Chapter Text
Micheal fucking Wheeler is many, many things. He is uninspired, for one. He just sort of drapes around his own life like it’s happening to someone else; letting the wrong choices pick him and the worst people pull him into their cohort. There’s a certain safety in being the passenger to your own life, and up until now, he hasn’t really had much to say about it.
Mike is also greedy, for another. You could probably list just about every sin in the bible and he’d fit in better between those pages than in his own home, but in this particular sense his greediness has taken up a direct battle with his laziness at life.
He’s managed to get just about everything he’s ever wanted since the age of twelve with a simple, dead stare. Fear works as a wonderful motivator, he’s found. Kids liked to assume that just because he was bruised and marked, it meant that he was a fighter. The hurt screamed danger to them, because looks scream louder to most than actual calls for help do.
His own fear has turned into a weapon over the years; rotting and matting along with his anger into a tight-knit blanket which pulls him away from reality and into safety. Its easy to tell when someone isn’t fully inhabiting their body though, he supposes. He would know the signs himself, staring at his father’s empty face in his own reflection. There’s a gauntness to their kindred cheeks, a hollow void where sparkling pupils would be. That sort of hiding— when its your soul and not just your pain— tends to make people uncomfortable enough to stay at arms length.
But that was good, really, because Mike has never thought that he would be very good at being friendly anyway.
And that’s never even been a problem before; he’s never had to be even remotely amiable to the people nor the objects he wants to own. There’s just one thing which he can’t have like this, however. One thing which he can’t get with a sneer and a split fist. Because he can’t punch this boy into his possession, or even scare him into submission, according to Max.
No— Mike has to ‘charm’ him.
“Be nice!” his best friend insists, “be human.”
The very thought makes him feel queasy, but he’s truly never wanted anything more than he wants Will Byers.
“And how the fuck do I do that?”
Max rolls her head to give him a unimpressed stare from where she’s sprawled out on the grass next to him. She wrinkles her nose slightly at the joint that Mike is lighting.
“Really, Micheal?” He’s not quite sure which bit of him she’s unhappy with, so he just shrugs and subtly shifts so that he’s in line with the wind blowing away from her instead.
God, he’s such a loser.
Not that he’d ever acknowledge it, but this girl is the only person he tolerates in his life, and he means that wholeheartedly. He’s careful not to fuck anything up, despite the fact that she has tormented him for almost three years now, since she moved to Hawkins.
“I don’t know…have you tried smiling at him?” Mike makes a face, shudders and shakes his head no. “Talking to him?” Max questions again, eyebrows raising higher on her forehead. He’s sheepish now as he looks at her, flitting his eyes away to suck smoke into his lungs, shoulders hunched awkwardly. “Anything?”
“I don’t know how, Max,” Mike mutters, frowning and tapping the ash off the edge of his spliff to have something to do with his shaking hands, “you forget I’m like, socially inept.”
“I only forget because somehow everyone knows who you are,” she shoots back. He’s well aware that he’s popular for all the wrong reasons, he doesn’t need her to point it out. Mike sends her a dark look, which she doesn’t take seriously at all. Instead the redhead sighs and sits up, challenging him with her narrowing eyes. “Alright, give me your best shot. Smile for me, Wheeler.”
Mike takes one last drag, hoping the buzzing between his eyes will quieten the shame that burns beneath his skin as he pulls his lips up into a smile. Max stares. Mike’s lips tighten a little. He can feel his canine teeth dig into his lip, slightly sharper than the rest. His best friend sighs and shakes her head, scooting closer to him. “That shit is terrifying— never do that near Will. Not unless you plan on scaring him to an early death.”
Mike groans, but she’s not finished, holding one hand up to silence his protests. “Will is gentle, Mike. Put your fucking fangs away and give me some sweetness yeah? Just—here,” she lets her hands hover a second before she touches him, waiting for his nod to rest her hands on his shoulders. Max pushes them down firmly, then moves to his face to pull it into shape. “you need to relax; soften it up.”
She musses up his hair then pulls back, looking more satisfied. “There you go. That’s not so bad, is it?”
“This hurts,” Mike gets out through his gritted teeth. Max snorts and slumps back down into the grass, snatching up the bottle of vodka on her way down.
“You’re hopeless.”
