Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mike Wheeler has come to the conclusion that feelings are fucking bullshit.

Well… Okay. This isn’t the first time he’s come to this conclusion. He's incredibly aware of the fact that feelings are complete and utter bullshit, because they’ve been ruining his life since he was twelve years old. He and feelings go way back, so this revelation (not that you can even call it that) isn’t exactly shocking.

What is shocking, however, is that despite… everything—Max’s motionless body lying in a hospital bed a foot away from him, his parents hovering on the edge of death two floors below this one, his little sister being stuck in The Upside fucking Down, Henry as a whole, and so, so much more…

He can’t stop thinking about Will Byers.

And okay, sure. Will Byers is kind of a hot topic right now. You can’t exactly levitate and snap the bones of three Demogorgons (two of which aren't even in the same damn vicinity as you) and expect to come out of it a cold topic. People are going to think, and talk, and Mike can't exactly blame them. Frankly, if anyone wasn't thinking about it, Mike would assume that there's something wrong with them.

He and Joyce were the only people to actually witness Will in action—everyone else at the scene had either been dead or knocked out, and every security camera within a ten-mile radius of the attack had (conveniently) fried.

And so because of that, the only people who know that Will Byers—Will fucking Byers—has powers are people that they've told personally. People they trust won't go spilling this massive piece of information to any government officials, and thank fuck for that. Will’s already stressed out enough as is; the last thing—the absolute last thing—he'd need is the military hunting him down in the same way that they did (and still are, now accompanied by one of her lab siblings) El.

Hell, that's the last thing El needs, too.

But… yeah. Will has powers. And within their group, it's being talked about. Constantly. And mostly by Mike.

Though can you blame him?

His best friend is a sorcerer. A sorcerer! How fucking cool is that?

Mike's never going to get over the fact that he got to watch Will as he snapped the bones of three (three!) Demos. Simultaneously. Like it was nothing! Mike finds himself grinning like an idiot every time his brain replays the memory, and with him now sharing the basement with Will, Mike has made sure that Will knows just how fucking awesome he is.

But... Here's the thing. It's not the powers that Mike is thinking of when he thinks about Will. Not really.

Because the powers... yeah, they're insane. Awesome in every sense of the word and terrifyingly beautiful in a way that Mike doesn't know how to comprehend—but they're not the thoughts that are currently making his brain teeter on the edge of explosion. They're just the thing that kickstarted—no, amplified the explosion-worthy thoughts.

Because seeing that—seeing Will like that—caused something Mike doesn't have a name for to grab onto his poor, poor excuse of a heart with both hands and start shaking the thing violently whilst chanting the phrase, ‘Guess what I am!’

Mike (idiot that he is) still doesn't know what this unnameable thing is, but what he does know is that it's always been there. Has always been inside of him, has always swirled within the depths of his chest, and has always tried to make itself known whenever he was (and is) in the presence of Will Byers.

But seeing Will in this new light was the equivalent of being whacked across the head with a baseball bat. A baseball bat built solely to amplify any and all already present feelings, making them impossible to ignore. Suddenly, the thing inside him wasn’t quiet anymore. No, it was (and is) loud. Loud enough to override all the other thoughts that should be occupying his brain space right now, and loud enough that even he can’t shove it back into whatever mental closet he’d kept it in.

Hell, he didn’t even try.

But why should he?

He’s spent his whole life shoving this thing down. And now the world is ending, and there are monsters hunting down his family, and his best friend has fucking superpowers, so really, who cares anymore? Pushing down feelings is exhausting, to say the least. And Mike’s already tired enough as is, so… he stopped. Three days ago—the second he locked eyes with Will and watched as he wiped blood from his nose—he stopped.

Stopped pushing away the thoughts that scared him. Stopped pretending they weren’t even there in the first place. Stopped his brain from running in the opposite direction whenever they surfaced.

And shit, was it freeing.

He didn’t realise just how heavy of a weight this was on him. How much brainpower he’d been wasting just to ignore the thoughts of hazel eyes, chestnut brown hair, soft, shy smiles, steady, calloused hands, and… broad shoulders.

But even so, it’s terrifying.

That’s the reason he even pushed them away in the first place. Because it’s absolutely fucking terrifying, and Mike doesn’t know if anything’s ever going to change that fact.

Right now, he almost wishes that he were still pretending.

Because that unnameable thing—the source of it, the reason for it—is sitting right next to him.

Mike was initially here for his mom. His mom, who had apparently fought a Demo with nothing but a wine bottle and the sheer willpower that came with protecting his little sister. His dad's here too, technically, but honestly… Mike has issues more pressing than the state of Ted Wheeler's consciousness.

And whilst he was sitting next to his mom's hospital bed, knee bouncing rapidly, Nancy had walked in and told him, ‘Hey, I saw Lucas and Will walking to Max's room a couple minutes ago. You should go say hi.’

And so, here he is.

Sitting in a too-bright hospital room, in a proximity that's too close to Will Byers, with a brain full of too many thoughts, accompanied by the too loud voices of Kate Bush and Lucas Sinclair—the former singing through a static-filled radio, the latter reading a comic to Max—saying hi.

Except he's already said hi, so now all he can do is sit here, resume the all too familiar bouncing of his leg, and try his absolute darndest to not crane his neck to the side and stare at his best friend.

His best friend, Will Byers.

Will Byers, who has superpowers. Will Byers, who is sitting so close to Mike that he can physically feel the heat radiating off of him. Will Byers, who is most definitely thinking of all the genuine issues taking place in their lives right now because he, unlike Mike Wheeler, is not insane.

But Mike can't help himself.

His brain (much to his dismay) didn't come with an off switch.

So, he continues to think.

Of the one and only Will Byers.

The way his eyes seem to shimmer in every possible source of light, no matter how small; the way he's grown—both emotionally and… physically—over the years, not only comfortable, but now also confident in his own skin; the way he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip whenever he tries to repress a smile, only for a flush to bloom across his cheeks anyway.

And… shit.

Mike's doing that exact thing right now, isn't he? He has half a mind to stop twirling his thumbs around each other like some lovesick idiot and bring a hand up to his face, where he's sure he'd feel the burn beneath his fingertips.

Mike releases a sharp exhale, shifting in his seat slightly as he tries to shake the burn from his face.

It doesn’t work.

Because Will shifts too.

Causing their knees to brush against each other.

Mike’s leg stills. The rest of his body right there with it.

