Chapter Text
Sunday, March 18, 1990
Standing at a payphone, fumbling with the quarters in his coin pouch, wasn’t part of Mike Wheeler’s dream college experience, but here he was. It wasn’t often for him to be the one leaning against a cinderblock wall, sighing while his mother talked his ear off, completely forgetting that every two minutes cost another quarter, unlike the phone back in the kitchen at home. Usually, Will was the one calling his mom. Every Wednesday at six p.m., like clockwork, for two to four minutes. They talked about whatever had been happening that week. Sometimes El would steal the phone from Joyce, or Hopper would interrupt to add his own comment.
So much unlike Mike, who almost never called his family.
Yet, another addition to the stark differences between the Wheelers and the Hopper-Byers.
“Honey, what time are you leaving on Saturday?” Karen asked, her voice fuzzy and distorted through the cheap receiver.
Mike sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. “Will and I are leaving around six in the morning. We’re picking up Lucas and Max at six thirty, and Dustin at ten.”
He’d already explained this four times during this call alone, not counting the call from two weeks ago, the letter he’d sent to Holly (the only family member still at the Wheeler house he actually talked to regularly, through letters), or the countless times Joyce had probably mentioned it to Karen during one of their wine nights. A new tradition, apparently, ever since the boys went off to college.
It was spring break, or at least it would be in a week. Mike was excited to go home. He wanted real food instead of crappy dining hall meals or greasy takeout. He wanted to sleep in a bed bigger than his twin mattress. He wanted some alone time. Not that dorming with Will was bad. Honestly, it was probably one of the best possible arrangements he could have asked for. Still, it was eating him alive how often he fell asleep with the dim, awful lamp on Will’s bedside table glowing while Will worked on a project, or how frequently he caught himself listening to Will hum along to whatever song played through his headphones, soft and distracted, like he forgot anyone else was there.
Karen hummed in response, followed by the dull thump of something being set down on the counter. “You’ll be back in time for a late dinner,” she said. “I’ll make something good. What do you want?”
“It’ll be ten p.m., mom. I don’t think Dad’s going to wait to eat for me. I’ll just grab something on the way,” Mike replied, just as the robotic voice cut in to inform him he needed another quarter. He groaned and unzipped the pale yellow coin pouch Will had offered him earlier, back when Mike mentioned he might call his mom before leaving the dorm.
Fast food didn’t sound appealing, not after the absurd amount of McDonald’s he had eaten over the past month. It was honestly a miracle he hadn’t gained fifty pounds. A small thank you to his fast metabolism and whatever ancestors had passed it down to him. Still, it sounded better than sitting through his dad complaining about how long it took Mike to get home.
“Well, that’s probably true,” Karen said. “What about Sunday? Is your favorite still pasta, or should I know about anything new?”
Her voice shifted, just slightly, stiff in a way Mike recognized immediately. He knew what she was really asking. It was never just about food. She was testing the waters, looking for something to change. A girlfriend, maybe. Even though she already knew what he’d say.
No, Mike didn’t have a girlfriend. He wasn’t interested in girls, and he never would be.
The call already felt too long. Too loud. Too much.
There was a pause. Mike stared at the grimy floor, jaw tight, not wanting to answer when he knew the intention behind the stiff voice.
“Same old, same old,” he said finally, his voice blunt.
On the other end of the line, he heard a small sigh. She understood exactly what he meant. Yes, he still liked pasta. No, there was nothing new. No girlfriend. No admitting it was just a phase. Nothing she was hoping for.
Karen started to say something else, maybe to defend herself or change the subject. Mike cut in before she could. “It’s getting late. I’ve got homework to do. I’ll see you Saturday. Bye, Mom.”
He hung up before she had a chance to respond.
Mike pressed his back fully against the wall and groaned, rubbing his hands over his face before letting them fall. He tapped the back of his head lightly against the cinderblock, once, then again.
It was annoying. So, so annoying.
He loved his mom. He really did. And she loved him, too. But they weren’t close, not in the ways that mattered. Not like the Byers. She never said it out loud, but it was always there, lingering between them. The quiet hope that one day he would tell her this had all been a phase, that he wasn’t actually gay, that he loved women after all.
Mike knew that was never going to happen.
And that made everything complicated in a way neither of them knew how to fix.
