Chapter Text
Living in the Wheeler’s house seemed fun to Will as a kid.
The house was a mansion. It was a place he could safely escape to, a place where his father’s eyes couldn’t find him under blankets or in cabinets.
A place where he could be himself, surrounded by his friends—and Ted Wheeler.
He’d have sleepovers sometimes, but it wasn’t the same as actually living there.
The Party would build a fort in Mike’s armpit of a basement and claim corners like a king’s territory. And yet, despite the arguments of trespassing, they’d always end the night lining up their sleeping bags and laying shoulder-to-shoulder.
One time, when they were still young enough to believe in nightmares’ “truths”, Mike had gotten sick mid-sleepover and had to spend the rest of the night in his bedroom.
He tried to convince his mom to let him stay downstairs—the TV had said that the best medicine was laughter—but all the whines in the world couldn’t convince her.
That night, Will watched from his sleeping bag as Mike dragged his blanket up the stairs. Lucas and Dustin had already passed out again, snoring in unison.
“Will.” He heard Mike’s silhouette say.
He was standing right at the doorway, so the light of the hallway outlined him perfectly.
Will pushed himself up, unzipping a bit of the sleeping bag in the process.
“Yeah?” He had answered, careful not to wake up the other two.
The dark figure scratched at his elbow, considering something.
At this moment, Will assumed that he must’ve misheard Mike. It was 2am, and he was fast asleep when the sound of Mike vomiting his insides out came from the bathroom. His brain was still a bit dizzy from sleep, so mishearing something wasn’t that difficult to believe.
But Mike responded.
“Can you come up with me?”
Will’s throat went dry. He wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He wanted to comfort Mike, but Mrs. Wheeler would be upset. What if she talks to his mom and bans him from sleepovers?
“I won’t tell my mom,” Mike reassured him. “I’ll sneak you up there. I promise.”
“Oh.” Will sighed.
Before he could process anything, Mrs. Wheeler had appeared behind Mike.
She took the blanket from his hands and wrapped an arm around him, leaning down to whisper something in his ear.
It was too late.
He heard Mike grunt in annoyance before allowing her to guide him out.
Even with the basement door closed, he could hear Mike stomping up the stairs and snippets of Mrs. Wheeler reprimanding him.
However, that was just a rare occurrence. One that Will replayed in his mind over and over again whenever Mike scooted a bit too close, or that one time he absentmindedly threw an arm over Will’s chest.
It was a mistake.
How far can a mistake go until it's considered intentional?
Living in the Wheeler’s house seemed fun to Will as a kid, but now that he’s actually doing it, it felt like a personalized hell.
The lunch the day before it happened was normal—as normal as a lunch could be.
Mrs. Wheeler asked him to pass the salt, but he didn’t notice her request.
His eyes were glued on Mike and El sitting across from him, feeding each other bits of the overcooked chicken—his own, sad contribution to the meal.
The strange thing was that El wasn’t supposed to be here, not without his mom or Hopper’s permission. Still, she was here, biting a piece of chicken from Mike’s fork.
It made Will’s stomach hurt.
It had been 17 months since they moved in, and a month since Mike was ranting to him and Lucas about how weird his relationship with El was.
Will’s memory wasn’t the best, but he swears Mike had described it as—
“Unstable!” Mike threw his hands up. “Like, that’s the only way I can put it. It’s like I’m walking on glass around her, and I bet she feels the same way, too.”
And yet, right before Will Byers’ eyes sat Mike and El acting more like a couple than ever before. It was the first time they genuinely looked like they were flirting, to the point that Holly began complaining to Mrs. Wheeler about it.
This was the third time this week Mike had managed to sneak El into their lunch, which was safe since it was the only meal Mr. Wheeler didn’t join them. (Will could hear his snores coming from the living room; afternoon naps were important.)
This was also the third time Will had to endure sitting right across from them, as his designated spot was the seat in front of Mike’s.
“Will, sweetheart, can I have the salt?” Mrs. Wheeler asked again, raising her voice.
Unfortunately, the table had gone quiet at that specific moment. All eyes turned to him.
