Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mike Wheeler hates summer. 

He hates the blazing heat and having to always carry water bottles everywhere with him to not die of thirst, and the light, God, the light. Everything is bright and shiny, and he has sensitive eyes, okay? And he still hasn’t gotten himself a prescription for glasses, even though he knows (oh, he knows) that he needs lenses, but he also knows he would look stupid with them, so of course, he’s not getting himself glasses.

Still, the light is horrible, and irritating, and everything he hates about summer, and sunshine means everyone and their relatives and dogs and whatever else someone hides at home during winter, want to get ice cream, because who wouldn’t want to get ice cream on a sunny day? (Mike Wheeler, is who. Mike Wheeler would never feel an urge for ice cream, ever again).

And most of all, he hates that it’s July. And July means semester break, for anyone stupid enough to attend college somewhere out of state. It means Dustin is finally coming down from Massachusetts after having no time to visit during winter (because Dustin is, of course, aspiring to become one of the renowned physicists that M.I.T. has to offer), and Lucas is leaving Indiana to visit them for a month, even though Mike knows he’s mostly here for Max.

And it means, because of course it does, that he has absolutely no idea if Will is ever planning on coming back to Hawkins for a visit, because he hasn’t called in over a year–

Ding!

Mike is harshly pulled from his thoughts by the shrill sound of the bell, sitting right on the counter.

He blinks a few times before really coming back to himself. His notebook, laid out in front of him, has a significant amount of scribbles over a sentence he had written prior. Even if it isn’t readable anymore, he still knows what he had written. Still knows what has made him disappear into his head in the first place. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you–

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Oh my fucking God. He rolls his eyes, back still facing the storefront, before he turns around, blank expression fixed on his face, because no one would ever see him smiling while he was wearing this god-awful uniform. And the hat. It was mostly the hat that made him want to call in sick every single morning without fail.

“Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, what can I get for you tod–” Oh, he wants to bang his head against a wall. Any wall. Any wall will do. “What the f– What are you doing here, Holls?”

In front of the counter, hand still firmly pressed against the bell, stood Holly, because of course, his little sister would come to terrorize him at his horrible, horrible workplace. Again. Behind her is Derek, because through some weird coincidence (Max called it trauma bonding) they had been inseparable, ever since they had gotten out of the hospital over two years ago. 

Mike could deal with Derek, he just couldn’t stand their insufferable tag-along (he thinks his name is Thomas, but he doesn’t really want to call a snake by its given name). Not since the time Holly came into his room one night, crying her eyes out because an eleven-year-old boy with bunny teeth had told the whole elementary school about her crush on him. Oh, he despised him.

“Getting free ice cream.” Holly smiled at him, big and earnest, and something in his chest loosened a little. Until he makes eye contact with decisively-not-Thomas. “Sure,” he keeps his voice even, eyes slowly getting narrower. “Sure, Holly. You’ll get free ice cream.”

He puts his arms on the counter, getting closer to her level. He shoots Timothy a glare. “Your friends have to pay.”

Holly doesn’t seem to care much, as she gleefully steps to the side to let the boys order first– Mike really needs to have a talk with her. And pressure her into standing up for herself more. Especially in front of boy-crushes. Hell, Theodore looks like a sad poodle. 

“But Mike,” Derek has made his way to the front. “I thought we were friends, too?”

See, this is the problem with having saved children from the end of the world. This is the problem with bonding with children. (How the fuck has Steve dealt with this, for like, what– 5 years?) But he liked Derek– he likes Derek. He’s okay, all things considered. He hadn’t really been there when he was being sweet-talked, but he was pretty helpful in getting all the kids to the tunnels. Mike taps his finger against his lips, arms still holding himself up over the counter. “Alright,” he muses. “I guess I can make an exception for a friend.”

“You,” he ignores the happy sound Derek makes, “How many scoops do you want?”

“Uhh…” Tristan’s (Mike is really running out of T names here) eyebrows furrow, but he still looks so smug, and there is nothing more that Mike wants to do more, than swipe that stupid look from his face. “Like… two?”

“Alright.” Mike is unable to make out more than the shape of the kids standing in front of him, with how much he’s squinting his eyes at Thorsten. “That’ll be four dollars for you then.”

The snake quakes, and Holly immediately presses her hands on the counter too, meeting Mike head-on. “Mike! One is only one dollar, you’re being unfair!”

Betrayed, he shoots his sister a look, one that older brothers give their sisters when they are decisively wrong. At least he would like to think those are normal brother-sister looks, as everything and anything, when it comes to the Wheelers, is precisely not normal. 

He’s about to retort that this is, in fact, not unfair, and how boys with stupid haircuts have to pay more anyway, it’s in the rules (he knows he’s being hypocritical, let him be), when the window behind him swings open with a loud creak.

“Wheeler.”

Oh, he hates his life. 

Rolling his eyes so hard they might as well just fall out of his head, he turns around with exaggerated slowness. 

“What do you want, Mayfield?”

Max’s eyes bore into his, chin rested on her hand.

“Just give Holly what she wants.”

Mike splutters. “I’m giving her what she wants! She doesn’t speak for some stupid–”

“Holly wants the boys to have free ice cream,” Max says, and Mike knows she’s holding a grin back, he knows she’s having so much fun seeing him splutter and he actually wants to just kill her– “So give the boys free ice cream.”

“I’m not doing shit–” he shoots a look towards the children, who, well, truthfully have heard much worse from him, “--you give them free ice cream then, if you want us to go out of business so badly.”

He couldn’t care less if they go out of business. Starcourt Mall was a grab for money anyway, back when they were teenagers, and now too, after the new Major had decided to restore the building completely. And add some nice, shiny new shops, too. It was an insane coincidence that they had kept Scoops Ahoy, and then still in the same place as it was all those years ago. Sometimes, Mike felt weirdly nostalgic about it. Well, long enough until he remembered that he and his friends had almost died here, in a gorgeous display of fireworks, nonetheless. People had died here. Many fucking people.

“Don’t be such a shithead.” Max bangs the window close again, because she can’t do anything silently, ever, and a second later, the door to the storefront flies open, braided red hair flying through the frame.

She shoulder checks Mike away from the counter, and he would love to throw a few more insults at her, but alas, children. 

He watches her with a scowl as she idly chats with Holly and fetches all three of them ice cream. Truly, if there is one thing about Max Mayfield that is a constant, then it’s that she is so fucking rude to every single person she has to cater to. Mike has long since realised that this apparently doesn’t count for Holly. 

Even though the world has moved on, and well, it had been more than two years since they defeated Vecna, Max and Holly could pass as siblings at this point. On multiple occasions, Mike had to hold himself back from strangling Max with his bare hands (he doesn’t because he has a lot of respect for Lucas wrath, not because he thinks she could beat him, never), because she’s truly a horrible influence on sweet little Holly.

Max takes her to the skate park every Wednesday, when they’re off. To the skate park. 

Holly wears her hair in bangs now, too, just like Mac does. And okay, he gets it, and he is grateful for Max and all, for helping his sister through the mess that Vecna's brain must have been, but he could have done without a second mini Max. Because that attitude? Oh, Holly had adopted that one, too.

Apparently not towards her stupid boy crush, though.

“Here you go.” Max hands over the last cone to Tillory (Mike secretly hopes Max would let go of it accidentally, and let it land on his shirt), and he grabs it with a smug look. His eyes flit towards Mike, and before he can even register it, the little shit sticks his tongue out at him. It’s gone so fast that Mike is sure no one else has seen it, but it leaves him spluttering.

Max slides up next to him, kicking his shin.

Mike shoots her an annoyed look. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I can not believe you’re letting a twelve-year-old get to you,” Max says, watching as Holly and her two friends take a seat at one of the adjacent booths. “You’re such a loser.”

“He’s stupid, and a snake, Mayfield, why the fuck would I give him free stuff–”

“Well, you don’t need to overcharge a child.” He isn’t looking at her, but he just knows (oh, he always knows) that she’s rolling her eyes at him. “And Holly likes him, be a little more considerate.”

