Chapter Text
The sun was shining through the small window above the sink, making the shitty kitchen of Michael Wheeler look actually cozy. Neil Tennant was filling the room with his voice, while the owner of said kitchen swayed his hips, stumbling across the room to put away the dishes he had already dried. While he stretched across the cupboard, in order to reach the highest shelf, his sleeve got tangled in the forks and the remaining silverware came crashing down on the white tiles. Startled, the dark- haired man jerked away violently, almost making the plates, he grabbed before, familiar with the floor as well. With a heavy sigh, he went to pick them back up.
“What have I, What have I, What have I done to deserve this?”, he sang along, while shaking his head in staged agony. Putting the forks back in their place only left the task of cleaning the sink. Winding that up happened to align with Dusty Springfield’s part of the song. So, who was Mike to deny his invisible audience a perfectly sung off-key solo performance? As he started to get into it, trying to reach octaves he couldn’t even dream of, the doorbell interrupted him.
Confused, since he didn’t expect anybody (not that he had friends or anything), he hurried to dry his hands and sprint to the door. He unlocked it and opened the heavy wooden thing. In front of him stood a woman in her early forties. Long unruly locks framed her face, while she was smiling brightly up at him. She looked exhausted but happy to see him. Nobody ever did that.
Right in front of him stood the one and only Joyce Byers from the first floor. Somewhere in the back of his apartment “The look of love” by ABC started playing obnoxiously loud and he was reminded, that his questionable taste in music was presented to the entire complex full force right now. Frantically grasping for his phone, to turn down the volume, he greeted her.
“Good evening, Mrs. Byers. Can I help you with anything?”
“Oh Michael, no need to be so formal. I only wanted to drop off your package.” Only now did he realize the massive box, standing in the hallway. It was at least half her size. Mike immediately felt bad.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I was at home too. They didn’t even ring the bell. I totally forgot I even ordered those. I should have known. You could have asked me to come and pick them up. You must be exhausted from work and books are heavy. What if you would have fallen down the stairs? You shouldn’t have …” His panicked rambling was interrupted by a small hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay Michael, really. I ordered something as well and the delivery guy asked me, if I could take yours, because you are not home that often.” Mike’s face immediately fell even more. This wasn’t the first time the petite woman had delivered his packages, because he wasn’t at home to do it himself. Hell, this was the only reason he knew Mrs. Byers in the first place.
As he moved in, his first new piece of furniture was a little book shelf. Mrs. Byers met him at the main entrance that day and informed him, that the package was sitting in her apartment. Mike never had been more mortified. He wasn’t even living there for one goddamn week and he already was a burden. To sweet Mrs. Byers on top of that. She had better things to do than keep orders from too- incompetent- to- live boys, in their early twenties. But she did the same thing she did back then.
She smiled at him with the most honest expression he had ever seen and said: “It really is okay honey. Just take it and have fun with your new books, as it seems.”
Still unhappy with himself, he nodded and thanked her with a little grin. It was unnecessary to argue with her, especially if it was about helping others. This war would be over, before there would be any chance of starting one. Joyce Byers wished him a good day and went down the stairs again. He sent her a little wave and went to grab the package, almost dislocating his shoulder while trying. What the fuck had he ordered? And what kind of powerhouse was that woman from the first floor? Somewhere deep in his brain the word mitochondria plopped up. He shook his head to get rid of that thought. Less energy for the brain, more for the arms.
Let’s be honest here fellas. Mike never had a fit bone in his life. The only muscle and cardio training he got in back in the days, was the funny game called “escape your bullies before you get hurt”. Fun times. He wasn’t even sure, if his gangly excuse of a body was capable of gaining this foreign thing called muscle mass. If he didn’t want to leave at least eighty dollars worth of books standing in the hallway though, he had to get his shit together or die trying. Never underestimate the willpower of a book nerd.
After ten agonizingly long minutes, he was leaning on the box, panting heavily. He had made it to the living room and immediately collapsed. Ripping of the duct tape and opening it, revealed a proud collection of books ranging from the most recent release of his favorite fantasy author, to a special edition of pride and prejudice. He was a weak man, okay? Now that he had time to think, while searching for the correct places in his bookshelf for the newcomers, he realized this tactic would have proven to be helpful all along. He could have gotten the books bit by bit, until the box would have been light enough to carry. Sometimes his own stupidity blew his mind.
