Chapter Text
Michael James Wheeler was a lot of things, but he was not stupid. Okay, maybe he was a little idiotic at times, a little shit-headed in social situations, but he was a decently smart guy. He knew that. He was smart enough to graduate with a English degree, and, directly after, receive a paid internship at a New York based publishing company, while still in his early twenties. He was still on a high from that.
He also knew that if he didn’t get home from said internship in thirty minutes tops, he’d be late to his and his best friend Will’s annual Friday game night. And it wasn’t too uncommon for the subway to be slow or crowded, or late itself. He usually left earlier, but his co-worker, Robin, had kept him late re-shelving.
That was part of the deal with the internship. The publishing company partnered with a small, local bookstore, and the company used the office space right above the bookstore. Mike had been offered some extra cash to work at the store for two or three hours a week, re-shelving or working the register.
So, of course, he’d taken the offer. Happily, even. But now, he was going to be late. Though, to be fair, Will had missed quite a few of their game nights in the past, due to his horrible school schedule.
Mike shoved a last book into a shelf in the young-adult section, and went behind the counter where Robin stood, looking bored out of her mind. The bookstore was small compared to others, but it was a popular place nonetheless. Though this evening did prove to be a bit slow.
“You headed out, Wheeler?” Robin asked, tapping something into her flip-phone. She was tall, three years older than Mike, with a dirty-blond haircut and the best fashion sense Mike had ever seen.
Mike shoved his laptop into his over-the-shoulder, satchel-like bag, and responded with a “I would’ve been gone hours ago if you hadn’t made me shelve .”
“You’re getting paid extra, Michael,” Robin retorted good-naturedly. “You agreed to this. And don’t you just love my presence?”
“Debatable.” Mike muttered. He sighed after a moment. “You’re right, I signed up for this. I’m late, Rob.”
A slow grin took over Robin’s face. “It’s Will again, huh?”
Mike sent her a glare, face heating up. A bit. Only a bit. “Fuck off.”
They exchanged their goodbyes and in moments, Mike was speeding down the street towards the nearest subway stop. He figured he’d just take the alley to the next block instead.
Pro-tip: don’t take shortcuts. Not if you have the luck of Micheal James Wheeler.
As soon as he stepped into the dark alley, he knew this was his stupidity’s time to shine. A big guy covered in tattoos and a lanky redhead with way too many piercings to count were quick to corner Mike against one of the brick walls. He was about to get mugged. Of course. Just his fucking luck. “C’mon, guys,” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t have anything on me.”
The redhead snorted. “Course you don’t. Wearing that sweater, those pants, looking like you walked straight outta a magazine- you don’t got anything on you.”
Mike looked down. He was wearing a soft, deep green sweater and (almost) spotless khakis. His work clothes, if you will.
“I swear,” Mike swallowed, raising his hands up a little. “I have a couple bucks and a Metro card. That’s it.” It was the truth.
“Aw. That’s too bad.” The redhead said, and made a clicking sound with his tongue. The big guy advanced on Mike slowly, hands in his pockets. “Well then, we’ll just have to see about that watch, won’t we?” Redhead added. The big guy hadn’t spoken a word.
Mike’s other hand slid protectively against his watch. Will had given it to him for his last birthday. It was a nice watch, and Mike did not have any desire to lose it. “C’mon,” He said again, voice trembling. “Dude-”
The guy was towering over him now, reaching for something in his pocket, a cruel grin on his lips. He pulled out what was very obviously a switchblade and Mike felt himself pale. He’d never been mugged, but he guessed it was inevitable, wasn’t it?
The guy was just about to press the knife to Mike’s throat when a voice boomed out from behind them (or it sounded like it boomed, everything sounded loud to Mike right now). “Stop right there.”
The redhead rolled his eyes. “Spiderman.”
Mike’s head snapped his head over to the entrance of the alley. And, sure enough, there stood Spiderman, in that skintight blue and yellow suit. Mike had only ever seen him on TV. And now he was… trying to save Mike? It sure seemed like it. But didn’t Spiderman have better things to do?
And why didn’t the redhead seem surprised? The big guy hadn’t moved from his place. They were just muggers, weren’t they supposed to get the fuck out of dodge as soon as a superhero came into play?