“The salt…?” His words awkwardly trailed off, still looking at Mike and El’s general direction.
They were looking back at him too, faces tilted like confused puppies.
Will quickly turned away from them, instead forcing his body to listen to simple commands.
He whispered a small sorry when handing over the salt to Mrs. Wheeler.
When his eyes wandered back to the sight he had been unwillingly subjected to, the ever so romantic couple were back at it again. This time, Mike was trying to get El to taste mashed potatoes.
The rest of the table quickly followed, falling back into its usual hubbub.
Will sighed as he slumped back, trying to get his shoulders to relax. Tension was something he had to get used to if Mike was planning on inviting El everyday. Somehow.
The first time she showed up, Will didn’t think it would be that bad. That was until they started whispering sweet nothings to one another.
The second time, Will tried to take his Mr. Wheeler’s empty seat, but Mrs. Wheeler started to defend the chair like it was made of gold.
The third time, which is today, Will sat in his mom’s empty seat. It was closer to the window, so not only did he not have to see Mike and El be seconds away from making out, but he could also enjoy the view of the empty, military-guarded streets.
Mike seemed to have other ideas, though.
“Will, why aren’t you sitting there?” He outstretched a long arm and pointed at Will’s usual chair. El, who was right behind him, also looked a bit offended by Will’s change of seat.
“I just wanted to sit closer to the window.” Will gave a half-honest reply.
“Oh.” Mike responded. “Okay.”
Will thought that was the end of it, but a moment later Mike and El were sitting right in front of him, taking Jonathan and Nancy’s seats.
He literally couldn’t escape him. He could jump out of the window and Mike would leap after him, El’s hand in his.
It was torture—a personalized hell.
“Everyone’s moving down the line, I see?” Mrs. Wheeler said teasingly, raising a brow at the sight.
“We wanted to sit closer to the window,” El said. “With Will.”
A soft chuckle left Mrs. Wheeler’s mouth, “You know what, me too.”
She plopped herself onto the seat to Will’s right.
How did everything manage to go wrong?
Jonathan and Nancy had to sit in Mike and El’s old chairs when they finally showed up. Their hair was all messy and Jonathan’s face was a bit red.
Will wanted to die. There was no other way to put it.
A bit of mashed potatoes smeared onto El’s chin.
“Ah—the plane failed to land.” Soft wrinkles appeared on the corners of Mike’s eyes when he laughed, not bothering to wipe away the mess he made. Thank god.
It was hard seeing them like this, seeing them so normal. Under all of the training, the crawls, and the theories passed around, Mike and El looked like a regular couple.
They lived a double-life, and for them, it was easy to separate one from the other. They could fully experience the warmth and comfort that the simple life brought, and handle the hardships that come with the secret one.
Will, on the other hand, remembered it all.
There wasn’t a line that divided his “simple” life and his secret one, and if there was, it was so thin it would snap in a matter of minutes—only another tear in his heart.
It felt a bit humiliating to admit how much he wanted to have what they have: Freedom.
It was then, while Will was pushing his food around, that it happened.
He felt something touch his ankle under the table.
The spoon in his hand stilled, right when he was about to divide his serving of mashed potatoes into two. His fingers tightened around the metal like it could keep him grounded.
He didn’t have to look under the table to know it was Mike’s foot brushing against his.
Before El started joining them, Will was really happy with his seat.
While the table would chatter about one thing or another, he’d lose himself in his thoughts. The comfort of his mind was scarce, but it seemed bountiful when he sat here, especially during mornings. He would get lost in the sounds of the utensils tapping against the plates adorning twisting floral designs. The birds chirping their rehearsed song would soothe him, like a pair of hands reaching out to massage his shoulders.
Mike’s foot touching his underneath the table would only soothe him more.
They never looked at each other, but they kept that contact constant. They never acknowledged it afterwards either.
It felt like keeping a silly, harmless secret from your parents. That childish charm engulfed the comforting touch, causing old, nostalgic emotions to arise in Will’s chest whenever Mike outstretched his foot.
