Chapter Text
“Happy birthday, man!” Dustin's voice echoes through Mike's empty apartment, “It's chill that you didn’t pick up, uhhh, I’m sure you’re busy, with that uhh fancy writing stuff in Chicago,”
Mike chuckles and shakes his head at that, considering it was one and he just woke up, “Anyways, TWENTY-SEVEN! Wow! That's-” BEEP
Mike stops the voicemail before he hears more. Twenty-seven… He frowns and boots up his computer for the day.
It’s April 7th, 2001. Mike's 27th birthday, which, in all fairness, He didn’t think he’d make it to. Not much has happened since he left Hawkins. He got a degree in writing and moved to an okayish apartment in Chicago, close enough to Indiana to visit his parents, but not too close. His job isn’t half bad either; he basically works for himself and writes in magazines, newspapers, and recently, websites. He's had two girlfriends since he moved here, but not for more than a year; he's too miserable to keep them. Now, He clicks around on his computer, closing finished work documents and opening his email.
The situation he finds himself in, yet again, is a roommate, or lack thereof. The guy he was roommates with before, Gerard, would spend all his time in his room, drawing comics. Mike tried to talk to him about storytelling and Dungeons and Dragons, but he never wanted to actually hold a conversation. He moved to New York, something about an internship. Whatever, Will's better at art anyway.
He’d been trying to find a roommate on some forums for a while, posting about his interests, maybe embellishing the truth about his cleanliness and how much he leaves the house. He had some randoms reach out, but they'd all ended up not responding after a few emails; it was frustrating, to say the least. He didn’t think he was actually that bad at communicating via email.
Mike leaned back into his chair and looked at the photos lining the top of his desk hutch. They’re all his friends from back when they were in high school, some from when they came to visit in college, no recent ones. He hasn’t had any memorable moments since college.
Lucas and Max stayed in Indiana, but they travel a lot, always sending Mike postcards. He thinks they pity his loneliness, and it's the only reason they still reachout. It's whatever; they’re successful and happy, Mike isn't. It's fine.
He doesn’t exactly know what Dustin is up to. He did an internship across the country and calls Mike once a week; whether Mike answers or not is another thing. Dustin's voice is always careful through the phone, as if he says anything about being too happy, it will hurt Mike more.
If it wasn’t obvious, Mike is miserable.
He spends all of his time working and writing, he watches TV, and occasionally makes a plot for a new D&D campaign with the party's old characters. That last thing is the only hobby that makes Mike feel less sad than he is; everything else makes him feel empty.
Part of him feels like he's still mourning Eleven; he thinks about her every day, how with her, everything felt right, even if he treated her like shit. He feels disgusted with himself, thinking about his late friend like this; he couldn’t say he loved her. He probably couldn’t even say it in the way she expected now if he tried, and she's dead.
After leaving Hawkins for college, he didn’t really understand how to go about life without the upside-down constantly throwing him off. He thinks it started after his parents were attacked. After that, he felt like he was dissociating up until Eleven sacrificed herself.
When El died, he felt like he needed to go back to before he even found her in the woods, just a kid whose only worry was D&D. His friends all mourned in what was probably a normal way, but Mike thought he was crashing. As he thought, if he recreated life before her, life after her wouldn't hurt as badly.
He was wrong.
He loved El, not in a romantic way, but in a way that there was a hole that remained in him, that still remains in him, now that she's gone. He made up stories of her being somewhere else, somewhere away from everything. He knew it wasn’t true it made him feel better.
Part of him felt like that might be why Will resents him. Mikes a miserable hermit making up stories about his sister. That's probably why he hadn't reached out, right?
His heart pings at the thought of Will, whom he's only seen a handful of times since college. He hasn’t even called him on his birthday yet. It’s fine, he knows Will is a busy artist in New York. He’s got a boyfriend, who he's sure is the reason Will forgot to call.
His boyfriend is some guy named Carlton, and Mike hates him. Not for any real malicious reasons, if Wills is happy, Mike is happy. But Will had been on and off with this guy since college. According to Max (because Will doesn’t talk to Mike like that anymore), they’ve settled into “a good system,” and have been officially dating for the last seven months. Whatever that means.
Mike sighs heavily and scrolls to the top of his email. He sees some work emails and a notice from his apartment complex. Speak of the devil. Mike's getting a new roommate.
He skimmed the email, there was a line about the new resident and their email address, about to close it and get on with his work day before he read the date.
Resident move-in date: 04/07/2001
…
Wait, Today?!
Mike blinks at the screen. The email was from 2 weeks ago. How did he miss this? He looks around at the mess of his apartment, immediately stands, and starts to shove things into random places to give the illusion of being clean.
