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Karen's feet protest as she kneels down, sifting through their records. She doesn't have anything specific in mind, she just needs something to drown out her neverending to-do list. That, and the hope that Ted is less likely to get on his dinner soapbox of whatever new opinion he's gained from his evening spent in front of the local news. After a day full of chasing Holly around—who's been incredibly moody since she popped her eyes open at exactly 5:07 AM—and staying on top of the house chores, she just can't do it. She can't.
Her fingers stop over a purple spine and she tugs it. Firefall. Fine. Whatever. It's sound, and that's good enough for her today. She straightens, carefully slotting the record onto the plate, flipping it on and settling the needle over the edge of the vinyl. The comforting hum of static spills out of the speakers as she turns back to the dining room, now content.
Settling into her seat, she takes a look around the table. Mike's shirt is covered in grass and dirt stains—that's laundry tomorrow, then. Nancy's hair is starting to frizz and curl at the ends, which means she's out of conditioner and trying to get away with it. That's fine, she needs to stop by the store for groceries tomorrow anyways. She internally huffs, the kids' bedtimes could not come fast enough. She needs to make sure Holly's sufficiently tired before they lay her down if they want her to sleep through the night, unless-
Music cuts through her thoughts. Rock. Great. Not that she hates it, it's just another thing spiking her heart rate at the moment. She plasters on her signature matriarchal smile, digging into her plate of meatloaf. She knows it's lazy, no need to raise your eyebrows. Hence the grocery trip tomorrow.
"Thank you for dinner, Mommy," Nancy says. Her manners are sweet.
Karen looks at her, smiles. Her reply comes naturally. "Of course, baby." It's courteous. Mike's thanks is more of a grumble, but she'll take it. Not a fight she wants to pick today.
Dinner is a quieter affair this evening minus the upbeat melodies, and Karen couldn't be more grateful. This is the longest Holly's gone without crying the whole day, it seems, and a glance at Mike across the table shows he's lost in thought, eyes fixed somewhere near the salt shaker.
Karen herself gets lost in thought for a moment, just looking. She can't believe how fast they're growing up. Mike is nine years old now—a painful reminder that makes her overly aware of the wrinkles on her face and hands. He's had a hard time with the new baby. He loves her, adores her even, but he's been more withdrawn sometime between her pregnancy and now. It tugs at her, the way she feels him slipping through the cracks. She resolves within herself to make more time for him, as soon as she has the time to spare. Maybe she can convince Ted to take him out over the weekend.
Yeah, wishful thinking. A woman can dream, can't she?
The song changes, and it pulls her out of her head a little. This one is much slower, sweeter. It makes more sense why they own this album, now.
Between her own bites and spooning Holly her mashed potatoes, she catches movement in the corner of her eye. Mike is bobbing his head with the rhythm and her heart swells with fondness. It's a unique feeling, watching your children discover what they like. It reminds her as much as he's a part of her, he's also entirely him. That kind of sucks. She doesn't mean that.
Suddenly, Mike's head shoots up, exclaiming much too loudly for the dinner table, "Did you hear that? He said 'Will'!"
Nancy's glaring at him, quick to retort. "No it didn't. That makes no sense."
"Well he did. It makes complete sense because I heard it." Karen has a hard time keeping her face neutral. If she stays still maybe they won't pull her in for her opinion. And really, she's trying to be better about knowing when to step in and when to let them fight it out. Just the thought of mediating another petty fight quickly douses her amusement with a bone-deep exhaustion. Parenting is hard.
As her hand closes around the stem of her wine glass, she lets them. For now.
"It definitely said well, not Will." Nancy remains firm, as she always does. Unfortunately for Nancy, her opponent is cut from the same cloth.
Mike's voice starts to pitch up with his irritation. "Yeah, well how do you know? Were you there when he wrote the song?" Karen remembers to take a bite, walking a precarious tightrope of still being a part of the dinner table setting, without being involved at the dinner table. Her money's on Nancy—because she's objectively right—but Mike's not building a bad argument for himself. Karen reaches for her wine again, sipping gingerly, enjoying the free entertainment. For now. Until she isn't.
