Chapter Text
The cigarette burned with a strong orange glow between his fingertips. His hand was shaking as he moved to flick the excess ash off his freshly lit cigarette, and it was moments like this that he cherished. The moonlight peaking in through the open bathroom window while the city murmured underneath him was a silent tell that he found the life he had spent so long looking for. Another drag and another shift of bringing his legs to his chest, then he closed his eyes to fully take in the gentle buzz of tobacco. There was a flicker of light from the building over, so he opened his eyes in response, only to be met with a neon sign that read “New Black Friday Deals You Don’t Wanna Miss!”
Right.
Christmas is around the corner. That means Hawkins, it means seeing family, friends, old roads, quiet nights, it means his childhood bedroom clinging to him like a mole you try yet can’t seem to scrape off. He hums in acceptance and leans his head on the windowsill. Then he flicks his cigarette bud onto the bustling street below him and moves to grab another cigarette from his pack. His hands are steadier this time, and the light glows luminously before being sucked into the packed tobacco.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The sign seems far away now, voices are quieter, and he seemingly melts into the nostalgia of it all. He’s done this exact motion a handful of times. When he first moved into the apartment, when he experienced his first heartbreak, when he won a couple of awards for his art pieces, even when he got a kitten and spoiled her with catnip. He’s come so far since the first smoke in his bathroom; it’s hard not to think of it all.
Another drag.
Maybe he doesn’t have to head home this Christmas. It’s not like he hasn’t skipped spending the holidays with his family before. He’s done it twice, actually. The first time was the first year he spent away from them. He couldn’t face his hometown then, not with all the eerily strange things that tainted its image. It was a last-minute decision. He even had to refund the ticket. He decided once he saw the postcard that landed in his NY mailbox. A yellowish material that read: “Missing You from Hawkins!” on the back with a message that was probably from a dull, ballpoint pen.
“Hey, I don’t know if you’re going to get this.
Nancy didn’t seem so sure when she was repeating
the address Jonathan had told her. Anyways, how’s
NYC been? I’m thinking I’ll visit sometime soon, maybe
you can give me a tour when I come. Just wondering
how you’re doing, and give me a call, okay? Letters aren’t
the same as hearing your voice.”
- Mike
After seeing it, he couldn’t get on the plane. He became nauseous at the slight thought of seeing Mike again. So, he told everyone he came down with the flu and couldn’t come home for Christmas. Well, mostly everyone. He didn’t tell Mike. Nobody suspected Will of lying, and even if they had, they wouldn’t call him out because they all know Hawkins isn’t exactly his ‘safe space.’ He didn’t answer Mike with a letter or a postcard. He felt it would be too intimate to wait for a reply and rewrite draft after draft because the words never seemed right. So, about a week into the break, he called Mike.
It only rang once, then static followed by a hazy voice, “hey…who is this?”
An exhale. A pause. A shift. And then a response:
“Hey, it’s Will. I got your postcard, so I figured I’d call.”
There was a shaky inhale on the other line before an almost muffled reply. “Will! I heard you were sick, are you alright? I miss you. I wish you were in Hawkins.”
“Yeah, yeah, me too. I feel a lot better now, though, so don’t worry.” Will laughed softly, almost as if he said anything too loud it would break this hushed fondness between them.
“Well, that’s good at least. I bet it’s less chaotic in New York. I think if you were able to come to Hawkins now, everyone would smother you to death.” Mike seemingly reminisced. He remembers him and everybody crowding around Will when he was brought back from the Upside Down. He resembled a special family heirloom of sorts, one that could easily break, and everyone wants to hold. Something that seemed temporary only then, for it to be announced that the stay of its presence is permanent. Mike truly believes that his protectiveness over Will started the day he vanished. It was almost a reminder that he was careless with the most perfect thing in his life. That his naive understanding was no longer reliable because Will slipped through his grasp. His protectiveness grew, and swore to never let Will fall through the cracks again.
“Oh, definitely.” Will hums into the phone. He feels a kind of intoxication whenever he speaks with Mike. It’s similar to the instant buzz of tequila or the rush of nicotine infiltrating your system after the second hit. Something that makes him feel floaty and heavy at the same time.
There’s a quiet stillness that deepens.
“You know you could’ve just talked to me instead of pretending to be sick.”
It’s a sharp beat. An accusatory statement. One that means to prick instead of empathize. Two choices become etched out in front of Will. One being that he could make the sentiment lightweight, the other being the defense that ends in a heated argument. Will can always tell when he and Mike are about to argue.
So, he refrains and bites back the honest remark. “It’s never fun the easy way, though, is it?” Will hears Mike laugh at this, but there’s a hurt undertone in his breath.
“Honestly, I wish I were in New York instead,” Mike replies a bit quickly. “We would have so much fun together, and we’d definitely go ice skating.”
