Chapter Text
The lamp in the corner of the room had been turned off for 3 hours now. Yet, Mike Wheeler could not rest.
His eyes were dry in the way that he thought he could hear himself blink in the almost-silence of the cabin, dark and lidded, staring up at the ceiling like it was staring back at him.
He’d long since adjusted his sight to the darkness, each ridge in the worn wood already mentally traced thousands of times as if between them there was a secret he’d discover by looking hard enough, each stain a testament to time spent hidden between the four walls. Time before him, of course.
It was his cabin now, Hopper offering it up to him and refusing payment until he insisted on it. He and Joyce had moved to Montauk New York six or so years ago, Will and Jonathan leaving Hawkins months before them and moving into the college dorms, and it was left behind with no one willing to buy it.
After quitting college two years ago and dedicating his career to writing, Mike had offered to take it off their hands, just until he could find something bigger, something better, and they’d happily agreed to let him keep it. He’d really just wanted to move out of his parent’s house. His mom, his dad, his sister, her friends – it was all too much, and quite frankly, slightly embarrassing to him.
Mike didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon, his books only recently gaining enough traction to keep the lights on and support his new solo living lifestyle. It was cozy, it was private, and it was familiar.
Countless visits to El and then eventually Will had given him more than enough time to get fully acquainted with the place that was once Hopper’s cabin, and it was hidden in a little corner of the forest that you had to search for to find.
He’d chosen Will’s old bedroom to be his new one, it being the one with the least stuff left behind as his reasoning.
It was spacious with a desk and a nice view out to the lake, and yes, Will’s old drawings were left in dusty binders stuffed deep into the back of the closet where the shadows hid the dull yellow plastic, but that was hardly a problem.
Mike didn't have many clothes anyways, and if he needed room, he could pull a few binders out and let them rest on the bed beside his head.
Heavy, present, and if he was tired enough, warm. Never opened. Not once.
He would put them on the desk as soon as he woke up and not let himself think about why he didn’t put them there in the first place. They will return to his pillow by night time and every night again until the closet is freed up again and he can get them out of his sight.
It was convenient, living here. That was all. That was all it needed to be.
The summer night was warm, humid, cicadas' screams filtering through the open window, breeze disturbing the sheer curtains that danced with each faint gust. It was two in the morning now.
The thin blue shirt that Mike wore clung to his skin uncomfortably, sweat dampening the fabric and forming curls at his hairline. Shifting around did nothing to ease the discomfort that had been building underneath his skin, and each position served useless to his numerous attempts at falling asleep.
He huffed and turned on his side, recently straightened hair flopping over to the left and sticking to his forehead, and he raised a hand to push it out of his eyes. It had gotten wavy from the humidity.
The fan was broken again, standing uselessly in the corner where it had been collecting dust for the last two days.
Leaving the cabin was always a chore, always something he had to psych himself up to do, the journey a lot shorter now that he had a car of his own but stressful in the way that public speaking was. His skin would crawl at a familiar voice and conversations with people he’s known for years felt like the weight of a tombstone on his back.
He’d go eventually, maybe in the morning before he left for the airport, but for now, he’d manage the heat. It was the least of his worries anyway, what with all the planning for the next day. Will was coming.
They’d kept in touch, better than Mike had with the rest of the party. The others still dragged him out every now and then, spam calling his phone until he picked up because he’d been dumb enough to give them the number.
He didn’t hate it, of course he didn’t. No matter how much of a shut-in he’d become, those were still his friends.
But it wasn’t like that with Will.
Will didn’t come home nearly as much as the others, not having much of a reason to apart from seeing the rest of the party, yet Mike talked to him the most. About school, about art projects, about publisher issues, about new friends. Anything they could possibly talk about for a few hours every week.
Everything including Will’s boyfriend. A ‘Carlton’. Odd name, but whatever.
Will called him by his last name: McKay. A lot less odd.
It was a fairly recent development, the boy only being brought up a little less than a year ago, and as far as Mike was concerned, they were doing great. Yet he lay there, restless.
It wasn’t nerves, because he had no reason to be nervous. But despite the fact, his stomach churned and his skin tingled each time he remembered Will and Carlton would be there in less than 12 hours, whatever progress he’d gotten in falling asleep disappearing in seconds.
