Chapter Text
"Mike! Door!" Nancy shouts, peeking her head through the doorway. She urgently gestures to the casserole dish held tightly with pink oven mitts, "I'm a little busy here!" Another knock echoes through the chaos of the Wheeler house, and Nancy mouths 'Go!' before scurrying back to the kitchen. Mike groans obnoxiously from the dining room, putting down the forks and spoons his mother had previously ordered him to set out.
As part of an awkward attempt to welcome Jonathan Byers into the Wheeler family, Mike's mother had the bright idea to invite the entire Byers family over for dinner (despite his father's protest). Mike had no personal resentment toward Jonathan—though he was certainly quieter and more reserved than Steve Harrington—but otherwise, there was no issue. The issue was Mike's father. Although Steve Harrington was hardly hitting all of Ted Wheeler's 'if you want to date my daughter' criteria, he at least had most of them. Popularity, athleticism, sociable, well-known family, and looks. It's not to say Jonathan had nothing going for him, but... in the eyes of their father, Nancy took a nosedive from Prince Charming and landed in a swamp. Jonathan is as unpopular as you can get, and his family certainly did not have the most impressive reputation in Hawkins.
Mike trudges through the foyer, ruffling Holly's hair when she runs by with a Barbie doll. As he approaches the front door, he catches a glimpse of a single figure through the window. He swings the door open, putting on his best Wheeler smile, and prepares his rehearsed welcoming dialogue.
Ms. Byers stands before him, appearing frazzled at Mike's sudden appearance. In her hands is a large bowl of green jello salad, topped with whipped cream and cocktail cherries. It jiggles lightly as Ms. Byers attempts to wave with an open-mouthed smile.
'Huh, no Jonathan...' Mike thinks, but ultimately shrugs it off. Jonathan would know better than to miss an occasion like this.
"Hi, Ms. Byers, welcome…" he trails off. A slight movement from behind her grabs his attention.
Ms. Byers follows his gaze, craning her neck to the side. She whispers inaudibly to a short figure that Mike failed to notice. Reluctantly, the figure peers out from behind the woman's hip, little fingers gripping her dress pants.
'A little brother?..'
Of course, Jonathan had never mentioned having a little brother.
Mike's polite smile falters for a second as he takes in the nervous-looking boy. His brain short-circuits, forming a single thought—'Jonathan Byers has a little brother?' The Wheeler smile stays frozen on his face, but his eyes dart between the boy and Ms. Byers with genuine confusion. The first thing Mike notes is how small he is, hardly above Ms. Byers' hip. His hair is a pretty caramel brown, and his bowlcut—though out of style—is endearing, in a way. The blunt edges of his bangs hang just above his curious doe eyes, moving slightly when his lashes flutter against them. His cheeks are rosy—either from embarrassment or the cold December weather—almost comparable to ripe apples. Mike watches as the boy nibbles on his bottom lip (a nervous habit Mike knows all too well) and can't help but notice how pink his lips look—
'I'm staring,' Mike realizes, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Uh… hi," Mike says again—less rehearsed and more clumsy this time. His gaze lingers on the little boy. It doesn't last long, however, as Ms. Byers takes the chance to greet him.
"You must be Michael! Ah, Karen's told me so much about you!" Ms. Byers exclaims with a wide grin, and she seems to go in for a handshake before realizing she's still holding jello salad. Mike nods, his smile unmoving, but his stare still drifting to the younger of the two. Ms. Byers shifts the large bowl in her hands before gently nudging her son forward with her elbow. "Will!" she whispers urgently.
The boy—Will—swallows and steps forward hesitantly, as if the ground might fall under him, "... Hi."
His voice is just like him—small, delicate, and... cute. Mike swallows dryly.
Already, Will doesn't seem all that different from his brother. They're both boys of few words, it seems, despite the overwhelming enthusiasm of their mother. Mike snaps back into his Wheeler performance, his mother's lectures and instructions on how to greet guests echoing in his head. "Oh, let me take that for you, Ms. Byers!" He offers with another grin, bringing his hands out to take the bowl. "Come inside, I'll let my parents know you're here." Ms. Byers' face lights up at Mike's offer, clearly relieved to offload the heavy jello. She passes it over carefully.
"Ah, thank you so much," she chirps, her tone warm but her eyes drilled with nervousness.
Mike takes a step back to allow the Byers through the door, but as he does, Holly zips past on tiny feet. She bumps into Mike's leg, nearly knocking him over. "Watch it, Holly!" Mike hisses, turning his head to glare at the young girl. However, her eyes lock onto the strangers at the door. More specifically, Will. She squints at him with curiosity before blurting, "Aren't you in my class?" Mike's eyes dart between the two children. Holly leans in, eyeing Will while the boy stays cemented in place, keeping watch on his shoes.
"That's Jonathan's brother, Holly. His name's Will, say hi," Mike gently nudges Holly and gives her a look that says 'remember what Mom told us to do.'
Holly seems to understand, immediately straightening herself and offering out her hand, "Hi, Will! I'm Holly, thanks for comin' over!" She smiles sweetly, parroting the practiced line perfectly—if their mom were here, she would be beaming. Ms. Byers slips an audible 'aww' at Holly's gesture. Will, however, seems less impressed and more terrified. He gapes at Holly. Holly's grin wavers when Will doesn't immediately shake her hand and get the introductions over with. She isn't used to such... unresponsive guests. Ms. Byers nudges Will again, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"C'mon, Will, she doesn't bite!" Ms. Byers jokes, and Mike resists the temptation to respond with 'Oh, she definitely does'. He's got a three-year-old scar to prove it.
