Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's been a year.

That's all Mike can think - all he's been able to think about for the past 365 days, if you want to use El's terminology, is exactly how much time has gone by. How much time has passed since the worst day of his life - which, considering everything that's happened to him and his friends, is really saying something. Mike sometimes feels like the forces of the universe are competing for which one can kill him the most. First, there was the day Will Byers went missing in 1983. Then it was the day Will's fake body was pulled from the lake, cold and lifeless. Then the day he lost El. Then the day he lost Will, again, when he became a shadow of himself possessed by the same evil thing that got him the first time. After that, it was almost normal, these things. Fighting with Will in the rain. Yelling at him in a roller rink after six months of radio silence on both ends, then watching him cry in a weed-smelling pizza van and sitting frozen in his seat, too afraid to do anything about it. Telling El he loved her and knowing he was lying. 

But none of that could ever compare to the events of March 29th, 1986. The day Will Byers was ripped away from him for the millionth time, and this time Mike knew he wasn't coming back. All he's thought about for the 365 days since then is how much he misses him. How many things could have been different, if only Will had stayed. 

That's something Mike had had to unlearn, over the past twelve months - the blaming. For weeks after it happened, he'd been angry, angry at the world, angry at the monster that had taken Will from him, angry at Will for letting it happen. He still feels that way, sometimes, at least for the first two things. But lately he's been more sad than anything else.

It had happened on Mike's stupid fucking birthday, too, which hadn't mattered much at the time because the world had been ending and all, but now it's his birthday again and Will's not here and no party or presents or cake or any birthday-related thing is going to change the fact that Mike has lost the most important thing in the world.

The Party knows this, but they're making an effort anyway, which is nice, Mike supposes. Dustin, Lucas, El, and Max are all sprawled out in the basement with him, a movie playing softly in the background as Dustin and Lucas play a half-hearted game of Uno and El levitates Max into the air with her powers. There's a pile of unopened presents in the corner that they're all probably expecting Mike to open at some point, but right now he simply can't find the energy. He's lying on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling and replaying the last time he saw Will, like always. The moment is on repeat in the back of his head at all times, like a quiet static crackling through his every thought.

(The sky had been red, redder than anything Mike had ever seen, an otherworldly sort of color that hadn't existed before the Upside Down forced its way into the real world and contaminated everything. Vecna's form had stood out in the sky, black against the dying sun as El screamed and blasted at him with every power she had, and in the end it just... hadn't been enough. Mike had watched in horror, writhing against Nancy's ironclad grip on his shoulders in an effort to run to her, as El had collapsed to the ground, defeated and bloody and mud-streaked and bleak.

Vecna had landed on the ground, standing over her crumpled form with dead eyes. "You are truly something, Eleven," he'd said, voice garbled and horrible and Mike hated him so much- "but you will never be strong enough to defeat me."

Beside Mike, Will had sucked in a breath, and Mike relaxed in Nancy's grip as he turned to look at him.

He'd known, somehow, the instant he looked in Will's eyes, what was about to happen. He'd seen it in the grim line of Will's mouth, the rigidity of his shoulders, the ice in his eyes that only mostly covered a layer of fear. "I... I have an idea," Will had whispered, eyes locked in Mike's, and Mike's stomach had dropped to somewhere around his feet. 

"W-what?" Mike asked, voice trembling. He shook himself out of Nancy's arms and stepped closer. He wanted to hug Will. He wanted to hold him close and protect him from whatever was about to come. He wanted to kiss away the tearstains on Will's grimy face, which was a thought that wasn't new to him but that he was still getting used to. This was the first time he let himself actually consider it.

Will had smiled shakily, always trying to make Mike feel better, even when he didn't deserve it. He'd been doing it their whole lives - I'm fine, Mike and crazy together and you're the heart, and Mike felt ten years' worth of regret at not seeing it sooner. He knew everything, knew about the painting, knew things that he sometimes wished he didn't, if only because it scared him so badly. And Will didn't know he knew, which just complicated things further, and Mike needed to tell him, suddenly, because he also knew that Will Byers was a damned good person and he knew the next words out of Will's mouth before he spoke them.

"It has to be me, Mike," Will had said softly, reaching out a hand and squeezing Mike's arm gently. "I have to- I have to go."

He'd braced, but it didn't make it hurt any less. He stumbled like he'd been shot, a great tearing wound opening up somewhere deep inside him as he stared, panicked, into Will's eyes, chest constricting painfully. "Wh- go where, Will, you can't go anywhere, we need you here-" he'd spluttered, and without knowing what he was doing he reached out and grabbed Will by the shoulders, shaking him gently. "I need you," he whispered, voice breaking. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but-"

"Mike." Will reached up and placed a warm hand against Mike's cheek, eyes impossibly soft. "I have to. I'm sorry."

Mike's eyes had darted all over Will's face, and he felt like he was twelve years old again, falling through the air from the edge of the quarry and not yet knowing that El would save him, but this was worse because he knew El couldn't save him, this time. Not from this. No one could save him from these feelings swirling in his gut, the thoughts that terrified him when he dared think them for longer than a few seconds, the pain that he knew was about to hit him like a semi truck.

"Will," he said softly, pleadingly, begging him not to do this to him and praying that Will would understand, and Will's eyebrows had drawn together like he was physically pained. He was crying. Mike was too. "Will, I..." he whispered, not sure what he intended to say but knowing he needed to say something, anything.

"I know," Will had whispered, brushing a thumb over Mike's jaw, and despite everything Mike had shivered a little at the touch.

"No," Mike had said, panicked, because Will didn't understand, he didn't know, and now Mike was going to lose Will and he'd never get to tell him, so-

So he kissed him.

There was an audible gasp from somewhere behind him, probably from Nancy or Jonathan or one of the other many, many people standing around them, but Mike didn't particularly care because he could already feel Will slipping away, even though his grip on Mike's face was warm and solid and he was kissing back, lips slotted between Mike's and tears marring both of their faces as they pressed against each other.

Will, for once, was the first to run away from it. "Mike," he said, placing a hand on Mike's chest and leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes. "I- please don't make this harder than it already is."

Here is what Mike should have done:

He should have kissed Will again.

He should have told him he was sorry, for everything.

He should have told Will he loved him. 

He did none of those things. Instead, he whispered Will's name again, a desperate plea for Will to understand anyway.

It might be wishful thinking, but he thinks Will did.

"Mike," he'd replied, the faintest of smiles on his lips, and he'd patted Mike's chest once before stepping away and walking toward Henry/One/Vecna with a frightening amount of determination. 

Mike had screamed, or maybe someone else had, someone like Jonathan or Joyce or El, or maybe they were all screaming, every last miserable one of them, and Nancy's hands were back on Mike's shoulders and he was writhing against her again, screaming Will's name, and Will glanced over his shoulder one last time before turning to Vecna and lifting his hands.

Vecna flew up into the air, and Will started floating, and spores were everywhere and the sky was so fucking red and Mike was sobbing harder than he ever had in his entire life, and then Vecna flaked away like a piece of burning wood.

Will screamed once, and it tore at Mike's heart, and then Will disappeared too, right into the air, just like El had a million years ago.

Mike had collapsed, then, and had refused to get up until Joyce wrapped her arms around him, sobbing quietly, and he'd let himself cry in her arms until the world began to repair itself.

The world healed. Mike Wheeler did not.)

They've never talked about it, him and the Party. They've never brought up the kiss that Mike knows they saw, the feelings they must know Mike felt - feels - but the general consensus seems to be that he is to be left alone. He's not sure if that's a good thing or not, but he supposes it's alright. Any heart-to-hearts regarding the nature of Mike and Will's relationship, of the sexuality Mike honestly isn't quite clear on himself, would only serve as a reminder that Will is not here, and Mike is, and it's all a moot point anyway because Mike is never, ever getting over that. He's already made a deal with himself - either he finds a way to bring Will back, or he stays alone forever. He can't possibly fathom loving anyone else.

The only person Mike has dared talk to about it is Joyce. He'd stumbled into the Wheeler's guest room the day after it happened, where she was folding her clothes and getting ready to make a final trip back and forth from Lenora to Hawkins, to pack everything up and move back to the place where she'd last seen her son, and when she glanced up at him it was with a heavy smile.

"I'm in love with your son," Mike had blurted out, tears streaming down his face, and she'd opened her arms for him to fall into as she murmured I know, it's okay, you're okay, I know.

She's the only one who understands, he thinks, how much he and Will meant to each other. She's been his second mother for as long as he can remember, and there's something comforting about how casually she treats the whole thing. She's the only one, these days, that still says Will's name. She's the only person that ever makes Mike feel slightly okay. Jonathan's stayed in Hawkins with Joyce and Hopper, and sometimes Mike feels his eyes on him, a heavy weight of pity and understanding, and he appreciates the effort but it's not the same. Joyce doesn't treat him like he's breakable. Joyce doesn't treat him like a mystery to be solved. They've taken to meeting for coffee once a week, which Mike is aware is a sort of weird thing to do with the mother of your maybe-dead-best-friend-slash-love-interest-slash-superpowered-hero-that-saved-both-your-lives, but whatever. Mike thinks Joyce Byers might be the greatest woman he's ever known.

But she is not here right now, and Will is also not here right now, and Mike kind of wishes Vecna would have just taken him too. 

El glances over at him from her spot on the floor, a heavy look in her eyes, and sighs. She is, among many, many others, one of the people that Mike has decidedly not talked to about the Will Thing that isn't even a thing because Will is fucking dead (except that he's not, Will is not dead and Mike refuses to believe that he is). The closest they've ever gotten to talking about it was two weeks after it happened, after Max had woken up been discharged from the hospital and El had gotten her person back, which Mike was absolutely not jealous about, and the two of them had come over to see Mike, who was hiding away in his room staring blankly at the painting on his desk and wishing everything didn't hurt so badly.

"Mike," El had said softly, sitting down on the edge of his bed as Max rolled her chair closer. "I am sorry."

"Me too," Max had said, in the gentlest voice Mike had heard her use. "Will was... special."

"Is," Mike had corrected without thinking, not looking at either of them. "He is special."

There was a pause, and he could feel them both actively decide not to push him on it. "Right," El had agreed. "He is."

Mike had wanted to cry, then, and he hadn't wanted them to see him cry even though they'd already seen him sob uncontrollably in Joyce Byers' arms, less than a month ago when everything ended. "You should go," he said in a choked up voice. "I'm... I'm okay, I promise." 

This was a patent untruth, and a small voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Will's whispered friends don't lie, but this didn't count because the girls knew he was lying anyway. "Okay," El said softly, and there was a creak as Max wheeled her chair toward the door.

El hesitated, then leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Mike's temple. Mike tensed up, wondering if this was some fucked-up attempt at getting back together, after everything, after they fought two days before Mike lost everything and they broke up and Mike found out the truth about the painting and everything went to shit. But then she leaned back, patting the side of his face and smiling gently, and whispered, "I forgive you, Mike. And I'm sorry you lost him."

Mike had blinked hard, a tear escaping from his eye despite his best efforts, and he'd forced himself to respond, "I'm sorry too."

She'd left, then, mercifully, and they haven't brought it up since, but she's always a little gentler with him, a little more understanding. He appreciates it, but it's never been enough.

"Mike," she says now, reaching out and tugging on his sleeve. "Come on. Let's open your presents."

Mike glances over at her, pressing his lips tightly together so that he doesn't blurt out the harsh no that's desperate to escape from his mouth, and tries to communicate with his eyes that he's not into this at all, that he appreciates his friends but really just wants to be left alone right now. She narrows her eyes, tugging more firmly on his sleeve, and says, "Mike, just... try."

Maybe it's her pleading tone or the softness in her eyes or the fact that he's too sad to argue, but it convinces him. He sits up.

"Fine. Let's do it. Gift me."

Dustin and Lucas exchange a glance, like they always do, and it annoys Mike to no end, but like always he keeps his mouth shut. Dustin reaches over and grabs a wrapped package from the top of the pile, handing it to Mike like he's afraid Mike will, like, attack him or something. Bold of him to assume Mike has the energy to do such a thing. He barely even has the energy to fake a smile, much less move. 

He unwraps it slowly, the paper crinkling the only sound in the room, and it's awkward and horrible and Mike hates that this is what he's done to his friend group.

No. What Vecna did to his friends. He has to keep the blame trained there, because otherwise he'll blame himself or Will and neither of those things are productive. The first, because then he'll, like, jump off the quarry again, and the latter because Will doesn't deserve that. Even in the end, Will was nothing but good. That's why they're here.

But- Vecna. Henry. One. Whoever the fuck he was, he's responsible here, and Mike has to remember that or he'll go insane.

Still. It's hard to blame a dead man.

He grits his teeth and opens the stupid present. 

It's a book. He smiles and thanks Dustin, and the tension in the room wanes a little as the others jump in with their own, and Mike smiles and nods and generally does a decent job acting like a functioning human being despite the fact that he feels like he's dying, and the Party only sends him pitying glances every thirty seconds instead of every ten. 

It's- nice. It's not great, or even good, but it's manageable considering some of the worse days he's had. Some days, he can't even move from his bed, and his mother sighs and shakes her head like he's the problem for grieving and his father frowns like he's being lazy on purpose, and those are the days when Mike really really wishes he could have disappeared alongside the love of his life, followed him to wherever that is now whether it be the afterlife or the Upside Down or somewhere in between.

Today is not one of those days, which should be good except that now Mike feels guilty because it should be one of those days, because it's the fucking anniversary and that should, of all things, warrant such a reaction, and sometimes he gets sick of this, this endless mental gymnasium that is loss. Sometimes he is just too tired.

He forces himself out of that spiral as quickly as he can, but then the presents are all opened and he doesn't have a distraction and he sinks into the couch cushions, hating himself and the world and stupid fucking Henry Creel, and the Party exchanges a glance.

Am I crazy for thinking he's still alive? Mike had asked Joyce, months and months ago as they sat in a dingy old diner that Joyce swore up and down was the greatest food in Hawkins. She was wrong, but Mike didn't tell her that.

She'd shrugged. Not unless I'm crazy too.

Mike had raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth tilting slightly upward - the most he ever smiled these days. Yeah, that doesn't really make me feel better.

She'd rolled her eyes and thrown a French Fry at him. Be nice, Michael.

Ugh, don't call me that.

Don't be a smart-ass.

Mike's half-smile faded a little, and he glanced down at his lap. I think I'd be able to tell if he was really- really dead, he said softly, even though the word dead physically pained him to say. But maybe I just want that to be true because I don't want him to be.

I know the feeling, Joyce said, reaching across the table and taking his hand. But we were right once before, right? I think he's still out there. I think one day he'll find his way back to us.

He'd better, Mike had said, and they'd left it at that.

He had never dared communicate this to his friends, and he's not going to now, because they'll shake their heads at him and exchange glances generally treat him the way they had four years ago when Will vanished for the first time. They'd think he was in denial, which maybe he is, but he doesn't want to hear that from them. He and Joyce Byers are doing just fine with their denial, thanks. 

But they won't stop shooting him looks, and it's been a year, so he sighs. "What?"

"Um- nothing. Nothing," Dustin says quickly, cheeks pinkening as he glances away. "Just- are you okay?"

Mike chews on his lip, deciding whether it's worth it to lie. "I don't know," he says heavily, which is neutral enough. "It's been a year."

He's not sure what he means by that, if he's trying to rationalize away any feelings he still has, trying to suggest that he's dumb for not moving on, or if he's just stating facts because no one else ever does.

Lucas eyes him warily, nodding slowly. "Yeah. It has."

There's silence for a beat, and-

Okay. It's been a year. It's been 365 days- 366, almost- and none of them will say it. None of them will dare bring it up, say Will's name, anything, and- he knows he's not the only one who's hurting. He knows his friends are grieving, and that he's probably selfish for making their silence about him, because they're sad too and it probably hurts them to talk about it but they keep- they keep looking at him like that, and he can't help but feel like they expect something from him, something he doesn't know how to give. And since they won't just ask him point-blank, something along the lines of hey, Mike, remember that friend we had that died last year? Were you, maybe, possibly, definitely in love with him? And what does that make you? What does that make him? Who are you, anyway, Michael, why do you do this, why do you push away everyone you care about and why do you act like it's their fault when you grow apart and why, Mike, why didn't you just tell Will the truth before it was too late? Why are you like this, Mike Wheeler, why are you such a-

Well. Since they won't ask, he won't tell. It's not his problem. 