Spiderman took a few steps forward. “Yep, that’s me. You tired of me yet, Frek?” Frek? Like freak without the A? Spiderman’s voice was obviously modified from inside the suit. Mike wondered how that worked, if it was a regular voice changer, how it was equipped- and then remembered he was supposed to be scared. Spiderman shook his head, taking a step forward. “Why don’t you and little muscle-man here go and pick on someone your own size?”
Then about a million things happened at once. Spiderman shot a web from his hand (Wrist? Fingers?) and swooped forward, slipping right between the big guy and Red, and grabbing Mike around the waist. It was like being hit by a truck and falling at the same time, the force of wind as the two of them flew up into the air. It was over before it started, and they were standing on a rooftop.
Mike half-collapsed against Spiderman, legs weak. Immediately, he realized his mistake and stood up straight again, stepping a foot back, face flooded with embarrassment. But taking that step back was another performance where Mike Wheeler’s stupidity was the shining star.
He tottered back over the edge, crying out, and Spiderman shot out an arm to grab him from around the waist. Mike cursed himself, adrenaline pulsing through his limbs as Spiderman chuckled, getting them as far away from the edge as possible before letting Mike go.
“You okay?” Spiderman asked, and Mike could almost sense his grin of amusement.
Mike, on the other hand, was the epitome of embarrassment. “Uh,” He croaked. He felt like crying.
“Seriously, are you going into cardiac arrest?” Spiderman asked, putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder.
Mike felt himself flush deeper. “No. No- yeah. I’m fine. Thank you.” He looked at the ground. The right knee of his khakis was stained oil-black. How had that even happened?
“You sure?” Spiderman squeezed his shoulder.
“Yeah.” Mike nodded, and Spiderman released his grip. “Fine. Thanks for…” He trailed off. “Saving me. I guess.” Mike muttered, cheeks only getting hotter.
“Don’t worry about it. Those guys are assholes, not worth my time.”
Oh. “You probably have a millions of better things you could be doing” Mike muttered. “Sorry to hold you up.”
Spiderman shook his head. “I just mean what I said. They’re assholes and not worth your time either. You were in trouble, so I helped you out. It’s what I do.” Mike could almost see his smile. He felt a little better. There was something almost familiar about the way he talked. “You need a swing home?”
MIke furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean , do you want me to take you home? You’re probably exhausted.”
“ Don’t you have a million better things to do than take me home?” Mike asked.
Spiderman shrugged. “Not really.”
So. Spiderman, a superhero who did superhero-y things and saved damsels in distress, was offering to swing Mike home. Did that entail more of the swinging through air part? Did that entail more of his hands around my waist-? Shut the fuck up, Michael, his brain screamed and he shook off his blush. “I mean, if you want to.”
“I do.” Spiderman sent him a cute little double-thumbs-up and Mike felt like melting. “But first. What’s your name?”
Mike smiled a bit. “Mike. Michael James Wheeler- but I mean, it’s Mike. Or MJ, stands for Michael James- some people call me that.” Mike said. “You can too, if you want, but I don’t know. It usually stands for Mary Jane and that’s a girl's name, so you can kind of call me whatever you want-” He stopped himself. He was rambling again. Again. “Sorry.”
Spiderman held up his hands. “Don’t apologize!”
“And you’re Spiderman.”
“More like Spider-twenty-three-year-old.” Spiderman muttered.
“Twenty-three?” Mike asked. Spiderman was exactly Mike’s age. Mike didn’t know why that excited him so much.
Spiderman sighed. “Still basically a child, according to the Avengers. Not man enough.”
Mike raised his eyebrows. “You’ve met the Avengers?”
“Yep. Wanted to be let in but no. Apparently, I’m too young.” He stopped. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. I don’t even know if I should be telling you this crap.” He sighed.
Mike shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
“We should get you home, yeah?” Spiderman changed the subject. “You have plans tonight?” He asked.
Mike nodded. “With a friend.”
Spiderman was quiet for a moment. “Who?”
“Uh, my uh best friend, actually. Game night.” Mike rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Tradition.”
Spiderman nodded. “Who’s this lucky guy? Or girl.” He added.