The secret suddenly felt shameful now that Mike was doing it with El right next to him.
Slowly, Will lifted his head from his plate.
Mike was talking to El about something. Songs or clothes or school—it didn’t matter.
El nodded along to his words, but she didn’t seem like she was listening to him at all. Her eyes were on the window, tracking a squirrel frolicking through the dying grass.
Suddenly, Mike sighed and turned away. El didn’t react.
His eyes fell on Will, who was already looking at him.
Something hot twisted in Will’s chest. He couldn’t just stare at Mike like Mike was staring at him, and he couldn’t understand how Mike was able to look so casual.
Underneath the table, he felt another foot press against the other side of his own, basically trapping it between Mike’s feet.
His shoulders shook when he tried to breathe. All that left was a shudder.
Mike, on the other hand, had a growing smile on his face. A cheeky one.
Will frowned. This felt wrong, so wrong.
He tugged away his foot, and Mike tightened his hold on him, as if reluctant to let him go, before pulling his own feet away.
“Mike,” Nancy’s voice came from the other end of the table. “Do you need a ride anywhere today? Jonathan and I have a lot of things to do so if you wanna go somewhere, tell me now.”
Finally, Mike turned his head away from him.
Will felt that hot thing in his chest cool down.
“No, it’s fine.” He replied to Nancy.
“Actually,” Will cut in, an important thought in his mind pushing through all that panic Mike prompted. “Can I get a ride to the Video Store?”
—
Nancy was a better driver than Jonathan, but she speeds like there’s no one else on the road.
Well, there is no one else, but Will feels like he’ll fly off his seat at every turn. He held his small bag containing Poltergeist close to his chest, afraid that it’ll somehow break from Nancy’s recklessness.
Meanwhile, in the front seat, Jonathan was bickering with her over the radio.
“I’m not saying your music taste is bad,” He said, waving around his own playlist. “It’s just a bit basic.”
“Basic?!” Nancy basically laughed right into his face. “Will, is my music taste basic?”
Will straightened his back, uncomfortable with being dragged into this.
“He has my taste, of course yours is basic to him.” Jonathan replied for him.
“You didn’t let him respond—just let my playlist go on for a little longer, you’ll see.” Nancy said, drumming her fingers against the wheel to a song Will didn’t even recognize.
When the Wheeler house came into view, he literally jumped out of the car, giving Jonathan and Nancy a small wave as thanks for the ride.
A benefit to living here was that he had the basement to himself, meaning that he could use the spare TV to watch movies. Jonathan was barely down there, and he spent most nights upstairs with Nancy, so solo movie nights were something Will swiftly integrated into his routine. Although, lately Jonathan has been sleeping downstairs, so Will had to shift his schedule a bit. Solo Movie Evenings!
Last week, he rented out Stand By Me and watched it three times. The week before that was Alien, but he could only watch it once before it quite literally vanished from the little drawer he stuffed everything in.
It was in between an old stack of drawings, two sketchbooks, some socks, and a packet of dried-out markers. He could see it when he closed his eyes, its spine peeking out to read the title in its cool font.
And yet, no matter how many times he checked, it was gone. He had to pay a pricey fee and got a warning from Keith.
This one won’t get lost, though. He’ll keep it close to his chest, and if someone stole the last one, he’ll just have to hide it somewhere else.
He opened the door excitedly. Solo movie evenings were honestly the only thing he looked forward to nowadays.
The only thing that could make his heart race like Mike touching his foot under the table was watching a man get sliced open and spill his guts. It also felt safer than whatever the former was.
He passed by Holly kneeling by the coffee table while reading her book—A Wrinkle in Time—and tried to avoid eye contact with Mr. Wheeler.
Even passing in front of his TV screen makes him sigh, and Will didn’t want to test him. An angry man is an angry man, even if he doesn’t show it.
Once he reached the basement door, he put his hand on the knob and turned it. Again. And again. And again.
Instead of swinging open on its loose hinges, it rattled back at him.
It was locked.
He let his hand fall from the knob, completely confused. He didn’t even know that the door could lock, and he doesn’t know who’d have the key. His guess was Mr. Wheeler, the breadwinner or whatever.
