn't dropped off the face of the earth was Nancy, who'd been coming over for dinner a lot.
Nancy would give Will tiny smiles over the dinner table, like there was a secret that only the two of them had the privilege of knowing. Will would keep his eyes low, watching as his fork sank into the mushy peas and they fell apart, like there wasn't much holding them together in the first place.
The fight was ages ago in Hawkins-time but Will remembers it like it happened seconds ago. The wound has barely scabbed over and Mike is here to make it bleed all over again. The worst part of it all? Will would let him do it, without giving it a second's thought.
"Will." Mike calls out, and he sounds strangely demure. Again, it sounds more like an apology than a greeting.
Will's mind is racing with everything he wants to say, the things he wants to confess. That he'd forgiven Mike for what he'd said five days ago, that he's so glad that El and Mike are happy, that Will's feelings from three summers ago never went away and that they made a home inside him, refusing to leave like the Mind Flayer, only worse because there's no way to defeat this.
His tongue lies heavy in his mouth, burdened by the weight of all that he's thinking. He doesn't end up saying anything, just willing for the earth under him to give way and swallow him whole and make him disappear. Again.
If his mother knew he was thinking like that, she wouldn't let him live.
"Will."
The fire inside Will smolders. "What do you want?" He tries to snap, but it comes out merely tired, the exhaustion running deep into his bones.
"I want to help you fix it." Mike says, and something inside Will comes alive.
Will turns to look up at Mike, his palms digging into the rough soil and he already knows he's going to spend the rest of the evening scrubbing the dirt out from under his nails. The moonlight catches around Mike's head, making him glow. He's holding a bag filled to the brim with tools, something he's no doubt borrowed from Mr. Wheeler.
Will should argue. Showing up with no warning, no mention of what transpired between them, trying to smooth it all over by helping Will put back Castle Byers. He should say no. They need more time apart. Will needs to learn how to act normal, how to keep his heart from racing when his eyes land on Mike.
He needs more time. He should say no. He should tell Mike to leave. Instead he says, "Okay."
The silence settles upon them like a weighted blanket, rife with electricity. They're both well-aware of the fact that they're a ways from the good old days, but at least they're on the same page about this. They need work. Work they're both willing to put in.
When Will had first made Castle Byers, it was a fun summer project that Will hadn't expected would ever survive Hawkins' heat and rain and eventual world-ending events. It'd hung on a wing and prayer, and that's why it hadn't shocked Will when it fell apart on the first violent swings of his metal baseball bat.
This time, they're trying to get it to survive in the long run. They separate the logs first, trying to determine which made the roof and which held up Castle Byers. Will hammers in the nails with a precision that clearly catches Mike off guard. He doesn't bother telling Mike where he learned it from.
The night is cool, but Will runs hot from the physical exertion. A thin sheen of sweat clings to his skin uncomfortably. Mike's jaw is clenched tight, leaning against the tree that faithfully supported Castle Byers for years, but when Will asks if he wants to stop, Mike refuses.
Will's family doesn't come by to ask if they want water or if they want dinner or that they should take a break and finish up tomorrow. For a second, Will wonders if Mike said anything to them. That's a ridiculous thought.
It must be hours gone by before they're done. The basic skeleton structure of Castle Byers stands proud. The sign, the flecks of yellow paint at the entrance, the cloth thrown over the top as a makeshift roof are all missing, but Will finds the mattress exactly where he left it. Buried under the logs.
The way they've built it this time has made it more spacious. Of course, all of Will's memorabilia is missing, washed away, gone and he can't bring himself to tell Mike about what happened to their photo in the Ghostbusters costumes. The question is on the tip of Mike's tongue - Will can tell, he just can. Thanks to their temporary unspoken agreement, though, they don't talk about it.
The weariness weighs down on Will all of a sudden and he closes his eyes, taking in a sharp intake of breath. When he opens them back, he finds Mike's gaze on him, unmoving even when Will notices. It makes his heartbeat stutter.
"I'm okay."
Mike merely nods, though his scorching stare doesn't wilt. They've known each other for long enough to know the tells when the other is lying. For Mike, it's his excessive hair-touching. Will doesn't have a tell. He's never been successfully able to lie to Mike when he doesn't want to. Right now, he definitely doesn't want to.
"Does your mom know you're going to be late?" Will asks. The question makes Mike hum and he digs his shoe into the ground absentmindedly. He tucks his hands into his pockets, body in a sudden defensive stance when he answers.
"Yeah."
For a moment, Will wonders for how long Mike has been planning this. When did he find out about Castle Byers? Does he know it wasn't the storm but Will's pettiness that destroyed it? Is he here because… he knows?
There it is, that fear blooming inside him again. It rises and falls like a tidal wave, Will's organs sinking like the second before a drop on a rollercoaster. Nothing about Mike's face says that he knows.
The day Mike knows, Will will know. He'll see it all in his eyes.