Mike laughed. “Dunno about lucky. Half the time he doesn’t even seem to want me there. Or maybe it’s all in my head. I dunno.” He sighed. “His name’s Will.”
Spiderman narrowed his eyes at Mike. Or, Mike imagined he did- his stance was stiff for a second. “I’m sure he wants you there. You seem like a cool dude.” Spiderman said, quieter.
Mike’s stomach jittered. “Yeah. I hope so.” Cool dude. “Should we- um, swing home?” He looked over the edge of the building and felt even more queasy.
Spiderman looked like he’d been bumped from a trance. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Where’d you live?’
Mike gave him his address. “I… but if you just want to set me on the ground I can still take the train home-”
“No.” Spiderman interrupted. “We had a deal, didn’t we? Besides, it’s pretty. The view.”
“Sure I won’t throw up?” Mike asked in a joking tone.
“If you do, I’ll personally drop you.” Spiderman said seriously.
Mike laughed. “Damn, getting threatened by Spiderman- better call the press.”
Spiderman laughed. “Asshole.” He watched to the edge of the building and held out an arm. “C’mere. We can’t have me dropping you into the street and getting canceled anyway, can we?” Mike stepped closer to him and Spiderman wrapped his right arm around Mike’s waist. “Hold on.” Mike turned so that the front of his mid and lower section was pressed into Spiderman’s side, and grabbed his shoulders.
“This, uh, good?” Mike asked. Jesus fuck, they were so close. And Spiderman was a whole ass superhero.
Spiderman nodded. “Perfect. Now don’t you dare let go.”
And, as one unit, they jumped.
For a second it was like freefalling, and Mike could’ve sworn he passed out for point two seconds, before they were soaring back into the air like some sort of yellow, blue and green bird wearing khaki pants. Mike clutched Spiderman as tight as was humanly possible, heart beating in his head. His eyes were clenched tightly shut, and he was trying everything possible to not cry out. They’d drop, and then fly up again, and drop, and then fly up again.
After a few moments, on a particularly long swing, Spiderman finally spoke. “Open your eyes, pretty boy!”
Mike’s eyes snapped open and he barely had time to register what Spiderman had just said. They were flying over the city, the evening light bouncing off the buildings, the clouds deep orange and wow. Mike was left speechless, and not from the height this time.
“Jesus Christ, you were right. This is-”
At that moment, they swung down a particularly steep building and Mike was cut off. He squeezed his eyes shut again. Seconds later, they were on the ground. Mike took a moment to regain his balance and stepped away from Spiderman’s hold. They were three blocks down from Mike’s apartment- Spiderman must know this city pretty well.
He could almost see the superhero’s grin. “You like the view?”
Mike nodded. “It was- it was awesome. I-” He cut himself off. “Thanks. Why did you do that? I’m just some random dude. I’m not special or anything. Besides, I could’ve been some undercover thug with a mission to kill you.”
Superman stood quite still for a second, like he was thinking. “If you were an undercover thug, then you wouldn’t have taken a step back on that roof. Undercover thugs are more calculated than you think.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Not everyone can be as flexible as you.”
“It’s balance, not flexibility.”
“Whatever. Either way, why'd you really do it? I’ve seen you save other people- you make sure they’re alright and drop them on the ground. Unless they’re hurt. And I’m not hurt.” Mike said. He was pretty sure he was uninjured (unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for his poor, poor chinos).
“Other people aren’t pretty boys like you.” Spiderman said, and it was obvious he was grinning.
“What?” Mike asked blankly, staring at him.
Spiderman suddenly shot a web from his wrist (was it his wrist? Or his palm?) and swung himself to the nearest rooftop. “See ya later, MJ.”
And he was gone.
Mike stood there, in the middle of the street, completely and utterly flustered. Spiderman had called him pretty boy. Twice. Spiderman. After knowing him for thirty minutes.
What the FUCK?
-
Mike ordered pizza in a haze. He tidied his apartment with his head in the clouds. He put on new pants without a thought in the world. Not a thought except Spiderman.
And the devastating fact that Mike would most likely never meet him again.
