Chapter Text
Montauk, 1999
Will’s best attribute was his unwavering drive to help people.
The feeling of bringing someone comfort on their darkest days was something he thrived on. He felt good being a grounding force in someone’s life, using his own experiences as a hardened clutch to relate to whatever woes his patients brought to him. So, when his mother had called him and filled him in on a therapist position opening up in a clinic back home in Montauk, he didn’t even hesitate to put his name in. It was what he needed. He hadn’t moved far away from the everything he loved most and suffered through countless lectures on art history and the human psyche for nothing.
When he was twenty five, he realised he hated living in New York City. Of course, he was happy for his education and the life experiences he had gained with the help of all his politically inclined, artsy friends and the random, kind eyed boyfriend he picked up along the way, but he grew lonesome. A city with millions of people didn’t make for a personable place in Will’s eyes. It was ironic, really. Will had met so many people who impacted him during his ventures in the city, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he wasn't being an authentic version of himself. Like his life was a big game of playing pretend. He smiled at parties, listened to professors ramble, over-explained his own macabre pieces in art galleries, kissed his boyfriend with a false kind of hunger that made a guilty weight live in the pit of his stomach. It just wasn't working for him. He became reclusive, not doing anything other than working and chain smoking cigarettes on his fire escape, ignoring the outside world like it would kill him if he actually enjoyed his life. He remembered walking into his shitty, musty old apartment, his mind drained from countless coffee runs for higher-ups and agonisingly moody phone calls in the psychiatrist office he had been working as a receptionist at, when his mother had called. It was his saving grace. His tired face had lit up with a smile that hurt his cheeks, it being the first one he had like that in years. He quite literally jumped for joy in the hallway next to the landline, his mother's light laugh giving him the pinch that told him this opportunity wasn't some fictional spirit quest his mind made up. It was very real.
He put in his two weeks notice and broke up with Keith the next day.
It was the best decision he had ever made for himself. He remembers, only two years ago, stepping out of Hopper’s truck after he had helped him move all his belongings and breathing in the salty, fresh air of Montauk. He could see the ocean from where he was standing in his parents driveway. No dull concrete, no looming sky scrappers, not a single honking yellow cab in sight. Just the vast undying ocean, calmly thrashing itself against crisp shorelines while gulls screeched overhead. He closes his eyes, inhaling, relishing in the fact he was free from the tight, unforgiving clasp the city had on him. He didn't have to live for the city. He didn't have to suffer for a job he was miserable at. Didn't have to pretend to be in love with a boyfriend he could hardly look in the eye. He could finally find himself again.
Now, two years later, he was standing in an office at a small support clinic on the kitschy main street of Montauk, gazing around at the mess of brushes, used paper towels and acrylic paint smears that was surrounding him, a content smile pulled at his lips. It had been a busy day filled with thoughtful art pieces conveying various stages of deep, human emotions. It had been a productive blur. So many different voices and faces that it all melted together in his mind as he started to tidy up the table he and his last patient had been working at. The assignment that he had made her do was still placed in the middle of the table next to a messy assortment of colored pencils. Will reaches for it, plucking a piece depicting a pretty talented drawing of a young woman’s face, metaphorical emotions spread across the background in vibrant colors off the table between his index finger and thumb. He reads it over, his lips pressing into a tight line as he thinks about her. The session for her had been heavy. Will thought about her lip wobbling when she started to talk about how anxious she was about the future of her current relationship. She felt desperate, her boyfriend apparently not giving her the right amount of affection that she felt she needed to keep their spark alive. Things like that were hard to hear. Aspects of people’s lives that were supposed to bring them love and joy whittled down to something that made them feel small and hopeless, seeking outside sources instead of feeling comfortable enough to talk it through with the other parties involved. Will was always happy when people chose to get help from a therapeutic professional, but it still broke his heart nonetheless.
He sticks the piece in her file for next time, knowing well enough that all the work he had assigned her to do at home would be done and he'd have countless things to talk to her about. Sadness for another day.
