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Mike woke up feeling like he’d rather dig a grave, crawl inside, and bury himself alive than go to school.
Mondays had always filled him with a certain level of dread and he usually woke up cursing whoever came up with the inherently oppressive system that was high school. Nobody liked Mondays, though—no mentally stable person, anyways—and the typical weekday blues usually weren’t enough to send Mike into a big enough spiral that he’d rather die. But today wasn’t a regular Monday.
It was the Monday before Valentine’s Day.
And Mike hated Valentine’s Day.
The week leading up to it had always felt like a unique type of torture for everyone, single or not.
If you found yourself single on the holiday, you were cursed to witness garish displays of affection that served as a grim reminder that you were oh so alone. But at least society told singles how they were supposed to feel, basically handing them a script with predetermined emotional responses for the week.
If you were unlucky enough to be dating someone, there was an immense amount of pressure, an expectation to put on a public performance of your love. And while there was no rulebook, there were plenty of couples that loved to go all-out with their displays, reminding you what a no-good unromantic piece of shit you are and that you’ll probably die alone.
It was a lose-lose in Mike’s mind—and he wanted no part of it.
Mike had considered all the possible ways he could get out of school for the week:
He could pretend to be sick, which could potentially get him out of school for an extended period of time—maybe for the whole week, if he was a good enough actor. But he wasn’t a good actor at all—he was actually a terrible actor, which meant his mom would likely never believe his pathetic attempt at feigning an illness.
Well, that’s definitely out.
He could skip. The best part of that option was that he wouldn’t have to come up with some lame excuse that he hoped would be believable enough. The tricky part of that option would be the length of time. Skipping for a day was one thing—but for a whole week? He knew his dad would probably ground him forever if he found out, which he definitely would.
So that won’t work either.
There weren’t a lot of options—no options, in fact. So Mike would have to bite his tongue, put on his handcuffs, go to prison school, and try not to gag from disgust at all the stupid little pink and red hearts everywhere.
———
“Really? Come on, Wheeler, I figured you’d have grown out of this bullshit by now.”
Mike’s eyes were fixed squarely on the plate in front of him as he pushed his food—if you could even call it that, it being the mystery meat the Hawkins High School lunch lady tried to pass off as meatloaf—around with his fork. He lifted his gaze briefly, just long enough for Max to see his eyes roll in the back of his head, before resuming the act of pretending to eat his lunch.
Dustin haphazardly plopped his bright blue tray down, shaking the table as he slid into the empty seat next to Mike. “What bullshit?”
Max smirked, folding her arms over her chest. Lucas, who was seated next to her on the other side of the table, leaned back a bit to marvel in the feisty redhead’s sharp wit as she snarked, “Oh, just his same old tired act of making it everyone’s problem that he’s painfully alone on Valentine’s Day again.”
“I think you have a serious listening problem,” Mike laughed stiffly, “Like I said—I could care less about—no, you know what—actually, I would rather be single than have to be subjected to some compulsory public mating ritual.”
He dropped his fork on his plate, giving up on the “meatloaf”, and gestured animatedly to the table across from them. Max twisted around in her seat to see what he was pointing at—a couple, seated next to each other with their legs twisted up underneath the table. The girl was giggling and holding onto her boyfriend’s arm as he spooned a bite of his ice cream into her mouth. “Like, who wants to see that? It’s disgusting! And I mean—that’s like, borderline bullying for single people, rubbing it in their faces like that.”
“I thought you were happy that you’re alone,” Max poked back.
“No, what—I didn’t say that I wasn’t. I am happy—fucking ecstatic, actually, thank you. I’m just saying that—maybe the school should implement some kind of ban on PDA during the month of February, or something. You know, for the people that are sad about it.”
“I don’t know, I think it’s kinda sweet,” Will mused from his usual seat to the left of Mike.
Will’s head was cocked to the side and his arm was propped up on the table, chin resting in his palm. His lips were curled up into an airy grin and he was looking past the couple, starry-eyed, like only half of him was in the room with them—the other half wandering a dreamworld he’d conjured with his mind.
He was easily the most introverted party member and he had a vivid imagination, so Mike knew he was prone to daydreaming. Today’s fantasy must have been more engaging than usual, though, because he’d been remarkably quiet since they sat down for lunch. Mike had noticed, of course—he always noticed when something was off with Will. But he didn’t press—Will would tell him if something was wrong. He was probably just sitting back, immersing himself in his own world while Mike was on his anti-Valentine’s Day soapbox.
Mike quirked an eyebrow, desperate to divert Will’s attention, to be as captivating as his fictional mindverse. “Really? You think that,” he said, an extra lilt in his voice now, and pointed in the direction of the couple again, where the girl was still being fed ice cream like she was a fucking toddler, “is sweet?”
A wistful sigh spilled out of Will’s lips. “No, not that specifically, just—the whole thing. I think it’s…nice. That there’s a day devoted to celebrating love. I’m just saying, I guess—there are worse things we could be celebrating, right?”
“Yeah, but like—doesn’t it bother you?”
Will narrowed his eyes at him, searching. “Why would it bother me?”
“Like, everyone being all gushy and stuff, I’d think it would be kind of…depressing—for you, I mean. Right?” Mike rambled, stumbling over his words. “Because—you’ve never been in love.”
There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before Will let out a brittle laugh that pierced Mike’s heart like a wasp sting. The soft smile on Will’s lips from before was nowhere to be found, replaced with something that he couldn’t read. He’d succeeded in getting Will’s full attention, alright. But he wasn’t looking at Mike like he wanted to get lost in him—more like he wanted him to get lost. “Thanks for the reminder. How could I forget?”
“Will, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, I know, Mike. You didn’t mean it like that.” Will’s expression was tight, crumpled up, like he was holding something back. He stood up from the table, whiteknuckling his tray, trying to prevent his hands from trembling. “I gotta go, I have—I forgot to grab something that I need for art class.”
The moment he walked away, Mike felt Will’s absence burning, ripping him open.
Wow, you’ve done it again. Real smooth.
“Wait! Will!” Mike cried out embarrassingly loudly as he stood up and darted after him, nearly knocking his tray over in the process. If people were staring, he didn’t notice. It was like he had blinders on as he charged forward, the thoughts in his brain playing on a loop—you hurt him and you need to fix this.
By the time he’d made it to the hallway, Will was already gone, leaving Mike standing there with a gaping, Will-sized hole in his chest, with no one to blame but himself.
———
Mike had been trying to apologize to Will all day.
He waited outside of his art class, like usual, only to find he’d left class already. That seemed weird, but he brushed it off—maybe he’d needed to go to the bathroom, or something, so he left a little early. No big deal.
Then he was completely absent from Biology, which is when Mike started to get concerned. When he’d expressed his worry to Lucas, he’d rolled his eyes at him and whispered back, “He probably decided to skip after you were such an asshole to him at lunch. Like seriously—what is wrong with you, dude?”
Before he could protest, they were quickly shushed by their teacher, and Mike slunk back into his seat with a huff. How was he supposed to apologize if Will was actively avoiding him? Maybe Will didn’t want him to apologize. Maybe this was it, for them—the final nail in the coffin. He had gone too far this time and Will was done—Mike wouldn’t blame him if he was.
But then during Spanish, Mike’s last period of the day, he’d come up with a new, better plan where Will definitely wouldn’t be able to avoid him at all. When there were only fifteen minutes left in class, he’d made up some excuse to leave early. He mumbled something about a doctor’s appointment as he’d hurried out the door, making a beeline for Will’s locker, that way he’d already be there waiting for him when class let out. Will couldn’t avoid him forever.
Mike was glad that he’d left as early as he did, because ten minutes before the final bell, Will was already bumbling around the corner in a rush—further confirmation that he was, in fact, avoiding him.