Spiderman would forget all about Mike- he certainly wasn’t thinking about their encounter as intently as Mike was now. He’d forget the “pretty boy” he swang home, and how flustered said pretty boy got at just a few words. Well, maybe he’d have a good laugh about it with his other Superhero friends. What were those two he notoriously worked with? Red and Ranger, the duo?
Mike shook his head. He could hear it now. Swung some guy home today. Called him pretty boy and he got all red. You should’ve seen it! Must’ve thought I was flirting with him! What an idiot.
But Spiderman wasn’t that mean, was he? He was probably just teasing.
Mike put out Uno, the game he and Will always played first, and waited, sitting on the couch with his hands in his lap. He fidgeted. He texted his friend Dustin on his new Motorola-flip. He fidgeted some more. He pressed play on his MP3 and plugged some headphones in to let New Order blast rhythmically into his head.
Will was late.
Mike wasn’t surprised. He didn’t know why he always felt like had to be early. Will was late frequently and sometimes even canceled all together due to his classes. Mike didn’t get it- how could a couple of art classes and a couple of coffee breaks with friends take up so much time?
Finally the pizza arrived. Mike paid the bored looking teenager and shoved the food into the preheated oven, before flopping back onto the couch.
Nothing in this world can touch the music that I heard, when I woke up this morning. Mike hummed along to the familiar tune, tapping his forefingers against his knee. He loved New Order with his whole being.
It put the sun into my life, it cut my heartbeat with a knife- It was like no other morning.
Whenever Mike heard the word “sun,” he thought of Will Byers. Don’t laugh.
Here’s the thing about Will Byers. Michael James Wheeler was in love with him.
Yeah.
And y’know, Love might be a strong word, but Mike really was in love with him. Will Byers was the best person on the planet. Period. He was the best human being ever created, Mike thought, and maybe thinking that was a little embarrassing, but he really couldn’t help it.
Will was just so- good. Like a drug, he was addictive. Mike wanted to spend as much time as was humanly possible with Will, but Will was busy a lot. A lot more than Mike anyway. Which is why they had their set Friday game night, even though, to Mike, it really wasn’t enough.
Will was sunny and talented and bright and snarky and his smile- It’s cliche, but Will Byers was Mike’s gay awakening. That’s not exactly saying much though, because they’d known each other since elementary school. And stayed best friends. For, like, eighteen years.
That’s impressive.
And Mike was whipped.
He was whipped bad .
Like, never-even-half-fallen-for-anybody-else sort of bad.
Sure, he’d had crushes- For example, that guy who’d worked the counter at the bookshop for about two weeks. Mike was only scheduled to help down in the shop a couple times during that period of time, but he’d switched it around so he could work more than that. The guy’s name had been Matt, and he’d been from California. Mike had felt a bit of a spark between them, but took way too long to bring up the courage to ask for Matt’s number. And then he’d just disappeared. Poof. Left for Arkansas or some shithole like that, Mike’s boss said.
Then there was sophomore chemistry, and Andrew. He was Mike’s lab partner and his smile always made Mike’s chest feel all warm. Mike had smoothly slipped the idea of homosexuality into one of their conversations, and let's just say that good ol’ Andy had not reacted well.
Then, going even farther back, that one dude who worked the milkshake counter at the drugstore when Mike had been thirteen. He’d had curly back hair and freckles and a totally cut jawline, and would wear wife-beaters under his apron. Mike had always made up excuses to go, just to order a milkshake and stare at the guy the entire time.
But that last one was before Mike had even realized he was gay. That particular realization had been during ninth grade, a long time coming. Mike had even dated Will’s sister for about six months before realizing how crap that was working out for the both of them.
Will had always been there for him, to play games or watch movies, or just talk. Will had always given him candy on Valentines day, and had probably seen Mike cry more times than his mother, even.
His talent for art was extraordinary. Anyone with eyes could see it.
Mike had been lucky enough to see some of the stuff Will had worked on in his college courses. Some of the pieces were absolutely breathtaking and so Will .
He knew Will was happy in the classes, and it produced amazing art, but it also meant the two of them didn’t get to spend even half as much time as they used to together. At least when Mike was in school too, it felt like less of a big deal.