Will finally moves, his small palm meeting Holly's with an awkward squeeze. His voice is so quiet it's almost swallowed by the bustling, hurried movements in the kitchen.
"...Hi, Holly."
Now that they're standing closer, Mike sees that even Holly is taller than Will—just by a few inches.
'Jeez, this kid is a walking twig.'
Holly blinks at Will's lackluster introduction, a question clearly on the tip of her tongue. Mike kicks her in the leg before she can embarrass both of them. Holly jolts, glaring up at Mike. With a huff, she turns on her heel and stomps back to the living room.
Before the uncomfortable interactions can continue, Mike's mother suddenly appears next to him. She puts a hand on his shoulder and guides him out of the way of the door, as if to say, 'I'll take it from here.' Ms. Byers seems to light up upon her arrival.
"Joyce!"
"Karen!"
The women hug tightly as they continue talking. "Thank you so much for inviting us—Jon'll be here soon, he's fetching a surprise for Nancy," Joyce whispers excitedly.
"Oh, it's quite all right, Joyce! Jonathan's a sweet boy, I know he wouldn't miss something like this for the world!" Karen replies, "Come to the kitchen, I'll show you this new Tupperware pitcher I found at the mall!"
They act like they've known each other for years, even though they'd only begun talking a month ago when Nancy introduced Jonathan. Mike glances over at Will, who is a spitting image of an abandoned puppy. His anxious eyes follow his mother, but his feet are grounded in place—like he's unsure if he's allowed to move.
The jello salad is abruptly snatched from Mike's hands by his mother. Before she walks away with Joyce, Mike tugs her cardigan, confusion evident on his face. She only looks back with equal amounts of confusion. Mike jerks his head towards the entrance, where Will is still rooted to the floor.
"Since when does Jonathan have a little brother?" he whispers.
His mom scoffs in disbelief, "Michael, in the two months that we have known Jonathan—"
Mike rolls his eyes, groaning as he hears the beginnings of a lecture about how he should've been making Jonathan feel like 'part of the family' by asking questions and making conversation. Karen shakes her head, sighing loudly. "Look, Mike..." She glances back at Will before lowering her voice to a murmur, "Just... please try to be kind to that poor boy. I think Holly might scare him by being too... Holly-like."
Now it's Mike's turn to twist his face into disbelief, "What? W-Why do I have to babysit this kid? Nancy's the one who's good with kids!"
His mother shoots daggers at him, "Michael James Wheeler, we are struggling enough to welcome Jonathan into the family; the least you could do is make sure his brother feels included." With that, she struts out of the foyer, jello salad in hand.
Great. Mike Wheeler, designated babysitter.
He glances back down at Will, who is still standing stiffly in front of the door. They meet eyes for a split second before Will's stare darts back to his untied shoes. Holly pops out from the dining room once again, tugging on Mike's sleeve.
"Mike... is he weird?" She whispers a bit too loudly.
"What? No! Just… be quiet." Mike flicks her forehead and nudges her away. Holly frowns skeptically, mumbling something about telling on him before trotting back to the kitchen with the rest of the family.
Mike isn't bad with kids, don't get him wrong—he's got plenty of experience with Holly, as well as several restless nights helping Lucas babysit Erica when she was younger. He's great with kids; kids love him! However, he had planned to escape pre-dinner and post-dinner awkwardness by holing himself up in his room. Maybe even go down to the basement and watch He-Man reruns until Holly gives him the all-clear. After this new child-sized rip in his plans... he can kiss She-Ra and her amazing legs goodbye.
Mike looks back at Will. The boy continues to gnaw at his bottom lip, peeking up at Mike through his toffee-colored hair. Mike's gaze drifts to the kitchen. He sees faint shadows of the others, talking and laughing amongst themselves. From what he's gathered in the five minutes that he's known Will, the poor boy probably doesn't want to be around the social crowd.
So... Mike could still sneak off to his room, couldn't he? All while making the shaking boy feel welcomed.
'It's settled.' Mike decides proudly.
He cautiously steps over to Will, kneeling down to his eye level. The younger boy's hazel eyes follow him, his hands fidgeting in front of him adorably. Mike cocks his head to the side, a casual smile resting on his lips, "Hey, you're Will, right?"
Will blinks, like he's perplexed by the fact that a stranger knows his name. He nods slowly, his fingers playing with a loose thread on his burgundy sweater. "Um... your name is Michael..." Will looks up at Mike directly now, asking for confirmation. Mike's smile widens. This kid is precious.
"Yeah, but you can call me Mike. That's what all my friends call me."
Truth be told, everyone calls him Mike. Only teachers and upset parents call him Michael.
"Do you wanna come up to my room with me, Will? The food won't be ready for a bit," he continues. He can read the boy's hesitance, so he jokingly adds, "or you can stay down here and deal with my weird little sister." Behind him, Holly frowns and throws a Barbie doll at him, hitting his back. Mike only laughs and gives Will a look: 'See my point?'
Will blinks up at the older boy, processing.
After a beat of silence and nervous staring from Will, the boy gives one tiny nod. It's barely noticeable—but it means yes.
Mike smiles in victory. Escape from awkward familial clashing is possible after all. He straightens himself, offering a hand to Will, "Here, I'll take you up."
Will shyly places his hand in Mike's—right off the bat, Mike notices the difference in size. It flips his stomach in a way he doesn't recognize.
As they approach the door to his room, Mike attempts to make conversation. 'Make him comfortable, ' as his mom would say.