The moment Will made eye contact with him, he groaned, turning on his heels like he was trying to get away from him as quickly as possible. Mike scrambled after him, reaching out for him. “Will, come on! I’m sorry!”
Will stopped in his tracks, letting out a heavy sigh as he turned around. Mike’s heart seized up at the sight of him—his eyes were red and puffy, like he’d spent the majority of the day crying.
Shit, you really fucked up this time.
“I—shit, Will, are you okay?”
“What do you think?” Will snapped, pushing past him toward his locker.
Mike followed behind him, rambling as Will fumbled with the combination lock. “Sorry that—that was a stupid question. Obviously, you’re not. Fuck. I don’t know what I was thinking—”
Will laughed callously under his breath, his hand hovering over the lock as he made eye contact with Mike. “Yeah, well, obviously you weren’t. You’re not the best at that—you know, thinking before you speak? If you were, maybe you would’ve realized how it sounded before you said it.”
“Yeah,” he breathed out shakily, suddenly aware of how intensely his chest was aching. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I can be such an idiot sometimes.”
Will cocked an eyebrow. “Just sometimes?”
Mike stared blankly back at him for a moment, stunned, before both of them erupted in laughter. Relief washed over him as the shift in energy began to stitch up the hole in his chest that had been bleeding raw for hours.
“Alright, definitely more than just sometimes. Look, I don’t know why I’m like this—so…jaded, or whatever. I guess I just—I don’t know, but I shouldn’t take it out on you—you don’t deserve that.”
“You’re right—I don’t deserve that. That really hurt, Mike, especially coming from you,” Will sighed, turning back to his locker to finish putting in his combination. “You don’t know what it’s like—being like this. It’s really fucking isolating to not—know other people like me. To not—be able to find someone that loves me.”
Mike felt like he couldn’t breathe, for some reason. The way Will said it—someone that loves me—made something happen in his body that he didn’t really understand. Like he needed to prove him wrong, somehow. To show him that he loved him, actually—but that wasn’t what Will wanted. It wasn’t the same. Mike knew that.
Still, something inside him was stirring, urging him to reach out and—and what?
He’d been thinking about it for a while—what made his friendship with Will so much different than his other friendships, like with Dustin and Lucas. It was different—he knew that much, at least. But the thing he couldn’t figure out was the what—what was different about it?
It kinda made his head hurt to think about it, so he did what he always did—tucked it away, unresolved.
Mike knew that he should say something—Will was baring his soul, basically admitting that he felt so alone and that he believed he would never find love. The realization was breaking his heart but he didn’t know what to say, so he just stood there and gawked like the scum of the earth. He might as well have had a sign on his forehead that read WORLD’S WORST BEST FRIEND.
And then, like some kind of divine intervention, something fell out of Will’s locker the moment he opened it.
A folded up piece of paper—a note? Who would be putting a note in Will’s locker? He bent over to pick it up, flipping it over.
His heart sank when he saw the front of the folded up note, which had Will’s name written on it in fancy cursive letters, dozens of little red hearts drawn all around his name. Mike’s face grew hot and his stomach turned, like he was on some kind of fucked-up rollercoaster.
When he finally looked up at Will after what felt like an eternity (but was really only probably like, five seconds), he was observing him with questioning eyes—a little too scrupulously, actually, like he was searching for something that Mike wasn’t ready to find yet. He squirmed under Will’s gaze, quickly shoving the note in his direction.
“Uhhh—I think this is for you. I mean duh. Obviously it’s for you—I mean, it was in your locker. And it has your name on it. With—hearts.”
Will just stared back at him blankly, blinking. “—with hearts? For me?”
Mike gulped. “Yep.”
“Huh. Okay,” Will said, reluctantly grabbing the piece of paper as if it might poison him. He unfurled the paper, opening it up so that both of them could see—which was a sweet gesture, even though Mike wasn’t sure if he really wanted to see.
will—
just in case no one’s told you, valentine’s day is on friday ;)
i’ve got my fingers crossed you don’t already have a valentine
because i was hoping to ask you to be mine
love,
your secret admirer
Mike locked eyes with Will when he finished reading the note, hoping to god he couldn’t tell that he was spiraling out of control inside his mind.
Then the final bell rang and the hallways were flooded with teenagers antsy to get home.
Not two minutes ago, Mike had thought the note that fell out of Will’s locker had been divine intervention, but now he knew it definitely was not. The bell—that was divine intervention.
But the note?
The note might just be the total destruction of Mike’s world as he knew it. Funny how something as small as a piece of paper could hold the power to crumble an entire universe.
Mike couldn’t let that happen, which meant he suddenly had a lot of work to do, and he would need to move fast.
He had to find out who wrote that note.
———
Mike was so totally normal about the fact that his best friend had a secret admirer.
So totally normal, in fact, that he had begun developing a strategic operation to determine the identity of said secret admirer. It was also so totally normal that he had dragged Lucas, Max, and Dustin to his parent’s basement after school, begging them for help.
He told himself it was for Will’s protection. They had no idea who this secret admirer could be—what if he was a total creep? Or a con artist? Or a serial killer?! Mike couldn’t take that chance. He had to find out who it was, for Will. What kind of best friend would he be if he didn’t conduct a thorough and rigorous investigation?
Max and Lucas were seated at the table where they usually played DnD, their minifigures spread out across a poorly drawn map of their school that looked only half complete. Mike knew it wasn’t great, but he wasn’t an artist—and he couldn’t exactly ask Will, so it would have to do.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Dustin said casually from his spot on the couch, his entire body stretched out with an open bag of Doritos in his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m curious too but—shouldn’t we be like…I don’t know—happy for Will?”
Mike nearly choked on his own spit, grasping for the right words, keyed up by Dustin’s suggestion that he wanted anything but the best for his best friend. “I—I am happy for Will! I just—don’t you think—as his best friends, isn’t it our duty to uhhh—I don’t know, make sure his secret admirer isn’t also like, a secret murderer?”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? It’s just a note!” Max laughed and stood up, crossing her arms. “But okay, Sherlock, I’ll humor you. How exactly do you plan to crack the case? Considering the only piece of evidence is the note, which you don’t even have!”
“Well, I—hmm.”
She had a point. Mike hadn’t really considered that he had exactly zero leads to go off of, which would make his plan a lot harder than he’d expected, but he was creative—he could come up with something. Come on, get it together.
Normally he was a lot more clear-headed. At the moment, though, everything was clouded with images of Will and this mystery boy in every possible scenario he could think of. If the secret admirer turned out to be a secret murderer, Mike could vividly imagine saving Will, becoming his knight in shining armor—except in that vision, he was a lot stronger and more tan, with abs, which just wasn’t realistic.
But if the mystery boy didn’t turn out to be a psychopath, that meant he was something worse—a regular boy with a crush on Will. Mike imagined the boy taking Will on a date, holding his hand, kissing him. It filled him with a hot rage that would possibly end in Mike becoming the psychopath, because the vision ended with him grabbing Will’s secret admirer—for some reason it came out whiny and annoying when he said it in his head—and punching him in the face. God, something is seriously wrong with you.
Mike stared at his shitty drawing that would be so much better if it had been drawn by Will, trying to focus. He furrowed his brows and stepped forward to pick up Will’s minifigure, holding it between his thumb and his forefinger, searching deep within his brain for the answer.
And then it clicked.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it, maybe,” he leaned over the table and pointed to a spot on the map. “This—is Will’s locker.”
He picked up each of their minifigures and placed them a short distance away from the locker. “It’s simple—all we have to do is basically stake out his locker until this guy shows up, which—he inevitably will, right?”
Mike grabbed the demogorgon minifigure, setting it directly in front of the drawing of Will’s locker. “This is him, putting another note in there or something—surely he must be planning to do something else tomorrow. We can—take shifts.”
