Chapter Text
“Oh god, look at them!” Dustin comments when they get back from the bathroom, so hurriedly that he almost chokes on a sip of his juice box. Lucas, on the other hand, disguises a snort with a cough, raising his eyebrows right at Mike. “What were you crazies up to, huh? What's with the sweater trade?”
Will blushes bright red, and Mike is instantly derailed from being angry or embarrassed towards the words by the sight, admiring the way color sits high on Will's ears, while dark on his cheeks. He wonders in the back of his mind if they'd be hot to the touch, which in turn makes Mike's hand twitch at his side. He completely misses Will's response:
“Mike's allergies were getting worse, that's all. We stopped by the nurse as well, she gave him a little something that should help,” a tiny shrug, then Will nudges Mike for several seconds until he recovers control over his body and he realizes he's standing between Will and his chair. He almost trips as he steps back to allow him to sit down. “It was the smartest thing to do.”
“Hmm,” Lucas wiggles his raised eyebrows, throwing a not-at-all subtle wink at Mike. He rolls his eyes, sits, and scoots his chair close to Will's as per usual, as is routine, pressing their arms back together, his left shoulder making contact with Will's right. “Are you sure that's all?”
“Leave off,” Mike finally speaks up, rolling his eyes at the antics. Will is growing a little tense, which seems to be enough to make Lucas and Dustin back off. “You guys are weird. I'm never exchanging sweaters with you when you need them. You guys can die from allergies for all I care.”
“Aren't you the only one with those?” El points out, but Dustin shushes her, almost speaking over her.
“Never mind that, El!” Dustin lets out a sarcastic gasp, clutching his chest with drama. Mike lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Lucas, did you hear that? Oh, no, whatever shall we do without Mike's mom clothes to protect us from the unspeakable horrors of… wool allergies—”
Mike tosses a foggy fry at Dustin's face, actually succeeding with his aim for once, and laughing erupts at the table from how unbelievable that is. Will relaxes, just so, pressing his arm even more against Mike's in a silent search for warmth. Mike reaches with his left hand and grips Will's forearm resting against his own, rubbing up and down as well as he can with the awkward positioning, fingertips grazing his wrist with each stroke.
Will runs so fucking cold all the time that it's extremely upsetting for Mike, who knows how much Will hates it and pretends not to. It makes Mike want to go back to them being six years old just to have an excuse to treat Will like a cuddling teddy bear, the way he used to. He was just… a clingy child, and Will was so small, so much shorter than him, so Mike dragged him around a lot because of it, hugging him as often as he could. He misses it.
El drums her fingers on the table, staring directly at the ugly Christmas sweater on Will's frame. “I sort of want one. It is cute in a tacky way.”
Max hums in thought. “I'm sure we can steal Lucas' mom's sweater—and your mom's too.”
“Oh!” El gasps, reaching over the table to hold Will's hand in hers, practically slapping Mike's hand away. He winces in pain. “We could match for Christmas!”
“Oh, I don't think so!” Mike protests, leaning on the table, inadvertently interrupting Will's response. “You two matched for Halloween already! Back off!”
El huffs in offense and opens her mouth, but Will giggles and breaks in, shaking his head. “Mike, that's my sister.”
“And what am I, a wall?” Mike scoffs, shaking his head, ignoring the way Max bursts out laughing, leaning against Lucas' shoulder. “Nah, fuck that, I gotta have something—”
“You're so wrong for this,” Dustin sighs, running his hands through his face. “My god, Mike.”
Lucas shifts the subject before Mike can try to defend himself without admitting he wants to shove his tongue down Will's throat—Will, who makes eye contact with him and smiles bashfully before looking away quickly, making him feel short of breath.
At the very least, no more teasing comes their way. Suspiciously enough, Max doesn’t try to bully either of them a little more, even though she's usually the first in line to put Mike in his place when he's being a possessive little fuck. Yes, he's self-aware. No, he has no desire to change it when Will looks at him like he just did every time he starts barking his head off.
She does, however, stare at Mike with a raised, judgmental eyebrow and a matching smirk; he can see behind her eyes the way she’s jotting this down for later, putting a pin on it. It feels less like an act of mercy and more like an acknowledgment of the fact that while Mike deserves the jabs, Will truly doesn’t, and the last thing anyone Mike’s ever met wants is to make Will mad or disappointed or annoyed at them.
He’d whine about the clear favoritism when it comes to their friends addressing Will’s feelings for him versus them addressing Mike’s feelings for Will, but he gets it. Will is flippant when he doesn’t want people to talk to him about something, and those big doe eyes of his are unbearably good at convincing everyone to let things go, even when it means that Will’s just self-sabotaging.
