Chapter Text
New York City, September 1993
Mike
‘Take it slow’
…
‘Hey, hey… you okay?’
‘…Yeah’
…
‘Mike…’
‘Take it slow, take it slow’
‘I’m coming’
‘Oh shit… it’s okay. I got you. I got you…’
…
‘Oh god…’
‘Yeah…’
Mike Wheeler wasn't much of a runner. In fact, he detested the act. Found it only necessary in dire situations. He hadn't run since Vecna's attack in the MAC-Z six years ago, and he hadn't voluntarily run in... he had never voluntarily run, period. So, since he left Hawkins, he had been plenty comfortable with the prospect of never having to run again.
But now... he was running.
His lungs felt as though they might collapse as he sprinted along the cracked sidewalk of midtown Manhattan, the concrete glistening from the September rain that was pouring from the heavens. He guessed the plus side of the rain having soaked through his clothes is that nobody could tell that he was sweating much more than a man at his prime age of twenty-two should be sweating from running three blocks on a flat street.
Though his entire body was burning and he felt on the verge of evaporating into nothingness, he was grateful for his mind being occupied by the need to stay alive, for it prevented him from thinking too hard about why exactly he was running. He was afraid that if he thought too hard about where he was going — who he was running to — that he would turn back the way he came. So he thanked his lack of athleticism for the distraction as he continued towards the NYU student housing complex that was just now coming into view.
He got some weird looks as he staggered through the halls of the complex, panting, coughing and dripping wet, searching desperately for the right dorm number. Finally coming across it, he burst in, almost tumbling to the ground from the misplaced momentum as he finally stopped moving after what felt like an eternity.
“Will?” he heaved at the confused strangers in the dorm’s common room. They frowned at him, some laughed, before pointing towards the door directly to Mike's right. “Thank-” was all he could breathe out. Goddamn, I'm unfit, he thought shamefully as he trudged over to the door, knocking maybe a little too loudly. As he waited, he doubled over, his hands gripping his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
“Mike?” His heart stopped as he heard the voice that came from his right, finally giving it a rest, only for it to begin pounding again, but no longer out of physical exertion. Mike slowly stood up straight and turned to face the man standing in the doorway. His hair was slightly ruffled, and he had faint dark circles beneath his eyes, but he was just as beautiful as the image Mike had etched in his memory. “Mike, what are you... What are you doing here?”
Mike smiled, still panting from the run, “Will." Pant. "Hi.”
Will still had a confused frown creasing his brow, and he had his arms wrapped around his waist, making himself small, protecting himself. Mike couldn't blame him.
“Mike, is... is something wrong?” Will asked softly, looking around behind Mike to see if Lucas or Max were there putting him up to this, locking eyes with his roommate, as if he was pleading to be saved. “Why-" A pause met with a bewildered frown. "Did you run here?” Will looked him up and down, noticing Mike’s heaving chest and that he was soaked head to toe from the rain. Mike’s stomach couldn’t help but leap as he did this, wishing that he could be the focus of Will’s eyeline for all his days.
"I did," Mike panted, "Nothing's wrong... I guess... I just... can I come in?"
Will paused for a moment, let out a sharp breath, having no idea what to say, before he turned to his side, giving Mike space to walk past him into his room.
As Mike walked into Will’s dorm room, he smiled at how similar it was to his room back in Hawkins. Posters and drawings all over the walls, a cassette player on his bedside table. Visual diaries and textbooks were scattered on his desk. He had brought most of his posters from home, but the drawings were different. Rather than colourful sketches of ‘Will the Wise’ and Castle Byers, they were pencil and charcoal drawings, mostly portraits of people he didn’t recognise. Except for one… El. From what he saw, he clearly knew how to capture her spirit, her power, her light. He even felt as though he now knew the strangers in the other drawings, their personalities so clear and vibrant despite being shaded only in blacks and greys.
He was still his Will. Just grown up. He felt like he missed so much.
“Mike, could you please tell me what the hell’s going on?” Will asked, his arms crossed and his brow still creased with a frown.