He scoffs but settles back himself, letting his gaze land on the sinking sun. There’s a certain chill up here on their field, one that only comes with all the Summer evenings retreating into the first hints of Fall. A comfortable silence falls over them, where they trade the bottle back and forth a few times and stare into their own thoughts.
“How do you know that much about him, anyway?” Mike muses.
“My lab partner is friends with him,” she responds quietly. He squints at her, puzzled by her odd voice. There’s a light, dusting blush across Max’s freckled cheeks as she glances at him. Mike recognises it in only one context. He frowns.
“Is it…Luke?”
“Lucas,” she corrects in a hiss.
“Well, is it?” Mike mimics.
“Maybe…” Max mumbles. He rolls his eyes, stubs out the half smoked blunt and shoves the rest in his pocket for later.
“I see,” Mike pauses awkwardly, “well, that works out well then.” Max blinks. He continues, “if you’re completely enamoured with your lab partner anyway, I can use that to get more information about Will.” The girl promptly smacks him in the side of the head, and he hisses like a cat to glare at her.
“You’re such a manipulative asshole. I’m not using Lucas, just so you can fuel your obsession with eventually fucking Will Byers.”
Mike snaps his head around and glares, “I don’t want to fuck him! For the last time, I’m not gay.” Max shakes her head in disbelief— because of course that’s what he’d focus on. “I’m just…intrigued about him, okay?”
“You’re really doing all of this just to be friends with the guy?”
The word friends draws an inevitable scowl out of Mike, but he forces a response through his own discomfort.
“I could be friends with him.” The sentence sounds hollow even to him. “But fine, let me rephrase for you, since you’re such a good person— why don’t you use Will as a point of interest to get to know Lucas, and feed back any information to me as a bonus?”
The girl then pauses, resting her chin in her palm thoughtfully as she mulls it over.
“I can get behind that,” she says decisively. Mike lets out a snort which she ignores, sticking out a hand to shake on it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Wheeler.”
They shake hands, and each look rather pleased with themselves as if they’re the only one secretly benefiting off the situation. The rest of the evening is spent getting too drunk on the field for a Sunday, most of it sat in silence until Max jumps up to race him back down the hill. Well, it’s more of a staggering amble down the hill, but Mike isn’t one for much physical exercise either, so he’s not feeling too competitive.
Unfortunately, his limbs have always been too long for his body, so they carry him in quick strides to the bottom first. Max punches him in the stomach when she catches up to him, and then darts across the road he’d been waiting at for her. He doubles over with a groan.
“That’s cheating! You’re fucking dead, Mayfield.” Mike takes back what he’d said about his own competitiveness; Max brings it out in him. He sets off after her once again.
Their drunken game of cat and mouse only stops when he realises they’ve entered town. Even in this tipsy state, his posture stiffens and his legs slow to take in the people around him. Mike is known around here— and not in the good way, either. It’s in the way that people pull their children a little closer, the way they let their eyes snag on him carefully, as if he might just set something dangerous off right then and there.
The sinking feeling in his stomach is interrupted by the close of Max’s fingers around his wrist. She’d come back for him. Because, of course she had.
The redhead pulls him along, mumbling something about finding a 7/11 with comfortable certainty. Mike doesn’t miss the fierce look she gives a woman who lets her fearful gaze stray too long. He feels another rush of eternal gratefulness (which will never be voiced) for Max Mayfield. Instead he just gently slips his wrist from her grasp and bumps his shoulder into hers. She gives him a once over as if to check he’s okay, then her own shoulders relax. She bumps him back as they walk into the yellow-lit aisles of the 7/11.
“I’m thinking about a red slushy,” she announces, swinging her arms contentedly. Mike gives her an unimpressed look and snatches up a bag of Doritos.
“Blue tastes better.” He hands them to her.
“They’re the same flavour, idiot.” Max snaps, taking them from him.
He shrugs. “Blue is still better.”
Their bickering continues even as they walk over to the slushy machine, if not a little more mellowed out. If Max ever notices how Mike switches his personality when they’re not alone, she has never once mentioned it. She seems to have him almost completely figured out for the most part, right down to the way he shows less emotion around the public than when its just her. She accepts it in her stride and adjusts accordingly. It’s only in school that she refuses to be beside him, but that’s only because of his followers, Troy and his stupid bullies.