It’s not that he can’t take a joke—Mike’s been at the other side of Will’s out-of-pocket sassiness his whole life, after all—but rather that the subject is sore in a way that Mike doesn’t think their friends can fully comprehend. Max and El come the closest, perhaps Lucas, too—but even then, they weren’t there for Lonnie. Not for when it was really, really bad. Not before Joyce started putting herself together.
Mike was, though. Mike remembers, more than he’d like to, a much-too-young Jonathan who walked a shorter-than-average and shaky Will to the Wheeler’s with poorly-disguised bruises for play dates. He remembers a Will who already knew how to clamp up and hide things that Mike’s little brain couldn’t fully understand, with an equally little heart that was already heartbroken over it for him.
So yeah, as much as Mike complains about the unfair treatment, he doesn’t mind that their friends have noticed that with Will, it’s best to be a little subtler and avoid putting him on the spot, even though that means Mike gets the short end of the stick in regards to the teasing. They know as well as he does that it’s worth it to make sure Will actually laughs at what they say, rather than be met by a wall of silence.
Mike still berates himself for his attitude towards D&D that one summer. Will has rarely ever screamed at him. He raises his voice when they fight, he gets furious to the point of tears, he jabs at Mike, but he never screams, and Mike—Mike does his best to keep calm. But he had lost sight of Will that year, and the memory still makes his stomach twist. Their friendship could’ve ended there, Mike knew it then and he knows it now.
He observes Will steal fries off El’s plate without her noticing, a tiny smile on his lips while he listens to Dustin’s energized retelling of what Suzie’s been up to from her letters. His train of thought makes him yearn, makes his attempts to remain casual about this thing between them weak, so Mike can’t help but give in to the urge of wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulders, none-too-subtly trying to pull him into his space.
Max lets out a snort, but Will digs his elbow into Mike’s stomach as he turns to look at him, derailing his intentions to glare at her over Will’s shoulder. “Mike, I’m a hazard to your health in this sweater.”
Mike pouts and only scoots his chair even closer to Will’s. “You could never be a danger to me.”
“I beg to differ,” Will mumbles, raising his eyebrows slightly. Mike shrugs because he knows Will could snap him in half like a twig and give him a heart attack with a smile, but the way he sees it those are just pros, no cons. “Do you still need a ride to the club after class? I got time before swim practice.”
“No, Max and Lucas got me,” Mike shrugs, though he can’t help but be a little sad about it. He likes riding with Will best, even though that usually means he’s sitting in the backseat and El is at the front. Twin sister benefits, unfortunately. “Just focus on your thing.”
Will presses his lips together. “I got enough of an attention span to focus on your thing too, Mike. I know how much this means to you. I really don't mind driving you—”
“Will,” El calls, eyeing her lunch tray with suspicion. Mike snaps his eyes towards her, a little annoyed because they were having a moment. “Can you stop flirting and explain to me where all my fries went?”
El seriously gets away with everything sometimes, but Mike is glad for it these days because as equally embarrassing for him as the remark is, watching Will blush ruby red and stumble over a nonchalant response is one of the best things he’s ever witnessed.
“You ate them?” Will suggests, and Mike hides a laugh by leaning into Will’s space and pressing his forehead against his shoulder, his heart fluttering as El and Will continue to argue about the fries.
The rest of their classes pass by in a blur, and when the final bell rings, Mike can’t help but drag his feet as he and Will walk together until they have to take opposite hallways; him to the school entrance to meet Max and Lucas at the parking lot, Will to the swimming pool to get ready for practice.
“See you tonight, right?” Mike asks, a stupid question because Will was the first person he invited once he and Max secured the gig, and Will instantly promised to be there. “I'm counting on you for good luck.”
“Like you need it. You're gonna be amazing,” Will scrunches up his nose, smiling warmly. Mike's heart does a painful twist in his chest, and he can feel his whole expression melting from overly anxious uncertainty to fondness: a breathless smile, lips twisting, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. Will shifts his weight, looking away, visibly flustered. “Since when am I your lucky charm, anyways?”
Mike actually startles with surprise. “You always have been. I don't make you blow on my dice for nothing.”
“Oh,” Will lets out in a rush, eyes widening just so. God, he has the prettiest eyes Mike's ever seen. He wants to stare at them forever. “I guess—I guess I never looked at it like that.”
