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Mike doesn’t need time to think about his least favorite date. November 6 takes that spot, and it will for the rest of his life. No one who truly knows him questions him about it.
November 6 is the day life as he knew it ended, when El left and took part of him with it.
The people closest to him understand that he’s still grieving, but they’ll never really get it. He can’t blame them. Even when he’s at his most despondent, he doesn’t wish what he’s going through on anyone. Especially then.
Mike also knows his second least favorite date. No matter what the truth is, June 7 reminds him of her in the worst possible way. If she died that night, then her birthday marks another year that she’ll never get to experience. If his theory is correct, that she’s alive and hiding in a place he’ll never know, he’ll never get to see it for himself, let alone experience it with her.
As selfish as it may be, that second scenario pains him even more. He knows it would devastate the people around him, but if he had to choose between her and them, he’d choose her every single time. Leaving them would create a wound that might never fully close, but living without her is like going through life without a limb.
Unfortunately for him, the world is indifferent to his pain and demands he keep moving at a pace he can’t keep up with. He does his best to follow Hopper’s advice and lead the best life he can, if only in her honor, but some days are still harder than others. At least he’s had enough time to know in advance when those days will come.
When he wakes up on the morning of what would be (could still be?) her twentieth birthday, the alarm clock blaring at an hour that no human should ever have to witness, he does his best to keep his composure.
It helps that he isn’t alone, at least physically. He’s staying with Jonathan and Will for the summer in their East Village loft, sleeping on their couch at night while he interns for an independent publishing house during the day. It’s not glamorous, but it allows him to make do with the allowance his parents have been generous enough to provide him with.
Will, ever the morning person, is already up and seated at the table right next to the galley kitchen, enjoying his Raisin Bran and a hot cup of coffee. Mike mumbles something even he can’t quite discern, causing his friend to turn around in his chair.
“Good morning,” Will says softly, his face sympathetic. Ever since El left, he’s been good at acknowledging Mike’s grief while letting things remain unsaid. “Look, no pressure, but how are you doing? Honestly?”
Mike just blinks. There’s no clear answer. Part of the grieving process has been learning to live alongside it rather than moving past it, which means that there are times where it hurts more than others. And Will knows why today is harder than normal.
After a moment, he finds his voice. “I guess I’m as okay as I can be.”
It’s honest. That’s what Will is asking for, right?
Will seems resigned to this response as he takes a sip of his coffee, nodding at Mike without breaking his gaze. “You know it’s okay if you’re not,” Will reminds him. “I know it’s hard. Like, look. I know it doesn’t just go away. But you’re not going at it alone. Not really. And I hate to break it to you, but I think she’d be upset if she knew you were choosing to be sad today of all days.”
Jesus Christ, Will.
Of course he’s pulling that card.
There’s an irony to it all. Will had once been loath to even acknowledge Mike and El’s relationship — once Mike figured out why, he kicked himself for being so completely dense — but eventually became their biggest supporter, even after November 6, 1987. Especially after that day. Both men had loved El in very different ways, and while Will and El had both had feelings for Mike, Will knew where Mike’s devotion lay. As much as it had hurt to reckon with that truth, knowing that El loved Mike with every fiber of her being made it impossible not to believe in them.
Reflecting on this, Mike can’t help but turn the corners of his lips, even if just slightly. Even if thinking about not being totally miserable without her feels like a betrayal. And Will is right: El never wanted that for him, so he needs to do right by her and keep living his life, however it may look.
Will notices Mike’s changing expression and nods once again. “See, you know I’m always right.” He does his best to keep a straight face, but he breaks after only a few seconds, replacing it with a snicker. “Okay, I suck at being smug. But I am still Will the Wise, and that means I have the right answers. I mean, I do most of the time. Don’t ask me about sports or anything like that, because I will fail, and I really don’t give a shit.”
That’s when Mike finally laughs, really laughs. It’s comforting to know that even on days like this, there’s still room for levity. It doesn’t replace the hole she left, but it’s enough to keep him moving forward.
He gets up to join Will for breakfast, pouring himself his own cup of coffee and getting out the waffle iron and the necessary ingredients. Will sees this and raises an eyebrow, though it’s in acknowledgement rather than judgment.
