Chapter Eight

It had been a little under a year since Mike Wheeler had seen his best friend, Will Byers, and the supergirl Eleven– or rather, Jane, as he often had to remind himself– and he was nervous.

His flight had been delayed once while he was still in Indianapolis and he had worried the wildflowers he had picked that morning for her weren't too wilted. They were too brightly yellow and made his nose itch the entire flight. He hoped she liked them, at least.

He had spent most of the days leading up to the flight wondering about his friends, but he found himself anxiously focusing on the prospect of Will changing the most; if Will would be different, more outspoken and comfortable in his skin as he acclimated to the California glow, or if he would be more withdrawn and reclusive, shyer than ever and in need of Mike's friendship. He hated the idea of him being alone. He also wondered if he would look any different; Mike himself had gone through a growth spurt over Christmas break, where his legs shot out from under him and his collarbones expanded. He was taller, lankier, and his hair was more fluffy than ever. He didn't think he looked too much different, but he found girls eyeing him in some of his classes more frequently, so something had to have changed. He wondered if Will got gazed at by the girls in his class. Often, he worried Will may not like Mike very much anymore with the distance between them.

He felt uncomfortable and like a stranger in the off-brand, brightly colored Hawaiian shirt his mom had purchased him at the local Hawkins' Thrifty Mart. The dark sunglasses on his face felt clunky and like they were constantly at risk of falling down his thin, sloping nose and he wondered how anyone could get used to the annoying thong pressed between his toes from the flip flops he was wearing.

Oh, well. He hoped Will and El thought he looked cool.

He was relieved when the plane finally landed, but a stone of cold fear formed in the pit of his stomach and his mouth was dry. He felt like his knees were shaking. He had faced down Demogorgons and Demodogs! This was nothing! Why was he being such a wuss about it?

With a steely breath and a clutch of the bouquet in his hand, Mike made his way through gate two to reunite with his friends in California.

"Mike!"

The fluffy haired boy meandered out of the gate and gazed around the room for a familiar face, his sunglasses far too dark to see though indoors.

"Mike! Over here!" a female voice rang within the chattering of the crowd.

Across the way, Mike could see Jonathan, Will, Eleven, and someone else he did not recognize– Jonathan's stoner friend, Mike assumed, from El's letters. "Ah!" He shouted in recognition, and made his way over to them.

El was already running through the airport, a wide smile on her alit face, and arms outstretched to Mike. He jogged to meet her, bent at his waist and kissed her, careful not to hug her too tightly or crush the flowers. "Careful, careful! You're squishing your present!" He complained, tugging away from her firm embrace. "It's a gift. I, uh, I hand-picked them for you in Hawkins. I know you like yellow, but now I'm realizing there's too much yellow and I know you like purple also, so I got purple as well…"

Mike took his glasses off– he noticed no one else was wearing them inside like Lucas had told him Californians did. "It's cool, dude!" Lucas had reassured him a few days before the trip when he was modeling the clothes his mother had packed for him. "It's so sunny there I've heard everyone wears them– even indoors! I'll bet the sun will probably boil your eyes outta your skull even in the buildings." Dustin had argued the credibility of physiology in this scenario, but Mike had chosen to trust Lucas. He felt foolish being the only person in doors in a brightly colored button down and dark sunglasses outsizing his angular face. '...so I kinda did a 70/30 thing?" He continued to ramble on as she glanced over the flowers with a wince.

El smiled up at him then. "They're you."

Jonathan and Will had walked up, behind Eleven, and the stone in Mike's belly came to life in an eruption of wings– a transmutation from solid rock to flighty wings, and he felt like he would vomit or scream. "Oh!" He shouted and held his arms wide to Will– who was smiling brightly from ear to ear– and then drew them in closer to his own body in shame. Boys didn't hug other boys tighter than they hugged their girlfriends. He gave Will a half-hearted pat-pat on the shoulder blade and asked him nervously "How ya doing?"

Will opened his mouth as if he were going to speak, and gripped a tube of cardboard between his hands anxiously. Mike gave a pause, but he didn't say anything. Mike had noticed Will had changed– he was taller, broader, and his arms had begun to take shape. There was muscle where there had never been muscle, and Mike suspected Will was taller than him now, although he still stood with sloped forward shoulders and a bent down head. His flannel looked a size too big– maybe a hand-me-down from Jonathan, but still clung to his biceps in a way that made Mike want to squirm.

Will closed his mouth and looked down, not answering.

"Hey Mike," Jonathan saved, stepping forward to greet Mike through the silence.

"Hey! How's it going?" He tried again to the older Byers brother.

"Yeah, good, man." He said, coolly.

"Great," Mike swallowed then looked down at the tube in Will's hands. "Uh, what's that?" He asked innocently, pointing to it.

