Chapter Text
May 1998
The idea was presented to Will in the early hours of the morning, after his closing shift at the bar. He'd had a couple shots with some of his favorite regulars and was feeling particularly bold. Not to mention, he was on shift with Wendy, who was always bound to put bad ideas in his head. He'd call her a bad influence, but she would say that she was just she was just the messenger for the ideas, he never had to act on them.
Perhaps he was easily impressionable, or maybe Wendy was right — maybe he didn't have to act on her irresponsible plans. Sometimes it was a little fun to just do stupid, risky shit. Just because he could. Like stealing that traffic cone a couple months ago — even though he barely had room in his studio apartment as is, and now a traffic cone was taking up precious space on the floor next to his easel. Or like taking that extra shot at the end of a night out that made him feel a bit too fearless as he got on top of the bar to dance — which ultimately resulted in him falling on his ass and somehow spraining his wrist on the way down. And maybe, just maybe, like calling Mike Wheeler and asking if he wanted to catch up while he was in Chicago.
Chicago was a city that Will hadn't stepped foot in since he was still in college. In sophomore year, Mike had moved into his own one-bedroom apartment and invited the whole party to come spend spring break at his place. Truthfully, Will hadn't seen much of the city. The six of them mainly stayed put in Mike's tiny apartment that he had equipped with three air mattresses — taking up the entirety of the living area. They spent that week smoking a lot of weed, watching a mix of MTV and low-budget sci-fi movies, and eating a disgusting amount of pizza from the shop down the road from Mike's apartment building.
And Mike Wheeler was someone who he hadn't seen since Lucas and Max's wedding last June. It was a thought that hurt to think too much on, a topic he tried not to let cross his mind too often.
Will's eyes were starting to droop, the weight of the long day finally catching up to him. He was wiping down the last few glasses to the tune of Closing Time, courtesy of Wendy, with her affinity for the song, and how hilarious she thought she was being by playing it while they finished their closing tasks. It was funny — when the song came out in March. In April, the novelty was starting to wear off, but Will didn't mind it. Now it was May. He heard this song five days a week for the last two months. It was starting to get really old, in his opinion. Wendy called him boring when he said as much.
Wendy was busy scrubbing a spill on the floor that had gone tacky from being ignored for most of the night.
"Dear God, tonight was so fucking busy," she grunted, moving onto a new spot.
"It was," Will sighed, but a slight smile played on his lips. "But… now that we have time. I have some exciting news." Her face perked up at this.
He'd been trying to tell her all night, but in between making drinks, running out food, and the rest of the chaos of the surprisingly large Thursday night crowd, the pair had hardly managed to get a word of conversation in all night. A near-impossible feat whenever they were working together.
"Gossip?" She asked. She stopped her work and leaned on the mop to turn towards Will and give him her full attention. A huge grin had taken over her face at just the mere prospect of getting to be nosy.
"Better than gossip," he smiled fully now too, excited. "One of my paintings got chosen to be shown in this exhibit at a gallery in Chicago. It's big. Like bigger than any gallery I've had my art shown in before." He stacked the last glass behind the bar and set the used towel down on the counter in front of him.
"No fucking way!" She squeaked, her jaw dropping. "This calls for celebratory shots."
"Wendy, no, I just finished the last of the glasses. I am not wiping down another thing until tomorrow."
"Then we go break open a bottle of wine at mine?" She offered with a mischievous look in her eyes. Will rolled his eyes, checking the time on his watch. 2:43.
"Fine, but it's late. You're sharing your bed with me tonight," he sighed, but she let out another squeal at him easily giving in.
I know who I want to take me home, the song rang out through the speakers, finally almost over.
I know who I want to take me home
Take me home
"Well but of course, princess. Let me put the mop away and we'll get the fuck out of here."
Closing time, every new beginning
Comes from some other beginning's end
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The time on his watch now read 5:51. Will and Wendy still sat out on her fire escape, a blanket draped over their legs and empty wine glasses rested on the window sill behind their backs.