“The demogorgon? Really? That’s Will’s secret admirer? Interesting choice…”
Max smirked at him and Mike could feel the heat rising in his neck as she burned holes in his eyes like she had x-ray vision—like she was getting dangerously close to uncovering something deep within him. Luckily, she seemed to grow bored of making him uncomfortable because her mouth curled back down into a neutral position as she added, “But absolutely not—I’m not doing a locker stake out, that’s just beyond stupid.”
“Yeah, I’m with Max on this,” Lucas said. Always so agreeable when it comes to her. “If you want to skip class all day to stare at Will’s locker, be my guest, but I’m not doing it.”
Mike huffed and resumed his restless pacing. A locker stake-out did seem like a waste of time, he had to admit, but what else could he do? The only piece of evidence they had was the note, and he didn’t have access to it, since it was currently in Will’s possession. Unless—
“What if…I was able to get the note from Will—like, just long enough to get like, a photo of it or something?”
Yeah, yeah, this is good.
The creative juices were finally flowing and the cogs in Mike’s brain were turning a mile a minute, his pacing more frantic. He wondered if the speed at which he paced directly correlated with how quickly he was able to come up with ideas or how good those ideas were—he figured that it only made sense because the faster he moved, the more everything just clicked.
“And then, like—all we’d need to do is like, find a way to compare the handwriting against everyone Will has class with, which—I mean, it’s definitely most likely to be someone from art class, but—we should probably cover all the classes, to be safe.”
He turned to Dustin, who was looking at him like he’d gone completely mad. “You have like—what, three classes with Will, right? How hard do you think it would be to get our hands on, like—a stack of assignments or something? Or…or, or, OR—what if we made like, a petition? Yeah, then everyone would have to write their name on it and it would be so easy to—”
“Mike!”
“Huh?”
“Look.” Max grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him backwards until he was sitting in the chair next to the coffee table. “None of that makes any sense. You realize that, right?” She sighed and crinkled her eyes at him, her mouth contorting into a dreary grimace, like she was taking pity on a sick puppy. “Listen to me. I’m gonna tell you something, because I’m your friend and you need a serious wake up call.”
Mike gulped and peered up at her, terrified.
“Will is finally getting attention from someone else—and you don’t like it. You’re jealous.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but Max just held her hand up sternly.
“And you’re spiraling out of control because of it. Get a fucking grip. If you want to spend your time going on some wild goose chase instead of unpacking why this is so upsetting to you, you can have at it. But I’m not helping you do it.”
Not even five minutes later the three of them had taken off, leaving Mike alone in the basement with nothing but his own thoughts. And that was terrifying, really, because there were a lot of them and he had been pushing them down for so long, shoving them into the overstuffed filing cabinet that was his mind, and he wasn’t sure there was any room left.
He stared at the open filing cabinet, trying to make space for a new, intimidating thought—you’re jealous of Will’s secret admirer—and began to panic when he realized just how much he’d crammed in there already. There was no way it was going to fit. Maybe he could…take some other ones out to make room? But when he thought about what else might be in there, he winced in fear, so he took a deep breath and compressed everything as tightly as he could, forcing the new thought inside. He closed the cabinet drawer, pretending not to notice the way it was bulging out, like it was one tiny modicum of an idea away from exploding.
It’ll be fine. It’s not like there are a million other things that could happen this week that would easily send you into an overthinking spiral.
———
There were, in fact, a million other things that could happen—correction, that were happening that were sending Mike headfirst into an overthinking spiral of monumental proportions.
When he arrived at school on Tuesday, he reminded himself that he most definitely did not need to stake out Will’s locker—that was something an insane person would do, and Mike was completely rational and level-headed. Besides—there was no reason to believe Will would even receive another note from this guy. He could be cool. He was cool.
And he actually believed he was, breathing out a sigh of relief when Will opened his locker at lunch and nothing fell out. No note, nothing. There was a nearly imperceptible look of disappointment on Will’s face that made Mike’s stomach twist up and suddenly he was—kind of pissed off?
Who does this guy think he is, leading Will on like that one day and then the next day just—nothing?! I should find out who it is just so I can give him a piece of my mind.
Mike hummed to himself on the way to fifth period, all his discordant emotions seemingly resolved. I mean, he was actively upset that the guy who was supposedly courting Will had stopped, ready to fight him for even thinking about breaking his heart. That was unambiguously best friend behavior—he obviously wouldn’t be doing that if he was jealous, right? Which meant he wasn’t actually jealous at all.
His confidence shattered within seconds about halfway through their Biology class when the door swung open to reveal someone holding a bouquet of yellow roses.
The roses had been for Will, obviously, because the universe was deadset on torturing him. As much as it pained him to see it, the hopeful glimmer in Will’s eyes when the delivery person had set the arrangement down on his desk was undeniable. He looked…happy. Mike wanted him to be happy, and he really would be the world’s worst best friend if he did anything to get in the way of that.
Apparently, Mike’s body didn’t agree. He watched helplessly as his limbs became possessed with the spirit of some seriously deranged psychopath, carrying him out into the hallway, and as if that wasn’t enough, it took control of his voice too. It moved his mouth like a ventriloquist, calling after the guy who had just had the nerve to deliver the worst thing that had happened to him all day in the form of flowers. It asked him, in the same tone of voice and awkward delivery that Mike would use, “Hey, uhhh—do you know who um, sent those?”
The delivery guy shrugged. “It was anonymous. The card just said ‘secret admirer’.”
Mike regained control of his body just in time to feel the embarrassment ripple through him—gee, thanks, evil spirit—and he trudged back into class with flushed cheeks.
When he made it back to his seat, Will looked worried. He reached his hand out to touch his arm—it was barely a graze, but Mike could feel his skin blistering. “Hey—you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good—I just, uhhh, really had to go to the bathroom.” Mike’s voice was shaky—he knew it wasn’t convincing, but Will acquiesced after a long few seconds of staring at him through questioning eyes.
Once Mike had shaken off the strange feeling of being possessed, he tried his best to keep his gaze fixed forward on the lecture happening in the front of the room, but his eyes kept involuntarily flitting toward the bouquet on Will’s desk.
He just had to pick fucking yellow, didn’t he?
It only got worse on Wednesday, when a playful voice rang out over the intercom during morning announcements with a special message. “Valentine’s Day is almost here and love is definitely in the air. A secret admirer wanted to dedicate this song to a special someone out there. Will Byers, this one’s for you.”
‘Just Like Heaven’ reverberated through the room, sending full body shockwaves through Mike. The universe was definitely torturing him, mocking him with one of the songs that always made him think of Will.
How would this secret admirer even know that The Cure was Will’s favorite band, anyway? It had to be someone they knew. He’d spent the rest of the day in full blown detective mode, creating a detailed chart of everyone in school that could have even a sliver of knowledge about Will’s music taste and favorite color.
By the time Thursday rolled around, Mike was a fucking wreck. Hunched over the sink in the boy’s restroom during fourth period, splashing cold water onto his skin, trying to pull himself together. He wasn’t sure he’d slept more than six hours total over the past three nights and it was written all over his face. The bags under his eyes were so dark they almost looked sunken in and for a moment he considered the possibility that he actually had buried himself alive on Monday morning and he was staring back at his own corpse.
It would make sense, really, that he had actually died and gone to hell because this was his worst fucking nightmare. He was hiding in the bathroom and having a full blown meltdown in anticipation of whatever adorable fucking thing Will’s secret admirer had planned for him today.
Mike could feel the filing cabinet of unaddressed thoughts in the bathroom with him and he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t already toppled over and spilled out its contents everywhere, but he knew it was only a matter of time. It was pathetic how much he cowered in fear at his own mind.
Thursday’s adorable fucking thing was worse than he could’ve ever possibly imagined, but it had also given him the biggest hint he’d had so far all week—whoever this person was, they knew about DnD.