“Hmm,” Mike hums in acknowledgment, though he's already forgotten what they were talking about. His heart is pounding. His hands are sweaty. The hallway is rapidly emptying and Will is right there, looking cozy and warm in his clothes, looking up at him expectedly. Mike's brain starts going into overdrive, and he decides to just fuck it: “Listen, Will, about tonight, I, I mean, I was wondering—”
Mike chokes on the words as Will straightens, eyes brightening, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. “Yeah?”
“I guess I just…” Mike swallows. He can do this, fuck, he can do this, he's right fucking there. “I wanted to ask you if, maybe, if you wanted to, we could—”
“Will!”
Both of them jump at least a foot apart from each other, turning in the direction of El's voice. She stares at them in silence for a second, eyes squint, and seemingly realizes what she just interrupted because her expression turns sheepish. Mike takes the chance to look at Will's expression.
He seems pissed off. “El. What is it?”
She shifts and winces. “Just wanted to tell you I'm leaving with Lucas and Max, and not to worry about me tonight.”
“Ah,” Will nods, his expression flattening, all emotion leaving his voice. A part of Mike finds this both extremely unsettling, and the other extremely attractive. Something is definitely wrong with him. “Yeah, okay. Don't forget to tell mom and dad about it. See you.”
Oh, yeah, he's pissed. Will is never this dry towards El. She pouts, knowing that addressing it would only make Will angrier, so she turns towards Mike. “Lucas and Max are waiting for us. We should hurry out.”
Jesus Christ. Yeah, no, Mike knows better than to linger in the same area as two upset super-powered twins, as much as he's also kind of annoyed by the interruption, but either way, they are on a schedule and so is Will. Damn it.
“Fine,” Mike sighs, then reaches out to grab Will's hand, changes his mind at the last second, and pulls him into an unexpected hug. Will nearly trips, but Mike just acts as his anchor, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist. He all but presses his lips to Will's ear. “Um, mom told me to give you a hug this morning but, you know, I mean, this is mine too—”
“Yeah,” Will nods, letting out a short, muffled laugh, arms around Mike's middle. “Okay. I get it. Don't hug me too much, the sweater—”
“Yeah, sure, sure,” Mike dismisses it, squeezing him tighter. “See you tonight, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Will nods with a sigh. “Don't have too much fun without me.”
Mike snorts. “Wouldn't dream of it.”
They part after a few more seconds, and Mike does his best to act casual as he walks away with El, who's burning holes into his skull all the way to the parking lot.
Any other day, Mike would’ve lingered until Will finished up, sat on the bleachers at the pool and done his homework, or taken the time to work on a song or details for a campaign for Dustin, or even just written bits of poetry and jotted down private story ideas. Anything, really, to fill the time and get the satisfaction of a tired, sore, and wet Will leaning into his offered warmth before the two of them rode home together—more often than not for a sleepover. Nancy is right that they're incredibly frequent, and they get away with them on school nights, too… probably because his mom has an agenda in regards to Mike's feelings for Will, but that's something he'd rather ignore.
But due to Mike’s compromises to Corroded Coffin, which he never takes lightly, his quality time with Will after school is cut short today. To put salt on the wound, they haven’t agreed to any sleepovers after tonight’s performance, which is probably going to eat at Mike all night because Will is the one that’ll give him a ride home, and he doesn't know how he's going to resist asking him to stay. Mike can already feel the Will-withdrawal symptoms setting in and souring his mood, especially after such a close attempt at properly asking him out, which he doesn’t bother to hide as they approach Max and Lucas, who are leaning on the hood of his car.
“Oh, dude,” Lucas says, noticing the change in his mood. “Who rained on your parade?”
“What do you mean?” Mike decides to play dumb, crossing his arms. They don't need to know about what just happened yet. Or ever, really. “I’m fine.”
“You’re doing that thing,” Max starts, which Mike instantly narrows his eyes at, because everything out of her mouth should seriously come with a warning label. “Where you look slightly constipated and like any time now, you’re gonna pull one of your hissy fits—”
Mike’s mouth hangs open. “I don’t have hissy fits! What’s wrong with being in a bad mood?”
“He is just mad he won’t get to ogle Will at the pool,” El chimes in, nonchalantly looking at him and ignoring his warning glare as she continues. “I also walked in on him trying to ask Will on a date, and now Will is mad at me.”
“Wow, really?” Lucas' mouth hangs open, which isn't really reassuring in regards to his trust from earlier that Mike will ever get his shit together. “Were you really about to do it?”
“I was a sentence off,” Mike throws El a dirty look. She returns it with an innocent smile. “If only someone would've waited five more minutes…”
“You mean an hour,” Max supplies with an eye roll. Mike huffs, making her raise her eyebrows. “What? It's you! You've been beating around the bush forever.”