"I'm so proud of you," her words slurred together a little bit as she rested her head on his shoulder.
"Thanks," he smiled, looking into the sky. The dark backdrop had been fading, little by little. Blacks and blues slowly and seamlessly turning pink and orange.
"You going?" she asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and offering one to him.
"I want to. I mean this is huge, it would be crazy not to." His words muffled a bit as he held the cigarette between his lips while Wendy flicked her lighter for him. "I'm gonna call around this week to see what hotels are in the area. See if I can find any with decent rates. Honestly, if the piece sells, it would probably cover the cost three times over, so it's probably worth it."
"Don't you have a friend in Chicago? Maybe you could stay with him." Mike, his brain provided unhelpfully. Between the residual wine and shots from earlier in his system, mixed with the buzz hitting him from the cigarette, the mere thought of Michael Wheeler made his heart pick up pace.
Something he thought would be over at this point in his life. It's not like he sat around just thinking about Mike all day, the way he used to. He knew that he wanted too much. He knew there was no future for him where he sat with Mike on their shared couch in fifty years, reminiscing on their love story.
Feelings faded over the years, especially with the distance between them — that part made things easier. It was almost easier too, when Will was seeing someone else. He would try to hide the old feelings behind the facade of a relationship, behind the love of someone else who would never quite measure up. But the feelings weren't old in the way that they were broken down, worn with age. They were old like a Redwood — strong, sturdy, and absolutely massive when you got close to them. Massive to the point they couldn't be hidden when he was face-to-face with him.
Will had a few serious relationships over the years, a few more less serious ones. And yet, in one way or another, they were all like him. They were tall and had long, lean bodies. They had dark hair and lopsided smiles. They had intense gazes and strong, expressive eyebrows. They had endearingly awkward personalities. They were nerdy. They were poets and romantics — someone in desperate need of a muse. Will could be a muse for them, but they were never his muse. That position had been filled for far too many years.
Somewhere deep in his heart, he could still feel a pull whenever Mike was brought up. Whenever he passed his name while flipping through his address book. Whenever he looked towards his crowded bookshelf, and his eyes landed on one of his novels, personally signed and mailed by Mike himself. Whenever he was feeling restless, unable to sleep at night, and memories of him flashed through Will's mind.
Mike had unknowingly carved out a home for himself within Will when they were just kids, and chipped away at the space for years. Mike would live in that space until Will was long gone, left in a box to rot. It felt like a curse.
Maybe Will was just feeling a little drunk from the wine.
"Um, yeah… Mike. I haven't really talked to him in a while. I can't just ask to stay with him," he sighed, flicking ash into the tray Wendy had set between them.
"Oh! Mike," she had that glint in her eye again. "Like the Mike."
Will just groaned in response, his free hand rubbing at his face. The Mike.
"Fine, don't stay with him. But maybe you could see him, you know. Just catch up over lunch or something. You should call him!" She said it like it would mean nothing. Like seeing Mike wouldn't possibly tear Will open, gutting him and leaving him to bleed out. But that was what made it all the more enticing.
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And that was how it started. After the sun had fully risen, they crawled back into Wendy's apartment and slept for a few hours, cuddled together in a mess of fuzzy blankets and mismatched pillows strewn across her bed.
Wendy had called out a final, "You better call him!" as Will had walked out her door that morning. He had gotten home around noon. If he was going latch onto her suggestion, now was the time to call.
Mike would still be at work. He was a teacher, and would probably get home in a few short hours. So, if he wanted to just leave a quick message that Mike could just easily ignore if he wanted to, it would be easiest to do it now. Just get it over with before he lost the courage, and before Mike got home.
The scary part now was no longer seeing Mike. The wine had made him maybe a little extra dramatic in the early hours of the morning. Maybe there was some truth behind it, but after sleeping it off, he remembered at the end of the day Mike was his friend — no — his best friend. Well, he was supposed to be, anyway.