"Um…" Will started with a shaky voice and he slapped the tube in the palm of his hand with a loud, hollow thwump! "It's nothing, j-just a painting I've been working on." That must be the painting El had written him about, Mike thought to himself, the one for the girl in Will's class. The one for the girl Will was trying to impress. It must have been important, if he was holding it on his person at all times.

"Cool." Mike said.

He and Will looked at each other for a brief moment, and Mike felt like he was going to explode with nerves.

"That's a rad shirt, man!" a loud voice called to Mike then, snapping his attention forward. A tall teenage boy was towering beside Jonathan, with board-straight black hair that fell down past his chest and wide, broad shoulders. His hair reminded Mike of Eddie Munson, who was the only other male with long hair Mike knew. But this guy was different. If Eddie was a guy, this guy was a dude. "Ocean pacific?" He asked.

"Oh, Mike, this is my friend Argile." Jonathan introduced, motioning to the long-haired big dude in the colorful upturned cap. So Mike had guessed accurately. Jonathan's stoner friend that El had written him about.

"Oh. Hey." He outstretched his hand politely to the big dude and was suddenly engulfed by his large arms. He felt the collar of his shirt being lifted. He felt way too close to this stranger– this dude– for his liking. Argyle had him pulled close against his big body.

"Oh, no, no, no," He gave Mike a shove. "It's a shitty knock-off. Yeah. But don't sweat it man, I'll get you the good threads out here." Mike stared blankly.

"I heard a lot about your sister," Argyle nodded knowingly at Mike and he grimaced at Jonathan, who shoved his hands awkwardly into his pockets, looking away from Mike.

With a clear of his throat, Jonathan announced, "Okay, we should go, right?"

Argyle gave a crooked grin and said lazily, "Oh yeah, this is kinda awkward, man."

"Yeah," Mike agreed with a huff, "So awkward." He started to walk forward, following the crowd away from the flight terminal and towards the exit.

El quickened her pace and found her spot beside Mike, and he draped his arm over her shoulder. She was excitedly chattering about their day. "First, El Rodeo for burritos,"

"Burritos for breakfast?" Mike asked warily and cast a glance at Will, who was eyeing El carefully.

"Yes. Trust me." Eleven stated..

"Yeah, no, I trust you. It's just, you know, a little weird." Burritos in the morning sounded nauseating to him, and far too heavy. Besides, he had been looking forward to eating some Eggos with Eleven.

"Then, after burritos, I want to go to Rink-O-Mania!

"Rink-O-Mania, okay. What's Rink-O-Mania?" Mike humored.

"It's the most fun place in Lenora! They have skating and games! Like the arcade back in Hawkins!" She said, cheerfully.

"Sounds awesome." He lied. He had no idea how to roller skate. Ice skating? Sure, he and Will had skated over the frozen ponds of Hawkins many winter breaks. But quad skates? He had his doubts. Besides, no arcade was better than Hawkins Arcade. "Are your friends gonna meet us there?" Mike asked, interested if not in roller skating and Californian arcades, then to meet these mystery friends El had written him all about.

Rather rudely, Will cut in, "Friends? What friends?" His tone was curt, harsh.

El gave him a sisterly slap with her bouquet of wildflowers and retorted coolly, with an upturn of her nose, "You know, Stacy and Angela."

"Angela?" He asked, incredulously.

"Don't worry–" El stepped in front of Will, cutting him off from Mike's line of sight. "You'll meet them, I promise. Just not today, I want today to be for you and me." She gave a warm smile.

Mike smiled back tightly and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. He had wondered if Will was invited to their gathering. It was his birthday, after all. Maybe it was a surprise party and she had just forgotten to tell Mike about it. Or maybe Will didn't want to celebrate his birthday. The last time he and Mike had spoken about aging and growing up, it had been tense, and sad, and left Mike reeling for weeks with regret and shame. Plus, he felt Will deserved any space he needed, especially regarding his lost time as a child. He had been traumatized in the horror realm of the Upside Down at such a young age. It would make sense to Mike if Will didn't want to make a big deal of getting older, getting closer to the inescapable death he was so near just a year before.

Mike didn't want to reopen any wounds if he could help it, so, not wanting to ruin any surprise, or respect any hesitancy Will might have towards aging, Mike stayed quiet, and followed Eleven to spend the day together.

Meanwhile, a police investigation was picking up in Hawkins, Indiana, in response to a mutilated body in the woods just outside of Forest Hills, the body of Hawkins High School senior, Fred Benson, whose limbs were shattered to complicated angles, his eye sockets blown out and bloodied, and his jaw hanging loosely agape, a forever silent scream on his glasses-clad, pimple-covered, dead face.