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Will is in a bad mood.
Will is in a bad mood, because Mike is in a bad mood. The Party is currently hanging out at the arcade, and Will is trying his hardest to push past it and lay off the attitude for the sake of the others. He thinks he’s been pretty successful; the same cannot be said about Mike.
He’s been grumpy ever since Will woke him up this morning to start getting ready. Mike had immediately pulled the sheets back over his head, whining that he was too tired, and that they should ditch the others to stay in bed all day instead. Will, taking this as a joke, laughed as he ripped the blankets off of Mike, urging him to get dressed.
It was not a joke. Mike has been non-stop complaining about wanting to go home all day, not even bothering to move out of earshot of the rest of the Party. Frankly, he’s being sort of an asshole, and Will can tell that everyone’s getting sick of it.
After one final ”Willll” and four resulting eye rolls, he’s had enough.
Will slams his hands down on the control panel of the game in front of him, looks Mike dead in the eyes, and orders, “Outside.” He storms away, not even checking if Mike is following. He can hear the resounding snickers from the rest of the group, and can almost picture Mike trailing after him, tail between his legs.
As Will shoves his way out the front door, he hears it woosh open behind him one more time before slamming shut. He turns back around to see an ashamed Mike standing in front of him, head hanging. Good. He should be embarrassed. Will is embarrassed.
“What the fuck is going on with you today, Mike?” Will demands in a whisper, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible. He’d rather not make a whole scene.
This, predictably, causes Mike to become defensive, as he crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “I want to go home,” he replies calmly, raising an eyebrow almost as a challenge. He wants the fight, and Will is sure as hell going to give it to him.
“I’m aware, Mike, thank you,” he rolls his eyes sarcastically. “But we made these plans a week ago— we can’t just abandon the rest of our friends because you want alone time with me. We spend every day together, we need to see our other friends too.”
That’s a big benefit of summer vacation— constant sleepovers with his boyfriend, to the point where they practically live with each other. (It drives Hopper crazy, but he doesn’t really have a say when Joyce is in full support of it.) Though, if anything, this just seems to have made Mike extra clingy. They’re inseparable. Will can barely go to the bathroom without him requesting to tag along. Not that he’s complaining; he loves spending time with Mike. Break has been perfect, to say the least.
But Will knows what it’s like to be on the other end of that. He knows how it feels to be one of Mike’s friends, left behind in exchange for his significant other. It hurts. He can’t do that to the Party. He won’t let them fall victim to Mike’s one-track mind.
“Why should we?” Mike counters nonchalantly, not a single care in the world. It pisses Will the hell off.
“Because Mike, they’re our friends. And you’re sort of making them all feel like shit right now, you know that? You keep shoving it in their faces that you don’t want them here, and frankly, I’m over it.”
Mike narrows his eyes, face contorting with so much disgust that he nearly spits his next words out. “Fuck you.”
Alarm bells immediately start ringing in Will’s mind. That was not a typical Mike Wheeler response. He never alludes to disliking Will during an argument. He never insults— not intentionally. It’s always, “I love you, but—” and, “Will, please, I just want you to be safe,” and, “I’m not trying to be a jerk.” Something is not right here.
Will takes a step forward so they’re toe-to-toe, placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he denies, turning his head away with a scowl.
“I’m not stupid, Mike. What’s wrong?”
Mike bites his cheek, chancing a glance at Will. He lowers his voice to an almost-whisper, though he’s still very clearly angry. No, not angry— on his guard. “I want to go home.”
And that’s what he’s been saying this whole time, isn’t it? Maybe Will should have listened the first several times. God, he sounds miserable. Will definitely should have picked up on this a long time ago.
“Okay, yeah,” Will agrees quietly. He runs a hand down Mike’s arm, and can feel him start to relax under it. He’s stressed out, Will realizes. Like a scared cat. “We can go home.”
As Will reaches his wrist, he wraps his fingers delicately around it and pulls Mike toward the door. Before entering, he slips down a little further and gives Mike’s hand a squeeze, hoping to convey all he can’t with words alone. I’m not mad. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.
