Chapter Text
August 1989
“Mike?” Will’s voice sounded strained over the phone. The conversation had started to come to an end, and they had kept the line busy for almost 3 hours before they ran out of things to say.
“Yeah?” Mike leaned with his back against the basement wall, twirling the cord of the telephone and looking at the ceiling. He heard the strained tone, but assumed it was because of how late it was. 10.34 PM, he repeated in his head as he looked at the clock.
“Keep writing your stories,” Will whispered, slightly mumbling but still being audible enough to understand what he was saying, “Please?” Mike looked over at the yellow notebook on his desk, the one Will had gotten him for his birthday and where he had been writing down ideas for stories and D&D campaigns.
“Yeah..” Mike chuckled slightly, his voice turning softer as the whispering from Will hit his heart a little harder, making it melt into a puddle of goo, “Yeah, of course, dude.”
In the background, Mike could hear Joyce saying something to him. “Will, sweetheart, we’re leaving in 5 minutes!”
Mike furrowed his eyebrows, confusion sprawling over his face. He bit his lip, thinking of Joyce’s broken car and the time. Why and how would they be leaving?
“I have to go,” Will muttered, “good luck at your shift tomorrow.”
“Okay, Bye!” Mike couldn’t even finish his sentence before he heard the dial click of the connection breaking, Will had hung up, and the silence was deafening. He groaned, walking over to the couch in his basement and flopping down on it.
Why didn’t I tell him? Mike thought to himself, I’ll tell him tomorrow.
Mike rolls over in his bed, face landing in his pillow as the sun spilled into his bedroom and showered everything around him in golden light.
“Michael, time to get up.” His mom walked in and shook him gently, “You said you have the morning shift, it’s important that you get up on time.”
Mike groaned, looking up and checking the clock on his bedside table. 7:30 AM. He slowly got up as he heard his mother’s footsteps growing further away into the hallway. He put the clothes he had laid out on, looking in the mirror and scrunching his nose up at the bright yellow colour the new comic book store ‘uniform’ had, and the fabric was too hot for the summer heat, despite it being end-of-summer. He rolled the sleeves up, crossing his arms. “Atleast it’s not tight…” He whispered to himself
He sprinted down the stairs, walking into the kitchen and greeting his little sister as he sat beside her and not bothering to talk to his father, Ted, seeing as he was busy reading his newspaper and drinking his coffee.
“Mike, look at what I drew!” Holly turned around her sketch, showing it to Mike as their mother put waffles on their plates. Mike smiled at the drawing, feeling his heart warm up at the sweet sentiment. It was a drawing of Holly the Heroic standing up to a monster.
“Wow, Holly, that is so good!” He inspected the little details that Holly had added and heard her giggle slightly, clearly happy at his words.
“So, Mike,” Karen, his mother, sat down at the table across from him and started cutting up her own waffles, “What are you going to do after your shift?”
Mike gulped down his whole glass of water, “Hang out with my friends, I always hang out with them after my Saturday shift.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Karen smiled, holding up her fork with a piece of her waffle on it, ready for her to bite it, “Starting a new D&D campaign with Lucas and Dustin?”
Mike shrugged, “No, we haven’t got anything planned, but we might go over to Will’s house.” He took a bite of his breakfast, handing Holly the orange juice bottle since she couldn’t reach it.
“You mean Lucas or Dustin’s house?” Karen asked through chewing her waffles. Mike raised an eyebrow and stopped chewing his food, his face scrunching up in confusion.
“No, Will’s house?” He said slowly, swallowing his food.
“But Will has gone to college..?”
Mike froze, his cutlery slowly dropping out of his hands. For a moment, the world stopped, and right there, he witnessed his own composure crumble to bits as though it were a lost game of jenga. He couldn't hear his own thoughts anymore, let alone his mother asking if he was okay. Everything was spinning and he couldn’t control it.
“..What?” Mike murmured with a voice crack. noticed his voice sounded woozy, but maybe that was just the feeling of the ceiling falling down on him. The brightness of the morning sun through the window wasn’t helping much either, slowly giving him a headache along with the irritating static sound that his brain had started to make.
“Will went out of state for college, didn’t he tell you last night on the phone…?” Karen’s voice sounded like a soft echo to Mike, and his chest felt so heavy, he couldn’t even verbally respond. He just shook his head no.
Suddenly, Ted chimed in, “You were on the phone for three hours, Michael. He probably told you and you just weren’t listening.”
Karen looked at Ted, ticked off and wide-eyed, “Ted…” She whispered angrily before turning her head back to Mike, “Are you okay, baby?”
Mike didn’t respond. He just stared at his plate, biting his cheeks and pinching his own skin. He felt physically sick, trying not to vomit all over the whole table. The room was spinning, the light was bright, his heart was pounding. He abruptly stood up, leaving everything on the table and picking up the bag he prepared the night before.
“Mike, Mike!” He heard before slamming the door shut and rushing off, starting his dad’s car and driving off.
“Hello, excuse me?” Mike heard a muffled voice and a ringing of a bell as he stared at the Elton John poster in the record section of the comic book store, “Cashier, Hello?”