“Max and Lucas told me about what happened, what he did to you.” Mike just came straight out with it. He had no idea how he had suddenly become this forward, this unfiltered, but it felt surprisingly good, and he knew that overthinking it would make it go away.
A pained look filled Will’s eyes before he looked away from Mike towards the floor, his fingers anxiously digging into the skin of his own arm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Will, I know he cheated on you. And I want to fucking kill him.”
“We weren’t that serious, Mike, it doesn’t matter,” Will mumbled
“Max was telling me you told him you loved him.”
“Mike, why are you here?” Will yelled, throwing his hands in the air, a slight tremble in his voice. Mike knew then he had dug too deep, taken it too far. “I don’t understand why you chose now to finally have the nerve to see me after all this time. Are you just trying to rub it in my face? Do you get off on seeing me miserable? What is it, Mike?”
Mike stepped forward, reaching his hands out to try to take Will’s hands as he noticed them meeting in the middle of his body to wring together in an anxious compulsion. “Will, I-”
“Actually, no, I’m not done.” Will unfurled his hands, throwing his arms to his side, stepping back to keep his distance from Mike. “You seriously expect me to be open with you and cry on your shoulder after nine months of you avoiding any contact with me? We had sex, which you know how huge that was for me, how much it meant. And after the fact, you wouldn’t even be in the same room with me? And the one time you pick up my call, you fucking pretend to be your answering machine?!” Will laughs through angry tears, “You were my best friend, Mike. I was in love with you, and you fucking abandoned me.”
“I know, I’m so so sorry,” Mike strained as his throat felt like it was closing up, “I was such an idiot, I was just so scared, so confused, I couldn’t-”
“Couldn’t talk to me?” Will interrupted, finishing Mike’s sentence, “As if I wouldn’t understand?”
“I knew you’d understand it’s just… that’s what I was afraid of,” Mike’s voice faltered, his words echoing in his mind as they escaped for the first time out loud. “I wasn’t ready to accept who I was. That night meant so much to me, too, and I was afraid of how much it meant. I thought that if I talked to you about it, it would all become real, that all that time I spent being so sure about this one thing would all become a lie. I wasn’t ready. But now I am. I’m ready now.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?” Will whispered, his cheeks and nose red, his eyes burning, and the circles beneath them growing darker.
“Because I fucking ran here, Will!” Mike yelled, startling Will, which he instantly felt guilty for, but he saw the other man’s face soften in realisation, “You know me well enough to know that running here in the pouring rain isn’t something I’d do unless I was absolutely sure I needed to. You asked me why I’m here, and it’s because I know you’re thinking of going back to him, and I’m telling you, you can’t do that.”
“And why can’t I?” Will whispered, a glint of hope crossing his brow which Mike knew he didn’t mean for him to see.
“Because I’m here,” Mike breathed, realising he was panting again, the feeling of sprinting three blocks feeling like a breeze compared to this.
“Mike, I don’t…”
Mike’s heart stopped, and a shock wave of electricity shot from his toes to his chest. You ‘don’t’ what? he thought. You don’t love me? You don’t want to see me anymore?
“You ‘don’t’ what?” His racing thoughts slipped out into speech, and Mike felt like grasping at the air to try to swallow it back down.
Will stammered, trying just as hard as Mike to escape this torment, to find any words other than…
“I don’t… know, Mike,” he spat out, bringing his hands up to cover his face, beginning to walk over towards the opposite corner of his room where his drawings were plastering the walls. “I want to believe you… You have no idea how much… I just… You really hurt me, Mike.” Will turned back around to face him, tears now streaming down his face, “You always used to be there when I needed you… and I really needed you this time, and you refused to be there.” He sniffed, wrapping his arms around his waist again and looking down towards the floor. “I really did love you, Mike, but… I don’t know if I can anymore.”
“Will…” Mike rasped in a pleading tone, his voice breaking through his closed-up throat. He felt as small as he did that day in kindergarten with no one to talk to. Before he found Will. Before his life was flooded with more light, love, and joy than he ever thought he deserved. He didn’t think he would ever forgive himself for taking that for granted, for discarding it so selfishly time and time again. He could never take back what he did to Will… but he could make sure it never happened again.
