Work Text:
Will looks good.
Mike hadn’t expected that to be the first thing he thought when he saw him, but it was true. Will looks good. Pretty, even, if Mike let the thought linger.
His hair was longer than the last time Mike had seen it, curling gently beneath his ears and falling in soft swoops over his forehead. It was parted down the middle now, framing his face in a way that made Mike’s chest feel strangely tight. No bowl cut, and his bangs were curtained instead of straight and stiff. No more awkward attempts at styling his choppy hair with sink water and a towel because Mrs. Byers had insisted she used her big mixing bowl again, just to get it out of his eyes.
It feels a bit wrong to see Will this way, so far from who Mike had once known. He finds himself missing the old hair a little, and the way it fluffed around Will’s whole head like a mushroom, or a coconut, innocent and silly.
His face was still the same Will, luckily. Just a bit older, a bit more matured. Prettier.
His ears were pierced, too. Big silver hoops dangle from his lobes, catching the dim bar lights whenever he moved. They matched the glitter on his nails, and the thin necklace resting against his chest, grazing his shirt. A nice shirt, something Will never would’ve worn back in Hawkins. It was this soft peachy-champagne color that looked slightly golden under the amber lights overhead, like he was bathed in sunlight. It suited the holiday. It suited Will especially.
Everything about him seemed softer somehow, a little bit more deliberate, like he’d finally figured out what he liked and stopped caring about what people would spit at him because of it. Mike likes it, too. He likes it so much that his chest hurts, just for a moment.
“BYERS!”
Will barely has time to finish knocking snow off his sneakers before Lucas is pulling him into a hug. Dustin cheers from a booth nearby, spilling alcohol from his glass. He’s clearly already had a bit too much of whatever tropical looking thing he’s been sipping on, overflowing with fruit and three tiny umbrellas. Mike doesn’t know why he has three, but he hadn’t asked.
“WILL THE WISE! WILL THE WISE!”
Lucas hoots, lifting Will clean off the floor for a moment and Will sinks into it easily, his hands rapidly patting at Lucas’ back. Will’s feet dangle, trusting Lucas with his weight, and Mike’s fingers twitch. “You’re late!”
"OUR CLERIC HAS ARRIVED-”
Will laughs, sharp and startled, probably a little pleased. It’s loud enough that Mike can hear it for a moment. It’s the same one he used to have, back when it was usually Mike making him laugh hard enough he’d fold in half, pressing a hand to his mouth to contain it, eyes teary and squeezed shut. Now he’s tossing his head back, hoops swinging a bit, fingers glittering as they wave at Dustin to knock it off.
He says something, probably all embarrassed and sweet, but Mike can’t hear it from where he’s sitting at the bar. Lucas sets him down and Will pushes at his chest with a playful shove, rolling his eyes. Will is still short, looking up at Lucas teasingly. He’s short enough that if Mike were standing directly in front of him, Will would probably have to tilt his head all the way back to make eye contact. Maybe he’d reach Mike’s collarbones at most, unless Mike hunched and tilted his head down to get closer to his level, the same way he used to.
The thought makes something twist unpleasantly beneath Mike’s ribs. He looks away and takes a sip of his drink, trying not to focus on Will in his peripheral or the way Max was walking up to him with a purpose, her arms crossed over her chest.
It was her fault they were here, anyway.
Dustin’s hotel room was too small for them to fit comfortably, and Lucas’ heating had broken, so he was staying with Max, but apparently her roommate was having people over tonight, even though Max was the one who called and planned this whole thing. Will was moving into some new place with his boyfriend, except he hadn’t unpacked anything, not even a lousy alarm clock to see the time as it reached midnight.
Mike would have invited them all to his place if he hadn't still lived back in Indiana. The house was his now, his name sprawled onto the deed. His dad had given him the property after his parents moved to Florida a year ago, eager to get out of Hawkins. Besides, with Holly living in the dorms and old enough to drink as of three months ago, there wasn't much reason for his parents to keep maintaining such a big house.
They'd wanted to sell it but Mike hadn't let them, so it ended up being cheaper to just hand it over instead of handling repairs and putting it on the market.
Someone had to be there, anyway. Just in case El ever found her way back to them from wherever she was.
But, that meant he was too far away to host when Will didn’t drive and Max had work the next day. If he knew, he probably wouldn’t have agreed to meet up in the first place. Mike had been planning on stopping by, giving old Christmas gifts that he had shoved in his trunk, and then leaving before everyone else got there.
Now he was stuck in some New York bar with sticky floors and too-loud music. His glasses kept fogging from the heat of all the bodies and the decorations were flimsy and unbearably tacky, just big stars and silver confetti everywhere. Not exactly what Mike imagined when he’d gotten the courage to see everyone again.
“Wheeler.”
Mike sighs, preparing himself for a headache. “Max.”
"When did you get here?"
"About twenty minutes ago, give or take."
“Twenty minutes? Screw you." Max leans over the bar, a few crumpled dollar bills pinched between her fingers. She catches the bartender’s attention with a wave. "Hey- yeah, one shot of vodka. Thanks."
It doesn’t stay in her hand for more than a few seconds before she knocks it back, wincing at the taste. Her nose wrinkles and she exhales sharply through her teeth, setting the empty glass back on the counter. The bartender takes it without a word and tosses it into the sink behind the bar with the rest. It’s probably unsanitary.
"Thanks for saying hi, asshole."
Mike's thumb digs into his own glass, shrugging lightly. "Hey."