“This was different!” Mike insists, shaking his head, feeling his cheeks heating. Max's expression shifts into something a little more considerate, probably sensing the real anguish in Mike's tone. “I dunno, for a second there I… I was ready.”
“I'm sorry,” El says, but Mike just shrugs. He knows he'll have another shot. He just… needs to get it together. And as if sensing that he doesn't want to speak more of it, El turns towards Lucas and Max. “Can we leave now? We should buy ice cream on the way. Those bars never have good snacks.”
“We can get some ice cream after Max is done with sound check,” Lucas suggests, gesturing for everyone to get in the car. Mike automatically goes climbing into the backseat, and El follows, sitting behind the passenger seat so she can keep Max within touching distance. “We can even make it a date—that’d be cool, right?”
“We should share one of the big ones!” El agrees, to which Max scrunches up her nose. “No?”
“I don’t like those flavors.” She explains, turning back to look at El. “Two doubles are better, too, because you get more ice cream. Toppings are more expensive, though.”
“Right, but how is that gonna mix with the cheap beer later?” Lucas points out, and Mike silently wonders why it is that he’s the third wheel with everyone but Dustin these days. Maybe it’s karma for ignoring them for a whole summer, but part of him thinks it was Max’s idea. “If we stuff ourselves with ice cream and then get drunk, that hangover—”
“Are you guys just gonna abandon me at the bar while you three get ice cream?” Mike asks, simply to be a little shit, not even holding back an amused eye roll when Max eagerly answers obviously, it’s a date. “You’re gonna leave your band leader all alone?”
“Whoever said you’re the leader?” Max looks back at him from the front seat and flips him off. Mike sticks his tongue out at her. “Obviously I’m the leader.”
“But I play the guitar!” Mike protests, and he hears Lucas and El groan because this isn’t the first time they’ve argued about this. “Everyone knows the guitar player who sings is the lead.”
“Bullshit! Also, we both sing!” Max argues back; Mike huffs, to which she raises her eyebrows in challenge. “What, you’re not happy with that? Wanna have a sing-off, Wheeler—?”
“No, thank you,” El breaks in. “I already have to hear him sing tonight.”
“Okay, rude!” Mike exclaims, but El sends him a fond, almost apologetic look that somewhat mitigates the offense. “I thought you all agreed I could sing, c’mon, guys.”
“You have your uses,” is all that Max concedes, because she’s an absolute ass, but her eyes are twinkling with mirth. “Don’t get it twisted.”
Mike opens his mouth to try and knock her down a peg, but Lucas cuts in. “You know, guys, there are more important things than the same stupid argument—like, how are we helping Mike get with Will tonight? He had an attempt, and now we can't let him lose momentum.”
“Wait, what?” Mike shakes his head. “I don’t—”
“We’re finally helping?” El interrupts, looking at Mike with wide eyes. “Are you finally making a real move?”
Max clicks her tongue. “If you mean he’s gonna trip all over himself and drag Will down with him, then yeah, I think that’s a move.”
“Max, babe, let’s genuinely try and help him, okay? He’s a little hopeless,” Lucas looks at Mike through the rearview mirror with a shrug, not an ounce of pity for his betrayed expression. “Sorry, man, it’s tough. You really need to just stop the suffering for both your sakes.”
“Will will explode,” El affirms rather seriously, setting a hand on Mike’s knee to claim his attention. “I cannot hear him gush about you anymore. I think I will die.”
Mike blushes. “He gushes about me?”
“Oh my god!” Max groans, throwing her head back against her seat’s headrest with enough force to rattle it. El doesn’t even flinch, even though she’s got her arms looped around the headrest to pet Max’s hair. “He’s doomed, isn’t he? Of course, he gushes! I thought you knew that he’s into you?”
“I didn’t know that included gushing!” Mike tries to defend himself, but his brain and heart are holding hands, focusing on other far more important things: “What does he say about me? Like, has he said anything about my hair, or—”
“I am not repeating those things. Will told me in confidence. I am sworn to secrecy,” El goes as far as to fake a shiver of horror, and Mike stares at her with a deadpan expression as Lucas and Max laugh. El throws him a wink. “But Mike, if you need the help—”
“Which he does!” Lucas points out, unhelpfully.
“—then we will make sure that Will lets you know himself about his gushing,” El finishes, brandishing a winning smile. “It will be amazing. I will be riding shotgun with Will forever.”
Mike frowns, already starting to feel a little overwhelmed. “You’re already cashing in this favor? Jesus, El, it hasn’t even happened.”