The flush that was crawling up his neck apparently didn’t get the memo, because it surges to his face all at once, burning hot.

Which is stupid. So, so, so incredibly stupid. Because it’s a knee. They brush against other knees on occasion. It doesn’t mean anything.

And now Will’s moving his knee away entirely, putting a respectable distance between their legs rather than just freezing up and leaving it there. Which makes this doubly stupid, because it reminds Mike of the fact that he’s insane, and Will is (evidently) not.

But knowing something is stupid doesn’t make it any less apparent.
Mike (of all people) would know if this were the case.

So, no longer trying to will his thoughts away, Mike swallows.
He prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that neither Will nor Lucas—or hell, even Max—are looking at him (because it’d be just his luck if Max chose this exact second to be the one where she wakes up). Then he forces his gaze away from the space Will created between their legs, fixing it pointedly on the wall opposite him.

And the wall is… well, it’s a wall.

A greenish-greyish thing covered in a wide variety of tiny cracks and dents that Mike can drag his eyes over. Eyes, which the wall lacks. Which is (inarguably) a good thing, because not only would a wall with eyes be… a sight, but he also might feel obligated to meet them with his own.

And isn’t that a thought?

If this wall did have eyes, Mike thinks they’d probably match its paint job.
Flat, dull, lifeless—with a colour that only forms after being painted over three times too many.

They definitely wouldn’t be hazel.

Definitely wouldn’t change colour depending on the light in the room. Definitely wouldn’t carry specks of gold, brown, blue, and green—all of which only become visible if you really, really focus. They wouldn’t crinkle at the corners when a smile presents itself, wouldn’t turn sharp and focused (despite being perpetually soft) when thinking of something worth thinking about, and most definitely wouldn’t have pupils that roll to the back of its non-existent head whilst it taps into a hivemind—sensing, seeing, and feeling things through the eyes of creatures from another dimension.

No. No, definitely not.

The wall also wouldn’t have a face that accompanies the eyes, dotted in tiny moles that Mike kind of, sort of, maybe wants to feel pressed beneath his lips. Wouldn’t have skin that’s able to hold warmth far easier than Mike’s own, or hair that curls slightly when wet, or a voice that makes the inside of Mike’s chest feel like the equivalent to twenty thousand bumblebees trapped in the world’s most unsynchronised dance routine.

Because the wall isn’t Will.

And the thing is, if Mike’s being honest with himself (because he’s doing that now), he was never going to keep his eyes on the wall for long anyway.

So, after looking at that stupid wall for what couldn’t have been longer than thirty seconds, his gaze shifts to Will before he even realises what’s happening.

And… God.

Will’s head is tilted slightly as he allows Lucas’s voice to carry him through the journey of whatever comic is being read aloud to Max. He’s hunched over, comfortable, with his elbows resting on his knees as he absentmindedly fidgets with his fingers. Will’s head isn’t turned toward Lucas, so Mike can see his face. Can make out the slight curve of his lips, can see the way his eyelashes flutter and splay against his cheekbones as he blinks. He can even pinpoint the exact moment something particularly thought-provoking happens in the comic purely based off of the way Will’s eyebrows furrow.

The light in the room really isn’t as harsh as Mike initially made it out to be. The typical fluorescent hospital lights are turned off, and the only thing illuminating the space is a much smaller, warmer, and dimmer light mounted on the wall, painting the room in a faint orange glow. The glow is cascading over Will’s hair, cheeks, jaw, neck—softening all his sharp features and accentuating all the soft ones.

Fuck.

He’s… ethereal.

Look. Mike knows this is crazy. Knows that these thoughts are weird. Knows he’s insane for viewing his friend in this way; but he can't help it. He doesn’t know why Will makes him feel this way. Doesn’t know if there’s a name for it, doesn’t know why it makes his chest ache, doesn’t know why his brain goes all fuzzy with it. He doesn’t seem to know anything besides the fact that he’s ridiculous, and that trying to push away or ignore this specific kind of feeling just makes him fucking miserable.

And then Mike hears Will laugh.

Not loudly. It’s hardly even anything at all. Just a short, sudden exhale of breath that Mike feels deep within his bones.

Mike watches the way Will’s shoulders shake, watches the way his hair bounces alongside it, watches the small smile on his face grow into a slightly bigger one. Mike has no clue what actually happened in the comic to elicit this reaction from Will, but he smiles anyway, matching Will’s own. It’s infectious.

Seemingly feeling Mike’s gaze, Will turns.

Their eyes meet in an instant.

Will’s smile widens, his teeth now on display.

Holy shit.

Holy shit!

God, he’s—

“You’re gorgeous.”

Oh.

“I’m— what?”

Oh, no.

“Uh,” Mike says.

What the fuck.

“I—Uh…” Mike (intelligently) continues.

Lucas’s voice grows quieter and quieter before he stops reading completely. He drags his eyes up to lock onto Mike from over Will’s shoulder.

What. The. Fuck.

There’s no way this is real.

Absolutely no way this is his reality.

He always knew that there was a disconnect between his mouth and his brain—but this? This is something else entirely. This is something that can best be described as mortifying.

He’s only just started allowing himself to truly feel his feelings. Only just started letting himself think the word ‘gorgeous’ without becoming overwhelmed with the need to stomp it into dust. So what is he supposed to do with the fact that he just spoke the thought into existence? To Will. Directly. With Max’s unconscious body and Lucas’s very conscious body present. What is he supposed to do with this? Where is he supposed to go from here?

Maybe he should try denial and start repeating the phrase ‘this isn’t real’ over and over again in his head. No, that’d never work. Mike knows this is real, and there are witnesses to back up the claim. Witnesses who’ve helped him create a silence so loud he’s half-convinced it’ll wake Max up because—oh yeah!

He just called Will gorgeous.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Mike registers the fact that Will’s still staring at him. Wide-eyed, unblinking, with his mouth hanging open slightly. The tips of his ears are turning a painfully pretty shade of pink, he’s starting to part his lips, and—holy shit, Mike needs to get out of here.

“Coke!” Mike blurts, turning away from Will and standing abruptly. His chair scrapes against the floor with an uncomfortably loud shriek. “I’m— I’m gonna grab a Coke. Or something. From the— uh…”

He flails his hands around, searching for the word. Then, because the gods seem to have a minuscule amount of pity for him, he finds it.

“Vending machines!” Mike shouts before lowering his tone, laughing weakly. That’s— that’s what they’re called.”

