Archive of Our Own

They had been sitting in the driveway for five minutes when Will finally spoke up.

“Mikey? Are you ready to go in?” Will asked softly.

His voice seemed to rouse Mike, who started as if suddenly jerking awake. Will instantly felt guilty for not saying something sooner and reached across to grasp the other man’s hand.

At his touch, Mike turned his head and the sight of his worried husband seemed to reassure him.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, let’s go in,” Mike said hesitantly.

The two men exited the car slowly, both taking in the sight of the house they hadn’t seen in years.

Will felt himself smile at the sight. “It’s been too long.”

Mike snorted.

“If you say so,” he muttered.

Will didn’t reply. For him, the Wheeler house had always been his favorite place growing up. It was his refuge from the world, from his own dad even, when he was younger. And later, after the Upside Down had reared its ugly head, the home had signified a brief respite from his mom’s frantic and constant hovering.

Plus, he’d gotten to see Mike. Always a bonus.

Will had been so lost in his musing he hadn’t noticed that Mike had already unlocked the front door. The two men now found themselves standing inside the entrance.

The house was dark and the air smelled musty. Mike moved slowly, as if in a trance. He led them further into the house and Will’s eyes subconsciously darted left and rested on the staircase leading down to the basement.

Will felt a smile tug at his lips. How many nights had been spent down there, filled with campaigns and movie marathons, laughter floating up, so loud the whole house could hear? Mr. Wheeler always grumbled about the noise until eventually, Mrs. Wheeler closed the basement door, sealing the mirth in.

At that thought, Will was grimly reminded of why they were there now, and he glanced over at Mike. His husband’s eyes were moving slowly over the room, and Will saw his gaze briefly lingered on the old armchair, a scowl contorting his face before it vanished.

At times like this, Will wished he could read Mike’s mind. Despite all the jokes from the Party when they were growing up, Mike and he did not possess some telepathic link, although they had certainly come close. Will chuckled as he remembered one of the innumerable nights the Party had spent in the Wheeler basement.

He and his then-boyfriend had been huddled on the couch while Mike helped him with some English analysis essay. While Lucas and Dustin bickered over something (probably whether elves had pointed ears or not, again), Mike and he had worked in almost complete silence, engaging in what Lucas referred to as “eye-talking” when necessary. A sudden lull in conversation alerted the two boys and they glanced over to see Lucas and Dustin looking at them, the former’s expression one of fond exasperation, while the latter looked annoyed.

“Will you two stop that and join the discussion?” Dustin snapped, but Will knew he wasn’t really upset. “It’s freaky.”

“I think it’s cute,” Lucas commented, smiling.

“What’s cute?” Max spoke up from the other side of the room, interrupting El’s explanation of how to make the perfect Eggo Extravaganza (apparently, powdered sugar was a game-changer).

“The eye-talking thing they do,” Lucas explained, gesturing vaguely at Mike and Will.

Max scoffed at the name but smiled. “That’s not a thing, stalker. They’ve just known each other forever, so-”

“Maybe it’s a gay thing?” Dustin interrupted.

Everyone was now looking at Dustin like he had lost his mind.

“You know?” Dustin continued, his face and tone serious, like what he was proposing wasn’t completely stupid. “Like, you know how Robin mentioned that “gaydar” thing? It’s like some superpower, right? This “eye-talking” thing might be another superpower.” Dustin was now looking around the room for support. “Right?”

It was El who broke the incredulous silence.

“Superpower?” she said, tilting her head to the side, her forehead wrinkled, clearly puzzled. “Like mine?”

“No,” Max said, with a tone laced with so much irritation but also resignation. She fixed Dustin with her famous “God, you’re stupid” look (Will thought she should inquire into getting that look patented). “Dustin’s just being dumb.”

“Hey! We don’t know,” Dustin protested. “They could have-”

“Mike and Will don’t have superpowers,” Lucas interrupted, with the “God, I can’t believe I had to say that” left implied.

Dustin was still unconvinced. “But what about gaydar?”

“Gaydar isn’t real either,” Lucas interjected, his voice becoming the special blend of exasperation and amusement that he seemed to use almost exclusively on Dustin. He locked eyes with Will, and the other boy saw that the ranger’s eyes seemed to sparkle with repressed laughter. “There are no superpowers here, except El’s. It’s just...a Mike and Will thing.”

Lucas smiled and Will was reminded of how, after his family and Mike (naturally), Lucas had been the first one he had come out to. He had revealed the most secret part of himself, had even revealed the existence of his relationship with Mike. The other boy had never had a problem with it and the first thing he had done was ask Will if he could give him a hug.

The day after the confession, Will had been standing at his locker, waiting for Mike, when he had spotted Lucas walking towards him. Will’s eyes had immediately been drawn downward and his breath caught.