The other thought, that occurred to him, was Mrs. Byers. She had helped him so many times with those stupid packages. She had carried his fucking half a year book order he introduced to not get ahead of himself, being broke and in debt before he even started life. He may have gone close to that point the first year of living alone. But it was a learning process, okay? Anyways, back to the point. She had carried half a year worth of book wishes from him. Mike Wheeler, whose book shelf didn’t even fit the term “bursting at the seams” anymore. That woman deserved the world. Mike was officially eighty dollars less rich now and “rich” wasn’t the correct word to describe his financial status in the first place. He would make it work though. For Mrs. Byers.
Now was the question of what to get her. She wouldn’t accept money. Mike had to learn that the hard way the last time he offered (a stare from that woman can be very convincing). She wouldn’t accept any kind of service for sure, because god forbid Joyce Byers could need help. She would rather die.
What was it, that the middle-aged female heart longed for? Presents weren’t an option either. Or maybe… a simple bouquet of flowers. It would be sweet, it would be simple, it would be something the stubborn woman couldn’t reject. That settled it. Mike would buy Joyce Byers flowers after work tomorrow. It should have bothered him, that the first flowers he would buy for someone would be for one of his neighbors, who was at least twice his age. It didn’t though. Mike was going to say “Thank you” properly for once and it was going to be easy.
It was everything but easy.
Standing in the small flower shop just across his working place was overwhelming in many ways. There were plants everywhere in every color and size imaginable. Some were in pots, some were already arranged in bouquets and some were hanging from the ceiling (No he didn’t almost send one flying to the ground, because he hit his head.) The chilly air only flower shops contained, bathed him in a sweet and fresh smell. It would have calmed him if it weren’t for the mental gymnastics he pulled right now, in order to decide on fucking flowers. It should definitely not be that difficult.
But what if it were the wrong flowers. Didn’t they have meanings as well? Oh god, what if Mrs. Byers thought he wanted to confess a nonexistent undying love for her, because he chose the wrong color? Or what if he chose a kind that symbolizes hate? Did she know about flower language in the first place? Did she even like plants? What if she’s allergic? Mike must have stared at the bouquet display for too long, because the cashier approached him with a friendly smile and asked him if he was okay. Maybe he was also white as a wall because his overthinking process was pushing him to leave the shop already. He would suck it up. Again, for Mrs. Byers.
“Yes. Yeah. I’m good. I’m fine really erm…” The young woman was looking up at him quizzically. Way to go Michael. Totally scored that one.
He took a deep breath and started again. “I wanted to thank someone with a few flowers, but if I’m being honest, I have no idea what I’m doing.” He received a small chuckle at that. Now he was certain, that he didn’t have to add a place to the never-ending list of locations he could never visit again, because of the visions he had at 3 a.m. of how much of a fool he had made of himself at every single one of them. Yet.
“Oh, believe me, most of our customers don’t. And honestly, everyone stresses about the entire flower language deal, but trust me, nobody cares and everybody will tell you different things. I mean as long as you have no clue, why would others be experts all of a sudden? You said you wanted to thank someone? I would go with a small but sweet thing. Maybe some tulips with a bit of greenery. You can choose the colors and we have some bi-colored ones as well. I will show you a few options and you can decide what suits you. How does that sound?”
Mike has never been more grateful in his life. Cutting down the options for a person, who wasn’t even able to decide what to wear on a daily basis? This woman was a goddess. He nodded enthusiastically at her and followed her to the counter.
He ended up choosing tulips in dark reddish and yellow shades combined with dark green weeds. It looked simple but pretty. Mike was happy with his purchase. He thanked the nice employee and started his way back to the apartment complex.
The young man was now currently having a stare down with a dark wooden door. The brightly painted ‘Welcome’ mat seemed to mock him. It was so easy. He just had to knock, give her the flowers, thank her again and leave. She was a nice woman. She wasn’t going to call him creepy and slam that door right in his face. She knew him…kind off. But what if he stumbled over his words like always? What if he came off wrong or made her uncomfortable? His breathing increased and turned into sharp inhales. Oh great, a fucking anxiety attack over fucking flowers in a fucking hallway. Wasn’t that oh so fucking fantastic? Mike honestly wanted to cry. Why was he like this?
His time for self-pity was cut short though, because the door flew open and Joyce Byers herself appeared. Both of them were slightly startled. “Oh Micheal. What a nice surprise. Are you okay?” Upon seeing his troubled face her internal mom-mood was immediately activated. Before she could reach out to fuss over him, the door across the hall was opened as well.
