Chapter Text
Mike started his car, the engine roaring underneath him.
It was the only time Mike had for himself. Away from the kids. Away from his critical wife. Away from his irritating, obnoxious co-workers. Just him and his car.
It was a costly car, a BMW. He didn’t even know much about cars—nor did he care—he just knew he had to buy something with the money from his dull job. He said it was temporary, only for a while, to keep them stable until he published his first book. However, his book remained unpublished, and it’s been twenty years. The money in his savings kept piling up—unused, untouched.
Mike sat in silence, his head leaning back against the headrest.
God, he really needed a smoke.
He reached for his coat pocket, pulling out a cigarette box. Smoking wasn’t really his thing until he was in his late twenties. He briefly moved to Indianapolis when he was trying to become a successful author, but it was extremely difficult to find a publisher for his book. He coped with the cigarettes; now look at him, twenty years later.
During his time there, he met Wynn, his current wife. She fell for his imaginative brain, but he couldn’t believe it. The more they interacted, the more he realized she mainly wanted his money. He didn’t care, though; he liked her. It might’ve been because of her personality, maybe even because of her looks, but the more he thinks about it, he doesn’t really know.
The cardboard scraped against each other as he opened the carton. He said he would quit 5 years ago, but what’s another promise broken? He reached for a cigarette and used his lighter.
The lighter was a gift from Will Byers. They were close friends, bonding over the death of Eleven, and once in a while, when either of them got a nightmare, they called each other for comfort. When he looks back on it, he guesses they always had a close friendship. ‘Different from the others, his Dad would say.
He put the cig in between his lips, inhaling a long drag, before turning on the radio to a random station and driving off.
After a few mediocre songs, one song came up on the radio that caught his attention. It was a good beat, reminding him of the iconic synth-beat of the 80’s. His foot tapped along with it.
He listened in silence, the smoke from his mouth traveling fast out the window as he drove.
The lyrics were like any other yearning song. But when the song hit the chorus, Mike realized what it was about.
“Oh,” he said to himself.
He wasn’t homophobic, but he didn’t expect a song like this to end up on the radio station. The radio kept flickering to static, too far from the radio tower, and he turned off the stereo before the song could finish.
He wondered if Will knew the song.
Mike had gotten home and took a moment before exiting his car and stubbing out his cigarette. He hoped he could avoid his wife and kids so they wouldn’t notice the clinging scent of the tobacco.
The house was silent when he entered. The sound of snoring could be heard from upstairs.
What time was it?
He adjusted his glasses and checked his watch—nine o’clock. Crap.
His shift normally ended at 5, but Mike would always stay late, proofreading a document that he could’ve done the next day, or entering data into useless files. He knew he didn’t have to do it, but working extra hours meant less time at his house.
Mike walked up the stairs of his so-called home. It was more like an IKEA showcase, all the rooms neatly decorated and nothing misplaced. The house was always vacuumed, the scent of Febreze persistent and strong. Even though it did have an uncanny feel to it, Mike didn’t complain. At least it was clean.
Mike sneaked into the bedroom; he could see Wynn tucked in under the covers. The volume of his wife’s snores decreased as he shut the door to their double sink bathroom.
This was the second place Mike could be alone.
The bristles attacked his gums—smoking was clearly ruining his mouth. He winced as the brush brushed over his yellowed teeth, blood mixing with the foam of the mint toothpaste.
Bzz!
Mike’s phone was rattling on the counter, the toiletries shook along with the ringtone. The screen displayed a photo of a guy with brown hair framing his face. His hazel eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and his lips curved into a wide smile.
Will was calling.
Mike hurried to answer the phone, ditching his toothbrush in the sink and spitting out the remaining toothpaste in his mouth. Will’s probably having a nightmare. He rushed into his walk-in closet so his wife wouldn’t hear their conversation. She was always paranoid, worrying about what Mike was doing constantly.
Mike answered the phone, “Will, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“Yeah,” Will replied, “I’m okay, Mike, I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Sorry,” Mike apologized, “What’s up?”
“Uh, I was just wondering if . . . if you wanted to meet up? I’m back in Hawkins for the holidays.”