El shrugs. “Details.”
“You already ride shotgun all the time—”
“Guys, focus!” Lucas demands, cutting the argument short. “I already gave my advice, how about you two contribute something? We can think of a way for Mike to repay us later.”
Max rolls her eyes like she has no interest in the subject, but there’s a flare of excitement in her eyes as she turns further in her seat to look at Mike, raking her eyes up and down his body. She hums, narrowing her eyes, then nods to herself.
“I know Lucas told you to be yourself—which is good, because Will likes that for some reason—” Mike scoffs at her, crossing his arms in offense, and she placates him with a hand wave as if brushing the insult under the carpet. Mike flips her off. “But your appearance, dude. Did you even think of bringing a change of clothes during your crisis? Because you could do better than that sweater, and you know the bar gets stuffy.”
Mike looks down at his sweater, pouting, and then his backpack. “What, does this look bad? And I was just gonna wear one of our band shirts at the bar, to be honest—”
Lucas slams the brakes at a stop sign so hard that El almost smacks her nose against Max’s headrest. Lucas winces and reaches out to run a hand through her hair as a means to apologize, and then he turns towards Mike with a scandalized look.
“Dude! Are you serious?! I told you to dress nicely!” He snaps, shell-shocked as if Mike consciously decided not to bring his A-game with him this morning. “Like dude, okay, the sweater is nice, you look nice, don’t get us wrong, but you need to sweep him off his feet! You need to leave Will on the ground, man!”
“I didn't know I was going to seduce Will tonight!” Mike protests, hugging his backpack to his chest. “Besides, what's wrong with the band shirt? Will designed the logo! I think it’s cool!”
“Yes, but you need something to complete the look! Will likes it when you look rugged and layered!” El crosses her arms, raising her eyebrows. Mike stares at her with a frown, to which she falters slightly, realizing her mistake. It makes her press her lips together. “He told me that when he was gushing about you. Don’t tell him I broke our blood pact.”
Mike blinks hard. “I swear you two are horror movie twins—”
“Oh my god, we need to fix this,” Max gestures up and down at Mike, then looks at her wristwatch. “I think we got time to stop by your house, the bar owner won’t mind if we’re a little late. You mentioned that you got a lot of flannel, right? We can make it work like that.”
Mike looks around the car, hoping someone else has at least a single drop of sanity left. All that he finds are self-satisfied looks before Lucas starts driving again, making a U-turn to get to his house. God fucking damn it, all his friends are crazy. Must be all the fucking trauma, truly.
“Insane,” Mike mumbles, shaking his head, though he's mostly speaking to himself because he knows they won't listen. “I miss Dustin. He wouldn't do this to me. Why couldn't he ride with us?”
“He’s gotta walk the cat, man,” Lucas breathes out, more mournful about that than he was about Mike's allergies. Fucker. “You'll thank us when Will melts the second he sees you, dude. Remember what I told you; confidence! Be yourself!”
“Will likes you,” El reminds him, and Mike winces. In response, El slaps her hand down on his shoulder, squeezing it tight and shaking him, her expression intensifying. Mike winces again, this time in pain. “Will really, really, really likes you, Mike. More than I feel comfortable describing and more than I ever wanted to know.”
“Jeez,” Max mumbles, because Mike's brain is too busy processing El's words, trying to decide whether that comment is embarrassing or flattering coming from his ex and Will’s sister. He figures it’s a weird mix of both, and even though Mike logically knows they’re just trying to help and this is fine, well—he’s still nervous, he’s still anxious. It renders him speechless. “It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?”
“Gross!” El giggles. Then she stops herself short with wide eyes. “Will we still have time for ice cream?”
“Depends on how tragic Mike's closet is,” Lucas nods, then looks at him through the mirror again. Mike just looks out the window, frozen. “Dude, we mean it! Are you good? Did the thought of Will gushing about you break you? Or like, are you having a moment? Because you don't have to do anything if you're not ready, y'know? That's cool too, we’ll step back. Will is not going anywhere.”
Mike takes a very, very deep breath and considers the situation, because Lucas' words are not quite true. They'll be graduating soon. They'll be going to college, most of them off-state. Mike and Will have been applying to the same places together, just like they always planned when they were younger, but that doesn't guarantee anything, does it? If in the end, Will figures he should pick a different school to Mike's since there's nothing but friendship tying them down because Mike was too slow and missed his chance, what is he gonna do?