Max stares at him, annoyed. Mike knows he should say something else, should ask how she’s doing, or about her roommate. He could ask about anything, really, as long as it makes it seem like he’s happy to see her. He takes another sip of his drink instead, feeling it burn.
"How was the flight?"
“Drove.”
“How was the drive?”
Mike shrugs again and Max rolls her eyes, pushing away from the bar. “That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, Mike. Maybe something that resembles a conversation?”
“... It’s snowing pretty hard.”
Max’s eye twitches, annoyed, before she sighs. "Whatever, you suck at small talk. Come celebrate, I just got here and I don't want to deal with your bad energy when all of us haven't been together in years.”
His pointer finger drags slowly around the rim of the glass, tracing the wet circle the condensation has left behind. "Yeah, well, it's not like all of us are here right now anyway."
Max's face falls, her brows scrunching up, hurt. "Fuck you, Mike.” He flinches briefly. “Happy New Years," Max adds as an afterthought, before snatching his glass and downing it. It slams back onto the bar with a bit more force as she leaves, going back to the others.
He doesn’t call after her. He wouldn’t know what to say if he did.
Mike pushes his glass to the edge, raising a hand to get the bartender's attention. He needed a few more drinks, at least. Just to make it through the night. He can get a hotel and drive home tomorrow morning instead of roughing out the drive tonight. That would be easier, probably. He just hopes no one tries coming up with plans for breakfast- or worse, lunch.
He should get home before the snow gets any worse, anyway. He'll need to shovel the driveway. The roof, too.
There's already enough snow sitting up there that he should probably clear it before it gets heavier. If it rains and freezes overnight, it'll turn to ice, and then it'll be twice as much trouble. He should check the pipes while he's at it, because the ones in the basement always get weird when the temperature drops, not to mention he still hasn't properly filled in that hole in the wall by the door. He'd meant to do that last time. He'd forgotten, or he'd gotten distracted, or maybe he just hadn't wanted to. Mike isn't sure anymore.
A pair of hands drop onto his shoulders and Mike jumps, his elbow jerking back instinctively.
"Woah, woah! Watch the organs! I'm fragile." Mike relaxes momentarily and Dustin gives his shoulders a squeeze before plopping down in the seat next to him. "I was gonna ask you to buy me a drink, but now I'm a bit worried you'll sneakily spike it with rat poison. Or, you know, a unique combination of cleaning chemicals that causes some sort of catastrophic nervous-system failure.”
“Dustin-”
"That would honestly be your best bet, because I'm pretty sure mixing bleach and ammonia makes something toxic, and if you really wanted to kill me it would do the job easily and relatively cleanly, although I'd prefer you didn't because I have plans for the next forty to fifty years."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm not going to roofie you, Dustin.” Mike grumbles. “Buy your own drink.”
Dustin sighs dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, now I see how much you value this friendship. Look! I was going to ask you not to be a jerk, but now you're acting a liiiittle bit more like an asshole.” Mike’s eyes narrow, and Dustin raises both of his hands peacefully. “I get it, you're sad!”
“I’m not sad-”
“Your brain is probably filling your system with so much cortisol right now, and your dopamine is low, so you’re definitely experiencing some depressive symptoms, but-” Mike opens his mouth to speak but Dustin barrels right over him. "But! I'm trying to have a good night with my friends and you've already made Max upset so pleeeease don't make Will upset too by being an asshole when he comes over here-"
"Pause- pause. What's with people calling me an asshole? I haven't even done anyth-"
"Hi."
Mike feels his insides shrivel and twist up, like somebody had wrung all the water out of him and left him sitting there to dry. Fuck, he's thirsty. His heart is thumping against his chest and his hands are already restless, fingers tapping against the side of his glass, thumb worrying at the condensation gathering in a puddle around it. He needs to get out of this seat. He needs to get out of this bar.
"Ah! My good sir, Will the Wise- whatever shall I do to greet someone of your standing properly? A lowly bard like me cannot possibly rise to your level!" Dustin throws his hands up above his head dramatically.
"Oh!" His voice was sweet, a little shy. Nervous in that way Mike remembers so well, flustered and wanting to fold in on himself. "We're in public, Dustin."
So soft and embarrassed. A little needy, even, like he wanted someone to guide the conversation for him. Like he needed Mike to say something, to tug him under his arm, to bat Dustin away until he was more uncomfortable.
"Do not worry thyself over lowly peasants-"
"Dustin," Will tries again, hushed and almost whining. There's people looking already, Dustin's voice loud and carrying across the space. Someone snickers, glancing their way from a few groups over, pointing to their friend.
Mike's jaw tightens and without thinking he gives a sharp kick to the leg of Dustin's stool, ducking his head down to take a sip of his drink. Dustin jolts, gripping the bar to steady himself.
"Jesus! Fine, fine, kill my spirit.” He sniffs loudly. “I see where I’m not wanted. Do you want to sit, Will? Take my place in this evil domain?" Dustin pushes himself up halfway and Will giggles under his breath. Mike catches it from the corner of his eye, the way Will raises a hand to his mouth, pressing his knuckles against his lips as though he's trying to hide it. His eyes squint slightly, cheeks still pink.
"No- no, it's okay. I can stand."
"Psh, nonsense." Dustin waves him off and slides completely off of the seat, leaving it wobbling for a moment. His hands land easily on Will’s shoulders, guiding him down. “Sit, sit!” Dustin pushes him down and Will gives a tiny, surprised oof as he settles onto the stool beside Mike.
