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“Friends? No.”
A pause.
“Best friends.”
Mike regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth all those years ago. It had now been ten years since that day. Three thousand six hundred and fifty days since the day the world nearly ended. In a way, it did for Mike, and it wasn’t just because El died. It was because he had lost his chance at fixing his world. At admitting that Will was his world. Sometimes it haunts him more than El’s death, because Mike knows that he couldn’t have changed that. What he could’ve changed was how incredibly stupid he had been that day on the tower. A few words could have fixed everything. Hell, he had eighteen months before graduation and then some to fix everything. Why?
He was scared.
Mike was scared for some stupid reason to accept that he loved Will. He’d known for so long. He’s loved Will since the spring of ‘86, where he had been able to sign off in letters he never sent with love. He’s loved Will since the day he left for California, when El had kissed him in such a gentle way that made him feel as though he could puke. He’s loved Will since the day he had a vision on Halloween, when Mike promised to take him home. To his home. He’s loved Will since the day he told him that the roll was a seven. That the demogorgon got him.
Mike’s loved Will since the moment he saw him on the swings in kindergarten. Mike’s loved Will since the movement he asked him to be his friend. And Will said yes. He said yes.
Now, Mike stared down at his typewriter, his hands shaking. He had been trying to write this damn story for ages. It was about Will. Everything in his life was about William Byers. His whole life circled around him, even if it had been ten years. Mike was twenty-six, and he was supposed to be a functioning adult. He had chosen to stay in Indiana, and majored in English at Bloomington. He clung to his childhood dreams of being a writer, just how Will clung to his own dreams of being an artist.
The difference was that these dreams worked out far better for Will. Upon submitting his outstanding portfolio, full of gut-wrenchingly beautiful pieces by the end of High School, Will was accepted into Parsons with a full-ride scholarship. He moved away to New York City, and essentially cut contact with Hawkins. With Mike.
Now, having graduated college, Will works as a sort of freelance illustrator for a studio in the city. He’s paid good money, has good hours, and he loves his job. He lives in an apartment complex on Lafayette Street, just near Broadway. He goes to see plays and musicals all the time.
How does Mike know all of this?
He’s been watching Will for years. For the past eight years since Will left for New York, Mike has been keeping tabs on him. Making calls and pretending to be a cousin, making connections to people close to him in his new life, and the occasional trip to the city to see things for himself. It wasn’t stalking. Mike kept telling himself that. He was just… watching out for Will.
Things had been fine, until he heard from one of his contacts about a new resident at Will’s apartment as of a month ago. Carlton Hayes. Will’s new boyfriend. Will met him in college. Their first date was at a bar. They’d been dating for a few years, but they recently decided to move in. Mike doesn’t know how he hasn’t found out about this guy until now. From what Mike’s researched, he’s not all that. He works a typical nine-to-five office job for a finance company. He doesn’t even know Will’s past. He doesn’t know what he’s been through. He probably doesn’t even know anything about Dungeons and Dragons, or The Clash— or anything Will likes. He’s probably just some guy who was attractive, convenient, and managed to convince Will he was good enough to be his boyfriend.
But he wasn’t. The only person good enough for Will was Mike. The only person who deserved Will was Mike.
The thought of Carlton being with Will tore Mike to shreds every night. The thought of them sleeping in the same bed, the thought of Carlton’s clueless, disgusting hands running down Will’s body, the thought of them kissing, and the thought of Carlton whispering sweet nothings into Will’s ears as he thrusted into him—
Mike punched a hole in the wall of his shitty apartment that night. His landlord yelled at him the next day. The only thing Mike knew was that he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t take it any longer. He needed to see Will. He needed him to be his.
It was like Mike had lost a part of himself. He didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror anymore, or at photos of himself when he was younger. His hair was thinning, and his eyesight declined to the point where he needed glasses. His eyebags were sunken in, and he was paler than he usually was. He didn’t look like the porcelain dolls his mother compared him to when he was a child anymore. He looked like a rotten corpse.
Mike wasn’t thinking much the day it happened. Did he ever truly think?
His fingers wrapped around a flip knife. He flicked it out, then back in. He shoved it in the pocket of his jeans, grabbed his wallet, and walked out of his apartment. He called for a taxi, and asked to be driven to the nearest train station. He was silent the whole ride, not bothering to make conversation with the driver. He didn’t even thank the guy on the way out, just shoving the money in his hand and getting out of the car. He got into the train station, and bought a last second ticket to New York City. He waited until it came, and finally got on the train. His brain was on autopilot the whole time.