Mike shudders, eyebrows drawing closer. “She really shouldn’t.”

“Oh, you big baby.”

Max laughs and makes her way towards the back, ignoring Mike’s ignorant huff. “Just watch it, Mayfield. I’ll quit, and then you’ll be stuck with Campbell on your own.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time,” she says, the ricocheting door almost hitting Mike in the face, and he pushes it open once again, annoyed, following Max to the back. “I’ve been praying for this day to come.”

Mike has to really keep himself in check, to not let a smile fight its way to his lips. While he hates working at Scoops Ahoy (and oh god, he really hates the stupid uniforms most of all–) he does love fighting with Max. There is probably something wrong with him, to find comfort between Max’s insult, and he would feel weird about it, truly, if he didn’t know Max takes the same comfort in his.

“You know you wouldn’t survive one day without me.” He watches her fiddle with the radio, because the music had cut out a few minutes prior, and if Max can’t have one thing, then working without music. The radio was an excuse for a working music box anyway, old (and in Mike’s opinion, probably still here from 1985, somehow having survived a firework shower and, like, 50 melted bodies) and scratchy when it did decide to play music. 

Max would never admit it, but Mike knows music brings her the same comfort his insults do.

“I thought we agreed no more lying to yourself.” She narrows her eyes as she clicks a few more buttons, and suddenly the screechy tunes of ‘Lovesong’ by The Cure fill in the quiet background chatter.

Oh, has he already mentioned that Max has recently been obsessed with love songs? It’s Tuesday, it’s time for a love song. An hour before they open? Time for a love song! What, we close in one hour? Time for another stupid love song!

And he hates it. God, he hates everything about it. Especially, that one of her favourites is from The Cure, and that they remind him so much of someone, that it makes him physically ill every time he has to listen to the lyrics.

“However far away, I will always love you”

Yeah, no way.

“Would you turn that crap off?”

“Oh, don’t act like it would hurt you to finally listen to some good music, Wheeler,” she huffs, indignant.

“I do listen to good music!” he defends himself, if only to talk over the lyrics that ring inside his head as loud as any alarm siren would. “The Police is miles better than whatever you’re putting on.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know who The Cure is.” Max stands up, protectively moving in front of the radio, as if Mike would storm over any second and change the station himself. Which he would never do, obviously. He’s not that childish. And this definitely also had never happened before. “And also the Police? Are you stupid? They make like, the same brand of music.”

“Oh my god, you are actually stupid,” Mike’s jaw drops. To the floor. “How dare you, Max. Wow. The Cure is like the blueprint for moody angst, says a lot about you, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you know, I was severely depressed in my teens, so that tracks.” She’s truly grinning now, one of her braids having loosened.

Mike would probably feel bad for making her think about– well, anything regarding Vecna, but to be fair, she’s one of the only people he can actually find it in himself to joke about how he was feeling, too, while the Byers had moved to California. 

She was also the only one he had ever told that he had gotten nose bleeds only a day before he was set to fly out. Not like that meant much now, but it was more than Mike ever liked to admit, that he had been struggling, too. Is still struggling when he is being honest with himself. Which, well, he never is, so– no struggling. Obviously.

“Oh, cry me a river.” He lets himself fall on one of the strewn around chairs. “No excuse for bad music taste, Mayfield.”

“I can not believe you have no sympathy for my sob story,” she deadpans, getting up and making her way to the front again. It’s her turn to entertain customers anyway. “If you change the station, I’ll have to beat you up. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

Mike holds up a middle finger for only her retreating back to see. “You couldn’t take me if you tried!” She could. Very easily so, not that Mike would ever admit it.

She’s gone a second later, and Mike hears her greet a customer, who apparently was too scared to ring the bell. 

He lets out a breath and slowly lies down on the table, as Robert Smith continues to sing about his absolute devotion, staring at the ceiling.

Mike doesn’t change the station.

And he doesn’t think about Will Byers, while a crooning voice whispers ‘I will always love you’ in his ear, completely ignorant of how it makes his eyes sting and his heart hurt.

“Have you decided yet?”

One thing Mike has always liked about Hawkins is that he’s always able to see the stars once the sun goes down fully. It’s a little past eleven now, almost one hour past their shift at the mall, and he and Max are sitting on the hood of his car, devouring each one of the Sbarro pizza slices Holly had bribed them with. Because she’s twelve and even if there are no supernatural monsters trying to kill them anymore, she’s still watching an R-rated movie without their mom knowing, and Mike is nothing if not a good brother. So, of course, he’s waiting to take her home.

“Wheeler, I’m talking to you.”

Max has opened her braids earlier, and she looks so much more– well, like Max. Mike finds that she always looks more lively when she has her hair open. Maybe that also comes from his frequent visits when she was still unconscious and lying in a hospital bed, her hair always braided, so it wouldn’t get tangled over time.

“Huh? What?” Mike blinks, coming back to earth. “Decided what?”

Max rams her elbow right between his ribs, ignoring his pained shout. “If you’re really going to NYU in the fall. You haven’t searched for an apartment yet, have you?”

Well.

No, he hasn’t looked for an apartment. He also hasn’t looked once again at his acceptance letter, shoved so far under his bed that no one but him would guess what was under there. And it’s– it’s weird, okay? Mike doesn’t really get what the problem is either. 

After the party had graduated, no one stayed in Hawkins. Well, besides him and Max, of course. And Jane, too. But the rest left as early as August, renting apartments out of state, and moving on with their life and everything else, as if this was all some sick kind of joke all of them were in. Mike remembers his mother asking him how his college applications were going when he was still in school, and he was too afraid to tell her that he hadn’t sent in any at all.

It took him a year of getting his shit together, writing story after story in his childhood bedroom, and all of them were so fucking sad, riddled with guilt and fear and shame– before he could even think about his future again. Because suddenly, he had one. A future, a possibility to move on like everyone else, even though it felt hypocritical. Still feels hypocritical of him. 

The job at Scoops Ahoy had been something like a blessing (even though he pretends to hate it most days) when he started working at the mall back in early May. It’s enough to pay for rent for– well, probably at least half a year, and then he can get a job in the city. Not like his father won’t pay the tuition, even though he did turn up his nose at the fact that Mike wanted to start studying English Literature, after he had taken a gap year after high school, of all things.

He’s even gotten in on a partial scholarship, so he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s so scared about. (He knows. He knows why he never wants to leave and wants to disappear at the same time, why he’s standing at the Quarry sometimes, just looking down the cliff, he is always too afraid to jump now--

“No, I haven’t.” He stares ahead, the shining lights of the mall reflecting in the hood of his car, hurting his eyes. 

“I mean, you’ve got at least… over a month left, right?”

Sure. “Yeah, because time is the problem.” He sighs, leaning back. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve done it like you, and not cared about college at all.”

Max twirls one of her hair strands around her index finger. “It’s not like college was ever an option for me. And please, my GPA is so abysmal, not even community college would take me at this point.” He hates to say it, but she’s right with that one. It was a miracle they even let her graduate with all of them, just barely scraping by with the minimum grades possible, after spending the majority of her high school years in a hospital bed.

But he knows Max is happier that way. He knows even if she had graduated with a 4.0 GPA, she wouldn’t have gone to college. It just wasn’t Max’s thing.

“So, just moving in with Lucas then?”

He knows that’s her plan at least, Lucas is already much too happy to move out of his college dorm and into an apartment together with Max. When he thinks too much about it, there’s always something heavy pressing against his ribs, settling low in his gut till he feels sick with it. (He knows what it is. He’ll never be able to name ot.)

“For now, yeah.” She lets her legs swing in the rhythm of the music that is drifting through Mike’s windshield. He’s left the radio on, to Max’s insistence. “I’ll see what I can do down there, but the most important part is just being there.” Being with Lucas, she doesn’t say. Mike hears it all the same.

Over the past year, Max has grown sickeningly lovesick. She would never admit it, and never say it, but the lovesongs speak for themselves. The letters she receives do to. She carries them with her to work sometimes, and Mike has caught her more than once reading them again in the back, a rare, soft smile painted on her lips. He’s happy for her. He really is, for Max and Lucas both.