His eyebrows raised, “Yeah! Yeah, that sounds great!” A smile crept on his face.
Will was in Hawkins, he thought. Mike couldn’t believe it. He had been stuck in the same routine for years—eat, go to work, eat, sleep, repeat—and he finally got to see his best friend. He wondered what he was doing now, what was going on in his life, what he looked like; he probably looked great, he does look great, from what Mike has seen on his Facebook.
“Mike, what are you doing in the bathroom?” his wife knocked on the door.
“I have to go,” he murmured into his phone, “See you soon.”
He replied coldly to his wife like he always did. He never noticed it; it was almost like he was an imprint of his father.
Mike waited in the bathroom until he heard the faint noise of snoring from the bedroom continue, then he slowly let himself onto the bed. He normally slept restlessly, but the thought of seeing his best friend, whom he hadn’t seen in ages, made his nerves go away as he drifted off to sleep.
He couldn’t wait to see Will again.
“Fuck.”
His hands were damp while he was attempting to tie his tie, the sweat messing up his precision.
In a few minutes, Mike would be driving to a bar and see Will for the first time in years.
“Finally.”
He successfully tied the knot and straightened his tie. His lanky body stood back from the mirror. Is this too much? Mike was still wearing his work clothes: a white button-up, black trousers, and a suit jacket. Sure, it was nice, but was it too professional? Screw it. He ripped off his tie and took off his suit jacket—replacing it with a black overcoat. His hands found the case of cigarettes in his work clothes and put them in his coat before stepping out the door and heading to his car.
The bar was a far drive from Hawkins, on the outskirts of Indianapolis. It was a pretty odd choice for Will to choose a bar far from Hawkins, but he was visiting, so whatever Will wanted, he could get.
From the outside, the bar was lit with neon lights, and a bright sign hung near the door. The Spy. The building definitely stood out in the night. A couple was making out, against the weathered red brick on the unlit side of the building, the alleyway echoing their sounds. Have some decency at least, Mike thought.
His body shivered at the cold winter air, his steps crunching the imprinted snow beneath him, and he could see his breath with the help of the condensation. His work clothes didn’t help with the winter weather, but the overcoat was warm enough to keep his hands from freezing, wriggling his fingers in the pockets so they wouldn’t be stuck together.
He entered the bar and was surrounded by pride flags and warm, dim light. Two guys were sitting together in one of the booths, holding hands on top of the table, and at the edge of the building was a small group of people dancing—each pair with the opposite sex.
Oh, so it’s a . . .
But before he could finish his thought, he was met with a familiar voice.
“Mike!” Will embraced him tightly, letting go gently when he realized what he’d done. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was a gay bar. Do you want to go to a different one?”
For some reason, Mike felt comfortable in the room. The warm casual chatter filling the room and the 80’s music helped make the atmosphere welcoming. He didn’t want to leave, not yet.
And besides, it was probably a comfortable place for Will, too.
They sat at the bar, each of them on tall stools. The counter was a marbled black countertop, with red streaks throughout, and the stools were all black—the shade contrasting the bright decor all over the bar.
“Two beers, please?” Mike asked. “I’m paying for you, okay?”
“You don’t need to do that,” Will flustered out.
“It’s fine,” Mike held Will’s shoulder and smiled, “Don’t worry about it.”
Will smiled back, appreciative of Mike’s offer. He blinked away his look, replacing it with a look of shame and disgust. Not for Mike—but for himself.
When Mike turned his attention back to Will, his face had already changed into his usual small smile.
They were a few drinks in, talking about the old days and what they were doing now—although barely anything had changed for Mike Wheeler—when Mike mentioned the song he heard in the car.
“Oh! That song,” Will continued, “yeah, yeah, I know it.”
“I was wondering if you knew it,” Mike said, “I heard it on the radio, and it reminded me of you.”
Will flinched at the words, causing concern for the latter. Mike always knew when something was wrong with Will since they were little.
“Is this about,” he cleared his throat, “Tammy?”
Will’s eyes flickered towards his, “Yeah.”
Tammy was a guy Will had a crush on back in California—well, his name wasn’t actually Tammy, it was based on Robin’s first crush. Tammy is the one who didn’t work out, according to Will.