Will. Joyce and Lonnie's son. Truthfully, not her first choice of a family for Mike to befriend. Especially not a family including Lonnie—God, that asshole. Good riddance. Regardless, she's really come around. She wouldn't believe someone so gentle and loving came out of that household if she didn't see it for herself. Will is always polite, cleans up after himself when he sleeps over, and is quick to apologize when they start to get too loud. It's almost scary how perfectly they complement each other; Mike is energy and volume in all the places Will is quiet and still. Only around other people, apparently. From what Mike tells her—which is a lot—he's not like that at all when it's just him and Mike. Good for them. Mike's really struggled with making friends, Karen's noticed. She's glad he has at least one—or, two now, with the Sinclair's next door. She's not a total failure of a mom, see?
Nancy's voice is tight, rearing, "I know because I have ears, dingus." Uh-oh. It's as if the whole table pauses, save Holly, waiting for Ted's incessant language! to fill the gap. It doesn't come. Ted's eyes are focused on his plate when Karen dares a glance, and internally she scoffs. Unlike Karen who's invisible for her sanity, she suspects Ted's ignoring them because he just…is. It's gotten worse lately, which is a bitter pill she's choosing not to swallow with a third mouth they now have to feed. She hates that their third child is really starting to feel more like her third child. Hence, no swallowing.
In the silence, Mike picks it back up. "I'm closer to the record player, so I can obviously hear it better than you." He delivers this with an emphatic head nod, his chin tilted down as if he's implying Nancy's stupid. Karen hides her smile behind her fist, taking a deep breath. She lets their bickering fade into the background. As aggravating as they can be, above all she's grateful. She's even more grateful her genes were stronger than Ted's, in just about every regard. Oops, inside thought. It seems she's already a few "ginger sips" of wine in.
"He said it again! See?! He said Will I love you!"
"He said the same thing as last time, which was well."
Karen leans back and briefly shuts her eyes, the wine pleasantly numbing her arms and legs. The quiet was nice while it lasted, all three minutes of it. She's in the final stretch. Just showers and bed. She can do this.
Mom pauses and turns in the doorway, keys in one hand and Holly in the other. "Alright boys, remember: no going outside until we're back, and for the love of everything please do not try to make pancakes on your own again. At least ask Nancy first if you want to use the kitchen." And well, there goes that plan.
Shame floods his cheeks in a way that makes his stomach tense. What he really wants to do is roll his eyes and say it was one time, gosh, but he has a very special guest over who says it makes him sad when Mike is rude to his mom. He's trying to be better about that for Will. Swallowing it down, he manages a small, "Yes, ma'am."
She smiles, and Mike thinks maybe it's not so bad to choose being nice sometimes. Unless it involves Nancy. Then there's no point. "Love you, honey. Have fun, Will!" she says before disappearing behind the door.
Will chimes a warm, "Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler! Bye!" just before the door shuts behind her.
Mike turns back to face Will, bringing a finger to his lips, using his other hand to gesture for Will to stay put as he slinks away to the staircase. His socks muffle his steps as he crawls, like a ninja, just far enough up the stairs to peer into Nancy's side of the hallway. Her door is just slightly cracked open, pop pouring out of her radio as the clinking of beads echo downstairs. Deciding she's sufficiently distracted, Mike nearly tumbles back down the stairs, his ninja reflexes hijacked by a drunken pirate.
Will is exactly where he left him, a glint of mischief sparkling in his bright, wide eyes. Mike's heart pounds, his throat closing around his excitement all of a sudden. This isn't anything cool, like sneaking outside or stealing Nancy's makeup, and Mike is starting to doubt himself. Maybe this is a stupid plan. Will's going to think it's lame.
Will's eyes bounce between Mike's, a scrunch of his brows as he tries to read Mike's mind. They're getting better at that skill, but it's still a work in progress. "What is it?" he asks. Always eager to help execute an idea.
Mike starts, "Well, it's not really-," before stopping, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. "I just…wanted to show you something?" he finishes lamely, bracing for Will's face to fall, to give him a different idea instead.
And of course, the rejection never comes. Instead, Will says, "Okay! Show me what?" His face is so open, so eager and bright in a way that calms Mike down. It reminds him how eager he is to show Will, too.
Mike's hands come up, palms out as he frames the air between them. He puts on his best bravado as he speaks, hands punctuating each pause. "We. Own a record. With a song. That has your name in it."