Besides Mike, close enough that if he spread his legs out and got comfortable, they’d be able to touch. Knee to knee.
“Thanks, Dustin.”
"It's the least I can do, considering that you're going to buy me a drink. Tequila sunrise please, my good sir."
"Okay, okay-" Dustin beams, squeezing Will from behind and shaking him side to side. Will laughs, sweet and easy.
"I love you."
Mike downs the rest of his glass. If he knew he'd be a third wheel the whole night, he’d have left sooner.
"Mhm, sure," Will teases, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. It's a pale yellow, a bit worn on the leather and peeling. "You're just asking me because Lucas said no, aren't you?"
"Not true!” Dustin places a hand over his chest. “He bought my last, but Mike said no when I asked him, and I just know you'd never neglect me, right?" Will's eyes flick to Mike's quickly and Mike goes to hide his face in his glass before realizing too late that it's empty. He sets it back down slowly, trying not to focus on the small smile pulling at Will's lips, curving at the corner.
"Course not."
Dustin plants a wet kiss on Will's cheek, who squeaks and giggles, turning his face away. "This is why you're my favorite, William. Oh! Also- update for you,” Dustin settles against the bar, lowering his voice, leaning in between the two of them. “There's this guy that Max is eyeing up right now. I guess her and Lucas are split again-" Will hums, and Dustin groans, dramatic. "They're going to be sooo annoying until they get back together. Oh! Oh! I forgot to ask- where's your eye candy?"
Will flushes, ducking his head down. Dustin points a finger at him and Will bats it away gently, fiddling with his wallet in his free hand. Mike's heart jumps in his chest. "Oh- you know. He's spending the holidays with his family."
The bartender finally turns their way, grabbing Mike's glass and pouring him another. Mike slides him a five, and downs a mouthful.
“Will,” Dustin whines, drawing his name out.
"Right. Uhm-" Will's voice cracks, seeming unsure of himself. Mike can’t help but look over, Will’s brows furrowing nervously, trying to aim for a smile, completely out of his element.
He shouldn't be ordering for himself, Mike thinks distantly. Will's the kind of boy who sits patiently, waiting for someone else to order and pay for him, and in the end he gets rewarded by whatever it is he wanted in the first place. It feels sacrilegious, almost, to imagine Will doing it all for himself, or worse, for someone else. Will paying for someone, when he’s already spent so much of his life worrying about money. Will ordering when he’s so soft spoken and gentle.
Mike can almost feel the image of Will in his head distorting, leaving him sick to his stomach and nauseous.
Will clears his throat before trying again. "Sorry, uh- could I get a tequila sunrise for my friend? And a red wine, if you have any that's sweet? Maybe Santa Port? Or-” he pauses, wincing before he even tries, “maybe a glass of- of de ackwee?"
Dustin snorts as Will fumbles over the italian pronunciation, and Will shoots him a quick wounded look. Mike’s chest feels tight.
"Cash or card?"
"Uhm- card, please, if that's available-?"
"I got it." Mike's voice cracks, and Dustin whirls to him, wide eyed. After a second his mouth curls into an obnoxious victory smile, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet.
Will hesitates before shaking his head. "It’s okay. That’s not necessary, really-"
"Will," Mike mumbles, firm. Heat licks up his spine at how easily Will listens, sinking into his seat and tucking his wallet away, quieting down. "I'll open a tab." Mike fishes his wallet out of his back pocket before pulling out his debit card.
For some silly reason, he feels like he’s showing off. It’s stupid, but his father had said it was more impressive. It was a stupid piece of advice from years ago that Mike shouldn’t care about. Pay with debit, because girls like it more when you show them you’re capable of providing.
There’s no point in remembering it, because he's not providing for any girl right now.
When he turns his head, Will is nursing his wine in both hands, the bowl of the glass cradled carefully between his palms. He's smiling to himself, looking quietly content with the whole exchange, and Mike has to resist the ridiculous urge to roll his shoulders back and preen under the attention like some kind of peacock.
He'd bought Will a drink. That's all.
Dustin rubs his palms together, wiggling side to side in the space between their stools. "Thanks, Mike. You're the best- you're a real solid friend."
"Didn't you just call me an asshole a few minutes ago?"
"Old news." Dustin waves him off with one hand, already turning away. “Water under the bridge. I forgive you, you forgive me, no handshake needed.”
Mike watches him head back toward the others, anxious for no reason at all. Dustin doesn’t offer for them to tag along, and Will doesn’t move to follow. Mike can’t help himself, his eyes trailing over. Will’s already looking up at him through his lashes.
Long, long lashes. Long and straight and dark, framing those soft green eyes as Will peers up at him, thankful and shy. There’s something pleased in his expression, like he got what he wanted without needing to ask. Will takes a sip and Mike’s stomach gives an uncomfortable little twist.
It was probably silly for Will to be drinking wine at a bar when everyone else was ordering shots and hard liquor, but somehow it made sense. Will had always had a thing for romance, even in their old campaigns. Wine seemed romantic.
Will seemed romantic.
Mike's already coming up with a story before he can stop it, imagining it in detail in his mind. If he had a pen he could write it out right here and now. Will, sitting somewhere nicer than this, tucked into a little restaurant booth beneath warm yellow lights, a candle flickering between him and some attractive man. Will would probably be wearing something soft to the touch, a primary color like yellow, red, or blue. Gold jewelry, this time. Gold suited him more. He'd laugh quietly and duck his head when the guy complimented him, too shy to accept on the first attempt.