Mrs. Beauford entered the hallway and gave them a suspicious look as soon, as she recognized them. She was a 75-year-old widow with a white Maltese called Bruno. Her hair was a field of grey locks, accompanied by wide sun hats, while the rest of her attire was always a large variety of flowery dresses in every shade of pink imaginable. The other two offered a little wave and greeted her. She just nodded with a disapproving look and walked away, nose in the air (pretty similar to the small menace that was her dog). Ms. Byers looked at Mike questioningly, but both of them just shrugged simultaneously.
“How can I help you, Micheal?” Oh right, he wanted to give her something. Swallowing heavily and taking one last breath, he tried to recite his prepared speech. “Well, you know… I just wanted to thank you again for the packages in the last few months. I am really busy with this new job of mine and your assistance was a really great help. I know you would never accept money or presents or help in return, but I still wanted to make it up to you. You don’t have to accept anything. I also didn’t know what you liked or if you were allergic. Oh shit… I mean shoot, I meant to ask that first. Well, you seem okay, so I don’t think so, well uhm I erm…”
You fucked up my guy. You fucked that up good. Mike just wanted to yank that door out of Mrs. Byers hand and smash his head against it. As he looked her in the eyes, there was only kindness though. “What do you have for me, sweetie?” Only now did he realize, that he had put the hand holding the bouquet, behind his back. Honestly, how old was he? Five (mentally barely 3 to be honest)?
He rushed to show her the flowers, almost tripping forward through the force. She gasped lightly. A face full of surprise presenting itself to Mike, who was looking at her expectantly, shivering with anticipation. The biggest smile he had ever seen started to paint her face. “Aaawww sweetie, you didn’t have to. Thank you so much.” The petite woman was carefully grabbing the flowers out of his hands, as if it was the most precious thing she had ever received. Without any warning, she dragged him into a strong hug. “Thank you so much Michael. It really wouldn’t have been necessary, but thank you. I appreciate it.” Her smile was contagious, because one almost as wide started to stretch across Mikes face too. “It really is no problem, Mrs. Byers.”
He let himself ease into the hug. The Wheeler family never was one for strong physical affection, or at least they weren’t for him. He didn’t really exist for them back then and now…well. The point is: Micheal Wheeler craved any kind of physical touch he could get. So, sue him for embracing the moment with everything he had.
A loud crashing sound out of the depts of the opened apartment, startled them apart. The woman cursed under her breath and hurried inside. Mike was left standing in the hallway, not really sure of what to do next. Should he follow her? But she didn’t give permission. Just leaving wasn’t an option either though.
He settled for a safe path in the middle. He slowly pushed the front door to open further. Behind it a narrow corridor was revealed. It was packed with the cardboard remains of large packages. Now that he thought about it, Mrs. Byers mentioned that she also received some. Looking at the sheer size of them, the young man felt even worse. Another crashing sound, followed by a frustrated sigh echoed from somewhere deeper in the flat. Okay, that was it. His neighbor might be a lovely stubborn woman, but never ever underestimate the willpower of a Wheeler sibling.
His little sister Holly endured months of grounding. A result of their parents not wanting to accept her wish to be a vegetarian. As soon as they realized that their tactics didn’t change her opinion, they had to give in and Holly didn’t eat a piece of meat ever since. That was a rare golden moment for the kids in the Wheeler household.
Mike was going to help with whatever was going on and if it was the last thing he would ever do.
“Mrs. Byers?”, he whisper-yelled to make sure that she was okay. A hum of acknowledgement came from down the hall. A tired looking dog came wandering out of what Mike assumed was the living room. It looked up at him tiredly (heh you could say he was dog-tired) and tilted his head. It was probably contemplating, if Mike was a threat worth barking about. Subconsciously, Mike tilted his head as well, giving the dog a questioning look. That seemed to be enough proof for his innocence, because the pet just huffed and continued to wander to a door, entering another room.
Mike closed the door behind him, took of his shoes to put them down on a rack and went to follow her voice. He entered a spacious living room, which was filled with numerous furniture parts, tools, screws and other building things, Mike didn’t even try to pretend to know the name of. Amidst this organized chaos, Joyce Byers tried to hold two separate wood pieces, which seemed to belong to a sideboard, upright. They were way too far apart for one person though, so she was lying on her stomach, while holding one piece with her right hand and the other one with the toe of her left foot. His arrival seemed to startle her slightly, because the grip of her toes loosened and the piece came crashing down once again.