He spends the next two hours cleaning the shared space, making room in his cabinets for more dishware, vacuuming, dusting, and anything else that would make him look like an appealing person. His desk is still messy, but that's his, it's fine. He even lights the only candle he owns, one that Max got him on his birthday when they were still in Hawkins.
He takes a breath and looks around at the apartment. It's fine. He's sweating now, wiping his fringe out of his eyes. He needs to cut his hair; it's all weirdly grown out, he looks like a gross emo band singer, almost like his old roommate.
His thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door before he hears keys jingling. He freaks out, for some reason, and sits on the couch to look calm and collected.
The door opens, and a young guy comes in. He looks to be in his early twenties, his hair has a cropped look, and he is wearing a striped zip-up hoodie. He takes a few steps in and places the heavy-looking boxes on the ground.
“Hey-”
“SHIT,” The guy snapped straight up and let out a breath, “Oh my god, dude, you scared me,” he put a hand over his heart and breathes deeply before pointing a finger at Mike. “You must be my roommate.”
Mike stands and awkwardly climbs over the couch, tripping as he walks towards the stranger, cursing himself while he watches him. “I’m Mike Wheeler,” He extends a hand to shake.
“I’m Pete Wentz,” He grabs Mike's hand and shakes it, “Wanna help me with some boxes?”
Not really, he wants to say, “Sure, man,” is what comes out.
It takes about three trips to get Pete's stuff in. It's not a lot of stuff, which Mike is grateful for. When they’re done, they crack open a couple of Cokes, and Mike sits on the couch while Pete looks around at the apartment.
“Whew!” Pete starts, he smiles toothily at Mike, “Thanks again, man, that would’ve taken me way too long.”
Mike just nods and sips his soda, closing his eyes and taking a breath as Pete paces around the apartment and talks about himself.
“I’m from around here, I just needed a new place to, like, find who I am and what's important to me.” Pete makes his way over to Mike's desk and looks at the pictures of the party he has on his desk. He stops at one picture and picks it up, exhaling heavily, “Damn,”
“What?” Mike says, trying to think about what's so interesting about his high school graduation photo.
“Nothing, just that guy on the right is hot,” Pete says, staring at the photo. “Is he your friend?”
Mike sits up with an urgency, walking up to Pete and looking at the photo.
Will’s the guy on the right.
Mike's face goes beet red, “Yeah- uh- my best friend actually-”
“Where is he now?”
“New York- What- Just put the picture down, Pete.”
Pete shrugs and looks at Will one more time before he puts the picture back on the desk, “Let me know when he’s in town,” He says under his breath while he snoops around Mike's desk some more.
Mike rolls his eyes and snarls at that. He won’t let him know, thank you very much. He goes back to his place on the couch and takes another deep breath.
Pete picks up something on Mike's desk, a notebook. Mike assumes it's his planner, and he relaxes.
“Shit, man,” he hears while Pete flips pages in the notebook.
Now he isn’t so sure it's his planner, but his very embarrassing poetry notebook.
“wrote you a goodbye note (you just wrote me off) on your arm when you passed out. bestfriends, exfriends- better off as lovers not the other way around.” Pete reads quietly from the book, and Mike's body goes cold. He sits up urgently as he sees Pete skim through more of the poem.
“im sorry the way my moods flicker on and off like old light on your porch,” Pete looks up at Mike, who is now in front of him, and grabs the book from him and shuts it.
“Don’t touch my shit,” Mike says, clutching the book tightly to his chest.
“That was good, man.” Pete nods as his eyes flicker between Mike's face and the book, “I also write poetry.”
Mike sits unsteadily on the couch and holds the book tightly in his hands, his face redder now. He remembers the picture of Will and sighs; he's way too obvious.
“So… who's that about?”
“What?”
“That's like,” Pete sits across from Mike and rambles, “That's straight from your heart.”
“I guess”
“So like? An ex?” Pete leans in.
Mike shakes his head. He doesn't know why that's his business or why Mike is answering him, “Just a friend, obviously.” Can he just change the topic?
“Right, obviously,” Pete leans back, before his face twists up, clearly thinking, Mike makes the same face when he's connecting dots, “The dude in the photo, what's his name?”
Mike's head snaps to Pete, and he frowns deeply. “Why?”
“That's a face to write poems about,” Pete nods and winks at him, “Don’t worry, man, I play for the other team sometimes.” He raises his hands like he's under arrest.
Mike nearly faints, “That is not what- um-” he stutters and shakes his head, “I’m going to bed.”
“It's seven o’clock?” Pete looks at him and raises his eyebrows
“I’m sure you want time to like, unpack and, I don’t know,” Mike scoffs, a little more rudely than he meant, “Write your own poetry.”
Pete looks like he has more to say, but Mike doesn’t stay to hear it. He turns on his heel and heads to his room, closing his door behind him.