Another frustrated huff left his lips as he sat up, long legs carrying him to the desk pressed against the wall. Bare feet padded across the wood floors, scattered clothes kicked aside as he pulled the chair out and sat in it with a creak. It was cooler in front of the window.
His typewriter sat heavy in front of him, untouched for the past week. He knew what he wanted to write, knew what story he would tell next. What he didn’t know was why he couldn’t just do it. It had been years, years, since it all happened, yet El’s story was left untold.
He’d written countless short stories, sold numerous copies of fleshed out novels. Yet sharing her with the world, the colour of her hair, the shape of her hazel eyes, the gentle curve of her lips, the tone of her voice, it felt like giving her away.
He wanted to keep it, every word said, every glance, every single memory, he wanted it deep in his heart where no one else could take it. Almost like he was afraid she would disappear if she became visible to anyone else even though she was already gone.
His sisters knew her, the Byers knew her, the party knew her, but she didn’t look the same to them as she did to Mike. And no matter how many drafts and unfinished chapters were crumpled and thrown in the trash, he knew he wouldn’t do her justice.
Maybe that was why it hurt so much, writing about her.
The Eleven in his dreams had short hair when hers was long, eyes blurred, lips faded, voice distorted in the way that it was wrong but he couldn’t remember why.
Because he knew that out of all of them, he’d known her the least. Not just who she was, but who she wanted to be, what made her happy, her hopes, her dreams, her fears, how she wanted to be loved.
He thought he knew, thought that he had time to be better, to give her what he knew she needed from him. But he didn’t. And he wasn’t sure he ever really did.
And now he couldn’t remember. And a disgusting, evil part of him, one that only clawed its way out of the deep dark hole Mike had buried it in when the nights were as dark and quiet as this one, almost didn't want to.
Just sitting down in the old chair, wood chipped and scratched from years passed, made a part of his chest ache. His hands clutched at the desk, ran through his hair, wiped at his face, as if using them would distract him from how small the room seemed all of a sudden.
He moved the typewriter to sit at the corner, arranged his stack of papers, sharpened his pencils, moved the typewriter back to the middle then to the opposite corner. Anything to make it 'just right' as if that was why he couldn’t sleep.
Ten minutes went by of his futile attempts of distraction, then 11.
When he yawned, Mike didn’t have the energy to carry himself back to bed.
He didn’t realize when his eyes started to close, and in the morning, he wouldn’t remember the face he saw as he finally drifted off to sleep.
—
If he was being honest, Will Byers wasn’t too excited to be home. He never was.
The air felt different from the rest of the world, almost too thick for him to breathe it in, like each breath carried the weight of a thousand memories from his hometown. Each visit brought a sense of unease, a dread like black tar settling deep in his bones where he couldn’t reach.
Mike had been the one to pick them up, greeting him with a wide smile and a hug that ended too soon to feel like solace but long enough to feel like a warm welcome.
He was taller, lankier somehow, glasses perched on his nose framing his face and making his tired eyes look just a bit bigger.
Something about him seemed off upon arrival, a tremble in his fingers and a furrow in his brow that couldn’t be explained by their time spent apart, but Will was in the same boat as he was, so the silent agreement passed between them to let it go for now.
The car shook, rumbling beneath him as it swerved off the road and onto the dirt forest path.
The familiar surroundings did what it could to soothe the discomfort that had built in his stomach since his plane touched down in Hawkins, trees lining each edge of his vision, nature wrapping around him like a shield to the rest of the town, and something was playing on the radio. An older song that he recognized but couldn’t put a name to.
Maybe his mom used to play it. Maybe his dad did.
Carlton sat next to him in the back seat, their arms pressed together, thighs brushing in a way that was both intentional and not. The boy’s dark, curly hair danced in the wind that rushed in from the open window, eyes pretending they weren’t concerned as his hand held Will’s own.
It was no secret that Will hated Hawkins. Any of his friends could tell you that even though he’d never outright said it.
There was a tone of voice when he spoke of home, a distant look in his eyes when he recalled what were supposed to be happy memories, as if he was actively working to block something else out at the same time.