He pushes those thoughts aside. The fatigue coursing through his veins is begging Will to go lie down, get away from Mike and their weird, awkward friendship that's barely a friendship.
Ever since the Upside Down, it doesn't take a lot for Will to get winded. A simple bicycle ride is enough for his breath to come out staggered, his knees hurting and he's just spent the last few hours rebuilding something from scratch.
Almost like his body is acting on muscle memory alone,
Castle Byers is barren on the inside. Will isn't even sure if it can be called Castle Byers anymore. There's nothing to indicate it's his: no sign, no drawings of Will the Wise, no quilts with colorful animals are in sight. The only thing that remains is the mattress tucked away in the corner, soaked and dirty with muddy rainwater.
He'd begged his mother for it and Will remembers, at the time, that was his biggest concern. Even as a kid, he'd been desperate to get away from the bludgeoning of harsh reality hitting him square in the stomach. The campaigns, Castle Byers, spending countless hours and countless pennies at the arcade, just trying to run as far away as he could.
He let everything build and build, and now it's all coming crashing down.
It was the middle of the week when Nancy had stayed over for dinner. She was perfectly sweet; eating her greens and complimenting the peas. Will really got along with Nancy, even though from the looks she was giving him, that a talk was incoming.
That's exactly what happened.
Nancy had stopped Will after dinner. Will paused, his hand on the doorknob and Nancy slung her bag over her shoulder. She kept tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear (just like Mike), like she'd give anything not to have this conversation. But, she wasn't the type to let things go. Just like her brother.
"I know something happened." Nancy said, clearing her throat afterwards. She was sucking on a cough drop which wasn't helping. She seemed to be in discomfort, from the talk or the cold, Will couldn't tell. "You guys need to figure it out."
Will turned the doorknob. He pictured Mike splitting a strawberry shake with El, or hanging out with Lucas and Max at the arcade. This fight between them had Will twisting and turning, but Mike must've been fine. He's always just fine.
"And why are you telling me this?" Will asks, and he watches Nancy's eyes slightly widen.
"He hasn't left the house in days. He doesn't want to talk to me, so I figured…"
What? That Will would be the one desperate enough to go crawling back to the Wheeler's house to try and make amends? Will grits his teeth. He may be weak and powerless, but he's not that weak. And he certainly isn't weak enough to go and try to be friends with a person who doesn't want to.
"I'm sorry, Nancy, I really am."
Nancy's face softens. She reaches out, her hand on Will's shoulder and Will can feel the warmth even through the thick jacket and his shirt.
"I'm just trying to say that some fights are not worth it. Trust me. Sometimes the best thing you can do is just let it go." Nancy says. "I know Mike is an idiot. A total idiot. And I know he fu- screwed up, but it's killing him, Will. I can tell."
Will wanted to scoff. He knew Mike didn't care. He has stable, more interesting friends that don't want to kiss him. Nancy was trying to make him feel better and get him out of his pathetic state. Will was sick of the pity.
"Goodnight, Nancy."
Nancy had given him a small smile. She looked so much like Mike when she smiled, it was uncanny. "Night, Will."
That's what Will is thinking of when Mike follows him into Castle Byers. Despite it being a tad bit more spacious than before, it's still a tight fit for two growing teenagers. But, Will doesn't have the heart to say any of it, it's been a long night.
The fatigue envelopes Will, leaving him winded and Will makes his way to the corner to lie down. Mike keeps an eye on him, unsure of what Will is doing, unsure of whether or not he should follow suit.
Through the spaces between the logs that make the makeshift roof, Will can see the stars. Slices of silvery moonlight make their way through, the light making Will's eyes water and he shifts on his back. The dirt is ruining his T-shirt and he can almost hear his mother complaining about the scrubbing, but his thoughts move away from that to Mike.
"It's late." Will says, clearing his throat.
Mike hums. "It is."
Will toys with the loose dirt, unsure himself of where he's going with this. "Tell your mom you're staying over."
Will doesn't miss that sharp intake of breath. If he were just a little bit closer, he would've felt the trail of goosebumps left on Mike's arm. For now, Will keeps his eyes trained on the logs.
"Okay." Mike says, softly. "We should… go do that."
"In a minute."
Will has no idea where this sudden surge of confidence is coming from, just that it's a refreshing change of pace from having nothing to say around Mike. This time, Mike seems to be the speechless one.
"Listen." Mike says. Not so speechless after all. "I… I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."
A sadistic part of Will wants to ask Mike what he's sorry for. If it's for ignoring him all summer, saying those cruel things during their fight, making fun of his campaign or just being a prickly asshole. But Will's energy has wilted and he's bone-tired.
"It's okay."
A beat passes before Mike speaks again. "You don't have to say that, you know. It's totally okay if you hate me."
"I don't hate you, Mike." Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could.
"You should."