Sometimes– sometimes he just wants to curl himself into a ball, and never unfurl again. Wants to lie down and close his eyes and never wake up. 

“I love that song.” Max’s head is tipped back, red hair, much longer than it was a year ago, dangling behind her. The soft lull of a tune Mike has heard a few times before but can’t quite put a name or singer to, wafts through the space.

Do you play to win? 

Or are you just a bad loser?

Mike smiles, despite himself. “I hate to say it, but you’re not totally wrong.”

“Gotcha.” Max murmurs, now completely lying down, head resting against his windshield. Mike moves to copy her, bending his knees and getting his shoes up on the hood. Not like Ted Wheeler is here to yell at him about it.

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls a pack of Lucky Strikes out. He takes two of the three cigarettes left out, and wordlessly holds one out to Max, who takes it with a grateful hum. 

It takes another moment for her to fish out a lighter he knows she has stored somewhere on her, but once she holds it out for him, and actually lights his cigarette, he takes a grateful puff.

Somewhere between May and June, when it had gotten warm enough to sit outside for a bit after their shifts, Mike had started smoking. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Max smoked too, so it didn’t take too long before they were sharing cigarettes and lighters too. Only one, though. That was Mike’s rule. Only one at the end of the day.

He hasn’t exceeded it until now, and he isn’t planning on exceeding it anytime soon. But the nicotine slowly entering his bloodstream makes him think twice about it. And for fucks sake, everyone is smoking. Not like his Mom is hiding it gracefully.

Mike takes another deep drag before he dares to ask what has been on his mind ever since Summer break started. 

“Have you heard from Will?”

“Huh?” Max slowly blinks at him, brows furrowed. “Yeah, sure, why do you ask?”

And that hurts, a little bit. Because Mike hasn’t heard from Will. Not in a very long time, by no fault of Will’s, probably. He feels his heartbeat in his fingers, where he’s holding the cigarette.

“Dunno.” He looks away first, eyes trained on the night sky. “Didn’t know if he would be coming down this summer.”

He hears Max laugh quietly, but she sounds confused. “He hasn’t told you? He’s coming with Dustin and Jonathan. I think they’ll be here on the 19th? A day after Lucas comes.”

Mike swallows around the bitter aftertaste of smoke.

“Oh.”

He doesn’t dare look at Max. 

It’s not like he didn’t turn the possibility of Will returning to Hawkins during the summer over and over in his head. Even though he knew of Joyce and Hopper's plans to move up to Montauk in November, they were still here. Jane is still here, too. It would’ve been more than weird if Will wouldn’t have come to Hawkins during all of semester break. And he knew Jonathan was coming too, Nancy had called him a few weeks ago.

But it doesn’t change anything. Because Will still hasn’t called him. Will didn’t tell Mike that he was coming.

He doesn’t even know Will’s number.

God, he doesn’t even know Will’s address. 

“You okay, Wheeler? Is your brain finally fried?”

He turns back to Max, and she actually looks worried. It makes his heart sink.

“Yeah, I’m–”

“Are you smoking?!”

The shrill sound of Holly’s voice sends him almost toppling from the hood of his car. On a wim he throws his (still, almost full) cigarette behind him, mourning it already as it goes flying away. “Holy shit, Holly, what the f–”

“Would you stop swearing!” 

She’s standing in front of his car, arms crossed in front of her chest, scowling down on him. Oh, Mike is never going to hear the end of this.

“Why would you smoke? Hasn’t Steve told you how bad that is for your lungs?”

Fucking hypocrite, Mike thinks. Just because he’s coaching a baseball team of children doesn’t mean he has to know fuck all about lung cancer. Steve smokes occasionally, too! He’s not sure if he should tell that Holly, though, Steve could very well become her teacher, once she gets into middle school.

“Uhh–” he drags a hand through his hair. “He…has?”

“Then why are you smoking?” Is she ignoring Max’s still lit cigarette on purpose? Seriously? Hasn’t she seen that her idol is chain-smoking cigarettes, too?

“Max is smoking, too!” He blurts out, finger pointing towards his right, where Max just stares up at him, cigarette lazily dangling between her fingers.

“No, she’s not,” Holly says, gaze still drained on Mike’s white shirt, where a bit of leftover ash sits, that had landed there when he had thrown the cigarette. He hastily brushes it off.

“She is! Just look at her!”

Holly is still pointinly glaring only at him. “I am. She’s not smoking.”

Max grins at him as she takes a drag. 

Mike is going to kill himself.

He sighs, realising he is getting nowhere. “What do you want for not telling Mom about it?”

Instantly, Holly’s glare is gone, and a huge smile overtakes her face. “Oh, where do I begin…”

Has Mike mentioned that everyone is out to get him?

It’s two days later that Jane finally makes an appearance at his workplace.       

He only notices her when he goes to the back, having lost interest in taking orders (and no one is even in the shop, so sue him if he wants to glare in peace–), where she’s splayed out across their lunch table, drawing idly in a sketchbook.

Mike stops short, blinks once, twice, and sits down on one of the chairs next to where her head is set on her hand. “When did you get here? And why didn’t I see you come in?”

Jane points at the door behind her, which leads to the hallway they used to sneak into the cinema, back in ‘85. 

“I was watching a movie with Joyce. Max let me in an hour ago.” 

He nods, not even questioning it. It has happened much too often, and truthfully, he had used the shortcut after his shift one too many times, too. So sue him if he doesn’t want to give greedy capitalist (white, balding) mayors any more of his money, besides the taxes he’s already paying. 

Jane has grown up beautifully over the last two years. Even if she isn’t a Byers by blood, her hair truly doesn’t care for it. She has the Byers bangs and the Byers waves, hair now almost reaching her hips. It looks healthy, shiny, too, always adoring a hairclip or hairband, and he truly couldn’t imagine feeling happier for her, that she had found something that was entirely hers, her own style, her own style.

Even though he recognizes the flannel she was wearing.

Because it’s Will’s.

It had taken some time for him to interact normally with Jane again. And he would love to say it was because of their breakup, back when they hadn’t even defeated Vecna yet, but it’s been quite some time, and somehow, it had only gotten harder when– when Will went away to college.

Because Mike had to cope with realisations and suffering and so much guilt and shame, when there was a girl looking just like her step-brother right in front of him, and he wasn’t even able to love her right. Would never be able to love her right, because she wasn’t even–

“I’m drawing Jonathan and Will. Do you want to see?”

Mike feels himself swallow around the big lump in his throat. “Sure, why not?”

She shifts and moves her sketch book to her right, so Mike can take a look. He’s able to make two figures out, who resemble Jonathan and Will quite well. Even though he has always been insanely spoiled by the insanity that Will’s drawings had been, he has to admit Jane did a really good job.

“I can’t draw from memory yet,” Jane continues, pulling something from between the pages. “Will sent me this picture in his last letter, so I’ve been trying to copy it.”

She holds it out to Mike, and he takes it gingerly, carefully holding the Polaroid closer to his eyes.

And as good as Jane’s drawing skill could’ve been– she would’ve never been able to do justice to Will Byers.

It occurs to him that this is the first time he has seen what Will looks like now, after almost a year. And he’s– he looks so different, and still like the same smily boy that had left Hawkins with tears in his eyes, promising to call. Which he never did.

In the photo, Jonathan and Will stand next to each other, matching grins painted on their faces. The longer he looks, the more Jonathan’s figure becomes nothing more than a blurred version of himself, while Will sharpens into existence more and more. Will, Will, Will–

His hair is swept from his eyes, and Mike has never seen so much forehead on Will– maybe ever. He sees the reflection of something glittering on his ear, which seems to be an earring. Mike blinks a few times. Will had gotten his ears pierced. Why was that the thing that made him blink tears away?

It was just a stupid earring. Nothing to write home about. But it was so Will, and Mike hadn’t even known that he had gotten one, and to think about that, Mike knew next to nothing about Will now. Has his favourite color changed? It couldn’t, right? Mike was still wearing everything blue. If Will’s favourite colour had changed, he would have to buy new clothes. He really likes his clothes.

