Work Text:
June, 2024
His daughter might tell you otherwise, but Mike was content with his life. Sure, his dreams of being an author hadn’t panned out like he wanted, and sure, he was 53 living in his parent’s old house in Hawkins. But his life was comfortable.
He’d had a wife. He’d even had a daughter, the light of his life, Jane. She had grown up to look just like her mother; round hazel eyes and thick brown curls. He remembered thinking, when she was born, that she might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.
Despite all that, she could still be endlessly aggravating.
That morning had started at a breakneck pace. Mike and Jane had both slept past their alarms, with the latter missing her bus to school. They both piled into the bathroom and brushed their teeth with frankly impressive speed, manoeuvring around each other with practised ease.
While Jane was upstairs completing her (incredibly unnecessary and time-wasting) ‘skincare routine’, Mike packed snacks for the morning. Considering they had zero time left now for an actual breakfast.
– – – – – – –
Long abandoned high street stores flew past. Mike fiddled with the radio, catching the start of some (probably) overproduced pop hit. As he went to change the station, Jane’s hand swatted his own away.
“Leave it alone, Dad. I love this song,” she hummed along to the tune, and Mike rolled his eyes.
you can kiss a hundred boys in bars,
shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling
The singer’s breathy voice came through the car’s shitty speakers. He had to admit, at least she knew what she was doing.
good luck, babe, well, good luck babe,
you’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling
Jane eyed her dad before speaking. “This artist is kinda awesome. She’s for sure my favourite at the minute.”
Mike spared her a passive glance. “Oh? That’s nice honey.”
Sitting up, Jane kept her gaze resolutely at the suburban scenery out the window.
“Yeah. She’s super relatable and stuff,” she fiddled with her fingers, and added, “Think she likes girls too.”
Mike’s hands tightened around the steering wheel involuntarily. Queer people were kind of everywhere now. Everything was so different to when he was growing up, and maybe if things were like this back then… then maybe…
He doesn’t let himself finish that thought.
“That’s nice, Jane.”
Jane just huffs and slumps back into the seat.
when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night
with your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife
and when you think about me, all of those years ago
you're standing face to face with "I told you so"
Mike’s hands tighten around the steering wheel once again, knuckles turning white.
The lyrics stir something within him, something that he had been trying to ignore for the better part of 30 years. He thinks of his ex-wife, nights spent in silence as they readied themselves for bed, completely independent of each other. Two people who lived together and had sex occasionally.
He used to lay there, motionless, into the early hours of the morning. Their shared alarm clock would blare a mocking “1:57AM” at him in bright red.
He’d edge his hand to almost meet his wife’s, but then she’d inhale a deep breath and move even further away. It didn’t hurt like it probably should.
He’d think about the past. When he was happiest.
Playing overly convoluted but thoroughly entertaining D&D campaigns in the basement, the party crowded around a table just a bit too small for all of them. He’d look across the table, just over the DM screen and meet Will’s eyes. He’d lived for D&D back then. The smiling faces of his friends as he revealed a long awaited plot twist, the screams of victory when they defeated a particularly difficult opponent, and the rosy face of a certain sorcerer who he totally didn’t favour.
So what if he always rolled disadvantage when Will’s character was attacked? What the party didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.
“SHIT, DAD STOP!” Jane yelped, and Mike broke out of his stupor, hitting the breaks.
They screeched to a stop right outside Hawkins High, and he realized belatedly that if Jane hadn’t said anything he would’ve driven straight past.
Mike watched as she gathered her bag and opened the car door. “Have a good day at school, yeah? I’ll pick you up after your club.”
Jane dismissed him with a nod and practically sprinted from the car. Wow. He didn’t remember being this embarrassed of his parents when he was 17.
The song on the radio had finished by now, and Robin’s voice filtered through, confident as ever. She’d recently taken up her post on the Squawk as Rockin’ Robin again, after a 35 year hiatus. That was one hell of a break.
“Aaaand that was Chappell Roan’s ‘Good Luck, Babe!’ for you all! Truly a woman after my own heart. That song was dedicated to an old friend, who probably doesn’t even know its him. Anyways! Up next is Sabrina Carpenter’s ‘Please, Please, Pl-”
He changes the station.
– – – – – – –
That damn song had been everywhere. That wasn’t an exaggeration by any means. Mike was beginning to feel personally victimized.
It was on the radio when he drove to work. It leaked from his coworkers headphones. It followed him when he was deciding what to cook that night. Hell, it was playing in his daughter's room every damn day.
They were sitting at the dinner table when Mike finally brought it up.
Jane was sitting next to him, scrolling some app called TicTac or something on her phone with one hand, and scraping her food around using a fork with the other.
“Jane,” he warned, looking over his glasses at her, “Get off of your phone. Back in my day, we had to entertain ourselves the old fashioned way.”
Jane groaned under her breath and put her phone down, face up so she could still see her notifications, thank you.
“Conversation? Yeah I know. You only bring it up every other day.”
Mike straightened up, continuing his dinner. “That’s because you’re on that smartphone every other day when you’re supposed to be eating your food.”