It's almost like Mike's challenging him and all his words are doing is riling Will up.
"Why didn't you come to see me at all?"
Mike goes stiff, unmoving all of a sudden. The only indication that he's alive at all is Mike's deep breaths. "What do you mean?"
"Six days. It's been six days. And after those six days, all you have to tell me is sorry?"
"I was dealing with something, Will."
Will scoffs. "Oh, right. Dealing with something. Let me guess, it's top secret and you can't tell me what it is."
Will's words are a catalyst and the quiet rage inside Mike bubbles over. Will almost sees the change in Mike's face: from softly apologetic to gritted teeth, and for the first time in a long while, Will is struck with guilt. It tastes bitter on his tongue.
"Do you think I wasn't affected by this, too?"
Will thinks of Nancy's words. It's killing him. He thinks of Mike who'd stolen his father's tools just so he could help Will put Castle Byers back together. He thinks of Mike who tirelessly insisted on looking for Will, when everyone else had buried him and let him rot away in the back of their minds.
He thinks of Mike who'd glared at Jennifer Hayes when she'd come up to talk to Will. Girls like her are only good for one thing, Will.
Will lets his head turn sideways to find Mike already looking at him. His eyes are pools of lightning, sharp and electric. His hair is tucked behind his ear, lips are bitten red, and for a second, Will wonders what they'd look like if Will leaned over and kissed him right this second.
He'd push Will away. Mike is normal. He has Eleven. Will keeps his stare focused on his feet bunching up the makeshift carpet.
He should apologize for what he's said, what he's thought. The words don't leave his mouth, feeling foreign and his tongue lies prostrate, rough like it's been rubbed with sandpaper. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It'd be so easy to say, but Will opts for the silence that threatens to swallow them whole.
"I think I'm going to head home." Mike says, simply. His voice sounds hollow, like the emotions have been scooped out of him. He has his back to Will, like he can't bear to look at him anymore.
"It's late."
"Whatever."
The nonchalance frustrates Will more than it should. This conversation is going nowhere and they're both spiraling closer and closer towards another argument, one more explosive than the last. Will wonders if he should put up a fight, ask Mike to stay and talk, like they'd originally planned to.
But, he thinks of Mike and Eleven, his wonderful, powerful sister and he thinks of seeing them at the diner that day, totally and utterly infatuated with each other. He thinks of Mike telling Eleven "My life started the day I met you" and he lets him go.
They don't see each other for a few more days. The sun still rises and sets. The crickets still chirp in the void of the night. Castle Byers still stands, unflinching.
The wounds are starting to heal and Will has almost forgotten about the fight and the heavy rain as it struck his back. He helps his mother around the house, listening to Jonathan's favorite tracks on a loop. He gives Nancy a smile whenever she comes over, trying not to think of Mike when she smiles back.
This, this is the closest he's been to normal in a long time. What had felt like an unachievable goal has been achieved. The joy inside him bubbles over, even at this silly thought. This is what getting high must feel like. The feeling of being held underwater with everything hazy but bright.
He's always been a survivor. Living with his father's torment, the Upside Down, then the Mind Flayer. He's been to the brink of giving up so many times, but he's never taken the leap of that cliff.
A year ago, he wouldn't have thought about his life without Mike by his side. Now? He knows he'll survive.
Will doesn't reach out and neither does Mike. He's at peace with the idea of it.
That is, until Lucas tells Will that El broke up with Mike. For good, this time. That's what Lucas says when he tells Will that Mike called him up on the phone, close to tears.
It comes as a sobering shock to everyone who knows, but especially Will. He can't help as his mind tumbles, desperately trying to search for even the slightest bit of unhappiness he'd seen on their faces when they were with each other. He can't let it go, even though he desperately wants to.
It's not his place and it's none of his business, but he can't help his worry for El. (And Mike).
Something is wrong, Will just can't figure out what it is. It's impossible to solve a puzzle with so many pieces missing, but Will tries to because he loves them both. Loves them both enough to want them to be happy.
Loves them both enough to set his pride aside and cycle his way over to the Wheeler's house, just to knock some sense into his best friend.
Mrs. Wheeler answers the door, her hair filled with pink hair rollers. Her eyes are dusted with a purple - not soft like lavender soap, but harsh like purple jade. She's demanding to be seen. Her eyes, at first lit with confusion, soften as she smiles at him.
"Hi, Will. He's upstairs."
"Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler." Will wants to tell her she looks beautiful, but he decides against it.
He makes his way up the stairs, the familiar walk leaving him slightly winded. When he reaches the top, he pauses to let his heart stop racing, his tightened muscles eventually loosening, but his shoulders remain plagued with tenseness, even as he raps on Mike's door. Once, twice, thrice.
It takes Mike a minute to answer and when he does, it's a tired "Come in."