Lucas’ previously white tennis shoes with gray laces were now an explosion of color. Each lace was now a different color of the rainbow and, when Will squinted, he could see that they had been painted by hand. Different sections of the midsoles on each shoe had been devoted to different colors, and Will could see they swirled together at the edges.

Oh my God, Will thought. He didn’t.

Lucas smiled upon reaching him and gestured to his shoes. “What do you think?”

Will’s mind was scrambling. “Lucas, I...why did you…”

He trailed off, and Lucas now looked sheepish, shuffling his new rainbow shoes. “I wanted to, you know...show...solidarity?”

Will knew that was one of the new words Nancy and Jonathan have brought back from New York with them.

He knew what it meant.

“I-” Will started, but then his voice was choked off by the sudden lump in his throat. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Lucas, dude, thank you, but-” Will hesitated and he was suddenly mindful of the people watching, of the whispers. “But...people are going to think you’re, you know,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “gay now too.”

Lucas’ face had clenched into a determined expression. “Let them,” he spat out fiercely before smoothing back out to allow his signature grin.

“Hey, Sinclair! Are you trying to steal my boyfriend?” A grinning Mike seemed to have appeared from nowhere, now standing close enough that he wasn’t heard by anyone but them.

Lucas and Will both rolled their eyes and Lucas turned to answer Mike’s joke with some quip but was interrupted when Mike noticed the other boy’s shoes.

“Woah, dude! You-” the paladin’s gaze snapped to Lucas and he seemed to be eyeing him carefully, assessing him. Then, Mike’s eyes seemed to dart around, taking note of the many people, and Will knew he was thinking the same thing he had. Finally, Mike opened his mouth. “Are you sure?” Mike asked and Will noticed that his boyfriend’s voice seemed strained, like it became whenever he did a particularly throaty character voice for a campaign. “People are going to talk. They’re going to assume. They’re going to-” Mike’s voice cut out abruptly as a dark look passed over his face before continuing. “They’re going to hate you.”

Lucas seemed to freeze. Will saw him clench his jaw and his eyes were suddenly clouded with bitterness, bitterness that Will rarely associated with the other boy.

“I’m sort of used to that, Mike,” Lucas said quietly, waving vaguely at his face, at his skin.

Mike winced before he nodded and smiled.

“Well,” he said. “Thanks for the support, ranger.”

Lucas’ gaze softened and he smiled as well.

“Anytime, paladin.” He glanced at Will and added. “And you, cleric.”

Mike and Will watched as their fellow Party member gathered his belongings and headed for his first class.

“Stubborn as ever,” Mike muttered once Lucas was out of earshot.

Will’s lips quirked into a smile. “Oh, and you’d have no idea what that’s like, right?”

Mike snorted before smirking. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel.”

“So was the Devil, once.” Will shot back with a mischievous smile.

Mike’s laughter carried them to class.

Will didn’t realize he had drifted so thoroughly into thought until Mike was forced to call his name for the third time.

He blinked and found himself back in the derelict Wheeler house. He had drifted without meaning to and was now looking at the door to the basement. He turned and saw Mike looking at him with an amused expression.

“And you say my mind tends to wander,” Mike said teasingly.

Will shot him a halfhearted glare.

“Sorry, it’s just...” Will trailed off before continuing. “It’s been a while.”

Mike’s smile faded and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding distant. “It has.”

Will knows for Mike, it’s been seven years since he’d last stepped into his childhood home. His trips home had ended with Karen’s death, who had succumbed to a stroke. Ted had refused to leave the home they had shared, reassuring a concerned Nancy that he was perfectly capable of caring for himself. Mike had scoffed when relaying his sister's words.

“I never saw him lift a finger to help Mom,” Mike spat out. “I guarantee you, he’ll be asking Nancy to move home within a year.”

It went without saying that Mike would not be the one to move home. Nancy knew and respected her younger brother’s choice.

Ted and Mike had never seen eye to eye. Growing up, Ted had seemed more concerned with bragging rights and his image and had tried to pressure his son to take up sports to fit that image. He was always critical. He disapproved of his son’s hobbies, his interests, and his friends. Mike had stubbornly resisted, especially over the last issue. Ted Wheeler thought his son was too soft, with his passion for DnD and video games, his love for AV club, and the fact that he slept with a nightlight, even through his high school years (Mike had and still suffered from a fear of the dark, even as an adult). Their arguments would quickly become heated until eventually both father and son decided to just try to avoid each other whenever possible. It worked for a while. There were even times when the two Wheelers could even speak civilly with each other, albeit in short sentences spoken in clipped tones.

That civility ended when Mike came out.

It wasn’t intentional. Mike knew enough about Hawkins to know that he could never embrace his sexuality while he was trapped there. The very air in the small town seemed toxic and was suffocating to anything that didn’t conform to “traditional” standards. If Mike had had his way, his parents wouldn’t have an inkling of his preferences (and definitely not of his feelings for a certain angel with a bowl cut) until he was a safe distance away and could drop the bombshell via a phone call.