Mike felt bad; who wouldn’t want Will? He’s caring, talented—and he was attractive. Mike wasn’t going to lie, Will was handsome. His arms were toned, carved like a Greek statue, and his hair was definitely better now, moving on from the bowl cut and maturing into a textured style. And don’t forget his smile, one of the best features about him. This might come across as weird, but whenever Mike had a bad day, he would just look at pictures of him and Will together. Everything about Will just made his day better—even if it’s just a photo. The guy who got him would definitely be lucky.
“You do know what the song is about, right?” Will asked.
Mike knew the gist of it, but apparently, he didn’t get the whole picture.
“Oh. It’s about,”—he paused to think, his finger tapped against the counter, and he took a sip from his beer, then continued—“a relationship ending because one of them is closeted and denies their sexuality.”
Mike’s eyebrows went up after the last part. He realized he just made Will relive it, and offered to buy him his next drink, but Will was already done drinking for the night.
“You’re a cute couple,” a guy said while ordering his next drink.
“Oh, we’re not dating,” Will said.
“So, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you to join me on the dance floor?”
There was barely anyone dancing now—a total of ten people doing awkward dance moves, too drunk to care what they looked like.
Will looked at Mike, his look asking for approval, before Mike ushered him to ‘go have fun’ and ‘enjoy the night’.
Will’s dance moves were not that much of an improvement from the others, but it was an improvement. Mike watched as they danced to the current pop song that was playing. The other guy’s hand grazed Will’s upper back—and it was lowering and lowering and lowering until he held his hips-
He can’t do this.
It was an out-of-body experience—his body left the bar and walked over to the same alley the couple was making out in. Thankfully, they were gone—probably off to do more stuff. Mike’s hands were clammy, a bad combination with the cold, and he felt his head spinning. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, and his breathing became short, sharp breaths of air.
God, he needs a smoke.
He hurriedly pulled out the cigarette case from his coat pocket, his fingertips moistening the paper with his sweat, and put the cigarette between his lips. He lit it with his lighter and took a long, needed drag. His lungs suppressed the urge to cough, and the nicotine hit his bloodstream. The sweet euphoric feeling hit him, but was short-lived and followed by nervous thoughts.
Why was he acting like this? He should be happy Will is dancing with somebody, not upset! This is ridiculous.
He took another long drag before jumping at a familiar voice.
“I thought you quit?” Will asked.
Mike sputtered out, “Yeah, I meant to but- I shouldn’t-“
Will reached for Mike’s arm and stopped Mike from throwing his cigarette to the ground. Then he asked him a question Mike never thought he would ask.
“Can I have one too?”
“What- Since when do you smoke?” Mike questioned.
“You think I haven’t smoked before? I’m pretty old to haven’t tried it, Wheeler,” he added.
Mike was shocked, but reluctantly offered the cancer-stick to Will, lighting it with the same lighter he gave him. It was clear he noticed, his eyes flickered from Mike’s eyes to the flame that was lighting his cigarette.
“Y’know these are cancerous, right?” Mike joked as he puffed a cloud of smoke into the cool breeze. “You could get lung cancer.”
Will bumped Mike’s shoulder playfully and took a drag himself.
“So, what happened to you? Why aren’t you still dancing?” Mike asked.
“I looked over and didn’t see you at the bar,” Will replied. “I was scared you left.”
Mike pulled Will into a side hug, their bodies flush from side to side, “I won’t leave you anymore.”
The song in the bar changed to “Good Luck, Babe!” and Mike got reminded of Will’s situation. He realized Will was always vague with his answers, and curiosity got the best of him.
“Who is Tammy? You can tell me, Will, I won’t judge you, and it’s not like I’ll know him,” he reassured.
“You don’t understand,” he sighed.
His hazel eyes met his, and in that moment, a switch flipped in the black-haired guy’s head.
“Did you . . . lie?”
Will paused, then answered, “Yeah,” he sniffled, “Tammy wasn’t in California.”
Will surveyed Mike’s face, looking for a reaction.
It dawned on Mike that Will had a crush on someone from Hawkins. But who could it be? He was about to go through everyone that could’ve been Tammy, when Will took a deep breath and said, “You’re... Tammy.”