Max has many friends. Mike swears he sees her with someone different each day. He doesn’t let himself think about it for too long, or he’ll start wishing that he was there too. Mike doesn’t really talk to the people around him unless he has to, which is why the mere sight of the familiar group in the parking lot has Max and him speeding up a little, until she hears a voice which makes her steps falter. She gives a thoughtful slurp of her slushy then tilts her head, eyes flicking between Mike and the group anxiously.
“Was that Lucas?” Mike wouldn’t know. But he does know that he'd do just about anything for Max, so he listens in and he watches as the group of thugs crowd into their usual intimidation tactic, forming a semi circle around a red truck. There is another voice that cuts calmly through their jibes and jeers, in all fairness. “That was him,” Max confirms, her grip tightening on her drink in fury.
And because Mike is an idiot who would do just about anything for Max, he makes up his mind then and there. He gives her a subtle nod and walks over to the group, handing her his blue slushy. Troy is stood at the head of his cohort, who begins to part a path easily upon sight for Mike. He lets each step be slow and calculated, just enough to give him some time to come up with something to say when he reaches the centre of it.
When he finally reaches the open space in the middle of their throng of bullies, he clears his throat meaningfully. Troy is still droning on in his menacing voice but it stutters and comes to a halt when he hears Mike’s voice. He freezes, turning his head. Mike stares back, raises an eyebrow for good measure.
“Micheal,” Troy greets him uneasily. He shifts slightly from where he’s been face to face with his victim.
“Hi,” Mike responds flatly.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.” The bully’s eyes dart to his victims before he straightens up, attempting to regain some reputation of control. “Care to join the fun?”
Fuck, this guy is so boring, he thinks. Is he really going to waste his evening with Max just to stop Troy from carrying out his usual torment? It’s not like he’s ever bothered stopped him before. He’s never cared enough about anyone to do so.
He gets the answer to his own question the minute he finally moves his gaze to register the poor subjects of tonight’s boredom. Mike’s whole body tenses. Sat on the hood of the truck is a boy with wide hazel eyes. They’re fixed on him, and he wonders how long they’d been taking Mike in without his notice. His honey brown hair covers his face a little, but he shakes it from his view, waiting for Mike’s answer with an almost challenging look. It badly masks the fear beneath it, from the way his knuckles are white on the metal of the hood. Mike does not answer yet. He takes pleasure in the tension of the moment, allowing his gaze to trail over those pale cheeks and pink lips he’s stared at so many times.
Will Byers is usually in some kind of gothic getup. It’s Mike’s first time seeing him like this, all rosy-cheeked without his usual white face paint and sporting a pair of grey joggers with an off the shoulder The Cure t-shirt. He almost forgets to take in the boy next to him. It’s a much less interesting sight. Lucas is stood in front of Will in a pair of basketball shorts and a wife-beater, biceps popping where he crosses his arms across his chest. He leans against the hood of the car to block the boy from sight, as if protecting him. Mike could do a better job.
He turns his gaze back to Will, hungrily taking in the soft sight of him. “Where’s all your makeup?” is what slips out of him.
Will’s face crumples into an immediate scowl. Mike can already tell there are probably tears prickling his eyes. He doesn’t know why. It makes him frown. Mike takes another step towards the truck, only to pause when Will flinches at the sound of his feet on the gravel. It’s then that he deducts that he’s definitely made the wrong decision here, from the sound of Troy’s annoying laugh. Mike’s skin bristles in an anxious need to get control of the situation slipping away from him. He doesn’t like the way Will is looking at him right now. He seems scared.
Mike turns on instinct to cut Troy off mid-chuckle. “Leave,” he demands. The group’s laughter trails off into nothing, eyes travelling apprehensively between him and Troy, who looks furious compared to Mike’s uninterested facade. “Are you deaf or just stupid?” Mike drawls. “I said fucking leave.”
Troy splutters. His fists curl and his body trembles in anger. “But—why?”
“Why?” Mike echoes, almost sounding amused with surprise, “because, I said so Troy.” His eyes bounce between Troy and Will on reflex, and he’s relieved to see the fear gone from the latter. “You’re ruining the view anyway,” he adds with finality, going back to appreciating the delicacy which is Will Byers. His fearful expression has been replaced with a look of confusion; his brow is crumpled and his body still leans towards Lucas in the aftermath of self-defence. Mike already prefers it by miles.