The room is enveloped in darkness, the only shards of light emanating from Mike's bedside lamp, patterned with wings. Mike sits by the window sill. The side of his face is covered by his long hair and it leads Will to wonder if that's even him. So uncharacteristically quiet.
Will stands by the door. On normal occasions he would enter, swipe Mike's breath mints, rifle through his comics and curl up on his bed. But, this is far from a normal occasion. Will can feel an invisible barrier barring him from entering. He can see Mike, but he can't reach out.
"Mike." He calls out again.
Mike seems surprised to see Will. Mike flips the light switch on and the room is flooded with light. It's as messy as it always is: clothes strewn about, half-read books placed with the covers facing up, soda cans lying around, empty and crushed. There's no method, just madness. Mike seems to be taking this break-up worse than anticipated.
Mike's still staring at him, open-mouthed. Will can't tell what that reaction is supposed to mean. He's expecting Mike to say a lot of things: What are you doing here? Just leave me alone. I know the truth about you. You're disgusting.
Instead, Mike says, "Are you gonna come inside or just stand there?"
Will clears his throat. There's an armchair in the other far end of the room, so Will sits exactly beside Mike, just a few feet away. The silence is deafening and Mike does nothing to remedy that. He sits there, staring out of the window and it's taking Will everything inside him not to go over there and hug him.
"Are you okay?" Will asks, and Mike scoffs. He finally turns to look at Will and everything that Will needs to know is already written all over Mike's face. Mike looks defeated.
"No."
Will's eyebrows furrow. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Mike huffs. "What's there to talk about? She hates me so she dumped me. Again."
"She doesn't hate you."
"Really? You know this for a fact?" Mike challenges. His words sound aggressive, but there's no malice, no indication of sadness at all, he's just hollow.
Will doesn't know what to make of this. He keeps his hands tied in his lap, unsure of what to do with them. "You're being dramatic."
"Maybe." He says, softly shrugging. "But you hate me too, so don't you think I might have a point?"
I don't hate you, Will wants to say. God, there's so much he wants to say.
Instead, he settles for: "What happened?"
"I don't know, I really don't know. I don't know what Max said to her, but she just came by and told me we're done. She didn't even give me a second to process it, she just left. And I haven't seen her for so long."
Wistful. He sounds wistful. Mike picks at a loose thread in his sweater, his head kept low. Will almost doesn't hear him when he speaks again.
"Maybe it's a good thing."
"Really?" Will asks.
"I don't know… just… didn't feel right anymore."
Will chews on his bottom lip. Coming here was a bad idea. He'd come to try and fix things because he'd thought Mike and El would never stray. Maybe this is final. Suddenly, Will is struck by a wave of pity.
"I'm sorry, Mike."
"Yeah. It's okay." Mike shrugs. He raises his head, his gaze meeting Will's. Will tries to control the racing of his heart. "I'm just... I'm glad you're here."
His words are so filled to the brim with sincerity that it gives Will pause. Will's presence doesn't seem to annoy Mike at all. Maybe Nancy was telling the truth. Maybe, despite knowing Mike for years, Will has grossly misjudged him.
"I'm sorry." Will says.
Mike's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "I told you, you didn't do anything."
"I'm not talking about El. I'm talking about us."
"Oh." Mike says, softly. He suddenly looks away.
"Yeah. Things have changed, I know that." Will keeps his eyes trained on the carpet, tracing patterns into the fake fur with his toe. "It's just hard for me to remember that."
"It wasn't just you. We were total assholes - don't tell Lucas I said that." Will chuckles, shaking his head. Suddenly, Mike's eyes light up and he's grinning like a mad cat. "You know what, why don't we finish the campaign? You, me, Dustin, Lucas?"
"You don't have to make me feel better, Mike."
"No, no, it was a great campaign." Mike says. "Seriously." Will is only half-inclined to believe him. "Come on. Do it for me?"
Will wishes he could've had the strength to say no. But, he can't say no to Mike. "Okay. Thursday."
Mike beams. "Thursday."
It's Thursday. Despite the pessimist in Will repeatedly telling him that the plan is not going to work out, it happens. The campaign isn't completed because everyone's attention span is a lot shorter than Will remembers, but there's a golden light inside his chest. It feels like they're back in the good old days.
The Party finds themselves at Pop's, a local diner, hogging fries and burgers and milkshakes. Will is close to overdosing on the amount of fat and oil he's consumed, but Mike keeps insisting. It's our treat. You know, as thanks for the best campaign we've ever played.
"Will! Will!"
The fact that it's a girl's voice is what keeps Will from turning. It's a public place and even though Hawkins is a small town, there could be quite a few people named Will. No girl is calling out for Will Byers.
Mike gives Will the side-eye and Will continues chewing on his fries. Dustin and Lucas are arm wrestling (Lucas is totally winning, but Dustin's energy makes Will cheer for him), but they give up the act when they look up from the table. Hands dramatically dropping on the table with a loud bang, Dustin's eyes comically widen.