But Mike had slipped up. He’d been stupid.

Mike kept his gaze fixed on a peculiar-looking scratch on the wooden table. He let his mind wander, as one tends to do when they don’t wish to focus on their surroundings, and found himself trying to determine what could have left that scratch. Was it something he or Nancy had done as kids? Maybe Holly? Was it from a fork?

Mike knew that it didn’t matter, but anything seemed better than focusing on the person across the table from him.

Mike heard his father clear his throat and resisted the urge to fidget in his seat. He was too old for that.

“Michael,” his father finally decided to at least try to broach the subject. “We have to talk about this.”

Mike remained silent.

He heard his father sigh.

“Michael,” his father tried again. “We-will you at least look at me? Please?”

Mike looked up. It was the “please” that did it. He had never heard the man use the word barring social situations where he was obligated to.

The older Wheeler met his son’s eyes briefly before his focus wandered down to his own hands, where one rested atop the other. Mike could see his father using one of his right fingers to tap his left hand in a random, distressed pattern.

Mike almost smiled. He wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

His father sighed again before speaking. “Okay, I just want to ask: did you or did you not kiss the Byers boy?”

Mike almost winced at the formal, almost cold-sounding way Will was brought into the discussion. Will Byers had been a part of Mike’s life (and by extension, the Wheeler family’s) for more than ten years. The other boy had eaten countless dinners at their table, had spent numerous nights lying in a sleeping bag whispering with Mike about whatever came to mind before they both slowly drifted off. “The Byers boy” didn't do Will justice.

My true north, maybe, Mike thought. That sums up Will pretty well.

“Michael?”

Mike started. Oh, right. His father had asked him a question. He needed to stop letting his thoughts get away from him. Hopefully, he’d grow out of that one day.

“Um,” Mike started and he cursed himself for stammering. Well, there was no denying it now. “Yes.”

His father’s expression fell and Mike bit his cheek. That had not been what the older man had been hoping to hear.

“I-” his father began, sounding agitated. “I don’t understand. Was it...was it a joke? Did your friends...dare you to do it?”

Mike felt that cold, slimy feeling closing around his heart, like it did whenever he and his father had one of their “discussions” that inevitably went bad. He hated that his father’s question sounded hopeful. The older man desperately wanted his son’s act of deviance to just be some stupid prank his friends had cooked up.

Mike looked away.

He could say that, couldn’t he? He could just pretend the kiss was a one-time thing and that he hadn’t wanted to do it. How could he? Kissing boys, liking boys that way was gross. It was sinful. Mike supposed he could claim that his friends had dared him. He could even say there had been money involved.

And Will...Will would forgive him. Of course he would. It’s Will.

But would you ever forgive yourself?

No.

No matter how Mike tried to spin it, he would never forgive himself if he did that.

Besides, there was a part of him that was furious at himself. It was times like these that he wondered what Will saw in him. The other boy had been through so much. The Upside Down. Having his body taken over by some eldritch monster ripped straight from the pages of a horror novel.

And I can’t even tell my father the truth about a boy I love, Mike thought bitterly.

Besides, despite what Will would say, Mike knew that if he passed off their kiss as a joke, as a one-time thing, the other boy would be hurt.

And he’d already hurt Will more than he’d ever wanted to.

“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Mike’s eyes squeezed shut. No. Don’t think about that. Not again.

Do you want your father to get to know you? his mind seemed to press him. Then introduce yourself. For real.

“No,” Mike heard himself say. “It wasn’t a joke. I wanted to kiss him. I...I love him.”

Mike couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He would have let out a hysterical laugh, but then remembered where he was. He quickly looked back at his father and felt his heart sink.

Ted Wheeler was scowling at his son and his lips were pressed tightly together into a disapproving line.

“I-” Ted began, before stopping. He fixed Mike with a hard look, one designed to intimidate. “How long?” his father asked. “How long have you...been feeling this way?”

Mike had to clench his fist under the table, had to dig his fingers into his palm to force away the image of a frail body (a fake body, it turned out) being lifted from the quarry water. He remembered how he had felt, the way his body had been gripped with a deep cold that had nothing to do with the November wind. He remembered the voices of the others fading until the only sound in his ears was something that resembled rushing water. It had gotten louder, louder, louder until he could barely hear El calling his name.

That couldn’t be Will.

Mike remembered nights where he would reach out and grab Will’s hand, holding it tight as some movie they’d all seen a thousand times played out in front of them. He remembered how Will had seemed to radiate heat—to radiate light—and how just being near him warmed something inside of him.

That cold, lifeless thing on that raft couldn’t be Will.

And then Mike remembered turning on El. He remembered how he had felt inside, how the ice in his veins had seemed to turn into liquid fire. He lashed out and saw her heartbroken expression, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He had turned and rushed away from them then because he could feel the tears coming, and a voice that sounded a lot like his father told him that he couldn’t let his friends see him cry. Because then they would know. They would all know.

