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Will couldn't bare it any longer. He knew it needed to be done- he wished it could be done easier, though. He wished that actions like these were as simple as watering a daisy. Alas, nothing about this is simple. Tip-toeing around one another, diverting eyes and holding back words. In the past, it had been so easy. Like breathing. Inhaling and exhaling, a subconscious decision, a need for survival. I suppose they learnt to survive without one another, eh?
Moving does that to you. Life does that to you. Humans adapt, grow, learn. With age comes a new light of consciousness, awareness of the world around you. Will wonders if he really had been surviving. Was waking up, going to school, coming home to a half-assed home-cooked meal, surviving? A mother, absorbed with this new family member, this new person to look after and eat with and drive to school with. Surviving may not be the right word- living, perhaps. Living. Life, breathing, motions, Mike.
This is just another necessary motion. An action for change. Well, hopefully it would make a change. Will would, in all honesty, be embarrassed if it didn't make a change. Michael Wheeler, tufted black hair, soft brown eyes, and a frown that could bring down governments. Taunting teenage boy demeanour, diminishing stares-through-the-eyelashes. If it didn't make a change, Will would be nothing more than a boy with too many feelings fighting for a boy with none at all. And the whole world would look down on that.
Too many feelings. Zombie Boy has too many feelings. He brought his hand to his sleeve, rolling it further up his arm. The fire whistled gently beside them, inducing a heat throughout the house. Will shifted on his feet, warily monitoring how quickly his eyes flickered about the room. Any sudden movements were glanced upon in disdain, and Will couldn't have that. Jonathan's music thumped from the hall, developing a what-would-be-calming-if-Will-wasn't-doing-the-stupidest-thing-ever atmosphere.
Mike stood before him, shoulders hunched, eyebrow quirking ever so slightly. He scratched his neck, inhaling deeply and sucking his lips. Will measured the silence, how long had it lasted? A few minutes, maybe. But, then again, the silence between them had been lasting for months. The two had barely spoken since Will moved.
And now he was confronting Mike about it. He cringed. Maybe he should just play it off as a joke.
"So, Mike, when did you get such an ugly haircut?"
Will almost laughed. He couldn't say that, not to Mike.
Will had survived a week in the Upside Down. He had been alive for 14 years. Lived for eight of them. He'd known Mike for eight years- right?
Living, ha. Funny how he couldn't do that without Mike. And that's why he needed to do this now. How many times would he come to this conclusion before he actually did anything. Would they stand here forever, minds battling, picking up the pieces for them to be shattered once again?
So he needs to do this. Now. Rip off the band-aid and fling it into the depths of hell.
"Hey," Will started, voice quiet. He coughed, eyes flittering to Mike for a second before focusing on a distant wall, "Hi."
Mike turned to him, mouth clenched, big eyes wide with caution. He took a sharp breath as Will's eyes met his. He opened his mouth to talk, breaking into a grin that resembled a child on school photo day.
"Hey, hey..."
So utterly not-simple.
Will lingered in the silence for a moment, the whole world around him slowly disappearing into a white void. Just him and Mike.
Will pursued, hands stuffed into his jeans.
"So, I feel like, I feel that," Will felt claws sinking deep into his back. A voice rang in his head, a memory from one fuzzy, painful night.
"Remember the first day that we met?"
The words that had broken through to Will, torn down his barrier of evil. If they had worked then, when Will was literally possessed, then they should work now.
"Remember how- how we used to be?" He murmured, placing his first foot on the rickety tight-rope.
Mike swallows. Will's set the conversation down a path, and Mike has to follow it.
His heart hammered against his ribs, the floor beneath him feeling like quicksand. Mike nodded quickly, tapping his shoe on the rug. He brought his hand to his neck, scratching it. A distraction, really. The longer he could prolong his answer, the better.
Will frowned at him, an expression usually reserved for Troy. As taken aback as Mike was, he clung to that, changing his stance. He was still taller than Will, sure, but now he didn't have to look down to talk to him. As he straightened his back, though, he noticed Will flinch, cowering.
Mike bit his lip, realising the advantage he has. Mike has a girlfriend. Mike has Dustin and Eddie and Lucas. Will has a sister he never asked for, and a life he now has to share. Mike doesn't have to speak to him, doesn't have to listen to him, doesn't have to hang out with him. Mike grew up, Will didn't.
Mike could leave. Could go back to Hawkins. But then what about El? She's stuck somewhere in some prison van, preparing to win a war. Should Mike leave her? Could Mike leave her?
All of this, all of everything, could Mike just leave?
Then came that itching feeling that he'd been getting ever since he got here, the one that made his skin burn and insides twist.
William Byers is almost as tall as him. William Byers has supple brown hair and endless hazel eyes. His clothes fit his frame, his wiry body no longer wiry. He is not the boy that Mike used to protect. Will doesn't need Mike's protection.