He didn’t like to be fussed over, hated feeling “weak” as he’d once said, so Carlton kept his worries to himself for now. Will’s complexion had improved since Mike had picked them up anyway, the boy no longer wringing his hands together anxiously or walking with his shoulders by his ears, so a hint of gratefulness had mixed in with his worry.
The cabin came into view, smaller than Will remembered it. More put together too.
Time had changed it, flowers growing where the bushes had previously been ignored in favour of more pressing matters, old wood planks on the porch switched out for newer, sturdier ones. Did Mike do that?
“It’s way cleaner than I thought it would be.” Will said, eyes roaming over the interior of the cabin once Mike had pushed the previously difficult door open with ease and let them in, suitcase dragging behind him and bumping his heels. Mike smiled.
“You make it sound like I’m filthy.”
“Not filthy. Just…easily immersed in what you like.” Will chuckled, feeling lighter now. Smiles coming easier.
Mike rolled his eyes and pushed the bedroom door open, standing to the side and letting the other two men step in.
“For what it’s worth,” Carlton sighed, setting his duffel bag down in the corner then settling on the small bed. “I’m not the cleanest either.”
He and Mike had talked more than a few times. Will had mentioned it once, asked Mike if he’d like to meet him, voice small and almost shy like this was important to him but he didn’t want to admit it.
It didn’t take much convincing, because who was Mike to say no? If anything, he was strangely eager.
Not strangely. Understandably, he’d reasoned.
Will was his best friend! It only made sense for him to want to be sure he was being treated right. Them being so far away from each other only increased his protectiveness if anything, which Will almost didn’t think was possible.
But Carlton was good. Almost too good, Mike would say.
He was a partier. Most of Will’s friends were, surprisingly. At first, Mike was worried he’d felt pressured to join them, the stories of how he’d met them all feeling more like the group had picked him up like he was a stray puppy and dragged him along to whatever plans they’d made.
But shockingly, only to Mike apparently since Lucas and Max hardly seemed surprised by this and Dustin had just shrugged like it was supposed to be obvious, Will seemed to love partying.
Carlton knew a lot of people, got Will into private events, brought him flowers for no reason, never pushed for anything more than what he wanted to give, complimented him, encouraged him in his career, and above all, he was there for him.
He was there for him on the bad days where a phone call couldn’t calm him down, stayed through the nightmares and panic attacks no matter how bad they got even though Will couldn’t tell him what exactly was wrong.
He was funny too, annoyingly.
Conversation came easily, too easily, between the three. And while it irked Mike at first that Will had less time to stay on the phone with him and talk about nothing, he no longer hated how Carlton would keep chiming in until he’d seamlessly been added into whatever nonsense they were chatting about.
“I’ve heard.” Mike leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. “Will complains more than he doesn’t these days.”
Carlton huffed out a laugh, palms pressing into the mattress as he leaned back on them. His eyes turned to Will who stood at the foot of the bed.
“Wow. So you’re talking shit behind my back now?” His head was cocked slightly to the left as he feigned offence, lips curled into a disbelieving grin.
“It’s nothing I haven’t already told you, McKay.” Will smiled with a shrug, tension fully drained from his frame. He looked a bit tired now, likely from the early flight mixed with the stress of being back home, but definitely better. “If anyone was filthy, it’d be you.”
“Oh, c'mon, filthy?” Carlton looked over to Mike like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Do I look filthy?” He gestured to himself, brow raised with the question.
He was tall, for one. Less than an inch taller than Mike. Mike’s eyes trailed over him, from the key necklace matching Will’s padlock around his neck to the white t-shirt straining across his chest, a face Mike didn’t recognize printed in black ink on the front, all the way down to the loose blue jeans that were rolled up at the ankles.
He was definitely the cool type, the kind of person Mike would’ve had on his wall as a teen.
“You could do with a haircut.” he said instead, eyes snapping back to Carlton's expectant ones. Will giggled at that, and Mike felt the same pride he always did.
“Don’t laugh at that!” Carlton groaned, his own laugh echoing through the small room.