My Money, My Property, My Rules.
That’s what his dad would chant sometimes, when he was really drunk and mom wouldn’t let him go to the kitchen. She didn’t want him hurting himself, but he saw it as control.
If Will learnt anything in life, it was that fathers liked control and were extremely selfish about it.
Selfish enough to lock their son’s friend from accessing his makeshift bedroom.
Mr. Wheeler didn’t like all the chaos the Byers brought and he made sure to make it clear. Snarky comments, rants at the dinner table, hogging things for absolutely no reason.
Will didn’t understand why he thought the Byers would move out if he just annoyed them enough, and he didn’t understand how he was so persistent on actually doing stuff. All his life, Will only ever saw him sleeping on the Lay-Z-Boy.
Maybe one too many kerfuffels and fusses interfered with this lazy life and his annoyance actually drove him to do something about it. His mom did use the TV a lot after dinners, and Will did waste most of the hot water, and Jonathan did devour all the bacon during breakfast—which was Mr. Wheeler’s favorite.
But locking Will out of the basement to annoy him felt a bit too cruel. Mr. Wheeler was bothersome, but he wasn’t evil. He didn’t have the energy to be.
So who locked the door?
Maybe it was just jammed.
He twisted the knob again, leaning closer to the door and putting his weight on it. That’s when he heard the muffled noises of people chatting.
There was someone, or several someones, down there.
Could it be the Party, setting up a secret surprise or something? They missed his birthday this year, and the year before. Perhaps they realized.
It could be Mrs. Wheeler cleaning while talking to someone on the phone, but why would she lock the door?
Will liked the first idea more, even if it was a bit impossible.
He raised a hand and gently knocked on the wood.
Patiently, he waited for it to swing open, rocking back and forth on his heels. It wasn’t a surprise party, he knew that, but he couldn’t get this stubborn idea out of his head.
When the door eventually opened, he was faced with—
“Mike.”
“Oh, Will.”
Will cringed at the way Mike said his name, like he was something unexpected, or unwanted.
He blocked the door with his body so Will couldn’t see inside, but he could see enough to determine that he was wrong—there was no surprise party waiting for him, as he guessed.
He doesn’t even think there was anyone down there but Mike.
The lights were off and he couldn’t hear the Party’s usual bickering. The only noise that came from the basement was this slow hum.
“Can I go inside?” He asked, twisting the plastic bag with his finger.
Mike stared at him for a moment before shaking his head back into reality. “Yeah, sorry.”
He took a step back, giving Will some room to walk through.
As Will passed, he tried not to brush his shoulder against Mike, going as far as to press himself against the opposing wall.
It wasn’t that they were distant, they are actually closer than ever. It’s just that that closeness was hidden, something that never influenced their day-to-day conversations. Something kept under the table, and Will felt like it should stay there.
The basement was dark, apart from the blue light blasting in the direction of the couch.
“We were just watching a movie.” He heard Mike say from behind him.
On the corner of said couch, El was wrapped in a thick blanket. Her hand was digging deep inside one of those microwaveable popcorn bags.
“Hi, Will.” She gave him a little wave with her buttered fingers.
He reciprocated, although he couldn’t hide how awkward this felt.
Mike passed him and fell beside El on the couch, immediately reaching for the remote. “You can join us if you want.”
“No, it’s fine…” His eyes wandered to the TV screen, only to see it paused on a shot of a very familiar alien. “Wait, is that Alien?”
El grinned at him, “Have you seen it before?”
“Yeah, maybe twice.” He said, turning around to the mattress on the ground—his bed. “Could’ve been a third time.”
He added the petty comment quietly. Thankfully, it got lost under the sounds of the movie starting up again.
He dropped to the mattress and knee-crawled to the drawer it was pushed up against. He wanted to watch his movie now, but seeing as Mike and El have decided to hijack the basement and watch the stolen Alien, he’ll just have to watch it tomorrow evening.