A few guys shot him strange looks as he stomped up the stairs, but Mike barely noticed. There was only two things on his mind.
Get back to the dorm. Rant to Will.
The moment he swung the door open, Will looked up from his desk, already closing his sketchbook as if he had been expecting this. Mike flung himself onto his bed and kicked his shoes off, sending them thudding to the floor just as Will crossed the room and sat at the end of the mattress, a small, knowing smile already on his face. He was ready. He always was. Waiting patiently for Mike to unload whatever bullshit his mom had managed to say this time.
That was exactly why Mike avoided calling home and stuck to letters whenever he could.
“What did she say?” Will asked gently.
He grabbed one of Mike’s pillows and tucked it behind his back before leaning against the wall, eyes never leaving Mike’s face. Attentive as always.
Mike groaned and dragged a pillow over his head, pressing his face into it.
“Nothing new,” he muttered. “She asked what time we’re leaving, like twenty times.” He shifted, voice still muffled, then turned his head just enough to peek at Will, who raised an eyebrow. “That’s not all, though.”
Will’s expression softened instantly, the smile returning in that quiet, reassuring way that made Mike’s chest ache.
“She asked about girls,” Mike said. “Well, not directly. But it was implied.”
He threw the pillow off his face and stared at the ceiling, refusing to look at Will again. He couldn’t deal with the fond look in Will’s eyes when he was supposed to be angry.
“I’m just so tired,” Mike said quietly. “I just want her to accept that I’m gay.”
A year ago, he never would have imagined this moment. Sitting across from his childhood best friend, openly complaining about how his mother knew he was gay and still refused to acknowledge it. He had spent most of his life assuming shame would follow him forever. That it would sit heavy in his chest no matter what.
But here he was. Loudly frustrated instead of quietly ashamed.
“It feels like everyone’s pretending I never came out,” he went on. “I already know how spring break’s going to go. They’ll ask if I like any girls. I’ll correct them and say I like boys. My dad will sigh and my mom will change the subject. Then later they’ll bring up El, ask how she’s doing, and it’s so obvious what they’re implying. Like we didn’t break up four years ago. Like they don’t know I like guys. Guys only.”
He finally turned his head and looked at Will.
Will was watching him closely, lips pressed into a soft smile, brow creased just slightly, like he didn’t fully understand but wanted to. Being gay was hard. That much they both knew. That much they both agreed on.
Mike sighed and rolled onto his side, propping himself up so he could see Will better. “I just want them to stop denying it. It’s almost worse than if they disowned me outright. At least then I could hate them. But I can’t. They still love me. They still care about me so much that they’re pretending this part of me doesn’t exist.” His voice cracked just a little. “They don’t realize how much that hurts.”
Will nodded slowly, actually listening instead of offering a hollow apology to escape the conversation.
Mike had always loved that about him. Will was genuine in a way most people weren’t. He tried to help even when he didn’t know how.
“One of my classmates had to bring a girl home to prove he wasn’t gay to his mom,” Will said suddenly.
It sounded unrelated, but somehow it wasn’t.
“Maybe you need to do that.”
Mike frowned. “I’m not bringing a girl home. That would just make things worse.”
“No,” Will said quickly. “I mean bring a guy home. She can’t deny it if you have a boyfriend.”
Mike blinked.
That was… actually not a terrible idea.
No one could deny it if it was right in front of them. Correcting them only went so far, but forcing them to confront it was different.
There was just one problem.
Mike didn’t have a guy to bring home.
Despite attending a liberal arts college in New York, there was no one who compared. No one who felt right. No one who came close to Will. Not in kindness, not in thoughtfulness, not in the way Will paid attention like Mike mattered.
Frankly, if you didn’t look anything like Will, you weren’t attractive in Mike’s eyes. Maybe that was why he had convinced himself he liked El when they were kids. She had looked like the girl version of Will, and at the time that had been close enough. Even if he didn’t know at the time.
“Fake date,” Will laughed, catching the stress on Mike’s face.
Okay. That was also a good idea.
Except Mike didn’t have anyone for that either. No gay friends. No one who would willingly give up their spring break to spend a week in Hawkins, Indiana.
Who would ever choose that?
Mike had even considered staying in the dorms until he learned the dining halls would be closed. Living on fast food for a week was not financially realistic, and besides, everyone he knew was going home. He would be miserable and alone.