“Give me.” Jane makes grab motions, and Mike hands her the Polaroid back, as if it had burned him.

She starts sketching again, adding shadows by angling her pencil down in a motion that Mike is almost certain Will had shown her. Will holds his pencil just the same way when he wants to capture light exposure on paper the right way.

There is so much of Will in Jane that it makes him almost sick.

“I’ll go to the front.” Max suddenly sighs, having looked through the wavy glass window. “Let Holly and her friends through the door when they knock. I let them through to watch Back to the Future III. We’re gonna watch it later, too.” She points at Mike, and he just nods, resuming his brooding.

When Max is gone, Jane puts the Polaroid down, head turning towards Mike. “You like each other now.”

“What?” he sputters. “Why would you say that, Jane? I don’t like Max.”

“You do.” Jane nods. “Hopper taught me a lot about body language. She’s your friend.”

“She’s not.” Mike wrinkles his nose. “Just because we work together doesn’t mean we’re friends."

Jane‘s eyebrows lift. “For someone so smart, you can be really stupid sometimes.“

“I’m not stupid!”

The way Jane is looking at him after he said that makes him sputter. “What is that look for?”

“Oh, you know.” She starts doodling in her sketchbook again.

“I don’t?” Jane is ignoring him now (he hates being ignored, actually, if that isn’t clear), and Mike crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Jane, what do you even mean by–”

A loud knock on the window startles them both. A second later, Max pulls it open, 

“Steve is here, and he’s brought Robin.” Her eyes twinkle with something that usually means Mike’s day is about to get much worse.  “Come on, get up here.” 

Oh great. Of course, Robin would want to see them in their stupid uniforms. It’s not like he even knew Robin was coming down from Massachusetts; from what he had heard from Steve, both of them, his sister and Jonathan, had a sort of monthly meet-up going on in Philadelphia, not that he had ever asked Steve more about it. Everyone being back in Hawkins is– weird, he thinks. Unsettling, too.

With a sigh, he makes his way to the front– and is immediately greeted by the arms of none other than Steve Harrington. “There you are, Wheeler! It’s been too long!”

“I’ve seen you just last week, Steve,” Mike grumbles, reluctantly hugging back half-heartedly. The thing with Steve was that as soon as everyone else had disappeared out of the county, he had latched himself onto Max, Jane, and himself. At some point, Mike had come home from a pretty long shift, just to find none other than Steve Harrington sitting in his living room together with his Dad, conversing about the right type of grass for a football field. He had told him to knock it off shortly after that.

Still, Mike is pretty sure Steve is just unable to function without having children close by to keep watch over. (Not that Mike is a child, thank you very much. He turned 19 three months ago!)

“See, way too long.” Steve releases him, pats him on the back, once, twice, three times, before he moves to the side, so Robin can admire him next.

She doesn’t greet him with a hug, thankfully, but she stares at him with the most gleeful expression he has ever seen on her face.

“Oh my god.” Robin nudges Steve. “They look just like us. Oh my god. Oh god.” She’s grinning widely, and Mike rolls his eyes, because this is ridiculous. He knows he should probably feel embarrassed, but well– he’s been dealing with this since May. And that one time Lucas had come up from Indianapolis, and harassed him so long he had to hide in a closet in the back (he was just hiding from his camera, it could have been incriminating), had made all of his reservations about the uniform drop.

“I can’t believe they kept the same ones. Like, you look exactly the same way we did five years ago. How is that even possible?” Robin continues, twinkle in her eyes never lessening. “And to think it’s still in the same spot! They’ve got so many new shops now, right? Crazy that Scoops Ahoy stayed.”

“Don’t ask us,” Max twirls one of her braids through her fingers. “I did cut my shorts, tho.” She points towards the very obviously shortened pants she’s wearing. She had customized them, too, drawn shapes on them with bleach, easily concealed, if she untucks the shirt. Also, their manager has really bad eyesight. He wouldn’t notice anyway.

“Sweet!” Robin takes the hem of Max’s shorts between her fingers. “They do have better quality now, thank g–”

She’s interrupted by the door opening again, Jane stepping out. She looks at them, sketchbook tucked under one of her arms. “I let the children in.”

Mike blinks at her. “What children?”

“Coach!” 

Derek pops up right behind her, waving both of his arms towards Steve, who seems to only brighten up at the sight of one of his baseball kids. Oh god, he was so gone.

He gives Steve a fist bump– and then proceeds to do some other signs with his hands (oh god, do they have their own handshake? That’s just crazy, why can Steve never stop–). Holly comes through the door next and– of course. Of course, the snake is with them, too. 

Mike seethes at him, and Holly regards him with a thoughtful look, before her expression lights up. Significantly. Oh no.

“Steve!” She says, eyes still on Mike. “I have to tell you some– mpfm–”

Never has Mike pressed a hand faster on someone’s mouth, as now. “No, absolutely not. I bought you a shiton of– Hey! Are you crazy?!”

His sweet little sister had just licked his hand. “Holls, that’s so disgusting, oh my–”

“Mike smokes!” She proclaims, instead of listening to him, gleefully.

“Mike does what?” Derek says, face falling (and now he’s a bad influence for children, amazing–), while Steve makes a move to cover up his cough. Because Steve, the traitor, smokes, too.

“It’s the 80s!” Mike throws his hands in the air. “Everybody smokes!”

“Well, maybe don’t mention that around the eleven-year-olds?” Max rolls her eyes. “Protect their innocence, Wheeler, come on.”

“That wasn’t even–” He’s giving up. Never in his life has he had any chance against the headstrong women in his life. That wouldn’t change today. “You know what–”

“Yeah, and it’s not even the 80s anymore, Sailor Boy.” Robin pats him on the shoulder encouragingly. “We should turn over a new leaf! No more smoking in the great wake of the 90s.”

His mother smokes. Every single adult behind the counter (Well, minus Jane of course) is smoking! He would bet 50 dollars just on the fact that Robin has a pack on her right now. Hypocrites, all of them. And they’re doin git on purpose too, judging by their matching grins. No one here truly cares about corrupting children; it’s already much too late for that.

“And Steve thinks it’s bad,” Holly nods, very serious. “Right, Steve?”

“Uh..” Steve coughs, face turning red. “Oh, yeah! Really, really bad. For you know… your lungs.” He stares Mike down, probably in a very misguided attempt to plead for himself to stay undetected. “So, uh– don’t do that, Wheeler.”

Mike doesn’t have to ruin it for Steve. Robin does it just fine.

“Don’t be such a hypocrite.” She elbows him. “You literally hide out between the dumpsters to smoke one when you get too tired of kids bitching.” 

Mike takes it all back. He likes Robin now.

Holly turns to Steve, looking incredibly betrayed. “Is that true? Why would you lie to us? That’s so mean–”

“No, she’s lying!” Steve's voice is unnaturally high. Mike feels Great Joy right now. “I would never, you know that, Holly!”

Weirdly enough, he’s saved by none other than the little Terror. Mike has almost forgotten he is even here– sadly, he is reminded of his existence once more. 

“Didn’t you say we would go to the arcade? Why are we hanging out with old people?”

Wow, oh wow. He’s staring straight at Mike while he says it, and Mike wants to strangle him, oh, he wants to commit crimes that Hopper would gladly put him in a cell for, but it would all be worth it when he doesn’t have to see that smug little shit’s–

“Oh, right!” Holly straightens up, immediately forgetting Steve betraying her (because of course it is that easy with Steve Harrington. Not like he had to spend half his weekly paycheck on an abysmal amount of clothes that wouldn’t fit Holls in a year anyway–.) “We can go now!”

She makes her way out behind the counter, both boys following her obediently. (Mike is very proud. Maybe he doesn’t have to have a talk with her about her worth. Or maybe– No, he should definitely put Nancy up to it. She’s much more credible on this than he is.)