He hums as he tidied up, making sure his office was in the exact chaotic organisation that he preferred and he locks up for the night, sighing at the faint drizzle of rain dampening his hair and shoulders the moment he stepped onto the quiet sidewalk. The town was always tired when the sun drifted itself down over the sea every night. The only thing alive being the warm street lights that illuminated each and every colorful storefront that this street consisted of. The silence was nice, reminding him of Hawkins when the whole town would settle for the night. But this wasn’t Hawkins. Hawkins had shadows that buzzed whispers and snapping sticks that made him flinch anytime he found himself alone after dark. Montauk was a breath of fresh air at night. The distant hum of the swaying sea and the constant flashing of the coast's lighthouse cutting through a starless sky was a different type of serenity that Will had never known. Nightfall had plagued his consciousness for years. Now, he could breathe in the night air as he walked his way through the streets of Montauk without a single worry that something was lurking in the dark.
It was pouring rain when he finally made it home, his walk home being brisk since he hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. He was soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to him uncomfortably as he opened up his front door and flicked his entryway light on, immediately hearing the soft sound of claws clicking across a hardwood floor as he bent to untie his boots. Will smiles widely as Janie appears around the corner of the living room area, her floppy brown face and warm eyes lighting up the moment she saw him.
“Sorry for getting home late, baby.” Will smiles as he leans down for the dog to trot over to him, her tail swaying in the air as she leans up to lick his cheeks in greeting. He had gotten her as a house warming present from his parents basically the moment he had moved in. The chocolate lab mix was an unwanted miracle, being shoved into the arms of someone who had just uprooted his entire life, only to not want it any other way. Joyce had gone on and on about him moving in with them, not wanting him to be alone like he had been for years in the city, but he refused, wanting his own space. Without all the hovering and questions about his mental state. They settled on a dog. Looking at her in his lap the following night, her brown eyes gazing up at him with such a familiar love, Will wondered if it had been fate that he was meant to have this exact dog. The same way Hopper had brought Jane into his life when he needed her most, he had brought Janie.
“Let me shower and then we’ll have dinner, okay?” He smiles at Janie as he pushes himself up, stretching his stiff back as he makes his way through his small, knick-knack, art filled home and into his bedroom to grab a change of comfy clothes. By the time he left the shower, his muscles loosened and his skin scolded red, his stomach was twisting with a hunger that he had been ignoring all day. He moves into the kitchen, filling Janie’s dish before making himself an easy dinner. He didn’t have the energy to make anything other than pasta, so pasta it was. As he stood at the stove, stirring the steaming pot mindlessly, he thought about his work, his quiet life, his friends. The Party would visiting in the summer and Will, being the thoughtful, dedicated friend he was, said he would host. Usually, the four of them would meet up in California at Max and Lucas's house to bask in the sun and surf culture, but Dustin suggested they come to Montauk so they could finally check out Will's new digs. Will thought it was a good idea, being excited to see his friends. Them all living so far apart made the visits so much more exciting, but Will couldn't help feeling a tad distant anytime they really talked about the idea of meeting up. There was a missing piece to the party that was always left unspoken of, something they all swerved around in conversation. Will thinks of tired, sad dark eyes, drained of any sort of life. The same eyes that were always sparkling with devotion and determination to always do the right thing, even if it cost them everything. The same eyes that haunted him, even more than the growling monsters and the piercing cold of the upside down. He longed for those eyes in every single person he met and it left a pit in his gut that he hadn’t quite found them. Will shakes his head of those thoughts as his pot starts to boil over onto the surface of the stove. He curses under his breath as he leans over to turn the burner down, frowning as he drags his hand down his face. He couldn’t let these thoughts change the narrative of his vacation. Choices were made. Will couldn’t feel guilty about that.