Will's jaw drops as he bounces on his heels. "Show me, show me, show me!" He's vibrating with something that splinters off and fizzles into Mike, matching his energy with a smile that digs into his cheeks and an enthusiastic head nod. Why was his throat so tight before? And why was he kind of- sweaty? Being with Will is always easy.
Mike scrambles to the player, ducking under to search for the album. He saw his mom put it into a purple sleeve after dinner, and thankfully it doesn't take long to locate. Firefall. Cool. Carefully—okay, not as carefully as he should be, he's excited—he slides it out, presenting it to Will, who holds it delicately.
"It's the second one," Mike says, scanning Will's face as he watches him look over the tracklist. Will's always so gentle in the way he moves.
Will hums, clutching the record tighter as he passes it back to Mike in the space between them. "No way! Can we listen to it?"
Mike nods, taking the vinyl back and moving over to the turntable. He loses all his confidence as he stares it down, remembering he's not allowed to work the needle. He feels heavy, like cold water's been poured over him, pulling his heart down into his stomach. He turns back to face Will, hanging his head. "I can't use the needle."
Will's equally disappointed, "oh," is a twist to his stomach. His instinct is to fix it, but the guilt of being the one to cause it keeps his feet rooted to the floor and face downcast.
But like a ray of sun that peeks through the dark clouds, Will adds, "You know, Jonathan showed me how. I can be super careful with it so it doesn't break." His face looks the same as it does when they sneak a movie into the basement at bedtime. He knows they shouldn't, but he really wants to.
Mike's head snaps back up and the clouds clear. The weight is lifted off of him just as quickly as it came down. What would he do without Will? Probably ask Nancy, who would tell him no. That would suck.
"Will, that'd be perfect! Would you mind?" Mike notices the way he fidgets, and makes sure to add, "If something happens I'll make sure they know it was my fault." He leans in just a bit, to whisper, "and I'll say you told me not to." He grins at the way Will's eyes and nose scrunch at the lie. Mike's heart is warm and his hands are hot; they feel itchy on the inside, wanting to reach out and touch.
Before he can, Will is on the move. He's not sure why he's sad about that when Will is still right here, but Mike is quickly mesmerized in the way he operates the turntable. His hands move over it with confidence, but in that delicate way that is just so Will. He touches every thing like it has thoughts and feelings. He watches as Will drops the needle at the start of the record and lowers the volume on the knob. Will turns to look at him, sheepish.
"I don't know when it starts and I don't want to miss it on accident," he says with a shrug. Mike shrugs back, a shake of his head and tug at his lips that says it's fine, standing a bit stupidly in the middle of the living room. He watches as Will starts nodding his head to this more upbeat track. Mike thinks it's just okay, but it's nice that Will really likes it, since it's for him after all. Will's always just loved music in ways Mike hasn't.
Soon enough, Will's jumping around to the electric guitar, and Mike joins him. The song's really not so bad. He makes a poor attempt at stepping to the beat, but it gets easier the longer the song plays. He feels his body loosen up, and when he looks at Will again the smile on his face is contagious. It makes Mike want to reach out again, and so he does.
As he moves closer, Mike takes Will's hands as the other boy starts dragging his arms around. Mike's smile is bright, almost as bright as Will's face as the world shrinks around the two of them. It feels like only seconds have passed, but the song is already fading. The quiet strum of the guitar starts to fill the living room.
He grips Will's hands tighter and brings them to a stop. Will looks at him, his face saying is this it? Mike nods back, mhm. Will's gaze shifts down to their feet, listening intently. His hands are warm in Mike's grasp, his thumb idly rubbing the back of Mike's hand.
Mike can't help but move to this song. He just really likes it. He alternates their hands up and down, swaying lightly as he watches. Will's head just slightly tilts side to side, his face screwed up in concentration like he's afraid to miss it. He's limp where he lets Mike pull him along gently.
The chorus starts, and Mike sings softly on cue, "Will, I love you," and it's worth it for the way Will's eyes snap back up to Mike's, wide and filled with surprise.
He tightens his hold on Mike, taking a half-step closer. "That's so cool!"
Mike nods, says, "You heard it, right?"
"Yeah!"