“Hm?” Mike snaps out of his daze, turning his attention to the pretty blonde standing in front of him. She was clearly annoyed by Mike’s lack of attention.
“My brother asked for some comic called… uhm…” The girl unfolded a piece of paper that had been crumpled up in her hand, “X-men 134?”
Mike swallowed slowly, nodding and signaling for her to follow him. He walks over to a table where some of the X-men comics were displayed, holding back the urge to keep #134 all to himself. This was possibly the worst day for someone to have bought Will’s favourite comic.
He hands the comic to her, smiling politely as he starts to walk back to the counter.
“You don’t talk much, huh?” Mike hears the girl say confidently. He could hear her smacking on her bubblegum as she spoke and it was starting to piss him off.
“Not much to say.” He sighs, now standing behind the counter and watching as she walks over to stand across from him. She looked him up and down, eyeing his scrawny figure and making him question why he ever thought working as a cashier was ever a good idea, “Sorry.” He muttered
“No need to apologise,” she said as she held the comic out for him to check out, “It’s kinda cute.” She giggled as she purposefully made their fingers touch. Mike got goosebumps, feeling too uncomfortable to even say anything in response besides the price of what she was buying.
“1 dollar and 50 cents, please.”
The girl scoffed, “If you're not interested just say so,” she snatched the comic back and carelessly dropped a dollar bill and 5 dimes on the counter, “or maybe you just don’t like girls.” She mumbled, biting her cheek. She probably thought Mike hadn’t heard it, but he did. He definitely did. He could actually feel his cheeks heating up and his eyes getting heavy with welled up tears.
Mike watched her leave the store, waiting for her to be out of sight before taking a deep breath.
“Hey, Rich,” Mike called over to his coworker, “Can you cover this real quick?”
Rich quickly turned around, nodding slowly.
“You okay, buddy?” Rich asked sweetly, noticing Mike’s red cheeks and stuffy voice. Rich was sweet like that. He was around his mid-fifties and only knew Mike for about 6 months, but he was more caring and talkative than Mike’s father ever was.
“I’m fine, just need to make a quick phone call.”
“Alright.. but don’t take too long.”
Mike shook his head, starting to walk into the backroom already, “I promise I won’t.”
He swung the door to the backroom open, his chest is heavy and his palms feel clammy as a tear rolls down his cheek. He pushes a chair in front of the door and underneath the doorknob to make sure no one could come in. The frantically grabbed the lanky phone that had probably already been there longer than Mike had lived. He dialed the number slowly, trying not to mess up with his shaky hands and blurry vision.
Ring… ring… ring…
“Hello, this is Joyce Byers.” Joyce’s voice sounded over the phone.
“Hi— ms. Byers?. It’s Mike…” He could hear her take a deep breath as he spoke, “Could I get Will’s number— or, adress, atleast?”
“Mike,” Joyce spoke calmly, but it was clear, even over a call, that she did not want to be the bearer of bad news, “..give him space.”
“Wha—“ Mike struggled to form any proper sentences, his mind was going faster than he could manage, “space for what? Why does he need space?”
“Michael, he needs time. Don’t push him.” Ms. Byers’ sweet voice transcended phone calls, but it wasn’t enough to comfort whatever deep pit was sat in Mike’s chest, “if he wants to contact you, he will.”
When the dial tone clicks, he lets the phone slip from his hand. The cord made it bounce around a couple times but he couldn’t pay attention to anything going on in the room right now.
Mike sinks down to the floor, his knees up to his face. Why would he call the Byers’? His stomach felt like it had been stabbed a billion times over and over again by the same knife that just won’t dull. He felt it when Will went missing, he felt it when Will was possessed by the mind flayer and even when Will was connected to the hive mind back in 87’, but now it was 10x worse, because this time, it was probably his own fault.
He doesn’t want to hear from you, Mike thinks to himself, why even bother reaching out at all if he doesn’t want anything to do with you?
Days, weeks, months, they all go by like seconds, and Mike had not received a single call, or letter from Will.
He’s moving on, he doesn’t need me. He’s happier without me.
You best move on too, Michael.
But he never actually moved on.
Every year that passed by made reaching out seem… harder. More painful. Unbearable.
Over time, silence turns into certainty. Certainty of the lack of communication causing the loss of their friendship, and Mike couldn’t do anything but accept it.
Certainty turns into heartbreak.
He clearly doesn’t fucking want you.
March 1990
A letter from Chicago Columbia College: Addressed to Michael Wheeler.
After his gap year, Mike thought he would never get accepted into any school, ever. He had forgotten most of what he had learnt in high school, having spent half of the experience fighting monsters.
His heart was pounding as he opened the letter, slowly taking out the paper that was neatly folded to fit in the envelope.
“Dear Mr. Wheeler,
We are pleased to let you know that you have been accepted to Chicago Columbia College! Welcome to the class of 1994,” blah blah blah blah….
“Mike!” His mom, who had been reading over his shoulder, shrieked, “Oh my god, this is huge news! We have to celebrate this, I’ll invite everyone over.” She squealed.
Chicago.
Fuck.