“No doubt. It’s not too late, you could spend New Year's here if you wanted.”
Shit. This is exactly why he didn’t go to Hawkins in the first place. He knew he would end up talking to Mike and falling back into their age-old routines, and end up planning future outings with future promises. This is what he wanted to avoid, and now it was him on the other line making plans. He should’ve written a letter; then he wouldn’t have impulsively said such stupid things.
The silence echoed in a hushed tone, almost as if you could hear the stillness that resided between them.
“Don’t say such things if you don’t mean them.” It was a soft reply with no sting. A kind of reply where you knew that he meant every word.
“I mean it,” Will replied hastily.
“Okay.” Then a pause, “I’ll let you know if I find any tickets.” Mike hummed in a quiet voice. In the voice he reserved only for Will.
“Okay.”
And then the phone clicked, and a silence strung about the room. Will could feel his hands were cold, and the sunlight was a deep orange beneath his eyelashes.
Possibly the worst outcome came about from that phone call, and there was nothing he could do about it now. He couldn’t bring himself to hear Mike’s voice and then promptly tell him that he could not come for New Year's. Every time he picked up the phone and heard the static, he placed it right back down. The mere thought of it pained him. So, instead, he waited by the phone around 8pm for the next three days.
On the fourth, it rang.
“Hey, so I found one. I’ll land around 2pm tomorrow, hopefully you’re available then.” And the quiet sigh Will heard afterward made him so hopeful for the first time in a while.
“No, that’s perfect. I’ll pick you up, and we can get something to eat.” Will replied with a smile. He knew Mike would love it in New York and call the place inspirational. He always sort of pictured New York first whenever Mike said he wanted to live outside of Hawkins. Funnily enough, Will is the one in New York, and Mike is still in Hawkins. That thought kind of aches him a little.
It was a cool and crisp morning on December 30th, 1989. There was a fog that stretched throughout the entire city, almost like a sign that snow is coming soon, a sign that Mike is coming soon. Will yawned awake and shifted to turn on the radio and his lamp. This was always the beginning of his morning routine. He puts on the news station, gets a coffee pot started, makes his bed, and then moves to the bathroom where he lights his morning cigarette. Maybe smoking isn’t the best way to start off your morning, but for Will, it’s perfect. He’s still in his boxers and has a blanket over his shoulders when he sits on the toilet seat cover and opens the bathroom window. There’s an instant rush of city noise that infiltrates his apartment, but Will doesn’t mind; it usually calms down his nerves, and on a morning such as this one, it’s very much needed.
There weren’t many housing options available, or at least none that Will was particularly comfortable with. He feared that his randomly assigned roommate would inevitably find out that he was, well, that he was different, and would hate him for it. So, to avoid the situation altogether, he decided to get an apartment not too far from campus. Luckily, the government funded his college expenses in exchange for his silence, so he was able to cover the housing costs with a part-time job at a nearby coffee shop. He loved it honestly because he always got pretty good discounts on any latte he wanted. On Saturdays like this one, he usually works in the morning and studies at the library by noon, but today he called off. He needed a low-paced morning to prepare himself for meeting Mike later.
It was a way to clear his head, and it’s safe to say it worked. But just to be extra cautious, he had a second cigarette. He picked up smoking practically on his third day in New York; he didn’t really mean to, though. He bought a pack after another one of his excruciating nightmares in hopes that it would calm his nerves, and it did. At first, it was just when the memories of everything were haunting him horribly, and then it was something he did as a reward after finishing an assignment, and then it was something he did during breaks at work, and then it became a part of his morning routine, so he lost count.
He hasn’t told Mike about it. He hasn’t told anyone about it; he doesn’t even know how they would react if he’s being honest, so just for good measure, he won’t mention it.
And with that, the end of the cigarette came about quickly. He flicked the bud and closed the window. He moved to grab his morning coffee and instantly felt the cold tile through his white socks. New York has always been colder than Hawkins; it was still something he was getting used to, but his body had never found solace in the cold.
The hot coffee will have to suffice.
“There’s a terrible car accident near Times Square, so the north section will be closed until New Year's. Hopefully, no one was planning on going sightseeing tonight.” The radio echoed throughout his apartment.
He figured he’d wait until New Year's to take Mike to Times Square anyway. The coffee almost burns his tongue at this thought; he honestly doesn’t know how long Mike was planning to stay in New York. Can’t be more than a couple days, right? He’ll probably head out the day after New Year's. Either way, it’ll be fine. He takes another sip to calm his nerves when there’s a loud ringing coming from the kitchen landline.