His face is on fire. Scratch that—his whole body’s on fire. He briefly wishes that sentence were literal. Preferably fatal.

Feeling the eyes of both Lucas and Will pierce his skin, Mike resists the urge to bolt. Instead, he spares the two of them a glance before settling his eyes somewhere near the foot of Max’s bed.

“Do you guys… want anything?”

A beat passes. Then two.
Then three, and he’s biting the inside of his cheek.
Four. Five. Six.

Mike can’t take it anymore. He risks a glance back up.

He catches Lucas’s eyes while very deliberately avoiding Will’s own, and swallows audibly.

Lucas still doesn’t answer. Instead, he slowly—painfully slowly—drags his gaze down to the floor near his feet. Mike follows it, and immediately flushes harder.

At Lucas’s feet is a bag. A bag that’s absolutely stuffed with snacks, comics, and at least four cans of coke.

It’s then that Mike wishes Will had just let that fucking Demo tear him apart. But he didn’t. Because of course he didn’t. And now Mike is forced to watch as Lucas lifts his gaze again, re-meets Mike’s eyes, and finally answers the question he asked what feels like hours ago.

“...No?”

Mike nods far too quickly, trying to push past the heat he knows Lucas can see flooding his face. God, he wouldn’t be surprised if both he and Will could physically feel it. He feels like the sun right now, so the idea that there are literal waves of heat radiating off of him doesn’t sound too far-fetched.

“Okay!” Mike says, the word coming out far louder—and squeakier—than he had anticipated. “Great! Awesome! I’m gonna—”

He turns on his heel.

Immediately meets Will’s gaze.

Freezes mid-heel turn.

Trips on his own foot.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Somehow, he manages to keep himself from becoming intimately familiar with the taste of hospital floor and starts stumbling towards the door, finding and grabbing the handle for balance. But before he can catch his breath—

The handle clicks under his weight.

The door starts opening.

And Mike—who is currently using this stupid fuckery of a door to keep himself upright—starts falling again.

He yelps, panicking, and yanks the door back shut before shuffling his feet until he’s upright once more.

Then he just stands there. Breathing heavily as he reconsiders every single fucking thing he’s ever done in this stupid hellhole of a life whilst simultaneously fighting the overwhelming urge to repeatedly slam his head against the door.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

A few seconds (minutes? hours?) pass before he remembers he should probably be moving right now, and Mike coughs. Loud.

He really doesn’t want… that—whatever the hell that was—to be the last thing Lucas and Will (namely Will) remember of him before he inevitably dissolves into dust upon exiting this godforsaken room.

So, he decides to leave them with a parting word.

“Bye!” Mike squeaks—fucking squeaks—before ripping the door back open, half-shuffling, half-running, and fully bolting out of the room and into the hallway, where he very nearly crashes into a nurse, causing the clipboard she had been holding to clatter to the ground. Mike doesn’t apologise. He just runs.

And if Mike had the superpower to see into rooms he’s not occupying, he’d see that Will and Lucas (and Max) don’t say anything after he leaves. He’d be able to observe them as they listen to his footsteps—quick, loud, arrhythmic—right up until they fade out of earshot. He’d obsess over the fact that Will’s face is steadily growing into a shade that rivals the colour of Max’s hair, and then he’d take note of Lucas's expression, deeming it unreadable as he watches him shift his gaze to Will.

And then he'd continue to study the two of them before Lucas opens his mouth to ask something that’s more statement than actual question.

“What the fuck was that.”

“What the fuck.” Mike mutters to himself for the billionth time upon exiting the room, shoes squeaking against the floor of the hospital’s hallway as he slows his run into a more respectable pace—speedwalking. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” he continues, each word coming out just as breathless as the last.

There’s not much else he can say, really.

Trusting his feet to take him somewhere, Mike shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Immediate nope. He feels too trapped. He takes them out. That’s worse. Now he’s too exposed. He does that repeatedly for a few seconds—shoving and unshoving his hands from his jacket pockets—before muttering a final, quiet, “what the fuck,” and resorting to crossing his arms.

Gorgeous.

His brain can hardly register anything other than that one word. Gorgeous. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. His heartbeat’s thumping in his ears, a pattern as uneven as his footsteps.

His chest is tight. His throat is tight. The hallway’s walls are tight.
Mike doesn’t know how his lungs are still cooperating with him.

Lifting his gaze from where he’d previously had it pointed at the floor, Mike sucks in a deep breath. He then uncrosses his arms, drags his hands down his face, and lets out a loud, unrestrained noise that could be best classified as a groan. If anyone spared Mike a glance at that sound, he wouldn’t know.

Stupid. He’s so fucking stupid.

Pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, Mike attempts to scrub the last however-many minutes from existence. When that obviously (and unfortunately) doesn’t work, Mike drops his hands. Then recrosses his arms, lets his gaze fall back to his feet, and exhales the shakiest sigh known to man.

Okay. It’s okay.

People say dumb shit all the time. He’s said worse things in worse situations before. Will is aware of this. Will’s the person who is most aware of this. But all those things were said during a time where he was still pushing down the majority of his thoughts and feelings, and—fuck.

Gorgeous.

He’d called Will gorgeous.

Out loud.

Whilst making eye contact with him.

And holy shit.

Mike’s going to be sick.

Continuing to move based purely on muscle memory, and fueled by nothing other than the nausea swirling in his gut, Mike rounds a corner.

And is promptly met with a wall of human.

“Shit—!” Mike yelps, stumbling backwards.

And because the universe hates him, there's no door handle to catch himself on this time, and Mike falls directly onto his right side with a short skid. A sharp, shooting pang immediately erupts through the arm that took the brunt of the fall as he releases a strangled groan.

Through his stunned haze, Mike registers a loud, metallic, reverberating crash as the person he slammed into collides with something else entirely. He has no idea what. Partly because he’s curled up on the floor facing an entirely different direction—but mostly because his vision’s gone all fuzzy around the edges. Hell, his whole everything has gone fuzzy around the edges.

Mike lets out another groan and rolls onto his opposite side, relieving his right arm of a sliver of pain before curling into himself tighter, resembling that of a fetus. Distantly, Mike hears someone let out a pained hiss, and he matches it with his own.

What the hell.

No, seriously.

What the actual hell is going on?

Mike is starting to think that there’s some supernatural entity out there that’s dead set on putting his name at the top of the list for the most pathetic excuse of a teenager in the entire history of all teenagers everywhere. Seriously, do Vecna visions tend to consist of pure humiliation? If so, why did nobody warn him?