It came at the end of the day, which had given Mike plenty of time to unravel, morphing into the worst possible version of himself as the hours dragged on. Will’s secret admirer had gone back to the locker method of delivery, stealthily slipping the card into the slots at some point before.
The sparkle in Will’s eyes had grown throughout the week as the little displays of affection had continued, but Mike could tell he was becoming impatient with the “secret” aspect—why was this guy continuing to conceal his identity?
As Will slipped the card out of the envelope, Mike shoved his hands in his pockets in a thinly veiled attempt to hide his trembling, clammy hands. He wasn’t sure if Will had noticed how hysterical and frantic he’d become over the past week—if he had, he definitely hadn’t said anything about it—but he was at least trying to hide how upset he was, for Will’s sake.
The first thing that Mike noticed was that it was a handmade card—another point for the guy being from art class. He looked closer at the details of the card, his brain nearly imploding on the spot as he realized what it was depicting. An image of a wizard, but not just any wizard—Will the Wise. Purple robes and all. The card read:
you must be a real-life wizard, because you’ve put a spell on me
What the fuck?
Mike was seeing red—this guy seriously had some nerve making him a DnD-themed card, which had always been their thing. It was literally the foundation of their friendship, one of the first things that they had bonded over, and this guy was ruining everything thinking he could just come in and steal it like he owned it. And I mean—sure, Mike didn’t own it either and sure, they had both joined the Hellfire Club so it was more than just the party now. But still—it was a Mike and Will thing first.
He’d never been stabbed in the chest seven times, but he imagined it would feel just like this. And in the same way it might be a little hard not to recoil from the pain of being stabbed, he was sure that he wasn’t able to hide it anymore.
Will had known it anyway, evident from the way his mouth twitched the moment he laid eyes on the card. He wasn’t dense, and he knew Mike too well not to know exactly how he felt about it before he’d even seen his face.
Time stood still as they locked eyes and Mike felt like all of his secrets were on display, like Will was thumbing through every thought he’d tucked away, cataloguing each one, putting them all into context, understanding. There was no way he could know all that just from looking at him, but surely he could see the fear behind his eyes. The idea was terrifying—that Will held the power to see right through him, unearthing every ugly truth he’d buried and putting it on display for him, forcing him to look before he was ready.
“Mike, I didn’t—”
If he allowed Will to say anything, there was a significant chance that he might say something of consequence. Something that would poke at his fragile consciousness, disturbing the pile of emotions and memories and fantasies and nightmares. Something that would trigger a cataclysmic earthquake, a spontaneous combustion, a nuclear blast, leaving nothing in its wake but the remains of Mike Wheeler and his secrets scattered around him, exposed for all to see.
He couldn’t let that happen—not right now.
Besides, the card had given him a new lead. If this so-called secret admirer knew about Will the Wise (though anyone that truly cared about Will would remember that he was a sorcerer now, actually), the likelihood of him being in Hellfire Club had just skyrocketed. Luckily for Mike, it was Thursday, which meant he and Will had been on their way to Hellfire’s weekly campaign meeting anyway.
Before Will could say another word, he was off—scurrying down the hallway towards the distraction, in pursuit of the answer to the burning question in his mind—who was Will’s secret admirer and why was he hellbent on destroying Mike’s life?
His entire body was vibrating as he burst through the doors with a velocity that seemed to cause the entire room to quiver. Hellfire Club wasn’t scheduled to start for another ten minutes, but most of the members had already gathered in the room, discussing strategies and reviewing the campaign details from the week prior. Mike’s entrance disturbed the quiet murmur in the room, which fell quiet, all eyes on him.
“Who is it?” Mike seethed, his nostrils flaring, his eyes simmering with a quiet rage.
Everyone stared at him for a moment. Silence had never felt so deafening, swelling, taking up every square inch of empty space. Before everyone could suffocate to death, Erica—Lucas’ fiery younger sister—saved them, unable to hold her tongue any longer. Of course she’d be the first one to speak. “Who is what, nerd? You can’t just barge in here demanding answers without providing context and expect us to know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Lucas groaned and rolled his eyes. “Dude, this better not be about Will’s secret admirer again. I’ve told you a million times, there’s no way it’s anyone in Hellfire Club.”
“Oh yeah?” He bit back. “Then how do you explain the handmade card with Will the Wise on it that said you must be a wizard because you put a spell on me—which, by the way, isn’t even correct anymore because he’s—”
“—a sorcerer, we know,” the room finished his sentence for him, erupting into a collective, exhausted sigh. Mike felt a bit embarrassed at the idea that he could be so predictable. Like he was on the other side of a two-way mirror and everyone had been observing him silently, but he had no idea because he’d put a blindfold on so long ago he couldn’t even remember doing it.
With everyone’s eyes on him, he could feel the layers of clothing sticking to his skin as he grew impossibly hot. He wondered if the temperature in the room had spontaneously increased by five degrees, because his cheeks were burning and he could feel the sweat beading up at the edge of his temple.
Erica laughed and stood up, crossing the room to look Mike directly in the eyes. “Look, I don’t know anything about a damn card. Lucas told me about your little meltdown and I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m here to play DnD, not listen to you whine about some guy secretly asking Will to be his valentine, when we all know you wish you thought of it first. So unless you’re ready to sit down, shut up about your boyfriend, and play the goddamn game, I suggest you go home.”
He scrambled to find an acceptable comeback, but his frontal cortex had mysteriously stopped working the moment Erica called Will his boyfriend, so he could only manage to sputter out, “What?! I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just—he’s not my—”
“Mike?”
Shit.
Mike spun around to find Will standing in the doorway, a bewildered look on his face, still holding the door open.
“What—what are you doing here?”
Wow, what a stupid fucking question, clearly he’s here for Hellfire Club.
Will sighed, clearly disgruntled. “Well, in case you don’t remember, you kind of ran off, so I came after you. What were you even doing?”
“I was just—”
“He was grilling all of us about your secret admirer and reminding us that you’re a sorcerer, not a wizard. Again,” Erica smirked, clearly pleased with herself.
Mike glared at her, fighting back the urge to speak, because he couldn’t trust himself to talk without accidentally saying something he might regret.
“God, what is your problem? You’ve been acting super fucking weird all week. Getting all uncomfortable anytime someone brings up the secret admirer thing. I don’t get it, Mike—why can’t you just be happy for me?”
On the verge of tears again, Will spun on his heel and took off, letting the door slam shut. Mike charged after him. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Will!”
Will slowed at his words, turning around to look at him, his eyes teeming with betrayal. “I don’t want you to say anything, Mike! I just want you to stop acting like you’re so—offended by the idea of me finding love,” he choked out. “Do you have a problem with me being gay or something?”
His words swung into Mike like an axe on a pendulum, drawing nearer, threatening to behead him should he take one misstep. There were no shackles holding him there, though—Mike voluntarily laid himself into the unlocked pillory, ready for punishment. He was pretty sure he would let Will do just about anything to him, if it meant he could prove just how ridiculous that question was. If it meant he could understand that Mike thought Will was perfect—how could he ever have a problem with such a beautiful part of him?
But he couldn’t say beautiful, that would be—way too much. He rummaged around in his mind trying to find a single acceptable thing to say that wouldn’t sound like he was—was—
“What?! Of course not! That’s not—I think it’s great—I mean, I just mean—there’s nothing wrong with it and I support you, obviously!”
Yeah, that was totally appropriate and not weird at all. Jesus.
“Then why?” Will inched closer to him but still crossed his arms over his chest, closing himself off. “Why are you doing this?”
Mike stared at him blankly, heart hammering in his chest faster, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking up the closer Will got to him. “Doing what?” he asked, feigning naivety.
“I don’t know,” Will huffed, his gaze tightening as he closed the distance between them, like he was daring him, “You tell me. This. It’s like—I finally have a chance at finding love and you seem to be doing everything in your power to make sure I know how bothered you are by the idea of it. So yeah, it’s fucking weird and I want to know why. I deserve to know why.”