He had raced home, barely aware of his surroundings. The physical world looked like a mesh of colors, all swirling together.

He had walked in the door and only then did he allow himself to cry. And his mom had seen. And she had wrapped him in a hug, a hug that emanated a special warmth and promised protection in a way that only a mother’s hug could.

And Mike had cried even harder. Because as safe and warm as he felt at that moment, he knew that Will’s hugs made him feel safer and warmer, and he knew he would never feel like that again.

“Michael!”

Mike started again. Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he ever focus?

Mike knew by the thunderous expression on his father’s face and by the way one of his fingers was tapping rapidly against his other hand that the older man was growing impatient.

Mike distantly remembered the question he had been asked.

“Years,” he replied without thinking and he had to stop himself from visibly cringing when he thought about how that must sound. But it was the truth, so he didn't retract it.

Across from him, Ted sucked in a breath and his face had shown surprise, guilt (strangely enough), and anger before it had settled into something that resembled stone.

Ted had simply stared at him without speaking, without moving. Had it not been for the fact that Mike could hear his father breathing, deep and slow, as if trying to calm himself, Mike could almost have convinced himself that his father had become a statue, that Medusa had claimed him as one of her victims.

Finally, the senior Wheeler opened his mouth.

“Michael, I...son, what you have to understand is that...what you and that boy have...it isn’t real love, son.”

Mike’s heart sank.

“That’s not true! I-”

“Son, please.” Ted looked tired, resigned. “I’m sorry. I never wanted this to happen to you, but...gay love,” Ted stressed the word, letting Mike know exactly how his father felt about using that word, how wrong he thought it fit. “It’s not real, son. It’s a cheap imitation at best.”

“It’s real!” Mike shouted, refusing to listen to his father. What his father was saying was just so wrong. What Mike felt for Will was real, much stronger than anything he’d ever felt for anyone.

“Oh yeah?” his father drawled, clearly not believing him. “Got any proof of that?”

Before Mike could decide what to do with that statement, he heard a welcome voice interrupting their standoff.

“Mike?”

Mike’s head whipped around and he found himself taking in the sight of his mom standing in the kitchen doorway, plastic grocery bags in each hand. Karen Wheeler observed her son’s relief before taking note of her husband’s closed-off, tense expression. Her eyes rested on Ted.

“Ted, what’s going on?” she demanded.

Mike instantly felt panicked. He had to tell her before his father poisoned her against him.

“Mom, I-”

“Michael kissed the Byers boy.”

Mike froze and felt like he would burst into tears, but he couldn’t. His father already knew he had kissed a boy. He couldn’t act even more gay by crying.

“He-he what?” Karen looked inquisitively at her son. “You kissed Will?”

“Mom, please!” Mike begged, his voice breaking. “I-”

“Apparently he loves him,” Ted continued relentlessly. “Says he has for years.”

Karen’s face showed a flash of surprise before smoothing out as she took in her son’s face which was quickly becoming streaked with tears.

Mike, who had been clenching his eyes shut in a futile effort to stop his crying, now opened his eyes and locked them with his mom’s.

Mike watched her gaze soften and, without having to ask, he knew by looking in her eyes that it was now she who was remembering the night they had shared a hug, the night Will had been assumed dead.

Her eyes moved from Mike’s and grew cold as they focused on Ted.

“Right,” she said, moving to deposit the bags on a kitchen counter before turning to face the table again, her posture straightening. “Mike? Go to your room, please.”

Mike didn’t have to be told twice. He shot up from the table like a firework and dashed to his room, taking the stairs two at a time.

It had taken him almost half an hour to get his heart to stop thumping frantically like a rabbit’s. He hadn’t even thought of eavesdropping on the conversation downstairs.

An hour later, there was a knock on his bedroom door.

“Mike?” his mom’s voice floated through. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah,” Mike answered, hastily wiping at his eyes.

The door opened softly and Karen Wheeler stepped in, almost hesitantly, as if she expected Mike to snap and rescind the invitation he had given. Once inside, she moved to close the door before, catching sight of Mike’s suddenly nervous expression, she instead opted to leave it ajar. She then moved to the side of the room and sat on his desk chair, and Mike noticed she seemed to have purposely not blocked the door, making it easy for him to leave if he wanted.

His mom observed him for a moment before, trying to break the tension, she tried for a light tone.

“So,” she dragged out. “Will, huh?”

And Mike, inexplicably, burst into fresh tears.

His mom didn’t seem surprised at his sudden onset of hysteria. She moved and sat next to him on his bed. She reached out a hand and wrapped it around him and he buried his head in her side, his whole body racking with sobs.

After what felt like several hours but was probably only a few minutes, Mike’s cries finally tapered off to sniffling, with a few hiccups added in for variety. He noticed that, at some point, his mom had started slowly stroking his hair, which he found soothing.

“Better now?” his mom asked, making eye contact.