They'd play footsie underneath the table, Will covering his face in his hands in embarrassment, asking him to knock it off, before he gets a little mean and nasty. Will would probably kick him, all playful, voice a bit snarky, the side of him that he tries to hide unless he’s comfortable. If he’s comfortable, they’d probably hold hands as he walked Will back home, even though they’re in public.
Maybe they'd go home together. Spend the night together.
Mike swallows, his mouth unbearable dry.
"Thanks. I'll pay you back."
"No need," Mike rushes to say, feeling like an idiot.
He hadn't even bothered to shave this morning, planning on staying for two hours tops. Was his facial hair patchy? He'd looked in the car mirror earlier and thought it was fine, but that had been hours ago. Maybe the gel in his curls was already crusting away, making him look unkempt. His sweater suddenly feels stupid, too. He shouldn’t have worn red, it’s more of a christmas color. He doesn’t know why he chose it in the first place, other than he grabbed it and decided it was good enough. Maybe he should've worn a button-down, the nice dark blue one he saves for special occasions.
Or shaved- he definitely should’ve shaved.
“Still, you didn’t need to do that, Mike.”
“Better than Dustin bothering you all night, right?”
Will grins, his bunny teeth peeking out against his bottom lip. “I guess so.”
Mike shouldn’t stare, but the wine is already beginning to stain Will's mouth, darkening the waxy peach-pink substance smeared over his lips. Probably a chapstick to keep them from cracking in the cold. Will drinks a little too quickly for something that's supposed to be sipped slowly throughout a conversation, but Mike has already decided he's buying him another one when it's gone, so it doesn't really matter.
“So…” Mike starts, feeling awfully awkward. “Red wine? Really?”
“Mhm. You?”
“Rum and coke.”
“Ooh, manly.” Will’s voice is playful, and Mike finds himself leaning in a bit closer.
“You think so?”
“Mhm, it’s very masculine of you. Question-” Mike nods before Will can even finish the word, and he’s rewarded with Will’s cheeky grin, the one he does whenever he’s feeding off of some good attention. “Do you actually like the taste, or are you pretending so you can impress some girl?”
Mike shrugs one shoulder and nudges his glass towards him. Will makes a face and nudges it right back. "Come on, just try a little. See for yourself.”
"Ew- no thanks."
"You haven't even tried it."
"I know what rum tastes like."
"Then what's the problem?"
"It's rum."
Mike laughs under his breath, feeling his insides clench, endeared. "And?"
"And it's gross, Mike. It’s disgusting."
“Mm.. I think you’re just scared, and you don’t want to admit it.”
“Mike, it’s disgusting. I’ve had it before- seriously.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Mike nudges the glass toward him again. "If you’ve done it before you can do it again. Come on, Will, take one sip and prove me wrong." Will rolls his eyes, but picks up the glass, his fingers pressing into the sides. Probably leaving prints behind, if Mike were to look for them. "And if you really wanted to know," Mike continues, clearing his throat quietly. "I like the taste. Makes me feel good."
Will hums, listening, Mike’s drink against his mouth. His lips are on the rim of the same glass Mike had just been drinking out of. It’s been years since they accidentally shared spit like that- except it isn’t spit. It’s just alcohol.
Mike’s not drunk enough for this.
“You sound like an alcoholic, Mike,” Will mumbles against the glass before taking a sip.
“I’m probably turning into Nancy, huh?” Will snorts sharply, choking for a second before he swallows. A moment after his face scunches, head shaking side to side, a hand lifting to cover his mouth. “Come on- you have to go through with it, Will. How is it?”
Will coughs, shoving the glass back towards Mike. “Eugh. I don’t know how you drink that stuff.”
“What? It’s good. Maybe you tried it wrong-”
“No!” Will waves a hand at him, laughter threaded in his voice. “No, never again. This is worse than when you used to put barbecue sauce on your shrimp.”
“Maybe you need to branch out a bit more. Maybe I’m getting drunk every night and going out on exciting and dangerous adventures where I invent good food combinations.”
Will peeks at him, hand curled over his face, and Mike resists the urge to catch his wrist and pull it away to get a closer look. “Is that what you tell your fans?”
“Fans? What- what fans?”
“Come on, you know.” Will looks away, nervous, and Mike watches him down the rest of his own wine. Judging by the little scrunch between his brows afterward, he's probably doing it to wash the taste away, or to get rid of his anxiety. They should slow down, probably. Mike lifts two fingers toward the bartender and orders another without taking his eyes off the coy look in Will's eyes. “Lucas told me about your book.”
“Oh.” Mike’s face warms. “Yeah- that.”
“That,” Will echoes, before whispering a quiet thanks as he picks up his refilled glass.
“Not many fans, I don’t think. I wouldn’t know- I don’t talk to them.”
Will narrows his eyes, looking at him like he’s trying to decide if Mike’s being deliberately difficult or not. “Having some secret alias is cheating, you know?” Mike can’t help but stare at his mouth as he speaks.
The wine has turned them a little darker in the middle, like a split cherry. They look soft. Will’s tongue darts out quickly, dragging against his lower lip, before taking another sip. So, so soft.
“Cheating how?”
“How am I supposed to read them if I don’t know what name you’re writing them under?”
“You don’t.”
Will’s mouth tugs into a pout, lips full and sad and needy, and Mike’s chest gives a sharp pull at the sight. He downs his glass in one whole mouthful, and it burns his insides going down. If Will isn’t slowing down, Mike isn’t either.