Fuck, Mike thinks, sitting on the edge of his bed beside the notebook.
Mike really hates thinking about the notebook, his poetry, all his inside thoughts twisted into some edgy sentences. He has so many, a whole collection of unsaid thoughts. He's usually okay with carrying the shame of those inside thoughts with him, but hearing his new roommate read them aloud…
He squeezes his eyes shut and lies down in his bed. He tries to think of anything to get his mind off the secrets in the yellow notebook next to him, but that just makes him think more about Will.
Will. in New York. Painting. Without Mike. He groans and rolls over in his bed to look at his wall. The one covered in the paintings and drawings Will made when they were teenagers.
Mike's eyes well up as he remembers how much Will's words meant to him. He didn’t even know at the time, but everything that came out of Will's mouth was so sweet to Mike. It was all endearing, it all stung to remember, it almost made him angry, the way he just moved on from Mike. Of course, Will isn’t tied to him or anything, but Mike feels tied to Will. He reaches out to trace the brush strokes on the painting next to his head. Nobody has ever made him feel that way since.
He falls asleep like that, tracing the paintings like he does most nights, when suddenly the phone rings, he jolts straight up at it before hearing his roommate pick up the landline. Pete's voice leaks through the thin walls.
“Hello? Yeah, he's in his room sleeping… Yeah, I uh- thought it was weird too… Wait, I’ll uh- see if he's awake.”
Mike jumps up and runs to his door, opening it just as Pete knocks.
“It's for you. He was about to hang up, but I caught him in time.” Pete hands him the phone with a wink.
Mike gives him a weird look, takes the phone, and closes his door. He takes a breath before speaking into the phone.
“Hello?”
“Mike? Hey, it’s been a while.”
Will.
Mike sank against his door while his mind raced to remember how to hold a normal conversation with the boy on the other line.
“Mike?” His voice cracked through the old speaker.
“Hey!” Mike managed to get out, “What's uh- why are you calling?” He realizes that sounds a little like his call was unwanted.
“Oh uh- It's your birthday.”
“Yup.” Mike pulls lightly at his hair, shaking his head as if that would put his thoughts into place, “What have you been doing?”
“Oh yeah, just um- lots of work, like drawing, you know?”
“Yeah, are you still painting?”
“That’s what I graduated from college for, Mike. That's uh- why I’m employed now.”
Shit. “I know! I know I was just- sorry. I just-”
“Listen,” Will cuts him off, putting him out of his misery, “Carlton and I are-”
“Oh- Carlton…” Mike interrupted with a twinge of malice, “Why are you still hanging out with him?”
He really didn't mean for it to sound so pissed off, that's just how he talks.
“Uh- He's my boyfriend, Mike. You know this.” Mike's mind goes fuzzy before he's brought back by Will's annoyed tone.
“Listen, Carlton, and I are going to be in Chicago for a bit, like maybe mid-May? He wanted me to ask if you know of anything to do?”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Mike says, his tone defensive and maybe a little rude, “Tell him to look it up. I’m sure the big apples’ got libraries, right?”
“Mike-”
“Look, Will, I gotta go, I can hear Pete uh- breaking dishes.” Mike rolls his eyes.
“I'm definitely not, but I’ll start if you want to get out of this call so bad,” Mike curses. That wasn’t Will's voice, it was Pete's. He had the other landline.
“Wait, what?” Will's voice says, obviously confused.
“Tell Carlton to come to my band's show!” Pete says, “Fall Out Boy, we got some pretty cool songs-”
Mike stands and bursts through his door, ripping the phone out of Pete's hand, muttering an urgent goodbye to Will before hanging up both phones.
“What is your problem, dude?” Mike shoots daggers at Pete, “That was a private phone call.”
“Clearly,” Pete raises his eyebrows and shrugs, “So what I wanted to promote my band.”
“Your band-” Mike pinches his eyebrows together and shakes his head, “What did you hear, man?”
Pete puts on a face that looks like he's thinking, “Oh!” He nods, smiling with all his teeth, “Just how jealous you are of some guy named Carlton.”
Mike winces at the name, “That's not your business, I barely know you.”
Pete slumps down on the couch, “We’re roommates, your business is my business.”
“What-” Mike finds a lot wrong with that logic, “Just- don’t bring it up when he visits.” Mike's eyes caught the graduation photo on his desk, he looked at Will with a sigh.
“Oh…” Pete's eyes dart between him and the photo, “So that face worth writing poetry about has a voice worth writing poetry about.”
“What are you talking about-” Mike looks at Pete, who's giving him a knowing look, “Shit,” Mike whispers.
“Secrets safe with me, man!” Pete mimes zipping his lips.
Mike can’t believe the situation he's in.