Will looks like he's about to burst out of his skin, and Mike isn't far behind. "It says it again, too," he adds. Will's dancing with him now, meeting Mike's movements and swaying with him, but something about it just isn't quite right. Mike says, "Here, let's try it like this." He stops them, putting a hand to Will's waist and pulling their joined hands to the side. Will wordlessly follows, his free arm finding Mike's shoulder. It takes a second to figure out what direction to step in, but they figure it out. They always do, anyway.
They fall into a steady side-to-side motion as the soft melody dissolves into sparks around them. Mike feels so warm all over—he always does when he's this close to Will. It's so nice. Too quickly, the song says the Will line again, and he's partly upset that he missed the chance to sing with it, but Will giggles and everything is just fine.
"Isn't it crazy?" Mike asks.
"It is crazy," Will replies, his energy overflowing, their movements growing bigger as they turn in place. "Now we need to find a song that says 'Mike' for you!"
The song guides Mike as he instinctively lifts his arm, and Will loosens the hold of their entwined hands to let himself be twirled. His cheeks are pink when he faces Mike again. It suits him. He's about to twirl him again, but all too quickly the song ends and they come to an awkward stop.
Mike fidgets in place, and he feels open, like Will can see all of him. But that seems kind of stupid, because of course he can. That's how you look at people.
His throat tight again, he asks, "Can you put it on again? And turn it up just a little bit?"
"Yeah."
With his hand still in Mike's, Will walks them over to the turntable and lifts the needle. The sharp cut of static is extra loud in the silence of the living room. Carefully—much more carefully than Mike is—Will nudges the needle, his eyes focused on where he thinks the song started. Satisfied, he lowers it, and he's really not too far off. It starts at the end of the upbeat song Will likes. Mike takes note of that, tucking it away in his mind to keep safe.
Will pulls him back to the center of the living room, his hand landing on Mike's waist this time. Mike settles into place, his own hand finding Will's shoulder, and it feels just as nice as it did before. They start to dance again and Mike loses himself in it. His heart is full to bursting, pounding with every step. He starts humming the parts of the song he's already picked up, always making sure to sing Will, I love you for both of the choruses. He wishes they'd say it more in the song. And that the song was longer. It's much too short. They have maybe three minutes to dance and hold onto each other before it's over again. Mike makes his face say again? Please? and Will indulges, dragging them to the player and resetting the needle.
Time passes them by quietly in this cycle; reset, turn it up just a hair, dance, groan when the saxophone starts to signal the end, reset. He laughs when Will tries to twirl him, his grip too tight in a way that threatens to break Mike's arm probably. Somewhere around their fourth or fifth listen they crash to the carpet, courtesy of Will severely overestimating his strength when trying to dip Mike…and overestimating the technique for said dip. They still can't figure it out. They spend almost the whole third track trying to learn it before giving up to reset the needle again.
The world blurs around them as they move through the living room, the sight of Will's blinding smile and dimpled cheeks clear in focus. His bunny teeth poke out between his lips every now and then. His laugh is a chime that rings into Mike, knocking into the warmth that fills him inside. He's not sure what time it is, or how much time they have left, but he finds he doesn't care. He twirls Will again, singing along to the music that's gotten much louder.
Nancy's fingers work diligently as she strings pink and purple beads together onto a thin wire, the stream of pop filling her room, drowning out the rowdiness of the boys downstairs. She has half a mind to be suspicious that they haven't come up to beg her to play with them yet, but it's also been a while since Will's come over.
The radio fades, and in the silence between one song and the next her ears catch on something faint and recently familiar playing from downstairs. Her hands stop as she listens. It's that song from the dinner table a few nights ago, which means they're definitely using the record player that Mike is not allowed to use.
Nancy sets her beads down carefully and starts making her way downstairs. She's already preparing her speech, running through the most effective ways to tell off Mike and get them to do something else instead. The words crawl up her throat, eager as they rise with her frustration and searching for a way out.
She turns the corner of the staircase, and just as quickly the words die in her throat. As she looks into the living room, she sees Mike and Will…dancing? They're giggling, holding onto each other as they perform a very poorly executed dip. She almost misses it with Mike's back facing her, but she can just make out over the song the sound of Mike's voice singing to Will.
"When the blues come callin' at the break of dawn; Rain keeps fallin' but the rainbow's gone,"
Mike raises his arm and as Will twirls under him, Nancy catches the blush high on Will's cheeks. She whips back around before he can see her, hiding around the stairs.