There was a bulletin board in the lounge where students posted flyers. Requests for help. Events. Lost items. Mike had seen them a hundred times, watched people tear off numbers and head for the payphone outside. It was a liberal arts school. Plenty of gay guys. Plenty of accepting people. Maybe someone else had nowhere to go.
“I know you’re thinking something stupid,” Will said, already reading him too well. “Ask someone you know. It’s New York, but people still get hate-crimed here.”
Mike groaned loudly and threw an arm over his face, kicking his legs against the mattress in frustration. It didn’t help, but it earned a small laugh from Will, which made it worth it.
The only people who would willingly go to Hawkins were someone he paid, someone who loved him, or someone who was already going.
That narrowed it down fast.
Lucas was dating Max. Dustin was… Dustin. Mike would rather battle a demogorgon than pretend to be in love with him.
That left only one option.
Will.
The thought was ridiculous.
And yet.
Why was it ridiculous?
Pretending to have feelings sounded terrifying, but maybe he wouldn’t have to pretend at all. He had been hiding them for years. What was the difference between pretending they were fake and pretending they didn’t exist?
Will was already out. Even if he hadn’t formally told everyone, most had suspected it since they were kids. No one would be shocked if Will had a boyfriend. Especially not if that boyfriend was Mike.
Karen already loved Will. She would be awkward, sure, but she would try. She always did.
Fake dating Will was actually a great idea.
Mike sat up suddenly, pulling his legs beneath him and leaning forward until he was close. Too close.
“Be my fake boyfriend,” he said quickly, not giving Will time to react. “It makes sense. We’re childhood friends. Everyone loves friends to lovers. My mom especially. We already live together. We can say we fell in love while dorming.”
Not untrue. Just not the whole truth.
Will shook his head at first, but Mike reached out and rested a hand on his knee.
“Please,” Mike said. “I need this. I finally accepted myself, but I can’t be free if I’m shoved back into the closet at home. I’m not hiding willingly anymore. I’m being forced back into who I thought I was.”
Will met his eyes. The look he gave him was soft and intense all at once. Then he looked down at Mike’s hand.
“Fine,” Will said quietly. “But you’re driving Saturday.”
Mike collapsed forward dramatically, dropping to his knees and pressing his forehead to the cold hardwood floor.
“Oh, bless you, Will the Wise,” he groaned. “You kind, empathetic soul. You will be honored for your sacrifice during this hellish break.”
Will grabbed the broom leaning against the bed and pressed the handle into Mike’s shoulder.
“You shall protect us from danger on the road,” Will intoned. “I bestow upon you the power to keep me safe, oh great paladin.”
They broke into laughter. Loud, obnoxious, contagious laughter.
Mike rolled onto his back, sprawled across the floor, laughing so hard his eyes burned and his nose threatened to run. Will tucked his head into his knees, face red as he wheezed.
They were nerds.
Neither would trade this for anything.
The laughter. The dumb D&D references. The flushed smiles.
Everything was worth it for moments like these.
Even the yearning. Even the constant awareness of a childhood friend only a few feet away at all times, close enough to hurt. Close enough to make his chest ache in a way he had spent years pretending not to recognize. Even when it tore at him from the inside out, Mike knew he wouldn’t give this up. Not after everything they had survived. Not after the Upside Down, the blood and fear, and the certainty that happiness was something meant for other people.
That night, staring up at the dark ceiling, Will’s soft snores drifting across the room, Mike smiled to himself.
They were going to be dating.
Even if it was fake.
Even if it only lasted two weeks.
It was still something. Something thirteen year old Mike had not even dared to imagine. Back then, thoughts like that had been the stuff of nightmares, twisted into shame before he could understand them. The idea of wanting this had made his stomach churn with fear.
Now, he could lie there and think about his feelings without the hot, panicked shame clawing at his throat. He could put words to them in his own head and not immediately shove them away. He could hear Will laugh, really laugh, and instead of wanting to be sick, he let the warmth settle in his chest.
Nineteen wasn’t fearless. It wasn’t perfect. The old instincts still lingered, quiet but persistent, like ghosts he hadn’t fully shaken. But he was out. He was loved. He was here, in this room, listening to the steady proof that Will was real and safe and close.
And somehow, impossibly, Mike found himself enjoying the very moments he would have hated himself for wanting as a kid.