When he finally settles on the couch, a bowl of pasta with far too much cheese on it cradled in his lap and a glass of red wine, he exhales in relief to finally be sitting in his own living room. The TV was quietly playing some X-Files rerun that he had seen hundreds of times, but he didn’t care. It was mindless, something he didn’t have to completely focus on as he stuffed his face with a bumming Janie seated on the couch next to him. He eyed her for a moment before stabbing a few noodles with his fork and offering them to her with a smile. She leans her head over, huffing as she happily ate them. He loved silent nights like this. Just the two of them, sitting on the couch in the warm lighting of Will’s small, plant filled living room, some shitty TV show on as he deflated after a busy day. His mind slowly drifts, unable to focus on the TV blaring in front of him. He thinks about his next call with Max. How they planned it for every single Tuesday evening and talked about everything and nothing at all. How they'd rant and ramble about their yearly meet ups. How they missed how loud their lives were when they were all living in Hawkins. Will couldn't wait to see all of them. His silent nights would be turned into catching up and constant chatter over beers, pizza and lounging on the beach and nothing made Will happier than that. He smiles as he pictures them all seated around his old, antique coffee table, drinking, the space floating with laughter and stories of all their different lives. Will couldn’t wait to hear all the things they had to share since it was hard to really explain everything over the phone when he called them. He knew they were going to love everything a summer in Montauk had to offer, and were going to love Janie. It was going to be so different to have them all around, to actually see them all in person. He hoped it would be like old times, his eyes landing on the D&D campaign book that was shoved into a small bookcase beside his TV stand, fondly wondering if he should be coming up with some sort of campaign for them all to do. The idea faded as quickly as it came, making him grimace at himself for being so naive. They couldn’t play. It just wouldn’t be the same. He wasn't their dungeon master.
Will’s thoughts were intruded by a sharp ringing coming from the kitchen.
The phone.
Will pushes himself up from the couch, rushing over to it with his bowl still in hand and he picks it up, pressing it against his ear.
“Helloooo?” He says in his usual light, sing-song tone, figuring it was his mother wondering if he had gotten home safely.
But it wasn’t.
The line was silent for the most part, only the sound of powerful rain filling his ears from the other end. The faint sound of a car horn honked in the background, making his heart race a bit. Was the person outside?..
“Hello?” He asks again, a little more clearly. “Who is this?”
He hears the soft sound of fabric shuffling on the other side of the landline. He furrows his brows as he listens closely, only to hear the sharp intake of a shaky breath before the line goes dead, filling his ear with the sound of fuzzy dial tone.
Will frowns, his stomach turning with unease as he clicks the phone into the landline, his hand lingering on the phone for a moment until it drops limply to his side. His fingers were trembling, a strange feeling creeping up the back of his neck. Over the years, Will had learned to think of anything and everything as suspicious. From cracks in the sidewalks, to the innocent sound of wind flowing through tree branches, to people passing him sideways looks on his way to work. Everything was something to keep an eye on. Hopper taught him that. To always be vigilant. That had been strange. Someone calling his home, breathing into the phone like some sort of creep. Will wondered if it was one of those creeps from college or some sort of Russian intelligence trying to track his location or maybe some scientist wanting to study him like he was some unnerving, undead kid ripped from another dimension all over again. Will squeezes his eyes shut as he turns away from the phone, his mind scrambled with all the possibilities. He wonders if he should call Hopper, tell him about it, get the reassurance that he needed that it was something he didn’t need to worry about. He decides against it, his eyes locking on Janie who was now sitting a few feet away from him, her tail wagging against the tiles of the kitchen floor with a cocked, curious head. He didn’t want to worry his parents. He didn’t need them rushing over and his mother fussing over him all night, talking him into letting her spend the night. He was far too exhausted to deal with that. He reaches up and runs his hands over his face, groaning into his palms as he leans against the wall, not being able to stop the laugh that forced itself past his lips. It was likely nothing. He was overthinking it, just like he did with everything else. It was likely someone calling the wrong number and they were too embarrassed to admit it. Will shakes his head in disbelief as he pushes himself away from the wall and makes himself busy by gulping down the rest of the bottle of wine he had been trying to polish off for weeks now and doing his dishes, the warmth from the booze relaxing him enough that he was hardly phased by the weird call.