“Boo.”
“Yeah yeah, I’m awful, just the worst.” Will shifts in his seat, turning more towards Mike. Mike quickly searches for something to change the topic. “Enough about that- hows work?”
Will hesitates, one of his legs lifting for a second before dangling off the stool again. He was probably resisting the urge to curl up entirely, to pull both knees toward his chest and make himself comfortable in the little space between the bar and the stool. It would be very Will, somehow. Small and tucked in, taking up as little room as possible. “Do you want an honest answer?”
“Is that even a question?” Mike murmurs. “Hit me.”
Will glances down at his wine, turning the glass slowly between his fingers. “I kinda… hate it?”
Mike blinks. “What? Then why are you still working there?”
Will snorts, even though his face looks a bit guilty. “I have bills, Mike. We’re not kids anymore, I can’t just mooch off of other people all my life.”
“What about your-” Mike fumbles, his neck burning. He pushes his glasses higher up his nose, buying himself a moment to breathe. “Your, uh…” Mike winces. “Your Charles, or whatever.”
There’s a beat of silence before Will’s mouth twitches. “Carlton,” he corrects quietly. “But Carl’s fine- he prefers that anyway.”
“Right. Carl. Him. Can’t he handle the bills while you look for a new job?”
“It’s- not really that simple? Rent’s a lot more expensive at our new apartment-”
“I can’t believe you sold your loft,” Mike interrupts, his insides burning. He could feel it welling up inside of him, that familiar restlessness starting to build beneath his skin, the same crawling feeling that always seems to show up when he thinks about things he can't fix. “Didn’t you paint the doorframes?”
Will flushes, one of his hands coming up automatically, fingertips scratching at his nape. “Yeah. But it felt like it was time for a change, so I ended up painting over those-”
“WILL!” Will startles so hard his shoulders jump. “We need you to settle this-” Max shouts in his ear, loud enough to make Will flinch away. Mike’s fingers twitch instinctively against the bar. “I need a witness. Was it Dustin or Lucas that threw up on the ferris wheel in-”
“Third grade!” Dustin pipes up from behind her. “And it was Lucas-”
“No, dude! It was you, I remember it getting on my shoes-”
“I was eating a hotdog! Don’t frame me for your vomit-”
“It was Mike.” Dustin and Lucas both whip over to look at Will, and Will winces, apologetic. “You don’t remember? Holly mixed her ice cream into Mike’s nachos and she felt so bad about it that he ate them anyway? And then he smelled the mustard on Dustin’s hotdog as we were going up and-”
“IT WAS YOU!” Lucas jabs a finger against Mike’s shoulder, and Mike shoves him off. “I loved those shoes-”
“Get over yourself,” Mike grumbles, his mood ruined as the others begin talking over each other.
Mike would’ve loved this when they were kids. He would’ve pushed his way to the front and made sure everyone was listening to him and what he had to say, and he’d snap at them and nudge Will to get Will to agree with him.
Dustin says something that Mike doesn't catch, but Lucas argues back. Max laughs and Will leans toward her to whisper something into her ear, and Max's expression changes as she listens. Mike takes a sip of his drink, settling into the background.
There’s an uneven amount of people here. They’re missing one, and it sits heavy in Mike’s stomach.
Will could pass as Eleven, right now. If his hair wasn't sun-bleached at the top, making it look more golden than it used to, and if his skin wasn't so tanned and soft-looking, maybe. If his lips weren't so pink and glossy. If his eyes weren't so unmistakably green. If he wasn't so delicate, then he could pass. Maybe, at a glance, Mike could still make the two overlap.
It had been easier when they were kids. Back when Will hadn't found himself and was still hiding in everyone’s shadows. His hair had been shorter, darker, his skin lacking sunlight. El had still been figuring herself out, finding out what real people do, copying her brother to pretend. Mike doesn't know why he thinks of it that way when Will had been Mike’s first before he’d been El’s. He had been Mike’s best friend, Mike’s Will, before El even met him.
It’s a stupid thought, because for some so-called brother, Mike’s the only one thinking of her right now, because Will’s too busy laughing on Lucas’ shoulder.
Mike takes another sip and the liquor burns less than it did earlier. Will tosses his head back, leaning into Dustin’s side, and Mike glances at the clock, waiting to leave.
They don't need his input anyway. They haven't for years.
___________________________________
Dustin leans in for a kiss, and Mike keeps him at arm's length with one hand planted firmly against his forehead.
“Knock it off-”
Dustin complains something that gets swallowed beneath the sudden eruption of cheers around them. The ball had dropped and Mike hadn't even noticed it happening.
Max and Lucas are kissing, apparently back together again, their hands tangled in each other's clothes as everyone around them whoops and hollers. Someone further down the bar is shouting about champagne, and music swells through the speakers loud enough that Mike can feel the bass vibrating through his ribs.
Will is cheering.
He's got a cigarette burning between two fingers, forgotten almost as soon as he lifts it, his face flushed pink from the alcohol and the heat of the crowded bar. His eyes are bright, and his hair is completely mussed now, curls falling wherever they want instead of sitting neatly around his ears. Mike can’t help but stare, even as he shoves at Dustin. He'd never imagined this. Will, drunk in a public bar. Will, with a cigarette between his fingers, laughing with his head tipped back. Will, surrounded by people and noise and flashing lights, looking comfortable.