Is he gonna follow Will? Is Will even gonna want that? Would that even be acceptable or realistic? Will he have to let him go? Not possible, Mike's brain instantly cuts in, sharp and insistent, bordering on desperate. It sparks the memory of his last conversation with Will before he left for Lenora. The day Mike realized he was fucked, and head over heels.
Will kept that promise. They only use Mike's set now. And recalling that makes Mike think about all those early years of unconscious repression that he did. He thinks about the denial he was in and then the painful want of wishing his feelings were reciprocated, his inadequacy and jealousy because he thought Will could never look at him that way. He remembers arguing with Will, he remembers his disappointment and heartbreak when Will never called him back, when he pushed Mike away—once from all the way in Lenora, again in that forsaken pizza van. He remembers realizing just how wrong he was about everything, for so, so long. He remembers feeling hopeful.
Mike lets out his breath with a sharp exhale, and decides he's not going to self-sabotage any longer, because fuck. He's in love with Will Byers. So fucking in love that it hurts to think about losing him again, for the millionth time. Here he is, surrounded by three people that somehow got their shit together in a year, while he's been wasting his time, leaving Will waiting and wanting and wondering if Mike is ever going to do something about them.
Well. Fuck it.
“Yeah, no, I'm good, I'm good,” Mike nods to himself, finding the words to be true. Lucas spoke of confidence—well, Mike's never been shy, and recklessness isn't quite the same, but it'll do. “I'm doing this. It's about time.”
There's a beat of silence. Then Max sighs: “Finally, thank you. I thought you'd never get it.”
Mike scrunches up his nose and scratches his head. “Thank you for bullying me into personal growth?”
“Anytime!” El pats his back, her smile visibly ecstatic. She sighs, a dreamy sound that gives away her excitement. “We are giving Will the best night ever. Right?”
“Right,” Mike grins. He feels so much better. It seems the conversation has helped his Will-withdrawal symptoms, which is a relief. “Serious question, though—does Will think I'm ruggedly handsome, or like, how—”
Three identical groans shut him up, but Mike is unaffected by them. He's gonna ride this goddamn high all day, even if it kills him. Anything for Will.
To say El and Max tear his closet apart all over again would be an understatement. His mom watches in slight hurt because she did him the favor of picking up the mess Mike left behind that morning—but El and Lucas charm her with a few comments about how happy and pretty she looks lately, and suddenly cookies are being put out of the oven and taken up to his room as El and Max argue about whether plaid flannel is better than plain flannel.
“How come Will didn’t come over?” Mom asks, looking pointedly at Mike, who just crosses his arms, blushes, and ignores the question. El and Max exchange a look and a giggle that has mom raising her eyebrows. “What’s all this about? I thought you guys were heading straight to rehearsal!”
“A fashion emergency,” El replies with a look so serious that Mike has to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He wants to jump out a window. “Mike is hopeless.”
His mom nods in understanding. “I keep telling him, jeans with holes aren’t it!”
“Okay, guys, can we hurry?” Mike insists, trying to stop the conversation from evolving any further. Lucas holds up a red plaid and compares it to the pants that El and Max already picked out for him, then frowns in displeasure before shoving it back into his closet. Mike feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. “It’s kinda a long drive, and I know it’s fine to be a little late, but this is a little much—”
“Oh, Mike, don’t be silly,” Mom shakes her head with a sigh, and to his absolute horror, steps closer to the trio picking out clothes, and sets her hands on her hips. “They’re just helping you out! Here, I can try too, and you’ll move along a lot faster. What are we looking for?”
“Mom, I really don’t think—”
“Shush, Mike,” Max interrupts, stepping aside to give his mom walking space. “This is important. We need all hands on deck. Besides, your mom has an amazing fashion sense. Doesn’t she, El?”
“She’s gorgeous,” El confirms, to which his mom lets out a flattered laugh. “You sit there and model.”
“You kids are too kind,” Mom sighs, shooting Mike a wink. He scrunches up his nose and decides he’s probably gonna wipe this memory from his mind with a shit-ton of beer tonight. “I see all these flannels—how about some blue, or yellow? I’ve always thought it makes him look so adorable…”
Max, Lucas, and El start giggling with his mom as she descends into a detailed history of the evolution of Mike’s fashion habits which he drowns out by daydreaming about Will. It’s something he does very, very often, more than he’d ever admit—Mike can’t help it. His best friend is simply mesmerizing on a good day and Mike keeps getting lost in him to a concerning degree. Somehow, he knows he’s not going to get any better when—if—they start dating. God, dating Will. It sounds like a fucking fever dream, even knowing that it’s a high possibility, but how should he go about asking him?