He tried not to make too much noise as he pulled the drawer open. It creaked a bit, but when he looked over to Mike and El, they were too indulged in their movie—well, his movie—to notice.
Mike pulled a bit of El’s blanket over his legs, causing her to sigh and roll her eyes. Although, she couldn’t help but copy Mike’s giggles.
Will tore his eyes away from them.
That nauseating feeling during lunch returned. He felt so guilty about what had happened, and seeing them all lovey dovey only made him more guilty.
Even in the cold of the basement, he could feel that warmth around his ankle. Mike’s touch, so wrong but so comforting. Most of all, it was confusing.
He tied the bag containing Poltergeist into a knot and shifted some of his sketchbooks around. He wanted to put it somewhere else, but for now, this will do.
“What did you get?”
Will snapped his head towards the couch.
Mike’s eyes were locked on his, completely ignoring the movie. He nodded towards the bag in Will’s hands.
“Just—just Poltergeist.” Will stuttered, his hand tightening around the bag.
Mike nodded in a cool manner, not breaking his straight expression.
It freaked Will out.
Every word directed towards him felt like it had subtext, but Mike said it so casually that he felt crazy for even thinking of it in any other way.
“Can we watch it tonight?” Mike asked.
“Tonight?” Will echoed him.
El was sitting right there—right under his arm. They were having a movie date, and Mike was planning another one with Will directly after El’s departure straight in her face!
Well, it wasn’t a movie date. That’s the thing, it was normal.
It just felt wrong.
“Jonathan might want to sleep early.” Will said.
Mike tilted his head, “We both know he’ll be running to Nancy after my dad passes out.”
Will couldn’t see El, so he didn’t know if she was still watching the movie, but he heard her laugh. It didn’t matter whether it was at Mike’s comment or the woman shooting at an alien, Will still felt his stomach drop at the sound.
“I have homework,” He threw another excuse at Mike. “So we’ll see.”
Even in the dark, he could see Mike bite his lip, almost obnoxiously, before nodding and looking back at the screen.
Will’s heart was racing so fast it was painful. The blood it was pumping couldn’t be contained in his veins—he could feel it trailing his tongue.
Quickly, he stuffed the bag under a sketchbook, threw a sock over it, and pushed himself up.
He wanted to leave as soon as possible, seeing as the tension was strangling him, but something made him stop.
“Can someone lock the door after me?” He asked, turning to the pair slumped on the couch.
“It’s okay,” El said. “I can use my po—”
“I’ll do it.” Mike interrupted her. He stood up so fast, the blanket covering his legs fell to the floor.
Will raised a brow at him. Can he stop being so much?
Will could barely walk straight with the knowledge that Mike was behind him, making the floorboards creak with every step up the stairs.
When he reached the door, he swung it open and took a step out.
Suddenly, Mike grabbed his forearm.
Will froze, feeling that warmth he was all too familiar with infect another part of his body.
His eyes dashed to where they touched. Mike’s white hand looked paler against his dark-colored sweater, or maybe that was just his knuckles becoming white from the hard grip.
“Will.” Mike said softly, and Will lifted his head to look at him.
“Yeah?” He responded carefully.
“I have homework, too.” Mike said. “Maybe we could study together tonight. Instead of watching the movie, I mean.”
Will’s moral compass ticked.
“Okay.” He said, knowing he didn’t have a single assignment uncompleted.
If moral compasses were meant to point to True North, his was pointing in the complete opposite direction.
Will didn’t notice.
“Cool.” Mike smiled.
He gave Will’s forearm a small squeeze before letting go, closing the door, and locking it.
The sound of the key clicking echoed in Will’s head. He stood in the hallway, unable to move.
Something stirred in his stomach. Excitement, guilt, shame, giddiness, frustration—he was about to fall unconscious from all of the things pressing on his mind.
Instead, he placed a hand on the wall to steady his legs and dragged himself to the living room.
Upon seeing him, Holly beamed.
“Will, I just read this super cool scene we should draw!” She shook the book in her hands.
Will stumbled to the ground, sitting next to her. “Read it out to me.”
—
Crickets could be heard when night came, as well as the radio Mrs. Wheeler tuned into.