He clears his throat. "Can we unpause the movie? We never finished it."

His friends exchange another look, and he both loves and hates them for it, and someone clicks a button on the remote and the room is filled with soft voices and the shifting glow of the screen and Mike curls in on himself and hopes they don't notice the tears slowly making their way down his face.

He glances away from the TV at one point, eyes trailing over to the corner of the room, and for a split second he thinks he can see the ghost of Will Byers smiling at him through the darkness.

But that's ridiculous, he thinks, shaking himself and turning back to face the screen. Will Byers can't be a ghost, because he's not dead.

Checkmate, universe.

It's around midnight when Mrs. Wheeler comes down to check on them, smiling a little sadly when she sees them all piled on the couch together. 

She's never known the specifics of Will's not-death, or anything surrounding it, but she knows he's gone and that this time he's not coming back - not for a long time, at least, and she knows that Mike is wrecked over it but she doesn't understand why. He'll never tell her why, he thinks bitterly, because he'll never forgive her for those awful nights four years ago, the first time he lost Will, where she said things like don't skip class, Michael and don't plagarize your homework, Michael, as if either of those things mattered when Will wasn't there to witness them. When she let his father get away with saying things like see what happens, Karen? in a low, righteous voice as if Mike couldn't hear, didn't understand exactly what he meant. He's sought comfort in his mother before, but he knows better than to do it now. There are just some things that she can't fix.

"Hey, you all, it's time to go home," she says softly now, and the Party nods and stands and takes turns hugging Mike and patting him on the back and whispering we love you and happy birthday and then they all pad quietly and obediently up the stairs. Once upon a time, it's time to go home would be met with a chorus of groans from the Party, protests and bargains to stay later - everyone except Will, who was always quiet and sweet and nice to parents. Since he's been gone, the Party has stopped being quite as loud and overbearing, like a silent agreement in honor of Will or something. Mike doesn't like it. It just reminds him that Will's not there.

But he'd never tell them that, so he accepts their hugs and smiles weakly and nods when his mother asks if he's sleeping in the basement tonight. He sleeps in the basement most nights, these days. It's the only place that still has Will written all over it.

It's when the clock ticks to 11:59 that the dread sinks in, the overwhelming horror at facing another Will-less 24 hours, another day come and gone without Will's smile, without his voice, without his lips on Mike's, which Mike still can't entirely believe was real, and he just- he just can't, sometimes. He closes his eyes, not wanting to witness the moment where the day rolls over, where Mike is here awake and Will is somewhere that is not here, and Mike misses him so much. He refuses to believe Will's dead, but he is unreachable, right now, and that's almost as bad. Almost.

Mike sighs and tugs the blanket tighter around himself. 

At 12:00 a.m., Mike Wheeler is awake, and he is in love, and he is absolutely wrecked. 

At 12:01 a.m., Will Byers is maybe asleep, maybe not, maybe alive, maybe dead, and the only definitive thing Mike knows is that he is not fucking here.

At 12:02 a.m., someone calls out Mike's name.

Mike thinks he imagines it at first. The basement is creaky never entirely silent, and he's used to dreaming up things he can't have. He squeezes his eyes tighter shut and rolls over, wishing sleep would just take him already. 

The sound comes again, louder and more insistent, and Mike sits up. 

Mike, it whispers, like a ghost. 

He frowns. Maybe someone's calling out for him from upstairs. A Party member, come to retrieve something they left in the basement- yes, that must be it. Otherwise Mike is actually going batshit crazy, for real, and even Joyce Byers will look at him with concern.

Right. Okay.

Mike stands, tossing his blanket aside and grumbling his entire way up the stairs, muttering about how Dustin should just keep track of his things, honestly and it's the middle of the night and just let me be sad in peace, and he flicks on the porch light before opening the door.

There's no one there.

"Shit," Mike murmurs, staring blankly out at the darkness. Day 366 has begun, and it's off to a shitty start. Hearing voices, God- Mike can't add schizophrenia to his growing list of problems. He'd simply collapse under the weight. "Okay," he says, mostly to himself, and turns to go back inside.

Mike! the voice shrieks, and this time it's clearer, sharper in his ears, like it's coming from inside him rather than somewhere in the darkness outside.

It sounds like Will. Mike's heart rate quickens.

He turns back around, narrowing his eyes and glaring around at his front porch, at the grassy lawn beyond it. "Is someone there?" he whispers, and something glimmers in the air in front of him. He's reminded, suddenly, of that awful week a million years ago, of Joyce Byers with her Christmas lights and painted letters on her walls, and he's shaking as he asks, "Will? Is that you?"

The hazy light flashes again, just once, a silent yes.

Mike grabs his coat.

It looks like fireflies, he thinks, as he steps out onto the porch and closes the door silently behind him, grabbing the baseball bat leaned up against the porch railing as an afterthought, in case Demogorgons and other Upside-Down horrors are still something that can threaten him. The lights are like dust particles in the air, only glowing when Mike gets closer to them. 

He follows the trail blindly, just like he always does when it comes to Will. His heart thuds in his ears, and he wonders, briefly, if he should be doing this alone. If he should go home and call Joyce or Jonathan or El or even fucking Hopper, someone who could protect him if anything went awry because Will is theirs as much as he is Mike's, maybe even more so, and they should be made aware of the situation. But then again, there is no strictly evident situation to speak of right now, so maybe not. Maybe he'd better see if this is just a trick of his mind first. No use giving them false hope. 

Besides, Mike Wheeler has never claimed to be a selfless person. If it is Will, he wants to be the one to find him. He needs to tell him everything. He needs to say he's sorry. Four years ago, he tore the world apart looking for Will. It only makes sense that he should be the one to do it now.

It's when the lights disappear into the forest that used to house Castle Byers that Mike dares let himself hope for real. He quickens his pace, pushing aside branches and brambles, and he might be imagining it but it looks like the lights glow brighter as he chases after them deeper into the woods.

Then he gets to the clearing, and his heart stops.

There, on the ground, is the remains of Castle Byers, the broken plywood and torn pictures that Mike's been torturing himself over since the Byers left for California. He's been coming here all year, and for the six months before that, too, wishing he had any sort of skills with a tool kit so he could repair what he broke. He's taped the pictures back together, strung them up through the trees in an attempt to make himself feel better, and the weather has corrupted them a little but they're still there, moonlight reflecting off their shiny surfaces.

But none of that is what Mike is focused on right now, because Will Byers is sitting in the middle of all of it, eyes closed and legs crossed beneath him. 

Mike breathes out sharply, sinking to his knees in front of Will without conscious thought. Every bone in his body is turning to jelly, because Will is here, but he's also- not. His form is made up of the same dusty gold that fills the air around him, flaking off him and dancing around. Mike wants to reach out and catch the light in his palm. Will looks not entirely solid, like this is some poor imitation of him rendered in light particles, like his physical form is somewhere else, and for a horrible moment Mike thinks that Will is a ghost after all. That this is an illusion, brought about by Mike's hopeless yearning. If it weren't for the pebbles digging sharply into his legs as he knees on the ground and the crisp chill of the spring air on his face, Mike would be sure he was dreaming, but he doesn't think he could dream up something so simultaneously as magical and horrifying as the specter of his maybe-dead friend hovering before him.

"Will," he whispers, reaching out until his fingers are centimeters from Will's arm, and Will's eyes fly open.

They're gold and glittery just like the rest of him, glowing the way the lights do in the Upside Down, like the chandelier Steve and Nancy and Eddie and Robin used to talk to Dustin a million years ago, but it is undeniably Will, and those are undeniably his eyes, and his face, and the same grimy clothes he was wearing the last time Mike saw him. Mike's gut pools with warmth as he realizes how alive he looks. Will's eyes are bright and alert, and they are soft when they look at Mike.

Will is not dead. He is just not here.

Will's mouth is moving, mouthing Mike's name, but Mike can't hear his voice anymore, and panic crashes over as him as he says Will's name again, louder, more desperate, the way he said it as Will walked away from him 366 days ago with no intention of returning. He extends his hand further, pressing his fingertips into the place where Will's shoulder should be. There's a split second where Will glows brighter, looking more solid by the second, warm against Mike's fingers, and his voice breaks through the silence, distorted like he's talking underwater:

"Mike-"

Then he vanishes, light exploding all around as Mike's hand falls, empty, through where he was just sitting.

"Will!" Mike hisses, grabbing at the air, at the fading gold dust, desperate to find a piece of Will to hold on to, but it's too late. The light fades to dark, and Mike is alone again.

He curls up in the ruins of Castle Byers and cries.

He must have cried himself to sleep at some point, because the next thing Mike is aware of is a piece of broken plywood jabbing into his back and the sun shining directly in his eyes. He sits up, groaning and glancing around. There's no trace of Will or gold dust or anything remotely supernatural, and if Mike weren't sitting here with splinters in his legs and tears in his eyes, he might think he'd imagined the whole thing.

He's positive he didn't. He's dreamt of Will before, in the awful weeks just after he disappeared, when he couldn't move or speak or do anything other than cry and hate the world, when everyone seemed sad but not sad enough, and he felt like the broken one, before he decided that he was the only sane one and it was the world that was broken for not caring enough about Will Byers. Those weeks were full of fitful sleeps and dreams of Will, of the last moment he saw him, of all the things Mike could have done differently. Those dreams were vivid, but they weren't like this. Before, he didn't see Will's eyes, so bright and alive and looking back at him. He didn't see Will's hair, all grown out and brushing his forehead in gentle waves, and his arms more defined than they'd ever been, and his clothes torn even in the golden haze, and his voice distorted but there, crying out for Mike too desperately to not be real. Will looked different, was different. Mike couldn't have dreamt that up on his own.

It's Thursday, it occurs to him dimly. He should be at school. He wonders if anyone's noticed he's not. The Party, sure, but he's skipped school a lot since 366 days ago, so they probably won't think much of it. And his parents are usually too preoccupied in the mornings to notice if he's there or not, so he's probably in the clear there.

Mike sighs, picking absently at a piece of Castle Byers sitting by his leg - half of the all friends welcome sign that Will had destroyed in the rain two years ago, after Mike said things he desperately wishes he could take back and ruined everything for what was not the first and not the last time. He bites his lip, tugging the broken sign over to him and wrapping his arms around it, pressing his face against the edge of the wood, breathing it in. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, just on the off chance that maybe-ghost Will can hear him. "I'm so sorry, Will."

He curls back up in the ruins, resigned to his fate, and lets his eyes fall shut. "Come back," he says softly to Will. "Please."

What could be ten or twenty or sixty minutes later, he hears the sound of branches cracking and voices murmuring from somewhere behind him, and he sits up, feeling around for the bat he abandoned on the ground last night and wrapping his fingers around it. He doesn't really expect foul play, probably just some teenagers cutting class to get high in the woods, but if some asshole like Troy the Mouthbreather tries to fuck with him right now Mike absolutely does not have the patience to let him get away with it.

Instead, a head pops out from behind a tree, and Mike is making eye contact with Dustin Henderson.

Okay. So maybe Mike underestimated his friends, a little. Dustin looks intensely relieved, and he turns around to shout, "Guys! Over here!" before walking over and plopping down on the ground beside Mike.

Mike keeps his hands firmly planted on the bat. "What are you doing here?"

"Believe it or not," Dustin says, reaching out and gently prying the bat out of Mike's hands, which Mike scowls at but lets happen, "we actually care about you. And you weren't at school and your mom said she didn't see you this morning, so we figured you might be here."

Mike avoids eye contact, hugging his knees to his chest and looking out at the woods. "You didn't need to come looking for me."

"Yeah, we did," Lucas says, appearing through the trees with El, Max trailing behind in her wheelchair. "What's wrong, Mike?"

They're not going to believe him. They are absolutely not going to believe him, and Mike wants to keep this just for himself, but keeping it to himself is also sort of killing him, so he says; "I saw Will last night."

The silence following his words is absolutely deafening. He stares pointedly at the ground, his friends' stares burning a hole in his head, and he's only vaguely aware of Lucas and El sitting down on either side of him, of Max wheeling her chair closer and El placing a hand on his knee. He's also - vaguely - aware that he's crying, which is stupid and ridiculous because he just spent an entire night crying, and honestly sometimes he wonders how it's possible for one person to cry so much. He didn't think the human body was capable of it.

"Mike," Lucas says softly after a minute, and Mike looks up at him despite himself, wiping his face with his sleeve. "I... are we doing this?"

Mike glares. "Doing what? I saw him, Lucas. He was here."

Lucas presses his mouth into a thin line, the same expression he made four years ago when Will was missing the first time and Mike insisted that he could hear him singing on the walkie. He'd been right then, hadn't he? He thinks of Joyce - we were right once before, right? - and decides that he refuses to live in a world where Joyce Byers is wrong about things. 

"Mike," Dustin tries, and why are they doing that, why are all of them saying his name like it's some mortal tether, like they're trying to tell him who he is when he knows, he knows what and who he is and what he is right now is someone who is not delusional, thanks. "It's- the Anniversary Effect, it's a real thing," he says carefully. "Like- I know it wasn't, before, with Will and everything but-"

"But what?" Mike spits, and he has the insane urge to grab the bat back from Dustin and smash it against something. Not- his friends, of course, but a tree or something solid that he can break. Not Castle Byers, either, because he'd never do that to Will, but- he just can't, right now. "But you think I'm crazy, right? You think that the poor- stupid queer can't get over losing his- friend- and I'm making shit up because I can't just move on like the rest of you? Fuck that. That's not what this is."

"Mike," El says, sharply, and seriously with the name thing, he knows, okay- and he turns his fiery gaze on her, only slightly softening when he sees that she's crying. "Mike, we do not think those things."

"But you don't believe me," he says weakly, glancing around at them all. "Right?"

"I- that's- complicated," Max says, like the diplomatic woman she is. Mike hates her almost as much as he loves her. "But- all the other stuff, that's not... we don't see you that way."

"What way?" Mike challenges, because he thinks she should have to say it, after all this time dancing around it. What he is. What Will was to him. 

She bites her lip. "The rest of us haven't moved on, you know. Will was important to us too."

"I know that," he snaps, even as guilt crashes through him. "I know. But- we never talk about it. About me. It's been a fucking year, you guys."

"We didn't think you wanted us to say anything," Dustin says quietly. 

Mike fiddles with the edge of his sleeve, biting his lip. "I... maybe I didn't. I don't know. I don't know what I want."

"I do," El says softly. "You want Will."

There's dead silence for a beat while they all process. This is the first time any of them have mentioned it so blatantly. It's uncharted territory. 

Then Mike sighs shakily, glancing up at them and grimacing a little. "Yeah. I do."

"Mike," El whispers, this time it doesn't feel quite as grating, and then she's wrapping her arms around him, and Lucas and Dustin clamber over to them too, and Max wheels a little closer, and Mike tucks his face into El's shoulder and lets himself cry, a little bit more.

"You know we love you, man, right?" Lucas says, patting Mike's back gently. "No matter what."

"Thanks, Lucas," Mike forces out, pulling away from them all and scrubbing at his face. "I- that means a lot."

"Do you want to say anything else?" Max asks hesitantly, in more of a gentle way than a prying way. "There's a lot to... unpack."

She's not wrong. Mike thinks of Joyce Byers, I think one day he'll find his way back to us, and he thinks of those nights he spent on his walkie, just like when El 'died', whispering things like I miss you, come back, I love you, I'm sorry, and knowing that it would go unanswered but praying it wouldn't go unheard. He thinks of Will's expression when he glanced over his shoulder for the last time, something so fond and sad and solid when he looked at Mike, and it feels like his heart is ripping itself to shreds but that's nothing new.

"I never told him I was sorry," he whispers miserably. "I never... there was so much I needed to apologize for and I never- I never even told him I loved him."

"He knew," Lucas says immediately, emphatically. Like he believes it. "I- he knew, I know he did."