“Whatever.” Troy spits— actually spits— at Lucas’ shoes, narrowly avoiding Mike’s. His eyes darken slightly and the first threads of frustration begin to pull through his voice.
“Careful,” he grits out. Troy’s retreating shoulders hunch, but he storms off without another word. The rest of his gang stumbles along after him, a few of them going as far as to nod at Mike as they leave. He watches them go, jaw clenching reflexively.
He’s suddenly very aware that he doesn’t know what to do with himself near Will and Lucas; there are no rules with them. Troy and his thugs listen to Mike, for one stupid reason or another, but he doesn’t particularly know how to even start a conversation with the two boys next to him.
So, he does the obvious. He turns to leave.
He’s stopped pretty quickly by a familiar redhead coming towards him. Max shoves his drink into his chest with a glare. “Stay,” she hisses in passing, pulling her lips into a sweet smile to greet Luke.
“Lucas, hey!”
Mike turns back to the pair reluctantly, keeping his uncertain gaze either on Max or the vague shape of clouds in the distance. Max eventually feels safe enough, so he fixes his eyes on her, mildly noticing that same blush is now rising to her cheeks.
“It’s Micheal, right?” A soft voice catches his attention. Mike’s head tilts, finding Will now sat closer to the edge of the truck. Closer to him.
“Mike,” he corrects. His voice is quieter than he’d like to be. Mike doesn’t want to stare. He periodically reminds himself to check on Max, so that he doesn’t look at Will’s face for too long.
“I’m Will.” He’s smiling, now. It’s a little shy, but Mike’s eyes hone in on the curve of his mouth regardless.
“I know,” Mike responds bluntly, “you’re new around here.” Will chuckles nervously and nods. The very sound of it is warm and light. Almost sweet, really. It’s then that he notices how a hint of Will’s front teeth peek out from his top lip when he laughs.
Bunny.
The name echoes in his thoughts, which he promptly feels a rush of mortification at himself for. He’s even more embarrassed by just how it seems to fit effortlessly next to Will in his mind now, as he looks at him.
“You’re in my school, right?” He asks, stepping closer until he’s stood just over Will. He likes the way the boy reacts; the way the power feels even in this small height difference. Will tilts his head, eyes darting around to evade Mike’s intense stare, but eventually he nods again in agreement. Every mannerism of his seems a little skittish, like prey; his eyes are all hazel and doe-like as he peers at him through his hair.
“Yeah, but it's only been a week or two,” Will replies. His voice is smooth too. Calm and soft-spoken.
“Where did you move from?” Mike spurs the conversation further, feigning interest for a guise to move a little closer to him.
“Near Los Angeles, in California.”
His lips twitch at that, but he vaguely remembers Max’s warnings of ‘scaring him to an early death’ and quells his smile. He ducks his head slightly to hide his amusement. “I guess that does makes sense.”
Will rolls his eyes indignantly. “What? What’s so funny about that?”
Mike is drunk enough on a mixture of vodka and Will’s attention not to hold back his own smirk this time, slightly enamoured by the sight of Will’s exasperated expression. “The fashion there is a lot more…outgoing.”
“There are a disappointing amount of goths here,” Will agrees with a regretful sigh, missing the obvious hint of snark in his tone with willful obliviousness.
“This is Hawkins, Will,” Lucas calls over his shoulder, “it’s a small, conservative town in Indiana, what’d you expect?”
Will groans, cheeks flushing. “Stop acting like it isn’t insane for no one to know what The Cure is!”
Max frowns, giving a questioning look to Mike for help. “The cure to what?” Lucas throws back a laugh and Will shakes his head in dismay. Mike flashes her a smug look of his own.
“I know who The Cure is,” he offers, cutting in quietly. Will’s head snaps towards him. “They just released that album— Kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me, right?” He doesn't mention that he’d gone to the lengths of finding The Cure’s latest release in his nearest record shop last week, after Will had turned up to school wearing a different band tee of their merch.
There’s a beat of silence where Lucas and Will make eye contact.
“Careful, he wants to marry you now,” Lucas warns, stretching his arms casually and stepping away from the condemning hand that comes his way.