His mouth dried up like it was a dehydrator—all the moisture in his mouth was gone, and he couldn’t swallow away his nervousness. His eyebrows furrowed into that signature look of his, “sad, lost boy, puppy dog thing,” Nance would say.
Will started to panic, “No, I knew you would act weird. I knew-“
Mike interrupted Will, pulling him into a deep kiss. Their noses bumped hard at the first touch, causing both of them to grimace, but after they adjusted their position, it was amazing. Mike sucked on Will’s bottom lip, and his hands went up and down his torso. He couldn’t think—all he wanted to do was kiss Will. Fingers tangled in Mike’s hair, locking onto the strands, pulling him closer. Their bodies were flush together, and Will was pushed against the wall.
Mike’s lips parted from Will’s—his hands still in Mike’s hair—and he looked down below him.
Why hadn’t he done this sooner?
Then he remembered—he has a family, he couldn’t do this to them. He couldn’t. And what would people think? He was in an alleyway, in public; he should have some decency. And what was worse was that he was kissing a guy in public. Why was he kissing a guy in public? Anyone could see—his family, his co-workers—no, it was too risky.
“Mike?” His voice was brittle.
“I-" he stepped backward.
Will’s eyes were filled with tears, a blink allowing them to fall down his cheeks. His lips were still red, plump from what they had been doing previously. His hands were shaking with the knowledge of what was about to happen to him—he was about to be abandoned. He couldn’t do this to Will.
But his body betrayed him, and he ran to his car—like a coward.
Why did he run? Why did he leave Will by himself? Why did he abandon him?
But Michael knew why. He absolutely knew the reason why.
The car rumbled underneath him, the low temperature affecting the engine. He quickly drove out of the parking lot, catching Will’s glance in his rear-view mirror.
It was a long drive to his house, and he couldn’t be left alone with his thoughts—he might’ve driven himself into the other lane. He turned on the radio and listened to the same compilation of mediocre songs. He was glad they weren’t more than that; it was the perfect mix—his distracting thoughts with the clean stereo.
But a familiar song came on the radio.
It’s fine, it’s cool, you can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth.
No, that song couldn’t come on the radio, not right now.
He tried to push through, but tears started clouding his vision, and he pulled over to the shoulder of the road.
By that time, the tears couldn’t be held back, and they started falling from his eyes and down to his neck. He could feel his shirt getting wet, but he didn’t care. He was an asshole to Will, doing the exact opposite of what he said he would do.
‘I won’t leave you anymore.’
Mike took off his glasses and cried into his arms. The snow turned into rain, and the repeated sound of raindrops started to calm him down. Then he thought of Will’s face, tears falling from his eyes, and he started to hate himself a little more.
He needed to apologize to Will. But they couldn’t continue this. He had to shut it down before it escalated into anything more.
And so, with a plan in motion, he took a cigarette from the carton to calm his nerves further and continued the drive home.
Beep! Will Byers, leave a message!
Mike had been calling Will for the past hour, and each call ended with a voicemail.
He’s probably asleep, he thought. I’ll just try again in the morning.
After exiting his car, he stubbed his cigarette like he always did—this time burning the bottom of his dress shoes—and he made his way into their house.
His keys were loud opening the door in the quiet neighborhood, the only sounds being the sprinklers and crickets. Making his way up the stairs, the floorboards creaked underneath his weight. When he reached the bedroom, Wynn was waiting for him on the bed, still dressed in her day clothes.
She repeated the same questions over and over:
Where have you been? It’s so late, I’m worried about you! Are you cheating on me? Have you gone to that cliff again? You need help, Mike!
He avoided her eye contact, rejecting every advance, ‘I just got distracted and didn’t realize how late it was, and continued pushing through to the bathroom door.
He did his usual routine—brushing his teeth and changing into his worn-out pajamas and waited for his wife to go to sleep. But it was clear she wasn’t going to go to bed without knowing what happened, so Mike gave her his usual bullshit apology whenever he did something wrong and a shittier explanation of what happened that night and went to sleep restlessly—especially with Will rampaging his thoughts.