"Do you?" Mike glances at him, another stray tear leaking down his cheek. "I was so mean to him, Lucas. You saw it. And I didn't even- I didn't even call or write or anything, the whole time he was in Lenora. And I- we patched things up, but I never apologized for that summer, either, for the shit I said to him- and I said some really awful stuff, and I just... I didn't deserve him. Even if he did know, that doesn't make it any less true."

"Will loved you so much," Dustin says, and he's crying a little too. "And- it wasn't perfect, or anything, but he knew, okay? Maybe not always, but- he knew. At the end, at least."

"That's not good enough," Mike says with a scowl. "I want- I didn't want it to end."

"We know," Max whispers. "And- you're right, it's not good enough, it fucking sucks, and it just- it just does. It's going to suck for a long time, probably. But you're going to be okay."

She's wrong. She's completely, utterly wrong, but Mike loves her and everyone else here too much to tell them that. "Yeah. Maybe," he whispers. "Maybe."

He supposes it's not out of the question, him being okay. But not in the way she means. She's talking about moving on. About- not forgetting, necessarily, but letting go, something Mike never has and never will know how to do. About growing up into a functioning adult, and maybe meeting someone else, some other man or maybe even woman who will make him happy. She's talking about the things all the rest of them will do, because Will Byers was certainly important to them, but he isn't and wasn't their entire worlds the way he was Mike's.

Mike could be okay, but not like that. He will be okay again, but only on the condition that he gets Will back. He's going to get Will back, and he doesn't care if they don't believe him. They've given up on Will, and he's spent a year being angry at them for it, but maybe it's okay. Maybe this is just how they have to process, because entertaining the possibility that Will is still out there hurts too much. Maybe they don't love Will any less than he does, after all. Just differently.

"Hey," he says, glancing around at his friends. "I'm sorry if I've been an asshole this year. Or- before that, too. I've been... going through some stuff. But. Still." He swallows. "Are you guys, like. Okay?"

El smiles weakly. "We're okay, Mike. Or at least we will be."

"Good," he says, squeezing her hand gently.

"Good enough," she corrects, but she's still smiling. "Now will you come back to school with us?"

Mike glances around, a last-ditch attempt to spot any remaining gold dust, any hint that Will's still here. When he finds none, he sighs, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." Maybe in a different life, he'd kick and scream and refuse to leave, refuse to abandon the possibility of finding Will, but there's a warm feeling settling in his gut that tells him it's okay, that this won't be the last opportunity. He feels like he breathed in some of those light particles, or something- breathed in Will- and it's warming him from the inside out, a quiet voice telling him to relax. It sounds like Will, so Mike listens.

He lets his friends pull him up from the ground, all soft smiles and gentle pats on his back, and he feels- okay. Mostly. He spilled his guts, and the world didn't end. He's here, and his friends are here with him, and that's a good thing. He has good things, still, maybe.

He also, for the first time in a long time, has hope. But he's not going to tell the rest of them that.

Mike goes back to Castle Byers that night, bat in hand and wearing a jacket that he maybe possibly definitely stole from Nancy's closet, which- it's warm and fleecy and she's away at college now anyway so he's not going to feel bad about it. He's shaking, a little, as he leans his bike against a tree and settles on the ground, ready to wait it out. The hopeful thing that's been growing in his chest all day stutters a little when he sees that Will isn't there, but he breathes through it and crosses his legs, mirroring Will's position from last night like he's trying to- manifest it, or something, which he's aware is stupid but he's allowed to be stupid, right now, because Will was here less than twenty-four hours ago and Mike saw him, so Dustin and Lucas and Max and El can fuck right off.

Which- okay, actually, that's a little harsh considering how great they were earlier, but still. This is going to be fine.

"Will?" he whispers, closing his eyes like he's praying or something- he's never particularly believed in God, but he's willing to take a chance on the concept if it means Will Byers can come back from the dead again. "Will, I don't know if you can hear me, but... please come back. I- I need you to come back."

He opens his eyes and watches for a moment, waiting for a glimmer of that odd light or a whisper of Will's voice cutting through the darkness, just something. 

Nothing comes, and the hopeful thing deflates a little more. Mike sighs, wrapping Nancy's jacket tighter around himself. "That's okay. I'll wait," he says softly, leaning back against a nearby tree and closing his eyes. All at once, he's grateful he didn't tell Joyce about this, even if he does feel unendingly guilty about it. Just- after the way the others reacted today, all pity and sideways glances at each other, he's starting to think that maybe they're right. About- the general idea of the thing, not about Will, because Will was here and Mike knows it, but-

Well. He knows it sounds a little out there, this thing. And he knows that the Anniversary Effect is a thing, and that he'd been tired, and just- he knows what he saw, but Mike needs to be unequivocally sure about that before he dares get Joyce Byers' hopes up again. He can't put her in that position again. This is something he needs to figure out for himself first.

So he waits.

And waits. 

And waits.

He cries, then curses himself out for crying, then cries some more, whispering Will's name and begging him to come back, to prove that he's not crazy for believing in him all this time, because Mike thinks after all this he deserves some validation. He deserves proof that those pitying glances and sighs from his parents and blank stares of his classmates were all stupid and unnecessary, but ultimately worth it if he gets Will back in the end. He has to get Will back.

He's starting to drift off, leaning against the rough bark of the tree, when a branch breaks somewhere in the woods and he jolts upright, sucking in a breath.

This is the woods, he remembers. Creatures live here, and it's probably not particularly safe to be out here alone, even if he does have his bat.

"Shit," he mutters, glancing around and wondering if he should have brought a flashlight. "Shit, this was stupid." He stands, brushing himself off, and glancing around. It's got to be at least midnight by now - he's losing faith even though he hates himself for it. "Will!" he shouts, turning his face up to the sky like he's up there somewhere. "Will, please come back, I need you!"

All at once, there's a flash of light, gold dust dancing through the air, and all at once Will is there, again, smiling at him this time as he shimmers in and out of focus, the light particles lifting up into the air all around them like the perfect reversal of those awful Upside-Down spores.

Mike makes a choked sort of gasping noise, mouth spreading into something resembling a smile. His facial muscles ache - he'd forgotten how to do this, how to make happy expressions, but at the sight of Will Byers it's involuntary. "Holy shit," he breathes, sinking to his knees on the ground in front of Will. "Hi."

Hi, Will mouths, and lifts a hand in a wave.

Mike scoots closer, not daring to touch him lest he dissipate again, but he lets his knees hover centimeters away from Will's, feeling the warmth emanating from him again. "You're here," he says, quiet and awed and choked up, fully aware that he's about to start crying again. "I knew I wasn't crazy, this- you're here."

Will nods, extending a hand, palm up, and Mike reaches out his own to hover over Will's, not touching but letting Will drift his fingers back and forth under his palm, the light tickling his hand. I'm here, Will says, and there's still no sound, but Mike hears him loud and clear.

Mike smiles faintly, tears dripping down his face as he watches Will trail his fingers up and down his arm, still not touching but toying with the idea. He doesn't bother wiping his tears away. That would take too much energy and attention away from the glowing boy in front of him. 

Except- Will is different, Mike notes for a second time as he takes in his every features. Not a boy anymore - a man, even if they're only sixteen. He supposes tragedy ages you - that's what his mother says, even though Mike's always thought it was kind of stupid considering how he feels like a scared little kid most of the time, all lost and confused without his best friend. Maybe it's different when you're the source of the tragedy.

"You're alive," he says softly, shivering a little as Will ghosts his warm hand over his shoulder. "You- right? You're not, like, a ghost, or a hallucination or something?"

Will shakes his head, smiling. Not a ghost.

"Good," Mike says softly.

Will bobs his head. Good.

"I missed you," Mike whispers, laughing a little through his tears as Will continues not-touching him, but reassuring him all the same with his gentle golden fingers winding through the air all around Mike.

I missed you too, Will mouths, tilting his head to one side and smiling in that fond way that always used Mike's stomach knot itself up in a not entirely unpleasant way but the nature of which always made him fill with panic and dread and self-hatred. And he still feels those things, sort of, but it's all dulled by the thrill of having Will here, and Mike thinks he can work through all that other stuff if it means he can have Will again.

"Will, I..." he starts, with the intent to tell him this, but Will shakes his head and presses a finger to his lips.

Another time, he mouths, gesturing around at the clearing and the gold dust and everything and- yeah, he has a point, and Mike wants to tell him so bad but he'll wait, if Will wants him to.

 "Yeah," he whispers. "Okay. What's- what is this, right now? What's going on, where are you?"

Will presses his lips together, glancing away. Long story, he doesn't say, eyeing Mike warily and smirking a little. Then, all at once, he surges forward and grabs Mike's hands, and there's a solid ten seconds where his hands are in Mike's, fingers threading together, and his whole body solidifies a little. 

"Come back with something we can use to talk," Will says, and his voice is still distorted and weird but Mike can hear him, and see him, and he looks real now, the gold flickering in and out, shifting him back and forth from real and solid and back to his distorted faded glow.

Mike is kind of fascinated by it, and Will squeezes his hands urgently. "Mike, are you listening to me?"

"I- yeah, sorry. Sorry, hi, um. What's going-"

Will squeezes his hands again. "Just get, like, a piece of paper with the alphabet. Or a Morse code key or something. That way we can-"

He gets cut off as the dust wins, taking over his body and pulling him away in a haze of light. Mike grabs for him desperately, calling his name, but it's too late. Will vanishes just like he did last night, light fading and leaving Mike alone in the clearing. 

Except- it's better, this time, because now Mike knows what to do. He has a plan. He talked to Will Byers, for the first time in 366- almost 367- days, and the world is slowly beginning to right itself.

He sits back against his tree, examining his hands where Will was just holding them. He might be imagining it, but it looks like he's glowing a little, too. 

Well. Maybe he's just in love.

Day 367 is, of all things, a good day. 

Mike tries to hide it, not wanting to be called delusional again - not that anyone actually said that out loud, but whatever - but there's a little smile tugging insistently at the corners of his mouth for the entire day. 

He skips lunch, aware that the Party will see through him instantly if he has to interact with them for more than two minutes at a time, opting to hide away behind the gym instead, smoking a cigarette that he may have stolen from Joyce Byers the last time he saw her. Which he's aware is a bit of a backhanded thing to do to your definitely-not-dead-best-friend-slash-love-interest's mother, but he's pretty sure she knows anyway and doesn't particularly care, so it's fine. He blows smoke into the cool spring air, grinning to himself.

Will is alive. It's all he can think - Will is here, and he's alive, and Mike is one step closer to having him back for real. One step closer, maybe, to telling Will all the things he never got a chance to. To, just maybe, having Will say them back. He can stop replaying his interactions with Will, imagining different ways they could have gone, because it won't be all he has left of him. He can talk to Will, again, he can make sure he makes things right instead of regretting not doing it before. He gets a second chance. Mike had almost stopped believing in those.

The bell rings, and he snuffs out his cigarette and goes back to class, trying to act like someone who is not a lovesick disaster of a human being.

He fails, a little. But it doesn't matter, because Will is alive. He lets it go.

Miraculously, Mike makes it through the day without floating away, without just, like, rising into the air out of sheer happiness, and he's on his way down the hall after last period when a hand closes around his wrist and tugs him into an empty classroom.

Mike yelps, wrenching his arm away and turning to face Eleven, who's regarding him with an unimpressed expression. "Jesus, El, what?" he asks, rubbing his arm and frowning at her.

El is undeterred by his annoyance, taking his shoulders and shaking him a little. "We need to talk," she says, eyes wide and insistent.

Mike squints at her. "I- okay? About what?"

El glances around, despite the fact that they're in an empty classroom with the door closed, and lowers her voice. "Last night," she says quietly, looking directly into, like, Mike's soul or something, an ability that only she seems to possess, "I felt something."

Mike swallows. "Something, like- spooky?"

Her expression relaxes a little, and she drops her hands. "Spooky?" she repeats, more disdainful than confused.

"Uh- supernatural, I meant," Mike stutters out. "Like- the Upside Down."

"The Upside Down is gone," El says dismissively. "The gates are closed. I cannot feel it anymore. But I felt something like it. A- disturbance."

Mike thinks of Will, flickering in and out of sight as he clung to Mike's hands like a lifeline, which maybe they were. "A disturbance," he repeats faintly. "What does that mean?"

"Mike," El says softly, blinking steadily up at him, "I felt Will."

Mike sucks in a breath, feeling a little bit like he's the one who's made of dust, now, about to dissipate at the slightest touch. "You- um- what?"

"Mike," El says again, dead serious. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Mike squeaks, because he doesn't appreciate her tone right now, all accusatory even if she does sound slightly awed. "Except, like, be right, and I told you so, actually, so-"

"Mike, focus," El says impatiently, leaning back against the nearest table and tapping her foot against the floor. "I need to know what's going on."

"I will tell you," Mike says slowly, "Once you apologize for calling me crazy yesterday."

"No one called you crazy," El said with an eye roll. "We were worried about you, which we had every right to be-"

"Yes, I know, and you were very nice and good and supportive and I'm sorry I've been an asshole, okay, but also- I fucking told you so," Mike finishes, crossing his arms. 

El sighs. "You are petty," she says, which is a new word for her that she has fully been abusing lately, and Mike hasn't much cared until this moment, "but yes. You were right. I am sorry."

Mike is a good person, so he does not do a victory dance or scream in her face or anything ridiculous like that, but he does allow himself two seconds to smirk vindictively at her. "Thank you," he says.

El levels him with her scary eyes, like she's maybe thinking about throwing him across the room via telekinesis, and Mike quickly rearranges his expression to something a little more sympathetic and serious. "Mike, he is my brother. Tell me what happened."

That shuts Mike up, a little, and he sits down on a nearby desk, slumping a little. "Okay, sorry. You're right."

El sits down beside him, nudging his knee with hers and regarding him with a gentle expression, and Mike relaxes a little as she holds out a hand. He takes it, squeezing gently, and is reminded of that day in his room, of I forgive you, Mike, and I'm sorry you lost him, and he fights back tears as he brushes his thumb over the back of her hand. He's grateful, suddenly, for El, for the girl who's forgiven him over and over even though he keeps fucking things up, and it hits him now that he's never apologized to her, either, even though she forgives him, and he wonders why that never seemed as big a deal as apologizing to Will. She's not- he's not in love with her, not like he thought he was, but- El Hopper is an undeniably important person to him, and he wishes he was better at telling her that.

"El," he says, turning to face her. "You know I-"

"Mike," she says impatiently. "Not now. We can do this another time."

"I never said I was sorry, though," he presses, leaning further into her side. 

"You have nothing to be sorry about. But if you do not tell me what is going on with Will, I will give you something to be sorry about."

Mike flinches away from her, grimacing. "Christ, you're scary, fine." He takes a deep breath, turning away and staring out at the rows of empty desks. There's something unknowably sad about an empty classroom, he thinks, which is funny considering that he finds classrooms to be generally bad places in the first place. "Okay, so the other night, I was trying to sleep, and I heard someone calling my name," he starts, and El immediately gives him a look.

"You heard someone calling your name," she repeats, like this is outside the realm of possibility, and Mike glares at her.

"Shut up, you told me to tell you so I'm telling you. This is what happened."

El holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, fine. Max would be making fun of you right now if she were here, though."

"Well, that's nothing new," Mike mutters. "Anyway, so I heard the voice, but there was no one at the door except these, like, light particles, which was weird, and then they flashed when I talked to them-"

"You talked to the light particles?"

"El, just- okay? Just- okay?"

She smirks. "Sorry."

"Anyway, I followed them, and it took me to Castle Byers, and- he was there," Mike says softly, smiling a little, and El delivers a sharp elbow to his side. "Ouch, sorry. Will was there, but he was, like- made of light, which I know sounds weird but it's true, and he tried to talk to me but I couldn't hear him, and then I tried to grab his shoulder and he disappeared. So- I went back last night, and I waited until he showed up, and then he, like..." he chews on his lips, trying to figure out how best to explain the next part. "I guess when he interacts with the real world, it makes him more solid? But it doesn't stick, apparently, because he grabbed my hands and he was there, for a second, and he looked like a normal person and I could hear his voice, and then he disappeared again. He said I should come back tonight with some way we can use to communicate, I guess? Without me being able to hear him? I don't know. I'm gonna figure it out."