"So... what kind of things do you like, Will? I haven't heard much about you," he starts as he opens the door. It creaks open, revealing his room—posters of D&D monsters and spaceships plastered on the walls, a well-loved Dragonlance novel stacked with others on his nightstand, and several piles of clothes. The bed is unmade (to his mother's displeasure), and there are comic books strewn across his desk. Shame bubbles in his stomach, and the room suddenly feels too messy.
Will steps inside hesitantly, his little hand still tucked in Mike's like he'll get lost if he lets go. He glances around at all the stuff—the posters especially—and something twinkles in his eyes. Mike keeps talking while pushing past his mess, "I play D&D with my friends a lot," he says casually, grunting as he clears a path for Will, "And I read lots."
He finally lets go of Will's hand, throwing himself on the bed with a sigh, "So... what about you? What do you like?"
Will doesn't answer right away. He stands frozen in the middle of the room, taking it all in. One seems to draw him in, especially: a colorful picture of Star Wars characters.
Will tugs on his sweater before finally mumbling, "...Um, drawing."
Mike releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A singular word. Drawing. Okay, he can do something with this. "Yeah? What kinda stuff can you draw?" Mike questions, tilting his head curiously, "I'm not very good at drawing, I bet whatever you make is like the Mona Lisa compared to me," he chuckles.
Will's fingers fidget again, "...Space and magic stuff, I think it's cool." He admits after a pause.
There it is—the tiniest spark of Will Byers creeping into the conversation instead of just nodding or staying silent. Mike sighs. His mother would be proud. He pats the spot on the bed next to him, an invitation for Will. "Space and magic stuff, huh? I like that stuff, too—well, I don't know if Star Wars counts," he scratches the back of his neck with a small laugh.
Will seems to pause before slowly making his way over to the bed. He sits on the very edge, as if the mattress is going to swallow him whole. The boy keeps his hands folded tightly in his lap, but now there's a faint pink tint on his cheeks.
'Cute...'
"Star Wars... counts," Will answers, shifting slightly. It comes out more certain than anything else he's said so far. His eyes quickly dart to Mike after saying it, though, gauging the older boy's reaction. Mike's eyes light up when Will speaks. This kid knows Star Wars!
"Yeah, it totally counts!" Mike says enthusiastically, just barely leaning forward. "I mean, space is space! Even if it's... y'know... totally made up." He gestures vaguely at his Star Wars poster, like that explains his statement. There's no casualness in his tone at this point—only genuine excitement that this tiny kid knows what Star Wars is. A beat passes.
"You ever draw any of the characters?" He asks softly, tipping his head to assess Will's expression, "Like uh... Darth Vader or Luke Skywalker? Luke's my favorite,"
"...Yeah," Will admits, voice small but clear, " I draw them." Mike nods with a fond smile. The room is quiet except for the muffled sounds of his mom and Joyce talking downstairs. Despite the short, direct sentences, he's glad that they've moved past single-word answers.
"Hey, I could get you some paper and crayons, yeah? You should totally show me how you draw them!" Mike offers. His eyes flick across Will's face, catching the way the boy wets his lips anxiously. Mike doesn't wait for an answer—he's already pushing himself off the bed. There's a drawer in his desk where Karen keeps art supplies for Holly. He yanks it open and pulls out a few sheets of blank paper and a box of crayons (some are chewed on one end—thanks, Holly).
"Here," Mike places the things down on his desk, gesturing for Will to come over. Will obliges, hopping off the bed quietly and peering at the art supplies Mike has set out for him. "Do you wanna draw something? Like... Luke?" Mike suggests, leaning over the boy as he sits down.
The offer hangs there—no pressure if Will says no.
But Mike is hopeful. He thinks it's sorta cool how someone as young as Will is interested in nerdy stuff like Star Wars.
And adorable. Definitely adorable.
Will stares down at the paper and crayons. His hands hover for a second before he finally takes them, careful not to crumple anything. He picks up a yellow crayon first (for Luke's hair, Mike presumes). His strokes are small and precise—no wobbly lines or childish scribbles. He's practiced this. Luke Skywalker slowly takes shape on the page: classic battle stance, tan outfit, and his lightsaber in hand.
Okay... If Mike was being honest, he did not expect Will to produce an actually decent piece of work. Here he was, ready to fake an impressed reaction like he would for Holly—but holy shit, this kid can draw. Mike watches over Will's shoulder as he draws, smiling softly at the way he fidgets and sticks out his tongue in concentration. Mike remains standing above him, utterly transfixed. He knows enough about art to recognize skill when he sees it—this isn't some scribble. It looks so advanced compared to anything Holly could do. When Will finally lifts the crayon, he examines his work with a critical eye—adjusting one line here, adding a shadow there. It's almost obsessive in its precision. He sets it down, and Mike catches a glimpse of a small, proud smile. Wordlessly, Will holds the drawing out toward Mike, his avoidant eyes glued to the paper. Mike gladly takes it, studying it with a jaw-dropped expression.
"Holy sh—uh, crap. That's super cool, Will!" Mike exclaims, and he means it. Another beat of silence. Will grips the blue crayon tightly, tucking his head down, "Um, thank you, Mike." He mutters shyly, and Mike doesn't miss the blush spreading to the boy's ears.
Mike chuckles. Will is so easy to tease...
"Mike! Dinner's ready!"
It snaps them both out of their little bubble.
Mike groans, yelling back, "Coming!"
He looks at the drawing in his hand—God, it's actually so good—before turning to the small boy, "Is it cool if I keep this?" Will only stares at him with those hazelnut eyes, so Mike quickly adds, "Seriously, I think it's super rad. My friends are huge nerds like me, they'd totally love this," he says with a genuine smile
Will's lips part slightly at the question. He nods quickly, then adds, "...Yeah, you can keep it."