Mike nodded and his mom moved away slightly so that she could look at him more easily.

“Mike, I-” she paused. “First, I want to say that I’m happy for you.”

Mike’s eyes widened and his mom’s lips quirked into a small smile.

“All I want, as a mother, is for my children to be safe and happy,” she said simply.

Mike stared at her as she continued. “The happy part I see you’ve figured out. I’ve seen you looking at him.”

At that, Mike blushed and Karen flashed a small grin at her son.

“I-” Mike sputtered before groaning. “Was I super obvious?”

“Not to someone who wasn’t looking, but I’ve been watching you be in love with Will since you figured out what love is."

Mike had to smile at that description.

“But the safe part,” Karen’s voice turned more serious. “Honey, you have to be careful. You know...how it is here. Better than most, I’m sure.”

Mike’s mood sobered. He nodded. He did understand.

Karen continued. “You’re lucky your father’s coworker came to him privately. He ‘knew how much this would embarrass’ your father and wanted to ‘give him the chance to fix it himself’.

Mike rolled his eyes, a gesture that was mirrored by his mom.

“And I know,” Karen added, “that you have good friends. Supportive friends.”

Karen paused upon saying that and looked as if she was smiling faintly to herself. Mike had a sudden flash of insight and realized that his mom had seen Lucas’ painted shoes, his “rainbow runners” as Dustin had affectionately begun calling them soon after discovering them.

“I’m glad you have your Party,” Karen finished, smiling gently.

That last statement, more than anything else his mom said that day, stayed with him. Not only was she referring to his friends using the term they had given themselves, a term his father had always refused to use, saying it sounded “strange,” but she was also doing something else his father had never done:

She approved of his friends. She approved of his relationship with Will.

She approved of him.

Will found Mike apparently examining the wooden table in the kitchen. Will was about to interrupt but then noticed the content-looking smile on his husband’s face, so he left him alone. He knew that memories had been plaguing Mike’s mind since he’d entered the house (hell, they’d been plaguing him too), so he was happy that, from the look of it, Mike appeared to at least have stumbled across a happy one.

Not wanting to jar Mike from his thoughts, Will quietly stepped through the house before he hesitantly made his way out the door and found himself in the house’s garage.

As he looked around, Will found that not much had changed. Karen’s car had vanished, of course, but Ted’s remained, although not in as good a condition as it had been the last time Will had seen it.

Will felt his thoughts floating, and it was as if time was trying to pull him backward, as if the past was quicksand and he could sink into it.

Although the garage was closed off from the street now, Will had no trouble remembering how it had been on that day. The day he thought he had lost Mike for good.

The sound of the rain pounding on the roof.

The way he could feel his eyes watering, while his ears were still ringing with the words.

"It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!"

Will clenched his eyes shut, but, of course, now he could see it even more clearly.

He remembered how he hoped his mom hadn’t been home and that, if she was, she would mistake his tears for rainwater.

As Will slowly opened his eyes, he shook his head to clear it, as if he hoped to shake the memory away.

“That was the worst day of my life,” a voice said behind him.

Will turned and saw Mike regarding him with a sad expression, despair shining in his eyes.

“Are you sure we don’t have telepathy?” Will asked jokily.

Some of the pain seemed to leave Mike’s eyes, and he chuckled.

It’s just one of our things, remember?” Mike reminded him, grinning.

Will grinned back. It seemed he hadn’t been the only one reminiscing on that conversation.

Mike walked over before slowly reaching and entwining their hands.

Will looked down at their joined hands and smiled when he saw the familiar gold bands.

They had gotten married (not legally, of course, but in their own and their loved ones’ eyes) in October of 1995. Everyone of importance had been there. Even Ted had shown up, although Mike was convinced his mom had given him a firm lecture not to cause a scene. If she had, it worked. Ted had behaved. Everyone had been happy for them (although, admittedly, Ted’s smile seemed a little stiff).

Mike suddenly moved away. “It’s hot as hell in here. We should open it up.”

Will watched as Mike moved towards the button and pressed it and then he turned and saw the garage slowly open itself up to the world.

Will looked down at his own wedding band and smiled. With the bright sunlight streaming in, he could now make out the words engraved on the ring, although he knew he would never forget them.

Mike joined him and the two looked out at the neighborhood.

“You know, it’s funny,” Mike spoke up. “As much as this town changes, it also doesn’t.”

Will nodded in agreement. They both had spoken of it on the drive in. While there had been new buildings erected and some places had changed ownership, Will knew that the people, the attitudes, remained the same. They had both read the graffiti, most of it anti-gay slogans, that had been sprayed alongside the arcade. Mike had tensed and, although Will had held his hand and tried to calm him, they were both still thinking the same thing:

It’s like we’ve stepped through a time machine.