El leans back on her hands, tilting her head back toward the ceiling as she processes. "Okay," she says slowly. "So you are saying Will is- stuck somewhere. And he can project himself here, but he cannot interact with anything or he will disappear, yes?"

"Yeah, I mean, based on two nights worth of evidence," Mike says. 

"But Mike," El says, turning her head to look at him. "I felt him. So- something worked, last night. He was here, for a minute. Because of you."

Mike meets her eyes. "You think?" he asks in a whisper.

"I know," El says. "He was here, Mike. Just for a few seconds, but still. I think you have to figure out how to keep him here."

Mike blinks hard, nodding. "I'm going to."

El smiles, patting his knee gently. "Good. Let me know if I can help, okay?"

Mike raises an eyebrow. "You're not going to force your way into this?"

El shakes her head, smiling. "This seems like something you should do alone. I am done getting between you two."

Mike groans, falling back against the desk and covering his face with his hands. "El, I tried to say I was sorry-"

"Mike, I am teasing," she giggles, tugging at his sleeve until he peeks through his fingers at her. "It is okay."

Mike stares earnestly up at her. "It's not, really. And I'm sorry."

El nods slowly. "Are you sorry for loving him?"

Mike thinks about it for a moment, letting his head fall back to face the ceiling. He's spent a lot of time feeling guilty for loving Will, ashamed of loving a boy, and scared and confused and a lot of other ugly emotions. The past year has added grief into the mix, regret for not being honest, anger at himself and the world and even Will, sometimes. But he doesn't think he could ever honestly be sorry for loving Will Byers. It's like he said in that cold dark shed, years ago now- it's the best thing he's ever done.

"No," he whispers, meeting El's eyes. "I'm not. But I'm sorry that I handled it poorly, and I'm sorry that I hurt you."

El smiles. "Good. You should be sorry for those things. But you should not ever be sorry for loving him, okay?"

Mike nods, laughing a little. "Yeah, okay."

"I forgive you," El says, as an afterthought, even though he already knew that. "I do."

"Thanks," Mike says softly, threading his fingers through hers. It feels good to hear her say it, better than he expected - it's one thing for her to whisper it in his ear, another to hear her say it with conviction, after he actually owned up to things. He swallows. "I love you, you know that? Not- how I thought I did, but still."

El grins. "I love you too, Mike. And I believe in you." She pats his knee with her free hand. "Bring him back."

"I'll do my best." Mike sits up, taking a deep breath. "Do you think we should tell Joyce? Or Jonathan, or anyone?"

"I do not know," El admits, gaze unfocused, and across the room, a dry erase marker lifts itself out of the tray, uncaps itself, and starts doodling circles on the whiteboard. Mike smiles. "I do not want to give them false hope."

"Hey, I thought you just said you believed in me!"

El rolls her eyes. "I do. But you know how Joyce is. She will freak out. We need to figure out what is going on first."

Mike nods. "Yeah, I agree. I just wasn't sure if I was being selfish or not."

El smirks. "Well, maybe you are. But still." She launches herself off the desk and landing impossibly lightly on the ground, extending a hand to Mike. He takes it, sliding off the desk with considerably less grace. "Talk to Will first," she says as she leads him out the door. "We'll see what happens."

Mike comes prepared that night, a notebook tucked under Nancy's jacket - she was dumb enough to leave it behind, so it's his jacket now, actually, he decided - and a pen in his pocket. He briefly considers bringing a flashlight, because it's dark and cold and he's probably going to have to wait for Will to show up again, but ultimately he decides against it because it seems like ruining the moment, somehow. 

His bike rattles across the ground, making an ungodly amount of noise, and Mike curses it out loudly as he nears the stretch of woods where Castle Byers is- was.

As soon as he's in sight of the clearing, he can see the soft glow of the gold dust, and he grins as he climbs off his bike, setting it aside and making his way through the trees. "Will?"

Will is sitting in his same spot, legs crossed and eyes closed. At the sound of Mike's voice, his eyes flutter open, and he smiles widely. Mike, he mouths, and Mike pulls out his notebook happily.

Will gives him a thumbs up when he sees the notebook, tracking Mike's movements as he sits down across from him again. "Okay," Mike says, pulling out his pen and flipping the notebook open. "I," he starts, clicking the pen on and starting to scribble out letters on the page, "am writing out the alphabet, and you're going to point to letters and spell out what the hell is going on here." He finishes writing and glances up to find Will smirking at him, eyebrows raised. "What?"

Will gestures to the pen in Mike's hand, then back to the page, and Mike rolls his eyes. "What, my handwriting? That's what you're worried about right now?"

Will shrugs, still wearing that stupid smirk. Mike wants to kiss it off his face, but that would make Will disappear and would be unproductive and also pretty random considering he still hasn't said all the shit he needs to say, so he digs his fingernails into his palms and resists. "You're ridiculous," he tells Will instead, and Will makes a face. "And I know you can read my handwriting, so here." He drops the notebook in front of Will, who laughs soundlessly. Mike's chest squeezes painfully, missing the sound of Will's laughter and wishing he could hear it now. 

Come over here, Will mouths, patting the ground beside him and gesturing to the notebook. Can't move.

Mike frowns. "You can't move?"

Will gives him a look that plainly says is that really important right now, Mike, which- fair. Mike scoots over, shoulder almost brushing Will's not-shoulder but careful not to actually touch. "Okay, so what's going on here?" he asks, glancing up at Will through his fringe. "Where are you?"

Will bobs his head and starts pointing at letters, and Mike hurriedly picks the pen back up and scribbles down the letters on the page beside it, following along with Will's message.

In-between, Will spells out. Got stuck.

Mike reads the message back, frowning as he drags his fingers over the letters, and Will watches him silently. "You're stuck..." Mike repeats, remembering El's words earlier. "But not in the Upside Down?"

Will nods, reaching over and pointing out another sequence of letters. Mike scrambles to write them out: Gates are closed. 

"Yeah, right, okay," Mike agrees. "So- what, there's another dimension, or something?" This is just what they need, he thinks bitterly. Another evil other universe come to haunt them again. 

Will lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug. Sure, he spells out, I guess.

"You guess?" Mike asks, agitation creeping in, mingling with his fear and nervousness. "It's been a year, Will, you didn't learn anything about the place that- took you-"

Will snaps his fingers in front of Mike's face, Mike flushes, cutting himself off. "Sorry. Didn't mean to, like. Blame you, or anything."

Will's golden eyes dart all over Mike's face, eyebrows drawn together. He points back to the notebook, light particles spilling out across the page, leaving a trail that vanishes after a few seconds. A year?

"Oh," Mike says softly, not bothering to write it down this time. "Oh, yeah. You didn't know?"

Will shakes his head, looking suddenly very sad, and Mike hates himself for putting that look on Will's face again. Will only ever looks this sad when it comes to Mike, for some reason - that kicked-puppy look he'd get whenever Mike yelled at him or said something wrong. Mike swore to himself he'd stop doing that.

Didn't know for sure, Will mouths, and Mike's heart breaks a little.

He again resists the urge to reach for him, balling his hands up into fists and fighting tears. "I- yeah. It's been a year. And two days."

Will nods, processing, and leans over to spell out:

Happy late birthday.

Mike laughs when he finishes writing it out, tapping a finger against the page. "You remembered." Will gives him a look, and Mike smiles sheepishly. "I mean- of course you did. You're Will."

The last part comes out softly, reverent, because he is, even now after a year of being apart Will is still just himself, making fun of Mike and smiling at him and remembering arbitrary things like birthdays. It's a relief - Mike had worried that things would be different, after everything, and it's maybe a little different because they're gentler, now, than they had been the last time they saw each other, no more fighting and screaming in the rain and offering coded messages that ultimately did more harm than good. But that's a good change, Mike thinks. He can work with this. 

Will tilts his head to one side, fingers trailing over the page again, and Mike smiles as he puts it together: Focus, Mike.

"Sorry," he says softly, shifting on the ground a little. "Right. So you're stuck somewhere between here and the Upside Down? And you're, like. Projecting yourself here, somehow?"

Will narrows his eyes, nodding dubiously, and Mike smiles a little. "El and I might have theorized about it a little."

At El's name, Will's shoulders tense a little, and he searches Mike's face like he's trying to figure something out. Mike winces, remembering the weeks before they last saw each other, El's name spilling out of Mike's mouth every five seconds as he frantically attempted to sort through what he was feeling, to convince himself that maybe he could love her the right way, looking for an out when he realized he couldn't. He wishes he'd had the sense to break things off sooner - years sooner, even - so that he could have used his breath talking about more important things. Things like Will. It pains him that even after everything- after Mike and El broke up and Mike bitched and moaned to Will about it, after they fought in the rain and Mike somehow failed to confront him about the painting anyway, after they kissed on a battlefield right before Mike lost Will for the thousandth time- even after all that, El's name in Mike's mouth still gives Will pause. It makes sense, but it hurts anyway.

"We're friends now," Mike amends, because he knows Will well enough to know what that expression means and knows that Will is far too good to verbalize it. Or- spell it out with Mike's shitty handwriting on a notebook page. "Me and El. Just... just friends."

Will meets his eyes, smiling a little. Got it, he mouths, and Mike gets the distinct impression he's being made fun of again but he doesn't particularly care because he can also see that Will's shoulders have relaxed again.

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbles. "Tell me about the in-between."

Will laughs silently again, hunching over and gesturing for Mike to pick up the pen again. Mike obliges, and scribbles Will's message as quickly as possible. It's not bad, Will says, chewing on his lip as he writes. Not like the UD. It's neutral.

"Makes sense, I guess," Mike says, fiddling with the end of his pen. "In-between, neutral territory."

It's not consistent, Will continues. Can't always hear you, but sometimes.

Mike pauses. "Hang on, you can hear me? Like, other times when I'm not here?"

Will nods, tapping the word sometimes again. 

Okay, that's something he's going to have to find out more about later, when there isn't a threat of Will disappearing again. He makes a face, but clears his throat and asks, "Um- okay, well, do you know- how are you here right now?"

Will taps out more letters, and Mike continues writing it down, handwriting getting worse by the second. Sounds work as a connection, Will says. I can latch on.

"Okay," Mike says slowly, brain working a mile a minute. "So- you hear sounds from here, and you can use them as like- a tether? And project yourself here?" Will nods, and Mike bites his lip as he considers. "Okay. But obviously you can't touch anything here, right?"

Will presses his lips together in a thin line. Don't know, he mouths. Inconsistent.

"Right," Mike muses, shifting on the ground and being careful not to touch Will. "Because the other night I tried to touch your shoulder and you disappeared, but last night you were here for a few seconds when you grabbed my hands, so..." he trails off, glancing at Will. "So we have to figure out why that is."

Will snaps his fingers, grinning. Yes, he mouths, and Mike laughs.

"Okay, cool," he says. "Cool. So- in theory, if I keep talking, you should be able to stay like as long as you want, right? 'Cause, like... sounds," he finishes lamely.

Will presses a hand to his mouth, eyes alight, and Mike can see his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. He scowls good-naturedly. "Hey, quit laughing, I'm right, aren't I?"

Will nods, still smiling around his hand. 

"I am right," Mike declares, satisfied. "Okay, so we can figure this out, right? We just have to, like- I don't know, I don't want you to disappear again but the only way seems like trial and error- Will, quit laughing!"

Will's got both hands pressed over his cheeks now, eyes closed and shoulders shaking, and Mike's convinced that if Will were able to move from his sitting position right now he'd be sprawled out on the ground laughing at him.

Sorry, Will mouths, then again, and again, and he looks so amused that Mike can't help but laugh a little too.

"You're so mean," he says, but his voice is far too soft and light and happy to hold any real malice.

Sorry, Will says again anyway, biting his lip and regaining some of his composure. He taps at the page again, and Mike folds his arms and watches dubiously. I missed you, Will spells out, glancing up at Mike through his lashes. That's all.

Mike softens, unfolding his arms. "Oh. I missed you too. I mean- you knew that, I told you that, and especially considering you could, like hear me sometimes, which I definitely want to know the specifics of but whatever- and, like-"

"Mike." All at once, Will's fingers are threaded through Mike's again, and his voice cuts through the darkness, shutting Mike the hell up. Mike glances at him, eyebrows drawn together.

"Will, what- you're going to fade again, what are you doing?"

"Trial and error," Will answers, smiling, and Mike might be imagining it but his voice sounds clearer tonight than it did last night. "Right?"

"Right," Mike echoes faintly, overwhelmed by the sensation of Will's hand in his. He can't believe he was actually considering, like, kissing him earlier, because if the feather-light touch of Will's fingertips brushing his hand is enough to send him into this stupor, he might have straight-up fainted or something at anything more concrete.

Will flashes in and out of existence a little as he shifts, trailing his thumb over the back of Mike's hand, and Mike clears his throat. "So. Um. You're still here, which is cool. Progress."

"Progress," Will agrees, placing his other hand on Mike's arm and digging his fingers in. Mike shivers. "Tell me something about Hawkins," Will says, still flashing in and out a little. Mike can feel his hand glitching between solidity and phantom state against his own. He holds on a little tighter, like he can keep Will here by sheer manifestation.

"Okay," he says, and Will gives him an encouraging look, clinging to him tightly. "Um- it's the same, basically. But worse, without you."

Will smiles, a little sadly. "How is everyone?"

"They didn't believe me when I told them I saw you, but whatever," Mike mutters under his breath, and Will raises an eyebrow. He course corrects, aware that pettiness is maybe not the best personality trait to be displaying in a time like this. "I- they're okay. Mostly. Jonathan stuck around to help out your mom, and he's... managing. He and Nancy are doing long-distance, but I don't think it's going so well. It's hard to be away from two people he loves at once, I think."

Will's face contorts into a frown, and Mike winces. "Sorry, that's kind of... depressing."

"Well, I did ask," Will allows, shrugging, and his grip on Mike's arm tightens. "Keep talking, I want to see how long I can stay. How's my mom?"

Mike smiles. "She's the only one besides me who believed you were still alive," he says softly. "We- she's kind of, like. I don't know. We talk a lot."

"You talk to my mother?" Will asks, laughing a little, and Mike scowls.

"Hey, don't make fun of me, she's a saint on Earth," he says defensively. "And it's not like we never talked before."

"Yeah, but- I don't know, that's funny to me. That's- good, Mike, I'm glad. Kind of weird, but I'm glad."

"Whatever. She was- nice to me, after everything. Didn't expect anything from me like our friends did. She's known us for so long, I think- she just understood how it was for me in a way no one else did."

Will regards him with a steadfast expression, smiling gently. "How was it for you, Mike?"

Mike swallows, glancing away. "It... I mean, I think you know," he whispers. "It was awful."

Will's eyes dart over his face, reading him the way he's always been able to, and he sighs. "I- okay, we're going to have a longer conversation about this later, when I'm not, like, about to disappear from existence, but- I need you to know that- I'm sorry. For leaving."

Mike groans, leaning away a little, but Will tugs him back into place, grip on him still insistent. "Don't apologize for that," he whines. "That's stupid."

"You're stupid," Will says softly, smirking a little, and Mike rolls his eyes.

"It had to happen, Will. It's okay, I forgive you."

"I- I know you do. But I'm still sorry."

"Okay, well, I'm sorry too," Mike says softly. "For everything. And- you're right, this is the wrong time to talk about it, but. That's, like. A blanket statement, at least. For now."

"For now," Will agrees, squeezing his hands, and his voice sounds distorted again. "I- shit, I knew this wouldn't work for long," he says, and he's glowing again, dust taking over his previously more defined features, and Mike yelps in protest as Will releases him. 

"I'll come back tomorrow," he says desperately, and Will has just enough time to smile at him before he fades into the night.

Mike sits back on his heels, flipping the notebook closed and smiling a little. "I love you," he whispers, just on the off chance that Will can hear him.

He might be imagining it, but it looks like a few light particles flash in the air before the darkness takes over again.

"Sounds," El muses, pacing the length of Mike's bedroom as he sits on his bed, watching impatiently. "Sounds are the tether. Okay."

"You've said that five times now," Mike says, leaning back against his pillows and staring up at the painting - Will's painting- that's hanging on his wall. Will's paladin persona stares back, and Mike smiles a little.