Will stood at the sink, washing the dishes piled up next to it.
“You don’t have to do that.” Mrs. Wheeler said, placing the radio on the counter.
“I cooked, so I should clean up after myself.” Will replied, squeezing the sponge.
He took up cooking about a month or two ago. Mrs. Wheeler was always making small, sarcastic comments about how difficult it was to cook for a big family, and at some point, it was clear that the sarcasm was fake.
And so, he offered to help.
He knew some things here and there, and although cooking was never really an interest for him, it was a good distraction from schoolwork… and Mike.
“You don’t have to cook either.” Mrs. Wheeler popped open a new bottle of wine and poured herself a glass.
“I want to.” Will said, tearing his eyes away from the dark drink.
He didn’t understand how alcohol was so attractive to some people. It was a coping mechanism, he knew that, but a part of him couldn’t accept it.
His dad liked it a lot, and people knew he liked it a lot.
His reign of terror on the town crafted a reputation the Byers would never be able to shake off—they were lunatics.
But even then, the drinks did nothing but take his mind off of things for a while.
One time, when he was so young he didn’t even know his ABC’s, he saw his dad crying.
His parents’ room was dark, but he didn’t have to see his dad to determine that those cries were coming from him.
Will just stood there. He didn’t move away from the door, he didn’t say anything to help. He knew his dad didn’t even want help—he was too good for that.
When he noticed little Will peeking through the door, he returned to the person Will knew.
He got up from where he was slumped on the bed and started screaming at him, pulling the door open so fast it made Will stumble forwards and fall to the ground.
Alcohol didn’t fix anything, it just made your mind weak for a while.
Will knew he was being a bit of a hypocrite, seeing as he uses cooking as a distraction as well, but cooking didn’t make people angry or snarky or petty. Drinks did.
“If only my own kids were this enthusiastic about helping their mother.” Mrs. Wheeler continued.
The gentle sound of a wine glass tapping the counter indicated that she had taken a sip. She’ll start slurring soon, and just like every other night this past month, she’ll start spilling her guts to him.
Mr. Wheeler isn’t that close to Holly anymore, Nancy hogs all the hot water—Will’s the true culprit, but he didn’t want to admit it to her—and Mike refuses to leave his room nowadays.
“You know, I thought that you being around would make him more willing to like… be more open, or something.” She rambled, leaning against the counter next to him.
“Really?” Will asked, keeping his eyes on the plate he was washing. A stain of pasta sauce was refusing to leave, no matter how many times he scrubbed it with a sponge.
“Yeah,” she said, smiling at him lazily. “You bring out the best in him.”
Will’s hands paused.
The soap bubbled over his fingers, making his knuckles cold. It made him shiver, or maybe that was Mrs. Wheeler’s comment.
“What happened between you two?” She pressed on, giving Will a pointed look. “You don’t really—” she hiccuped, “—hangout as much. It makes me sad.”
Will squeezed the sponge, making more bubbles come out. “We’re fine.”
Mrs. Wheeler frowned, “Oh, but remember how you two used to sit together all the time? And like, play games and stuff?”
She brought the glass to her lips and took a big swig of the poison. “Ugh, you two used to be so cute.”
Will looked away from her, instead focusing on cleaning another plate.
Something hard blocked his airways. Whenever he inhaled, his breathing shattered into several, small gasps. He hated alcohol not only because it hurt the user, but also whoever was closest to them.
His vision was a bit blurry, kind of like bubbles were floating across it. “Used to be.”
—
When Mrs. Wheeler finally let him go, he ran to the basement. As he passed right in front of Mr. Wheeler’s TV, he ignored the grunt the man made.
In the peace of the basement, he could breathe.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, embracing the comforting atmosphere of his childhood home.
“Will?”
He jumped against the door. His eyes flashed open and darted around the dark. From the top of the stairs, he got a pretty good view of the room.
Mike was sitting on the couch, legs crossed.
“Jesus.” Will mumbled, peeling himself from the door.
“You forgot about our study session?” Mike asked teasingly, fiddling with the corner of his notebook.