It shouldn't make Mike happy. It especially shouldn’t make his stomach feel hot with want, his head buzzing.
"Will!" Will doesn't seem to hear him. Mike shoves Dustin away fully this time, ignoring the offended noise he makes. "Hey- Will!"
Will turns, body a bit sluggish, but he beams when he sees it’s Mike calling for him. Will points at himself with the hand holding his cigarette, eyebrows raised, and Mike nods with a laugh.
“Way to leave me alone, asshole-”
“I think that girl over there is checking you out,” Mike mutters quickly, and Dustin's head snaps around to look.
“Really? Where?”
“Yeah, yeah, over there. Good luck.” Mike gives Dustin another nudge in a random direction before clearing his throat.
“Will!” He calls again, and Will waves his free hand in the air, leaning against the wall. His shirt was a bit unbuttoned at the top, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his skin. Mike hated the smell of cigarettes. He already knows it’ll catch on his clothes and follow him home, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He crooks one finger towards Will in a quiet come here motion, and Will pushes away from the wall with a laugh Mike can’t hear but can see. Will’s shoulders shake, and he takes one last drag before stamping out the butt in an ashtray, wiping his hands off on his blue jeans.
He didn’t care about the fact that his thoughts were moving slow and his throat burned, or the fact that he would sneeze the second Will got close.
Mike doesn’t want to let him go just yet.
___________________________________
“Why don’t you just- just get someone else to do it?” Will hiccups a little in the middle of his sentence, his eyebrows pinching together as though the thought is genuinely bothering him. “Like... someone who you can pay.”
“It’s a waste when I can do it myself. I like it, really.”
“But what about when you’re here visiting us?”
Mike softens, deciding not to mention that he hasn’t visited in a long, long time. Will’s head is probably too fuzzy to remember right now, or maybe he remembers and just doesn't care enough to bring it up. Either way, Mike doesn't want to put that weight between them tonight. “I think my driveway can wait a day, Will.”
“Can’t it wait a week? Or- or you can come another time instead.”
Mike swallows thickly. “... You could come back to Hawkins for the summer if you wanted. Maybe you could visit me, instead of me making the drive. There’s room in the house.”
Will’s eyes lift from his cup, all the way up to Mike’s own. “Are you lonely?”
Mike’s heart drops to his feet. “Huh?”
“Jon says you’re lonely, but you don’t call.” Will’s voice quiets. “It’s gotta be lonely in a big house all alone.”
Mike doesn’t know how to respond, or what to do with Will’s worry. He pulls Will’s empty glass from him, thinking over his words. “... It’s better in the summer,” he settles on eventually. “You’ll like it. I’ll invite the others, too, and you can work your magic sorcerer fingers and help me with the garden, because I suck at it. I’ll handle cutting the grass and you handle all my moms weird hanging plants on the front porch.”
Will’s mouth curls, his voice a bit sluggish. “Look at you, Mike Wheeler worried about potted plants. Who are you?”
“A loser?”
“Maybe,” Will whispers with just enough snark to make Mike laugh. “Do your plants know you have bad taste in drinks?” Will tilts forward, and his balance goes with him. Mike reaches out automatically, catching him before he can pitch too far, his hand closing around Will's shoulder to steady him. He can't help but give it a small squeeze.
“You’re mean when you’re tipsy, huh?”
“M not tipsy, you’re just a loser.”
“Well, maybe I’ll be less of a loser if you fix my flowers for me. You could quit your stupid job and we can just-” Mike hesitates. “You know. Catch up. Hawkins isn’t really… it’s not the same.”
“I miss summer there. All the fireflies…” Will trails off, and Mike rushes to say something to fill the silence, to get his attention again, to keep the conversation going.
“Yeah, uh- yeah, me too. I kinda miss mowing the lawn the most, and listening to kids like- play in their backyards while I do it.” Will looks at him for a second, confused, and Mike licks his lips instinctively. “I like doing yard work. It makes it feel like mine, kinda, not just my parents house. That’s stupid though, isn’t it?”
“Pshhh- you, mowing the lawn? I don’t buy it.”
“Yeah, well- you haven’t bought anything tonight, thanks to me being your glorified human wallet.”
Will snorts, even though it’s a stupid joke that the others would roll their eyes at. Will’s always indulged him though. “Thanks, Mike.”
Mike makes a poor zipper noise and Will cackles, tipsy and sweet, leaning forward against the bar as his shoulders shake. He’s more than tipsy, based on how he almost slumps. Mike sighs under his breath and shrugs his coat off, sliding it across the sticky bar until it sits beneath Will's arms, that way the nice sleeves of his shirt won't drag through whatever has been spilled across the counter.
Will’s laughter fades, his eyes soft. He has this fond expression on his face that makes Mike’s stomach tighten, Will humming gently.
“Such a gentleman.”
Mike’s throat goes dry, focused on the curve of Will’s lips and how he relaxes against Mike’s coat. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” Will’s smile is soft, almost sleepy. “God, now I remember why I was so in love with you when we were younger.”
Mike can’t breathe. Will’s lashes flutter, heavy with alcohol.
“Wh- what? No you- no you weren’t.”
“Psh-” Will waves at him with a hand for a moment before lowering his arms back onto Mike’s jacket, pillowing his head against them, comfortable. “Of course I was.”
Mike swallows thickly. He might’ve drank too much. He’s going to be sick.
Will’s face falls, confused. “Oh, come on. You knew.”