“You likely think I’m crazy. Don’t you?” He says to Janie over his shoulder, watching as she tilted her head even more as if she was actually agreeing with him. He chuckles a bit, long chocolate brown curls and the Lorena heat hits his mind like a wave. His eyes dampen at the thought of those wide, brown eyes and his smile drops. That damn dog…
He decides he should hit the hay early, wanting to leave this day behind and wake up with, hopefully, a new resurgence of life even if he was hung over. He heads into the bathroom, standing in front of his mirror, he leans in to scrutinise the reflection peering back at him as he brushes his teeth. he hardly ever recognised himself when he really looked. Not since he was twelve. He was not the same person he was when he was in Hawkins. He stood taller, had longer hair and a few piercings he had acquired during drunken nights with his friends in NYC, shitty stick and pokes forever etched over scars from the past. His shoulders were broader, jawline tighter and more defined. He tilts his head to drag his fingers across it, feeling the scratchy sensation of stubble across his chin and cheeks. He was a man now. A full fledged man and to think he could be here, standing in his bathroom, brushing his teeth without his mother coming in to curl her hair or roommates pissing while he was in the shower, he could hardly believe it. He was almost thirty. Will Byers. Zombie Boy. He was in disbelief at himself every day. He was someone who thought he was on death's doorstep for his entire preteen and teenage life, the horrors of everything that had happened to him clinging to him like some sort of cancer. He was relieved to have cut it free, even if things weren’t exactly perfect in his mind. Depression was better than dealing with the constant haunting of Vecna’s curse.
He brings himself to slump onto the couch again, his eyes blurring on the screen of the TV to try and finish the episode he had been watching, it now feeling bar too bright against the fogginess of the wine. Janie cuddled up to him, her face shoved warmly into his chest above the knit blanket he had gotten from the farmers market in town. He was content, the fear from earlier drifting out of his system just like consciousness was. He smiled to himself, wrapping his arms tightly around Janie as he felt himself slipping into sleep. The deep thoughts of his work, friends and creepers on the phone fading away as he allowed the week to catch up to him, letting the rain pelting against the windows of his seaside home sooth him.
𖤓
Will’s eyes snap open. A cold sweat covered his entire body, Janie and the blanket now a suffocating pairing instead of warm and comforting. He gazed around his living room, unsure of what the hell had woken him. He hadn’t had a nightmare, which was shocking since he had them more often than not, but his mind had been clear unless the wine had confused his brain enough to not show him them. He noticed the ache in his head first, throbbing and blinding, regretting the fact he drank that much right when he got home from work. The TV was still going, now on some weird, paid program advertisement selling some sort of new revolutionary vacuum or something.
What time is it?.. Will shifts, Janie’s oddly rigid body staying firmly in place as he moves to sit up, him gently shoving her to turn himself to gain access to the clock on the side table.
It was four in the morning. Now Friday. “Shit..” Will mumbles as he rubs his fists into his eyes, trying to relieve himself of the pressure of the headache. He had to actually go to bed or his Saturday was going to be spent with a kink in his neck and his cranky ass attitude.
Knock, knock, knock!
Will flinches at the urgent sound coming from the front door, the hair on Janie’s back standing up as she lets out a low growl, planting herself firmly into Will’s lower half. Will stares at the door, now knowing exactly why he woke up with such a fright. He swallows hard, trying to decide what he wants to do. He hardly ever had company unless it was his parents, but he doubted they would show up at four in the morning. He thinks back to the weird phone call, the mix of thoughts he had about it filling his mind with an eerie sense of dread as his body leapt into survival instinct. He jumps up from the couch as quietly as he could and he lowers himself into a crouch, scurrying down the hall to his bedroom. Behind him, Janie stood her ground facing the door, her protective growl mixing with the loud sheets of rain outside.