"I am processing," El replies, undeterred as she steps over a pile of Mike's laundry. She'd barged into his room approximately ten minutes after he got home from school, demanding to know what he'd found out the night before but barring any gross details, please, he is my brother. Mike had made a face but relayed the gist of the thing anyway, and now she's hopping around like an agitated bunny rabbit, trying to process the whole thing. "Okay. And he can be here if he holds onto something- onto you," she says pointedly, shooting him a self-satisfied little smirk, and he's not sure how he feels about this new dynamic between them but whatever. "Okay. So how do we bring him here permanently, is the question."

"Yeah, I know," Mike says, irritated. "We know all this. Any ideas?"

"I am thinking, Mike," she says, pausing her pacing long enough to glare at him. "I think that it has to be him," she says, eyes trailing up to the painting on the wall. "Because when you tried to touch him he disappeared, right? But both times he held your hands he was able to stay."

"I guess that's true," Mike says, sitting up a little straighter. "I didn't think of that."

She glances back over at him, unimpressed. "That is because you are a lovesick idiot."

Mike frowns. "Hey!"

She shrugs, flopping down beside him on the bed. "It is true. You are going back tonight, yes?"

"Yeah, tonight and every other night until I get him back," Mike says vehemently, and El bites back a smile.

"Right, of course," she agrees, and oh, yeah, Mike's probably not helping his case in the lovesick idiot department. "So- I don't know, tell him our theory. Try to, like, pull him out of it, or something."

Mike squints at her. "Like, what, just- drag him back into reality, or something?"

She glares. "Got any better ideas, loverboy?"

He groans. "You have got to stop talking to Max."

"That will never happen," El says primly, and Mike rolls his eyes in defeat.

"Whatever. It's- trial and error, this whole thing."

"Right," El says, amused. "Trial and error, sure."

Mike groans. "Okay, you know what, get out of my house-"

El does leave, eventually, after an hour and a half of back and forth over possible scenarios, possible explanations, and ultimately they land on the trial and error thing, definitively, and Mike rolls his eyes a lot and El glares a lot but it's good, mostly, this friendship thing between them. He likes it, likes being able to talk openly to her about this - from supernatural stuff to him-and-Will stuff in general - and that she acts like it's normal, because to her it probably is. He feels a little bad, actually, a little stupid, that he didn't come to her sooner, because El Hopper has always been sweet and understanding and has never held anything against him for long. And since the being-raised-in-a-lab thing has saved her from a lot of - societal influences - she sees no issue with Mike loving her brother. A boy. She makes him believe that there is no issue at all, actually, which is weird and wonderful and he loves her for it.

El spends at least twenty minutes fighting off Mrs. Wheeler's insistence that she stay for dinner, saying that Joyce and Hopper need her home. Mrs. Wheeler relents, eventually, but she shoots Mike a few knowing smiles that he absolutely detests.

"Stop that," he says, the second El's out the door, and she smiles innocently at him.

"It's just nice to see you happy again, Michael," she says, and he almost laughs in her face. He is happy again, sure- something resembling it, anyway- but the thought of it being related to El, and any reprise of their relationship, is ridiculous. Being El's boyfriend was one of the number one things that made him the most unhappy, in recent years, barring supernatural beings and losing Will Byers, of course. Even if she is sweet and understanding and he cares about her a lot.

Whatever. It doesn't matter what his mom thinks, because he knows the truth and El knows the truth and Will knows the truth, so. All things good, really. Provided he can get Will to stay, of course. But- details. Whatever. Will's alive, so nothing else matters, actually.

He suffers through a silent dinner where his mother smirks at him and his father eyes him warily and Holly throws peas at his head before he sneaks out to Castle Byers. He brings the notebook again, with a vague idea of maybe logging the different things that happen with the- dust, or whatever it is- but not having actually, like, written anything down. 

As soon as he gets to Castle Byers, he plops down in his spot from last night, pulling out his notebook and pen. "Will?" he calls. "Can you hear me?"

There's a glimmer of light in front of his face, and Mike grins. "Okay, hi, I'm here. I'm gonna just- yeah, I'm gonna keep talking so you can, like- follow my voice, right? Is that- how this works?"

The particles multiply and shift, and then Will is sitting in front of him.

"Cool," Mike breathes, and Will raises an amused eyebrow. He looks pointedly at the notebook, and Mike hurriedly flips it open, scooting over beside him. 

You're an idiot, Will spells out, and Mike lets out a surprised laugh.

"Wow, okay, insulting me right off the bat, I guess," he says, and Will shrugs, grinning wickedly. Mike rolls his eyes. "Okay. El and I have a new theory, wanna hear?"

Will nods eagerly, and Mike smiles a little, endeared by the way Will's hair brushes across his forehead as it moves. "Alright, so- we think that, like, the traveling thing only works if you're the one interacting with reality, not the other way around, which is why you disappeared when I touched your shoulder but you were able to stay when you grabbed my hands. You need something to, like, hold on to, I guess," he says, blushing a little, and Will grins.

He reaches out and places a hand on Mike's knee, and Mike can feel the jolt of warmth as Will solidifies a little. "Like this?" Will asks teasingly, and Mike's heart does a weird flippy thing in his chest.

"I- yeah, like that," he says breathily, and Will laughs. 

"It's getting easier," he says, tapping out a pattern on Mike's leg. "I don't know why, maybe I'm just getting used to it, but even this is easier than last night."

"Oh, that's- great, awesome," Mike says, still blushing as Will leans into him, a little, arms pressing against each other. "So I guess we just, like. See how long it takes, right?"

"Right," Will says, bumping his shoulder against Mike's, and only a few light particles spill out from the point of contact. "Tell me something about Hawkins," he says for a second time. "Something, like. Less depressing than last night."

Mike huffs out a wry laugh, leaning into his side even as Will glitches in and out a little. "In my defense, it's Hawkins. It's kind of always depressing."

"Mike," Will says, rolling his eyes, and Mike holds up his hands in defeat.

"Sorry, sorry. Um- Lucas is still doing basketball. We go to all his games."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Mike says with a smile. "I mean- I haven't, like, tried to do school or extracurriculars or anything in months, but- I knew you'd want me to go, and I knew it meant a lot to him, so. I went. And so did everyone else."

"That's- good, Mike," Will says, a little sadly. "I'm glad. But- are you really not- with school and everything-"

"Will, come on," Mike groans, covering his face with one hand. "Let's not do this."

"Wh- I'm worried about you, though!"

"Okay, well the quickest way to remedy that is to get you back in the real world with me, so- let's focus on that."

Will regards him with no small amount of concern, and he looks so sweet and caring and beautiful and Mike wants to kiss him so badly but he can't, not yet, because Will isn't really here and Mike hasn't said all he needs to and it's not- it's not the right time.

He clears his throat, glancing away. "So tell me," he says, and Will taps his knee again gently, "How did you reach out to me, that first night? With the- lights, and everything. I swear I heard you talking to me, too."

"Oh," Will says, tilting his head to one side. "I- yeah, I don't really know. I've been working on trying to get back, for- a year now, I guess- and I'm not sure. The In-Between, it's weird, it's like what I imagine El sees when she does her dreamwalking thing? Like, it's all dark, but the ground is, like, liquid or something, and I can see the reflection of Hawkins in it- the real Hawkins, not the Upside Down version, so I can kinda pick places to be." His hand continues to tap Mike's knee thoughtfully, and Mike dares to reach out and cover Will's hand on his own. Will pauses, flickering a little, and they both wait to see if he'll disappear, but he doesn't. Mike grins, threading his fingers through Will's, and Will squeezes his hand gently before continuing. "Anyway, I figured out if I lay down and, like, submerge myself in the water or liquid or whatever it is, I can get halfway back, and I can hear things here. And- I heard you, that night, crying in the basement- don't look so embarrassed, Mike, it was heartbreaking, okay- and, I don't know. I tried to call for you, and I guess you heard me."

Mike swallows back the lump in his throat, blinking hard. "Oh," he whispers. 

Will tugs on Mike's hand, pulling it up to his face and kissing Mike's knuckles gently. Mike smiles, flushing a little, and Will drags a thumb over the back of his hand. "I think I would have gone crazy," Will confesses in a whisper, leaning his chin on his and Mike's intertwined hands. "If I didn't know you were still out there. I mean, obviously I knew, just- I don't know, sometimes I needed to hear your voice. So. It's not like I was listening all the time, but... I just missed you, sometimes."

"Crazy together," Mike says softly, smiling, and Will kisses his hand again. 

They fall silent, both a little flushed and embarrassed and sweet, until Will's form glitches again and Mike startles, muttering a soft curse. "Shit," he whispers.

Will groans, squeezing his hand tighter. "Ugh, okay. I- it's getting easier, but there's still-" he glitches again, and his grip on Mike's hand loosens. "I'm sorry, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Don't apologize," Mike insists, squeezing Will's fingers one more time before letting go. "I'll be back, promise." 

Will smiles, offering a small wave, and Mike waves back until Will fades away entirely, blinking away like the fading embers of a fire.

Mike can't, for the life of him, contain a dopey grin as he collects his things and climbs back onto his bike.

After that, it becomes a regular thing. The next night, Mike thinks to bring a watch, and he and Will use the notebook to log the amount of time it takes before Will disappears in a haze of gold glitter. The night after that, Mike brings a blanket, and he drapes it over both their shoulders as they lean against each other, talking softly and filling each other in about the past year. Mike tells him about school and Nancy's college and his parents' failure to be helpful in any way whatsoever, and Will tells him about the In-Between, things he's heard and what it's felt like, and Mike wants to kiss him. He doesn't, but he's pretty sure Will can tell what he's thinking anyway. By the third night, Will takes Mike's hands without hesitation, and Mike leans his forehead against Will's as he starts the stopwatch.

They test out different things: Specter-Will tries to pick up the pen, and it falls through his hands. Mike scribbles a note in the margins of their notebook that Will can only interact with living things. Will takes his hand, solidifies, picks up the pen and replaces living things with Mike. Mike blushes, and Will pretends not to notice.

They test out what happens if Mike stays silent, giving Will no sound connection to hold on to and not touching him. This is a uniquely terrible experience, because Mike Wheeler has never excelled at staying silent for lengthy amounts of time, and Will laughs at him the entire time. You always lost at the quiet game, he spells out with the notebook. When we were kids. Mike rolls his eyes, and Will effectively ends the experiment by poking a finger into Mike's arm. "It wasn't as easy," he says, as Mike logs the trial. "I had to actively work to stay here, but I could do it. Plus I could still hear, like, your breathing, so I focused on that."

"Jesus, do I really breathe that loud?"

"Well, you're not particularly quiet about it, let's put it that way."

On night four, Mike brings a flashlight, and he tests out what happens when he shines it at Will's ghostly frame. The light goes right through him, at least until Will reaches out and grabs hold of Mike's arm, at which point he solidifies a little and the light stays trained on his chest. "That's why we have to meet at night," Will says, reaching over and flicking the flashlight off. "I don't think you'd be able to see me in the daylight."

"Sure. Plus, you know, I have, like, school and stuff."

Will rolls his eyes. "We both know you don't care about that," he says, and Mike sticks his tongue out at him.

"Why here, by the way?" Mike asks on the fifth night, as Will rests his head on his shoulder. Mike's watch ticks away, the minutes adding up higher than the previous night. The more time they spend together, the longer Will is able to stay, or at least so it seems. Mike just hasn't quite figured out how to seal the deal yet, to keep him here forever, but the evidence is heartening, at least.

"Hmm?" Will says absently, tracing a circle over the inside of Mike's wrist.

"Castle Byers," he explains, glancing around at the wreckage they're sitting in. It barely even looks like anything anymore - two years' worth of weather and greedy Hawkins residents looking for firewood have reduced the crumpled structure to nothing more than a pile of broken plywood. Most people probably don't even notice it, if they ever pass through this stretch of woods. The thought makes Mike unbearably sad. "Why here?"

"Oh." Will follows his gaze, shrugging. "I dunno. It was always my safe space, I guess. Even if it's not there anymore."

Mike's stomach twists. "I'm sorry about that," he murmurs. "You know that, right? I'm- I'm sorry for making you feel like you couldn't- like you had to do that. I mean, I know you said the storm destroyed it, but..."

"You knew I lied," Will finishes softly, pressing his thumb against Mike's pulse point. "I figured you did."

"I knew you lied about the painting, too," Mike says, and Will's fingers dig a little deeper into his skin. He meets his eyes, and Will's expression clearly states that that's another conversation entirely. Mike continues anyway. "I- got confused, in the pizza freezer, but before that, I knew. I'm sorry I didn't say anything in the moment."

"Well, I'm sorry for lying," Will says, eyes flicking away again, and Mike wants to chase his gaze, to crowd against him and have Will really, truly look at him. He wants to be seen. 

He doesn't express this, but he does squeeze Will's hand. "Don't be sorry. You're not the one who messed everything up in the first place."

Will sighs. "Mike, let's not do this right now. That was a long time ago, and-"

"I haven't even apologized for all of it, though," Mike argues, knocking his elbow against Will's. Will glitches, but only slightly. "I never explained myself."

"I didn't need you to," Will says, sounding almost annoyed, and his hand circles Mike's wrist as he leans back to look at him. "Did you really think I did?"

"It's not about that!" Mike says, agitated, and he gestures vaguely in the air, jerking Will's arm around with him. Will frowns and clings harder so that he won't dissipate, and Mike reluctantly drops his hands back into his lap. "It's not. I just- it's the principle of the thing. I want to tell you everything. Even if you don't need me to."

"Another time, Mike," Will says softly, tucking his thumb up underneath the edge of Mike's jacket sleeve. "When I'm back, we can talk about everything, okay?"

Mike stares him down for a few beats before relenting. "Yeah, okay."

There's a pause. Then Mike clears his throat, hunching in on himself a little. "You... you know, though, don't you? How I feel. I just- need to know that you know. Just in case."

Will meets his eyes again, smiling faintly. "I know, Mike. I promise."

"Good."

Will puts his head back on Mike's shoulder, and they sit silently together until Will starts to fade. 

On night six, Will appears the second Mike steps off his bike, and once again Mike demands if his breathing is that loud, really.

Will shrugs, expression carefully blank, and Mike sighs as he sits down and offers up his hand. Will takes it, and they regard each other solemnly as he solidifies. 

Will cracks first. "I'm sorry if I seemed mean last night."

"You didn't," Mike says softly. "I'm just- stressed, I guess. I'm sorry too." He feels like he could tell Will he's sorry every day for the rest of his life and still not ever come close to making up for it. For the things he's done, said - for the things he continues to mess up, even now. Sometimes, on his worst nights, he thinks he might just be fundamentally broken. That he'll never learn how to stop hurting the people he cares about. How to stop hurting Will.

"We're going to figure it out, Mike," Will whispers, squeezing his hand and looking at him with such earnesty that Mike's heart breaks, a little. He doesn't sound like he's just talking about the In-Between.

"Yeah, I know," he murmurs, gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. "I'm not losing you again," he murmurs, a quiet mantra, a command.

"You're not," Will agrees, and it sounds like a promise. He tilts his head forward and presses his forehead against Mike's, and they both fall silent for a few minutes as Mike traces circles over the back of Will's hand, and Will's right - this doesn't feel like losing. It feels like gaining a whole lot, actually - something that can be stripped away, but not something that will ever fade entirely.

"Hey, I was thinking," Will says after a beat, not looking up from his hand in Mike's, "about what you said last night, about Castle Byers. I mean, you were right, there's no particular reason why we have to do this here-"

"I didn't mean it that way," Mike interrupts, pulling back enough to look Will in the eyes again. "It wasn't, like, an accusation or something-"

"I know you didn't," Will says impatiently, placing a reassuring hand over the back of Mike's, sandwiching Mike's fingers between both of his palms. "I didn't mean to imply that's what you meant, just- I thought maybe tomorrow night I should try to come to you, instead."

Mike frowns. "Oh. Oh, I hadn't thought of that, actually, yeah. Basement?" he asks, and feels oddly shy with the request, like there's something intimate about it, like Will hasn't spent half his childhood there anyway.

Will nods, smiling. "Whenever you call for me."

So Mike does call for him. As soon as he's sure everyone else in the house is asleep on night seven, he creeps down to the basement, flicking on the fairy lights strung up throughout the room - a gift-slash-pawn-off from Joyce a few years ago- and sits down on the floor. "Will?" he whispers, tapping his fingers nervously against the rug, then louder: "Will!"