"Will, please, I- I'm begging you," Mike dropped down to his knees, breath quivering, hands shaking, tears threatening to form in his dark, burning eyes. Will watched with a look of utter shock as Mike literally crawled on his hands and knees over to where he stood. Sitting on the heels of his still wet and muddy boots, Mike gripped Will's thighs just above his knees, his head hanging so his gaze was towards the floor, as if in prayer, "Please. Love me. I have loved you for fifteen years. It took me so long to see it, I know, but I have always loved you. I have never stopped. And I promise you, I never will. Don't go back to him. Don't make me go back to watching you pretend to be happy with somebody else when I know I can take care of you better than anyone."
In the silence that followed, Mike realised he had started crying. He watched as a single tear dropped from his eye to the carpet beneath his knees. He sniffed and played with the side seam of Will's jeans as he waited for him to respond, to walk away, to yell at him, to do anything. Anything.
Will was still for a long time. Far too long. Mike thought he had somehow turned to stone. Until he felt it. A soft hand on the top of his head, fingers gently intertwining themselves in the curls beneath it. Mike lifted his head slowly, his breath now more even, yet still quick and heavy. As Mike scanned up Will's body, his mouth and then his gaze finally came into view. Mike's eyes shone in the soft amber light of Will's bedside lamp as he looked up through his eyelashes. Lips parted, he watched as Will's eyes moved around ever-so-slightly, as if they were taking in every detail of Mike's face, of this moment. And then his lips curved in the tiniest smile.
Without saying anything, Will stepped back and to the side, and Mike almost fell forward at the loss of support he had from clinging to Will’s legs. Mike watched as Will disappeared through a small doorway to the left of his bed before returning with a big towel, a change of clothes, a blanket and a pillow.
“It’s still pouring out there, you should probably stay the night,” Will said softly, clearly trying to remain unreadable, but Mike could see the slight smirk still playing at his lips, the way he tried avoiding eye contact with Mike that he recognised from their childhood days as a sign that he was blushing.
“Um…” Mike mumbled, looking around, dumbfounded, still on his knees, that felt bolted to the floor, “Yeah… yeah, thanks.” His own words from before still echoed in his mind. He now had a headache from all of the secrets that had spilled from his lips, all of the pent-up feelings that had finally been released.
“You’ll have to sleep on the floor, though,” Will said, frowning as he set the items down on his bed, “I still only have a single bed here.”
As if that had ever stopped them from sharing. Every single one of their sleepovers in Hawkins began with Mike sleeping on the floor and ended with them in the same bed, arms around each other for ‘warmth’… even in the sweltering summer heat. But after everything Mike had just said… he really didn’t know what this meant.
“Here,” Will said, passing him the clothes and towel he had brought from the closet, “Sorry if they don’t fit.”
As Mike reached out to take the pile, he placed his hands over Will’s, his right thumb rubbing circles on the soft skin of the other man’s knuckles. Will took the softest, sharpest breath in, and Mike could feel his hands tense, but he didn’t pull away. “Will. Talk to me,” Mike whispered, staring up at him, waiting for Will’s eyes to meet his.
Will breathed jaggedly, holding his breath for a split second multiple times like he wanted to say something but retreated each time, sucking it back into his chest where it was safe. He kept staring at the chequered pattern of the clothes in their hands so intently, as if he stared at them long enough, they would change colour or move so that he could have something to talk about other than this. When he hesitantly met Mike’s gaze, his face softened ever-so-slightly, and he parted his lips, taking a breath in, seeming so close to letting the words flow through his mouth. But then he gave up. Will cleared his throat and slipped his hands away, his feet softly padding across the room towards the bed. “That’s a walk-in if you just want to get changed in there,” he mumbled, gesturing towards the closet from which he had gathered the items earlier. “Or the bathroom is just next door.”
He left Mike still kneeling there, his head still tilted from looking up at Will as if he could pull him back with the force of a Jedi. Mike felt as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest and his lungs were being stomped on over and over again. The way Will spoke to him just now, the emotional walls he had slammed up, took him straight back to Lenora — how Will was trying desperately to keep his distance, to protect himself, to give Mike space that he never asked for. He thought back to the way Will had uttered his name earlier, only remembering now how empty it sounded, how defeated. He was hurt. Mike had done the hurting, and now he was here twisting the knife. What the fuck was he thinking coming here expecting Will to just fall into his arms the second he muttered words of love? He truly was an idiot.