Mike blinks. Once, twice, thrice, when suddenly—

“Holy shit.”

Oh.

Oh, great.

He knows that voice. He’s heard it crackle through a radio far too many times for him not to recognise it.

“Dude— dude! Oh my God, are you okay? You’re not— like, dead? Or dying? Or— anything, right? Because this would be a whole situation if you were, and—” she lets out a sharp, sudden noise here that can hardly be classified as human. Mike squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for death to overtake him. “Oh my God,” she manages to voice through a wheeze. “Okay, if you’re not dying— which I’m still not a hundred percent sure on because you’re not saying anything—” she continues to ramble, each word tripping over the one before it, “—I think I am. But it’s okay.” Mike grits his teeth. “We’ll just die together.”

Robin Buckley.

Rockin’ Robin.

Will’s new best friend.

Mike feels something white-hot swirl in his gut—something he’s become well acquainted with within the past three days. The first time he felt it had been when El first wrote to him about Will’s painting. The painting he had apparently made for a girl he liked. A painting that would go on to make him feel like someone worth surviving for rather than a broken, pitiful excuse of a human being. A painting that would later lead to a conversation that ended in an overdue break up, and much needed friendship. A friendship he didn't know he’d missed until he got it back.

Will’s painting managed to survive the Demo attack from where he had it tucked beneath his bed, and thank shit for that. Call him insane, or intense, but Mike genuinely doesn’t know what he’d do if the one thing that brought him true, genuine happiness again months—hell, years—of going without it had just… torn apart.

Mike doesn’t know why exactly it is that Will had lied about the origins of the painting, but he does know one thing—that Will knows him better than anyone else on this shithole of a planet. Will knows exactly what Mike needs to hear, knows how to keep him grounded, knows how to tell him off when he’s being absolutely fucking stupid, and—fuck. The unnameable thing in his chest is back.

“…Wheeler?”

Oh. Right.

“Dude, seriously, are you okay? I saw you wriggling around just before so, please, if you can hear me— oh God, please tell me you can hear me—”

Forget the nameless thing in his chest.

The nameless thing in his gut is back.

“Just… whatever you do,” Robin continues, “do not—I repeat—do not go into the light.”

Mike scoffs. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Oh! He speaks!” Mike hears Robin sigh in relief and he represses another scoff.
“I’m taking that as confirmation that you’re not dying,” she continues, “and I don’t think I am either, but this vending machine may or may not have rearranged my spine, so, that’s neat.”

Mike hates her.

She leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He doesn’t get why Will likes her so much.

Seriously, what does she have that he doesn’t? What can she do that he can’t? Why does Will find her funny? What’s so funny about her? Why do they snicker at each other so much? Why is it that whenever Mike walks into a room only the two of them were occupying, they pause whatever verbal conversation they were having just to talk through shrugs and eyebrow raises?

That isn’t Robin and Will’s thing.

That’s Mike and Will’s thing.

Mike and Will.

Because it’s always been Mike and Will, and everyone knows it’s always been Mike and Will.

So who gave Robin the right to shove her name in next to Will's?

Realistically, Mike knows that this isn't fair on Robin. Knows that this is just him being ridiculous, irrational, and borderline crazy. Will's allowed to make friends with whoever he pleases. Mike isn't entitled to his unspoken communication, or his smile, or his giggles, or his… care.

But his feelings don't care about the fact that this is irrational. They just feel, and Mike hates it.

The sound of heels tapping against the floor near his head snaps Mike out of his thoughts. He listens to the noise grow louder and louder before fading away entirely and— right, yeah he should probably move. Only God knows what lies on these floors, and hospitals are ridiculously busy places. He doesn’t want his obstacle of a body to be the reason someone can’t be wheeled to surgery in time. Mike doesn't even know what he would have done if there was just some random guy curled up on the floor when they were wheeling his parents into surgery, blocking the way.

Wincing, Mike slowly blinks his eyes open, uncurls himself, and starts adjusting his body until he’s sitting upright. Once he manages that, he begins shuffling back, and back, and back until he collides with the nearest expanse of wall. He lets his head fall back, resting it there. He’ll worry about standing (and walking) later; he just needs a minute to collect himself.

“So…” Robin starts, voice much closer (and therefore, louder) than it was before. “Can I ask why you were essentially sprinting through the halls of a hospital? I mean, I'm not usually one to judge but I don't think that's the safest of ideas, and you're smart, right? So you'd know that, which means you're either sprinting from someone or… something? Wait— shit, should we be running right now? Is there—? Are we—?”

Mike cranes his neck up and to the right, watching Robin start to freak out. She's leaning up against the very vending machine he forgot he was even venturing toward.

“If you're asking me if I was being chased by a Demo,” Mike starts, voice coming out harsher than he was anticipating. “No. No, I wasn't. But even if I were, Will—” Mike cuts himself off.

Will.

Gorgeous.

He called Will gorgeous.

He was ‘essentially sprinting’ through the hospital because he'd called Will gorgeous.

Fuck.

Mike feels his face heat up. Robin blinks at him.

“Right…” Robin says, narrowing her eyes as she looks into Mike's own, searching his soul. Mike wants to explode her with his mind.

“Will,” Robin states, finishing her thought with an eyebrow raise.

Mike's breath hitches at the name, and Robin's eyes light up.
Mike doesn't know what to take away from that.

“Were you running because of Will?”

“No.” Mike responds, far too quick.

Robin goes back to squinting at him—studying him—before reopening her mouth.

“Then why'd you cut yourself off the second you said his name? Wait, did something…” Mike watches the light drain from Robin's eyes as quickly as it came. “Did something happen? Is Will… Shit, is Will okay? Were you running to get help? Should I be helping you get help?”

“Will's fine.” Mike says through gritted teeth, and Robin lets her shoulders drop.

Mike hates that. Hates that Robin actually seems to care. And hates the way his stomach twists because she does.

“And I wasn't running,” Mike insists, because for some reason he feels the need to make this clear. “I was speedwalking.”

“My apologies,” Robin says, voice dripping with something that makes Mike’s head spin. “Let me rephrase my previous question, then.”

Robin clears her throat, adjusting her body to lean more comfortably against the vending machine.

“Were you speedwalking because of Will?”

“I— No,” Mike states, stuttering.

It's… kind of true.

Technically speaking, he was walking towards the vending machines.