They still tried to hang out as often as they could in the evenings, but they ended up only seeing each other two or three times a week. Will had school and homework. Or he was with his friends who weren’t Mike. Or he was doing whatever else he did.
Mike had only met two or three of Will’s friends. And only once or twice. It wasn’t that they… hadn’t gotten along, per se, but he had nothing in common with them. It was hard to hold a conversation. He’d rather just hang out with Will.
But he also felt like that was a whole part of Will he didn’t know, like Will knew everything about Mike but Mike only knew a part of Will.
Mike didn’t have any friends outside Will, their childhood friend Dustin, who lived in Salt Lake City, and Robin from work. That was kind of embarrassing.
At least Will’s apartment building was just down the street and not all the way across town. Thank god for small fortunes.
He missed hanging out with Will every day. He missed it a lot.
But when they were together it was almost like they were back in middle school, talking about Dungeons & Dragons and comic books and art.
That was one of many reasons why Mike was in love with Will. He could get lost in him, in their conversations, in their words.
A loud knock sounded at the door and Mike was pushed out of his stupor. He hopped up and made the three long strides across the room to open his door. There stood Will, a small smile on his face. His hair was wet and dripping like he hadn’t even had time to towel it dry from a shower, water sliding down his throat and neck and dampening his t-shirt.
“Hey,” he breathed. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay.” Mike waved him inside, line of sight being dragged to Will’s hand as he pulled it through his dripping hair. He staggered a little before regaining his composure and heading for the kitchen. “The pizza just got here, so you’re right on time in my book.”
“Awesome.” Will grinned. “No pineapple, right?”
Mike grimaced. “No pineapple,” he confirmed.
“Good.” Will muttered. “We should make a, like, petition for pineapple on pizza to just, not exist.”
Mike groaned. “Please. A million times please.”
They served themselves pizza and flopped back on the couch, side by side. “So…” Mike started, tapping his fingers against his knee, a stupid habit. He always needed something to do with his hands to ground him. “How was the day?”
He was debating on whether or not to tell Will about his encounter with Spiderman. But part of him- part of him wanted to keep it to himself.
“Okay.” Will responded, shrugging. “I started this cool piece in one of my art courses this morning.”
“Ooh,” Mike leaned forward. “What’s it of?”
Will laughed at Mike’s enthusiasm. Mike loved Will’s laugh. He loved how throaty it sounded, and the way his lips turned up at the sides. When Will was laughing for too long, too hard, Mike loved the way his face grew steadily more flushed, and the way his eyes shimmered.
He loved being the one to make Will laugh.
“A tall shadow-man,” Will said, spreading his arms out in front of him. “Creepy, staring down from a corner. It’s a perspective piece, and we’re only supposed to use pencils and charcoal. I actually like how it’s turning out.”
Mike grinned. He loved all things horror. Or all things even slightly creepy (especially if it happens to be a particular film where Johnny Depp just happens to be wearing a crop top). He felt almost invested. “Can I see?”
Will laughed again. “No way, dude. When I’m done though, yeah..”
“You gotta promise.” Mike said, dead serious, holding out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise, don’t forget or change your mind.” He stared intently at Will and Will snorted.
“This is not a drug deal, Wheeler,” He said, but hooked pinkies with Mike anyway. “No need to be so serious.”
Mike’s whole body felt warm, and he dropped Will’s finger. “Uno?” He motioned to the cards.
By the time they had eaten through half the pizza and played Uno four times, Scrabble twice, and an entire round of Life, they were bored.
“We gotta figure out another thing to do on Fridays, Byers.” Mike groaned, sinking deeper on the couch beside him. “We’ve played everything a million times.”
Will shrugged. “They’re your games. They’re only so many we can play with just the two of us.”
Mike stuck a hand towards the ceiling, fingers grasping. “Why don’t we go to a club? I’ve been to like two clubs ever, and I’m half-way to twenty four.”
Will raised his eyebrows. “Only two clubs. Really.” He looked almost as if he didn’t believe Mike.
Mike sighed. “You knew that. I don’t have friends like you do, Will. I don’t go out every other week like you do.”
Will furrowed his eyebrows. “You have Dustin. And Robin. And me.” He said the last part quieter.