There aren’t a lot of people he knows who would be calling at eight in the morning; maybe it’s some salesperson. He thinks he’ll just let it ring, but decides against it because there’s always that possibility that it could be an emergency.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sorry, I know it’s pretty early, but I wanted to talk with you before Mike lands, and well, this was the only good time for me.” It was Lucas. They’ve talked many times since they’ve graduated, way more than him and Mike. His first call with Mike was barely even a week ago, although that was mainly on him for taking a while to reply to his postcard.
“Yeah, sure, what’s up? Did something happen?” Will asked hesitantly.
There was a heavy sigh on the other line. One that seemed unsure and not ready by any means to say the truth at that very moment. But Lucas has never been one to lie, especially to Will, who he has always felt was the most understanding person in the party.
That doesn’t mean saying it is any easier, though.
“Look,” there’s another pause, like he is treading lightly and doesn’t want to pick the wrong choice of words, “Mike hasn’t had the easiest of times since you’ve left, he doesn’t talk about how he’s feeling a lot, but I can tell because he’s been distant.”
He sighs, “Just go easy on him. I know you both have had your fair share of arguments and misunderstandings with one another, but don’t be so harsh with him. He would hate me for even mentioning this to you, but you have to know he’s trying. That has to mean something.”
There’s a quiet silence that follows. Will’s not sure what to say; he’s not surprised, but he’s not unfazed either.
“Did, um…” there’s no right word to describe what he’s feeling, “did he say anything specifically to you?”
“He said he misses you more than anything, and that he hopes words come as easily as they used to with you.” It’s a comforting sentiment that is supposed to bring about the start of something familiar yet new, but instead it latches on to Will’s thoughts with sorrowful undertones.
He can feel his throat tighten and his voice cracked in responding, “Yes, I feel the same.” And there are tears that corner at the edges of his eyes once he’s done speaking.
“I thought so,” Lucas sighs. It feels as though there is more he is meaning to say but decides against it, “I just wanted you to know before you see him.” He means the best, he always does.
“Thanks, Lucas. I’ll talk to you later, yeah? There’s still some things I have to sort out before Mike gets here.” It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie either. He just knew that if he kept talking and asking about Mike, he would eventually start crying on the phone call. It was the last thing he wanted; he didn’t want Lucas to worry about him, or worse, tell the others about his nervous breakdown. It was just easier to end the call now than risk it.
“Yeah, of course, and let me know how it goes.” Will can almost hear the soft smile that creases on Lucas’ face as he says this, and with that, he ends the call.
After putting the phone back on the wall, he sat on the kitchen counter and sipped from his now lukewarm coffee. A million thoughts seemed to flood his mind, ones of high school, ones of Mike and his friends, ones of the Upside Down, and ones of New York. It felt like all the things he had been putting off thinking about had finally had enough and forced him to sit with all the passing emotions.
So he had another cigarette before heading out to pick up some groceries; he couldn’t have Mike visit with an empty fridge.
Will honestly hates going grocery shopping, and because of this, he avoids it and just eats at the dining hall. But since Mike won’t be able to eat with him there because it’s only reserved for students, he has to go shopping.
He picks out simple things: eggs, bread, milk, cereal. He’s still unsure how long Mike is staying, but he figures if they run out of food, they’ll just order takeout or go to a restaurant, so it doesn’t matter all that much.
His basket is halfway filled when he sees maple syrup on one of the shelves. Mike loves to eat eggs with syrup in the morning; he did it practically every morning when he and Jonathan were staying with him in Hawkins.
All the memories of mornings after sleepovers flood his mind, each one with Mike pouring an ungodly amount of syrup on his scrambled eggs.
He grabbed the bottle and headed for the frozen aisle. He wasn’t sure if waffles would only bring back tears surrounding El, but he thought maybe they could be comforting so he bought them anyway.
He picked up a couple more items that reminded him of Mike and left back to his apartment. He decided to also buy two bottles of wine because it’ll ease whatever tension was left between them. He still had to clean and make something resembling a bed on his couch for Mike.
Sheets were slushing in the washer, candles were lit to air out the cigarette smell, and he baked cookies as a housewarming gift (and to also get rid of the cigarette smell). While they were in the oven, he did have another cigarette because he couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways this could go wrong. Sometimes conversations with Mike are like walking on eggshells, or trying to tiptoe around sensitive topics that he’s not even sure if addressing or not addressing them is better.
But this is Mike. He’s known him for as long as he can remember; he knows the ins and outs of his personality better than he knows his own, it feels like. Although sometimes, it is not always a good thing.
His cigarette is halfway finished when there’s a blaring ringing from the oven. He holds the cigarette between his lips while getting the cookies out, and ash falls on one of them. He thinks to just dust it off, but instead tosses the cookie. He glanced at the clock, noticing its loud ticking. It read 12:32 pm.
This was going to be a long couple of days.