“No, I wasn't speedwalking because of Will.”

“What were you speedwalking for, then?”

“Why do you care so much?” Mike snaps, voice harsh.

“Pure curiosity.” Robin states simply, the glint in her eyes unmistakable.

Mike's jaw tightens.

“I've heard that kills cats.”

Robin shrugs.

“And I've heard satisfaction brought them back.”

Mike stares at her.

Robin stares back.

Mike stares harder.

Robin does the same.

Mike blinks.

Robin pumps a fist into the air.

“Hah! I win.”

Despite himself, Mike snorts.

“What are you, eight?”

Robin drops her fist back down to her side, a ridiculously wide smile taking over her face as she slides down the vending machine, reangles her body, and then crosses her legs to sit down on the floor next to Mike.

“Rude,” Robin states, mocking offense. “I’m at least ten.”

“Wow,” Mike deadpans. “Double digits. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, thank you! My mother is very proud.”

They sit in silence for a while after that. Listening to the soft beeping of machines and distant conversations that neither of them can make out the words of. Mike closes his eyes, allowing his breathing to fully steady itself as he begins to accept the fact that Will might have a decent taste in… friends?

Yeah. Friends.

That’s all Will and Robin are.

Friends.

Will definitely would have told him if they were otherwise.

Definitely, Right?

…Right?

Mike doesn’t know why he cares about this so much.

If Will wanted to date Robin—fine. That’d be fine. Mike can’t rack his brain for a singular reason behind why that wouldn’t be fine. Mike doesn’t care.

Well… He shouldn’t care.

Because Robin—sure. She’s fine. Whatever.

And her presence is… oddly comforting.

Which is insane, and makes no sense, and makes Mike want to crawl out of his skin because mere minutes ago he was trying to develop powers of his own to explode her with his mind. But sitting here, listening to her hum a faintly familiar tune under her breath, the air feels a noticeable fraction lighter. Like he doesn’t have to hold every part of himself so tight, and that scares him. Terrifies him, really.

Because Robin Buckley carries something invisible with her—something that makes the world feel more survivable, and less suffocating. That makes Mike feel like there could be a version of himself where he doesn’t need to hide.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Did you know that ants communicate by vomiting into each other’s mouths?”

Mike turns to her, blinking.

What?

“What?”

Robin clears her throat.

“Did you know that ants—”

“Yeah— Yeah no, I heard you,” Mike cuts her off, confusion written all over his face. “Just… what?”

“It’s called trophallaxis. Some species of bees and wasps do it too,” Robin states matter-of-factly. “They use it to transfer food, pheromones, information…” Robin pauses here, turning her head so she and Mike are face to face. “And to form social bonds.”

This answers a grand total of zero of Mike’s questions.

In fact, it just adds to them.

“Are you—” Mike pauses, furrowing his eyebrows. “Are you seriously suggesting that I vomit into your mouth right now?”

“Jesus, no,” Robin responds through a laugh. “I’m working up to something here, just—stay with me.”

Robin twists and adjusts her body so she’s now facing Mike full on, legs still crossed.

Mike doesn’t move, just continues to stare at the girl as though she’s grown a second head.

“Okay, so… Ants,” Robin starts, an elbow digging into her thigh as she rests her chin in the palm of her hand. “We’ve already established that they don’t just do the vomiting thing for fun. And that it’s not random, it’s for sharing information.”

“And creating social bonds, apparently,” Mike interjects.

“Yes! Exactly! You’re a star student, Wheeler,” Robin beams. “If I had stickers on me, I’d give you one, but anyway…”

She trails off, flailing around the hand that’s not currently being occupied by her chin.

“Food. Warnings. Chemical signals. Comfort… You’d never guess how much can be communicated through vomit. It’s incredible, really.”

Mike opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Robin keeps going.

“If one ant knows something important, the others don’t have to figure it out alone. It just gets passed on, mouth to mouth. It’s incredibly efficient,” Robin says through a smile. “Gross? Very. But efficient nonetheless.”

Mike’s half-convinced he actually did die upon leaving that stupid hospital room, and this—whatever this is—is a version of hell designed specifically to emotionally torture him.

“Okay… but, what—” Mike’s eyebrows somehow furrow harder than they already were, he looks down to his knees briefly, before meeting Robin’s eyes again. “What’s the point in this? Why are you telling me this? How do you even know this?”

Robin tilts her head, studying him for what feels like the hundredth time today.

Mike hates it.

Hates how it feels like she’s not looking into his eyes, but what’s behind them. Hates how her stare makes him feel like his forehead is currently projecting each and every one of his thoughts in big, bold letters. Hates how he feels like there’s two gigantic neon signs accompanying the letters, visible to everyone but him, pointing directly to his head whilst they scream the words, ‘Look at this guy! Look at all the thoughts he’s thinking! What a fucking weirdo!’

Mike swallows.

Robin definitely notices it, but she presses on anyway.

“I’m going to answer that first question with a question of my own.”

Mike’s stomach drops.

Shit.

“If you saw the same two ants doing that all the time—hovering near each other, always sharing, always in sync—would you assume that it was an accident?”

Mike’s jaw tightens.

Is she doing this? Is she really doing this right now?

Is she about to drop the bomb that all of Mike’s worst fears—those entirely irrational and stupid things—are actually true?

Is she about to tell him that she and Will are dating?

And is she about to do so through a fucking ant-vomit analogy?

“Because me personally,” Robin continues, “I’d assume that they trusted each other in ways that no one else can understand. Which… okay, that isn’t true—ants only form social bonds for survival and stuff, but— okay, doesn’t matter,” Robin cuts herself off. “Forget the ant thing, it doesn’t matter. I’m not talking about ants anymore.”

Robin nudges Mike’s leg with her own, trying to get him to look at her again.
Mike relents, opening his eyes and turning his head back toward her.
Robin’s expression softens.

“You know I’m not talking about ants anymore, right?”

“Yeah,” Mike gets out through gritted teeth. “I’m not an idiot.”

Robin furrows her eyebrows at him and starts searching his face… again.
Christ, how many times does she have to do this? Why does she feel the need to examine each and every one of his micro-expressions? Does she get some weird kick out of this?

“…Huh,” Robin mutters under her breath. Mike wouldn’t have even heard it if he was two inches further away from her.

Biting her cheek, Robin looks away from Mike. She turns her body and shuffles forward a bit—just enough to be able to see past the vending machines, and the corner of which they had initially collided—scanning the halls for something before allowing herself to slump back against the wall.