They get a few goodbye greetings from them (None from Thomas, of course, the little shit), and then they’re disappearing behind the storefront, and Steve lets out an indignant huff. “God Robin, why would you ever put me on the spot like this?”

“Because it’s fun, Dingus.” She smiles, then her brows draw together. “Wait, are they biking to the arcade? Isn’t that a bit far?”

“Oh no no,” Max waves her off, while she’s scooping out some of their new pistachio ice cream that Jane had been eying earlier. “They now have a huge arcade room on the ground floor. I’m surprised you didn’t see it when you came in.”

“They have many new shops,” Jane adds, helpfully nodding. “Really pretty ones, too. Hopper bought a couple of chairs for the cabin from one of them.”

Robin leans back against the counter. “Oh, true, and that herbal tea one, right across from you. Is that real moss, you reckon?”

Mike follows her look out of the shop, right across from them. It’s a small one, but it had never really piqued his interest in particular. Especially, because a lot of their customers were drawn to ‘Brunton’s Health Tonic’, so thankfully, they didn’t loiter around too long. 

“No.” Max snorts. “But this one’s only been here for a week, I think. This old balding guy was handing out free samples on Wednesday morning.” 

“Free samples in this economy?” Robin grins. “What more is this wonderful Mall hiding?”

Max rolls her eyes, finally handing Jane her pistachio ice cream. She looks much too happy about it.

“Speaking of which.” Steve pulls his backpack off his shoulder and rummaged around in it. After a second, he pulls out two identical-looking bottles that could’ve passed as Coke, judging by the color, if it weren’t for the green label stuck to it. 

“Tada!” He holds his hands out after he has deposited both bottles on the counter. “I actually went there before coming over, and I brought you two some of this health tonic stuff.”

Max turns up her nose. “I’m not drinking this.” 

And she is so often wrong, but this time Mike has to agree with her. It looks vaguely like it would taste like cough syrup. It would definitely taste like cough syrup.

“No, no, this is really good shit, I swear.” Steve picks up one bottle to read whatever is printed on the back. “It’s basically the healthy version of coffee. It makes you stay awake long enough without the insomnia problems. At least that’s what he told me.”

Mike regards him with a raised brow. “Who told you that?”

“The old, balding guy,” Steve deadpans. “Just put it in the fridge in the back, if you don’t want it now. It’s a present, take it.”

“We do have to go now, though.” Robin looks at the clock. “I told Jimmy I would see him at The Squawk at four, and it’s already quarter to. It was nice seeing you again, kiddos!” She tugs at Steve’s shirt.

“Hey, why do I have to come too?” he says, as if hanging around teenagers six years younger than him was really the greatest thing in the world. “I don’t want to leave yet.”

“Because we came here with your car, Dingus.” Robin is apparently much stronger than Steve, because she’s easily dragging him out of the store, by just a piece of fabric. “You can just give me the keys, if you want.”

Steve immediately deflates. “My God, I’m coming. Never again am I losing a car.”

Mike watches them with crossed arms. “Yeah, just leave me alone with the redhead.” 

Max stabs him between the ribs with the clean side of the spoon.

Despite himself, he has to hide a smile in the collar of his shirt.

It’s four hours later, an hour after closing time, when Mike realizes the floor is moving.

Shortly after Steve and Robin had left, Jane had bid them goodbye, too, with the excuse of finally getting Hopper some food at work. After some back and forth, Mike and Max had finally decided to drink the weird-looking cough syrup– which ended up tasting better than he could’ve hoped for. And well– true to Steve’s word, it has actually managed to keep him much more awake.

Now he’s mopping the floor, slowly moving the broom back and forth, back and forth, when it comes to him, that the broom isn’t moving at all.

Which is weird, to say the least, because Mike is really trying his hardest to move it– but somehow it won’t budge.

He leans down, so the end of the broom is near his face. “Please move,” he whispers, staring unblinkingly at the handle. The broom doesn’t move.

Mike stars harder. “Can you please move?” he tries, again, hat falling over his head, and landing on the floor with a soft thud. The broom is still not moving.

“Why are you talking to a mop?”

Mike twirls around and sees– Max, on the floor.

“Why are you on the floor?” He squints. “When did you get on the floor?”

“It’s comfortable,” she pats the space next to her. “Come lie down with me.”

“No, the floor is dirty.”

Instead of answering, she pats the space one more time, indignantly staring up at the ceiling. He won’t just go lie down on the floor because Max says he should. He won’t cave that easily, never. He won’t–

She pats one more time, and Mike lies down next to her.

It’s a little bit trickier than he had anticipated, his body not wanting to cooperate the way it should be. He almost falls on Max but steadies himself in the last moment, before crashing face-first down on the floor.

Mike wants to get up, at least turn around, he really does– but the cold tiles do wonders for his hot temple.

“Is the ceiling moving for you, too?” Max says, unblinkingly staring up. 

“I don’t know.” Mike’s voice is muffled against the floor. “I can’t see the ceiling.”

Max nudges him, first gently, then with a little more insistence, till he finally manages to turn around (while annoyingly groaning, of course. He had been pretty comfortable.)

“Whoa.” The ceiling is spinning. Not in a circle though, more in an– oval. like an egg. Wait. Isn’t a circle an oval?

“Max,” he says, not taking his eyes off the circling grey ceiling. “Is an oval a circle?”

She starts giggling. Max. Is giggling.

There must be something seriously wrong with her.

“Why would an oval be a circle?” 

“Because it’s round?” Mike is being really serious right now. He’s very serious. What if he had always categorized circles wrong? Or ovals? Or even both? That would be really horrible. All the poor ovals that just want to be circles. Or circles that want to be ovals. So many sad–

“You’re so stupid.” Even though he’s not looking at her, he’s sure there’s a smile playing around Max’s lips.

It’s quiet for a few moments, an upbeat song drifting through the room on low volume. Mike starts bopping his head in tune. Now it’s not a circle anymore. Not an oval either.

“Boys, boys, boys, I’m ready for your love”

He starts humming along, Max joining in after a second.

They must make a funny picture, both lying between tables and chairs, mops and brooms discarded somewhere, and hats too. Mike likes this, he thinks. His head is really quiet. His head is never quiet.

“This is weird,” Max says, slowly turning her head towards him. Her pupils are blown. “I feel like I smoked like… three spliffs, at the same time.”

Mike snorts. “Where would you have even gotten weed from? Jonathan’s outa town, and Eddie’s dead.”

Max lets out a long sigh. “No, it was those stupid not-coffee bottles. Maybe it was liquified weed?”

“Everybody, summertime love…”

“I don’t think that exists.” Mike rolls the word ‘exist’ around in his mouth with his tongue. It has a really weird texture. Maybe it’s the x. Texture also has an x. Texture. Texture. Texture, texture, texture, texture–

“Who knows?” Suddenly, she stretches her arms out in front of her and then lets them fall to the side. One arm hits Mike square in the chest, letting him wheeze out an indignant huff. “Maybe the bald free-sample guy has figured out a way.”

“...you’ll remember me”

Mike squints, body heat of Max’s arm seeping through his shirt. “God, I hope not. Imagine drinking weed.”

“Yeah,” Max's arm moves up and down. She doesn’t seem aware of the fact that she’s messing up Mike’s shirt in the process. “And then imagine Steve giving it to us. So weird.”

“So weird.” Mike agrees. Steve Harrington, with his proper clothes and ties, and his odd smoking habit, would surely never– wait. Wait. Mike knows he’s onto something really big here. Let him think. “Max.”

He shoots up, her arms dropping from his chest. “Max, Max.”

She rightens herself with an annoyed expression. “What, Wheeler? I was comfortable.”

“Max,” he says again. Her name is funny, too. There’s also an x in Max. Max, max max– not now. Mike grabs her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. 

“Steve gave us the cough-syrup.”

“The what? Oh–” She nods. “Yes, he did.” Her head tilts to the side. “And?”

“Max, Steve drugged us.” He’s really trying to convey to her how very serious he is. So serious.