He couldn’t give Will a straight answer without opening the filing cabinet of terrifying thoughts. Especially not while he was so close to Mike that the clouds of vapor forming out of his heaving breaths in the bitter February air were enveloping him, making him feel woozy, like Will’s lungs were full of a tranquilizer. He felt like he might pass out with Will just looking at him like that while he willingly inhaled his toxic air like he couldn’t get enough of it. That might be nice, if it meant Will would catch him. The noxious fumes clouding his brain, he was unable to squeak out more than a paltry, “I—I don’t know. I don’t know…why.”
Will recoiled from him then, putting distance between them. It was both a relief and a tragedy to be free from the intoxicating anesthetic that was Will’s breath.
“Then let me go!” Mike could see the tears pooling up in Will’s eyes as he spoke, like the words were almost too painful to say. “I’m so tired, Mike. I’m tired of trying so hard to get over you and every time I get close, you won’t fucking let me go!”
With every word Will uttered, Mike could feel the years of thoughts expanding inside their enclosure and he wasn’t sure he could keep it closed anymore. It was about to spill.
“You know, the other day, at lunch—I don’t think I would have even been that upset by what you said—’because I’ve never been in love’—except you’re wrong, because I’ve been hopelessly in love with you for as long as I can remember. And I know—I know that you’re never going to love me, not the same way that I love you, and—and I have to accept that. I’m trying, but I need you to let me go in order to do that, but you’re making it so fucking hard and I don’t know why. So—if I’m wrong about all this—I need to know. But I can’t keep doing this—this hoping, this waiting—it’s too painful. Let me go, Mike.”
Mike couldn’t breathe. He definitely couldn’t speak. He couldn’t do anything but stand there, frozen, trembling, petrified. Everything he’d ever been too afraid to face was on the precipice of being exposed, all at once, and it was too much.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself? Or are you just going to stare at me? I can’t read your thoughts, Mike.”
That makes two of us.
He wanted to say something, anything, he really did. Maybe he could try. He opened his mouth, which was a mistake, because apparently the hinge of his jaw was connected to the drawer in his mind. All at once, fragments of everything he’d ever avoided began to surge out, flooding his system, rendering him unable to function.
For so long, he had hidden from everything he was afraid of, praying that he wasn’t transparent. He didn’t want to know, so no one could know. Especially not Will—which was a problem because it often felt like he could see right through him. They’d been best friends for so long and knew so much about each other that sometimes it felt like he could read his mind.
But he had been imagining that, apparently, because Will had no idea what was going on in his head. Maybe that was Mike’s fault for pushing everything down for so long. And now, as he was forced to look, drowning in the contents of his mind, he’d never wanted anything more than for Will to suddenly develop telepathy because he didn’t want to face this alone. He couldn’t.
Will made eye contact with him one last time, pleading for him to say something, anything.
Under the weight of it all, Mike couldn’t give Will what he wanted. The fucked up thing was that he was beginning to understand. He was realizing that he was pretty sure they wanted the same thing, but it was all too much to take in at once with Will’s expectant eyes all over him. He didn’t have the words yet, so he said nothing, even though he knew what it would mean.
Mike really didn’t want to, but he didn’t have a choice, so he did what Will had asked him to do.
He let him go.
———
On Valentine’s Day, Mike got what he had wanted all along: he stayed home from school.
Karen didn’t question it when he said he wasn’t feeling well—probably because it was the truth. At the beginning of the week, if he had asked, she would’ve been able to see right through him, given his only symptoms were apathy and general malaise for societal constructs, which was normal for teenagers. Certainly not a reason to stay home.
The moment his mom had come into his room that morning, though, she could see it. He was sick. Just not with a fever or a cough. It was something new, but she’d recognized it immediately. She’d made sure he knew she was available to listen if he felt like talking about it before leaving him to wallow in misery.
Normally, when Mike would envision pretending to be sick so he could stay home from school, he thought about all the fun things he’d like to do instead—playing video games, reading comics, planning a new campaign, watching movies all day.
But he didn’t really feel like doing any of that—mainly because all of those things reminded him of Will—so he spent most of the day in bed. Occasionally he would drift off to sleep, but his mind was busy doing the majorly painful restorative work that was trying to figure out exactly how long he’d been in love with Will.
Once he’d pieced it together, it made a lot of sense. For one, it explained why Will having a secret admirer had turned him into not only a detective—a shitty one—but also a jealous asshole with psychopathic tendencies. But there was so much more than that.
That day they met on the swings. Memories of holding hands on the playground when they were kids. Why Will’s disappearance when they were twelve had made him feel like he wanted to die. The jealousy he’d felt when Max had initially joined their party. Never leaving Will’s bedside when he was possessed by the mindflayer. Being worried he’d never come back. The way his heart sank when Will danced with another girl at the Snow Ball.
The suspicious ache in his chest the day the Byers left for Lenora that stung when he had hugged Will, but barely pulsed when El kissed him. Why it had been so hard for him to say I love you to El, but so easy to write it to Will in the letters he could never bring himself to send.
How badly he had panicked the moment he saw Will in the airport. How he had wanted to hug him but didn’t know how to explain that he felt like he couldn’t breathe and he didn’t know why.
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls. We’re friends. Best friends.
When you’re different, sometimes you feel like a mistake.
I am different. I don’t like girls.
Every interaction they’d ever had was looping in his head, recontextualized with this new information, and Mike wondered how he’d never seen it before.
And then there was the fucking painting on his wall, mocking him. Deep down, he’d known it had never been from El—she didn’t know anything about DnD—but he’d never really thought that much about it. By the time he realized it, he’d forgotten all about the speech Will had given him in the van.
But as he laid in his bed, lovesick and forlorn, unable to escape the looming presence of the most meaningful piece of art anyone had ever made for him, he wanted to travel back in time and kick his 14-year-old self in the head for being so fucking oblivious. Will had been talking about himself the whole time, and he’d been so wrapped up in his own drama that he didn’t even notice.
Mike wasn’t even sure why he was torturing himself with all of this. Maybe it was some sort of sick self-flaggelation ritual, to force himself to feel what Will had felt for so long. But none of it really mattered now—Will had someone else, someone confident, someone who knew what they wanted, someone who had never made him feel unloved. Why would he ever want Mike when he could have someone like that?
At some point, when he felt like he’d rolled around in his bed enough that he’d probably be fully cooked if he were a skinned boar staked over a fire, there was a soft knock at his door which he assumed was probably his mom, asking him if he wanted anything for lunch. “Come in.”
The light creak of the door opening gave way to his mom’s gentle voice. “Mike, sweetie, your friends are here.”
“What?! What time is it?”
Mike jolted up out of bed, squinting his eyes at his alarm clock: 4:27 PM
What the fuck? How is that possible?
Had he really not done anything but lay in his bed for almost twenty-four hours, terrorizing himself—eyes forced open and restrained, like he was in a Kubrick film—with images of everything he’d missed, forced to recount everything he’d done wrong since the moment he’d met Will?
His eyes did feel vaguely ragged. Maybe they really had been held open by a torture device. Or maybe he had just been crying all night. The torture device felt easier to accept, somehow.
“Thanks, Mom. Uhhh—I just need to get dressed. Can you tell them I’ll meet them in the basement in like…five minutes?” Karen nodded, shutting the door without another word.
He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake himself up from the Will-induced daze he’d evidently spent the past twenty-four hours in, and shuffled over to his dresser. His hands absent-mindedly pulled out a pair of gray sweatpants and a blue sweater on auto-pilot. Good enough.