"Dude. Dude." Dustin says, trying to get Will's basket of fries away from him to get his attention. "Dude."
"What?"
"Dude." Lucas coughs into his fist, looking up, then at Will. Mike seems to be in the same dilemma as Will as they both try to figure out what the hell is going on, when Jennifer Hayes shows up in front of Will, a wide smile on her face.
"Hey, Will." She says, and Lucas coughs into his sleeve.
Will's relationship with Jennifer Hayes is a bit of a doozy. All his life, he'd been ignored by pretty girls at school and he'd grown used to it. Having the entire periodic table memorized at thirteen years old hadn't done wonders for his street cred. It was a fact of life, a given. If we dig up one teaspoon of mass from a neutron star, the mass will weigh around 6 billion tons and Will Byers is destined to live out the rest of his life without a girlfriend.
He wasn't alone in that endeavor before. But, even if things have changed now - Lucas has Max, Dustin has 'Suzie', (and maybe, just maybe, Mike has Eleven) and Will doesn't resent that he doesn't get any attention from girls.
Well. Maybe saying that he doesn't get any attention from girls is unfair to Jennifer Hayes.
Before Will knew her, Jennifer Hayes seemed like the type who would've supported her boyfriend shoving Will into lockers, trashing his books and hiding his pants during gym. She seemed like she would've laughed at him after he came back, called him zombie boy, constantly reminding him of the one week that changed him forever.
Jennifer was tall, blonde and her father was a banker. Every guy in their grade was in love with her. She had no reason to associate with Will, none at all.
Instead, Jennifer cried at his funeral and sent him a box of chocolates when the Hawkins' newspaper reported on his surprising reappearance. Will had expected her actions to be a mere formality. Maybe she'd been feeling guilty about ignoring him and wanted to make amends, so that her god wouldn't turn her away at the golden gates of heaven when she knocked.
Will had made up a million excuses for why she did the things she did, but he'd never expected for her to come up to him in school - in front of her friends and the entire year - and give Will - the social outcast, the pariah, the untouchable - a hug.
All Will remembers is being frozen, his skin itchy like he'd been rubbed down by poison ivy and the utter, utter mortification when his eyes had met Mike's.
Mike's face was littered with questions. Questions that Will didn't have the answers to yet and he still doesn't.
Jennifer hadn't stopped there. She'd gone out of her way to be nice to him, saying hi in the halls, asking him to dance at the Snow Ball. Will spent more time that he'd care to admit wondering if this was one big elaborate prank. Like he'd get pulled in a dark alley one day and get pummeled to the ground by Jennifer's muscular college boyfriend (she seemed like the type).
That hadn't happened. Will had been proven wrong about a lot of assumptions. Jennifer hadn't forgotten about him after a week. She wasn't being nice to him out of some misplaced guilt.
Despite everything, she actually seemed interested in him. At least, that's what Max says and she holds onto that belief like the gospel truth. Will isn't holding his breath on that one.
Dustin hisses and that drags Will out of his thoughts when he realizes he hasn't said a word in a hot minute.
"Oh. Hey." The words barely make it out of his mouth without sounding like a croak. Lucas buries his face in his hands like he can't tolerate another second of this. Dustin, on the other hand, is enjoying Will's suffering to no end. He dips a fry into his strawberry milkshake, grinning like a madman. Will doesn't have the courage to gauge Mike's reaction.
Jennifer is undeterred. She is a force of nature. "Hey. Think we can talk outside for a second?"
That's how Will finds himself standing outside Pop's, the afternoon sun beating down on him with three shameless, unsubtle sets of eyes on him. Will jams his hands into the pockets of his shorts while Jennifer puts her sunglasses on, seemingly uninterested to start the conversation.
It's been a few weeks since they've met, but time isn't much of an element because Will never knows what he's supposed to say around her. He's always hyper aware of the eyes on them, quietly judging. Even if Jennifer was interested in him (which again, fat chance), those judgy eyes will probably scare her away. If Will doesn't do that first.
"So…" Will starts, clearing his throat. "What have you been up to?"
Jennifer laughs, clear as rain and the sound rings in his ears. She covers her mouth when she laughs. That picks at Will.
He likes Jennifer. He likes her a lot. She's sweet and she's nice, but whenever Lucas elbows him to gesture towards Jennifer or Dustin coughs loudly around her, Will knows what it's supposed to feel like.
Fireworks. Butterflies. A ball of nerves tumbling around in his stomach. Will understands the concept and he understands why guys in his grade feel that for Jennifer Hayes. He would too, if he had even a bit of normalcy in him.
But, when he sees her, there's… nothing. His heart beats at a regular pace, his palms aren't clammy. He likes her, he just doesn't like her enough. He glances back at Mike, then back at his tattered shoes.
"My God, has anyone told you you're terrible at this?"
Will blinks. "Terrible?"