The breeze of the air conditioner and whirl of the machines hits them as they step inside, and they find the others standing in exactly the same spot as they left them. This time, however, they’re joined in a circle. Talking about him and Mike, no doubt. Will tries to ignore it. His number one priority at the moment is getting Mike home safe.
The group disperses as the two of them continue forward, and Will stops directly in front of the gap that has just been made for them. “We’re going to head out,” he tells them.
“Oooh, someone’s in trouble,” Dustin sing-songs.
“He’s not in trouble,” Will denies, looking Mike in the eye as he does so, to make sure he understands this. “He doesn’t feel well.”
“And you believe that?” Max accuses, raising her eyebrows. “He’s obviously lying. He just wants to go make out with you.”
“I don’t know,” Lucas jumps to defend. “Mike always gets kind of grumpy when he’s sick.”
“I’m not sick,” Mike grumbles from behind him, which is really not helping their case right now. In his best interest, he really should just shut up.
“Oh yeah, he’s totally sick,” Dustin nods, and what does Will know? Maybe reverse psychology actually works. “He never admits it when he is. He’s even doing the little pout.”
He is doing the pout. That would be cute if Mike didn’t look so upset right now.
“So, we’re going to go,” Will reiterates, trying to get him out of here as soon as possible. The quicker he can get to the bottom of this, the better.
“Okay, drive safe,” El says, like the nice, accepting friend that she is. She gives Will a side hug, then moves on to Mike, telling him, “Get well soon.”
Will sure hopes he does. He hopes that whatever the issue is, they can solve it together and make it good as new.
“Home” is apparently Will’s house today, since he’s the one driving. Mike protests this, arguing that it’s his car, but Will refuses. He doesn’t really want him driving in this condition.
He seems fine, but Mike has always been the master at hiding things that he doesn’t want other people to see. He masks his feelings under anger and harsh words, and for the most part, it does its job. People get sick of his attitude and walk away. They stop wanting to be around him, and Mike gets to ignore the problem once more. Will isn’t one of these people. He just hopes this will be as painless as possible.
Mike loves to complain. He will let everyone in a ten mile radius know when he’s not happy about something. The issue— when he’s really hurting— is getting him to tell you why. There’s a couple tactics to help him open up— for one, he can’t feel cornered or threatened. This has to be done gently. Luckily, Will has a few tricks that should get him to crack.
As soon as they close the door to his room, Will wraps him in a hug. “Can you talk to me now?” he asks softly. “What’s the matter, love?”
“Nothing.”
Okay, so they’re doing this the hard way.
Will lifts his chin to look up at him, displeased. He really does not want to get into another fight right now. “Mike, come on—“
“No, seriously,” he stresses, open and honest and pleading, like Will just isn’t getting something. “Nothing is wrong. I don’t— I’m not—“
“Alright,” Will soothes, as Mike pulls at his hair in frustration. He grabs his arm and leads him over to the foot of the bed, sitting both of them down with their thighs pressed together. “Explain?”
“I don’t know. It’s like…” Mike fumbles around with his hands for a bit, as if he can reach out and grab the words out of thin air, before giving up and huffing a breath in annoyance.
Mike occasionally has a hard time with words— ironically, seeing as his career plans involve an intricate knowledge of the English language. The best thing to do in these situations is to have patience. He’ll get there eventually. “Take your time,” Will encourages.
And he does. It takes a full three minutes before Mike finally says, “I’m sad for no reason.”
“You’re sad?” Will repeats heartbrokenly. Mike has been sad and he didn’t even know it. His own boyfriend.
“Kind of?” he replies unsurely, picking at his nail beds in thought. “Not exactly. Not like, crying sad. More… tired.”
“You’re tired?” he repeats again, because apparently he’s been reduced down to a parrot. “Analogy?” he requests. This is something that they do a lot. When one of them doesn’t quite understand what the other means, they try to find common ground— View-Masters and super spies and roller coasters.
“It’s kind of…” Mike pauses, tilting his head back and forth as if he’s throwing words around his brain. “It’s kind of like laying under a slab of cement. My chest feels heavy, and it takes too much energy to move. I have no motivation to try to move either, because it’s concrete, you know? I can’t push concrete, there’s no use. I’m just— I’m really tired,” he concludes.