Other than Mike, Will is probably the member of the Party who most deeply feels El’s absence. He knows this because he’s found recent letters to her lying around. Will tells her about Joyce and Hopper’s new life in Montauk and his own life in New York. He asks what she’s doing now, just to create fantastical scenarios he thinks she’d like. He reflects on how he didn’t appreciate the sister he hadn’t known he needed until it was too late, but he hopes she forgives him. Like Mike, he holds onto hope that she’s out there.
As for the others? Max still cries about El sometimes, allowing Lucas to hold her and remind her that their friendship was powerful and to be happy about what they’d had. Lucas himself often admits out loud that he wishes he could explain how much she’d meant to him, if only because he still feels guilty about his initial distrust of her. Dustin invokes his trademark blend of deadpan humor and heart, talking about how much they could use her in even the most mundane situations.
They’ve each told Mike repeatedly that they believe his theory, but he knows they quietly harbor doubts. After all, they still talk about her in the past tense, only to catch themselves if they realize that Mike is in earshot.
Maybe they just believe in his continued love for her. Maybe that’s all he can ask of them.
To their credit, they’re not pushing him to meet someone new. Dave, his roommate back at IU, had tried to set him up with a few girls, but Mike always found an excuse to say no. He tried once at the beginning of Sophomore year, and it just confirmed his disinterest in the entire process.
Her name was Denise, and she often sat by him in their Advanced Composition class. She’d liked his writing and asked him if he’d like to grab a cup of coffee, and he accepted if only because he admired how direct she was.
It only lasted thirty minutes. He spent the whole time just thinking about how wrong it felt, and it made him petty in a way he didn’t like. He found himself turned off by the way she snorted when she laughed and even the blot of dark liquid at the corner of her mouth that she didn’t seem to notice. Here was a girl who would probably be perfect for him in any other timeline — pretty, smart, funny, unflashy — but any feelings he could even imagine having for her felt hollow compared to what he’d already experienced with El.
Sometimes his parents quietly ask if he’s open to the idea of dating again. They’re trying to help, and he loves them for it, but they just don’t get it. In their defense, even he doesn’t know how he’d react if he found out his son had found his soulmate in a telekinetic fugitive he’d harbored in the basement at the age of twelve.
Nancy is more sensitive. Back at Christmastime, she’d pulled him aside and gently asked him if he thought he’d be betraying El by meeting someone new.
“No,” he told her, honestly rather than defensively. “I’d be betraying myself. I don’t want to go out with someone I’m not interested in. It’s not about her, it’s about me.”
Nancy nodded, relief flashing across her face. “Okay,” she breathed, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I trust you. Really, I do. I just need you to promise me that you don’t punish yourself.” She paused, looking to see there was something beyond the exterior. There wasn’t. “If things change and you meet someone, it’s okay. She’d want it for you, she really would. And you owe it to her, to what she gave up, to live your life.”
What does it mean to live your life when part of it is already over?
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re on the straight path to diabetes by thirty.” Will’s mocking tone is enough to pull Mike from his thoughts, which is good because he shouldn’t be spending the limited time they have to just hang out ruminating on what he already does most of his days.
Mike scoffs and looks down at the plate he’s just prepared: waffles with syrup and whipped cream, sliced strawberries, and bacon. If he has a heart attack in the next twenty-four hours, doctors will surely trace it back to this very meal.
“Dude, I’m not Hopper,” he jabs back. “I’d like to think you’d give me more credit than that.” Hopper is an easy target, but Will can’t help but smirk. Ever since he was diagnosed in the fall, Joyce has gone overboard preparing healthier meals and encouraging her family and friends to join their new diet.
“Touché.” A great thing about Will is that he understands how even when Mike teases, it’s out of love rather than meanness. “Speaking of, Paul and I are heading up to Montauk this afternoon. We’re going to spend the week there. I know you have work, but maybe you could join us for the weekend? It’d be a real lifesaver — your presence could save Mom from droning on about her latest PFLAG meeting.”