Well, it was complicated now, truth be told. But they had been best friends for years, even at the height of Will's feelings. He could grab a coffee or lunch with the guy. It wouldn't kill him. Probably.
The scary part now was that Mike wouldn't want to see him. He could ignore it, Will knew, and maybe that would be for the best anyway. Worse, he could call back and say he wasn't interested in seeing him ever again. Mike could reject his friendship. Sure, it was a friendship that neither of them had tended to very much for almost an entire year, but fading out of that friendship was one thing. A bold faced rejection would hurt way worse. That would possibly kill him.
He paced for a few moments in front of the phone hung on the wall, made his way across the room to grab his address book from his dresser, and back to the phone. He took a deep breath to center himself and flipped to Mike's name. He knew the number. He had stared at it a lot after the wedding. Stared at it even more after he had broken up with Peter.
And he stared at it again now, as he dialed the corresponding numbers into the phone, hoping that the number was still the same, hoping that he hadn't moved. It rang, and rang, and rang. And finally, it went to voicemail.
The number you have dialed is not available. You have reached the voicemail for — Michael Wheeler — Please leave a message at the tone.
Will's breath caught at overhearing Mike's voice to cut in with his own name. He hadn't moved. Hadn't changed his number. Will was really doing this.
A beep tone chimed in, signaling his turn to speak.
"Uh — hi, Mike. It's — um — it's Will. I know it's been a while. I was just calling because I'll be in Chicago in July. I have a piece being displayed in a gallery there, and I was planning on coming to see the exhibit opening. If you're free sometime during the week of the 13th, I thought it might be nice to, um… catch up. My number's still the same. Just… call if you want to make plans. Bye, Mike."
Will's heart was racing as he hung up. He slammed the phone back down as if the plastic was burning his skin. There was no going back now.
It technically wasn't his first time reaching out to Mike in the past eleven months.
Mike had sent him a birthday card like he always did, back in March. A birthday card meant for a seven year old, with a tiger and a large number '7' on the front. Mike had drawn a number '2' in front of it in black marker. Inside it read "Have a ferocious birthday, tiger!" Mike had written a short message: "Will, happy birthday, old man! Miss you! x Mike" accompanied by a small smiley face he had drawn next to his name.
Will hadn't thought he would actually send him one this year. Not after the wedding. Not after no calls, no letters, no contact in months. But he treasured that weird card. It had sat on his dresser, with other cards he'd received: from his mom and Hopper, Jonathan, Lucas and Max, Dustin and Jane. And Mike. Maybe it had been an olive branch or something of the sorts.
So he sent Mike a birthday card a few weeks later, in April. A handmade card, as usual. This year's card was a classic — Mike as a paladin. Years ago, the paladin would've been accompanied by a cleric. Something that brought a flush of embarrassment to Will's cheeks now. How obvious he had been back then.
Still, this year, he had the paladin accompanied by the tiger from the card he received a few weeks prior. He thought it would be a funny callback to the goofy birthday card meant for a child. After he drew it, however, he realized that was basically the same thing as drawing the cleric on the card. Both represented Will in a way, always willing to be at Mike's side, even when they weren't really speaking.
Inside Will wrote: "Mike, Join the club, old man. Happy birthday, nerd. Miss you, too. Will" and he felt a tug at his chest writing that 'Miss you.' It was true. No matter how many months or years passed, a part of Will had always missed Mike when they were apart.
He hadn't heard from Mike since. But that was their new normal. He didn't know if Mike's 'Miss you' had just been a pleasantry. But maybe Mike would just ignore his voicemail, and they wouldn't have to talk again — at least until whenever Dustin and Jane decided to tie the knot.
Then maybe never again.
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Perhaps Will was a bit of a pessimist. He had taken a nap after calling Mike, still tired from not sleeping until after sunrise and having maybe a bit too much to drink for a Thursday-night-slash-Friday-morning. When he woke up at almost 2:00, he had moved from his bed to the shower, hoping to rid himself of the anxious sweat that had dried to his skin after calling.