Will was just about to respond with some futile reassurance when they were interrupted.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

The two men looked and spotted an elderly woman coming off the porch next door and slowly making her way towards them. She wore a pink floral dress. In her hands, she held a wrapped package, about the size and shape of a school textbook.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” Mike said politely while stepping forward slightly, placing himself between her and Will.

Will scowled and stepped forward so that Mike and he once again stood alongside each other. He shot a fond look at the paladin. Honestly, sometimes the other man still acted like that boy who used to protect him from bullies in the schoolyard.

The woman reached them.

“Are one of you-” she started before looking closer at both of their faces. She zeroed in on Mike and relaxed. “Ah, yes. You look just like him. This is for you.”

She reached out and Mike gingerly took the package from her.

I’m sorry, ma’am,” Mike said, confused. “But-”

“You’re Ted Wheeler’s boy, right? Michael?” she interrupted.

Mike straightened.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“I live just over there,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the house next door. “Your father said that I was to give that package to you when I saw you. Said it was important.”

Mike looked down at the package, looking uneasy.

“I don’t suppose...you know what it is?” he muttered.

The old woman looked amused. “No, sir. He said it was something only you were supposed to see.” She sobered then. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Mike nodded absently before hastily adding “thank you!” after the retreating woman.

Mike simply stood there in the garage, looking at the package as though it might be a bomb.

Will snorted and raised his eyebrows. “Well, let’s go back inside and open it up.”

Will took Mike’s hand and led him back into the house.

As they reentered the house, Will led them over to the old armchair in the living room, knowing Mike would find it humorous.

“If my father could see us now,” Mike said, amused, as Will and he squeezed into Ted’s old chair.

“He’d probably tell you to open the damn package,” Will retorted. “Come on, man. I want to see if there’s a bomb in there.”

“Alright, alright,” Mike grumbled, turning on the table lamp before carefully tearing into the box.

Inside, there was what looked like a…

“Is that a...photo album?”

It was a photo album. It looked like your average type, a binder decorated with dark blue construction paper taped to the covers.

Mike flipped it over and, reading the cutout title, he went completely still.

MICHAEL AND WILLIAM: THROUGH THE YEARS

Mike and Will stared for a moment more before Mike, with a shaking hand, flipped it open.

Centered on the page, it simply read, in his father's loopy handwriting:

Michael

“A gift from God”

Mike turned the page and was suddenly looking at a baby he recognized as himself. He saw pictures of himself being held by an exhausted Karen, by a Ted who was smiling (Mike raised his eyebrows in disbelief). He saw a picture of four-year-old Nancy peering into his crib, with a fascinated look on her face.

As they kept turning pages, they followed chronologically. In many places, Mike noticed his father had, in neat tiny handwriting, included dates and short descriptions.

There were Wheeler family portraits, taken annually.

Halloween costumes, including one where Mike was dressed as Peter Pan and Nancy as Tinker Bell (Will gushed over that while Mike temporarily hid his red face).

Seasonal Christmas photos, where a pouty-looking Mike had been forced into sweaters.

Another photo showed his face covered in red and green icing from making holiday cookies with his mom.

Another saw Mike standing proudly next to the crappiest-looking snowman either of them had ever seen (causing both men to burst out laughing).

Will “aww”ed at one that showed a toddler Mike who had fallen asleep while being read to by Nancy.

Both men noticed that all of the photos predated kindergarten.

Eventually, they came to a photo that showed a smiling Mike, the oldest they had seen him so far. Written underneath, it read: Michael on his first day of kindergarten.

Mike and Will smiled at each other and glanced at the next page. Only to be met with more handwritten text:

William

“A strong-willed warrior”

They turned the page and the photos abruptly changed to Will. Now it was Will’s baby photos they were looking at, and it was Mike’s turn to tease his husband for photos of his toddler self sleeping in weird positions or making funny faces.

Mike noted that there weren’t as many photos of little Will. He knew it no doubt had something to do with Lonnie’s influence. The one Byers family photo that was included did not have the man.

When they reached the end of that section, the next page read:

THE FIRST MEETING

Just beyond that page were countless photos of Mike and Will. Coloring. Building block towers. Completing their easy kindergarten homework. Making smiley faces with their food. And more.

“Wow,” Will said, surprised. Are these all from that first day I came over?”

“Probably,” Mike shrugged. “We did a lot of stuff and Mom took lots of pictures. I think she wanted as much proof as possible that I made a friend.”

The next page showed more photos of kindergarten and eventually first grade. Both men smiled when they saw Lucas join the pictures, having been added to the Party around that time.

The photos continued, from group sleepovers to group projects. Them sitting at the table working on some sort of poster. The group passed out in sleeping bags in the basement.

Mike was suddenly struck with a thought. His mom couldn’t have taken all these photos.

Could his father have...?

For the first time, it dawned on Mike how much thought his father had put into the album he was holding. He had obviously gotten in touch with Joyce or maybe Jonathan for the photos of young Will. It was the only solution that made sense.

But why?

Why had his father gone through all the effort?