Will stepped down the stairs, still a bit taken aback from the jumpscare. He placed a shaking foot against the carpet and let go of the railing, “Don’t do that, please.”
“Don’t tease you?”
“Don’t scare me.”
Mike tilted his head to the side, making his bangs shift. “I didn’t mean to.”
Will let out an exhausted sigh.
He made his way to his little drawer and dropped to his knees before it. Just like the last time, it creaked as he pulled it.
“What assignments do you have to finish?” Mike asked from the couch.
Will ran his finger across the edge of the drawer sheepishly, staring down at the homework binder he kept in the corner. The lack of red index tabs meant he completed everything.
He turned to Mike, who only had one notebook on his lap.
“What do you have?” He nodded towards it.
“Uh,” Mike looked down at it with a blank expression. “Like, chemistry and a bit of biology… like Newton and stuff.”
“Newton?” Will raised a brow.
Mike lifted his head from the notebook, and that’s when Will saw the giddy smile on his face. “I feel like I’m a terrible liar.”
Will’s finger stopped tracing the drawer. The nervousness he felt turned into confusion. “What do you mean?”
Mike let out an over-the-top sigh and slapped the cover of his notebook. His voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke, “I don’t have any homework to do.”
The air stilled around them.
Will hadn’t made his own confession, that he didn’t have any homework either, but it felt like Mike already knew that. The corners of his lips perked upwards as he batted his lashes at Will, as if he was trying to send a signal or whatnot.
“Oh.” Will’s hand fell from the drawer.
“Well, what do you have to do?” Mike asked, throwing his notebook to the side.
“Me?” Will questioned dumbly. “I have… like, a lot. But not too much—like I can handle it, but…”
He couldn’t resist the smile tugging at his lips. It was stupid really, how they both lied to the other and tried to keep it going like total idiots.
“You don’t have anything, do you?” Mike leaned against the armrest so that he was closer to Will.
Something about the way he asked that—so accusatory, so mischievous—made Will a bit flustered.
He avoided Mike’s eyes, instead looking at the mess of a drawer he had.
His eyes wandered over the homework binder, sketchbooks, socks, the Poltergeist movie, a stack of pictures—
She caught his eyes.
El, sitting on top of the Surfer Boy’s Pizza van, hands in the air all excitedly.
Argyle’s head was sticking out of the driver seat’s window, Will was standing by the door with a hand on his hip, and a small figure of his mom could be seen in the background, a worried expression plastered on her blurry face.
Something sharp pinched his heart.
He remembered this picture. El had recently cut her bangs for the first time, experiencing the Byers treatment, and had loved it. She had asked Jonathan for a photoshoot and dragged Will along.
In that stack, a picture of them standing on the staircase could be found. Their arms were interlocked and they had their faces so close their cheeks were almost touching.
He remembered that photo very well because that was the one she had sent to Mike. Not only that, she captioned it with something along the lines of “Me and Will look so similar here! Joyce says we might be real twins.”
Heat tickled the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to cry, he never wants to, but that stack of pictures—they were ruthless. A ruthless reminder of how weird he was acting with Mike.
“I guess we should do something else then.” His voice snapped Will out of his erring mind.
Will turned to him, blinking away tears he hoped he wouldn’t catch onto. “What?”
He watched as Mike’s dark eyes moved to the drawer and settled on something.
When he followed them, trying to pinpoint what specific object would be of interest to Mike, he realized that they were staring at the white bag hidden underneath a sketchbook.
“Poltergeist?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Suddenly, he felt the mattress sink next to him, and before he knew it, Mike was reaching into the drawer and snatching the movie.
He turned to Will with a grin, “Poltergeist!”
“But Jonathan—”
“—is with Nancy, so we can watch the movie.” Mike shook the bag in front of him. “I know it’s your favorite.”
Will rolled his eyes, not wanting to give into whatever this was. “It’s not my favorite anymore.”
He could basically hear Mike’s mood shifting.
He placed the bag he was childishly shaking around a moment ago on his lap, “Wait, really?”