Mike’s stomach twists. “Yeah, I knew you- you had a crush on me. You got over it, though before you- before you told everyone. Remember? You got over me. You weren’t- you weren’t in love with me, because if you were, I would’ve known!”
Will flinches back at the sound of his voice, eyes glassy, and Mike freezes. He hadn’t even realized he’d been yelling, but Will’s already shrunk away from him, shoulders drawn inward, his fingers curled against the sleeve of Mike’s coat.
“Shit. Will-”
“Are you mad at me?”
Mike’s chest stutters. “No- Will-” Mike exhales heavily, his foot hooking around the loop at the bottom of Will’s stool, dragging him closer without thinking. “Will, c'mon,” he coos, lowering his voice into something soft as metal scratches against the ground, Will suddenly a foot closer. “I’m not mad at you. How could I be mad at you?”
“You- you’re yelling.” Will’s lower lip trembles, and for a second he looks like the kid Mike used to know, always sobbing into his knees and asking Mike to protect him because the outside was too scary. “You don’t-” his voice catches, wet. “you- you don’t call and you don’t write and none of us ever see you anymore. Is it my fault? Because I’m- because-” Will chokes on a little sob, and Mike’s insides churn.
“No. No no no.” Mike leans closer, tilting his head down, even level. “I’m sorry for yelling, okay?” Will’s lashes clump, wet. Mike has to blink hard to stop staring at them. “I’m not mad, I was just- surprised. Love is a bigger word than crush, right?” Will nods, and Mike softens. “I think… I think you’re drunk, and I think you need to head home. You want me to take you?” Will nods again. “Good. Let me just- let me close out my tab, and we can talk in the morning.”
“But you need to shovel,” Will mumbles, his tongue loose and slurred. Mike’s heart thumps hard from where it’s lodged in his throat.
“... That can wait. You wanna say bye to the others?”
Will nods, sliding off of the stool and stumbling. Mike steadies him with one hand before letting go.
___________________________________
Mike unlocks Will’s door for him, careful not to bump into him as he pushes it open. It’s difficult when Will keeps trying to slump against the doorframe, sleepy and unsteady, his shoulder knocking softly against the wood every time Mike moves.
“Easy- come on.”
Will makes a quiet sound that might be agreement, stumbling inside.
The apartment is filled with boxes but none of them are open. They sit stacked along the walls and crowded into corners, all still taped shut and marked with labels in Will’s handwriting. There are no pictures hanging up, no decorations, nothing on the walls to suggest that someone actually lives here. It looks almost void and lifeless.
Mike had only been to Will’s loft once, years ago, when he'd needed somewhere to sleep after driving out to see everyone for Max’s birthday. Two years ago, maybe. The place had been nicer than here.
Will had painted the doorframes, the ones Mike remembered the most. He’d painted the design of wood on top of wood, this pretty dark brown color with green moss and dirty smudges, trying to make it resemble Frodo’s house in the Shire. He'd painted the walls, too, in colors that didn't quite match but somehow worked together. There had been sheets hung over the windows to bathe the rooms in colored light, and canvases leaning against nearly every available surface, candles shoved under lamps with no wicks inside of them and art supplies haphazardly strewn all out of the floor. He remembers Will trying to gather them up, embarrassed.
Mike had slept on his couch and tried to memorize all of it, taking shitty polaroids of the art on the walls to bring back home in secret.
“Did you mean it?”
Will pauses to look at him, standing in the middle of the hallway. It’s barren.
“When you said you were in love with me back then. Did you mean it?”
Will’s head bobs up and down in a nod, his brows furrowed.
Mike swallows thickly, silent, and Will seemingly moves on, done with the conversation. He takes a few steps further into the apartment, struggling with the zipper of Mike’s jacket, fingers clumsy as they catch on the metal. Mike looks at him for a second longer before the itch inside him becomes too strong to ignore. He takes two long strides forward, closing distance. “Here- let me.”
“I can do it-” Will mumbles, and Mike bats his hands away gently.
“I want to.”
“...Okay,” Will whispers.
His fingers close over the zipper and pull it down, and then he slips his own jacket off Will's shoulders, sliding them onto his own a moment after, just to keep his hands free. Will sways, trying to kick his shoes off, and Mike catches him by the elbow. “You okay?”
“Mhm.”
“You sure?” Mike prods, and Will giggles under his breath. “What’s so funny, huh?”
“You wouldn’t- wouldn’t get it.”
“... I probably wouldn’t,” Mike agrees, quiet. Will stumbles again, trying to pry one shoe off with the other, and Mike exhales, long and slow, before he lowers himself down. One of his knees meets the floor as he reaches for Will’s shoes.
It’s too intimate for friends to do, especially friends that weren’t as close as they had once been, but Mike does it anyway.
Will used to be in love with him.
Mike gently tugs one shoe loose, easing it from Will's heel. Will's hands settle on Mike's shoulders for balance, warm. He smells sweet, like his old coconut-mint hand lotion that Mrs. Byers used to love, and some new kind of vanilla perfume. The scent softens everything else that clings to him from the bar, cigarette smoke and alcohol muffled.
A pretty scent for a pretty boy.
“Why?”
“Mm?” Will blinks down at him, lashes heavy and eyes lidded with sleep.
“Why were you in love with me?”
Will hums, one of his hands moving from Mike’s shoulder to the back of his neck, cupping it fondly. “How could I not be?”