Apparently his nervous system couldn't differentiate the act leaving a voicemail for his childhood best friend and running for his life from demogorgons, because it produced the same exothermic reaction either way.
And while he was in the bathroom, he could faintly hear the phone ring over the sound of running water. But it couldn't be him yet, school would've just let out, what like ten, maybe twenty minutes ago?
But it hit him — the time difference. It had probably been over an hour since his school let out, giving him plenty of time to get home and listen to the message. But by the time Will was out of the shower, he couldn't bear to listen just yet. He'd have to leave for work soon, a double shift that ended with him and Wendy shutting down shop again.
He sat for a moment, staring at the phone and debating whether or not to check the message. It was either Mike, or it wasn't. And either way, he wouldn't have time to return the message. But… if it was Mike, then he'd get the opportunity to ruminate on what to say back over the next twelve hours of his shift.
And then he was clicking play on his voicemail.
You have one new message:
"Will!" It was clearly Mike's voice, even through the tinny line of the phone. He would know it anywhere.
"I wasn't expecting to hear from you! Sorry, I was at work all day. It's Mike, by the way. I'd love to catch up! I'll have plenty of free time over summer. If you'd like, maybe you could stay with me? I have a guest bedroom now — no more air mattresses," and his laugh rang through the phone clearly, making Will's breath hitch. "Just let me know if you'd want to! I miss you, Will. I'm so proud of you, too. Getting your art in a gallery — how exciting! We can talk more, just give me a call and we can work out the details. Bye, Will!"
Will took in a deep breath, trying to soothe himself. He set the phone back down, more gentle now than he had earlier. He quietly got dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a multi-colored button up t-shirt. He left the shirt unbuttoned, exposing his undershirt and a dainty chain. If he was looking to afford the time off for trip to Chicago, he would have to look extra cute to get more tips in.
And he'd have to pencil in some time for flirting with some of the patrons in between his pre-scheduled ruminating.
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Unsurprisingly, he left the night with a very generous amount of tips. He also left with Wendy following him at his heels, claiming a sleepover at his place tonight.
"He wants you, Will," she sang in his ear, blowing smoke away from him.
"He does not want me, Wendy. He is straight." She passed him the cigarette. He breathed in the sweet nicotine.
He fleetingly remembered a time in his childhood where he said he would never smoke. Another time in college where he said he'd try it maybe just once. But splitting a cigarette on the walk home or the occasional drunk cigarette was far better than where he had been a few years ago — chain smoking in the studio while finishing paintings for his art classes. Quitting the habit completely just wasn't in the cards for him.
"He kissed you, Will. Is that what you call straight?" She skipped next to him, her skirt raising every few beats, which she'd have to stop to pull back down.
"Okay, first of all, you are taking that way out of context. He did not kiss me. I was basically dared to kiss him — which was embarrassing enough. And I was with Peter at the time. Hell, he was in the room. It was not romantic in any capacity. Second, did you remember the part where he didn't talk to me at all after until March?" Will asked rhetorically. The leaps and fucking bounds this woman would make to fit her narrative.
"I get the feeling you're underselling what happened. And yes, I remember. But why would he not call you then, unless he had at least some kind of feelings about it?" She tore the cigarette back.
"Could that feeling perhaps be discomfort? Disgust, even?"
"Ugh," Wendy groaned. "Will, you are no fun tonight."
"I am being a realist." Wendy scoffed at him and handed the cigarette back.
"Since fucking when?" she barked with laughter. "You, sir, are a romantic. A dreamer. Now, suddenly, you're being a boring realist?"
"Wendy, you do not get how bad my feelings were when I was a teenager. I cannot even think that some part of him might be available," Will responded, tone turning more serious. "Seriously, I do not want to be stuck back there again. I can't believe I'm even entertaining spending a week with him."