Most other days, it would be a tempting offer. Montauk is beautiful, even if the summertime means the wealthy Manhattanites coming in make it impossible to get around, especially on the weekends. But now just isn’t the time.
For one thing, he doesn’t want to spend today of all days feeling like a third wheel to Will and his boyfriend of eight months, no matter how cool Paul, an oxymoron of a nerdy punk rocker, is. Five years after that eventful spring break of ’86, the irony still isn’t lost on him.
The second, more painful reason is that he just can’t bring himself to see Hopper right now. Their shared history bonds them, but it also makes it more difficult for Mike to interact with him. If he’s learned anything about accepting loss and living the best life he can regardless, it’s knowing his limits. Seeing him today of all days would break him.
He doesn’t tell Will any of this and does his best to maintain a poker face. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “It sounds fun, but I need to catch up on some stuff at the office. Gary’s already up my ass about how behind I am on proofreading the latest submissions.”
It’s a complete farce. His internship duties consist of fetching coffee and looking through submissions, forwarding the ones that aren’t complete dogshit to Gary for further review. (Most are quickly tossed to the side.) Can Will see through his lie? Maybe. Mike notices how he twitches his jaw, his expression otherwise unchanged.
At the very least, Will doesn’t push it. “No worries, just thought I’d ask.” Another good thing about Will is his ability to read the room. “Anything good come in over the last few days?”
Thank fucking God.
This is something Mike can talk about without the unspoken pressure of baring his soul, especially when he doesn’t care to. He tells Will about the piece he actually liked, a sci-fi piece that serves as an allegory for the intersection between Reaganomics, a broken health care system, and societal inequality. Will listens intently, having become increasingly political as he’s gotten involved in AIDS-related activism.
Will trades back stories about the latest in his volunteer work. Attending the tuition-free Cooper Union means that he doesn’t have to worry about a job that takes up too many hours, and that allows him to focus on the causes he truly cares about. He works on sex education campaigns and promotes art therapy for children living with PTSD, neither of which he could have even imagined being possible back when he lived in Hawkins. It’s a good way to spend breakfast, just bonding over their love of all things nerdy and their increasing engagement world around them.
After a bit, Jonathan finally emerges from his bedroom, hair uncombed and dark circles under his eyes. He’s been working late a lot recently as a production assistant on some shoestring budget independent film, and the combination of long hours and low pay is clearly getting to him. No one’s said anything, but everyone knows that he’s restarted smoking pot.
Jonathan stops in his tracks as soon as he sees the two sitting at the dining table. They’re not kids anymore, and he’s done his best to move past the parentified role thrust upon him at a young age, but it’s clear he’s still embarrassed when Will sees him like this. So, as he moves through the kitchen, pouring himself the last of the coffee and his own bowl of cereal, he avoids eye contact with them.
Witnessing Jonathan like this is painful in a secondhand embarrassment sort of way, but it also provides Mike with a perverse sort of relief. He knows he’s not alone in struggling.
“I need to be on set in less than two hours,” Jonathan finally says. “We’re shooting in Prospect Park today, so I have to head out in the next fifteen minutes. Can I trust you guys to take care of the dishes?”
They simply nod in response.
Jonathan leaves a few minutes later, and the boys finish cleaning up soon after that. They get ready for their day — it’s fast when all that’s asked of them is putting on clean clothes and brushing their teeth — and before they know it, it’s already time to head to work. They’ve been largely quiet ever since Jonathan walked out.
Mike is content with the silence, ready to put on his headphones and let the sounds of the Pixies drown out the dread already coming back. It should be a good way to end the morning, but Will steps in front of him before he can walk out the door.
Of course.
“You’re still welcome to join us, y’know,” Will says hopefully. “Paul told me about some band that’s up there and playing tonight. The cassette he shared with me sounds a lot like something you’d like. Who knows, it could help you get your mind off everything.”
There it is.
All morning, Will had known just what to say, but this is the moment that Mike had hoped wouldn’t come. Will should know better than anyone that he doesn’t want to get his mind off her, not today.
Especially not today.