Mike’s never had a hard time talking to Will, opening up to him, and for the most part, Will’s had no issue doing that with him either, as secretive as he can be. But he can’t see himself having the nerve to calmly ask him out again. It’s just—it feels too casual. There’s so much between them, so much history and affection and intimacy. More than once over the years, when they’re alone, Mike’s felt like he’s been threading some sort of blurry line between platonic and romantic interactions with Will. He’s long ago crossed it and keeps crossing it to this day to the point where he doesn’t think he can even see the line anymore.
Besides, there’s already some sort of unspoken agreement between them. It’s subtle, it’s never been acknowledged, but they both know about the other. They both feel closer than ever because of it, more honest, more… taken, in a way. Yeah, yeah, actually, as embarrassing as that is to admit, Mike has to point it out at least to himself; he already feels taken. It’s ridiculous and makes no sense and it doesn’t help him figure out how he should approach the question at all.
He decides that if he keeps running the thought around in his head, it’s not going to take him anywhere. He needs to follow the advice Lucas gave him, to remember what Max and El keep bringing up: Will likes him for him. He likes Mike, with all his annoying quirks and rapid mood swings, with all his awkwardly long limbs and big gestures and athletic deficiency. He just needs to be himself… and it’s Will, for fuck’s sake. Mike knows Will better than he knows himself.
It’ll come to him when it feels right, just like it did in the hallway. He has to trust that, trust himself, as daunting as that feels. But it’ll be okay—even if it’s just because Lucas, Max, and El will be supervising. Fuck, maybe he will be owning them big time for this.
In the end, his mom proves to find a suitable blue flannel, thick and forming a slight plaided pattern with thin yellow lines, and Max fishes out a plain white tee, throwing it at his face. He gets to pick which jeans he wants to go along with that, and he goes for the baggy ones because they have a full set-list to play, and he doesn’t like that Max seems to have forgotten that comfort comes over fashion on stage. For him, at least. El always makes sure to cover Max in glitter make-up whenever they manage to book a performance.
They filter out of the house after his mom forces him to shove a Tupperware of cookies into his backpack, his three companions looking immensely satisfied with themselves. Mike clings to the denim jacket his mom actually found in the laundry room to deal with the cold weather, which gets him an approving pat on the back from El.
“I feel ridiculous,” he comments once they’re back on the road, picking at a loose thread on his jacket. He can’t help but worry the inside of his cheek, biting at the skin. “Is he even gonna notice? It’s so dark in the club, like, maybe it’s too much—”
“None of that,” Max flicks her finger at his arm, since she’s the one riding in the back with him now. Mike sighs and crosses his arms, unsure. “Mike, it’s okay. You’re fine. Will is certainly gonna notice and he’s gonna love it. If you want to nope out, that’s cool but it’ll all go just fine. Got it?”
Mike closes his eyes for a moment and nods. He’s just being dumb again; he needs to stop overthinking. “Yeah, you’re right, just—this feels big.”
“This is big,” Lucas agrees, to which Mike nods his head. “We’ve given you shit about it, alright, but you and Will just… you’re ridiculous sometimes. You deserve each other!”
“In a good way!” El clarifies, sending Mike a thumbs-up from the front. “Focus on having a good time, Mike. That is all you have to do. Will will be happy either way.”
Sometimes El’s reassurances are so simple but so specific, Mike wonders if she’s somehow a straight-up mind reader on top of everything else. He smiles at her. “Thanks.”
Rehearsals and sound check are a very simple and calm affair, in the end. They are later than they promised the owner that they would be, but it’s quite fine—it’s a Friday, they have several bands lined up to play, and either way people will be filling The Living Room until the next morning, so it’s no loss. It’s not a super flashy place; while it’s a big club, it’s far away enough from Hawkins that it isn’t really in the town, and the crowd that comes around is… particular.
As in, Mike and Max might have made sure it was a safe space. That kind of safe space. It wasn’t easy to find it; they spent weeks pouring over phone books and making mostly-anonymous calls to have an idea of the kind of crowds that frequented their jotted-down options. Most of the good ones were too far from Hawkins, but The Living Room opened so recently that they had the chance to speak to the owner, instead of some mouth-breather employee with nearly-automated answers.
They've only played here once before, and not a full set. Corroded Coffin is mostly a cover band, and moved away from metal to shoegaze the second Mike decided to put things in order with Max's help. They keep the name for Eddie's sake, though Mike knows the genre change probably wouldn't sit well with him—it's the thought that counts, and their attempts to even keep it going. Or at least that's what he tells himself. Eddie helped Mike feel more comfortable in his own skin, to own up to who he truly is. He'd like to think Eddie would respect his choices, just like he'd respect the way Dustin is bringing in all kinds of kids into D&D. Not just nerds, not just losers—just anyone that needs a safe space.