"Small talk." She clarifies, quickly running a hand through her hair. "You're, uh, really bad at small talk. I didn't- I don't- uh, you're not terrible- whatever, I have no idea where I'm going with this."
Will huffs, the tension slightly easing out of his shoulders. He's glad they're on the same page. "Yeah, me neither."
Jennifer smiles. She's picking at her nails, her hair and Will is looking back at where Mike is, through the water-streaked window. Will can't tell, but he can only see the tall glass of milkshake, covering Mike's face. He wishes he could know what Mike was thinking, what he was saying.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I just…" Jennifer trails off, staring at her shoes before she meets Will's eyes. "I just wanted you to know I think everyone is an asshole. You're a really sweet person and you're really, really nice."
She stares off into the sunset, sighing quietly. "I think you're my only friend who isn't friends with me because I'm popular."
She says the word popular like it's a curse. It's not even humility, it's a curse for her. Will watches her quietly, unsure of what he can say to console her. It takes her a minute before she's back and when she is, she does the strangest thing any girl could've done to Will Byers. She kisses him on the cheek.
Will stands there, stunned, Jennifer's arm curling around his thin bicep. He can almost feel the splotch of her red lipstick on his cheek. When she backs away, her eyes are glinting.
"See you around, Will Byers." She says, leaving him standing in the front of the diner with red lipstick on his cheek.
Dinner at the Byers household is not a grand affair, but things seem to have taken a turn this Friday. Joyce calls Hopper and El over, which leads to Jonathan inviting Nancy and Nancy bringing along Mike. Will is unsure if the flip in his stomach is excitement or otherwise.
They still haven't talked since Jennifer talked to him outside the diner. Will has spent the entire week twisting and turning, trying to think of ways to convince Mike that he wasn't actually seeing her. But, every time he picked up the phone, a question weighed down on him.
Why would Mike care? Wouldn't Mike be happy if Will had a girlfriend? Will knows that's the way it's supposed to go, but he doesn't know how Mike actually feels.
It's eight-thirty by the time everyone arrives. Will spends a lot of time, straightening his sweater, combing his hair. It was Steve's advice, but Will can't see much of a difference - but hey, Steve Harrington gives you hair advice? You take it. He's never cared about his appearance, the hand-me-downs really didn't give him much room to improvise, but it's a special occasion. Will refuses to think about why.
It's quiet at the table as everyone seems far more interested in the food than polite conversation. El takes this opportunity to break the silence in the worst way possible.
"Will. I think she's cute."
Will's knife gets stuck in the steak. Joyce raises her head, an eyebrow cocked as she turns towards El and asks, "What?"
"Jennifer. She's cute."
Will chokes on his sip of water, eyes comically widening as everyone at the table looks at Will. His cheeks grow hot, palms clammy and oh hell, she isn't even his girlfriend but this, this is mortifying. He refuses to look at Mike. He doesn't have the energy for this.
"Wait, what? Jennifer Hayes? I didn't know you knew her, Will." Nancy says.
Will blinks. He should be jumping - no, leaping, at the opportunity to correct El's misunderstanding, but it's like his mind is running in overdrive. "Oh, I-"
El seems to be oblivious to the chaos brewing at the table. She holds Will's gaze and simply states, "She's Will's girlfriend."
Oh, fuck. Will shifts in his seat as Joyce turns to him for an explanation. Jonathan pats him on the back and he's saying something supportive, but Will's made the mistake of looking at Mike. Mike is still, unblinking and Will feels like reaching over the table, touching his shoulder and giving him a push. Just to make sure he's there. His face is terribly blank and Will wishes he could peer into Mike's mind to see what he's thinking.
"What?!" Joyce's loud exclamation snaps Will out of his trance.
El nods. "Yeah. Max told me."
"Oh! That's amazing!"
"I don't- she's not-"
Any attempts of Will trying to make his corrections are drowned out by the rising voices at the table with Hopper asking El (pointedly) how she knows this and Joyce trying to get more information about Will's mystery girlfriend that seemingly rose overnight. Will knows there's no chance of him getting to correct his overly excited mother and his proud brother.
Oh, fuck. Mike thinks he has a girlfriend.
The panic quickly sets in, offset by the migraine knocking at the far corners of his brain. Will is good at dealing with pressure. A lifetime of dealing with nothing but high-pressure situations has trained him well. But, sometimes it gets a lot even for him.
It brings goosebumps to the back of his neck and Will's fists tighten in his lap, eyes squeezing shut for a second.
For a second, he imagines Mike's voice calling out to him, the only bit of solace he has in this brewing chaos. Except he isn't imagining it. "Will. Will." Mike calls out to him. "I spilled some ranch on my shirt. Can you give me one of yours?"
And, there it is. A streak of red, oily ranch on Mike's white t-shirt, probably ruined forever. Will knows Mrs. Wheeler is going to blow a gasket at the sight of that, which makes it all the more unbelievable to Will that Mike's done this on purpose. Just to help Will out. His best friend.
