Chapter Text
After long days at work, the last thing Mike Wheeler wanted was another list of obligations waiting for him at home. All he ever wanted on weekends was to shut his mind off until Monday dragged him back into the same dull routine. So it was no surprise that anything related to the wedding preparations had fallen onto the shoulders of his fiancée and their mothers. He felt no excitement about the event, only a dull sense of duty.
And truly, everything felt like a chore. Why did he have to comb through the guest list to make sure no one had been forgotten? His mother knew who to invite, who needed to be there to witness the beginning of this chapter. It was simply the next step in the life plan people were expected to follow, another box to tick in the American life plan.
Mike played with the sealed envelopes scattered across the table, irritation simmering into his soul as his eyes drifting over the names written in flowing cursive.
Then one name stopped him cold.
William Byers.
Stomach twisting, Mike observed his fingers caressing the name of a ghost. He didn’t remember giving Will’s name to his fiancée. He was sure he hadn’t and she had never met him. It had to be his mother’s doing; she’d been deeply involved in the planning, maybe too involved, Mike realized.
Best friends.
His own words to Will years ago, words he had himself believed when they left his lips but stabbed him in the heart whenever he thought about them again.
Mike had never planned to let Will drift away, never imagined a life where they barely spoke. But work had piled up, Will had moved far, and suddenly every missed call or delayed message felt easier to push to a later date that would never come. What if the letter was sent next week or forgot to call him back?
He kept telling himself he’d reach out next week, or that he’d return the call later, only to repeat himself the same empty promises.
Five years. That was how long it had been since he’d last heard Will’s voice, read his handwriting, or bothered to send anything back.
Five years and he couldn’t come up with a single honest reason why it had become too hard for him to reach his best friend. It was easier to blame work. Easier to pretend life had simply gotten in the way. Easier than facing the truth he kept buried under layers of habit and fear. Mike the Brave had never been anything but a role model he was never able to live up to.
A childish version of himself he could never grow into and now could barely stand to remember.
Maybe that was why Will’s regretful decline stung so sharply. Mike couldn’t just shrug it off anymore. He’d already swallowed so many disappointments, already let so many hopes slip through his fingers. When he lifted his eyes to the painting on his wall - the party facing down a three‑headed dragon - guilt hit him hard. It was suddenly, painfully clear that this time he’d gone too far.
He had to fix things before it was too late.
He and Will had always fixed things before. Surely they could work this out too.
Will would understand. Will would forgive him. Will always forgave him. Mike told himself that over and over until it felt true again.
And of course, as a best friend, Will would also be his best man. Who else could it possibly be? No one else made sense. No one else ever had.
No one else ever will.
***
Friday evenings and Saturdays were always social outings for Will. After a long week of work, he liked surrounding himself with people and following whatever opportunity showed up. Some nights he painted with the artistic friends he’d kept from university. Other times he tried new crafts in informal community classes or practiced photography with Jonathan, using the old camera his brother had passed down to him. He might have a look at small gallery openings or simply spend the night hanging out with some friends.
Or sometimes, he hit the bars.
There was one he especially favored, mostly because it was close to his place and struck the perfect balance: crowded enough that you were sure to find company for the night if that was what you wanted, but never so packed you couldn’t freely move around. It was quiet enough to hear your own thoughts, loud enough to drown them out when you needed the noise instead.
And if you played Cinderella and slipped out before midnight, the cops didn’t usually bother showing up. Maybe they preferred the other bars nearby, the ones that drew a crowd they found funnier to harass.
Will sat alone at the counter, fingers curled around a long island ice tea. Wondering if he knew anyone from the night’s crowd, he was looking around when his gaze fell on a man twice his age, broad‑shouldered and dressed in a worn leather jacket and leather boots, quite handsome, who was also looking at him. The man’s gaze lingered, confident and unmistakably interested. Will remembered seeing him around a few times, they had exchanged glances but it never had gone further than this.
Taking the opportunity, the man walked directly to Will who smiled back, his long lashes shyly fluttering down for a second. He wasn’t faking the fluster on his features: it was always flattering to feel wanted and the man made him feel like he was a three course meal. “Not tonight, I’ve plans already. Next time… maybe?”
It was a lie, one he had repeated many times. For all his interest and previous years of exploration, Will wanted more than casual hook-ups these days. The man nodded, his disappointment visible, but the respectful ways he had made it easy for Will to engage conversation with him. He was funny in a dry way, thoughtful in a way that didn’t demand anything from him. He asked Will questions and actually listened to the answers.
“I can show you next time if you want. It’s easy enough, even for a beginner.” The man offered, as he played as his attention never left Will.
Will’s eyes went over the man again. He didn’t hate the leather daddy look; he just knew what it usually meant. Men like this weren’t known for wanting anything long‑term. They wanted a good time, a body, a distraction. Not his usual type, but the unexpected kindness in the man’s voice, the gentleness under all that macho man leather, it tugged Will’s interest.
He finished his long Island iced tea, feeling the warmth settle in his chest. “Maybe,” Will said slowly, letting the word sit between them. “I could stay for one more drink. I wonder what else you could show me.”