Will rushes to his nightstand, reaching inside with shaky fingers and fishing out the revolver that Hopper had given him for one of his past birthdays. He checked to see if it was loaded before he slowly made his way down the hall again, exhaling nervously as he crept into the living room. A clap of thunder makes him jump as he stares at the locked door, his mind flashing to the horribly hellish ambience of the upside down, the flashes of light shocking themselves through the dark down pour, stabbing even more fear into him then he already had.
His lips part, trying to force himself to speak without sounding like he was afraid. “Who is it?” He chokes out the unconvincing words as he leans his ear closer to the door, the firearm cold and heavy in his palm.
He fears the faint sound of a nervous ‘um’ clashing with the storm outside. A hardly audible sound that made his skin crawl and his heart pound in his ears. There was a long, hesitant pause. Will gripped the revolver in his hand tighter, fingers creaking against wood. He felt a cold sweat form between his shoulder blades as Janie blinked her way in behind his legs, the low rumble from earlier returning in her chest. He never wanted to be afraid. He wanted to be brave, but he couldn't shake the odd feeling that this was connected to that strange call he had gotten earlier. He remembers the sound of the person's breath, the loud silence between him and the caller that made every single hair on his body stand on end. He looks at the old firearm in his hand and puffs out his cheeks with a shaky determination because this? This was what Hopper meant when he had given him the gun. If he could fire a shot into the mouth of a demogorgon at the age of twelve, he could do this.
That was until the person on the other side of the door started to speak more. Their voice is quiet, apologetic. Will knew that voice even more than he knew his own. It couldn't be..
“Will..” Their voice was muffled through the wood. “It’s me.”
Will pauses, piecing together if this was some sort of dream, or, nightmare that he plunked right in the middle of. He glances around at his surroundings, everything seeming as real as they possibly could be. He steps over to the window beside the door, pulling the curtain to the side to peek out, only being able to see a strange gold colored car parked in the driveway with a killed engine and a head of long curly dark hair above a set of shoulders hunched upwards from the cold. Will tries to combat the lump in his throat by swallowing, but it was to no avail. This was happening. Something he had been afraid of for years at this point all of a sudden appearing on his doorstep at four in the morning like something straight out of Vecna’s mind-scape. There wasn't anything Will could do but face this. Face him.
He hesitates for a moment, contemplating if maybe this was one of Vecna’s mind manipulation tactics to toy with him. There was no possible way. Henry had been killed long ago. Will cursed himself for always thinking every single thing that brought him stress or discomfort was something otherworldly, but how could he not when that was his entire life when he was a teenager. But this? This was real. He slowly reaches up, undoing all the locks before pulling the door open, the hand holding the revolver hung loosely at his hip. There, standing at his door, soaking wet with eyes as big and black as the storm battling over their heads, was someone he hadn't ever thought he'd see again. Someone he now resented just as violently as he had longed for even just a breath of validation from him. There was no going back now. He was here. Living, breathing, pathetic Micheal Wheeler. He looked..different; older, paler, cheeks more hollow then Will had remembered. Does he have facial hair?..
Will could hardly believe his eyes. His lips parted, trying to find the words, but his mind couldn't come up with anything perfectly fitting for the situation. He just stares, his whole body frozen, his legs feeling like they were going to give out from under him.
“Mike?” Will chokes out, his voice hardly coming out over a clap of violent thunder. He shakes his head at the man standing before him. Someone he hardly knew. “What the fuck are yo-”
He didn’t even get a chance to finish before he was completely engulfed by the uncomfortable feeling of rain soaked clothes wrapping around him and the brush of Mike’s moist curls tickling his cheek. Mike’s arms were around him, suffocatingly so, and all Will could take in was the gentle brush of Mike’s nose against his jawline, the smell of wet leather, long car rides and stale musk, telling Will it had been a bit since he had showered. He couldn’t even react to the physical entrapment before Mike pulled away, his hands sliding their way to Will’s jaw, a pained look crossing Mike’s face as his eyes fluttered across Will’s face. Searching for something Will couldn’t quite place.