Mike's eyes twinkle with mischief. Will slowly resurfaces, popping his head above the water for a gasp of oxygen. It's an inside joke, between just the two of them. Will can't help the soft chuckle that escapes him. He's never wanted to kiss Mike more and the realization has him reeling.
"Let's go, Mike."
The silence that settles upon them is crackling, but it's not like before when Will felt like every one of his nerve ends were being lit on fire. Will closes the door behind them and the noise coming from the table is sucked out like a vacuum. They sound muffled from behind the door.
The room is exactly in the condition as he left it: clothes on the floor, (instead stranger things music), the bed is messy, blankets thrown over and Will just wants to die in embarrassment. Will turns his attention back to Mike, who seems frozen in his spot. His gaze keeps shifting from the new poster of Will the Wise, to the new stack of books on Will's bedside table.
He's like a kid in a candy store and Will does nothing but lean back against the door and let Mike go through his stuff. Mike goes on to rifle through Will's cassettes. If it were anyone else, Will would've lost it.
"You have some really great stuff." He says, turning to Will.
"It's Jonathan's." Will fails to mention that it's his favorite track of the month.
"You mind if I change out your old one?"
Will shrugs and Mike takes that as a form of acceptance. Will is far tenser than Mike, who's slightly grooving to the music. It's unsettling. It's almost like they never fought, like they never fell apart, like Will never fell in love with him and ruined everything between them. Will can't remember the last time Mike was here and Mike seems to be thinking about the same thing.
Mike turns on his heel and suddenly, it's hot under Will's collar. "Um, hey. Can I get a shirt?"
Will blinks. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."
Mike says something along the lines of yeah, it's fine, no problem but Will's busy, rifling through his drawers, trying to find a shirt that Mike won't make fun of. He settles on a gray shirt from the back of his closet, one he can't remember buying. It must be Jonathan's.
Mike quietly thanks him. "Mind if I use your bathroom?"
"Nope."
Will sits down on the bed, trying not to think of Mike in the bathroom, shirtless. Mike, agonizingly, has left the door ajar. Will stares at his feet, the socks with the tiny aliens on them, trying to come up with a backstory for them so he doesn't make the mistake of looking up.
He gets halfway through them. Meep. Morp. Zorp. Zark. Mike.
Mike.
Fuck.
And, Will makes the mistake. He looks up and he's greeted with the sight of Mike's bare back. He should be ashamed at what he's doing, but it's just him. No one knows. Still, it's wrong. He goes back to naming the aliens.
"Hey, Will?"
"Yeah?"
"I need your help."
Will stops his mind from coming up with any alternate scenarios that might succeed that sentence, instead making his way into the bathroom where Mike stands with his shirt, soaked with water.
"I need to get the stain out."
"Here. Let me try."
The shirt is soaked. In this climate, it'll take at least a few days until it's dried and ironed and ready for the scrutinizing eyes of Mrs. Wheeler. The ranch stain is obvious and not enough of it is gone, so Will takes his old brush and starts scrubbing.
It's working. Maybe it's because Will has washed enough shirts to last a lifetime or because the stain looks so much like splattered blood, but it's actually working.
It works so well that the stain fades and it looks like dried blood.
His heart sinks. This is not the time to panic. Mike glances at Will, wondering why he's stopped scrubbing but the pale of Will's face has answered him.
"Will?"
Will grips the edge of the sink desperately trying to steady himself before he falls apart right in front of Mike. He's well aware of the eyes on him, wide as saucers with shock but when his entire body feels like it's being weighed down with a hundred-pound rock, he has more pressing concerns.
Usually, it doesn't take long for the fatigue to wane. Will washes it down with a glass of water and a good night's sleep, but it's the addition of Mike that's throwing him off. It's panic, mixed with exhaustion, mixed with embarrassment and dread of the inevitable questions that Mike is going to have for him. All of these things plus Mike, who won't stop trying to get his attention through the small, water-streaked bathroom mirror, is sending him down a spiral.
Will reaches for the towel rack, which has a screw loose. If it buckles under the force of his weight and falls - well, Will might as well book that one-way ticket to Alaska. Maybe there is a god out there or the universe decided to give him a break and not throw any more curveballs his way. Will counts his blessings. The rack survives and Will sits on the edge of his bathtub.
The lightheadedness hasn't left, but his breathing has steadied, goosebumps disappearing. The effect has passed, but the damage has been done.
"Are you okay?" Mike asks, leaning against the sink. He's forgotten all about his shirt still in the sink with a stain that looks like faded blood and Will doesn't have the strength to remind him.
"No." He finally answers.
Mike chews on the inside of his cheek. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay."
"You should be outside." Will is surprised at how raspy his voice sounds and he clears his throat before he continues. "They're probably looking for you."