Will pressed his lips together and gave him a pointed stare, nodding.
“What is it, then?” Mike asked, a look of genuine concern on his face. He was acting like this was the worst thing in the universe that could even happen to him—not knowing Will’s favorite movie.
“Alien,” Will’s lips curled into a smirk. “If only we could watch it.”
The concern Mike had suddenly vanished, now replaced with something Will couldn’t figure out.
He was smiling like he got caught, but he also looked a bit shocked or embarrassed. The red blush on his ears was clear as day, and sure, that was probably because it stood out against his paleness.
Instead of responding to Will’s obvious accusation, he got up and started literally power-walking to the TV.
“Do you want any snacks?” He asked, not bothering to turn around.
“No, it’s fine.” Will shut the drawer and got to his feet, feeling a bit of adrenaline at his stunt. Confrontation felt good sometimes.
Mike hit the top of the TV box, and it hummed in response. The bright screen lit up the area more than the dim lights on the ceiling did, and when Mike shut those off, it highlighted the couch just like it had done that same evening.
Mike dropped himself on it right in the middle, throwing the blanket El used right over his legs.
Awkwardly, Will stood by the couch, still deciding where he should sit.
Usually, he’d sit on the floor, but when there was room on those cushions, he’d push himself against the armrest and use it as a pillow.
“Are you gonna sit down?” Mike whispered like they were in a real theater. “The movie’s about to start.”
Will wished that the others were here to take up all the spaces. Instead, he had to make the decision of being weird about it and pushing against the armrest, or being weird about it and sitting directly next to Mike.
When he heard music coming from the TV, he knew he had to make his move fast.
His body made his decision before he could even process it, and so, he ended up right next to Mike.
—
They were half-way through the movie, and Will wasn’t focusing on anything.
His mind was too hung up on the fact that Mike’s thigh kept brushing against his. It happened so much, Will literally timed it and concluded that it happened every five minutes.
He was acting a bit crazy right now, he didn’t need anyone to tell him that, but Mike was acting crazier.
He was breathing. A lot.
He kept laughing at unfunny moments.
He made comments Will didn’t understand, and maybe that was because Will wasn’t focusing on the movie, but it was still crazy given everything else Mike was doing.
Although, perhaps Mike wasn’t doing anything crazy. Perhaps Will was trying to piece together things in his head that weren’t actually there. Perhaps he was trying to blame a reason for his guilt.
Or maybe the reason why he was so jittery was because he could feel El watching him from that drawer. That photograph was faded, but her eyes were forever engraved in the paper’s thick texture.
“I don’t understand how people find this movie scary.” Mike said, breaking the silence streak he was holding (it was 2 minutes). “Do you find it scary?”
Will sunk into the couch. Maybe if he disappeared in between the cushions, Mike would stop asking him questions.
“No.” He answered.
Mike hummed in response. It reminded Will of the TV’s humming when it was processing inputs.
“I’d probably shit my pants if I was there, though.” Mike continued voicing his thoughts out loud.
Will honestly found it a bit comforting. He wasn’t watching the movie, but Mike’s mind instead. It was like this weird, mirrored thing that he somehow felt a bit nostalgic towards, like Mike’s thoughts was something that constantly roamed his past.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Will whispered back.
His heart dropped when he realized that not only had he thought that, but he verbalized it.
He heard some shuffling, and Mike’s head was suddenly turned towards him.
“Really?” He asked, his voice so close to Will’s ears it felt like Will was wearing headphones.
He grew embarrassed, unable to answer. That wasn’t meant to be something he said out loud. Unlike Mike, he thought before speaking—or at least he thinks he does.
He cleared his throat and forced himself to reply so as to not make this even more humiliating.
“Yeah,” his voice was soft. “I think so.”
A breathy chuckle slipped from Mike’s lips.
Fortunately, the two sat through the rest of the movie in silence. Mike ceased all commentary, but kept the brushes to Will’s thigh going—it was just subconscious.
Although, an hour and a half of staring at a screen in the dark will eventually start stinging your eyes.
Will’s felt heavy, and that was dangerous.