“Do you need a nap?” he offers, moving to scooch off the bed so Mike can lay down. Will hasn’t noticed a lack of sleep on his end, but maybe there has been. Maybe Mike’s nights have been riddled with nightmares, and he’s too considerate and stubborn to wake Will up after them.
“No,” he shakes his head, placing a hand on Will’s shoulder to keep him sitting. “I’m not… sleepy. Do you remember when Chester died? Or Bob?” he questions, and Will nods. “You didn’t get out of bed for weeks, besides school. You never wanted to hang out with us, even just to get your mind off of it. It’s kind of like that, except I’m not actually upset, because no one is dead. It just feels like there is. Like something’s missing… in here,” he places his hand on his heart.
Will is all too familiar with grief. He’s experienced it one too many times for someone his age. All of them have. Mike shouldn’t be grieving, though. The world hasn’t ended in nearly two years. They’ve been happy— at least, Will has. Apparently, Mike has been suffering. He feels like someone died, and he didn’t say anything about it. He’s been dragged around by Will all day while feeling that. That horrible, debilitating grief. No wonder he was moody.
“Okay,” Will nods, still not understanding but not in any position to argue. He believes Mike— of course he does. “And you have no idea why?” Mike shakes his head, almost ashamed. He should never feel ashamed for something like this— even if they don’t exactly know what’s going on. If something is wrong, they’ll make it better. Together. “How long have you been feeling like this?”
Mike shrugs, entirely unhelpful, playing with a loose thread on his comforter. After stubborn silence on Will’s end, he adds, “This time around… like, a week?”
This time around. This has happened before, then. It must be a regular occurrence in Mike’s life, for him to have not even batted an eye after it started up again. He tells Will everything. How unimportant must Mike think this is?
“How long has it lasted before?” Will inquires.
“It depends,” he answers, sounding almost rehearsed. Closed off. Like he’s running every sentence through his head before saying it out loud; something he never does. Or, something he hasn’t done since they started dating. No more secrets, no more lies— no reason to tread carefully around certain topics. “Sometimes it’s just a few days— like a false alarm. Sometimes it’s… a year,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t want Will to hear it. He does anyway.
“A year?”
“That rarely happens,” Mike quickly amends, trying to do whatever damage control he can. It’s too late for that. The truth is out now. Mike has suffered for years at a time, and Will had no idea. How has he managed to hide this for so long? “Like, only twice in my entire life. It’s usually just for a few months.”
A few months isn’t much better. Especially not when paired with the word usually, implying that he’s spent well over two years like this. That’s like, over a sixth of Mike’s entire life.
Upon seeing Will’s panic, Mike hurries to assure, “It’s not that bad.” Bullshit. He doesn’t believe that for a second. Will gives him a look. “Okay, it is that bad. But I survive.”
If that’s supposed to make him feel better, it doesn’t work. “You survive,” Will deadpans, staring Mike in his increasingly-nervous eyes. “As opposed to..?”
“Ending it,” he supplies with a small smirk and a guilty shrug. It’s supposed to be a joke— or, at least, it’s supposed to seem like a joke. An acknowledgment and dismissal of his feelings all at once.
“Mike,” he warns sternly.
“I don’t, is the point,” Mike throws his arms in the air in exasperation, before crossing them over his chest. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Will grabs onto his forearms, pulling gently to get him to relax. He’s not mad; he didn’t mean for Mike to start closing himself back off. He’s just… frustrated. He’s frustrated, and scared, and he doesn’t know how to help. Mike won’t talk to him, and he won’t stop downplaying his own emotions for two seconds.
Will tries again, softer. “But you want to.”
It’s not a question. He knows he does.
“I—“ Mike starts, sounding like he was going to argue more before being cut off by a sudden wave of tears. Will immediately takes him into his arms, tucking Mike’s head beneath his chin. Mike sniffles and sobs into his shirt as Will rubs his back in slow circles. He was bound to break eventually; Will would take a crying Mike over a dismissive Mike any day. “I—“ he attempts again, through stuttered breaths. “I tried.”
Will feels a sense of dread rise up into his throat. There’s no way that Mike means what he thinks he means. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t have. Not without him noticing. “Tried to what?” he questions hesitantly, fearing the answer. “Tried to die?”
