Chapter Text
Day 184 since the Byers moved out.
It’s 7PM on a school night, and Micheal is closed off in his basement, probably to the immense disappointment of his parents, who thought this little “angst episode” would be over by now. It's almost all he ever does now; sit in his basement, playing on his Nintendo NES, never coming out to talk. He's even been skipping meals.
Isolating himself isn’t the only thing Mike has been doing that’s been disappointing his parents, not by a long shot. His grades have been getting consistently worse as he can’t find it in himself to study or do work, even when it comes to subjects he genuinely likes. His room is always a mess, Karen tells him to clean it about three times a week, but Mike can’t bother. Not to mention how often he’s been lashing out – getting into fights with bullies even when he knows he can’t win, earning himself suspensions and bruises that’ll last weeks, arguing against teachers that give him or his friends shit for whatever reason, and the godforsaken list goes on.
On the topic of the Wheelers, the ever-so-wonderful, perfect, beautiful nuclear family, they’ve been fighting more often, as well. Ted and Karen specifically, of course. It's normal for parents to have arguments sometimes, and his have never been exactly peaceful, but now they have some sort of disagreement almost every goddamn day, and Mike is forced to lock himself in his room with his headphones on as loud as they go.
Mike tries to cling onto the good things. He still has most of his friends, and he has Hellfire now. But even then, on most days, just getting up and out of bed feels like too much effort. Lucas joined the basketball team and is pulling away from them. Max has been so far from them since the Byers moved that she might as well have moved back to California with them. Dustin is still there, but more distant than ever. Hellfire is fun, it’s a good distraction and Mike finally feels like he can play again without the fear of being judged for it, but it’s just not the same. Nothing feels the same, nothing feels right anymore. Every second of every day, Mike has that horrible, annoying, nagging feeling in his mind that tells him everything is wrong. It’s like he’s stuck, like he can’t move on.
Despite being surrounded with these people, Mike feels completely and utterly alone. All of the time.
I just miss El, he keeps telling himself. Lying to himself. Because down here, in his basement, surrounded by Will’s old drawings that have decorated those walls for years on end, the same place he took Will to time and time again comfort and take care of him, where they promised they’d go crazy together, Mike knows what piece is missing in his heart. At least, in the very back of his mind, he knows very well why everything feels so bland now, so futile. Why he has to drag himself through every single boring day that’s identical to the last, why he sits by the phone for hours, waiting for a call. He just doesn’t want to – he won’t accept it.
It’s not that he doesn’t miss El. Of course he does, damnit. But they talk often, through the walkie or through letters. Mike hears her voice, knows what’s going on with her. Almost everything he knows about what's up with Will is what El has told him and, Lord forgive him, he feels extremely bitter about it.
Will is his best friend. He has the right to feel upset about him leaving.
But not like this… not like this. This isn’t how friends love each other.
Love.
…
So stupid...
The Nintendo’s screen is blurry through his tears.
“Mike!” Karen calls him from upstairs, and he almost drops his controller.
“Dinner’s ready!”
“Not hungry, mom!” he sighs, straightening his back. Warm teardrops fall onto his hands when he looks down. He hears Ted say something, but it’s too muffled for him to listen properly. Karen answers and another argument starts up. Mike’s head throbs in pain as he clenches his jaw. From what little he can hear, they’re fighting about him. Holly’s crying because of the commotion. His eyes shut tight on instinct as he bites back a sob, dropping his controller and carelessly shutting off his NES. Sprinting up the stairs, he doesn’t slow down or pause for a second as he runs to his room and slams the door shut, against his mother’s protests.
Kneeling down next to his bed, he reaches blindly for something under it. It doesn’t take long to find what he wants. It’s right where he left it, of course – an all-too-familiar binder. Inside it, so many of Will’s drawings are kept safely. Some are gifts Will made for him, some are sketches and unfinished works that he was going to throw away, but Mike didn’t let him. Sitting on his bed and wiping his tears, he looks through them, one by one.
Mike has always felt so enchanted by his best friend’s art. Will would draw their D&D characters, scenes from the campaigns that Mike prepared, and it’d make him so happy. He felt so appreciated, seeing the things he wrote being brought to life, and in such a beautiful way by someone he lo- cares about… so much. The whole party appreciated them, of course, but Mike… Mike cherished them. Every shape and every line, every stain and every pencil mark that the eraser couldn’t quite get rid of, all of it was adored by him, because it was Will who made them.
Mike feels like his heart is about to burst in his chest.
Will, Will, Will- Fuck, everything around him reminds him of Will. He can’t get him out of his head.
Why does it feel like a piece of him is missing since he moved away? Why does his house, his hometown, not feel like home anymore, without him? Why does it hurt so much?
Ugly sobs finally force themselves from his throat. He’s gasping for air now, clutching his own chest as he stares at the binder on his lap.
Why does he want to kick something every time he tries the Byers' phone just to get a busy line? Why is it even more painful when the call he’s been expecting never comes? He should be happy for Will. El has already told him about all the new friends they’ve made. He probably moved on, and that’s good, that's a good thing. It’s his life, he gets to do whatever is best for him, including making new friends and being interested in some girl, which Mike definitely shouldn’t care about as much as he does.
It feels so childish, this blatant jealousy he feels, like something a fifth grader would feel when their little crush spends time with someone else. But, no matter how hard he tries, he just can't shake the feeling.
Crazy together... They promised they'd go crazy together. But then he remembers how he treated Will, and a nauseating guilt bubbles up in his chest. Will deserves better. Mike deserves exactly what he's been getting.
God, Mike drops his head to his hands, why did it have to be him?
Every breath burns. His head hurts. Everything hurts, actually. His lungs scream with every gasp, straining for air that just won’t stay in, his heart feels like it’s splitting in two, beating against his chest so aggressively that Mike is almost convinced he might actually be dying.
He can’t breathe. He wants to break something, to shatter the lamp sitting on his nightstand and take all his wants and desires with it. He wants to lay in bed and never get up again. He wants to tear himself apart, rip and throw away every horrible, impure feeling he’s ever had. He wants Will back in his life.