“W-Will..” His voice was small, familiar, but the sound of it made a shudder run up Will’s spine as he watched Mike try to figure out what to say. “I can’t…you….I….” He rambles, his back still growing more and more soaked like he didn’t, couldn’t care that he was still standing in the rain. “It’s you…” he breathes in disbelief, a small smile itching at the corner of his lips. His gaze was foggy, heavy and trying to focus. He looked overly exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in months. A corpse of his former self.
Will frowned deeply, not having the energy to confront him about how early it was. All he could think about was how Mike was touching him. The gentle brush of Mike’s fingertips against his skin felt like wind burn; a razor sharp bite that you couldn’t escape while trudging through a storm. It was always like this with Mike, touches that didn’t mean shit, spontaneous gestures that hardly landed. Will wanted to pull himself away, but he couldn't. His whole nervous system was going into shock. He could hardly move.
“You..can come in.” Will manages to say, taking a few steps back into the house, his hands still held limply at his sides, the gun now feeling heavier than it ever has. He swallows forcefully, watching as Mike’s own hands hovered in the air, a strange, heartbroken look flashing across his face as he stood by the door, unmoving and unsure of himself. He was always unsure of himself. He soon gives a small nod, ducking his chin as he turns to shut the front door, his hands then coming up to rub as his upper arms. Will’s body moved on instinct, walking into the living room, paying no mind to Janie who was still growling in concern from the couch. He sets the gun on the coffee table and makes his way over to Mike, gesturing that he was going to take Mike’s coat from him. Mike nods silently and shrugs off the heavy leather. Will hangs it up, gesturing with his arm for Mike to move into the living room to take a seat. Mike’s eyes scan the room as Will makes his way to the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee. As the coffee brewed, he gave a quick glance over his shoulder into the living room, watching as Mike sat down on the couch, Janie staring at him with such worry that Will was sure that if Mike had reached over unprovoked, she may bite him. He couldn’t blame her, though. She was quite protective.
Will walked over with two steaming cups of coffee, nodding at Janie to hop off the couch and he took her spot, Mike silently thanking him as he took a sip of coffee. Mike’s eyes landed on the gun on the table in front of him, one side of his lips curving up into an amused smirk. It was small though, like he didn’t have the energy for something real. He hardly ever did. “Were you going to shoot me?”
Will follows his eyes, shrugging as he sips his own coffee, noticing the way that Mike’s knee was bouncing a bit. A nervous tick that he had since he was a teenager. Will hated how much he noticed about him over the years. “Well, no,” Will says, letting out a laugh through his nose. “I mean, someone showing up at four in the morning during a rain storm seemed like the right time to protect myself.”
“Yeah… s-sorry about this,” Mike groans a bit as he leans forward, setting the coffee down. He passes a glance over to Will, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth sheepishly. “You look.. Good.. I like your hair like that.” Will lets his eyes roll subtly, shaking his head a bit.
“Thanks,” He dismisses, then looks over at Mike. “You look like shit.”
"Probably," Mike allows himself to breathe a laugh, rubbing his hand through his dripping curls. “Guess I should have gotten a haircut or someth-”
“What are you doing here, Mike?” Will just says it, letting it land between them, not caring if his tone had a sharp edge to it. Mike was not going to do this. He wasn’t going to show up on Will’s porch at four in the morning during a storm and act like everything was hunky-dorry. Enough time has passed between them that this wasn’t something they did anymore. They didn’t just laugh and talk like this.