His hand drifted closer, brushing the man’s knuckles. The heated look he received in return told him the man understood exactly what Will was weighing and exactly what he was choosing.
At least for tonight.
***
As soon as he gathered enough courage to enter the bar, Mike felt completely out of place. This was not his world. He barely even walked in a normal bar before, places full of people who seemed comfortable enough in their own skin to have fun there. Every new sight made his eyes widen a little more. He did not know where to look or what he was supposed to do with himself.
The cold neon lights were dim, it smelled of cigarettes, and everywhere he looked people were flirting openly. Men with men, women with women, people he couldn’t quite place as men or women joined up, hands on hips, fingers brushing arms, couples dancing and kissing as if they were alone in the room.
It was crowded and dark, sure, but if Mike recognized Will’s breathing through a walkie-talkie a decade ago, there was no way he wouldn’t recognize him today. For a second, a joy he didn’t feel for so long flooded him as he could finally see that smile he had missed so much.
Only for a second, though, before a raw, twisting hurt ripped straight through his chest
That wonderful smile, these gorgeous eyes, they were not paying attention to him.
Mike didn’t like it.
He didn’t like the way the man was looking at Will. He didn’t like the way Will was smiling back. He didn’t like how Will’s hand found the other’s, nor how the other whispered to Will’s ear. He didn’t like Will nodding shyly, hated the flush on his face, the way he followed him to the back. He didn’t know why the man was guiding Will somewhere out of sight. He only knew he wanted it to stop.
Following them without thinking twice, Mike bumped into someone he wasn’t able to describe as either man or woman, flickering between both options. They gave him up a quick once-over and chuckled. “Darling, you look lost. Don’t go to the backrooms unless you know what you’re doing. Trust me. You should go home or at least find a different bar.” Clapping Mike on the shoulder, they moved on, not waiting for any answer.
What the hell happened in the backrooms?
Was Will in danger?
Mike reached the end of the hallway, heart pounding. The bar felt like a completely different place here, far removed from the music and crowded energy outside. A few heavy curtains divided the space and the single red bulb flickering overhead barely offered anything against the darkness of the area. He didn’t know if he was allowed back here or if it was staff‑only. He didn’t know anything, really. Was it even safe for people to go back there?
But then Will and the man had disappeared there, didn’t they? And the sign pointed to the bathrooms in that direction. He was pretty sure the place was a safety risk, but then again, he barely ever set foot in a bar, let alone in the city. Maybe it was normal in New York?
Mike pushed past the last curtain and felt the air catch in his throat, his body going rigid at what he walked into. Two men were pressed against the wall, not paying him any attention, kissing and groaning with a kind of urgency that only made sense when he noticed the hand’s motions between them…
Mike’s pulse quickened, and he could feel the blood rushing to his face, neck, even his fingertips. He could barely remember to breathe, his heart thumping in his chest.
What about public decency?
What was he even doing here? He heard about the reputations of gay bars. He was risking his own reputation from entering here. What the hell was he even doing here? A part of him screamed to turn around and never look back, to block this from his mind and pretend he hadn’t seen it. But instead, his feet moved forward, his steps echoing on the sticky floor, leading him further on the narrow hallway toward a row of single-stall bathrooms.
They couldn’t both be in a bathroom stall, Mike thought, a sudden panic creeping up his throat. And then, as if life mocked him, he recognized Will’s voice.
It wasn’t that much of a voice than a mix of moans and groans getting louder and louder with every passing second. His mind raced, piecing together the filthy praises and the desperate begging against his better judgement. Surely he was wrong and someone just sounded similar to him, Mike tried to convince himself. Will barely ever swear. Will wouldn’t say that. Will wouldn’t…
Words he’d never imagined hearing from Will, not in a million years.
Would Will say those things to him? These words Mike had imagined before shutting the thoughts as quickly as he could and refusing to address why he had imagined them in the first place.
Mike shut his eyes, as if the action could force the sounds away. But there was no denying it now. He needed to erase any doubt this was Will.
Needed to confirm the pull in his stomach had a reason to exist. He wanted, needed to be wrong. It couldn’t be Will.
Mike did what any sane person in that situation would do: he waited. Every second felt like an eternity, his hands trembling at his sides, his pulse pounding in his ears. The longer he stood there, the more undeniable the heat pooling down became and so was his shame.
Then, the door opened, Will’s eyes met his, and time seemed to stop.
Even if he wanted to, Mike couldn’t ignore the traces of touch, of affection, of someone else having been here, holding him, loving him. Mike couldn’t look away. Not when Will looked like water in the desert, stirring a hunger Mike had spent years pretending he didn’t feel.
Will had tried to clean up, Mike could tell. His hair was damp, the ends still clinging to his forehead like he’d splashed water on his face in a half-hearted attempt to fix things. But even that couldn’t disguise how it looked, how he looked. Will’s lips were swollen, red, slightly parted, like they’d been kissed raw and even though Mike’s breath caught at the sight, he hated that he knew what had caused it.
Mike’s eyes dropped to Will’s neck, to the hickeys and bite marks that still stained his skin, signs someone had claimed him.
And that person had not been Mike.