It takes a second for Max to understand what he’s saying. Then her eyes suddenly get really wide. Wow, Mike thinks. These are true circles.

“Oh my God, Mike.” Her blue eyes look a little bit scary now. He doesn’t let that deter him. Max is following his very smart thought process. “I think you’re right.”

“Yes.” Yes, he was. Very right. “Ye,s I am.”

Max squints at him. Their legs are tangled, and his left one is starting to hurt, but that doesn’t deter him much. They have very important things to discuss right now.

“Wait. Are you sure?”

“What? Yes, totally.” He’s very sure. No, he is not very sure. But he feels very sure. Can someone feel sure? Can he feel sure? That ones a weird word, too. He feels the urge to find his notebook and write down all the words that sound weird. Maybe he’ll find it when he’s sober again, and then he’ll realise that the entire English language sounds weird.

Maybe he should start learning French. The French have very weird words. He probably wouldn’t even be able to write them down right.

“Mhmm.” Max sways and leans slightly closer. Her forehead touches Mike’s. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Yes, think about it.” Max is very smart. She must be able to come to a very similar conclusion.

A second later, her eyes fly open again, and she stares Mike down. “I believe."

Just like he said. Max is very smart. But before he can applaud her for her good thinking, she suddenly pulls back, scooting away.

“Okay, now we need to rehearse the confrontation.”

“Rehearse what now?” He feels very sluggish, now that he can’t lean against Max’s forehead anymore. At least the ceiling isn’t moving in ovals anywhere. Well, he isn’t looking at the ceiling. Maybe that’s why it’s not moving in ovals.

“The confrontation.” Max pushes herself up to her knees. “We must confront Steve. He cannot just drug us and get away with it.”

Despite himself, Mike nods. That sounds very sensitive. Very smart. Max is very smart. Has he already said that Max is very smart? “You’re totally right.”

“Totally.” Max twirls her braid. “Okay. You’re Steve.”

“I can be Steve.” He’s never been really into acting, but being Steve shouldn’t be so hard, right? 

“And I’m you.”

“Why are you me?”

“Because it’s more fun that way?” Max looks at him as if he’s stupid. She does that a lot.

“But you can just be you.” 

“But that’s not fun.”

“Alright.” Mike huffs. “Hit me.”

Max looks at him as if he has lost his mind, then she hits his bare knee with her hand.

“Ow! No, Max, what the fuck–” Wow, that hurts, okay. He never knew Max could hit so hard. “It’s a figure of speech! Don’t actually hit me!”

“Oh,” Max doesn’t look like she regrets it. In the slightest. In fact, she’s smiling brightly. It’s nice to look at. Max doesn’t really smile that often, around him. “Alright. Here it goes.”

She slumps her shoulders, and Mike realises it’s supposed to imitate his posture. Now, this is deeply insulting; he doesn’t slouch that much. 

“Steve,” she says, her voice two octaves deeper. “I am terribly hurt that you would drug us.”

“I do not sound like that, Max.” 

“You’re right. You would come up with very complicated adjectives. Let me think.”

He glares. He would not. “I would not.”

“Aren’t you the storyteller?”

And– okay. That hits something. He can’t really tell what, because everything in his chest feels weirdly soft and pliant, but it itches something deep inside him. Like his head finally wants to talk back to him, after it had been so blissfully silent, ever since he had been talking to the mop. Maybe he should talk to the mop again.

“I’m not a storyteller. I tell stories sometimes. It’s very different.”

“Oh yeah?” Max is pretending to indulge him. He knows she wants to laugh at him. But truly, he doesn’t really care right now, because something loosens, before he finds his words again. Weird words. Everything is weird. 

“What are you then?”

“A paladin.” It slips out so fast he couldn’t have taken it back if he wanted to. He looks up at the ceiling. When was the last time he played DnD? More than a year now, probably. It would never be the same again, not without the rest, without the party. Without Will.

But Will had called him the storyteller.

Wasn’t he supposed to be Will’s paladin?

“Sweet. Then no fancy words, okay.” Max is back to being himself. It’s a little bit funny, that Max would freely pretend to be him. But she is doing it smiling, so it must be funny to her. That’s okay for Mike, Max should be happy more often.

“Steve, you have poisoned us, and we’re here to take revenge–”

“Max, now you’re just screwing with me. You sound like a medieval knight.”

“Well, that’s what you said you were!” She says, throwing her arms up in the air. She hits Mike’s knee in the process. “This is really hard.”

“Okay, I’ll be you,” Mike says, rightening his shoulders. Max really does have much better posture than him; he should really work on that. “Be Steve.”

“I don’t want to be Steve.” Max furrows her brows. “And you aren’t good enough for me.”

“I had to be Steve!” This is mean. Max is being very mean right now. “And what do you mean I’m not good enough for you? You got to be me!”

“Because you’re very easy to imitate. You’re very one-dimensional.”

“Stop being so rude,” he huffs. But he’s nothing if not resourceful, and also very smart. So he knows when to say yes to Max. “Okay, I’ll be me. But you will be Steve.”

Max puts both her hands over her knees, considering if this is a good enough deal for her. It takes a long time. Mike almost thinks she’s fallen asleep, but she nods. “Okay, I’ll be Steve. Accuse me.”

“Sweet. Okay.” Mike clears his throat. “Steve, why would you give us… uh–” He leans forward, invading Max’s personal space. “Max,” he whispers. “What did Steve call the bottles?” 

Max opens her mouth, then closes it. She kind of looks like a fish on dry land. Mike really likes fish, by the way. He had a really small one when he was like ten, but it died very soon after he had fished it out of a stream, together with Lucas. He had named it Splah, because it was splashing around a lot in his hands– and the next morning it didnd’t splash anymore. One of the many reasons why Mike doesn’t like fishing. And don’t let him get started on sharks.

He really likes sharks.

“I think he called it a healthy tonic?” Max furrows her brows while she stretches out her legs, one of them ending up in Mike’s lap. “Doesn’t matter. Just ask me why I drugged us.”

“This is a really weird sentence.” Mike wishes he had a filter. He truly does. “Why would you drug us?”

“Because I’m Steve,” Max says, like it’s self-explanatory. “We already went over this.”

Mike blinks. “Why would you be Steve? You’re Max.”

“You’re hopeless.” She drags a hand over her face, but she’s still smiling. Hah, Mike thinks. She thinks he’s so funny that she can’t stop herself from laughing. He does, in fact, not realize that she’s laughing at him. 

“What even goes on in your head, Wheeler?”

“Sharks.” 

Max is really quiet. Then, she nods. “Wheeler, I think this isn’t going to work. You’re a terrible actor. We should just go to Steve’s house.”

“I’m a great actor!” Mike huffs indignantly. “I pretended for years to not be in love with–”

He shuts his mouth.

Max looks at him, expectantly.

"Uh…Mayonnaise." I pretended for years not to be in love with mayonnaise.” Hah. Nailed it. Good save.

“I don’t know why I thought you had any working brain cells up there.” Still, there’s a small smile playing around her lips. It hits Mike very suddenly that he’s really, really glad Max is here. Not here, in the moment, even though he really likes this, too. Just sitting. He likes it a lot.

But everyone had left, and Max had stayed. That means a lot. She obviously didn’t do it for him, but it felt like they were both in the same boat. No college applications, working in Hawkins as if this wasn’t hell on earth. And Max is pretty cool. Maybe Mike could ask her to teach him how to skateboard. Maybe that would turn him cool, too.

Maybe Will would call, if he did.

“Hey, Max,” he taps her knee with his hand. “Would you teach me how to skateboard?”

“You?” She lifts one eyebrow. “You want me to teach you how to skateboard?”

“You look really cool when you skateboard.” There is no way he would ever tell her that sober. But it’s alright now, he figures. He likes talking. He likes writing, too. God, he should really look for his notebook.

“That’s–” May is blushing. She’s really blushing. This is the greatest day of Mike’s life. “That’s really nice of you, weirdly. I don’t like it.” Her eyes turn to him. “Be mean to me again. This is very unsettling.”