Mike only cries harder at the accusation, nodding jerkily. Will doesn’t know what to do. His Mike— his precious, beautiful boyfriend— could’ve been dead right now. Not at the hand of monsters, but by his own. Will can handle otherworldly creatures; what he can’t handle are the demons in Mike’s brain. There’s nothing to fight. To hurt the perpetrator would be to hurt Mike. The villain isn’t evil this time, and Will has no idea how to fix this.
“When?” he manages to croak out, through tears of his own. Again, he hasn’t got a clue how Mike could have snuck this without him knowing. Unless… it was while he was in California. That must be it. Will knows he had a pretty rough time back then.
“When you were missing,” Mike answers meekly. When he was missing, like… five years ago? When they were twelve? Will could have woken up in the hospital and never seen Mike again? God, that’s selfish of him to think. Mike tried to fucking kill himself at twelve years old, this is not about him.
And then another thought strikes him. It was his fault. Mike wanted to die because he thought Will was dead. He almost killed Mike.
“It wasn’t like that,” Mike rushes to clarify, as if reading Will’s mind. “I didn’t want to, I just… they were counting, and I had no choice—“ he rambles, growing more and more frantic.
“Who was counting?” he asks, and Mike pauses, going deathly still. “Mike… can you tell me what exactly happened? From the beginning? I just want to help, baby.”
As Mike fully relaxes the rest of his muscles and collapses into Will’s body, he knows he has him completely unwound. Will would be killed if he admitted this to anyone, but Mike loves being called baby, specifically in situations like this. The majority of the time the nickname is said the other way around, though it came as a surprise to Will that Mike responds insanely well to being coddled when upset. Will thinks it has something to do with how his emotions tend to be dismissed, especially by his parents. He needs to be reassured that even after expressing his feelings— especially anger— he’s still loved.
“Do you remember,” Mike begins, doing his best to talk through his cries, “The story of what you missed back in Hawkins?”
“Most of it, I think,” he confirms, throwing Mike’s legs over his lap and running a hand down his waist.
“Well, after Lucas and I had our fight and El ran away— you know that part?” Mike looks up at him for confirmation, and he nods. “After that, Dustin and I went to look for El, and we sort of cut a part out of the story,” he admits, slowly evening out his breaths. “Troy was mad at me for embarrassing him at your assembly, so he and James tracked us down in the woods. We tried to run away, but they cornered us at the quarry. I thought they would just shove us— punch us, trip us, whatever— but Troy pulled a knife and held Dustin in a headlock, and… I panicked.”
“He told me to jump,” Mike gasps, another round of tears starting back up. “He— he said he’d cut Dustin’s teeth out if I didn’t do what he said, and I know it was stupid. With me gone, it would have been so much easier for Troy to hurt Dustin, but I just… he was so scared. It was my fault we were even out there in the first place, and I panicked. I didn’t want to, I swear— not at the time. But sometimes I just— I get like this, and I wish that El hadn’t caught me before I hit the water. I can’t do this again, please don’t make me go through this again,” he sobs, turning his face into Will’s neck.
Mike jumped off a fucking cliff. He would be dead now if not for El. He wants to be dead. There was a million-to-one chance that he’d even be standing here today, and Mike would rather be the nine hundred ninety-nine thousand.
Will holds him tightly, placing dozens of kisses onto the top of Mike's head, soaking his hair with tears. “I won’t,” he promises brokenly, just like his heart. He can’t stand this— seeing the love of his life so distraught and not being able to help. “We’ll figure this out. You have me. You’ll always have me.”
Mike groans, loud and frustrated, into the skin of Will’s collarbone. “I thought this would be over!” he exclaims muffledly. “I have everything I could ever want— I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. But I’m still fucking ruining it.”
“Hey, no,” Will chides, pulling Mike up gently by the hair so their eyes can meet. “You’re not ruining anything. I’d much rather be doing this with you than be alone in my room all day. I love spending time with you, no matter what.”
“Even when I’m an ass to all our friends?” he cracks a small smile, wiping his nose on his sleeve with a sniffle.