The moment he descended the stairs to the basement, he caught sight of Max, Lucas, and Dustin all sitting on the couch silently, like they were doing something wrong by being here. Mike almost felt like they were—they had invited themselves to his pity party and he wasn’t exactly thrilled that they took it upon themselves to come and witness him at his lowest. He dragged himself over to the large chair next to the coffee table and plopped down, noting the way his friends kept their eyes glued him like he might break at any moment. Little too late for that. “What is this? Some kind of intervention?”
“Actually,” Dustin started, his gaze breaking for a moment, flitting down to his hands clasped fiercely in his lap. Then, they were back on Mike, wandering, inspecting him for gashes or burns. “We just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Yeah, man,” Lucas said, his eyes softer, like he was giving him a break from being watched so closely. But maybe he just didn’t need to look that hard. Lucas had always seemed to understand things about him without asking, and he was kinder about it than any of his other friends, never pushing, like he assumed Mike would figure out what he needed on his own. It made sense that Lucas would get that about him. They had both always been fiercely independent—pillars of strength for the people around them, too stubborn and prideful to ask for help navigating their own emotions. “We all got kinda worried when you didn’t come back to Hellfire Club last night, and then you didn’t even show up to school today. You good? What’s going on?”
Oh, nothing really. Just realizing that the reason I’ve had the worst week of my life is that I’m in love with Will and that I’m too late to do anything about it. No big deal.
Mike peered over at the three of them, wondering if they already knew. Based purely on the way they were looking at him, it seemed like they did. Telling them everything could be…a risk, but—the world as he knew it had already ended yesterday, so what did he have to lose?
“Uhhh, no, honestly—I’m not good. I’m like, objectively bad, actually. Will and I kinda got into a fight yesterday—like a really bad one. And I mean, normally I feel like I’m pretty good at apologizing—well, to him, at least—but yesterday felt…different.”
Max squinted at him, her x-ray vision in full force. “Different how?”
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, letting out a sigh, cautiously baring himself to Max’s unwavering electromagnetic waves, though he donned a lead vest to protect himself from radiation poisoning. “Like—it was like I was watching myself completely fuck everything up, but I coudn’t make myself—say anything! It was like I was frozen. And I think—I think that everything he was saying was like, making me realize a lot of things too and I just—wasn’t dealing with it very well. So yeah, I just completely fucked it all up—like always, because I’m an idiot.”
“What were you realizing?” She pushed further, like she wasn’t satisfied with his answer.
Mike groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes to block out the light until he saw stars. “Why do you care? It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
Max scooted forward, meeting his gaze sternly, testing him. “Mike. You need to say it.” She was unrelenting, forcing his hand. She was really going to make him put it all out there, huh? She was going to make him take off the protective vest and expose himself to a blast of radiation.
“Fine!” He slipped his arms out of the vest slowly, taking a full deep breath as he dropped it to the floor. “I’m uhhh….I realized…thatimkindofinlovewithwill,” he murmured out quickly, as if the quieter and faster he said it, the less it might hurt.
Max made a big show of leaning in, cupping her hand to her ear, even though Mike knew she had fully understood what he said. He couldn’t understand why she was making this so difficult for him. “Wait, I didn’t quite catch that, could you—could you repeat that? And slow down a little. Say it like you really mean it.”
Mike stood up, making a dramatic gesture with his hands as he blurted out, “I’m in love with Will! Okay?! I’m in love with him! Is that what you wanted?”
His whole body tensed up as he realized what he’d done—that was the first time he’d said it out loud and he wasn’t sure what would happen next.
The words echoed through the room, silence swallowing them whole as he waited for the earth to shift. He expected the tectonic plates below them to rumble so aggressively that the ground beneath him would split into infinite pieces and drift away, leaving him on his own island alone forever.
But that didn’t happen. The world didn’t end. His confession simply hung in the air, taking up space like it had been longing to see what the world was like outside of his brain. But unlike he had expected, it wasn’t filled with fiery rage, setting off on a mission to ruin Mike’s life. It just hung there, waiting to see what he would do next.
He started to feel restless as his friends stared at his confession too, taking it in, and he grasped for it, wondering if he could suck it back in. He inhaled sharply, hoping his lungs were strong enough. “Okay well—if that’s everything, I’d kinda like to go back upstairs now and be alone. Because, y’know, that’s the whole reason I didn’t show up to school today—so I could be alone.”
Before he could bolt back up the stairs, hiding himself away again, wishing he could take everything back, Lucas and Dustin both sprung up from the couch, in near unison, practically throwing themselves at him as they pulled him into a hug.
“I’m proud of you, man,” Lucas beamed at him as he pulled away. “I know that wasn’t easy for you, but you did it. You finally said it.”
Dustin had the biggest grin Mike had ever seen plastered across his face. He patted his shoulder as he said, “Been a long time coming, but I’m glad you figured it out.”
He felt a sense of relief wash over him at his friends’ unwavering acceptance of him, and he wondered who he’d been trying to hide from this whole time. It could only have been himself, he decided, as he watched Lucas and Dustin carve out space for him to bloom, welcoming the new Mike fully like they’d been waiting for him to come home. He almost felt a twinge of guilt for assuming they would ever reject him, his heart swelling at the way they held him with such care like it was never a question at all.
But then, Dustin’s smile turned cheeky as he added, “And now Erica owes me twenty bucks, so thank you for that.”
Mike’s eyes widened. “What?! You were betting on my—my—you know that’s like, basically discrimination, right?”
There was an eruption of full belly laughter throughout the basement as the injection of humor dissolved the heaviness in the room. And then, everything settled. The earth was still standing. Mike was still Mike. The party was back to normal. Well, except for the entire reason they were all gathered in his basement in the first place—the obtrusive, Will-shaped chasm that loomed over them.
Max was standing behind them with her arms crossed, waiting to address the rift in the air. “So—now that you’ve figured all this out, there’s something else. I hate to break it to you but—you’re gonna need to get dressed. Because you can’t wear sweatpants for this.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, skeptical. “—can’t wear sweatpants…for what, exactly?”
She made her way over to him, swerving around Lucas and Dustin to grab his shoulders and guide him gently toward the staircase. “Welllll…Will kind of has a date tonight, with his secret admirer. At Enzo’s. In like, two hours.”
Mike felt his stomach begin to twist up, but Max held a hand up, continuing as she pushed him up the stairs. “Just—hear me out. This is your chance to swoop in. I know you think it’s too late but—I just have this feeling that Will’s date won’t be showing up tonight.”
“...Max…what are you—?”
“Don’t worry about that, you just worry about getting dressed. And, uhh—you might want to get there early, that way Will doesn’t see you arrive.”
Before he could protest, the three of them were hurrying out the front door as quickly as they had arrived. Mike trudged up the stairs to get ready to basically stalk Will on his date, which seemed like pretty much the worst idea ever—but Max was insisting.
Even if it felt like the world might explode the moment he finally laid eyes on Will again, he was willing to risk it all for the chance to fix everything. And really—would the world actually explode? If the past twenty-four hours had taught him anything, it was that the earth could withstand a lot more than he’d initially thought. Confessing his love to Will was absolutely one of the most terrifying things he’d ever considered doing, but at least he knew it wasn’t going to trigger the total destruction of humanity as they knew it.
As he scoured through his closet, trying to figure out what someone is supposed to wear to a love confession that also happened to be a spy mission, images of Will and what he thought his secret admirer might look like flooded his brain. He could only hope it wasn’t already too late.
But maybe more than that, he hoped Max wasn’t about to commit, like, first-degree murder or something, because it sounded suspiciously like she was.
———
Mike couldn’t believe he’d let Max talk him into this.
And actually, he couldn’t believe she was even encouraging this insane behavior. Not even five days ago, she was scolding him for freaking out about the note in Will’s locker and now she had him literally spying on Will as he waited for his date to show up. He understood, now, that her lecture had been more about the fact that he was refusing to acknowledge his feelings for Will than the whole secret admirer thing, but still. It was weird.