“It’s just the drugs,” he tries to console her. “I’ll be mean to you when this wears off, promise.” 

Max is looking at him with a very calculating look. Her blue eyes really freak him out. After a second, she holds out her hand, pinky outstretched.

Mike hooks his over hers, and they press their thumbs together. She nods, satisfied. “Great. Maybe I can try to teach you on the way to Steve’s house.”

Oh right. They needed to confront Steve. “Doesn’t he live really far away?”

“Yes, but we can skateboard there. It’ll only take two hours or so.”

That seems like a very clever thing to do. Max has a lot of really good ideas today. When the rest of the party gets back, he should ask her if she wants to help him come up with a campaign. She’ll probably say no.

“I like it. Lead the way.” 

Max makes a move to get up. She falls on her ass just a second later. “God,” she huffs. Why is this so hard?”

“Maybe you’re too weak.”

She glares at him. “I thought you would start being mean only after this has worn off?”

“I wasn’t trying to be mean! This was a concerned remark.”

“You’re making it worse.” She makes grabby hands in his direction. “Come on, maybe it’ll be easier if we get up together.”

A sensible option. He nods and takes her hands. Weirdly enough, they manage to manouver themself upright. Once he stands, he starts to tug her along. “Great! Now show me how to skateboard.”

“My board is in the opposite direction, Wheeler, you’re going the wrong–” Before she can finish her sentence, Mike steps into the puddle of the no-talking mop has left behind. 

He tries to balance himself out for a second, flailing limbs, but gravity doesn't like him very much, apparently. When he falls over, he pulls Max with him, too. 

She lands on top of him with a heavy thud, and she makes a sound similar to a sea lion. You know, when they shriek, because they’re happy they found penguins or something. Mike is very certain that sea lions eat penguins. He frowns at that. He really likes Penguins, too.

“Wheeler, what the fuck–” Max shoves her upper body upright, to only crash down right away. “How could you possibly manage to walk into the only wet spot here?”

“Well, sue me,” he mutters, but still plants hands on Max’s shoulders, to help her roll off of him. She lands next to him, arm slightly in the wet puddle. She doesn’t seem to mind.

Mike stares up at the fluorescent lights,the  ceiling now only swimming slightly, not spinning in an oval anymore. Still, he doesn’t feel as happy-drunk anymore. It feels like his head could finally form conscious thoughts again, and he doesn’t really know how he feels about that. He really likes it like this, listening to Max’s breathing and matching his own exhales to it. 

His skin tingles, where her hands had landed just earlier. It’s really weird how aware he suddenly is of everything. The cold floor against his back, slightly burning the sliver of exposed skin, where his shirt had ridden up, the water under his elbow, the way his heart is beating faster than it should right now. Was it possible to get drug withdrawal not even two hours after taking it? Not that he had much experience with that, but– he should probably read up on that when he was sober again.

Will’s name sits underneath his tongue like a prayer.

It wasn’t there when he was high; he didn’t want to write it out, write it down, scream it. It has Jane’s face attached to it, guilt wilded around it in a pattern, vines he can never let go of. 

Max lets out a huff of laughter next to him, and then she’s back to giggling.

After a second, Mike joins in, because everything is just so surreal. Everything spins. Stays. He’s always staying.

“God, we're not making it to Steve’s, are we?”

“No,” Mike grins at the ceiling. “It’s okay. We can confront him when we’re sober again.”

“Yeah,” Max sighs, arms spreading out again, her hand closing over his wrist. “Mike?”

He looks at her. “Hmmh?”

Everything feels so floaty. As if he were wrapped in a cotton candy coat that was slowly dissolving in the water, he had slipped in. And the further down it melted, the more aware he

became again of his body, his thoughts. His heart.

“You’re the heart, Mike.”

Max’s blue eyes blink up at him. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Mike stares back. “I think I am sick.”

He does think of two things when he says it.

Time is a weird thing, Mike thinks, as he sits against the tiled wall of the cubicle in the women’s bathroom. It could’ve been hours, since they had run in here, drenched in leftover mop water and shivers that raked their bodies, it could’ve been minutes.

But well, Mike has thrown up everything that was left in there, and he feels weirdly sober now. Really fucked up, but strangely sober. He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“Hey Mayfield,” he calls through the wall, hoping to reach her in the cubicle next to him. “Are you good?”

The toilet flushes. Then a tired, “Yeah Wheeler,” is thrown back. He relaxes again against the bathroom wall. 

It’s quiet for a while. 

“You think we threw up all the drugs?” Her voice echoes. 

“Well, I don’t feel like philosophing about weird English words anymore,” he deadpans, and gets a laugh back from Max’s side.

A pause.

“You know…” Max starts. He sees her shift from the small space left between their cubicles, legs now peeking up into his space. “...this is probably really weird and coming out of nowhere but– I wanted to ask this all summer, and you can just listen, if you want. You don’t have to answer.”

His eyebrows lift, and there’s a small part of him that wants to freeze up and hide, because what if she knows? What if she had read his journal, and found the scribbled-out words that were more incriminating than his stupid stories about clerics and paladins? Still, he blurts out: “Sure, ask away.”

“It’s about Jane.”

“Jane?” Yeah okay, she has no idea. 

“It’s just– you know, this one summer, when we were all hanging out, and then the mindflayer came back, and Billy–” he hears her swallow audibly. “-- when I basically made Jane break up with you. You remember that?”

He can’t suppress the chuckle that rises out of him. “Yeah, I do, Max. It’s only been like, what, five years?” 

“Mhmm.” Quiet. “It’s just– I thought you were such an asshole. And don’t even try to defend yourself, you know you were.” Mike only nods, even if she can’t see him. “And then you got back together, and I didn’t really care, because I was– I didn’t even see her while she was in California, and well, after that– I was in a coma for two years. And Jane and I, we haven’t talked a lot about you two, especially how she broke up with you again after the whole Vecna thing, or why.” 

She takes a breath, and Mike has absolutely no idea where she’s going with this. Maybe she’s still drunk.

“God I know I’m making no sense with this– But I truly think, you still have a chance. If you make the first move, you know?”

Hold up.

“Wait. What?”

Mike sits up straighter against the tiles. “Max, I have absolutely no idea what you mean by that.”

“I don’t like saying this, but you’ve really grown, Wheeler,” she continues, undeterred. “Emotionally, too, especially after all that shit we#ve been through. I just mean that you’re not that kind of asshole anymore you were in middle school, you know? And Jane– God, she’s learned so much. Learned what she likes, that is. If you really put an effort in, this time–”

“Max,” Mike interrupts her, voice tight. “ Can you please get in here? I really need to see your face, because I think you’re fucking with me.”

There’s some shuffling again, then Max slides through the gap between the cubicles, almost hitting Mike in the shin with her sneakers. “I’m not–” She struggles sitting up, and Mike helps her right herself, “--fucking with you, Wheeler. What the fuck?”

“Right back at you,” he says softly, legs now pulled to his chest so Max has more space. “I’m not following. You want me to–” date Jane again. Ask her out.

Have the drugs turned her crazy?

“It can’t hurt, you know?” Max pulls on her braid, which had already loosened, taking the hair tie and stretching it between her fingers. “If you just tell her how you feel. Maybe it’ll get easier, that way.”

“I’m sorry,” he’s shaking a little. “What am I feeling, specifically?”

“Well, that you still love her, of course.”

Mike wants to burst out laughing. He really does, but instead, something gets stuck in his throat on the way out. That you still love her. Love her. As if he ever did, as if he was ever worthy of loving Jane the way she deserved to be loved.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up again.

“Why would you think that?” He doesn’t want to hear the answer.

Max looks at him, with eyes full of something he can’t name. 

“You’ve been so sad, all summer. Way before that, too. You’re never really here, not with your mind at least. And it gets worse when she’s around, so it makes a lot of sense, you know? It’s pretty obvious you still like her.”

You’ve been so sad, all summer.

Sad.

Tears well up in his eyes.

He blinks, mortified, and scrambles to brush them away with his hands. God, his hands are shaking. Why are his hands shaking? Get a grip, fuck, get a grip–

“Mike?” 