Mike licks his lips, resisting the urge to lean forward and press his face into Will’s stomach, just to stay there and breathe him in. The thought is like a drug, running through his mind nonstop. “Even in Cali?” Will nods, and Mike tilts his head back, feeling Will’s fingers scratch lightly against his nape, absentminded and gentle. “Was it the hair that made you swoon?” Mike winces even as he says it, but Will breaks out into bubbly giggles, soft and sweet.
“Can I be honest?”
“Please.”
“I hated the hair.”
Mike makes a startled sound before laughing along with him, his hands settling loosely around Will’s ankle. “You never said.”
“I hated the clothes, too- they were so bright- I wanted-” Will hiccups a little, head shaking from side to side. “I wanted to throw those away so- so bad. You looked so stupid, Mike.”
Mike’s throat bobs. His thumbs press into the knob of Will's ankle, his stomach twisting with something he doesn't quite know how to name.
“...What did you like then?” Will looks reluctant and Mike gives his calf a squeeze, his hands dragging up slightly. “C’mon. I’m curious. Just- just give me something. Anything, and then I won’t ask again.”
“...I liked your sweaters. The ones with weird patterns, or the high collars- and your curls when you cut your hair short…” Will swallows, before his voice turns hushed, whispering. “...And your hands, when you held things.”
Mike’s adam’s apple bobs, restless. “When did you- when did you love me? The most, I mean. You don’t have to answer.”
Will’s fingers curl slightly against the back of Mike’s neck.
“...Before we- before we won, I liked you the most then. You were so confident.” Will murmurs, licking his lips for a quick moment. “And so- so assertive, always coming up with the plans and decoding Robin’s messages- if I had to pick, I would pick then.”
“Will, I-” Mike hesitates, and Will gives a little tug to his baby hairs. “I just wanted to say that- I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”
Will’s expression softens. “It’s not your fault.”
“I should’ve been there for you, but I wasn’t, and I’m sorry.”
Will sighs, his other hand sliding off of Mike’s shoulder. Mike reaches up instinctively to grab it, threading their fingers together. “I didn’t want anyone to know, not even- not even Jon. I… I wanted to take it to the grave, but Henry-... it’s not important.” Will tries taking a step back and he sways, ever so slightly. Mike’s other hand lifts to his hip to steady him. Only to steady him. “Thanks.”
“Yeah- yeah, yeah of course.”
Will snorts a moment too late. “Not for this. Thanks for being my best friend growing up. And I’m- I’m sorry about Jane. I get so sad whenever I think about you all lonely in that house, just missing her. I know you could never love someone the same, but-” Will sniffs, and Mike panics at the thought of making him cry. “It’s easy to love you, Mike.”
“... Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Will sniffles louder, eyes tearing up. “You’ll find someone. I promise.”
“Someone like you?” Mike blurts before he can stop himself. Will’s expression shutters, but he doesn’t call Mike out.
Maybe it’s better that Will doesn’t love him anymore. He should be with someone nicer- not that Mike could be with him in the first place. Not that he’s thinking like that. He owes too much to El to ever try moving on.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Don’t- don’t be sad.”
Will gives his hand a tug and Mike follows it, his knees creaking as he stands. Will has to tilt his head back, just the way Mike thought he would, his face flushed from the wine. Mike’s hand slides up to his waist, his thumb pressing into the fabric of Will’s shirt over his stomach. His shirt is soft, almost cool to the touch from the silk. From this close he can see tiny little flecks of something shiny against the sleeves.
He looks almost like a star, a little drop of something celestial. So, so pretty.
“You’re too nice to me sometimes,” Will whispers.
Mike’s stomach tightens with want.
“Will- look, if- if I knew you were an option all this time, I never would've wasted so many years of my life just-"
"Goodnight, Mike." Will cuts him off gently. He pushes up on his toes, one hand sliding up Mike's chest to grip onto his shoulder, and presses his lips to Mike's cheek. Soft and buttery, almost smooth, but still warm. Mike desperately wants to know what chapstick he uses, what brand he likes the best, whether he prefers flavored or scented. When Will lets go, taking a step back, Mike almost feels like he took a part of Mike with him. "Get home safe tomorrow, okay?"
“Wait- wait, I mean- we still have so much catching up to do-” Mike tightens his grip on Will’s hand, and Will smiles up at him, eyes full of sympathy even though he’s too drunk to walk properly. He’s too good for Mike, even now.
“Will you lock the door on your way out?”
Mike’s next swallow hurts, and his eyes burn, but he lets Will go.
“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you want.”
“Happy New Year, Mike.”
“... Happy New year. See ya, Will.”
Will was right, Mike is a loser.
He's pathetic, and before he leaves, he scribbles his number down on the inside of Will's sketchbook cover, asking for Will’s own back. He stares at the words for a long moment before scratching them out.
There was no point. He knew he wasn't going to call, and he knew he wasn’t going to pick up the phone.
___________________________________
Mike’s driveway is full of snow.
It’s too high for him to pull in, and he’d have to walk through it to get to the garage to unlock it and grab a shovel to clear it to make a space for his car. He’s tired, and he ended up staying for group lunch the next day, but Will didn’t show up because his hangover was too bad to be seen in public, apparently.
So, Mike wasted the morning listening to Dustin groan about a headache and Lucas describe his new project in the lab, and now his driveway is covered in at least six inches of snow.
Mike's stomach is tight, and Will was in love with him. Will was in love with him, once, and Will is beautiful, and Mike missed his chance years ago.
Mike drops his forehead forward, smashing the horn with his head, and grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.
He should just offer the kids down the street five dollars to do it for him.