“Okay,” Robin breathes out. “I’m going to answer your other question.”

Mike tilts his head. He didn’t think he had asked any questions that would elicit that sort of reaction.

“Uh,” Mike blinks. “Okay…?”

“The reason I know a shitload about ants is because I’m here—” Robin waves her arms around, gesturing to the hospital as a whole, “—a lot, and they have a surprisingly vast collection of magazines on insects.”

Mike’s never been so confused in his life.
Why did she need to scan the halls so no one was listening for… bug knowledge?
What about that question—

Robin’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

“I’m here a lot because my girlfriend—”

What.

“—volunteers here, so, whenever she’s too busy saving humanity to put up with me, I just…”

Robin’s still talking, but Mike doesn’t register anything after the word ‘girlfriend.’ The whole world seems to fade into the background—it’s like he’s sitting in an empty void listening to nothing but the quick, uneven thump, thump thump of his own heartbeat, because…

Girlfriend?

Girlfriend.

She has a—

“You have a girlfriend?”

Robin stops her rambling to look back at Mike, his eyes now fully locked onto hers.

“Yeah,” Robin says through a smile so bright that it could probably light a thousand suns. “Yeah, I do. Her name’s Vickie, and she— God,” Robin lets out a giggle here. A genuine, wholehearted giggle. “She’s awesome.”

“Oh,” Mike mumbles. “You never said you had a girlfriend.”

“Well,” Robin starts her reply, voice now wavering. “It’s not exactly something I can go around advertising.”

“Oh,” Mike repeats, the syllable being one of the few things he’s able to say through the fog engulfing his brain. “Right.”

Robin’s smile softens again. The bright, sunlit thing settles into something dimmer, quieter—making Mike feel like he’s got a massive ‘fragile’ sticker in big, bold letters slap-bang in the middle of his forehead.

“Yeah,” Robin says quietly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Right.”

Mike doesn’t say anything for a while after that. He’s physically incapable of doing so.

Realistically, Mike knew that people like Robin existed. The words that he’s heard thrown around school, playgrounds, his own fucking house didn’t just originate from nowhere. They would have had to come from somewhere. From someone. Multiple someones, really.

But knowing something in theory isn’t the same as just… knowing something.

Well, there’s David Bowie, obviously. Everyone knows about David Bowie. But the thing about Bowie is that he lives on MTV, and album covers, and posters, and an odd, glittering liminal space that lies somewhere between late-night television and Mike’s dad calling it ‘weird crap’ before immediately switching the channel.

To Mike, David Bowie wasn’t as much a person as he was a concept.
An idea of something that exists in a space far, far away from Hawkins, Indiana.
But that’s just not true, is it?

Because Robin Buckley is sitting right next to him.

Robin Buckley, who claimed to be dying via vending machine collision after Mike had slammed into her not ten minutes ago. Robin Buckley, who he’s known for years at this point but hasn’t had a proper conversation with up until now. Robin Buckley, who rambles when she’s anxious, and laughs with her whole body, and knows a crapload about ants, and is friends with Mike’s best friend.

Robin Buckley, who has a girlfriend.

And doesn’t seem scared of the fact itself, but rather the people who might hear it.

“That…” Mike starts to say, not even meaning to open his mouth. But when does he ever? “That sounds terrifying.”

“Well,” Robin says through a small, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it can be.”

Robin’s eyes leave Mike’s then, if only for a few seconds as she glances down the hallway.
The second she re-meets his eyes, she opens her mouth.

“But do you know what else it can be?”

Mike searches her face for he-doesn’t-know-what before he opens his own mouth to respond.

“What?” He asks, voice coming out smaller than he’s ever heard it, but Robin doesn’t acknowledge that fact. She just smiles and presses on.

“Freeing,” Robin says simply, her smile growing wider by the second. “So, so unbelievably fucking freeing.”

And then Robin blinks at Mike, tries to bite down her smile, but then gives up on trying to hold back her emotions entirely and starts laughing. Unrestrained, with her whole body, and most probably ignoring the pain that’s surely shooting up her spine right now. Mike just narrows his eyes at her, questioning.

“What’s—?”

“Sorry! Sorry, I just—” Robin cuts him off through her giggles, pausing to snort. “It’s just— I don’t know, I’m getting this weird sense of… not necessarily déjà vu, but something very close to it. It’s weird. It’s so weird. But— God, this is amazing. Really, you don’t even understand the extent of it, I’m just… holy shit.”

“You—” Mike starts, an entirely unfamiliar feeling presenting itself in his gut. “What about this is amazing? Why are you being so—” Mike’s face scrunches as he flails his arms about, searching for words in the air around him. “Cryptic? Ominous?” Mike huffs in exasperation. “Seriously, What are you even talking about anymore?”

Robin’s laughter stops as abruptly as it started.

“Okay— okay, yeah. Sorry,” she says, holding up her hands in mock surrender, “I get how that might have come across— but I’m not laughing at you. I swear.”

Mike swallows.

“What are you laughing at, then?”

“It’s just… Well,” Robin says, eyes briefly flicking over to the general direction of where Mike was walking from. “It’s not really my place to say.”

Great.

“Great.”

“Sorry,” Robin responds with a shrug.

They just sit there for a few seconds after that. Mike still has questions—so, so many questions—and the majority of them revolve around Robin’s girlfriend.

Questions like—who asked? How did they know to ask? Were they scared of the consequences that could have come with asking or did they just… not care?

And what happened after they asked?

What did they say after the question was spoken? Did they even need to say anything? If not, how long did it take them to say something after the matter? And what did they do in the meantime? Did they just smile at each other? Laugh? Hug? Or did they just… kiss?

And then there’s the questions Robin wouldn’t be able to answer.

The questions that Mike has about himself.

Like—why does he even care about this so much? Why did hearing Robin say the word ‘girlfriend’ make his heart rate spike? Why did his stomach swirl with something that felt dangerously close to hope? And that hope—why is it still there? Why has that stupid, idiotic, unnameable thing in his chest returned? Why is it no longer chanting ‘Guess what I am!’ over and over, despite the fact that Mike still has no clue? Why has Will’s name replaced the phrase?

Will.

Why is everything about this situation making Mike think of Will? Why does everything in general make him think about Will? Why is it not only that nameless thing that’s screaming the boy’s name at him, but his body as a whole? The world as a whole? Existence as a whole?