Will sighs fondly, squeezing Mike’s waist. “Yes, even then.”
“I’m sorry for being a jerk,” he adds sincerely, wet eyes staring Will down. “I’ll apologize to the others too, I just—“
“Mike,” he cuts him off with a shake of his head. Was Mike a jerk? Totally, and the others should definitely hear this from him. It’s not like it wasn’t understandable though, given the circumstances. Will just wishes Mike had communicated this to him before they blew up at each other. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m sorry— for not listening to you. I should have taken your word for it.”
Mike smiles bittersweetly, clearly trying to ease his worries. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I should have just told you.”
It’s not okay. Mike hates it when people don’t listen to him. Will tries— he really does— but it’s something he’s going to work on. He’s normally a very good listener, but Mike loves to talk in riddles. He needs to learn how to read between the lines. And Mike needs to learn how to take an apology. Not everything is on him.
“Shut up, I’m sorry,” Will retorts, completely negating everything he just said about listening. “You know you could have told me, right? You can tell me these things. I’m here to help. Or— tell someone at least.”
“I did,” Mike corrects, almost bashfully. “I told my mom once.”
That’s surprising to Will for several reasons. Firstly, Mike doesn’t tell his mom anything. Ever. Secondly, he finds it strange that Mike isn’t in therapy right now, after what Will has heard.
“You told her… about the quarry?”
“Well, no, not about all of it,” he clarifies. “Just like— the beginning part we talked about. About the cement and Chester— the feelings and stuff. I wanted the day off of school, and I knew she wouldn’t believe that I was sick, so it was kind of a last-ditch effort.”
“And..?” Will prompts.
“She told me to suck it up,” he shrugs, looking down to their intertwined hands as if he’s embarrassed about it. “She said that it’s life— everyone feels like that sometimes.”
Everyone does not feel like that sometimes. Even without the dying part, Will never gets sad without reason— and he would know. He’s had many reasons to be sad.
This is what Will means when he says that Mike’s feelings are often ignored. His family is so quick to dismiss him. He’s the kid with the short temper, the boy with the loud opinions, but they don’t even take a second to consider why that is. They don’t bother to figure out why he’s angry in the first place. And they wonder why it’s so hard to get him to open up.
“I’m sorry, love,” Will whispers, tightening his arm around him. “That was messed up. You know she was wrong, right?”
Mike shrugs again, nuzzling closer to him. “Yeah, I guess.”
“No. No guessing— she was wrong. She doesn’t get to tell you not to be upset,” Will insists, and Mike nods into his chest. That’s as much of an agreement as Will is going to get, he fears. It’s better than nothing; better than an argument. “Do you think that maybe… we could tell my mom about this? About all of it?”
Mike stiffens under him, reeling his head back to give Will the death-glare of a lifetime. “No.”
He gets it— Mike has zero reason to trust an adult with this information. They’ve hurt him time and time again with this sort of thing. It’s only right that he keeps his secrets close to his chest. But Will can’t help with this. He doesn’t even know what’s going on. His mom is Mike’s best shot at an answer.
“Mike, please,” he begs, on the verge of panic. He can’t watch Mike slip between his fingers. ”I— I don’t know what to do. My mom will. She can help you. Just my mom— no one else. I swear.”
His glare weakens, only slightly, replaced by a small pout. He pulls back from Will’s space completely and moves to lay down on the bed, arms out as an invitation. Will happily accepts, glad that Mike isn’t mad enough at the suggestion to reject his touch altogether, pulling Mike’s head back onto his chest.
Will plays with his hair in the newfound silence, before Mike breaks it. “I’ll think about it.”
A maybe. A tentative, reluctant maybe. It’s better than Will had expected. Mike might just be desperate enough to take the help for once.
“That’s all I ask,” he replies, soft and careful. “I just want you to be okay.”
“I will be,” Mike assures, tilting his head back to see Will’s face. “As long as you’re here, I will be.”
Maybe that’s all Will needs to do. He can be here— offer support, an ear, hugs, anything Mike needs. That’s how he can help. If that’s the case, he has a pretty easy job. There’s nowhere he’d rather be.
“I will be,” he echoes, kissing Mike on the forehead. “Always.”