Mike sighed. “Dustin lives in Utah, Will. You know that. I can’t fly all the way to Utah to go to some club with him- it would probably suck anyway. He’s awful when he’s drunk.” Will started to say something but Mike cut in. “And Robin- I don’t think she even drinks. Besides, her friend group is like a million times different than us.”
“Okay. Maybe you’re right.” Will looked down awkwardly. “So.” He looked back up. “You’re suggesting we go to a club. Right now.”
Mike shrugged. “Why not? I could get fucked up pretty good right now. I don’t have work tomorrow or anything.”
Will shrugged. “All right then. But I know your tolerance is bullcrap- Don’t throw up on me.” He gave Mike a side eye.
Mike rolled his eyes. “I promise.”
“Pinky swear me this time?” Will asked, holding out his pinky.
“Like we’re in third grade.” Mike agreed, hooking their pinkies together for the second time that night.
-
They arrived at the club at around ten thirty. Mike was exhausted, if he was being honest- he’d had a big day. A big, no, enormous day. And, to be even more completely honest, he was nervous. He didn’t know how he’d never gone to a club with Will. They’d gone to parties together in highschool, but that was the closest thing. Will went to clubs all the time.
It made Mike feel even more looped out of Will’s life.
They showed their bouncer their ID’s and walked into the music, side by side. Mike smoothed out his shirt, following Will’s beeline towards the bar. Will had had a bad relationship with alcohol in the past, but something had gotten him past it. Mike didn’t know what. Yet another thing he didn’t know about the boy who was supposed to be his best friend.
Will leaned up to the bar, and Mike slipped in beside him. Will ordered drinks for the both of them- Mike tried to ask what it was, but Will just waved him off. The drink burned as it slid down Mike’s throat, not a pleasant feeling, but a somewhat good one. It gave Mike a headrush that was almost addicting. He took another sip.
After downing his entire cup, Will slammed it back down on the bar. “C’mon,” He said, grabbing Mike’s wrist. “Let's dance, yeah?”
“No.” Mike pulled away from Will’s grasps, waving his hand in front of his face. “No, no way.”
Will grinned. “Yes way. You were the one to propose this, you will dance with me.”
“I- Fucking-” Mike made a face. He couldn’t say no to Will. “Fine.”
He followed Will into the crowd of dancing people. They moved almost as one, swaying and jumping and turning themselves over to the music. Or that’s what a poet would say, Mike thought.
Will began to move to, dance, sort of. He nudged Mike. “C’mon. Dance.”
“I don’t know how.” Mike yelled helplessly over the music. The sound, everything, the alcohol was making his heart beat in his head.
Will rolled his eyes. “Just move to the music!”
So Mike did. The music was synthy and nice, and despite the stuffy feeling of being so packed into others, Mike found it easy to lose himself. The alcohol did help, of course. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he could feel the flash of the strobe reflecting off his eyelids. He felt his body bump into others, his shirt ride up his spine, sweat drip from the back of his neck. He opened his eyes.
Will looked so happy that everything proved worth it. His eyes were shut too, lashes fluttering the slightest bit as he swayed. His lips were turned up in a smile, and Mike never, not in a million years, w ould have guessed that this was his element. But maybe it was.
They drifted back over to the bar, laughing. Mike’s head was fuzzy- he’d almost completely forgotten about Spiderman. Almost.
“This is fun.” Mike said, smiling. “I’m not really used to going out.”
Will laughed. Mike loved his laugh. “We should do this more. Then you can get used to it.”
Yes. Please. “Definitely.”
Mike was about to ask if Will wanted to go dance again- yeah, wow, how times change- when Will glanced at his phone. “I gotta pee,” He said, shoving his phone deep in his pocket. “Give me a second?”
Mike furrowed his eyebrows and nodded, taking a deep sip of his drink. It really was good. His head pounded a little and he felt really hot, but it was good.
Will filed back about ten minutes later, looking flushed, but he didn’t sit down. Instead, he grimaced, looking rushed. “I have to go.” He muttered, nerves flashing in his eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”
Mike didn’t even get ask where, before Will had gone, disappeared into the crowd. Just when they were finally having a nice time, Will left. Where? Were some of his friends here? Why couldn’t Mike just go with him? He wasn’t that bad.