People looked at Mike like he was insane the whole ride. Probably because he hadn’t brought any luggage, or source of entertainment on a God knows how long train ride. Mike didn’t even check the times. He didn’t care.
It wasn’t until halfway through the long ride that Mike realized what his plan was. He had gotten up to use the rancid bathroom, unbuckling his pants, and unzipping his fly. He stared at himself in the mirror, at the tired, crazed look on his face. That’s when it hit him.
Mike wanted to kill Carlton Hayes.
He laughed dryly as he zipped his pants back up, fixing his belt. He flushed the toilet, washing his hands. He dried them off, and then took a pair of thin gloves out of his jacket pocket. It was best to not leave any fingerprints. The pocket knife could be destroyed, and so could the body. However, if he left any fingerprints on any more taxi doors or Will’s apartment’s doorknob, he’d be screwed.
Mike went to sit back down, and then thought about it. How he would kill Carlton. Obviously, it would be by stabbing. After staring out the window for a moment, a visual came to Mike. Joyce Byers chopping Vecna’s head clean off. It would clearly be difficult for Mike to decapitate Carlton with a pocket knife, but it gave him an idea. The throat. It would make it impossible for Carlton to scream, eliminating a major risk. Then, he could go for the heart, and officially end him, leaving him to bleed out on the floor. Of course, the clean up would be difficult, but he’d figure that out after that fucker was dead.
For the entire ride, Mike didn’t sleep. He didn’t move at all, in fact. He stayed put, other than the occasional bathroom break. They had to get off and board another train at some point, and there was time between Mike’s next train. However, he didn’t go get food or water. He just waited, and hopped on the train to repeat his cycle of waiting in silence. His leg started bouncing at some point, and he didn’t stop it.
After what felt like an eternity, the train stopped. Mike pushed past some old lady, and stumbled out of the train. He was weak, tired, but determined. He saw a clock somewhere. It was three in the morning. He didn’t care. He kept walking aimlessly. Will’s apartment was pretty close to this station. He could make it on foot. The pocket knife weighed heavy in his pocket, though not with guilt or fear. Well, with a bit of fear. More so the fear that Will would hate him after this. There was no way Will wouldn’t find out, or wake up during the process. Mike wasn’t prepared, he was just hoping for the best.
Finally, Mike had made it to the apartment complex. It was quite nice, honestly. A large, brick building that blended in with the various others in the city. Lights bounced off of the windows, and cars buzzed by him. Mike shoved the door open, and walked in. He ignored the lady at the front desk, and instead went for the stairs. The elevator was faster, but Mike needed to kill the adrenaline rushing through him. He was almost excited. After a long walk, the moment came. Mike stood in front of Will’s apartment before he had even registered it. His body felt empty and cold. He was actually going to kill someone.
Mike knocked on the door. He closed his eyes for a minute, pressing his forehead against it. He stayed quiet. He heard rustling. Footsteps. Heavy. Not Will’s. Carlton’s.
The door opened, and Mike stared at him. He had never known what the man looked like, but now he finally had the chance. He had dark, curly hair that was a mess from sleeping, and soft brown eyes that narrowed upon seeing Mike. He had on a white t-shirt that would soon be stained with his own blood, and a pair of gray sweatpants he had clearly thrown on in a rush. He cocked his head upon seeing Mike. They were practically the same height. In fact, they looked quite a bit alike.
“Um… do I know you?” Carlton asked, hesitantly gripping the door. Mike’s hand joined his a moment later when he attempted to shut it. He pushed it back open, and Carlton’s eyebrows furrowed. “Dude, what the hell? Are you on drugs or something?”
Mike just shook his head. “No. Uh…” he cleared his throat, realizing he hadn’t spoken in hours. Maybe days. His eyes flicked down, then back up to Carlton’s. “I’m… a friend of Will’s. Michael Wheeler. Surely he’s mentioned me… we knew each other back in Hawkins. Our whole lives. Since kindergarten.” His speech was choppy, stuttered. He wasn’t nervous or on edge. He was more so buzzing with impatience, his gloved fingers running over the knife in his pocket.
Carlton blinked a few times, then calmed down. “Oh! Mike. Yeah, I’ve heard about you.” He nodded, putting his hand down. His eyes flicked to the side, then back at Mike’s, full of confusion. “Um… What are you doing here at three in the morning?”