“I mean, it’s true!” Will beamed, giggles turning to a full fit of laughter. “I’ve told him, like, eight times that he’d look better with shorter hair.”
“I didn’t work this hard to grow it out just to cut it off for aesthetics.” Carlton crossed his arms defiantly, body turning to face Will better, eyes softening at the rosy tint that had bloomed on his face from his laughter.
“Work hard? You don’t even do anything to it. You just refuse to cut it!”
The two continued their back and forth, Will gesturing animatedly and Carlton watching with eyes full of love and an amused smile, only keeping it going to get a reaction if anything. They bickered like they’d had this exact argument word for word ten times already.
They looked in love.
And Mike stood there and watched.
It was an odd feeling that settled inside him. One he couldn’t put a name to.
A pang in his chest and a curl in his stomach, something he’d felt before and always hoped he wouldn’t again. He’d likened it to jealousy.
He was lonely. He had been for a long time.
He had friends, sure. The party, friends from college that he occasionally met up with, family friends that he’d kept in touch with over the years. But he didn’t feel whole.
Hang outs with Lucas and Max, while they did tone it down in his presence, felt like intruding on something real.
A brush of the knee in the middle of a movie.
A bump of the elbow as they made lunch together.
Shared looks across the room that they thought he didn’t notice.
It reminded him too much of when he was like that. When he had someone to love like that.
It reminded him of who he had lost, and how he’d never get to have that again.
Jealousy and envy, sharp and evil, sunk into his bones.
As he watched the couple in front of him laugh and blush and tease each other, comfortable like they’d found their place in life and would be more than happy to stay in it, something different was added into the mix.
Mike never named it, this…thing that would overcome him when Will was near.
It wasn’t that he’d refused to. He’d racked his brain for hours that added up to weeks, confusion and frustration building into the reluctant acceptance that maybe he’d never know.
He loved will. More than he loved his other friends. Because they were best friends.
He wanted nothing more than to see him happy, finally free from all the dark that had clung to him like a second skin since even before he’d gone missing.
So what was it?
Why did it hurt differently now watching Will happy with someone that loves him than watching any of the other couples in Hawkins?
Why did his smile, his eyes, directed at someone else while Mike was right there feel even worse somehow?
He’d always been a jealous person. Mike knew that well enough.
Whether it was when he would snap at teachers in kindergarten who tried to get Will to participate in class because he was still too shy to talk to others or when Joyce would ask him to get him to eat because she knew he wouldn’t listen to her, there was always a boastful gleam in his chest knowing that Will liked him more than anyone else.
But this was different. Will was happy. Will was in love. So why did Mike still crave that attention?
Will’s laughter had eased into a soft smile, hands wiping at the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes, and he turned to Mike.
“You see what I have to deal with?” he asked, grinning anyway, and Mike nodded.
He pushed himself off the doorframe and stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling out of place now.
“He reminds me too much of Lucas. I’ve dealt with enough of him for the year already.”
Carlton perked up at that. “Is he also in town?” he asked, brushing his hair back and tying it loosely behind his head with the hair tie on his wrist. “I’ve only spoken to him and Max a few times, but I’d like to meet them too if I can.”
“They’ll be back in a few days probably.” Mike said. “Erica’s birthday is tomorrow so they stayed the week.”
Will nodded, sitting on the bed next to Carlton and dragging his suitcase over to lay flat by his feet.
“Well,” Mike coughed after a minute or two of standing there uselessly “I’ll leave you guys to unpack and settle in. I’m gonna head out to the repair shop.”
Will looked up, puzzled. “It’s almost closing time though?” he said, pulling out a stack of folded shirts and setting them on the bed. “Whatever you’re fixing, I doubt the old man is going to get it done in time.”
Mike shook his head with a smile, nails digging into his nailbed until something wet stained his fingers and the inside of his pocket.
“I took the fans in this morning,” he clarified. “Should be done by now.”
As he pulled himself away from the door, soft voices filling the space where he had just stood as if he’d never been there in the first place, as if he was merely an intruder in the happiness the couple had built, Mike felt heavier than he had in a long time.
He thought he’d accepted this life already. He thought he was used to it.
He wasn’t.