The Living Room might just become yet another safe space for him, his friends, and his band. He's hoping so, at least. It's a subtle, low-key place, and Hopper knows about it. He makes sure no trouble comes this way, which Mike is infinitely grateful for.
Halfway through soundcheck, Mike develops a sight-related headache, of the kind he usually ignores, but he's slowly been getting over his childish hate for glasses ever since his mom convinced him to shop for a new pair that he actually liked. They're round and metal-rimmed, unobstructed, and simple. Will called them elegant when he first saw them, blushing slightly—which might be part of the reason Mike wears them more often. So he pulls them out of the case he always carries in his bag, and rolls his eyes at Max's approving glance.
“Will's gonna die,” she says, chuckling with such sadistic satisfaction that Mike snorts. He hopes she's right, weirdly enough. “Thank god you didn't dare put a straightener to your hair this week. You need to quit that shit.”
Mike runs a self-conscious hand through his curls. “It feels weird to not have it straightened, actually, but they've been manageable since my last haircut. Still, next week—”
“No!” Max protests, stomping her foot. She almost pulls on a mic cable, which has Mike kneeling down at her feet and slapping her legs away from the danger zone, cursing her out. “Ugh, careful—! But really, Mike, let go of the fucking straightener. I thought you were cool with being your authentic self.”
Mike looks up at her and squints from behind his glasses. “Is this your attempt at a closet joke? Fuck off.”
“Your curls are gorgeous, dude,” Max shrugs. Mike almost chokes on a laugh, because whenever Max actually compliments him, it feels like he's tripping through time and space and peeking into an alternative reality. “Don't make me take it back. I'm doing this for Will's sake. You're a fucking loser, it doesn't mean you're not pretty. Have you seen your cheekbones? You and Nancy are blessed.”
“Girls are pretty,” Mike shakes his head, standing up and dusting off his knees. He thinks of his train of thought and his hands sweat with nerves, but Max's eyebrow raise is encouraging. “And just, I guess they are nice. Compact. But guys…”
Mike swallows. It always feels weird to address it out loud, but he knows he can. He knows Max won't judge. She might even agree, or pick a fight with him, but she'll never judge him. Over the last couple of years, with the band driving them closer, she's become somewhat of his sounding board for this sort of stuff. He's more grateful for her rare, unique patience with him than she'll probably ever understand. Some things, Mike figures, some habits… they're hard to beat, and Max knows this. Pretending he can't see why he likes guys is one of the habits he's still struggling with.
“Guys are handsome,” the words leave his lips, a little rushed and breathless, and Max rolls her eyes. He's very self-aware that he's thought of Will as pretty before, but that's not the point he's trying to make here. He doesn't care about the word, he's just… trying to express himself. “Guys are just—god, don't make fun of me, but just so, so—”
“Jesus, Mike,” Max laughs, patting his arm. “You know I get it; you don't have to break yourself.”
Mike narrows his eyes in annoyance at his own hesitation and licks his lips. “I just like guys a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. Their hands, and, and, back muscles are just, I mean, I guess, have you seen Will's hands and—”
“You have a bit of a point, but girls can be handsome too,” Max shows him mercy, kicking his foot with one of her own in a friendly manner. “So, boys are pretty, too. I mean, have you seen Lucas? And you're not gonna tell me Will isn't absolutely the prettiest boy you've ever seen.”
Mike's face is flaring red. “I, well, he's kinda… out of this world, to be honest. I got not a single fucking word to describe him. It makes writing hard.”
Max good-naturally rolls her eyes. “Oh, no, are your little diary entries incomplete because you refuse to use the word pretty?”
God, he hates her guts. “You're such an ass.”
“You like me anyways.” Max pats his back, hard, and then gestures towards the stuff they're yet to finish setting up. “Good talk, leader. Let's finish off.”
“Will you guys take me to eat ice cream with you?” Mike asks, as if bargaining, even though they have to finish anyway. “Or are you just gonna abandon me, for real?”
Max laughs, throwing her head back. Mike is sometimes shocked by the genuine affection he has for her, even though she gets on his nerves daily. “If you behave, maybe, with some luck…”
“Fuck off.”
“You need me!”
Yeah, he does, unfortunately. He really does. Oh, well. There are worse things to be, worse friends to have. Mike just rolls his eyes and counts his blessings, because he got really, really lucky.
Must be the Will Byers of it all, really.