Mike mentally high-fives himself. He carefully folds the drawing and tucks it into his desk drawer—the same place where he keeps all things precious: D&D figures, rare trading cards... and now Luke Skywalker by Will Byers.
Downstairs, his mother yells again—more insistent this time. Mike sighs, reluctantly rising to his feet. "C'mon," he whispers gently to Will, "food's ready." Mike once again takes the small hand in his, making his way downstairs with the boy.
The dining room is bustling with conversation, though most of it evidently comes from his mom and Joyce. Jonathan has appeared, sitting next to Nancy. In the center of the table is a bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase—Mike assumes this was the surprise Jonathan was fetching for Nancy. At each end of the table are Mike's parents, but his father seems ready to hold the daily newspaper and watch television. The only empty seats are next to Holly.
Fantastic, he's been exiled to sit between the two children. Although... knowing what he knows about Will now, it isn't as horrible a predicament as before.
The room smells overwhelmingly of roast beef and mashed potatoes. Karen is mid-laugh at something Joyce said, her diamond earrings catching the light as she waves a hand. Jonathan sits stiffly beside Nancy—his hands fiddling with his napkin like he's not sure where to put them. He looks up when Mike and Will enter, eyes softening at the sight of his little brother. Holly kicks her legs under the table excitedly when she spots Mike. "Mike! You're sittin' by me, right?" she questions loudly. Mike guides Will toward their seats—the chair scraping loudly against the hardwood as he pulls it out for Will (a habit from helping Holly). Then he slides into place himself, sandwiched between two tiny humans: one buzzing with energy, one sitting as rigidly as a statue.
To the left of them, Mike's father clears his throat pointedly while eyeing Jonathan.
'Oh boy. Here we go.'
"Jonathan," he hums through his chewing, glancing at Will, "you didn't tell us there was a mini Byers." He gestures to the small boy with his fork, the gravy-covered mashed potatoes dripping onto the tablecloth. Mike sighs, knowing he'll be the one ordered to clean it with that awful-smelling lemon soap tomorrow.
Jonathan sits up straighter, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He's dressed nicely, Mike notes, though his father will most likely find something to criticize after they leave. "I-I didn't?" Jonathan stutters, glancing at Nancy as if to confirm that he had somehow failed to mention his sweet little brother. Nancy clicks her tongue, seeming to think it over, "Well, Mom and I knew about him… but uh, I guess we just never brought him up to Dad." She chuckles nervously, looking over at their mother, who seems suddenly engrossed in fiddling with her ring.
'Or to your brother,' Mike thinks sourly. Seriously, how is he one of the only people unaware of the existence of such a lovely boy—
His father's fork clinks loudly as he sets it down, wiping his mouth with a napkin—more of a performance than actual politeness. His eyes stay locked on Will. "So," he starts, "How old are you?" Will shrinks under the attention.
He mumbles into his lap, "...Eight."
Holly immediately pipes up: "I'm seven! I'm gonna be eight next year!"
Jonathan looks ready to bolt from how awkward this is—his knee bounces under the table. Mike can't say he blames him. Ted nods slowly, as if he's looking for more ways to make this dinner go wrong.
"You go to school around here?" Ted asks next—and it's honestly a stupid question, considering Hawkins Elementary is the only school in town for boys Will's age. Not that Mike would dare say that out loud. Will nods again, his small hands now tucked tightly in his lap under the table.
"Yeah," he answers quietly. "Hawkins Elementary."
Ted's eyebrows lift slightly—like he's surprised Will isn't a sheltered, homeschooled child. Karen notices her husband's scrutiny and quickly intervenes with forced cheer: "Oh, yes! He's in Holly's class, remember? Mrs. Weaver?" Holly nods enthusiastically, seemingly unaware of the tension.
Their father only grumbles a response, stuffing his mouth with more green beans, "Yeah, I remember. He must've been too small for me to see in the class pictures."
Whether it's meant to be a joke or a jab, Mike is unsure.
Joyce forces a smile, but Mike can see her grip tightening around her fork. Nancy subtly elbows Ted under the table—'knock it off.'
Jonathan finally speaks up then, voice tight: "He's… really good at art." It comes out defensive—an automatic reflex to protect Will from whatever judgment might be coming next. The table falls silent for a beat after Jonathan's comment. Ted chews slowly, his expression unreadable as he looks between the two Byers boys. Mike holds his breath—he knows how his father feels about 'useless' hobbies that don't lead to business or money-making careers (Mike has been reminded more times than he can count). He can already imagine the thoughts going through the man's head:
'Art. Not sports. Not grades. Art.'
Karen beams at Jonathan like she's proud of him for speaking up, but her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes when she glances at Ted. Joyce seizes the opportunity, though—ever hopeful. "Oh yes!" She chirps, turning toward Karen with renewed energy. "Will draws so well! He's always sketching little Star Wars scenes or action heroes…" She trails off because, honestly? No one here cares about crayon illustrations except maybe Holly, who looks eager to share her love of drawing and coloring. She doesn't get the chance before their father swallows his food loudly:
"Star Wars?"
His tone isn't outright mocking... but it's enough that Mike decides his father's scrutiny of this poor eight-year-old has spanned long enough. Ted's judgments are not foreign at the dinner table; however, something about him blatantly picking on the sweet Byers boy especially irritates Mike.
"Dad, uh…" Mike pauses because fuck, he really should've thought through what to say.
All eyes are on him now, even Will's—which somehow makes him more nervous, "Uh, the Winter Formal is coming up at school…."
Shit, out of all the topics he could've picked...