It was truly easy for Mike to lie. It always had been, honestly. His mind went back to all those years he’d lied to El about loving her. He used to feel regret, but now it’s just emptiness. He’s truly become a shell of a man. He cleared his throat, easily coming up with a lie. “The train ride was long. I called Will a few days ago, and he said it would be fine if I showed up. I didn’t expect to get here at this time, and I don’t really have the money on me or a hotel. I figured I could just crash on the couch until morning.”
Lucky for him, Carlton was oblivious and kind. He just smiled and nodded. “Oh, okay, then. Come on in, man. I’m honestly not too tired… I had a long shift today. You want some coffee?” He turned around, heading towards the kitchen. “Will’s still asleep.”
Mike watched as Carlton made it to the coffee machine. He felt a rare smile spread, tearing into his cheeks. This guy was so fucking dumb. He pulled the knife out of his pocket. “Yeah. I take it black.” He said, coming up behind Carlton.
His hand covered his mouth for good measure, while his other hand took the knife, flicking it open. He plunged it into his neck, cutting upward and feeling the warm blood soak his gloves and sleeves. He closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief as he felt Carlton struggle in his arms, muffled, wet screams coming out of his mouth. His throat had been wrecked, so they really weren’t audible. Mike pulled the knife out, and plunged it into Carlton’s chest, right into his heart. It took a few more minutes of weak struggling. He felt tears soak into his glove that rested on Carlton’s mouth. He smiled sickly, waiting until he went limp. He slowly lowered the body, staring at it when it hit the floor. Thankfully, the kitchen didn’t have a carpet, so stains would be easier to clean. He grabbed a paper towel, wiping the knife down, as he stepped away from the body to avoid getting his shoes bloody. He slipped the knife back in his pocket, about to look for the hydrogen peroxide when—
“…Mike…?”
Mike’s head whipped around at the sound of the quiet, broken voices. His eyes landed on Will, who stood a few feet away, in only his blue boxers and an oversized, yellow flannel that slipped off of one shoulder. Despite the situation, Mike still felt heat rise to his face, alongside somewhere else, at the sight of Will’s exposed neck, shoulder, and collarbone. He was broken out of that trance when he heard Will speak again.
“What the fuck…? Is he… is he dead…?” Will whispered. Mike finally got a good look at his face. He looked scared. Naturally, of course. Mike had come into his house and killed his boyfriend. Of course he was scared.
Mike simply nodded. He was shocked Will hadn’t started screaming yet, nor called the police. He finally used his words. “Yes. No pulse. I made sure.”
Will gaped, his soft, pink lips— the ones that Mike could never keep his eyes off of— parted. His two front teeth stuck out a bit, resembling a bunny. Mike was truly happy Will’s mom never had enough money for braces when he was a kid. His eyes were teary and wide; those beautiful, hazel doe eyes that Mike loved getting lost in. Those soft cheeks that Mike longed to cup and squeeze—
“What’s wrong with you?” Will’s desperate, ruined voice snapped Mike out of his trance. He was out of breath, obviously panicked and a mess. “Why would you do this? Why would you—“
Mike reached out and held Will’s face, his bloodied gloves smearing the red liquid of his now dead boyfriend all over his cheeks. “He stole you from me.” He said simply. “William, darling… I finally realized how much of an oblivious idiot I was all those years ago. I took you for granted. I should have just admitted how I truly felt about you…”
Will stared up at Mike with fear, yet… a hint of something. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. His hands trembled at his sides. A tear ran down his cheek, mixing with Carlton’s blood and tears. “You—You could’ve… told me how you felt… you didn’t have to…”
“I was angry.” Mike cut him off. “I punched a hole in my wall. I couldn’t take it. The thought of him with you. He shouldn’t be allowed to live after all of that.”
Unable to move, Will stayed silent. He stared at the body. He seemed to accept there was nothing to do. His eyes flicked back and forth. He turned away, finally moving. “Get rid of it. I don’t care what you do— get rid of the body now.” He choked out, voice still shaky. “Oh my God… he’s actually fucking dead, Michael!”
When his voice raised, Mike gently covered his mouth as a warning of sorts, though he would never hurt him. He caressed Will’s face again, then walked away, making his way to the bathroom. He found the hydrogen peroxide, then grabbed a cloth. Upon taking a detour to the bedroom, Mike found a large guitar case. He smiled, grabbing it. He slung it over his shoulder, walking back to the kitchen. Will was at the sink, washing the blood from his face. He was trembling. Mike hated seeing him this terrified. It reminded him of his episodes. Of all the trauma his beloved went through. He hated being the cause of it now. However, it was something that needed to be done, even if Will didn’t fully understand why.