Mike side glances at him through a mess of dark, unwashed curls. He brings his mug up to his lips, the dark liquid sloshing a bit as his hand trembles. He takes a tentative sip, audibly swallowing as he leans back on the couch. All Will could think of was the damp patch that was going to be on the cushions when Mike got up. “I…I just….” Mike looks around the room, his eyes looking at everything, but nothing all at once. He was trying to find the right thing to say, which was hardly ever the case. The fleeting moments of silence gave Will the chase to really tune in to reality. Mike was here. In his living room, holding a cup of coffee and looking more afraid than Will had ever seen. Will could hardly believe it. If someone had asked him the day before if he’d ever thought he’d see Mike again, he’d likely laugh in his own face. Because that how it was with them now. Just a mess of uncertainty left completely unresolved. Just like it always had been. He just wished he was more angry at this very moment. He felt it, the burning rage of the past decade fuming inside his gut, but for some reason it was just festering deep inside him, swirling around like Upside Down particles, unable to release itself. He blamed his hesitation on his exhaustion, but it was a cheap excuse.
“I just wanted to see you,” Mike finally says, making Will’s eyes draw back into focus, him not realising he had been zoning out for the past few minutes. “I know it's…stupid. Horrible, actually, to show up like this. But I just.. I wanted - no - needed to see you…” Mike turns his head, his dark eyes finding Will’s in the warm light of the living room. There was something about how his eyes were completely vacant that tugged at Will’s chest, making his eyes cloud over with unstoppable hurt. Mike didn’t look good. He didn’t look the same as he did eight years ago and Will couldn't help the guilt that was building up inside him. He rips his eyes away from Mike, unable to look any longer.
“I..called earlier, if that helps.”
Will felt his heart start to race, now completely understanding why he felt so weird about the call. About the sharp intake of a breath through the line. It was Mike. Mike's breath. His mouth goes a bit dry, hating himself for being able to know that sound. It all flooded back to him, making him feel kind of idiotic for being so fearful of his life earlier. Mike would never hurt him. Not physically. “That was you.” He says it. Stating, not questioning. He now stares at him, eyes locking onto Mike’s profile.
Mike nods. “I called from a truck stop… Dustin gave me your phone number about a month ago because I had been planning on calling for some time now,” he manages to smile a bit, making Will look away. The sound of thunder makes them both flinch, a mutual fear they both had gotten from their past. It was a small moment that made Will realise just how connected they were. “I was, have been, having a hard time lately and…. I…” His voice was hardly there, catching in his throat, making his shoulders shake underneath the black long sleeved shirt he was wearing. The sight of him trying to hold in his sobs broke Will’s heart, but he couldn’t allow himself to break. He wouldn't be fooled again. “I just packed some shit, got in my car and started driving…..”
“From Hawkins?”
Mike looks down to the floor. He sniffles, making the once hesitant Janie move a bit closer to the strange man sitting on the couch near her owner. She creeps over, her head held downwards as she plops down beside Mike’s legs. Mike looks down at her, reaching out to allow her to sniff his fingers before stroking her head. Her caring nature would’ve brought more tears to Will's eyes if he wasn’t so uneasy with this situation.
“That's like… ten hours, Mike,” Will turns to face Mike more, hands in his lap. “That’s actually insane.”
“I know it is,” Mike says a tad too quickly for Will's liking. His tone had a bite to it that felt icy in Will’s chest. “But I had to come. I…I didn’t know where else to go.. Who else to..” He looks over at Will, their gazes connecting again, his eyes shimmering against the TV screen. Will stares at him. Mike stared back, a moment passing over them that was unspoken. Something unmatched, empty, that Will couldn’t fully understand. He never could understand it and he figured, for as long as he lived, he never would. He watches as Mike shifts on the couch, titling his body towards Will. The motion made Will’s stomach sink, his mind racing. Their knees were almost touching and Will thought, if they touched, he would drop dead at this very moment.
“Mike...”