“Lucas—” Will’s face flushes. Mike is transfixed by the fact that he can see it, this time; the rosy tint steadily growing bolder in all its glory. He thinks he knows what Max means about being human, now. Will is human, in every sense of the word. He’s flesh and bone and warmth and life. Mike snaps himself out of his stupor to relieve (or worsen) the situation.
“That’s fine with me.” He shrugs in the performance of nonchalance. His heart kicks up a steady rhythm, running rampant in his chest. Watching Will is addictive— every reaction gives Mike a hit of dopamine. Lucas laughs even harder in surprise, and Max gives him a suggestive look. Will buries his face in his hands to hide his heated face.
Lucas ruffles his friend’s hair with a fond look as Will bats his hands away. “How ‘bout we give you guys a ride back? It’s late, and I’ve got to get this one home, anyway.”
Max looks at him, and Mike looks back. He’s stiff with tension, his body already shutting down without his permission and his mind trying to find an escape. He really doesn’t want to go home, but he knows that this is a good chance for her and Lucas.
“I’ve got shit to do. Max, you can go if you want.” His voice is little rough on its way out. Max frowns and steps towards him, tugging on his arm until they’re a safe distance away.
“What are you doing Wheeler? You haven’t got shit do to— this is our chance!”
He breathes out carefully through his nose. There’s a slight panic going through him at the mention of going near his own house, and it’s making it all the harder not to snarl at his closest friend like a trapped animal. “I don’t want to go home yet,” Mike says quietly.
A look of understanding crosses her face, but she just tugs at his arm once again. “Come to mine, then. My mum loves you anyway, just stay over—”
“Max,” he hisses, a little louder than he means to. She flinches slightly, her hand tightening where it still grips his arm. He glances at where Will and Lucas are, sending them curious glances. He sighs in an attempt to calm himself, still visibly agitated. “Let me go.”
She answers his gruff demand instantly, eyes sad when she releases his arm. “I’ll stay with you until you need to go home then.”
“No,” he answers firmly, nodding over to the truck “you’ll go home with them.”
“Mike,” she growls.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he shrugs, beginning to back away with his slushy in hand.
“Micheal,” she calls, throwing her arms up, “you asshole, don’t just fucking leave me—”
Mike just grins sardonically back at her, throwing up his middle finger in farewell before he swivels around and stalks into the night . He hears Max curse, sigh and then walk over to the other two boys, no doubt apologising for Mike’s abrupt exit.
Mike bides his time by walking through Hawkins’ dimly lit streets, lazily lighting his spliff and chucking his melted slushy in the bin. He heads towards the fields again, relaxing the further he gets away from them and the prospect of going home. He doesn’t know why, but the mere thought of them— of Will — being anywhere near his house is fucking terrifying. Mike doesn’t even go there unless he has to, and he very rarely lets Max come round. He’s afraid they’ll feel the hostility and corruption in the walls that very moment if they stepped through the door, that they’d wipe their feet on the welcome home mat and somehow know that it’s never welcomed anything good beforehand.
It’s early the next morning when he does finally slip into his own room through the window and slumps down, tired and stoned, onto his bed. The house is eerily silent. It sounds practically abandoned to anyone else, but to Mike the silence is pregnant with fear. Years of trauma, fights and bruises layer the furniture in this house like dust. He lays awake, staring at the ceiling. His mind wanders through the avenues of nicer things to keep himself occupied: the name bunny and the flash of a sweet-toothed smile to keep him company, savouring the way it had felt when Will’s eyes had taken a drag over him.
In truth, Mike does know that he ran away from him, today. He comforts his thoughts of cowardice by thinking that maybe, this was his attempt to protect him. It’s the noble thing to do, after all. Will doesn’t deserve to endure the storm which is Mike’s presence in his life; maybe Max could handle it, but Will isn’t like her. She’s hard around the edges. Max has a furious, all consuming kindness in her soul, which fights tooth and nail daily against the worst parts of Mike.
Will seems all too gentle. He’s like a direct juxtaposition of everything Mike does, and an embodiment of everything Mike seeks in a person. He’s pure, and sweet, and fucking perfect. The best thing he could do to protect Will from the rot inside of Mike is to stay the fuck away from him— but he won’t.
Because although Micheal fucking Wheeler is many, many things, he’s never claimed to be a good person.