What if something went wrong? What if Will can't actually reach him here, for whatever reason, and gets stuck somewhere in the void, unable to communicate with him? What if Mike has to lose him all over again and not even be sure of it until weeks later, when Will continues to not show up and he's forced to accept his fate? What if-

Will appears before him all at once, gold glitter filling the room, and Mike's entire body relaxes. "Oh, thank God," he says, not particularly caring if Will thinks he's being dramatic. "Hey, hi."

Will glances around, taking in the room. Since last year, more of Will's old drawings have gone up on the wall, more fairy lights have been strewn across the ceiling just in case. It's a bit of a shrine to him, Mike realizes belatedly, as embarrassment creeps in. "I, um," he says, not really knowing how to explain the interior design shift in any way other than I missed you, which he's already said to Will a frankly gross amount over the past few days. "I've spent a lot of time down here recently," he says, which is true and less redundant than the other thing.

Will smiles, and when he glances back at Mike, his eyes are wet. Mike extends a hand, and Will links his pinky finger through Mike's, locking them together and bringing their intertwined hands up to his lips. Light spreads like a wave from their point of contact, slowly washing over Will until he's solid again, just like always. He kisses Mike's fingertips, and Mike resists the urge to tackle him to the ground and kiss him properly. 

"I didn't even know you still had all those drawings," Will says, lips still brushing Mike's knuckles. 

"Of course I did," Mike replies, frowning a little. "Did you think I'd get rid of them or something?"

Will shrugs. "I don't know. Not really, but some of these are, like, old. And not that good."

"Everything you make is perfect," Mike argues, and Will laughs.

"Well, I haven't done any art in a year now, so I guess we'll have to see if my abilities still hold up," he says lightly.

Mike swallows hard. "Oh. Right."

Will sighs. "Don't look so sad about it, Mike."

"Don't say sad things!"

"They're just drawings," Will says, maybe a little regretfully, and places his free hand on Mike's cheek. 

"Not to me," Mike insists quietly, a stray tear slipping out of the corner of his eye and trailing down his face, getting caught on Will's fingertips. Will brushes it away gently, and Mike can feel the light particles like warm little pinpricks against his skin. "Not if they're yours."

Something about this must strike a chord, because Will's eyebrows draw together a little disbelievingly, like he can't believe Mike could actually care this much about something so arbitrary, for no other reason than the fact that it came from Will. He clears his throat, glancing down at his lap. "I- do you have the notebook?"

"Yeah," Mike answers, a little confused at the subject change but willing to roll with it because Will never says anything without good reason and this is kind of a depressing conversation anyway. He leans away just a little, and Will's hands shift to grip the sleeve of his sweater as he grabs the notebook and pen off the coffee table and hands them over.

"Okay, give me a minute," Will murmurs, flipping to a blank page and picking up the pen, leaving one hand on Mike's arm. Mike smiles as Will clicks the pen open, pressing the tip against the page, and then Will's hand is moving expertly across the page like it always used to, and Mike decides he's calling bullshit on the abilities holding up thing, because of course they do, Will Byers forgetting how to draw would be like Mike forgetting how to love him. Not possible. He watches silently as Will draws solid, confident lines across the page, his other hand twitching against Mike's arm and bunching up the fabric of his sleeve as he clings to him. After a few silent minutes, Will glances up, meeting Mike's eyes for a half second before going back to staring intently at the page. "Come over here," he murmurs, not looking up as he goes back to sketching. "I need to use my other hand for smudging but I don't want to fade."

Mike nods, shifting carefully over until he's sitting beside Will. Will keeps a careful hand on his arm, trailing his fingers up and down it absently as he continues to sketch. "Good?" Mike asks, leaning into his side a little, and Will spares him another half-glance, pen poised over the page. 

"Good," he replies, but then he's tugging Mike closer, wrapping himself up in Mike until he's seated in front of him, Mike's arms ending up looped around his waist and chin resting on Will's shoulder. "That's better," Will says, a little smugly, and goes back to sketching. "But don't look at what I'm drawing yet."

"'Kay," Mike says softly, tilting his head to look at Will instead, face still resting against his shoulder. Will looks so- focused, like this, like there is nothing more important than the pen in his hands and the paper it's scratching against, and Mike decides he is also calling bullshit on the they're just drawings thing, too, because nothing could be just anything when Will regards it with this expression. 

"You're staring," Will says, still not looking up, but his mouth twitches up into a wry little smile.

"You're pretty," Mike counters, which is true, and he grins at the blush that spreads over Will's cheeks at the words.

"Shut up, you're breaking my concentration," he mumbles, and Mike hugs his waist a little tighter.

They sit in silence, Mike's eyes trained firmly on Will's face and Will's eyes trained firmly on the paper, until Will pauses, sets his pen aside, and wipes his palms on his jeans, eyeing his work. "Okay, done. You can look."

Mike grins, tearing his eyes away from Will long enough to accept the notebook as Will hands it to him, twisting around in Mike's arms and leaning into his side a little.

"Holy shit," Mike breathes as he trails a finger down the page, tears burning the backs of his eyes again. "It's us."

It's a sketch of the first night at Castle Byers, Will's frame dotted and smudged in a pretty accurate imitation of his ghostly form, one hand lifted up and hovering just under Mike's. Their eyes are locked on each other as Will smiles faintly and Mike regards him with an awed sort of expression, all lovestruck and incredulous and happy and sad as he gazes at Will, tears collecting at the edges of his eyes, and dimly it occurs to Mike to be embarrassed that Will can read him so effortlessly, but it also warms him from the inside out because of course Will can, even after all this time and distance. Of course Will knows. He told him so two nights ago. 

There's a little note scrawled in the margin, and Mike squints as he deciphers it - for all Will's mockery, he's not exactly the poster child for good handwriting either. 

He smiles when he sees what it says: Not a ghost.

"Not a ghost," Mike echoes out loud, and Will smiles, resting his forehead against the side of Mike's face. Mike drags a hand up Will's back and tangles it in Will's hair, and Will doesn't even glitch at the touch this time. He'll have to log that later. "Thank God."

"Not bad for someone who hasn't touched a pencil in a year, right?" Will teases, and Mike huffs out a watery laugh.

"Not bad at all," he whispers. "Can I keep this?"

"Yeah, 'course. It's for you," Will says, and something petty and selfish in Mike's chest preens at the words. He's missed this - Will's artwork in his hands, the quiet assurances that yes, Mike, you can have it, I made it for you, you can have it all as far as I'm concerned. Will's always been far too good to him that way. Mike gets the sense, sometimes, that Will would give him anything he wanted, if only Mike asked. Mike's sketched-out expression says the same.

He holds Will tighter, clutching the drawing to his chest and pressing his face against the top of Will's head. "You're incredible, you know that?" he whispers into Will's hair, and Will taps his fingers lightly against Mike's collarbone.

"So are you," he says softly, breath warm against Mike's neck, and okay- Mike hadn't previously thought of Will breathing as being, like, particularly groundbreaking, other than the fact it signifies his general being alive-ness, but the proof of it makes his chest squeeze painfully, a reminder that Will is actually here, yanked back into reality just from being with Mike, and maybe that's the most incredible thing, actually, rather than either of them separately, is this thing that they've managed to pull off just by being around each other. 

They fall asleep like that, leaned up against the end of the couch and arms around each other, Will's face tucked into the crook of Mike's neck.

When Mike wakes, Will is gone, the only sign he was ever there being a few gold particles scattered across the sketchbook in Mike's lap.

Oh, well. The log book can take one blank entry.

The morning after night seven, El makes it her responsibility to get involved again.

"He is getting stronger," she says by way of greeting, barging into the basement with zero warning and collapsing on the couch above Mike. He's still sprawled out on the floor, tracing his fingertips over Will's drawing, over not a ghost, his eyes going a little blurry with it. It's Saturday morning, and he has nowhere to be, so he's devoted his energy to being a lovesick idiot. He thinks it's a good use of time, all things considered. 

El waits a few beats, and when he doesn't respond, she leans over and flicks the side of his head. "Mike. Focus."

"Sorry," he says, flipping the notebook closed and sitting up. "Who's getting stronger?"

El gives him an impatient look. "Will. Did he draw that?"

Mike flushes scarlet, holding the notebook to his chest protectively. He hadn't meant for her to see. "Um- maybe."

"So he can interact with inanimate objects," El muses, tapping a finger against the coffee table.

"Only when we already have the connection going, though," Mike points out, stretching and climbing up to join her on the couch. 

She chooses not to acknowledge this, even though it's sort of important information, and leans back against the cushions. "How long did he stay last night?"

Mike's been filling her in, if only vaguely, since last week- he's shown her their time log and everything, but until this point she's mostly just nodded along and stayed quiet, clearly trying not to get in the middle of it. That, evidently, is over. "I don't know," he answers, pointedly avoiding El's eyes as he picks at a loose thread on the couch. "We fell asleep."

"You fell asleep," El repeats, utterly unimpressed.

"Uh huh," Mike says, meeting her eyes and glaring, daring her to lecture him.

Unfortunately, El is not even a little bit afraid of him, and goes right ahead with the lecture. "Mike, I know that I said you should do this on your own, but if you do not focus-"

"I am focused!" Mike protests, crossing his arms and folding in on himself. "I am, we're keeping the time log and everything, it's fine."

"Okay, except that you are not actually keeping the time log-"

"It was one time!"

"I think we have to tell Joyce," El says, crossing her arms. "She needs to know."

"El, no," Mike groans, covering his face with his hands. "We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because- what if we can't get him back?" Mike asks in a whisper. "I'm- I can't lose him again, El, I really can't, but just if it happened- it'd be bad enough that I'd have to go through it again, and I'd be dragging you down with me, but Joyce? She's- we can't do that to her."

El sighs, reaching out and taking Mike's hand. "Mike, I understand. But she deserves to know. And she might be able to help you."

"What happened to me doing it on my own?"

"I still believe that. But he's her son, Mike."

Which is how Mike finds himself at the Byers-Hopper residence at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning, El standing behind him with her arms folded as he knocks on the door.

Joyce opens the door, smiling widely when she sees them. "Mike!" she cheers, opening her arms and folding him in a hug. "Good to see you, sweetie. El, I thought you were staying at Max's until tonight?"

"Change of plans," El says evenly, brushing past them both into the house. "Mike has something to tell you."

Joyce pulls back, frowning. "What does that mean?" she asks, glancing back and forth between them as El settles herself primly on the end of the couch.

Mike sighs. "Your daughter is a menace, did you know?"

The corner of Joyce's mouth twitches. "I did know. Here, come in, hon," she says, gesturing him inside, and they all take up positions in the living room, Joyce folded up in a chair across from El and Mike as they slump on the couch. 

"Is everything okay?" Joyce asks, curling her fingers around her tea mug and taking a sip. She's still in her pajamas, a ratty old sweatshirt thrown over, and despite her cheerful demeanor Mike can see the sadness in the way she hunches in on herself, making herself smaller. It's the same thing he did, up until seven days ago, and it makes his heart ache a little.

El reaches over and pinches his arm, hard, and Mike chokes out; "Will's alive."

Joyce freezes, eyes wide and hands stilling on her cup, steam rising silently around her face as she processes. "He is?" she asks softly, mouth barely moving like she's afraid if she speaks too loudly it'll refute the words.

"He is," Mike confirms, and El's hand settles into an iron grip on his wrist as tears burn the back of his throat. "And I should have told you sooner, but it's a complicated situation and I didn't want to get your hopes up and-"

"Mike." Joyce springs into motion all at once, setting her mug down and reaching out to place a hand on his knee. "You- you found him?"

Mike bobs his head. "Yeah, well- he found me, technically, but yeah."

"Oh my God." Joyce presses her free hand over her mouth, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I can't believe it. Where is- can I see him?"

Mike glances at El for help, and she widens her eyes like this is your problem. He glances back at Joyce, biting his lip. "You can," he says carefully. "If you want. But he's not- he's stuck. In another dimension." He swallows. "Again," he adds lamely, and Joyce inhales shakily.

"That boy," she says, laughing a little. "Bad track record in that department, huh? So he's in the Upside Down?"

"Not- no, he's not," Mike says, and El shoves the notebook in his face helpfully. "Um. Apparently when Vecna died, he, like- tried to take Will down with him, but the gates closed so it didn't quite work, and Will got stuck, like. In-between."

"In between," Joyce repeats softly, eyes narrowed as she processes. She looks so focused, and Mike is all at once reminded of the woman he knew four years ago, that awful week when Will was gone the first time and they didn't know why - the woman who barged straight into the police department and screamed at Jim Hopper until he agreed to help her. The woman who told everyone around her for a week that her son was alive, even when his body lay motionless just a few rooms over. The steeliness in her eyes is back in full force now, after a year of laying dormant, only appearing in moments of conviction - we were right once before - and it's terrifying and thrilling and gratifying for Mike, the only other who's ever believed when things were hopeless. "Okay," Joyce says, and Mike can hear the confidence setting in. "So how can you see him, then?"

"Well," Mike says, flipping the notebook open to Will's sketch. "He figured out how to project a version of himself here. So- I can see this, like, ghost-like version of him, and then if he holds onto me he solidifies and I can hear him and talk to him and everything."

He pushes the drawing over to Joyce, ignoring the selfish part of him that screams in protest at sharing Will's art with anyone, and she trails a finger over it. "Will- he drew this?" she asks, voice thick with tears. 

"Yeah," Mike says softly. "That's what he looks like when he first appears. Apparently sounds help him find the connection to project himself, but he's all distorted unless he has something to hold on to."

"Unless he has Mike to hold on to," El corrects, and Mike shoots her a glare. "What? It is true. Your connection is important, I am convinced of it."

Joyce hands the notebook back, wiping her face with her sleeve. "She's probably right, you know," she says gently. "He called for you, right?"

"Yeah," Mike says, trailing his finger down the spine of the notebook. "I guess he did."

Joyce smiles at him. "Right. So how do we bring him back?"

Mike groans, flopping back onto the couch and covering his face with his hands. "I have absolutely no idea."

Joyce laughs softly, unfolding herself from the chair and walking over to sit beside him on the couch and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, sweetie, it's okay. You'll figure it out."

"He is keeping a log," El says, wrenching the notebook out of his hands and flipping open to the timesheet. "Of how long Will is able to stay. It gets better each time."

Joyce examines the log, arm still wrapped comfortingly around Mike's shoulders. "Why is the one from last night not finished?"

"They fell asleep," El announces, and Mike shoots another glare in her direction.

Joyce glances up at him, amused. "You fell asleep? Both of you?"

"Shut up, it was two in the morning!" Mike whines. "I- whatever, I don't have to defend myself. The point is, Joyce, he's alive. And- I'm going to bring him back for real, I promise."

She smiles, eyes swimming with tears, and tugs him into a tight hug. "Thank you, Mike. You're a good kid, you know that?"

She tells him that constantly - you're a good kid, Mike, I'm proud of you, you're going to be okay. Mike usually protests, but the way she's clinging to him right now tells him better. Almost makes him believe it. He buries his face in her shoulder, fighting back tears of his own, and whispers, "I do my best."

"This is awkward for me," El announces, and Mike extends an arm to her, dragging her into the hug, and she laughs as she tilts her head onto his shoulder. 

"It's going to be okay," Joyce says, and Mike decides he believes her after all.

"I talked to your mom today."

Will looks up from where he's seated on the basement floor, poring over the timesheet, looking vaguely alarmed. "You did what?"

Mike adjusts his grip on Will's arm, pressing his thumb against the side of Will's wrist. "I talked to your mom. I told her you're alive."

An odd look passes over Will's face, and he suddenly becomes very interested in doodling circles over the edge of the page. "What did she say?" he asks, voice a little strangled.

"I don't know," Mike says, confidence wavering a little as Will digs the pen firmly into the page. "I-I told her I was going to bring you back, and she thanked me and that was kind of it."

Will presses his lips in a thin line, pen threatening to poke straight through the paper. "Huh."

"What? Is something wrong?"

"No, just..." Will looks up at the ceiling, blinking hard. "I don't know. I- what if- I don't want her to, like. Get her hopes up."