The past week had been a blur of absurd events, but this—this took the cake. He felt ridiculous—sitting at the bar at Enzo’s in a hoodie with sunglasses on, drinking a Coke, trying to be nonchalant. His gaze kept shifting between Will and his watch, trying to remember how long Max had suggested he make Will wait before saying something to him. He was drawing a blank—it had only been fifteen minutes, surely that wasn’t long enough? But fifteen minutes had felt more like two hours, and Mike was growing increasingly antsy.
All week, Will’s face had been alight with anticipation, and every time a new surprise would show up, he was practically radiating joy. Tonight, though, Will had looked anxious from the moment he walked in, like he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go through with the date at all.
He didn’t look excited—he looked…stressed. And a little sad, maybe. Mike couldn’t stand to see Will like that. He checked his watch again. Ugh. It had only been one minute since he last looked—he wondered what kind of sorcery he’d need to do to make time speed up, to travel into the future just enough for Will to be smiling again.
Mike sighed, turning back to the counter, fixing his gaze on the liquor bottles. It wasn’t smart to look at Will for too long, not until enough time had passed for him to make his move. He drummed his fingers on the marble, unintentionally signaling the bartender, who looked at him like was an alien from another planet that definitely didn’t belong in a place like this. “You need something? Or are you just playing drums on the countertop?”
His fingers froze in place and he shook his head a little too furiously. He took another sip of his coke as he looked at his watch again. Not even a minute this time. He groaned, pondering the possibility that time could be literally moving in slow motion.
When he’d stared at the liquor bottles long enough to read every label at least three times, he dared another glance in Will’s direction.
That decision turned out to be a colossal mistake, because Will was looking right at him, eyes squinting like Mike was a mirage in the desert. Only Will didn’t look parched—he looked pissed.
Mike swiveled back around so forcefully he worried he might’ve given himself whiplash, tugging at the edges of his hoodie, slinking down into his seat. If he covered himself enough and made himself small enough, maybe he would disappear. Maybe Will would shake his head, realizing Mike was only a mirage after all, and forget he’d ever seen him.
If only he could be so lucky.
A familiar hand materialized on his shoulder, spinning him around without his consent. “Mike?”
It took a moment before he realized he was still trying to shrink himself despite the fact that Will was standing in front of him, demanding answers. He reluctantly reached up, fumbling with the comically large sunglasses he’d swiped from his mom’s vanity that clearly did nothing to conceal his appearance. When his eyes were free, they flickered up to meet Will’s, wincing at the glare that was currently being shot in his direction. It wasn’t harsh—Will almost never was—but even the most microscopic shift in his demeanor pricked Mike’s skin like acupuncture needles.
“Uhhh—hi,” he said, internally slapping himself in the face. Hi?!? HI?!? Try: Hey, Will, I’m sure you’re surprised to see me here, I’m sorry about yesterday, I love you, please forgive me
But no—just hi. Jesus fucking Christ.
Will’s eyes squinted impossibly smaller, as if he could see him better the smaller his eyes became, which was definitely an oxymoron, but Mike understood the impulse anyways. He sighed and his eyes relaxed as he crossed his arms, shifting his weight into one hip.
Mike followed the shift with his gaze, and his brain—which was supposed to be focused on the very serious situation at hand—ran with it, betraying him with the thought that Will looked unreasonably adorable, all flustered like this. He liked it, he realized, but he beat his brain into submission lest it spiral into something even more inappropriate for this exact moment.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were sick.” Will said, challenging him.
Mike cleared his throat, which did nothing for him apparently since his voice still cracked when he managed to choke out a response. “I uhhh—I’m feeling…better?”
Will blinked. He blinked again. Mike thought he might blink a third time, but instead he just sighed and said, “Well, that’s good, I guess. But—it still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here—at Enzo’s—where I just so happen to be on a date. Well—he’s not here yet, so I’m kind of freaking out about that, but also kind of relieved I guess, I don’t know. But—what the fuck are you doing here, Mike? Are you spying on me?”
“No,” he blurted out quickly, cringing at himself as Will placed his hands on his hips, immediately clocking the lie. “Fine, okay, yes. I was—spying on you. But—no, never mind.” Will raised an eyebrow at him, urging him to continue. “I—well, I was about to say something about, like, protecting you or whatever but I feel like that’ll just make all this,” he sighed, gesturing vaguely with his hands, “so much worse.”
Will seemed to soften at his awkward, bumbling attempt to explain himself—there was even a hint of a smile threatening to come out, if Mike played his cards right. “Okay—well, thank you for not lying to me. Do I get to know the real reason or—?” He trailed off, scanning Mike with a gentle curiosity, looking for any cracks where the answers may be seeping out.
Mike wasn’t sure if it was exactly the right moment to start acting coy, but because he was who he was, he couldn’t help himself.
“I might tell you—if you let me join you for dinner.”
Will gawked at him, like he was trying to decide whether he wanted to slap him or kiss him. He settled on a playful shove and laughed. “Mike! I can’t just ditch my date.”
He was definitely flirting back. Mike took the cue, running with it. Sprinting, even, as if he could reach a speed that might be fast enough to make up for how ridiculously slow he had been their whole lives.
“I don’t want to be the one to tell you this,” Mike inched forward boldly, speaking in a low voice, as if he was saying something scandalous, “but it seems like your date might have ditched you, so I think we’re in the clear.” He stood up, closing the space between them even further, unable to help the smirk creeping onto his lips as he noticed the way Will’s cheeks were burning crimson. “Besides—didn’t I hear you say something earlier about being relieved, or something? So—let me—relieve you.”
He didn’t mean it to come out sounding quite like that, but he felt a rush of heat creeping up his own neck at the sight of Will crumbling in front of him, practically melting into the floor. He peered up at Mike with questioning eyes. “But—it’s Valentine’s Day, are you sure you—”
“I know what day it is,” Mike said simply, voice unwavering. It was a challenge to keep himself so steady, but he wanted Will to know he was serious. “And I still want to have dinner with you. Is that—okay?”
Will nodded, breathless, allowing Mike to weave him through the tables of the restaurant. His hand hovered near his low back, not touching—Mike was all too aware of how risky that might be in a town like Hawkins—but the electricity between them was enough to nudge him forward.
When they were finally seated at the table, Mike’s pulse began to quicken as he looked over at Will, suddenly remembering he hadn’t actually confessed anything yet. It wasn’t enough to just flirt with him and hope he understood. Even if Will was already looking at him like he hung the moon, he still had to say it. Shit.
He felt Will’s foot nudge his calf underneath the table, hooking around it, calming him. “You okay?” he implored sweetly, his voice grabbing onto Mike’s heart and surrounding it, letting it know it was safe.
Mike nodded, reaching out to grab the glass of water in front of him like it was a lifeline and taking a large gulp. He set the glass of water back down and looked at Will, placing his hands on his knees to stop them from bouncing nervously.
You can do this, he reminded himself, the world won’t end, remember?
“Mhmm. Yeah, I just, uhhh,” he faltered, daring a look in Will’s direction, who was looking at him like there wasn’t anything he could say that would ruin this moment—Mike knew that wasn’t true, but it was comforting nonetheless.
“I guess I just wanted to say—I wasn’t sick, today—not like sick sick, it was more like,” he gestured vaguely to his chest. Will nodded, like he understood, and Mike continued, “And uhh—I couldn’t stop thinking about—you and me and—I’ve always known our friendship was, like, different, y’know. But I—I didn’t really know why or—or maybe I did know why, but I didn’t want to, like, see it, maybe? If that makes sense.”
He knew he was stumbling over his words, but the train was on the tracks and Will was looking at him like he was hanging onto every single thing he said, like he’d been waiting to hear him say this for longer than Mike even knew. There was no stopping this train now.