Mike's voice is light and teasing, "And it'll be alriigh- Will, I love you,"
Oh.
Oh.
Her mind pours over the onslaught of information, battling with her role of being in-charge and her overwhelming curiosity. She should definitely say something. They'll wear down the grooves from playing it so much. They might break the needle and get all of them in trouble. But also…they've been fine so far. And, well, maybe they're being careful with it? There's really only one way to find out.
She peeks around the corner again, peering at them with one eye.
Nancy is enthralled. Something about them is magnetic, their joy seeping into the space around them and pulling Nancy in. At the same time, she can sense it'd be different if she were there. This is so private…though that isn't the word she's looking for.
The song fades out and they're hovering by the player before it's even over. Will murmurs something to Mike, their hands clasped tightly, his free hand on the volume knob. Their system is smooth and Nancy wonders how long they've been at this already. Since Mom and Dad left? It's been almost an hour.
Mike nods and glances around the room to be sure. Nancy hides back around the corner, heart pounding. Too close. She saw the corner of his eyes.
"Nance?"
Her pulse in her throat, she stays silent. She feels—guilty, in different ways. Guilty that she's watching something that's just for them, guilty that she'd be the reason it ends. That would suck. Mike just looks so—so happy. It's how he always looks with Will, but Nancy feels like she's watching them from a new perspective now. She understands something, the big key to the great mystery that is her younger brother. The song fades in and gets just a bit louder. She waits a bit longer. The images of Mike and Will moving through the living room replaying in her head, her mind unraveling, rewinding, putting it all back together to make sure she's looking at it right.
Really, she should leave. Shouldn't she? She should.
At the sound of soft giggling, Nancy steals one more glance. They're hand in hand, stepping leisurely side-to-side as Mike confidently sings to Will now, his eyes steady on Will's face. Will's smile is beaming, even from here.
Light pours in through the cracks of the front door, and she almost doesn't notice it at first. The reality of what that means hits her fast—Mom is home. Her heart pounds into her ears as she's spurred into action, a sudden need to protect this moment. Nancy's feet retrace back up the stairs, and she swings her door dramatically to signal she's coming down. Her footsteps are louder on the stairs, and when she turns the corner she expects them to be equally in action.
Instead, when she turns around, they're both just—standing. A little too close, like they let go of each other but made no other move to pull away, and their gazes are wide as they stare at her. Mike looks…conflicted. He kind of has the look on his face from when they broke Grandma's urn, but he also just looks confused. Like he isn't sure what he's feeling. Will looks particularly fearful in a way that makes Nancy's heart ache. She hasn't seen that face since Lonnie left. Her mind turns, wondering what about this moment connects those two dots.
She must've stared for too long, because Mike glances over too. He says softly, "Hey, you okay, Will?" as a hand comes up to steady him. Will looks from Nancy to Mike, swallowing as he just nods, a bit dejected, his eyes glued to the ground.
Nancy shakes herself out of her head with a small smile to Mike that she hopes is reassuring, moving through the living room to the turntable. She resets the needle, slipping the vinyl back into its sleeve.
Mike's voice is curious as he asks, "You aren't gonna yell at me?"
"…Do you want me to?" she says, a furrow between her brows as she grabs the TV remote and flips through channels. The boys just watch her, their faces screwed up in bewilderment.
"Well, no- oof," the remote hits Mike's chest mid-sentence, which at least has Will giggling again. She takes note of the way Mike's attention snaps onto him, his smile finding its way back to his face. Nancy can't help but smile too.
Mike grabs the remote from the floor and settles onto the couch as Will sits beside him, the perfect picture of, 'We've been here the whole time!' as they whisper conspiratorially together. Nancy flutters to the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher as fast as possible to make it look like she started earlier. It's brownie points, okay? She has to stay ahead of the curve somehow.
The key jiggles in the lock, Mom's voice cutting into the house. "We're home, you guys!" Dishes clatter, and she hears Mike whine Mooooom from the way she's likely ruffled his hair. Footsteps draw closer, and her mom steps through the kitchen, praising Nancy for helping her out with the chores. Nancy preens, finishing up before heading back to her room. She slows on the staircase, looking at Mike and Will one last time; sitting together just like they always do.