It's like his brain is magnetised or something—always finding ways to circle back to Will, even if he doesn't realise that's what he's doing. Sometimes his brain will just supply him with flashes of his smile, his nose, his jawline, the mole above his lip, and all Mike can do is smile. Seriously, he wouldn't be surprised if his brain was messing with each and every compass within a ten-mile radius of him at all times.

Mike presses a hand to his chest. Maybe, just maybe, if he presses down hard enough, he'll be able to squish the thing out of existence. Maybe his hand would pass through his chest, and he'd get to just pull it out—examine it, pick it apart, interrogate it.

But then again… does he really want to do that? That unnameable thing—has he ever actually tried to put a name to it? Or was the idea of that always just… too much? Why does it feel like it might not be too much anymore? Why does he want to try and find a name for it now?

“Are you— Mike, are you having a heart attack?”

What?

“Mike, hey, look at me,” Robin starts waving her hand in front of his face, “how many fingers am I holding up–? I don't— I don't think this is what you do for people in the middle of a goddamn heart attack, oh my God—”

Remembering he should probably be responding to her before she runs off to find a doctor or something, Mike cuts her off.

“No, I'm—? What?”

“Oh thank God,” Robin breathes, re-relaxing her shoulders. “Sorry, you just put a hand on your chest and I think the hospital of it all got to my head,” she explains, hands gesturing to the hospital as a whole.

Her eyes leave his to flick to where his hand is still placed on his chest for a moment. And then another moment. And then another.

“Are you… are you okay?” Robin asks, genuine concern enveloping her eyes.

Mike huffs.

“What do you think?”

“I think…” Robin pauses, pursing her lips as she considers her next words. “That you think. A lot.”

“I mean—duh?” Mike responds immediately, eyebrows scrunched together. “Everyone thinks a lot. You can't just… I don't know? Pause your own thoughts?”

“See, I was under that impression for the longest time too, but apparently not,” Robin states. “Apparently some people can just… choose not to think.”

Mike blinks.

“What?”

Robin's arms shoot out.

“I know! Trust me, I know! The idea of that, it's just… wow. But anyway,” Robin begins, lowering her arms and shifting to sit on her knees.

“You can, like— totally tell me to just back off right now, I'll more than get it, but I'm going to kick myself later if I don't ask now, so,” Robin continues, leaning in slightly.

“Can you give me an idea of what's going on up in the head of Michael— wait, that is your name, right?” She cuts herself off. “Michael? Mike's a nickname for Michael, right? I mean, probably, I've never—” Robin stops, clearing her throat. “Sorry. Doesn't matter. But— Insight. I'm asking you for insight.” She raises a hand to tap the side of her head. “Can I get some, on the brain of Probably-Michael Wheeler?”

Mike stares at her, eyes narrowed.

“…Why?”

“Curiosity is a dangerous drug, Prob-Ichael.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Prob-Ichael?”

Robin shrugs, index finger still resting on her head. “I combined ‘probably’ with ‘Michael.’”

Mike snorts. “That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

“I don't know,” Robin begins. “I get the feeling that you've thought much dumber. Or that you think you have, at least.”

Mike swallows.
Robin lowers her voice.

“Again, you don't have to tell me anything. I just… I know that sometimes it can be nice to talk to someone about these things. And I know that I would have loved that at your age— wait,” Robin's eyes light up, seemingly remembering… something. “I did love that at your age!” She laughs lowly to herself for a couple seconds, before continuing. “But you're— you're not me, so…” Robin locks her eyes onto his. “If you want me to just leave you be, I will.”

Mike should say no.

Should reject the offer, tell Robin to just mind her own business, get up from his spot on the floor, grab that stupid Coke he had initially come down here for, and then go back to his personal hell—Max Mayfield's hospital room. The hospital room where Lucas and Will still sit. The hospital room where Mike called Will gorgeous.

Fucking hell.

He almost forgot that he—

“I called Will gorgeous.”

Oh.

“You what?”

Robin’s eyes widen.

Mike’s do the same.

“Uh—”

He did it again.

He did it a-fucking-gain.

And you’d think that by now, he’d be able to say more than ‘uh.’

“I’m— sorry, you… what?”

Mike doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just flushes.

Feels it trail his back, crawl up his neck, before shooting up to his face.

“Mike, you—”

“Please stop asking me what.”

“Got it, yup, okay,” Robin says instantly, collecting herself as Mike attempts to do the same.

He isn’t successful.

A few moments pass before Robin begins to speak again.

“Can I… ask you something else, then?”

Mike audibly swallows.

Can she?

The word is already out there. Already spoken to the person his brain intended it toward. The person he still does intend it toward. He’s just… he’s scared. And Robin doesn’t seem to be judging him, so…

Mike nods.

“Okay. Okay, cool,” Robin starts, breathing in whilst she prepares her words. Whether she’s preparing them for herself or Mike himself, he doesn’t know.

“…Did you mean it?”

Mike splutters.

“What?”

“When you called Will gorgeous—did you mean it?”

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean to say it.”

“I didn’t assume you did.”

Mike glares at her.

She huffs a laugh before continuing.

“But that’s not what I asked.”

Robin’s voice, for the umpteenth time today, softens.

“I asked if you meant it.”

Well… duh.

He’s not blind.

Objectively, Will is gorgeous in every sense of the word. He knows that. He’s always known that, but Robin’s not talking about objectives, and Mike knows that, too. And whilst Will’s undeniably pretty on the outside—with his eyes, his nose, his lips, his everything—he’s the exact same on the inside, as well. That fact does something to Mike’s own insides, and he’s forming a response before he even realises his mouth is open.

“Beautiful,” Mike utters, voice low. “Will— I think… I think he’s beautiful.”

“Oh,” Robin responds, smile growing fond. It’s as though she didn’t actually expect Mike to say anything. “That… yeah, that tracks.”

They sit in silence for a few more seconds after that, allowing the word ‘beautiful’ to float in the space between them.

And what’s shocking Mike, more than anything else, is the fact he’s not… scared.

Well—that’s not completely true. He is scared, but it’s taken a different, unfamiliar form. It doesn’t make him want to run, or cower, or speedwalk through a hospital after very-nearly falling flat on his ass in front of the person he admires most in this world, only to crash into someone during said speedwalk, and fall anyway.

No, the fear he feels now is accompanied with something akin to hope. Thinking about this, whilst sitting next to Robin Buckley, for a reason unbeknownst to him, gives him hope. What is Mike hoping for, exactly? He doesn’t know.