Mike’s voice was hardly there, a breath through the heavy tension building in the room. It was suffocating, like the breath had taken Will’s with it. Mike leans forward and sets the cup down on the coffee table, near the revolver left forgotten. Will blinks away tears as his eyes fall to where Mike’s hands hovered limply in the air for a moment, like he didn’t know what to do with them until they found their way over to Will’s, cupping over the top of them. Will sucked in a breath, the light touch of Mike’s flesh feeling scorching in contrast to how cold he was from the rain. Will couldn’t look away from how their hands looked intertwined. He never could.
“I want to make things right,” Mike begins, his voice growing into its familiar softness that, at one time, could bring Will back from hell, but now it made him feel like throwing up. “I want to make things right with you, Will. If… you’ll let me..” Mike smiled at him softly and everything went quiet. There it was. The same, gnawing feeling that Will always felt when he was around Mike, tracing itself back into his heart like it hadn't ever left. And maybe it hadn’t, but he didn’t want to ever have to face it again.
Will lets out a shaky exhale, not realising he hadn't been breathing. His eyes prickled with tears, thinking about how it used to be. The smiles shared, shoulders brushing while playing video games, watching Mike chant over his dungeon master board being fond memories that now left a sour taste in his mouth. Mike Wheeler, someone who had pushed him away all those years ago was sitting in his living room looking for some sort of closure that Will wasn’t sure he could ever give. It was far too much. Will pinches his eyes shut, jerking his hands away from Mike, the feeling of his skin an unbearable sting. He rubs his hands over his face, pushing himself up from the couch, grabbing their coffee cups, the coffee cold and congealing. He turns his back to Mike, Janie watching him cautiously as he makes his way to the kitchen and dumps the remnants of the coffee down the sink and grips the counter so hard his knuckles turned white, trying to fight back whatever kind of tears or anger that were threatening to pour out of him at any moment. He sighs, forcing himself to turn around to see that Mike was now standing, his hand outstretched slightly, looking like some sort of sad creature that washed up on the shoreline outside Will’s home.
Will shakes his head slightly, eyes falling to the hardwood floor underneath his socked feet.
“I don’t..know, Mike..”
“I-I know..I….” Mike stammers a bit, his voice rid of the slight determination he had earlier. That didn’t take long... “I’m not looking for us to.. I’m not….” Mike lets out a frustrated sigh, the way he was trying to form any sort of rational thought making Will bite the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste iron.
“We’ll talk about this later, alright?” Was all Will could think of saying, because he had a feeling Mike wasn’t going to give up that easily. He was always stubborn. He frowns and gestures to the couch. “You can take the couch if you want to sleep… It's a pull out. It's late and I know you had a long drive..” Will didn’t wait for an answer. He just drifted silently to the hallway closet, grabbing some blankets and a spare pillow. He goes into his room and pulls out something for Mike to change into. He walks back, laying it all on the arm of the couch. “You can shower first. First door on the left. Towels are in the hall closet.” He nods with his head in the direction of the hall.
“Thank you, Will.”
Mike mumbles as Will reaches past him, grabbing the revolver off the table before turning on his heel and heading towards his room, Janie in tow. He couldn’t think about this right now. He needed to get away. He needed walls between the two of them, physical ones. He didn't need this right now. With work, his peaceful life, the last thing he needed was Mike Wheeler showing his face and crumbling his own little perfect world around him. He had thought he escaped this. That he was free from the emotional turmoil, the pain, the self doubt. He was happy, he was content, but this? This was going to be a damper on things and he knew it. As he gets into bed, Janie joining him by his feet, he stares at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the rain beating against the roof of his house. He was painfully aware that someone else was in his home, someone who once hung the moon for him, now a complete stranger. He frowns into the darkness, hearing the moment the shower started to hum only a couple doors down. He thinks maybe he should have stayed out there until Mike had finished in the shower. He thinks maybe he should have told him to leave the moment they locked eyes in the rain. He knew that would have never happened. There was always going to be room for Mike Wheeler in Will’s life, even if it killed him to keep letting him in.