At around the fourth-grade mark, they spotted Dustin joining their group photos, and around this time, a new header appeared:

THE PARTY

Will didn't think much of it, but Mike stared at the page and only moved when Will nudged him.

“What is it?” Will asked, curious.

“He called us the…” Mike trailed off but whatever he was thinking about made him smile.

It’s these pages that confirmed for Mike that his father must have reached out to Joyce. In addition to more pictures of them, all piled on top of each other, sleeping, or even a few of them engaged in what looked like campaigns, gathered around that tiny table in the Wheeler basement, there were a few drawings that Will knew for a fact had been created by him. Some were sketches of the Party, some of their DnD characters. All of them, in Will’s opinion, looked like shit, and he said as much, although Mike immediately shot those self-deprecating thoughts down with a kiss and telling him that anything he drew was priceless art in his eyes.

Lucas’ enraged face after Dustin had pelted him with food.

Max attempting to teach El how to skate.

El grinning and giving a thumbs up while pointing at an Eggo Extravaganza.

Max’s disbelieving face after El performed a skate trick before she could.

Soon after came a short section with a new title:

BEST FRIENDS

Beyond this one, there were more pictures of Mike and Will. They were older, now more middle-school-age. Some showed the two of them with their heads bent over a table, and Will knew what their past selves were doing was planning a campaign. Will would do the artwork, while Mike, as the DM, would write the stories. Sometimes, he would read them aloud in weird voices to try to make Will laugh, although never when the other boy was drawing. Will took that seriously, and even though Will might have been small for his age, he could be pretty scary when he was pissed.

More photos of sleepovers, just the two of them. Some of them cuddling on the couch while watching movies.

After flipping through a few pages like that, Mike turned the page and suddenly felt cold. For the first time in years, he felt that feeling of ice in his veins. Next to him, Will tensed.

The next section was titled:

TO HELL…

Mike knew before even turning the page what they would see, and his suspicions were proven correct.

The first photo was of a MISSING flyer. Will’s MISSING flyer. The same one that had covered school hallways, bulletin boards, street corners, had been fucking everywhere during the worst week of Mike’s life. Everywhere he looked, no matter where he went, he was reminded that Will was gone, that he wasn’t next to him where he was meant to be.

Mike made to close the book, but Will stopped him.

“Why would he put that in there?!” Mike said fiercely, his voice strained. “I hate thinking about that. It’s been years and I still get upset whenever it’s brought up!”

Will thought for a moment. “I think that’s kind of the point.”

When Mike looked confused, Will explained. “Love isn’t just about how you feel when you’re with someone. It’s...it’s also about how you feel when you’re apart. See?”

Will was pointing to a photo of twelve-year-old Mike sitting at the kitchen table. Mike winced as he remembered the situation. He had gotten so frustrated with the police, with Hopper, for not doing enough. It was like he was the only one who cared about Will. He had written what little he knew, details snagged from the investigation by sneaking onto the Byers’ property when Hopper was there, or asking really nicely for updates from Flo, the woman at the desk at the police station. He had written everything onto index cards and placed them all in front of him on the table, trying to make sense of it. He had agonizingly little to work with, and it was maddening. Nevertheless, he went over everything he had. In the photo, Mike could see that his younger self had looked horrible. There were visible bags under his eyes, his hair was ruffled from not washing it, and his eyes looked bloodshot.

“Damn,” Will’s voice broke through the tension. His words were slightly dipped in sarcasm. “This Will guy and you must have been close.”

Mike let out a watery chuckle. “Yeah. Turns out I was in love with him. I just didn’t know how to tell him.”

“Did you ever tell him?” Will questioned, playing along.

“I got there eventually,” Mike whispered.

On the next page, the first photo took Mike’s breath away.

It was a photo of Sattler Quarry.

It had been taken at nighttime, with the only discernible illumination coming from moonlight. The photographer had taken it from an elevated height, and they captured the whole area.

Below, the lighting caused the water to appear dark and murky, and it was the feeling that he was peering at something eerie, something sinister, like a scene from a horror movie, that clued Will in:

This photo was Jonathan’s handiwork. Most photographs made him feel nothing. They were, in his mind, still and lifeless. Cheap imitations of real life.

Only his brother’s photographs had ever made him feel.

Will also knew when it was taken.

A few years after the Party had graduated high school, Jonathan had said something about taking a trip back to Hawkins, by himself. For closure, he had said. The rest of the family had shrugged it off. Will remembered thinking it was slightly odd. Jonathan had hated Hawkins, just as much if not more than himself.

He came for Ted, Will realized. Ted reached out and Jonathan delivered these photos and added a few of his own.

Mike had realized the same and was in slight disbelief that Ted had reached out to Jonathan, someone who Mike knew his father had grumbled about not being good enough for his daughter more than once.

Then there was a newspaper clipping detailing the recovery of “Will”’s body by state police.