Mike’s legs ached, and his knees cracked as he finally pulled himself up from the floor, his head tilting down to stare at the fabric in his arms just as Will had before. Maybe if he looked close enough, he would be able to find a message of forgiveness Will had secretly etched into the seams. He took a deep breath and straightened up, shaking his head a little to recenter and made his way to the walk-in closet. “I got weird looks from your roommates earlier, so I’d rather not go out there again,” he mumbled.
He heard Will huff out a short breath through his nose, a courteous fake laugh that made the ache in Mike’s heart more blunt and heavy.
He closed the closet door over, a soft creak sounding from its hinges. There was no light in the tiny room, so he left the door open just a crack so that he could see what he was doing. After he shrugged off his coat and kicked off his boots, he laid out the clean clothes in the free space on the shelf he found in front of him, hanging the towel on the rail to his right. As the clean fabrics rustled and moved, his senses were flooded with the smell of softener and a slight musk that he immediately recognised as the scent he always associated with Will and being at the Byers’ house on rainy afternoons in Hawkins. A sad smile pulled at his lips, his eyes burning with the threat of tears as he took in the old with the new, as he grieved the love and peace and smells he had robbed himself of becoming familiar with in their adult life.
He sniffed quickly, reeling himself back to reality as the absence of his coat reminded him that he was still soaking wet and freezing cold. As he peeled off each layer and threw it into the slowly accumulating pile of wet fabrics, he desperately tried to distract his mind from the hope that Will was watching him through the crack in the door. When he was down to his underwear, he huffed frustratedly, feeling that they were also soaked through. He looked around the closet, which, despite the orange light softly illuminating the small room, was still too dark to highlight distinct shapes. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned softly before taking a deep breath in. “Will?” he called.
“Yeah?” Will responded softly, not a single hint of surprise in his voice, like he was expecting it, like Mike was just background noise.
“Sorry, do you-” Mike rubbed his palm across his face, sighing exasperatedly. Fuck this was humiliating. “I’m completely soaked through, have you- Do you mind if I borrow some underwear?”
A pause. “Uh… sure.” Mike heard a rustling of what sounded like Will flinging a duvet that he was lying under, followed by the same sound as before of his feet softly padding across the floor, increasing in volume as he approached the closet door.
Mike watched the wall in front of him as the rectangular shape of the light from the other room grew slightly wider as the door creaked. Mike could have sworn he heard Will’s breath hitch, but could very well have imagined it. He felt the heat of Will’s body right next to him, the hem of his tee-shirt brushing against his bare side as Will stood on his toes to reach something from a high shelf.
Mike turned his head slightly at the touch, watching as Will rummaged around the shelf, his eyes briefly casting down to catch sight of the sliver of skin that was exposed between the waistband of his pants and the hem of his shirt. Mike wanted more than anything to trace his finger on that line, to use his lips to etch the feeling of the soft skin into his memory.
Will huffed as he came back down onto flat feet, holding a plastic package with small rolls of fabric inside that he handed to Mike. “These are brand new, just keep them.”
“Oh, are you sure?” Mike stuttered.
“Yeah,” Will breathed, a slight laugh hitching in his throat, “Mom sends them every month, I’ve got enough to supply underwear to the entire dorm complex up here.”
Mike turned his head more to get a better glimpse of Will’s face. He almost collapsed at the glint of their old connection returning to his eyes. Not to mention the slight flicker of his eyeline from Mike’s face to his bare torso. Mike could have sworn he saw a slight red hue rise on his cheeks, but in this dark light, he could have just been seeing what he wanted to see.
Mike laughed, embarrassment and self-consciousness flooding him once more. “Thanks,” he said as he took the pack, watching as Will nodded and smiled stiffly in response and left the closet, closing the door the same amount as before.