The thing in his chest seems to, though.

Robin speaks up again.

“Is that why your chest was going all—” Robin lifts her hands in front of her own chest, spinning and twirling her fingers around each other before mimicking an explosion, “—aaaah!”

Mike doesn’t respond. Just stares at her, watching her hands.

That’s one way to describe it.

“When I was convinced you were having a heart attack—that’s what your chest felt like, right?” Robin asks, lowering her hands back down to rest on her knees. “Or am I just completely out of left field here.”

“I don’t…” Mike doesn’t know what to say here, really. He didn’t think he’d ever acknowledge the thing in his chest. Not aloud, anyway. “I don’t know. I mean… yeah? That explosion thing—it describes it, yeah, I just… I don’t really know what it is.”

Robin hesitates for a beat, and then opens her mouth again.

“Do you want to know what it is?”

Yeah.

Yeah, he does.

And whilst he might not know what exactly the unnameable thing is, he knows what triggers it.

Will.

It’s just… it’s just Will.

It’s the way he uses his hands when he talks, the way his smile can light up a room, the way he rants when only Mike is around to hear it. It’s the way they can speak to each other without needing words, and the way Will always seems to know when to push, and when not to.

It’s the way Will looks at Mike as though he’s someone worth looking at. It’s the way Will says his name as though it’s something worth saying. It’s the way Will draws his features as though they’re something worth drawing.

It’s how Mike feels steadier just knowing Will’s nearby, and it’s how Will seems to feel the same knowing Mike’s nearby.

It’s the way that this feeling has been inside of him since he was five years old.

It’s the way that after a decade of pretending, and hiding, and ignoring;
And three days of feeling, and questioning, and noticing…

Mike shrugs.

“I don’t have a name for it.”

Robin blinks, lowering her voice even more than it already was.

“Have you tried to find a name for it?”

Mike mirrors her.

“I don’t… I don't think that there is a name for it.”

But it’s kind of like being in love.

Oh.

The thought hits Mike like a truck, ramming directly into his chest.

Oh.

He feels his breathing start to stagger, feels his pulse start to quicken, feels the outside world become smaller and smaller until it’s just him and that word.

The word he couldn’t bring himself to tell El when it was all she was asking from him. The word he was unable to sign alongside his name when writing letters to her. The word that came unreasonably easy to him when he would instead write letters to… Will.

The word that caused all of those letters to remain unsent. Caused him to stuff them all into a box, which he then stuffed into another, bigger box, and then shoved into the top right corner of his closet’s shelf—hidden behind books, clothes, and other boxes. And it would sit there, untouched, like an endlessly heavy weight that’d scream at him every time he dared open the door.

He’d treated it like Pandora’s box.

It may as well have been.

But now, his closet is nothing more than a memory.

Nothing but a massive hole in the wall that reminds Mike that his dad had been thrown at the thing—smashed through the wall on its opposite side and left him with nothing but the jagged edges and pieces of what was once there, strewn across his floor and bed.

The letters weren’t destroyed, though.

They were the first thing that Mike sought out upon seeing his room again, terrified someone else would find them before he did. And whilst the boxes they sat in were beaten, ripped, and torn—the letters themselves? Untouched. Fine. Safe. But seeing the words ‘Love, Mike’ for the first time again after eighteen months of pretending they had never existed in the first place may as well have killed him.

The letters sit in a whole new box, now.

That box being his very first D&D kit.

The one his mom got him as a christmas gift all those years ago, changing the trajectory of his life. The one that has sat on a shelf in the basement, untouched, for years. And because his own room is unusable, he’s forced to stare at it every night until he falls asleep. He stares at it because otherwise he’d stare at Will.

…Will.

Will, who he shares the basement with.

Will, who Mike thinks is gorgeous.

Will, who Mike knows is beautiful.

Will, who is on the receiving end of Mike’s use of the word ‘love,’ and doesn’t even know it.

Because that is what the ‘unnameable thing’ in his chest actually is, isn’t it?

Love.

His heart knows it—it’s why it spikes every time Will’s name is mentioned.

His hands know it—it’s why they can so effortlessly write the word ‘love’ whenever it’s Will he’s thinking of.

His eyes know it—it’s why they constantly shift toward whatever direction Will is in, no matter how hard he tries to prevent it.

His body as a whole knows it—it’s why he has subconsciously shifted toward Will his whole life.

And Mike knows that some part of his brain has always known it, too. Because that part of his brain is what initially caused him to ignore, hide, and compress his thoughts and feelings. That part of his brain is the reason behind why he felt the need to kiss El a week after he had met her, despite it being what neither of them wanted, or needed.

That part of his brain has soaked up years and years worth of stupid information that the people around him have thrown around without care, and Mike wants to wring it all out like a sponge. Wants to reach into his head, pull out that specific part of his brain, and poke and prod at it until it’s like new.

Maybe… maybe he could do that internally. Could un-learn all the words he’s never even agreed with but for some reason forced upon himself. Mike wants to do that.

He needs to do that.

Because he loves Will Byers.

It’s not something he’s able to fully comprehend, it’s not something like love, and it’s not something unnameable.

It’s just… love.

Mike Wheeler is in love with Will Byers, and he doesn’t want to be scared of that fact anymore.

He doesn’t need for Will to love him back.

He doesn’t know what this means for him.

But he does know that he’s in love with Will Byers. Has probably always been in love with Will Byers. And that no amount of pretending, repressing, and ignoring could have ever changed that fact.

He’s in love with Will Byers.

He’s in love with Will Byers.

He’s in love with—

Robin clears her throat.

Mike jolts, snapping his head up from where he’d been staring into his lap, and locks his eyes onto Robin’s own.

“Sorry,” she says, smiling sheepishly at him. “I knew that something was going on up in that head of yours, and I didn’t want to interrupt you because you seemed very into it, but uh…”

Robin’s eyes flick as she nods her head to the side.

Mike’s head turns to follow the nod.

His eyes land on Will Byers.

Oh, shit.

His eyes land on Will Byers.

His breath catches in his throat. His heartbeat pounds in his ribs. His brain is running laps, every thought ramming into the one before it, making it impossible for a single one of them to properly form.

“Uh…” Will starts, hesitating. There’s a shy, barely-noticeable-but-definitely-there smile playing on his lips, and he’s starting to lift his hand in a small wave. Mike has to resist the need to choke.

“Hi.”

Fuck.