A single photo depicted Will’s gravestone, which they didn't linger on. Mike felt like, even now, years later, the name and dates were mocking him.

Will smiled sadly when he spotted a photo of Mike asleep in his bed, the mark of dried tears still visible on his cheeks. Will recognized his old binder of drawings in young Mike’s arms, which he clutched to his chest like a teddy bear.

The next page sported a title that made Will smile. Both because he had a feeling what he would find beyond it and in amusement at Ted Wheeler’s apparent flair for the dramatic:

...AND BACK.

Another newspaper clipping, this one declaring Will “The Boy Who Came Back to Life!”

Mike and Will, sporting matching grins, as they sat side by side on a hospital bed, Mike looking like he’d never been happier in his life.

Both boys asleep on that hospital bed, sprawled over each other.

Their first sleepover post-Upside Down.

Their first campaign post-Upside Down.

Photo after photo of Mike and Will, reunited after the darkness passed, ecstatic to be together.

Mike was beaming by the time he reached the next section:

TRUE LOVE…

Mike and Will before a date, which Karen had insisted on photographing, despite Mike’s protest that it was just a movie at the Hawk, which they’d been doing for years.

Mike and Will cuddled up while watching movies.

Mike and Will dressed up for prom, which they’d celebrated privately with secret, slow dances at the Byers’, where they wouldn’t be beaten up for showing their love.

Mike and Will at graduation, where they’d taken a “couples photo” with Lucas and Max.

Later photos too, like photos from their wedding.

Mike spotted every Christmas photo he’d ever sent his father, chronologically spaced.

Photos of the newly married couple visiting the Wheelers.

Candid shots, where Mike could see himself staring at Will like a lovesick puppy.

Will doing the same to him.

Mike and Will dressing up together on Halloween to hand out candy.

Mike and Will decorating their Christmas tree.

Nancy passed these along to him, Mike thought.

They reached the end.

“One last section,” Will commented.

“Weird,” Mike said, furrowing his brow. “I’m pretty sure there’s only one more page left.”

The last section read:

...FROM THE BEGINNING TO THE END.

Mike turned the page, and both men froze.

Will knew instantly he was once more looking at one of Jonathan’s contributions.

His brother had taken the photo at sunset, and golden light spilled through the trees and caused the background to be a rich swirl of oranges and light pinks that highlighted the sky, with purple hues contrasting.

The timing was just right that they could perfectly make out the twin shadows that covered the ground beneath, side by side, just like the seats that hung above.

It was the swing set.

Mike’s whole body was shaking, and he gripped Will’s hand tight as he beamed, the tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes making them glisten.

“Mike,” Will abruptly said. “Look.”

The cleric’s hand shook as he pointed out the words that had been written beneath in Ted’s neat scrawl:

“It was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Mike’s eyes widened in shock and wonder as he realized the implications of what he read.

Ted had been told the story of how Mike and Will met.

Mike could picture it, plain as day.

Jonathan had shown Ted countless photographs and he’d explained them too. He’d told the stories behind them. And his father had wanted to hear those stories.

And his father had written...those words. The same words Mike had used years ago to describe exactly how he felt about meeting Will. And his father had done that for a reason.

He agreed.

He approved.

Will made no move to quiet Mike’s crying, crying that escalated into full-blown sobs in seconds. Mike slammed the photo album shut and hugged it to his chest, just as his younger self had hugged Will’s binder so desperately twenty-six years ago.

As Mike’s tears slackened, Will noticed a piece of paper that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey, Mikey?” Will said softly. “I think this fell out of the album.”

Mike rubbed his eyes in a fruitless effort to vanish all traces of the tears. He took the folded paper from his husband and, unfolding it, read a note written by his father’s hand.

I found the proof.

You were right.

I’m sorry.

Mike gave a startled laugh.

“So,” he said, with a wide if still watery smile. “He did know how to apologize.”

“I’d say so,” Will agreed, snorting. “He made us a photo album.”

Will was beaming. He was happy for Mike. As much as he pretended it didn’t bother him, Will knew it had always troubled his husband that his father didn’t appear to approve of who he loved, of who Mike himself was.

It seemed Ted had come around in the end.

The couple settled into a content silence that lasted a few minutes. Will had taken the album and was looking at Mike’s baby pictures while Mike was smiling softly down at the note, running his finger repeatedly over his father’s words, as if he needed physical proof to know they were real.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said. “It appears that we’ve wasted the day.”

“It wasn’t wasted,” Will insisted, gesturing to Ted’s note.

“Yeah,” Mike agreed happily.

He reached out and took Will’s hand in his, smiling as he always did when he saw their twin gold wedding bands.

Mike looked and, with the light on, could just make out the engraved phrase that he had insisted been etched onto both of their rings:

Crazy together

Mike smiled and as the sun outside the window set and the evening darkness descended on the room, Mike wasn’t afraid. He never was, when his husband, his best friend was with him.

Why would he be?

Will radiated light.