He really couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe Mike suggested it, after not seeing each other for almost a year. After they had kissed almost a year ago. And he somehow had let Wendy talk him into thinking it could be a good idea. Said it was fate, so much so that she knew it when she had said it in the early hours of the bright sunlight on the fire escape.
"You aren't entertaining it, Will, you're going to do it. We already decided. And you're gonna kiss him again," she smirked with a dangerous look in her eyes. "Maybe even do more than kiss."
"I am not going to kiss him, and I am definitely not going to fuck him, Wendy," he scoffed, lightly slapping her shoulder as he pushed her through the front door of his building. His face flushed at the thought. But nope he had to stop the thought there. Because it was definitely not happening. In no world was that even an option.
"So crass, William! Get your head out of the gutter. I was talking about some good old fashioned hand holding," Wendy laughed.
"Oh, sure. I believe that."
"You should fuck him, actually. It's been a while since you've gotten laid." Will rolled his eyes and stubbed out the last of the cigarette as they entered his apartment.
"Oh, shut up. You call Chelsea, and fuck her," he retorted. Chelsea being Wendy's 'presumed straight' former college roommate. "Then I will think about it."
Wendy's jaw dropped in shock. "Low blow, Byers. By the way, in case you don't remember, I already did. I'd be happy to do it again, she's the one who won't talk to me."
"You are such a liar, Wendy. I know you haven't tried calling her either."
To that, Wendy just groaned, throwing herself face-first onto Will's bed, causing a loud creak from the mattress. She attempted to yell something that sounded vaguely along the lines of 'shut the fuck up,' but was too muffled by the pillow to really tell.
Will smirked to himself, grabbing pajamas before heading to the bathroom to clean off the grime from the long work day.
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Wendy left around 10:30 in his sweatpants and her fitted shirt from the night before, claiming her thighs were too chafed from working in her skirt all night. He thought she just wanted to take his comfiest pair of pants. But whatever, at least they'd be at her place next time he stayed the night.
He ate a microwaved breakfast burrito as he stared intently at the phone. He'd have to call Mike back. Make actual plans. He couldn't go back now. Well, technically he could, but he'd look like an ass if he did.
He took his time finishing his food and cleaning up the mess that had accumulated in his apartment over the past few days. He swept up crumbs from the bag of chips he and Wendy devoured the night before. Washed the ever-growing pile of dishes on his minimal counter space. He even made his bed for the first time in who knew how long. He got dressed slowly, taking extra time to pick out his outfit for his shift that night. All in the hopes to prolong the inevitable.
At noon, he stared back at the phone for a few more moments, before picking it up. Heart racing in his chest, he dialed the number he knew by heart, not bothering to look at the address book this time. It rang, and Will silently hoped he wouldn't pick up. Hoped he would be able to just leave another message: "Hey, got your call! Sounds good. I guess I can stay in your guest room, it'll save me a bunch of money and I can try not to remember what it's like to be in love with you whenever I get too close!"
But on the third ring, he heard a click of the phone being picked up, and a "Hello?"
"Hey, uh… Mike? It's Will." He held his breath, full of nerves.
"Will!" He sounded excited, and that calmed Will's nerves just a little bit. It was almost like he wanted to hear from him. "Hey! Congratulations, by the way. The gallery thing sounds really cool. This must be huge for you. What kind of stuff are they going to have in the exhibit?"
And suddenly it was like they had never not talked. Like they hadn't had the bare minimum amount of communication in the past year. Things picked up where they left off before the wedding. Will was more than happy to ignore that incident for the time being.
Will told him about the exhibit and about the painting that had been picked to show. He asked Mike about work. He was showing Dead Poet's Society in most of his classes, so he'd had to watch Neil die like five separate times yesterday — a scene that had made Will cry in the theater, and any time he'd seen it since. One of his classes had a quiet day where they had to write an essay for misbehaving while a sub had watched over his class on Tuesday.