But, maybe, Mike will still give it to him. Mike will still give Will anything he asks because Will is still Will and Mike did grow up but why did that mean he and Will had to grow apart?
They had grown apart.
Will studied him. From all the monsters they'd fought, all the horrible things they'd faced, Mike had never looked so terrified. There was something missing between them- something that had once been natural. Ever since they'd met they could hear one another. Hear one another when neither was talking. And that was a bond they shared with no one else.
Without that bond in their lives, could they manage? If they never resolved this would they be able to keep going? Yes, we can always keep going. It will just sting more when he thinks about it.
"Mike..." Will pursued, "Why aren't we like that anymore?"
He flung his whole body onto the tight-rope, his weight making it wobble. The side dipped, and a sinking feeling stabbed itself into Will's chest.
Mike fidgeted with his hands, averting his eyes from Will's prying gaze. The answer is simple, Michael. You grew up and he didn't. Mike wanted to voice the words, but his mouth was stitched shut. He's too young, too immature. You all got girlfriends and Will didn't. Will is worthless.
Mike felt each tick of the clock resonate, send a shock through his body. Why aren't they friends anymore? Is friends even the right word?
Why did Mike pull away from Will that summer? When the sun started defining his features like a statue carved by Michelangelo. When Dustin was away and El was at home and Lucas, Max, Will and him would go to the movies, and Mike would always get his Coca-Cola and M&Ms from Will's bag. When El started kissing him and touching him and he would close his eyes and think of someone else. When Mike chased Will into the rain and told him a lie.
Told him that they were growing up and that meant moving apart and getting girlfriends. Mike could tell him that now, argue the same thing, but something was telling him not to. Something was telling him that Will would see through it. Because now, Mike knows it's a lie. And if Mike can Will will be able to.
And if telling lies is out of the question then Mike has to tell the truth.
Mike has to tell the truth.
Mike's eyes reach for Will's and Will's reach back. He sees the big blue sky and the two towering canyons. The tight-rope propped between them, stable in the wind. Mike sees Will on the other side of it, he sees a boy that has suffered so much and had so little. A boy that Mike used to give everything to, would still give everything to. Mike steps onto the tight-rope too, and Will's side raises. The two balance. Balance despite the raging wind and rusty tight-rope.
But they're still not on the same page.
Mike can see but Will can't. Will can't see the balance. Mike has to show it to him.
"Is there anything I could do to make you hate me?"
Will drops. His lips part, eyebrows creasing.
"No?" He responds, cautious.
Mike waits. He waits and waits and waits because surely there's something he could do.
"No!" He ignites, throwing his hands into the air, "Really think about it," His voice softs, throat croaking, "Is there anything I could do that would make you never want to talk to me again?"
Will's eyes are glassy, his mouth wavering.
"Why-" Will whispers, looking up at him through thick lashes, "Why would I want that?"
And Mike realises that he doesn't have to wait. Eight years. Eight years he's been waiting and Will has only responded with kindness and acceptance and love.
Mike surges forward, cupping Will's face in his hands. Their bodies rise and fall in sync, breathes merging into one. One being. One life. One survival. Only centimetres apart.
He can see the faint freckles that dot Will's face. He can see the fear that lurks behind his eyes, because what if Mike hurts him again. What if Mike decides Will is too young?
He's past that. And that's why they balance.
For a moment, their stare is everything. A warm hand slides up Mike's waist, clutching his shirt from behind. His skin tingles at the contact. In, out, in-
Will brings his lips to Mike's, throwing him off balance. But Will holds him, tightly. Mike lingers for a moment before kissing back with equal force, and the two balance. He wraps an arm under Will's, their limbs entangling. A leg digs into his thigh, a hand caressing his shoulder. He feels for Will's neck, touches it, wonders if it feels anything like when he could sense the Mind Flayer. Will's hand glides down his spine, piercing each bone with a warm shiver.
Their tight-rope coils around them, trapping them in one another's embrace. Mike fights it, pulling his face away from Will's.
He watches him and sees the cogs turning in his eyes, sees everything starting to make sense.
"I'm sorry," Mike murmurs, everything but his face not touching Will, "I'm so sorry."
Will looks Mike deep in the eyes. He looks so deep he almost thinks he sees a pulse in them.
Mike chuckles, face relaxing into a grin, "Fuck, I love you,"
Will leans in again, resting his forehead against Mike's.
"I-"
He's cut off by a loud bang that forces the two apart. Someone's pounding on the door, the sound of glass shattering ricochets from the kitchen, a gunshot rings in the air. Tires squeal against the concrete outside, a large shadow at the window. Jonathan rushes into the room, hair shaggy, eyes red.
The hinges squeak as wood snaps and the door breaks in two.