A frustrated noise escaped her, while she stood up. “Is there something else I can help you with, sweetie?”, she asked in a much nicer tone. How one person could have her emotion this much in check, was beyond Mike. Hell, the whole thing would be sent flying after the fifth attempt in his case. Yes, moving with a Wheeler was a delight.
He smiled at her, trying not to laugh at her pouting face, after the next piece wasn’t holding up anymore. “No”, he answered and with all the courage he could gather, he added, “I was going to help you actually.” She frowned and tried to deny him, but he dared to interrupt her. “I know you don’t want help, but this is not a one- person job at all. I don’t have anything else to do anyways. You would finish this up faster and I want to help you. You are not forcing me at all.” His statement seemed to turn down all her arguments. She deflated and huffed quietly, but nodded. “Thank you”, she whispered.
Mike wasn’t trying to fool anyone today. He didn’t know shit about furniture or building things and he told the older woman as much. He was able to read and understand instructions though and his lonely single live thought him a few things about tools and how to use them. He was only needed for the holding part at first, anyways. While he put his long arms to use, Mrs. Byers placed the next wooden piece on top of the ones she tried to hold up in the first place. Step one was done. She started to secure that piece with screws and made sure, that it was as close as possible to being straight. Yeah, obviously not a job for Mike.
Meanwhile, the lanky young man tried to familiarize himself with the instructions. He looked around him to make sure which pieces were already complete, which were missing and where all the supplies were. Completely lost in his task, he didn’t realize how Mrs. Byers finished and watched him with fond eyes. As he realized though, he made a show out of looking at the papers in his hand. He folded them precisely, held them a little bit away from himself, as if to get a better picture of the whole thing and squinted his eyes as if he needed glasses. (He actually had reading glasses for late hours, but nobody needed to know that.) A small laugh escaped the woman across from him. “So, what is the next step?”, she asked. “Oh, I’m glad you asked”, he answered with the faux tone of a salesman.
And just like that they started to build a sideboard and a little shelf for her living room. A lot of laughter ensued, because their combined cluelessness led to mistakes neither off them wanted to admit. Yes, they had to rebuild one thing completely, because they mixed up the outside and inside color of the shelf.
It was already dark outside, when the both of them sank down on the forest green couch. Mike knew that he wasn’t fit in the slightest, but putting the finished furniture to the rightful place, exhausted him a concerning amount. With the last remains of his strength, he held his pale hand out for a high five. He was meat with an equally exhausted tab to his palm. “Thank you again, Michael”, Mrs. Byers breathed out. “Maybe I could invite you to dinner.” This idea apparently gave her a boost of energy, because she immediately jumped up and hurried to her fridge.
The living room and the kitchen were only separated through a low counter therefore Mike had a clear few of the interior of the kitchen. Opening the fringe revealed a half- filled milk bottle, a cheese package and a bundle of carrots, which was holding on for dear life to one of the compartments. They both cringed at the sight and Mrs. Byers shut the door as fast as possible. “Well…take out?”, she asked unsure of herself. It almost seemed, as she was embarrassed and Mike wanted to laugh. There was a time in his life, where he lived with paper dishes, because he couldn’t motivate himself to do the actual dishes. A sad fridge was nothing compared to that.
If she didn’t like cooking, well Mike was happy to help out. And that he did. “I made potato soup yesterday. There is enough for two. Would you do me the honor of dining with me, Mrs. Byers?” While asking, he tried to do a curtsy. It ended up more in a graceless stumble, but the giggle he got reduced his embarrassment. “I’d really like that.” He was kind of surprised, that he got such a fast confirmation, but he wasn’t complaining either. They both took off to put on their shoes. The last thing he saw, was the bouquet he got the woman, proudly displayed on the counter in a green vase made out of glass. He smiled to himself.
Freeing his small dining table of drying dishes and book towers he horded there, was less embarrassing than the absolute mess that his apartment in general was, but his guest didn’t seem to care. While Mike hurried to reheat the soup in the microwave, Mrs. Byers went on a voyage through his book shelves.
You see, Mike’s apartment had a spacious living room which wasn’t separated from the kitchen by walls. The only things which indicated a “end” of the room were the tile flooring and the dining table. His living area had a couch and a TV, including it’s stand, a shelf filled to the brim with highlights of the movie industry (this may be the result of Steve working at a video store), the one plant he managed to keep alive (Bertram the ponytail palm, thank you very much) and two book shelves which were placed back-to-back. These were functioning as a wall.