Mike grimaces. "I did think of that. And for the record, it was El's idea. She has zero boundaries, by the way."

"You don't have any boundaries either, Mike."

Mike frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Will glances at him, a tiny smile playing across his lips. "Nothing. Just- you've always been, like. A lot. That's all."

"You're a lot," Mike mutters sullenly, and Will laughs quietly, tapping a finger against Mike's knee. Mike inches closer, curling his fingers against Will's wrist, and Will pointedly goes back to doodling.

Mike lets it slide for exactly twelve seconds before he clears his throat.

Will gives him a look, setting the pen down. "What?"

Mike takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he huffs, biting his lip and glancing down at Will's hands wrapped around his, "If I made a mistake by telling her. But she's your mom and she deserves to know, and I'm going to bring you back so it doesn't matter, okay? You don't have to worry."

Will raises an eyebrow, smirking a little. "Obviously I'm very worried."

"And obviously I am too," Mike says gently, laughing as Will tilts forward to rest his head on his shoulder. "But I'm powering through, okay? We're going to figure this out." He brings up a hand to rest at the back of Will's head, and Will's golden haze wavers in and out a little but doesn't fade entirely.

"Yeah, okay," Will says softly, lips brushing against Mike's collarbone. "I believe in you. In- us."

Mike grins, tilting his head down until his face is tucked in beside Will's. "Will," he whispers, and Will immediately shakes his head, pressing a hand against Mike's chest.

"Not now, Mike," he murmurs. 

"When?" Mike asks softly, nosing at the side of Will's face until Will reluctantly tilts his face up to look at him, blinking sleepily at him. 

"Another time," Will insists, which is absolutely not an answer, and lifts his hand to press against the side of Mike's neck. 

Mike leans into his touch, and Will curls his fingers around the curve of Mike's jaw. "Why?" he whispers, painfully aware of how close they are. Their noses are nearly brushing, and if Mike tilted his face up just a little-

No. He won't. Not like this. 

"Because," Will says, and then he's leaning back, keeping one hand on Mike's knee and using the other to go back to sketching.

Mike scowls, and Will smirks at him, reaching up to tap the end of the pen against his nose. "If you drop it, I'll draw you another picture," Will hedges.

"William Byers, are you bribing me?"

Will lifts a shoulder in a shrug, eyes alight. "Is it working?"

Mike trails his eyes all over Will's face, taking him in. It's only night eight. He's only had this beautiful boy back for eight days, and it's been weird and wonderful and it hurts, a little, because Mike's chest is full of things he doesn't know how to begin to express and Will's face is so beautiful and there, for the first time in a year, and Mike loves him so much and it hurts so badly. 

So- yeah. He can let it go. For now. For Will.

"Yes," he says, letting his face fall back into an easy smile. "Yeah. Draw something for me."

Will smiles, relief seeping out of his every movement as he straightens his spine and flips to a blank page in the notebook. "Any requests?"

"You mean like a-" Mike stops himself just short of saying the word commission as Will sends him a burning glare.

"Michael. We have an agreement."

"Yep, sorry. Draw whatever you want."

Will gives him another scathing- but slightly more affectionate- look as he starts sketching, and Mike curls closer to him and watches in fascination as two figures take shape. 

"How do you do it?" he asks softly, resting his head against Will's shoulder. Will shifts, wrapping an arm around Mike's waist and tapping out an absentminded pattern against his t-shirt. 

"Do what?" Will murmurs, not pausing the movements of his pen against the paper. 

"Just- make that," Mike says, gesturing to the page even though there's no that to speak of yet, just a couple of vague outlines. "So easily."

"I have the picture in my head," Will says slowly, speech stilted as he focuses on drawing a nose on one of the figures. "And then... I... draw... it."

"That is the worst explanation I've ever heard," Mike says flatly, and Will lifts his hand from where it's resting at Mike's waist to flick at his ribcage. 

"I draw what's important to me," he amends, eyes flicking up to Mike's for the briefest second before refocusing on the page. "And that makes it easier to visualize, I guess."

"That's better," Mike says, settling back into Will's side and grinning as he recognizes the figures in the picture. "You're- drawing me, though. Us."

"Mike, I thought we agreed to drop it."

"We did! I'm just- I'm important to you?"

Will sighs, setting down his pen and glancing up at Mike. "Yes, Mike. You're very important to me. Now shut up and let me finish this, please."

Mike grins. "That's all I needed," he says happily, and watches as Will goes back to drawing.

Gradually, the scene takes shape on the page - it's a younger version of the two of them, curled up in Castle Byers reading comic books. Will's head is resting on Mike's shoulder, and Mike is pointing to something on the page, face lit up. Will is looking up at him, amused and endeared, and Mike's hand is curled protectively around Will's shoulders. As he draws, Mike's stomach swoops with something warm and a little melancholy, maybe, a bittersweet reminder of what he's lost. The boys on the page are undeniably them, but it's also so different from the people that are sitting here now - the moment Will's bringing them back to was pre-Upside Down, before demons both literal and metaphorical destroyed every aspect of their lives. The boys on this page are not yet aware of the horrors the world has to offer. They are not yet aware of what the love they feel will become - something burning and twisting and sometimes ugly, something that will hurt them just as much as it helps. They don't know what a double-edged sword their relationship can be.

Will finishes the last few lines, then tears out the page and hands it to Mike. "Here. As promised."

Mike's not sure when he started crying, but his face is wet as he accepts the sketch. He shoves his face into Will's shoulder, tears staining Will's shirt. "I'll help you rebuild it," he whispers, face warm with the light seeping from Will. "When you're here for real, I- I want that back."

"What, Castle Byers?" Will asks, carding a hand through his hair gently and cradling his head with his fingers. "Mike, it's fine, it's in the past."

"I don't want it to be, though," Mike protests, and he can feel Will's sigh from where he's curled up against him. "And I know you don't want to talk about this yet and that's fine but I just- that can't be how it ends."

Will shifts, pulling Mike closer. "Yeah, okay," he murmurs, tucking his face in against the top of Mike's head. "We can rebuild."

It doesn't sound like he's just talking about Castle Byers.

On night nine, Mike can immediately tell something's wrong. Will appears on the floor at exactly 12:00 a.m., expression hazy and looking exhausted. He smiles weakly at Mike, but his gaze quickly drifts away, over the drawings on the walls and the lights on the ceiling, and something dark and sad settles in his eyes. This is Will's most subdued expression, the face he used to make after his father said something especially cruel or the kids at school hurled insults or, in more recent years, he had a nightmare or flashback or panic attack.

"Will?" Mike asks softly, shifting closer and offering up a hand. "What's wrong?"

Will hesitates before taking his hand - something that he hasn't done since the first few nights he appeared, and Mike is about to retract his palm, suddenly unsure of himself, when Will reluctantly slots his fingers through Mike's. 

He solidifies, but doesn't immediately speak. Mike tugs on his hand gently, brushing his thumb over Will's knuckles. "Hey. Are you okay?"

Will bobs his head, biting his lip and not meeting Mike's eyes.

Mike narrows his eyes at him, shifting closer. "I'm gonna need a verbal confirmation at some point."

Will sighs, gaze drifting to somewhere above Mike's head. "Yes, Mike, I'm fine."

"You're being weird, though."

"I'm always weird."

"No, I'm always weird. You're supposed to be the consistent one." The corner of Will's mouth twitches. Mike counts it as a win. "What's going on?" he presses, leaning in and bumping his nose against Will's until Will has no choice but to look at him.

"Nothing," Will says softly. "Nothing, it's- not important."

"Bullshit," Mike says immediately, and Will gives him a long-suffering look like he's being the dramatic one here. Mike narrows his eyes, refusing to back down. "Will. Come on. Tell me what's wrong."

Will sighs again. "You're relentless, you know that?"

"A few people might have mentioned it. Multiple times. A day. For my entire life."

Will huffs a laugh. "Well, they're right."

Mike smiles, pressing his forehead firmly against Will's. "What's wrong?" he asks again, softly, using his best Will Voice, the voice he'd gotten into the habit of using years ago when Will confessed how much he hated it when his dad yelled and Mike made it his personal mission to make Will Byers feel as safe as possible at all times. He's failed miserably at that mission over the last few years, but it can't hurt to try.

Will's gaze darts away again. "It's just..." He takes a deep breath. "I was bored, earlier today, and I did my projection thing and overheard Max and Lucas and El talking, and- I don't even know or care what they were talking about, really, I just- it hit me that it's been a year. So much has changed, and I'm still stuck in the past like always."

Mike's eyebrows draw together, and he sits back a little. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know, just- your guys' lives have kept moving, you know? And that's not your fault, but- sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to be able to catch up to everyone, because even before all this I always just felt like I was behind. Like everyone else was moving too fast for me or something."

Which- is Mike's fault, probably. What did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement and play games for the rest of our lives?

He swallows hard, doing his best not to picture Will's broken, angry face as he replied, I guess I did. I really did.

That was not the first time he lost Will, but it was the first time the losing had been his fault.

But Will doesn't want to talk about that. So Mike won't make him. "If it helps," he says, voice thick with unshed tears, "my life didn't keep moving. While you were gone. My entire world stopped when you disappeared."

Will meets his eyes, a tear escaping his eye and trailing down his cheek. Mike wants to wipe it away, but in Will's fragile state he's afraid it would make him disappear, so he forces himself to stay still. "Mike, that's not what I..." Will takes a deep breath, lifting the hand that's not clinging to Mike's and wiping his face. "I don't want you to think I, like, wanted you to be broken up about it, or anything."

"But it helps, doesn't it?" Mike asks hesitantly, eyes wide as he stares up into Will's face, hunching over to meet his eyes properly. "That you're not the only one."

"Am I horrible if I say it does?"

Mike exhales sharply, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Will, you could never be horrible." The second part of the sentence, the part that he leaves unsaid, runs through his brain like a steady heartbeat, an undercurrent in every word he says: I love you, I love you, I love you. He presses his lips together so the words don't slip their way out of him unbidden, and hopes that Will can hear them anyway.

Will doesn't speak, but he does tug on Mike's hand, just slightly, letting him know it's okay to crawl closer again. Mike complies, inching forward until their foreheads brush, and Will closes his eyes and releases a quiet breath. Mike places his other hand on top of their intertwined ones, and Will does the same, their hands becoming a tangled mass chaining them together. Mike lets his eyes slide shut and whispers, "I'm not going to leave you behind again. Not ever."

Will still doesn't answer, but his thumb twitches under Mike's palm, tapping a silent response against his inner wrist. 

Mike continues to cling to him until dust scatters across his palms and he's left with just his own two hands, folded in his lap and waiting for Will to return to them.

"I think it's you."

Mike blinks, refocusing his eyes and shifting a little to look at Will properly. He's sprawled out in Will's lap, head resting against Will's knee as he absently plays with the edge of Will's sleeve where his arm rests across Mike's chest. Will's other hand is tangled in Mike's hair, tracing a pattern in it, and every so often it sends goosebumps down the length of Mike's spine. Will showed up tonight looking slightly cheerier than the night before, but still a little sullen, and Mike had immediately demanded to know what was wrong.

"Nothing in particular," Will had responded, looking incredibly tired, and Mike had believed him enough to let the matter drop. Will had stretched out a hand, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him close, and Mike's been laying in this position for the better part of an hour now, listening quietly to Will's breathing. He wonders, for a third time, if his own breathing is really loud enough to keep the connection going, or if the overwhelming physical contact makes up for it, or if maybe Will's getting stronger after all. 

"Hmm?" he murmurs now, fingers stilling against Will's arm as he cranes his neck to look up at him. 

"The- connection," Will says, gazing at the far wall with a faraway look in his eyes. "It's strong, tonight, it's been getting stronger and- I think there's a direct link. To you. Cause and effect, or whatever."

"I'm not even doing anything," Mike says, inexplicably embarrassed even though it's got nothing to do with him really. It feels like Will's complimenting him, somehow, suggesting that he matters - and Mike's never been particularly good at accepting praise. He can feel the flush in his cheeks as Will continues trailing his fingers through his hair.

He commands himself to get it together - after all, it really doesn't have anything to do with him - the connection thing - and Will definitely didn't intend it to be, like, a good job Mike kind of thing, just a hey, I figured this thing out, and he's being ridiculous. He's always a little ridiculous, where Will's concerned. He'd conveniently forgotten that in the months when Will was gone. He thinks he'd prefer being ridiculous around Will to not having him there at all, but still. He has some dignity left. Kind of.

"You're doing everything," Will responds quietly, and Mike's whole keep it together plan kind of goes out the window. He blushes furiously, tucking his face away against Will's hip, and he can feel the soft rumble of Will's laugh. "Sorry, I just- it's something I've been noticing. I think the more I- the more I trust you, the easier it gets."

Mike removes his face from Will's side, frowning a little and lifting himself up onto his elbows. "You didn't trust me before?"

"I mean, I did," Will says, glancing away. "I always hoped you'd find me, and I was glad I was right and everything, but. I don't know, I guess part of me thought that after the first night you'd chalk it up to a dream and move on with your life."

Mike gapes up at him, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, did the, like, full mental breakdown I had after you disappeared that night sound like someone moving on to you?"

"I'm not saying it's rational!" Will defends, removing his hand from Mike's hair and gripping his shoulder instead. "I'm just saying, like. I wasn't sure how long I could count on you to keep believing. Most people would have stopped a long time ago."

"Will." Mike sits up for real now, letting Will's hands slide down his arms to hold onto his wrists instead. "I never gave up on you. Dustin and Lucas and Max and everyone- they thought I was insane, okay? They've thought I was insane this entire time, actually, and they're way too nice to say it out loud but I know they've all thought it at one point or another. You know when you went missing the first time, in '83, I didn't believe you were dead even when we saw your literal body? There is literally no reality in which I would ever believe that you could actually be gone. Even if you'd, like, died in my arms, and I'd had proof and everything - I would have still spent the rest of my life trying to find a loophole. I would have actually gone crazy, and they'd have had to lock me up in Pennhurst or something and even then I'd still spend every day telling the security guards all about how I knew you were alive because I-" he stops short, if only because Will's got a hand pressed over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut and tears leaking down his cheeks. "Can I say it?" Mike asks quietly, chest burning with the words, the three most important ones that are tearing a hole straight through him, begging to be released. He needs Will to know.

Will shakes his head, and the burning intensifies.

"Will, I don't understand," he pleads. "I need to say this. Why won't you let me?"

"Mike," Will whispers through his fingers, tears leaking out over his fingertips. He pulls his hand away from his face, and it shakes as he reaches forward and places it on Mike's chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt desperately. "Please stop."

"But why, Will?"

It's been too much of this, of we'll figure it out and another time, Mike, and let's not do this right now, and he's sick of it. He's sick of waiting in this weird, albeit beautiful haze between them, not knowing if Will is going to be snatched away from him again, once again leaving Mike with a million things left unsaid. He's fucking tired of subtext. For once, he thinks he'd rather just spill his guts. He can't risk it, this time. Will's too important to leave any room for confusion. That's always been their downfall, hasn't it? Being able to read each other so well that they assume they can also read each other's minds, and when they can't, they both get hurt. 

"Mike-"

"I need you, Will," Mike whispers desperately, digging his fingers into Will's arms. Under his fingertips, Will glows a little brighter, and for a split second Mike thinks he's going to glitch away, but he doesn't, so Mike keeps talking. "I need you home, I-"

"Kiss me," Will chokes out, like the words had risen from him unbidden.

Mike freezes. "What?"

"Kiss me," Will repeats, more sure this time, and Mike feels like he's underwater, the words floating around all around him as his body hangs suspended, nothing quite solid. Will's eyes open, and he looks at Mike with a fiery intensity Mike has never seen from him before. "If you're so sure about it," Will says quietly, almost angrily, "then-"

Mike's lips are on his before Will finishes the sentence, crashing against him with all the force that the three words burning in his ribcage demand from him, hands grasping his jaw for fear of Will disappearing right out from under him.