Will sniffled, wiping his eyes with a paper towel as he watched Mike grab some garbage bags. “Wha…” He hiccuped. “What are you doing with the body?”
Mike began to shove Carlton’s body into the garbage bag. He tossed Will a pair of gloves. “Guitar case as transport. We’ll dump him in a lake a little while from here. Go get some weights if you have any. And rope. And a lighter. Keep those on to make sure your fingerprints don’t get on anything.”
Blindly, Will followed Mike’s command. He didn’t know why. He might’ve been scared that Mike would kill him, too. Or, the love he still felt for Mike after all these years remained strong, and he couldn’t deny him. As he was gone, Mike managed to shove Carlton’s body into the guitar case by the time Will came back with the weights, the rope, and the lighter. He put the weights and rope in the case so they didn’t have to carry them, and shut it. He pushed it aside with a bit of struggle, and then began to pour the hydrogen peroxide onto the towel. He wiped the floor clean, and chucked it into another garbage bag. He began to strip his clothes off. Just the gloves and the jacket. He had been careful about not getting it on his pants. He also threw them in the bag, and took the lighter, stashing it in his pocket. He put on a new pair of gloves after that.
As Will fiddled with his gloved fingers, Mike realized that he had put on a pair of slippers, alongside sweatpants. Mike smiled, walking over and squeezing Will’s hips. “Mhm. You’re all dressed and ready to go dump your boyfriend’s body in a lake?”
Will flinched away from Mike, pulling away. His eyes were red from crying. “Michael, stop. This isn’t a joking matter. You killed him. He had a family— a brother, a sister, a mother, a father—“
“I don’t give a fuck.” Mike hissed. “Get the damn car keys, Will. We’re ending this.”
After a moment of hesitation, Will grabbed the car keys from the door. He watched as Mike grabbed the garbage bag, and slung the heavy guitar case over his shoulder. They luckily didn’t run into anyone in the hallway, and made it to the elevator easily. Will quietly suggested they take the back exit, and so they did. Mike smiled as Will clung to him in the cold. He was such a willing accomplice.
After a bit of a walk in the parking lot, they made it to Carlton’s car. Mike shoved the guitar case in the trunk, alongside the garbage bag. He got in the driver’s seat, and began to drive, while Will stayed silent next to him. They didn’t really speak for the half hour ride, but eventually, Mike saw a lake that satisfied him. He got out, popped the trunk, and passed Will the lighter. “Go light a fire.” He instructed. Will just nodded.
Mike grabbed the guitar case out of the trunk, and dragged it to the lake. He popped it open, and grabbed the rope. He began to tie it around the weights, then wrapped it around the garbage bag that covered Carlton’s body. He threw the guitar case back in the trunk. They’d wash it out back at home.
Home.
Will came back over, fiddling with his sleeves. He looked at the body, then at Mike. “I lit the fire.” He mumbled. Mike smiled, and then looked at the body. With a simple kick, he rolled it into the deep end of the river. Will stood and watched for a minute, before Mike went to get the garbage bag. He slipped his gloves off, throwing them in the bag. He prompted Will to do the same, then tied it up. “Come on.” He instructed, walking over to the fire Will had lit using twigs. He tossed the bag onto it, then sat down on a nearby log. He patted the space next to him.
After a moment, Will sat down. He stared at the fire. “You killed my boyfriend.” He mumbled. “You killed him, and I just helped you hide the body.”
Mike shrugged. “Okay. Thanks for the narration.” He joked, wrapping an arm around Will as he began to tremble.
“You’re a sick fuck.” Will choked out, tears filling his eyes again as he pulled his knees up. “I hate you for this. You’re a fucking monster. You’re gonna burn in hell. You’re crazy! I’m crazy for not calling the fucking cops on you, and instead helping you cover this shit up—“
Despite his words, Will leaned into Mike, sobbing. With a smile, Mike tilted his head up, kissing his forehead with such gentleness that nobody would assume he just brutally murdered another man. “Hey… well… if we’re both going crazy, then we’ll go crazy together, right?”
Will stared up at Mike. He felt his hand fall from his mouth. He gulped, then felt a wet, shaky chuckle escape his throat. The fire burned in the background. Carlton’s body sunk to the bottom of the river. Will parted his lips, his voice a hushed whisper in the dead of night.
“Yeah… crazy together.”