Mike's father blinks, his gruff expression shifting to mild confusion at the sudden change in conversation. The Winter Formal—Hawkins High's winter dance—isn't exactly something he'd care about. Karen, however, perks up instantly, "Oh! Yes," she says eagerly, turning fully toward Mike now. "Isn't that in two weeks? Don't tell me you don't have a date yet, Michael."
Mike feels his face heat up instantly, 'No no no no, why did I bring this up—'
He tries (and fails) to appear collected as Nancy smirks across the table, holding back a giggle.
Ted grunts again, "Go on, answer your mother. You got a date yet?"
Of course, the only aspect of this sudden subject change that his father cares about is Michael Wheeler finally going on a date. As embarrassing as it sounds, Mike hasn't had a girlfriend since the 7th grade—Jane Hopper, the daughter of the Hawkins Chief of Police, Sheriff Hopper. The relationship only lasted a month before Jane told him her father disapproved of him. Why? Mike is still unsure. She was nice, and they occasionally talked at school when Max invited her to sit with them at lunch. However, other than that short-lived first love (if he could even call it that), Mike's love life has been uneventful. He can't even recall the last time he had a crush on a girl.
Holly starts swinging her legs under the table excitedly: "Who're you gonna take?! Who?!"
Mike's voice falters, "Uh, no, I don't have a date…" He looks over at his mother, who gives him a look: 'Do not let your father ruin this dinner.'
"… Yet." He adds, cringing at the awkward delivery. It's a total lie—Mike would rather do anything than go to this stupid dance, especially having to go through the humiliation of asking a girl out. However, his mom seems satisfied with his response, glancing over to see if Ted is preparing more judgmental input.
The man only digs a fork into his serving of chicken and rice casserole, shooting Mike a few glances, "Well, I hope you have the decency to introduce us to this girl once you've asked her out."
It's a clear dig at Nancy—she hadn't introduced Jonathan to the family until a month ago, and they'd been dating for two. However, it's not the worst thing his father could've said, evident by his mother's quiet, relieved sigh. Nancy, however, stiffens at the comment, her grip tightening around her glass of water. Jonathan notices immediately and subtly reaches under the table to squeeze her hand in reassurance.
Mike can only stab his fork into his slice of roast beef and chew in silence.
The rest of the dinner goes smoothly—mainly because Ted eats quickly so he can race back to his La-Z-Boy recliner. Joyce's jello salad is delicious, and Mike has to help himself to two servings. He chats with Will as they eat, discussing their shared interest in Star Wars and sci-fi. He learns that Will's favorite color is yellow, he has a pet dog named Chester, and he dressed as Egon Spengler from Ghostbusters this Halloween. Mike takes the time to brag that Dan Aykroyd responded to his fan mail last year, relishing in the look of awe and amazement in Will's eyes. The letter is still in Mike's room, and he promises to show Will after dinner. The boy seems to be opening up more and more; he even cracks a few shy smiles during their conversations—each one wider than the last. Mike can't get enough of it.
Nancy and Jonathan finally feel comfortable enough to join the lively chatter, revealing that, unlike Mike, they have actual plans to go to the Winter Formal together. They keep their voices fairly low, lest they alarm the ticking time bomb in the living room. Karen approves the arrangement almost instantly, gushing on about how Nancy is turning into a wonderful young woman and how she needs to help Nancy pick a dress.
"Hawkins Elementary has something similar coming up in a week, the Winter Bash, they call it. Will wants to go, right, hun?" Joyce chimes in.
Mike catches the way Will hides his face behind his bangs as the attention shifts towards him once again. Karen gasps, "My goodness, you're right! I had completely forgotten about that. Holly, we need to start looking for a new dress for you, too, young lady."
Holly nods eagerly, always happy to have an excuse to go to the Starcourt Mall and sneak off to Claire's.
"The Winter Bash?" Nancy asks, looking toward Jonathan and Mike, "They didn't do that when we were kids, did they?"
Both boys shrug.
Hawkins Middle School always had the Snow Ball, but Mike doesn't recall having anything similar for Hawkins Elementary. Mike hardly remembers the day of his Snow Ball. He, Dustin, and Lucas had decided to go together after failing to find dates (providing the perfect ammo for their then bullies, Troy Walsh and James Dante, to call them fags for the next two weeks). The dance was pretty boring—at least for Mike. After having to suffer through Lucas' relentless teasing after Dustin scored a dance with Nancy of all people, the trio sat around for another half hour before deciding that playing D&D would be loads more interesting than watching teachers break couples apart when they danced too close. That was the first and final time Mike attended any school-related event that wasn't one of Lucas' basketball games.
"I think it's something they're trying out this year. It's more of a family event." Joyce explains, but a small frown is evident on her face, "Unfortunately, Jon and I both work that day. We've been trying to figure out who could take Will."
Silence falls at the table, but Mike focuses on the pout on Will's lips.
The pause is broken by Karen, "Mike could take him. They've been getting along well throughout dinner," Karen gestures with a smile, "Ted and I were going to have him take Holly, I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking Will along."
Mike's head snaps toward his mother, eyes wide.
What the hell? She wants him to take Will and Holly to a school dance? He's been hanging out with the kid for like… two hours. Sure, it's nice, but—that's not exactly enough time to qualify as someone who can be trusted with a random eight-year-old at an event. But then he looks over at Will. The boy is staring up at him, expectantly—hopeful. When he realizes Mike is staring back, he quickly goes back to digging a spoon into his plate of green, mushy jello.
Fuck, Mike's a goner.
"Isn't that right, Mike?" His mother asks, "You'll take Will and Holly to the dance?"