Jane really did let out a groan this time, seemingly melting into the dining chair with how she slumped into it. Mike raised an eyebrow.
“Well what do we talk about then, Dad? Since you’re the expert on conversation,” she prodded at the mushy broccoli on her plate.
“Well, what about that singer you like?” Mike tested the waters, “What was her name, Charlie Roan?”
Jane scrunched her face up in disbelief. “It’s Chappel Roan, Dad.”
“Chappell Roan, then,” he huffed, “You’re always playing that song of hers.”
Jane grew a bit bashful at that. After her first attempt to hint at her sexuality to her Dad had fallen flat, she wasn’t going to try again for a while. But he was bringing it up now.
“Yeah, it’s my favourite,” she said, nonchalantly and completely chill, “It’s kinda like she gets me.”
“Gets you? What does that mean?”
“Uh- like, her songs really hit close to home, you know?” This was getting closer and closer to the whole ‘lesbian’ thing, and it was making her reeally nervous now.
Mike ponders on that for a moment. He understands what she meant; he’d felt the same way about a song, once.
“What are her songs about? Like the one on the radio all the time? Good luck or something,” Mike hasn’t actually eaten any of his food in a while. He’s mostly been pushing it around the plate for the past 10 minutes.
“Good Luck, Babe. I think it’s about repressing your sexuality,” Jane’s voice is level, and her tone careful, “There’s one part about laying in bed and thinking about a past lover who’s already moved on because you took too long to accept it yourself.”
Mike hums. The feeling of Will’s hand, warm and intertwined with his comes to mind. The guilt after that thought is faded and old.
Neither of them edge too close to the elephant in the room. They skirt around it, and eventually the topic of conversation changes altogether.
– – – – – – –
Mike has been procrastinating for the past hour, and he is not proud of it. But he can’t bring himself to care. He’s hunched over his laptop in his stuffy office, scrolling bullshit news articles, when one catches his eye.
‘William Byers unveils new exhibition - Nov.2012’
Embarrassingly, Mike’s breath catches in his throat at the name, even so many years later. Admittedly, he hadn’t caught up on his old friend’s careers in a long time. He was only still in contact with Lucas and Max because Jane’s best friend is Erica’s daughter. A small part of him acknowledges that it was always different with Will. He could google Dustin and have a read of his accomplishments at NASA, but typing Will’s name into that search bar was too painful. But he’s grown now.
He types ‘William Byers’ into the search bar, and a variety of articles pop up. Most of them relate to his art career, and warmth blooms in Mike’s chest at seeing his success. He’d always believed Will could achieve it, and there was never a doubt in his mind about that.
That feeling all but leaves him when he comes across an article reading ‘William Byers, the iconic illustrator behind the hit comic-book series…’
Comic book series. It’s childish, he knows, to be getting upset at this fifteen years after he and Will had last spoken. But it hits a deep part of him; the part of him that dreamt of him and Will as a duo, of creating their own comic book series together.
He pushes it down. He really should call him. It’s been too long, and he’s too old for regrets now.
Fishing around in the desk drawer, Mike pulls out a very old post it note. On it, is a scrawled phone number. Will’s phone number, from when he changed it back in 2009.
He rings the number, and it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Will. It’s Mike. I know it’s been a long time. Years. And I have no excuse.”
“But honestly I miss you. I want to reconnect. Can you call me back when you’re free? Thanks.”
He keeps it as short as he can. He’s never been great with speaking, especially to him. Mike puts the phone to the side as he continues scrolling.
He finds an article about one of Will’s first exhibitions, back in 2010. The photos attached are artistic, and remind him of Jonathan.
A breath.
Will’s art was better than ever. Mike might not know much about it, but he wasn’t blind. There was clear intent and it was obvious from each individual brushstroke that the artist behind them knew what they were doing. It was the kind of artistic finesse that could only belong to Will.
This painting in particular is of a generic school building. In the background, a swingset with two little boys sitting on the seats, with a glowing sunset behind them.
It was their swingset. From when they met.
Before everything got too complicated.
Mike’s never been one to confront his issues firsthand, even now. So he does what he always does and runs away.
The next article splinters his heart in two.
“Basketball star Chance Perez and illustrator William Byers announce their long awaited engagement - Mar.2016”
Engagement. To some basketball jock.
The phone beside him lit up; Will’s name. The phone rattled against the hard wood of the desk.
Mike doesn’t know what to think. Will was once the person he knew the best in the world. He loved Reece’s pieces, the smell of oil paints, colourful flannels, and D&D. He was bad at math, but it didn’t even matter because he was the most creative person anyone had ever met. He was a survivor. He fought for all of their lives with such a fervour that it bordered on scary. But don’t get Mike wrong, he was never scary. He was beautiful.
He was married.
Mike would’ve thought that Will would never date some jock. He always thought Will would marry someone as nerdy as him, someone who could really understand and love him, and who would be happy to receive his love in return.
But, he supposes, he doesn’t know Will at all anymore. And there was no-one to blame but himself.
Mike lets the phone call go to voicemail.