"Do you want me to go?"
Will is gripping the bathtub so hard that his knuckles turn white. The goosebumps return, covering every square inch of skin on his body and he's not even the tiniest bit surprised that the answer is no, no, no.
"Don't go."
Mike bristles, as if that wasn't the answer he was expecting. He quickly recovers, the knot in his shoulders relaxing and he sits beside Will on that uncomfortable edge. Mike doesn't seem to notice when his bare knee knocks into Will's, but then again, a normal person wouldn't notice.
It's just Will. Will and his strangely wired, hyperactive brain that notices these things. The water from Mike's wet hair dripping onto his shirt. The curl of his fingers, his fifth digit just inches away from Will's. The hunch in his posture, the snug of his jeans, Will notices and doesn't stop noticing.
He files these away for later, to be unboxed when he'll get to savor these details. For now, Will focuses on calming his headache and trying to act as normal as possible.
Will dares a glance at Mike, who's unabashedly watching him, like there's going to be a puff of smoke and Will is going to disappear into thin air in the next second. The questions are written all over his face, but he doesn't ask.
"It's not a regular thing, but it happens. It's usually headaches and sometimes I get sleepy. That's it. It's nothing."
"That didn't look like nothing."
"I'm fine." Will snaps. Mike's jaw tightens.
There it is again. That tense awkwardness neither of them can seem to escape. Will's blessings seem to have run out.
"I'm sorry." Mike mutters under his breath. So low that Will almost doesn't hear it.
Mike bites down on his knuckle, keeping his attention fixed on the toilet lid. "I told El about Jennifer."
"Oh. Uh… it's fine."
That part? That's a lie. He still hasn't told Mike (and he never will) about the things that Jennifer said to him. A lot of it sounded like a confession, but for people like Will, it's hard to tell how much of it is reality and how much of it is wishful thinking. Of course, if he said to Mike right now, he'd get punched in the face.
"I didn't know she'd bring it up in front of everyone." Mike says, his cheeks coloring at the thought of what had transpired at the dinner table.
In the heat of the moment, Will hadn't thought about how much all of this works out in his favor. His family thinking he has a girlfriend would never once consider the mere possibility of the abnormality festering inside him, plus a popular girl like Jennifer? He's bound to get a few plus points for that.
Mike will never know either. That's the part that brings Will the most relief.
"It's okay, really. There really isn't much to tell." Will says, and this time, he means the words. "I mean, she did say some weird things at Pop's but it's not like that. She's definitely not interested in me."
It takes Mike a minute to reply. He sounds almost angry when he says, "The fact that you just said that makes it obvious to me that you don't know anything about yourself."
Mike sounds angry. He is angry, Will realizes with muted shock.
"What?"
"She didn't tell you that. How do you know she doesn't like you?"
Will, with all power, is trying to discern if this is nothing but a fever dream. The words coming out of Mike's mouth, the unusual heaving of his chest, it all feels like he's being held underwater. Mike's eyes are searching his, looking for an answer to his question that Will is struggling to understand. Will opens his mouth, closes it again. He's confused and uncomfortable and he would lie about Jennifer Hayes a million times before he has to have this conversation again.
"Because I know what I'm like, Mike. I'm not stupid. A girl like Jennifer Hayes won't like me."
Mike is sunken in disbelief. He's right next to Will, but his mind is light years away. Will is getting the impression that they're both having two different conversations, two different interpretations of their words. The mental gymnastics of it all has Will so occupied, he almost doesn't hear Mike.
"Do you really think you're not worth loving?"
And the anger is gone, like a flash of lightning. Mike's voice is soft, almost unheard and Will sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. The wall he's built around him, the one that's protected him for so long – shatters.
"You're so stupid." Mike says, with no malice at all. He turns to face Will, eyes brimming with things unsaid. "Will, you're so fucking stupid."
There's a retort at the tip of Will's tongue, but it dies down when Mike kisses him. It's nothing like in Will's imagination. There are no candles, no confessions, no silk sheets and hurried gasps. But this is better, so much better because it's real and it's happening and Mike tastes like mint.
Will's mind is running in overdrive - slowly coming to the realization that he has no idea how any of this works - but he'll be damned if he lets this moment slip out of his hands. He kisses Mike back.
There's a ringing in Will's ears that refuses to go away and the edge of the acrylic tub digging into his bone only gets more uncomfortable at the time passes, but Mike's hand slips under his shirt and Will forgets all about it.
Will's hands lie uselessly at his side, but Mike - clearly more experienced - won't stop tugging at his hair and touching his arm, and Will is so, so glad none of this is like what he imagined.
When they separate, Will's forehead is touching Mike's. They're breathing in sync and Mike's eyelashes are sweeping the vast expanse of Will's cheek. His heart is beating so hard, it might even jump out of his chest.
Mike reaches over to lace his fingers with Will's. All Will wishes is for this moment to last forever.