What a fucking day he had on Friday, and yet he had still called Will back, sounding excited to see him. Still sounding excited to see him over the phone now. And Will realized that maybe it wouldn't all be bad. The prior panic over thinking that Mike wouldn't actually want to see him had mostly dissipated.
He somewhat worriedly agreed to stay with Mike. Still a little frantic about spending a week with him in his space, when his stupid heart already acted in such a way when they were just talking over the phone. How it had reacted at just the thought of him. Whatever, it was a problem for future Will to deal with.
They chatted for a while longer, working out plans. Mike said he'd even pick him up from the airport, and to just let him know the flight information and he'd be there.
"Hey, uh… by the way — is Peter coming, too? No worries if he is, of course. Just want to make sure I have everything set for you guys." Mike's tone changed when he asked. Will couldn't quite place it. But it had been a while since they talked. Over the years, they had kind of lost that sense of just knowing how the other felt.
"Um…" Will let out a nervous laugh. "No, Peter won't be there. We broke up, actually. A while ago."
"Oh! Perfect! Well… sorry, not perfect. Just, um… That's okay. That he won't be coming. I mean — God — Sorry — I…" Mike stuttered his way through whatever he was trying to say. Will waited and twirled the cord of his old phone through his fingers, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"It's fine, Mike," Will laughed again, less nervous this time. "You don't have to be sorry that we broke up. Plus, if I remember correctly, it's not like you liked him much anyway, when you met him." Mike laughed on the other end.
"Well, I think it was more that he didn't like me."
"Yeah, sure, Mike. You're known to be such a kind, welcoming presence to new people. Just ask Max!" Will laughed wholeheartedly now. "Peter liked you just fine until…" he trailed off. He had managed to last approximately one hour without bringing it up.
"Oh," Mike paused, an awkward silence gathered in the static between the phones connecting them. "Well, at least if we kiss now he can't get jealous about it." Will let out a choked laugh, not quite sure how to take that.
This meant they were back in semi-safe territory, right? The elephant in the room had been addressed. Mike made a joke about it. A bad one, that brought out some raw emotions that were truly just intrinsically tied to Will at this point. A joke that had him swallowing a lump in his throat that he attempted to cover with another laugh. But still, a joke.
"Sure, Mike," he said, a little awkwardly. He twirled the phone cord again, hoping this wouldn't ruin everything. He wished to go back in time, just a couple minutes, to stop himself from talking about it. An hour maybe, to stop himself from agreeing to stay with Mike, instead insisting that he wouldn't want to be a bother. Maybe even 24 hours, just to stop himself from calling Mike at all.
"So, no boyfriends at all?" Mike asked, sounding more curious than before.
"No," Will said plainly.
"You?" He added, trying to joke.
"No, no boyfriends." No laugh. Will's face twisted a little in confusion. Maybe he just made things awkward again.
"No, like, um… do you have a girlfriend right now?" He tried to save it.
"Definitely not," Mike laughed. Will couldn't really get a grasp on the conversation. Maybe it was just him laughing out of awkwardness. Maybe he just sensed how weird Will had made things.
Maybe Will could jump out his window and fall down four stories to his untimely demise. But then he'd have a chance of traumatizing someone out probably just walking their dog or drinking a coffee on their way to lunch plans with friends. Maybe he wouldn't try to die just because he made a conversation a little awkward.
"Oh, God, I just saw the time. I've gotta go," he lied, knowing he had plenty of time. "I have to head out for work soon, but um… I'll call when I have the flight information. I'll book it probably sometime tomorrow or Monday. Sound good?"
"Yeah, sounds good, Will. I can't wait to see you," Mike said softly. Will felt his face go warm; he still didn't quite know where they stood right now, but… that sounded good.
"Yeah, me too." Will smiled after they hung up. That was possibly one of the weirdest conversations he had ever had in his life — if you didn't count any that revolved around discussing the real-life monsters he had spent his youth fighting. He felt like he could finally fully breathe again after hanging up. Shortness of breath — a horrifying symptom of him being in Mike Wheeler's orbit.