Behind the second shelf was a desk. This was Mike’s working place for preparing role play sessions for his work place or writing, if he had enough time. After that a small hallway led to the bathroom on one end and Mike’s bedroom on the other.
Said book shelves were for once obviously filled with books, but Mike was also a fan of collecting other things. Therefore, they were also filled with endless knickknacks. This included merchandise from different fandoms, little presents he received from his few friends around here, photographs or other things that he connected to happy memories, like the stone Robin found the first time they visited a beach together.
Mrs. Byers looked at everything, her fond smile growing stronger as soon as she saw the photos. “Are those friends of yours?” It was once weird to call those people “friends”. I mean they were his sister`s ex-boyfriend and his platonic soulmate, her girlfriend, then there was his boss at work and….well his sister. He lived with half of them for almost a year respectively and they had weekly get-togethers. They were close to family by now (but that sounded cheesy as fuck).
“Yes”, he decided to answer, “those are Steve, Robin and Vickie”, he pointed at a photo, where they wore ugly Christmas sweaters, “my sister Nancy”, a picture from her graduation at college, “and my new boss Eddie”, a picture of him holding his nephew with the most caring face in the world. The woman listened to him attentively, smiling at him. “They seem really nice”, she said happily. “They are. Even though Steve can be a real dumbass and Nancy a menace.” Mrs. Byers chuckled. Their little bubble was plopped by the beeping of the microwave.
Hurrying to get out plates and fill them with soup, Mike burned his fingers at least ten times, but the meal was ready to be eaten. They were finally sitting across from each other and dug in. Mrs. Byers hummed pleasantly. “Oh Micheal, this is delicious!” An embarrassed flush started to form on the younger boy’s cheeks. “Thank you, Mrs. Byers.” “Ah, this reminds me. Quit that please. You can call me Joyce.” He blinked at her, face full of surprise. “Well, Joyce”, he emphasized the new name “you can call me Mike then. Everyone just calls me Michael, when I did something wrong and…well my mom.” He trailed off. Why did he have to mention that? It was such a nice night until now. Why should it be a bad thing if his mom called him that? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Now he probably had to explain. And… “Okay then, Mike”, she emphasized it the same way he did with her name. “Thanks again for the help today and for this delicious meal. I’m not really a good chef myself. The only one who had talent in the kitchen was my son Jonathan, but he is at college now, so…”, she trailed off with a vague hand gesture.
Mike smiled, an idea popping up in his head. “Well, I like cooking and trying out new things in the kitchen. I know, I wouldn’t believe that either, but it’s true. The only problem is, that most of the recipes are for more than one person and I don’t want to eat the same thing for weeks. The ingredients get bad fast as well. So, if you wanted to, I could make this a regular thing, maybe. We obviously don’t have to eat together every day, but I could cook for us. I get to try new things without limiting everything for myself only and you get meals out of it, without needing to cook by yourself.”
The young man realized that he may have gotten a little bit too excited over the idea. He barely knew Joyce after all and he didn’t want to force himself on her. He backpaddled immediately “Only if you want to, of course. You don’t have to. I just thought it might be nice…” Two hands closed around his right one. He didn’t even realize, that he had started to gesture wildly. His parents always scolded him for that. They feared, that he would break their precious china.
He looked up, anticipating a disappointed look. Joyce was going to tell him to keep it down, to be less noisy and especially to steal less space with his gangly limps. She did no such thing. She smiled. Like she always did and rubbed a calming thumb over his knuckles. “Mike, honey. If I’m really not intruding or taking away your time with that, I’d really love that. I’ll pay you for the groceries. We can share our schedules and if you’d like, we can eat together a few times a week. I mean, both of my lovely boys are away at college and Chester and I don’t really get visitors. It would be no problem. If you are okay with that.” Now Joyce was the one giving a hesitant look.
Mike was at a loss for words. He felt like Christmas and his birthday came early with the best present, he didn’t even know he needed. He also felt close to crying, but that was a place in his mind, that he wasn’t ready to open yet. Instead, he gave Joyce’s hands an encouraging squeeze and a thankful smile. “That sounds really nice”. They both smiled at one another.
After they said goodbye to each other, exchanging phone numbers and working schedule for the next two weeks, Mike sat in bed thinking about the day’s events. It had all started with an internal breakdown over fucking flowers and it ended with a food buddy. Huh. Life sure is strange, but who was he to complain?