Mike turned back to the bar and waved down the bartender. “Give me another of whatever my friend ordered earlier,” He grunted, and the bartender raised his eyebrows.
“He left you?” The dude asked. He had a thick Ukrainian accent.
Mike sighed and nodded. His vision swam a little. “Don’t even know where.”
The guy looked at him sympathetically. “Damn. It will get better, man. You guys look like you have a strong bond. Don’t worry about him breaking up with you- he likes you too much. I can tell. And I see many couples here.” He turned to begin mixing Mike’s drink and Mike felt his face redden.
“We’re not-” But he just cut himself off. Did they look like a… a thing? A couple? He accepted the drink in silence and took a deep sip.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Then forty-five. He scanned the room with bleary eyes and wondered if he should check the bathrooms. He did, and to no avail.
Another hour. Another bathroom check.
By then he’d drunken himself through another one and a half of those beautifully composed drinks, before the nice bartender began giving him soda instead. It was coke. Or maybe Pepsi. He didn’t know bartenders did that. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying, but his face was wet. He needed to get out of here before the tears grew into sobs. Everything was all colorful. The music was too loud.
He waved a goodbye to the bartender and stumbled outside the club. He fell against the brick wall, head hitting the material with a thump. He felt really drunk for once. And not the good kind. He felt hot and itchy everywhere and he couldn’t stop crying. His head hurt, but the cold air felt good against his skin.
Where was Will? It’d been two hours. He promised he’d be back. He wasn’t anywhere in the club. He wasn’t anywhere. Mike slipped down the wall, burying his face in his hands. He was angry at Will for leaving him. For his other friends probably. He’d probably already forgotten all about Mike. But he was worried that Will might be hurt, too. Might’ve walked into traffic. He was scared Will was dead.
That was stupid.
Mike sat there in the cold, shivering. But his entire body also felt hot at the same time- weird, huh. He didn’t care. Next to him was a guy around his age smoking through a plastic bag of what looked to be hand rolled joints. Mike asked him the question with his eyes and the guy immediately lit up another joint and passed it to Mike.
They smoked in silence. Will still hadn’t turned up. Mike didn’t care. That’s what he kept telling himself, he didn’t care, but then why was he here, waiting, like a puppy outside a coffee shop?
After a while, the guy saluted Mike and left.
Mike needed to get home. Fuck Will for leaving him. He steadied himself and quickly hailed a taxi, shoving the fare at the driver. He muttered his address and collapsed against the seat, curling up against the window. It had started to rain. Of fucking course. He watched the raindrops race each other down the glass.
The ride felt like forever, but he finally stumbled out of the car, feeling queasy. The taxi drove away and Mike immediately threw up in a bush. He fell back against the pavement of the sidewalk, wiping his mouth. He stared up at the stars. There were so many of them. They were winking at him. They were beautiful, but Mike felt they wanted to hurt him too. He thought that if they really, really wanted to, the stars could do that. Hurt him, kill him even. Mike laughed a little.
He somehow made his way up the stairs, unlocking his door in five tries. He remembered to lock it behind him and felt weirdly proud of himself for that. He collapsed on his couch, not bothering to get in bed or take off his shoes. It felt amazing, the couch did.
He felt better, after puking his guts out.
Not in his head though. In his head he was screaming continuously.
He missed Will. He missed Will. He missed seeing Will everyday, he missed Will telling him everything. He missed being each other’s best friends and not just Will being his. He hated himself for it, but he missed Will not having so many friends.
But maybe he didn’t hate himself all that much for it after tonight. Will was probably out with some of them. He’d gotten that text, hadn’t he? It was probably some of his friends, so he’d left the club and met up with the people he liked more. He’d just forgotten Mike was there. Maybe he would’ve come back if Mike would’ve waited, but Mike just couldn’t bring it in himself to care.
Mike found himself wishing Spiderman was here. Maybe it was stupid, but… maybe Spiderman would’ve listened to him. Spiderman would’ve stayed.
Thinking that was just plain weird, though, so Mike pushed the thought away and let himself fall into a fitful sleep.