Mike took off his wet underwear and threw it towards the pile, then quickly reached for the hanging towel, drying himself off so rapidly that he knocked his head on a shelf on his way up from using the towel on his legs. “Shit,” he whispered.
“Mike, are you good in there?” Will called, no rustling this time, just confusion subtly laced with concern.
“Yeah, just- just a bit cramped in here,” Mike called back. Will didn’t respond, and Mike sighed before continuing to dry himself off, a little slower and more carefully this time.
When Mike’s skin was finally dry enough, and he had slipped the new underwear on, he reached for the plaid flannelette pants in front of him, unfolding them and stepping into them. After sliding the shirt over his head, he ran his hands slowly over the soft fabrics, savouring how they felt around his smaller frame. He noticed as his body was filled with warmth that spread from his toes to his chest and what could only be described as giddiness. He silently relished the feeling of being enveloped in clothes that belonged to Will, fabrics that had draped over his body multiple times, threads that knew the touch of his skin and the sound of his sighs.
Nine months ago should have been the time when he savoured all of those things. He had the feeling of Will’s skin and the sound of his sighs at his disposal. Pictures of it came back in the slightest of flashes when he thought hard enough, but those memories were always overpowered by the fear and shame he felt within himself waking up that next morning, realising what he had done. He was selfish and cruel to leave Will lying there so peaceful and content without muttering a word of goodbye or planting a kiss on his forehead. Mike wasn’t so much ashamed that it was Will that he had sex with. It was that he had sex with Will before he was ready to fully accept himself. Will deserved more than that. He deserved the world. And Mike was far from that nine months ago. But things were different now. He wished Will could see that.
He opened the closet door with a slow creak and stepped out, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Will as he made his way over to the space by the foot of the bed. He took the blanket and pillow Will had gotten for him, dropping the pillow and wrapping himself in the blanket before sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Mike heard Will sigh softly, one that he couldn’t tell was one of fatigue or something with more meaning. Back when they were kids, Mike would instantly have been able to tell, but now that the sound of Will’s breath was no longer entrenched in his nervous system, he just waited patiently for any words or actions that followed.
“I want it to be real.” Will’s voice, almost a whisper, cut through the excruciating silence. Mike wouldn’t have heard it if he weren’t straining as he was now to pick up whatever sound rippled through the air.
Mike stretched his spine so that he could look over to Will, who was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Something in Will’s stillness and the angle at which his neck tilted told Mike to follow his eyeline and found that he was staring at a cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars. The ones that Mike had gifted Will before he left for college, alongside a star chart of every constellation that could be found in the night sky back home. ’To keep a little bit of Hawkins with you.’
The cluster just above his bed was artistically arranged in the shape of Draco the Dragon, one that Mike recognised as the constellation that inspired him to start his first campaign. He remembers the night they found it. Will was lying next to him in their backyard way past their bedtime, and they had just finished making up a story about how the four of them would have saved Hawkins from an attack by Draco. Mike remembers flailing his arms around, stabbing the constellation with an imaginary sword, and Will reaching out with his hands splayed to throw ‘ice spores’ at the fire-blooded creature. That was the day Mike knew he wanted to grow old with Will. ’I want him to be my friend forever and ever,’ he had said to his mom the next morning after he watched Will cycle away from the house.
Mike’s eyes welled up at the knowledge that Will had gone to this effort to remind himself of that day in his new living space. That this was the pattern in the stars that made him feel safe — at home.
“Goodnight, Mike,” Will said just a little louder, turning on his side and letting out a long breath through his nose.
It took Mike everything in his power not to spring to his feet, scream It is real! It is! while running over to Will and kissing him. But there on the floor he remained, his entire body shivering though he was no longer cold. “‘Night,” he rasped out, so shaky that if Will had paid enough attention, he could have easily discerned that it was the croak of someone on the verge of panic instead of someone overcome by fatigue.
As his back returned to the floor and his head hit the pillow, Mike listened closely for Will’s breathing patterns, any changes, any signs that he had more to say. But nothing. He was steady, seemingly unfazed.
In for a sleepless night, Mike wished he had just risked the hypothermia and lung collapse, and run back to his apartment in the rain.