Nancy seems to detect the hesitation on Mike's face. She clears her throat delicately before turning toward their mother: "That actually sounds perfect! I mean... unless Mike has other plans?" Her tone (and the harsh kick to Mike's left leg) makes it very clear that there are no other plans allowed here. Mike swallows hard. He can feel the weight of all their expectations—his mom's hopeful look, Nancy's tight smile, even Jonathan giving him a small nod.
And Will... Mike feels weirdly guilty at the thought of saying no.
"...Yeah," he says with a swallow. "I'll take 'em."
Karen clasps her hands together in delight. "Perfect! That settles it then!" Joyce exhales like she'd been holding her breath this whole time—Jonathan mouths 'Thank you' at Mike across the table.
When Mike looks over, Will is smiling up at Mike this time—his first wide, toothy smile.
Dinner ends on a positive note; the family dispersed to the living room, chitchatting and watching television. M.A.S.H reruns play on low volume while Holly begs their mother to change it to the Care Bears or My Little Pony, but the woman quiets her and tries to listen to Joyce's story. Jonathan and Nancy take the opportunity to cuddle on the couch as Ted snores away on his recliner.
And Mike... is bored out of his mind.
While he was attempting to sneak himself and Will back upstairs to have more nerd talk, his mother swooped in and insisted they join the rest. To Mike's frustration, he couldn't talk his way out of it, resulting in him now sulking on the carpeted floors of the Wheeler living room, Will glued to him closely. Mike chews his cuticles, watching Hawkeye and B.J. tell stories to the young orphans brought to the Swamp by Nurse Cratty. This is now the second episode he's had to sit through with Holly complaining every few minutes about how boring it is, and his father's loud snores cutting through every sentence of dialogue.
'God, this blows.'
As if on cue, a soft tap lands on his elbow. Mike tears his eyes from the glaring screen and, to his shock, Will is staring back at him. Mike swallows, his face suddenly feeling hot. "What's up, Will?" He whispers.
The gears seem to turn in the boy's head, composing the sentence he's looking for. "Can we... go back upstairs so you can show me the letter?" He asks quietly, "...Please?" The soft tug on Mike's sleeve doesn't go unnoticed—and neither does the harsh thumping of his own heart.
It's the longest sentence Will has said since he got here. Mike would be damned if he refused.
Mike quickly rises to his feet, Will's hand in his. "Hey, Mom uh, Will needs to go to the bathroom so..." He rambles a nonsensical excuse, stepping over Holly as he makes his escape. Karen sits up, attempting to protest and demand Mike sit back down, but she seems to realize her defeat. She huffs and shakes her head, "Fine, but be quick, please!"
Finally back in his sanctuary, Mike wastes no time opening the same drawer that houses Will's drawing. He fishes around until he finds a yellow envelope with his name and address scrawled across the front. In the corner is the sender—Dan Aykroyd. When he was fourteen, Mike wrote to the actor after finding the seemingly legit address in a magazine. He mostly rambled and fanboyed about how much he loved his role in Ghostbusters, and how he hopes they can make a sequel. It wasn't til last year that Mike finally got a reply from the man—and he knew it was legit when it came with a signed mini poster. That, or he's just very gullible. Either way, it's by far the coolest thing he owns—any nerd would be jealous.
He hands the letter to Will, "Check it, isn't this the coolest thing ever?" The young boy clutches the letter with caution, his mouth dropping in fascination. Mike watches as Will skims through the letter, eyes squinting and focusing in the areas where Dan Aykroyd's handwriting is particularly messy. Will's lips quietly mouth and sound out the words, forming each syllable at a hushed volume. He reaches the final lines, which read, 'Thank you for your kind letter, Michael. I'm sure you'll appreciate the poster I've sent with this letter. Don't be afraid of no ghosts!'
He looks up at Mike with a curious twinkle behind his eyes, "He gave you a poster?" He asks, traces of disbelief in his tone.
Mike smirks and shrugs, as if it's no big deal. He points to the small poster mounted on the wall behind him. It's the classic Ghostbusters movie poster, but in the corner is the Sharpied signature of the beloved actor. "It's that one right there. Honestly, if I weren't such a nerd, I would've probably sold it for a trillion dollars." Mike jokes. Will giggles, and if it isn't the best sound in the whole universe, Mike doesn't know what is.
Their conversation spans maybe another half an hour, but it feels like an eternity to Mike. He's learned more new things about the boy sitting across from him: he's afraid of the dark, he likes The Clash, he plays Dig Dug at the Palace Arcade with a 300k+ high score, he has never beaten Dragon's Lair, and his middle name is Jacob. Mike's not doing most of the talking anymore.
Midway through discussing Nightmare on Elm Street, Mike catches Will's stare making frequent trips to his desk. Mike turns his head, scanning the disorganized surface, "What's caught your eye, William?" The use of his full name draws another giggle from Will. The boy points, leaning over slightly to better indicate which item he's talking about in Mike's ocean of clutter.
It's Mike's bag of D&D dice. A purple 20-sided die is spilling from the bag, glimmering like a gem in the sunlight entering from Mike's window. Mike grins, rising to his feet and snatching the bag from his desk. He spills the rest of the dice out, revealing all their different geometric shapes and colors. "These are the dice I use when I play D&D. You ever heard of it?" Mike asks, holding them out towards Will. He watches the boy shake his head, his amber-speckled eyes scanning each die.
Mike drops the dice into Will's palm and turns around to dig into his desk drawers again, "It's a fantasy game, you're into that kind of stuff, right?" He doesn't wait for a response, pulling another game piece out of his desk and presenting it to Will—it's a Demogorgon, a small plastic creature with two heads and jagged teeth. Will stares at it for a moment. "It's like... a super detailed make-believe game where you go on quests and fight monsters." Mike continues, pointing to the dice rolling around in Will's hand, "You roll 'em during games to see what happens."