Will presses back fervently, tightening his grip on Mike's shirt and sliding one hand up to the side of Mike's neck. Mike makes a soft, involuntary sound against Will's lips, and Will opens his mouth a little, slotting his lips between Mike's. Mike climbs closer, practically in Will's lap as he swipes his tongue into Will's mouth, cradling his chin with one hand and letting the other rest at Will's waist, which is- solid, more solid than it's been for the past week. Will comes unfrozen from his position on the floor, and he falls back against the end of the couch as Mike continues to kiss him thoroughly, frustration and grief and happiness and love seeping through his every movement as he shoves Will back into the sofa. Will's hands slide over his arms, holding him tightly, and Mike bites at his lip just once before pulling back, panting.

"I fucking love you," he says, eyes glazed over but still laser-focused on Will, on his wide eyes and flushed cheeks and kiss-bitten lips. "I'm in love with you. Okay?"

Will swallows. "Okay," he whispers, and tugs him sharply into another kiss. 

Mike's hands come back up to cup Will's chin, a little gentler this time even as Will's hands twist violently in his shirt and he bites and murmurs curses into Mike's mouth, all rough edges that he tries so hard to conceal but he's never been able to hide from Mike, not forever and certainly not now. Mike thanks a God that he doesn't believe in that Will isn't trying to shove him away, to let himself disappear into his void again and hide away, that he's not trying to protect either of them anymore because they both know that there's no point trying to protect each other from anything anymore. Every bad thing conceivable has happened to them, every miscommunication and supernatural terror and harmful word and tear shed in the rain, and still here they are, kissing in the basement they grew up in with a literal universe between them but finding a way to fit together anyway.

Mike kisses away every hurt he's ever felt, ever inflicted on the boy before him, thumbs brushing away the tears on Will's face even as they continue to fall, and then Will's pulling back and scrubbing at his streaming eyes and there's tears on Mike's face, too, and he's not sure if they're his or Will's.

"I'm sorry," Will whispers, breathing hard and pressing his forehead against Mike's. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Mike places a hand against the back of Will's head, guiding his face gently to tuck against his shoulder. Will clings to him, face buried in Mike's neck, and Mike holds him tight as Will continues to murmur apologies against his skin.

"What are you sorry for?" Mike asks softly, tilting his head to rest on top of Will's. 

"I just... I was afraid," Will whispers, words warm against Mike's collarbone. "That something would go wrong and I'd have to stay stuck there, and- I thought it would hurt more. Losing you again after all that."

"Trust me, it's way worse to regret the things you didn't say than the things you did," Mike says, squeezing his eyes shut and holding Will tightly. "But I get it." He taps at the side of Will's neck until the other boy pulls back to look at him, tears smudged across his cheeks, and he's so beautiful that even though Mike just worked through all the ways in which they can't protect each other, really, he wants to do it anyway. He wants to wrap Will up in his arms and keep him there forever. He doesn't think he can be protected from loving Will Byers, and he doesn't think he wants to be.

Will smiles weakly, lifting a hand to wipe a tear off of Mike's cheek. "I love you so much, you know," he whispers. "So much."

Mike expects it to burn, the way his own I love you had, but instead it just warms him, spreading through his ribcage and into his stomach like a pool of light. He places a hand on the side of Will's face, swiping away some of the tears, and leans in to press a soft kiss to Will's lips. Will gasps a little, and Mike leans back just in time to see him flash bright gold, glow overtaking the dimly lit basement before fading away entirely, and then Will is just Will, no gold dust anywhere to be found.

"Mike," Will whispers, and his name sounds like something delicate and beautiful, coming from Will's mouth. "Let go."

Mike blinks, mouth half-parted as he takes in Will's appearance. He's not glowing at all anymore, features no longer hazed over by little flecks of light. He looks- real. "I- what?" he whispers, and Will gently pries his hands off of him to illustrate his point.

"Let go," he whispers again, eyes wide.

Mike swallows. "I... don't really want to."

"Just for a second," Will insists. "Please. I promise."

Mike bobs his head, if only because Will is so pretty and real-looking and his cheeks are still full of color left over from Mike's kisses. Reluctantly, he climbs out of Will's lap, scooting away onto the carpet, and it's only a few inches away but it feels like an ocean's distance.

Will stretches, holding out his hands and flexing them. He shifts from where he's leaned up against the couch, climbing to his feet and glancing around. He reaches out with a fingertip and trails it over one of the many papers pinned to the walls, one of his drawings from years ago. His finger slides easily over the edge of the paper, and he doesn't glitch or glow. He just stands there, a slightly awed look on his face, and glances down at Mike. "I think... I'm back," he whispers, and Mike presses a hand over his mouth, tears sliding silently down his face.

Will releases a choked laugh, sinking back to his knees and crawling over to Mike, placing his hands on either side of Mike's neck and pressing his face into Mike's, nose brushing his cheek as he kisses him once, quickly, crying and laughing softly. "I'm back," he whispers, and Mike chokes out a sob, placing a hand at the back of Will's head.

"I missed you," he whispers, tears sliding freely down his face, dripping onto the carpet, and he doesn't even bother trying to wipe them away anymore. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Mike," Will murmurs. "You have no idea."

Mike smiles shakily, hand trembling as he drags it through Will's hair. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for pushing you away, before, and I'm sorry for being so mean and for breaking all my promises just because I was afraid."

"I forgive you," Will whispers. "I swear."

"I know, but- it needs to be said, okay? I was scared and confused and I hated myself so much but that gave me no right to take it out on you, so. I'm sorry. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Will's eyes dart over his face, gaze solemn. "Do you still feel like that?"

Mike bites his lip. "I- I don't know. Sometimes. But- I mean, you said it best, you- you make me feel like I'm not a mistake."

"Yeah?" Will asks shyly, thumb dragging over Mike's jaw.

"Yeah," Mike breathes. "I- I've known I loved you since I was thirteen, but- I'm done letting it scare me. I'm not losing you again."

"I'm not going anywhere," Will replies. 

It's the best thing Mike's ever heard.

When Mike wakes up, Will, for once, is still beside him.

Well - beside is kind of the wrong term, because in reality Will is kind of sprawled on top of him, head pressed against his chest and arms wrapped around his waist. They're laying on the basement floor, where they'd collapsed at some point last night after hours of talking and kissing and crying. Mike smiles, shifting as much as he can with Will laying on him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

Will tilts his head a little, nosing against Mike's collarbone, and makes a soft noise against his neck. "Hi."

Mike trails a hand over Will's shoulder blade. "Hey. You're still here."

Will lifts his head, smiling. "So I am."

They stare at each other for a long moment, then both burst into giddy laughter. "Holy shit," Mike breathes, pressing his forehead against Will's and wrapping his arms around his waist. "You're actually here."

Will kisses his bottom lip once, twice. "I am." 

Mike grins and tugs him closer to kiss him properly, dragging a hand over his back. Will places a hand on the side of Mike's face, pulling him in close.

The basement door bangs open, and Will rolls off of him, glancing up to face the person standing in the doorway. "Oh. Hey, El."

Mike props himself up on his elbows, looking up at his ex-girlfriend through heavy-lidded eyes. "We freed Will," he announces, and she glares down at him with wide eyes. "But you clearly already knew that," Mike adds in a mumble, shrinking back under her gaze. 

El takes a shaky breath, eyes settling on Will. "You," she says, voice wavering, "are the worst."

Will grins. "I missed you too."

El narrows her eyes, and then Will is being magically jerked across the room, stumbling into her arms. Mike sits up, watching with a small smile as she tucks her face into Will's shoulder, shaking, and Will wraps her in a tight hug. 

They pull apart after a long moment, both wiping tears from their eyes.

El glances back over at Mike, smirking. "I gave you the night," she says. "I felt him come back, but I figured you'd want a little time."

Mike grins. "You might be the coolest ex-girlfriend of all time."

"Obviously," El replies easily, and Will laughs quietly. "However, I had to tell Joyce, and I have been sent to bring Will home effective immediately."

Will laughs again. "Yeah, that tracks. Did you tell the Party too?"

"Yep. They are on their way to our house. We should go."

Will makes a face, fiddling with the edge of his very grimy sleeve. "Could I maybe, like, shower first? I haven't changed my clothes in a year."

"You can borrow mine," Mike says, climbing to his feet. 

Will glances at El, and she makes a face but waves a hand. "Yeah, go ahead." 

He grins, giving her a quick hug before disappearing up the stairs.

El turns to Mike, releasing a shaky breath and smiling a little. "Thank you," she says quietly. "I am glad I believed in you."

Mike huffs a soft laugh, wiping his eyes. "Yeah, me too."

She tilts her head to one side, smiling gently. "Are you happy?"

Mike's eyebrows draw together, and he blinks incredulously at her. "Am I- yeah, El, I'm the happiest I've ever been."

She giggles, opening her arms, and he folds himself into them, burying his face in her shoulder. "You're a good friend," he murmurs, and she pats the top of his head gently.

"I know," she replies easily, and he laughs quietly. "Also," she adds, pulling back and looking him right in the eyes, gripping his shoulders. "If you hurt him again, I will kill you."

Mike almost laughs again, but her eyes are wide and serious, so he quickly rearranges his expression. "Yes ma'am," he mumbles. "Understood."

El grins, patting his cheek. "Good."

Will reappears a few minutes later, dressed in one of Mike's old t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. The t-shirt is a little too tight on him, and Mike's chest does a weird flippy thing at the sight of Will wearing his clothes. El catches the look on his face and grins smugly.

"Okay," Will says, smiling at them both as he leans against the wall. "Let's go."

El grins, patting Mike's shoulder and hurrying up the stairs, Will a few steps behind her. Mike scrambles to follow, catching Will's hand as they walk out to the car.

"You have a car?" Will asks El, squeezing Mike's hand gently before letting go and climbing into the passenger seat. Mike rolls his eyes but reluctantly climbs into the back, settling for keeping one hand gently pressed against Will's elbow. Will grins at him in the rearview, and El rolls her eyes at them both.

"Jonathan has a car," she tells Will as she pulls out into the street. "And I steal it sometimes."

Will laughs. "Yeah, that makes more sense."

Joyce is sitting on the front porch when El pulls into the driveway, and she jumps to her feet immediately, pressing a nervous hand over her her mouth and folding the other over her stomach. Will releases a soft breath, and Mike squeezes his arm gently before getting out of the car. Will climbs out of the passenger seat, and El gets out of the driver's seat and comes to stand by Mike as Will waves at his mom, smiling faintly.

Joyce releases a choked sob and rockets into Will's arms, burying her face in his shoulder and clinging to him desperately. He wraps his arms around her, saying something to her quietly, and El tilts her head to rest on Mike's shoulder as they watch from a few paces away. 

Mike gives Joyce and Will a few minutes before he gently shoves El off of him and walks over to them, placing a hand on Will's shoulder. "You okay?" he murmurs, and Will nods.

"Mike," Joyce says, and then she's wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. "You- thank you."

"I didn't do all that much," Mike says sheepishly, and she squeezes him tighter, shaking her head.

"I'm proud of you," she whispers, and Mike fights tears as he buries his face in her shoulder. It's- stupid, probably, to be so affected by a phrase like that, but- well. It's not something he hears a lot, especially not from anyone but her. And, for once, he almost feels like he's done something to be proud of.

Joyce pulls back after a few seconds, patting his cheek affectionately before turning back to her son. "Your brother's inside," she says softly to Will. "You want to see him?"

"Of course," Will says, and Mike wraps an arm around his waist as Joyce leads them inside.

As it turns out, Hopper is also home, and gets shockingly emotional at seeing his stepson. The Party shows up twenty minutes later, and from there it quickly becomes a free-for-all, all shouting and crying and hugging. Will looks slightly overwhelmed, but he smiles and hugs his friends and cries a little all the same. Mike settles himself on the edge of the couch, smiling as he watches the scene unfold.

"We're sorry we didn't believe you," Lucas says to Mike at once point, sidling up to him and knocking his arm against Mike's. "About Will being alive."

"Yeah," Dustin agrees, wheeling Max's wheelchair over as Will stands in the corner talking to Jonathan. "You were right."

"It's okay," Mike says, vaguely amused. "I'm sure I seemed a little delusional."

"Well, I wasn't going to say it," Max mutters, and Mike kicks her shin.

"Shut up, I was grieving."

"You just said-"

"Hey," Will interrupts, wandering over and slipping an arm around Mike's waist. "What's going on?"

"Max is a horrible human being," Mike announces, tilting his head to rest against Will's chest.

"I am not! Where's El, I can't take this slander," Max groans, glancing around even with her clouded eyes. 

Will kisses the top of Mike's head, rubbing gentle circles over his back. "I missed you guys, you know."

Lucas smiles, watching as Mike threads his fingers through Will's. "We missed you too, man."

Dustin raises an eyebrow, glancing between them. "Is this- um."

Will glances at Mike, eyebrow raised, and Mike smirks up at him, squeezing his hand. "I- yeah," Will answers softly, dragging his thumb over the back of Mike's hand. "Yeah, we are."

"Fucking finally," Max mutters, and Mike flips her off without looking at her.

The festivities continue on, Will being passed around the room, hugging everyone and laughing and crying. Mike stays within a few feet of him at all times, tugging at his sleeve every so often when Will's gone too long without paying attention to him. Every time, Will reaches over and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, occasionally bringing Mike's hand up to his lips and kissing his knuckles gently.

Eventually, Joyce announces that they should eat, and Jonathan and Hopper set about helping her prepare lunch for everyone. The Party settles in on the couch, launching into a debate about a movie they watched a few weeks ago, and Mike wanders in from the kitchen just in time to see Will's back disappearing out the front door.

"Where's he going?" he murmurs to Lucas, who follows his gaze with a shrug.

"Said he needed some air." He glances up at Mike, smirking a little. "Sounds like boyfriend territory to me."

Mike rolls his eyes and flicks the side of Lucas's head, but follows Will out onto the porch anyway.

Will's leaning against the porch railing, hands clasped in front of him as he gazes out at the street, and he turns to smile at Mike as he closes the door behind him. "Hey, you."

"Hey," Mike says softly, stepping over to him and leaning against the railing beside him. "You okay?"

Will smiles weakly, reaching out to fiddle with the edge of Mike's sweater sleeve. "Yeah, fine." Mike narrows his eyes, and Will laughs lightly, glancing away. "Jonathan cut his hair," he says, which would maybe be a random response if he weren't talking to Mike, who has always been able to read between the lines.

"Ah." Mike twists around, leaning against the railing and leaning against Will's arm, following his gaze out at the street. 

Will glances at him out of the corner of his eye, looking mildly embarrassed. "I mean- it's also, like. Max is in a wheelchair, which- last time I saw her she was still in the hospital, and she was awake and everything but I didn't know, and then- she and Lucas are back together which I also kind of figured but still, and El looks so much older and my mom is wearing an engagement ring and I just-" he takes a deep breath. "Sorry. It's just a lot."

Mike takes a few seconds to process, pressing his elbow gently against Will's. "Nobody's trying to leave you behind," he says after a moment, looking over at him through his lashes.

Will swallows, not looking at him. "I know. I just..."

"Yeah." Mike offers up his hand, and Will immediately latches onto it, clinging to him but still not making eye contact. "I- Will, we were all miserable without you, you know. And I know things have changed, but we're all willing to wait for you. No one wants to see you sidelined."

Will blinks hard, squeezing Mike's hand tightly. "No one? Or just you?"

Mike grins, leaning in and pressing his forehead against the side of Will's face. "Both." 

Will laughs and finally turns to look at him again, nose brushing Mike's as he presses their foreheads together. "I'll take it."

Mike smiles gently, reaching up to brush his thumb over Will's jaw. "Here's the deal, okay? We're gonna go back in there, and we're going to play a board game with the rest of the Party, and your mom and Jonathan are going to make us lunch and Hopper is going to stand around and be unbearably annoyed by everyone and everything, and everything is going to feel weird but eventually it's going to be okay because it is okay, and we're gonna find a new normal. Does that sound good to you?"

Will nods, blinking hard and pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around Mike's waist. "Yeah, it does."

"Good." Mike dips forward, pressing a quick kiss to Will's lips before pulling away. "Shall we?" he asks, gesturing to the door.

Will grins, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him back in. "In a minute," he murmurs, pulling Mike into another kiss.

Today is April 8th, 1987. It has been 375 days since Will Byers disappeared for the second time, and for the first time since, Mike Wheeler is truly, unequivocally happy.