Max touches his shoulder and he flinches, but she keeps it there. Featherlight, so that he can still pull away if he wants, and he wants to. He doesn’t. He wants to sink into it and never feel anything ever again. “What’s wrong, Mike? God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Her hand gently strokes over the flimsy material of the sailor shirt, and Mike can’t. He just can’t.

“I have not been sad because of Jane, Max,” he whispers, having given up wiping the tears away. “It was never her. It was never about her. Not then, and not now.”

She looks like she wants to say something, maybe reassure him again for all the wrong reasons, but he’s faster. If he doesn’t get this out now, he never will.

“It was always about Will.”

She blinks at him. “What? What about Will?”

“I–” the words get stuck in his throat, but Max never stops sliding her hand over his shoulder, and her other one is at his knee now, anchoring him. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved Jane in that way.”

Max opens her mouth, but he puts his hands over hers, still resting on one of his knees. She stays quiet.

“I care about her,” he breathes. “So much. Fuck, I would die for her, I did almost die for her. But it’s not– it wasn’t in the way she deserved to be loved. Not like I made it out to be. Because I loved her just as much as I love Lucas, and Dustin, maybe even you MadMax. But not more. There was never a more.” 

Max squeezes his shoulder.

“I thought it was supposed to feel like this. That’s how teenagers are right? Messy and stupid, that’s what Nancy told me, when I asked her about it. She said I didn’t need to have it all figured out yet, and that I would someday, but I– I never figured it out, with her. With Jane.” He wipes at his face again, frustrated.

“But God, it felt like I was performing sometimes, when we were alone. Kissing her, and thinking it feels weird and wrong and– off. It always felt so off. But Max, I swear, I was trying. I was trying so hard to be a good boyfriend, because how was I supposed to know that it could feel different?”

Mike looks up at Max, finally meeting her eyes. She’s keeping her expression neutral. “I didn’t want to look too closely at it, I was so afraid of what I would find. And then she left for California, and she took Will with her– I couldn’t even write that I loved her. I wrote her as I wrote to Dustin when he was at camp, I felt so stupid.”

He feels it, when Max realises something. He knows she’s thinking about the time before Spring break, before she was put in a coma for two years. How she had found him in the hallway, back against the lockers, hands pressed over his ears, nose bleeding. How she was the only one who could share his pain, in these moments, even if they never talked about it. Even if she never knew why he was feeling so sad.

“It’s like, Jane and Will could never co-exist inside of my head. When things were good with Jane, things were horrible with Will. And when things were good with Will, they weren’t good with Jane. And I didn’t get it, because Will is my best friend, but so is Lucas. Or Dustin. And I could never– I never had that problem with them.”

He swallows. “Max, I was such a horrible boyfriend. I was so horrible to Jane. But I was a worse best friend.”

“I’m sure that’s not–” she tries to interject, but Mike cuts her off.

“It is.” It’s quiet for a second. “Back then, when I was still in Hawkins and Will– the Byers were in California– it felt like I had lost something so trivial, something so important that it was hard to breathe without it. And then everything with Vecna happened.”

He sighs, breath catching as he exhales. “Fuck, Max, he needed me. After all that stuff with the Upside Down, how much he was hurt over and over again, and I was so mean, I was so mean.” 

Tearstreaks paint his cheeks, burning through his skin. It feels horrible. It also feels like the first time he’s ever been true to himself. And someone else.

“Jane knew that I couldn’t love her like that, and she wasn’t in love with me too, we figured that out. It’s not about that. I don’t want to date Jane again.” His hand encloses Max’s, on his knee.

“And it was good, everything was fine– And then Will left.”

He’s staring past her, counting stains on the cubicle wall.

“I don’t know anything about him anymore. I didn’t know he got an earring, I didn’t know he is coming to Hawkins in a week– I don’t even know his address. I don’t know anything about him anymore.”

Max's thumb presses into his shoulder.

“It’s all my fault,” he presses out. “That he didn’t call. Doesn’t want to anymore. And I’ve accepted that, but it hurts so much. It hurts so much Max, I hate how it feels.” 

Her hand has moved to his face, gently wiping at his tears. He leans into it, starving for it. “I just,” he says wetly. “I miss him so much. I feel like I’m dying with it constantly. Like someone carved out a piece of my soul and forgot to put it back in, like it’s not closing up right.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I want him the way I should have wanted Jane.”

Max is quiet, when he finally manages to look at her again. Her brows draw together slightly, pausing.

“But,” she whispers, in the space between them. “Will is a boy.”

Mike feels new tears well up behind his lids.

“Max.”

Something shifts in her expression, her mouth parting slightly.

“Oh.”

It’s quiet. Mike’s mouth pulls itself into a bitter smile. “Yeah, oh.”

It’s– out. It’s the first time he has said it, out loud, and he knows, Max won’t be an asshole about it. She wasn’t when it was Will, or Robin, but he’s still– he’s still afraid. God, he’s so afraid he feels sick with it, because what if it’s just him? What if she hates him now, because what does it matter who he likes, when he’s hurt so many–

His thought process is interrupted by two arms encircling him.

He blinks, stunned, and then he feels Max’s hair on his cheek, feels her pressing her face between the junction of his neck and shoulder.

It takes a moment for him to hug back, to press them against her back, as he blinks the blurriness away.

“I hope you know, that’s not a bad thing,” she whispers in his hair, not letting up. 

Mike has to fight himself not to visibly recoil. “But it is,” his voice shakes. “It is a bad thing, I’m a freak, and my dad–”

“You’re not.” Max pulls back, but she keeps her hands on him. He has the slight realisation that she has done so all evening, as if she knows how much more grounded he feels by it. How much he wants to just sink into it. “You’re not a freak. And if you were, then so is Will. So is Robin. So am I.”

“You?”

“Yeah. Me.” Max brushes her hair behind one ear. “I’ve never had a lot of friends in California, you know? So there wasn’t a lot of time to figure out sexualities either. But when I spend so much time with Jane, the first time we ever hung out–” she smiles. “It was never a crush or anything, but I did think she was really pretty. Gorgeous, even. And don’t get me wrong, I love Lucas, so that was never an option. It just means that, if there was no Lucas, I could be dating a woman right now, too.”

“Oh,” Mike says, mouth dry. His brain feels like it just short-circuited, but there is so much warmth underneath that. Shared understandment, too.

“I know what it is to have shit parents, to have a shit father, Mike,” she continues, hand picking on the material of his sailor shirt. “But he doesn’t dictate your life, he has no say in it. You do. And this changes nothing about you, you’re still an annoying asshole. I won’t treat you nicer just because you like boys.” 

Mike smiles, and Max smiles back. He feels something settle inside of him, slide back in place. It feels really, really good.

“It’s just– God, when Will came out to us– I think there was this sliver of hope, that maybe he could like me, you know?”

Max looks at him with a thoughtful look, but he continues. “And God, then he said something about crushing on that Tammy guy, and I just lost it.”

“Wait, you never figured out–” Max stops herself, and slaps her hand over her mouth.

“...What is that supposed to mean?” Mike lifts one eyebrow, smile still in place. Max just shakes her head, but she’s grinning brightly now. Oh, Mike has never seen her smile this much in one night.

“Why don’t you just ask Will, when they’re all back in Hawkins? I’m sure he can clear that up for you.” She cackles, and Mike swats at her.

“You know I can’t do that!” 

“Yes you can, don’t be such a baby.” There is so much brightness in her expression, and he has no idea where she’s even taking that from. It’s like the sun has risen, right in the women’s bathroom of Starcourt Mall. It makes him laugh, too.

“I will orcestate something, and I’ll rope Jane into it. Just you wait, Wheeler.”

And suddenly he has the strange urge to cry again, but only out of sheer happiness. Out of love for his friends who he holds so dear, who he cherishes so much. For Max.

“Don’t you dare.”

Above them, the mall radio crackles on.

Mike starts laughing again, as he recognizes the opening chords of ‘She Drives Me Crazy’.