It's a super dumbed-down explanation of the game, easy for Will to digest—but would probably get him lectured if Eddie overheard him.
"...That's scary," Will says with a slight smile—but there's no fear in his voice. Just a quiet observation. He takes the Demogorgon from Mike, turning it around and taking in all the details. "Do you play it a lot?" He asks, peeking up at Mike through long, honey-colored lashes. Mike grins, excited by Will's interest. He scoffs in mock disbelief, "Do I? Man, it's like my whole thing! I'm in a club for it with my friends," Mike quickly turns around, looking over his pile of clothes—where is that shirt? He bends down and throws a few pairs of jeans and shirts to the side.
He hums proudly as he finally finds the shirt, turning around and showing it to Will with a small 'ta-da!' It's the shirt for the Hellfire Club. He watches nervously as Will's small hand reaches out to touch the fabric. His fingers trace the drawings with awe. Mike sees it—the way Will is completely captivated by this stupid shirt—and it makes his chest feel warm. He holds onto it patiently while Will examines every detail.
"All my friends wear these," Mike says, "we don't have a lot of members, but we still have tons of fun."
After a long pause, Will speaks in that gentle voice: "I like it." There are practically stars in his eyes.
"It's cool, huh?" Mike smiles, bathing in the way Will is so curious and enthralled by his nerdy hobby.
Will nods, his bowl cut bobbing softly, "Uh, do you guys ever let... younger kids play?" It comes out hesitant—like he already expects the answer will be no. Mike can't help the small flutter in his heart at the question—God, the kid is so cute without even trying. Will looks up at him through his blunt bangs, biting on his lip nervously. For some reason, Mike can't take his eyes off the boy's innocent expression. He smiles, scratching the back of his neck, "Well, it's mostly kids my age—but we let Erica play sometimes."
At Will's confused stare, Mike backtracks, "Erica is the little sister of my best friend, Lucas." He throws the shirt somewhere back into the pile, sitting next to Will. "She's like, thirteen—so still older than you but…" He ponders for a moment. Would it be appropriate to invite an eight-year-old to their campaign? His gaze falls back onto Will—those big, mossy eyes look back at him. His chest feels... weird, and he's not sure why.
'Eh, I'm sure Eddie won't mind.'
"… If your mom's okay with it, would you wanna come with me to our next D&D campaign? See if it's your jam?"
Will's entire face lights up—it reminds Mike of when Charlie Bucket finds a golden ticket in his chocolate bar. His lips part slightly, eyes wide and shimmering with hope. But then his excitement dims just as quickly, replaced with the anxiety Mike has become familiar with. "Mom might say no," Will admits quietly. He chews on his bottom lip again before adding: "I'd... really like to go, though."
Mike chuckles, "I don't blame your mom for being so overprotective," he ruffles the boy's light brown locks, "I mean, look at you!" He isn't quite sure what he means by that comment, but Will's reaction distracts him before he can ponder it for too long. The boy looks up at him, surprised by the sudden contact. His cheeks dusted pink, a bashful glint in his eyes, and the makings of a smile evident on his lips. However, what catches Mike's attention is how soft Will's hair is. It's silky and impossibly smooth, like Mike is running his hands through down feathers. He lingers in Will's hair, and the younger boy doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans into the touch almost imperceptibly—a cat being pet by its owner.
The room feels warm suddenly. Not from the rumbling heater or the warmth of the spilling sun—just… this strange cozy feeling between them. Will's eyes are closed now, his body slumped against Mike—the most relaxed Mike has seen him. He realizes belatedly that he should probably pull his hand away now. It... would be kinda weird if someone were to walk in and see his hand woven into the younger boy's honey brown hair. Yeah, pulling away would probably be a good idea. But as he goes to untangle his fingers, Will only follows the contact—as if begging him to continue. The young boy exhales softly through his nose—a quiet sound of contentment.
Mike swallows hard.
'Okay. Maybe five more seconds.'
He massages further into the boy's scalp, fingers brushing against the back of Will's neck—gentle, absentminded strokes. It's definitely been more than five seconds now, but he hasn't been paying much attention to that. He can only stare—the way Will leans into his touch, his glowing cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest, and the small, full-body shiver he gives when Mike touches a particularly sensitive part of his scalp.
Oh.
Mike freezes.
Oh, God.
The realization hits him like a freight train: He's insanely hard right now.
Mike's hand drops abruptly, like he just touched something hot. He shoves both hands into his lap, careful not to accidentally press down and make the situation worse than it is.
His face burns. 'What the hell?'
He stares at the floor, avoiding Will's confused gaze completely. It's clear the boy senses a sudden shift, but doesn't understand why.
'What the fuck is wrong with me?'
The room feels too quiet now. No more soft hair or content sighs—just Mike's own frantic heartbeat thudding in his ears.
He needs to say something. Anything.
"... Uh, maybe you should go ask your mom if she'll let you um… join me for a campaign sometime," Mike rambles abruptly, face growing hotter. God, he's terrible at thinking on the spot.
Will cocks his head to the side, and Mike shoots down another comment about how cute the boy is before it can manifest. He seems to light back up at the mention of their planned campaign, nodding and hurriedly rising to his feet. A quick 'be right back' falls from his lips before he scurries out of Mike's room and down the stairs.
Mike waits until he hears Will's small footsteps disappear down the staircase before collapsing back onto his bed with a groan, dragging both hands down his face. He grabs his pillow, placing it firmly in his lap to hide his shame.
'Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.'
He stares blankly at the ceiling, silently processing. Dudes get weird boners all the time, right? One time, he got a boner while watching Poltergeist in theatres with Lucas and Dustin. They laughed hysterically when he refused to get up once the credits rolled, and they still bring it up from time to time. Another time, Dustin shamefully admitted that he got a boner in history class when they were watching an informational video on Abe Lincoln. That was one of the hardest times Mike's ever laughed.
This, though... This is different.
He replays the entire evening in his head: his first look at Will, his pink, nibbled lips and rosy cheeks, the concentration on the boy's face while drawing, the warmth when they held hands, the look of awe when Mike showed off his Hellfire Club shirt, the tight pressure in his chest when he saw that toothy grin, the weird, pooling heat in his abdomen when Will looks at him, the way Will shivered when Mike touched him—
There's a twitch in his pants.
His stomach churns.
Jonathan would lose it if he knew. Joyce would probably cry, regretting ever entrusting her sweet boy with a guy like Mike. Mike's parents? They'd probably disown him on the spot. He'd never see Holly again. Nancy would never look him in the face, never write him, never pick up his calls. Lucas and Dustin would probably lose their minds—how could they be friends with such a freak?
He quickly shoots up at the sound of the door creaking open—a small, shy frame appearing in the crack. Will peeks his head through, shyly waving at Mike.
If Mike wasn't in the middle of a moral crisis, he'd think about how pretty—
Never mind that.
Mike clears his throat and moves the hair out of his face, "Will! Hey, uh…" he momentarily blanks on why the boy left the room in the first place, "Oh! So um, what'd your mom say?"
He tries to sound casual—less panicked and on the verge of tears.
Will steps fully into the room, closing the door gently behind him. Will grins at Mike's question. "Mom said I can come!" he confirms excitedly, jumping up and down on his heels. There's no way the boy knows about Mike's internal panic attack from two minutes ago. He just looks hopeful and maybe a little confused by how stiff and awkward his new friend suddenly got.
Yes.
Joyce had said yes.
Mike doesn't know whether to feel thrill or dread—maybe he should retract his offer altogether.
"Y-Yeah! That's awesome, ah…"
He really, really should take it back.
Will stares at him with wide, optimistic eyes. He fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater, a patient smile on his lips.
'Oh God, I'm so screwed.'
Somehow, his awareness of... whatever he's feeling only makes it harder to suppress his thoughts.
"We usually have campaigns in my basement on Saturdays, so…" Mike swallows dryly, "I-I can come pick you up then, yeah?"
There's no going back. Mike's done it. And he's excited.
Will's smile only grows wider at Mike's words, "Saturday," he repeats with a firm nod, committing it to memory. Mike sees all that hope shining back at him, and he's unable to ignore the heat in his jeans. Damn it.
Mike nods, a tight grin on his face, "Awesome! Then, uh, I guess I'll be seeing you Saturday," Mike says, wiping his sweaty palms against his knees. "The guys are nice, so there's no need to worry about them. They wouldn't be mean to you—"
'Especially when you're so cute.'
Mike pauses at the thought and swallows painfully.
'Subject change subject change subject change—'
A firm knock on the door, and then the knob is slowly twisted. A familiar mop of hair emerges, and Mike doesn't hold back a sigh of relief.
"Will? Hey bud, um—we gotta get going. Mom's got a shift at work tonight." Jonathan awkwardly steps into the room, nodding at Mike. Will seems to deflate on the spot, a tiny frown replacing his once bright grin.
Mike's heart is desperate to make it come back.
Jonathan seems to notice it, a deep chuckle falling from his lips as he pats Will's back. "Aw, don't worry, bud. You'll be back on Saturday," he looks up at Mike, as if to confirm. Mike sticks to his spot on the bed, his eyes flicking between Jonathan and Will. With some hesitance, he nods, "Uh, yeah! I-I can pick him up, it's no big deal. And I'll bring him home, too, if you need me, too." He sputters, rubbing the back of his neck.
Jonathan smiles before turning back to Will and nudging him out of the door. "Alright, you heard him. Say goodbye to Mike before Mom eats us alive." Will audibly giggles at Jonathan's comment, tilting to the side to get a better view of Mike.
Their eyes connect, and it's electric. Mike wonders if Will feels it.
Will smiles widely—teeth and all—before giving an excited wave to Mike, "Bye, Mike! I'll see you Saturday!"
Mike waves back, his smile genuine, "See ya, Will,"
Will runs out, his small feet pattering down the stairs. Jonathan is about to follow, but stops, his hand hovering over the doorknob.
"Hey, uh, thanks a lot, man." He starts, "For, y'know..." He gestures in the direction where Will ran off to, as if that explains anything. Mike's confusion must've been apparent since Jonathan clumsily continues, "It's just... Will has a hard time making friends and... this is probably one of the only times he seems excited to get out of the house, so... Yeah, thanks." He huffs a quiet laugh.
Mike should feel honored—grateful for Jonathan's words. Instead, he feels nauseous.
He swallows and forces a laugh, "O-Of course, man. It's no problem at all, I..." He pauses, throat uncomfortably dry, "I think Will's a sweet kid."
Jonathan nods slowly, awkward smile unwavering. Finally, his hand grips the doorknob, "Well, uh, thanks for having us over. Later, Mike." The conversation is over just as quickly as it started—a common trait of Jonathan Byers. The door shuts, heavy footsteps echoing outside.
Mike can only sigh, bringing his hands up to bury his palms into his sockets.
'I am so, so screwed.'