“And also, I just wanted to say—I’m sorry for, like, freaking out on you about the whole secret admirer thing. I think I just—didn’t know how to handle someone else coming in and—and making you happy because—well, because I want to make you happy, and that’s what I realized—that I wanted to be the secret admirer, or something. Except—not a secret. So that’s—that’s what I came here to tell you.”
Will smiled, and Mike remembered how much he’d wanted to fast forward time about fifteen minutes ago just to see that smile. “You came here to tell me—you wish you were my secret admirer?” Mike’s heart fluttered—Will was teasing him.
“Well, no, not quite,” Mike sighed, releasing every doubt he had in his mind, remembering that the world didn’t end when he said it before, and that was still true now. “What I actually came here to say—was that I realized I—I love you. That I’m…in love with you. And uhhh—I think I have been for a long time, maybe.”
Will breathed out, like he’d been holding his breath for years, tears threatening to spill from his eyes at the relief of being able to breathe again. “Mike—you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that. I can’t even—it feels like this isn’t even real, right now, because I’ve heard you say it so much in my head that I never thought—I never thought it would actually happen. I mean, I’d always hoped—maybe, but—you really—this is real?”
When Mike nodded, he swallowed, fiddling with the tablecloth as he struggled to find the right words, fighting through the tears that had started to fall. “Well, in case it wasn’t obvious…I love you too. Like, more than I could ever explain, probably. I’ve been in love with you since before I even knew what love meant, and it was so scary for so long because I thought something was wrong with me for feeling like that. I spent so many years trying to get over you. And sometimes—sometimes it felt like I’d actually done it, actually moved on—but I never did, not really. I don’t know, it’s like—this might sound weird, but it’s like my heart knew you’d come around someday. And yeah, it really fucking hurt, a lot, but—right now, it’s like it doesn’t even matter because you’re here now.”
Will laughed and reached up to wipe his tear-stained cheeks with his sleeve. “This is really fucking crazy, Mike. I’m—I’m having a hard time believing that I’m not dreaming because—this type of thing—this doesn’t just happen. How is this real?”
Mike blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was struck with the realization that Will was looking at him, starry-eyed, the way he had looked in the cafeteria on Monday when he was lost in his dreamworld. Mike had been so desperate for Will to look at him like that. And now that he was, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been looking at him—a dreamworld version of him—like that all along and he didn’t even know it.
“Listen to me, Will.” Their eyes locked, and Mike took a risk, reaching his hand across the table for a moment to graze Will’s fingertips with his own. Even though they couldn’t hold hands—not here—he hoped the touch would be enough, and it seemed like it was. He saw the way Will’s breath caught in his chest and he could feel the electricity even in the lightest touch of their fingertips. “You feel that right? How could this not be real?”
He brushed the edges of their fingertips together for a moment longer. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that this is real, if I have to, and I don’t care how long it takes. But I’m never letting you go—not again. I love you so fucking much, Will. I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”
There was a moment of realization between them, that everything was about to change, but it didn’t feel scary—in fact, Mike had never felt so relaxed in his life.
Will shifted his foot slightly, pulling his leg closer, and Mike couldn’t help but wish it could be his hands or his lips. They hadn’t even ordered, and he already felt anxious to get this dinner over with so he could get Will home and figure out what he’d wanted to know for a long time, which was how soft his lips were and what kind of noises he would make when he pressed kisses into his collarbone.
Thankfully, when the tension was gone, the rest of the date seemed to fly by.
Mike told Will about his extremely intricate chart that he had made as he tried to figure out who the hell knew his favorite band and his favorite color. He told him about how Max had yelled at him for being so oblivious and he told him how Erica had humiliated him in front of the entire Hellfire Club. He told him that he knew about the painting and that he was sorry he didn’t see it at the time.
Will told Mike how the only thing keeping him going in the Upside Down was the thought of being able to see him again. He told him that he didn’t really want to dance with that girl at the snowball, and that he only did it to make Mike happy. He told him how he had a shoebox of unsent letters under his bed from when he was in Lenora, because he couldn’t stop signing them, love, will. He told him how terrified he’d been to give him the painting and that he was sorry he had lied.
They didn’t order much—splitting an entree to make sure they could get dessert. The fact that they were at Enzo’s at all was a little ridiculous. Neither of them were sure why they didn’t just leave and go somewhere else—they were probably both too nervous to say anything.
When the check came, Mike didn’t waste a beat—he grabbed it without a second thought. He folded the black check holder open, but there wasn’t a bill—just a note. His jaw fell slack as he read it:
will (and mike),
dinner’s on us :)
hope you’ll forgive us for this
sometimes you gotta create a little chaos
in the name of love
love,
your secret admirer(s)
Mike passed it over to Will, who stared at it for a moment in shock before they finally locked eyes again. “Uhhh—” Will shrugged and they both began to look around the room frantically.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone waving in the window. No—two someones. He twisted his head around, trying not to give himself whiplash again. “No way,” he heard Will say behind him.
Max and Lucas were watching them through the window, looking rather pleased with themselves. Max flashed them a smile that was probably brighter than any smile they’d ever seen on her face as she brought her hands together in a heart shape. Lucas waved animatedly before giving them a thumbs up, a toothy grin on his face.
Mike turned back to Will, shaking his head. “They’re insane, like—actually crazy, I think. I don’t know whether I should be pissed or impressed. Should we go after them?”
Will chuckled softly, nudging Mike’s foot again. “No—I’m actually kinda glad, in a weird way. For one—who knows how long it would’ve taken you to figure it out without their help? But also…I don’t know. I think at the beginning of the week, when I got the first note, I was excited. And then as the week went on, and I got the yellow flowers and they played The Cure on the intercom, I kinda kept hoping that it was…secretly you, doing all of that—I know that sounds ridiculous, but it didn’t make sense how someone would know all of those things. But you know all of those things—and that made me realize how much I still loved you.”
“And even if we wanted to go after them, I think we’re too late,” he added, gesturing to the window, “because it looks like they’re already gone. But we should get out of here anyways, because I think I might spontaneously combust if I don’t kiss you in the next five minutes.”
Mike had parked just a little bit down the street, out of view of the restaurant—someone could still see them, but it was late and neither of them really cared at that point. Mike’s lips were sizzling with anticipation and it felt like they might burst into flames at any moment without the relief of Will’s lips against his own.
The moment they made it to the car, Mike didn’t waste a second—he couldn’t physically take it anymore. He pressed Will up against the car door, grasping his cheeks beneath his hands softly, and looked deep into his eyes. The air was brittle, the cold wind stinging against his face.
Will let out a shaky, warm breath against him, emitting the same fumes from before, but this time they only served to make Mike fall more in love. He drank in the intoxicating vapor cloud, letting it wash over him as he crashed their lips together in one fell swoop.
It was hesitant, at first, before it gave way to something hungrier that had been bubbling under the surface for longer than either of them even realized. Their bodies came flush together, Mike’s hands gripping at Will’s waist, Will’s fingers tangled in Mike’s hair. Closer and closer, as close as they could possibly get without their bodies merging into one.
They kissed like they craved each other, like their bodies contained the vital nutrients to sustain one another, like they couldn’t believe they’d been able to stay alive without it. This was an ancient want that had been unearthed, from before they had even had the words to name it, an instinctive need deep in their souls to kiss and touch and love over and over again forever.
When they pulled apart, Mike leaned forward, resting his forehead against Will’s as they looked into each other’s eyes, dazed and in-love.
Mike laughed then, as he realized something, prompting Will to raise his eyebrows. “What are you so giggly about?”
“Well, there’s a bit of a problem. See, my reputation is completely ruined—I’ve spent so long making sure everyone knew exactly how anti-Valentine’s Day I was. And now I’m just gonna have to eat my words, I guess, because it turns out I don’t hate Valentine’s Day at all.”
He smirked, leaning in to capture Will’s lips in another quick kiss before he added, “I only hated it because I couldn’t spend it with you.”