Mike’s face twitches. If he’d been younger, this would be the time for an outburst, but time and trauma have subdued him. Twenty-year-old Mike just squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths. “I know you’re trying to be a friend, Will,” he says almost too quietly. “But you need to understand that you’re not fucking helping.”
When Mike was growing up, it was easy for his family and friends to tell when he’d reached his breaking point, and that meant they could tether him back. The way he reacts as a young adult is almost scarier. It means the people around him don’t know what to expect or when, and that makes it harder for them to understand him. It was worse in the first few years after El’s final departure, but it’s still an unspoken source of tension within the larger group.
This is clearly on Will’s mind as he just darts his eyes and slumps his shoulders. And as much as Mike wishes he was sorry, he can’t bring himself to feel anything other than pissed at the person who should understand his pain better than anyone else.
“I’m sorry, Mike.” It’s all Will can say, but that’s all right. He doesn’t need to say more.
Mike exhales again. “Yeah,” he says with a more measured tone. “Me too.” They both know he isn’t sorry for snapping at Will, but again, the silence speaks for itself.
A chainsaw isn’t enough to cut through the tension, but one of them has to say something, so Mike bites the bullet. “Look, just tell everyone that I say ‘Hi,’ all right? And if they bother to ask, you can tell them that I’m okay. Truly.”
Will nods. He opens his mouth only to close it right back up, as though he’s trying and failing to find the right words to say, only to just say, “I’ll see you when we get back.”
Mike nods curtly but doesn’t say anything, instead moving around Will to go through the apartment door and close it behind him, not looking back once.
Two of the three full-time employees at this small company decided to take a long weekend, meaning that it’s just Mike and his boss at the office today. He’s preoccupied with thoughts of El, which is to be expected, but it doesn’t hinder his ability to do what he needs to get a reference from Gary.
Gary.
Gary Hansen, who runs this operation, reminds him a bit of Bob Newby. Sure, with a side-comb and wire-rimmed glasses that make Mike self-conscious about his own newly acquired frames, he resembles Ted more than the fallen hero of ’84. But the personality is spot-on, a mix of warmth, dorkiness, and an overeagerness to connect with the MTV generation. He insists that everyone call him by his first name instead of Mr. Hansen, saying that he doesn’t want to feel too old. Mike thinks it’s a bit pathetic. He doesn’t say anything, of course. Again, he’ll need that reference.
By four o’clock, Mike has spent most of the workday skimming through the latest Discworld-knockoff to reach his desk. He’d kill to get more pieces that are original, but the reality is that most things are ripoffs. This one is at least readable. Might as well give it to Gary, the only other person not taking the day off.
He looks up to find him already walking in his direction, chair in hand.
Oh no.
Over the past few weeks, Gary has used Fridays as an opportunity to learn more about Mike’s life outside of work, as well as share stories about his own family. Boundaries aren’t his strong suit. Mike has told him a bit about how he spends his weekends exploring used bookstores and catching live bands at coffee shops, as well as his adjustment to the culture shock of Manhattan. Meanwhile, Gary loves to share stories of his family’s exploits, including taking his nine-year-old son to comic book stores and museums. Mike admits he sounds like the kind of dad he wishes he’d grown up with. Maybe the kind he’d like to be himself one day, if that’s even in the cards. He’s not sure anymore.
“Joey and I are going to catch City Slickers tomorrow,” Gary announces as he perches himself next to Mike. “Sheryl wasn’t sure about him seeing a PG-13 movie, but she calmed down when I reminded her about the video games we let him play. And you? Got any plans?”
Crying into a pillow is the honest answer, but something with a bit more tact would be preferable.
“Celebrating an old friend’s birthday,” Mike says after a moment, trying not to let “old friend” sound too heavy. He pauses, then continues, feeling more comfortable with what he’ll say next. “After that, I don’t know. The friend I’m staying with is visiting his mom and stepdad in Montauk, and I don’t really feel like tagging along. His brother — I think I’ve mentioned he’s also his roommate — is almost always out somewhere, so I guess I’ll do something on my own. Maybe use it as a time to go somewhere only I’d be interested in.”
Gary cocks his head. “Somewhere only you’d be interested in, huh? That sounds promising. Could be a lotta fun, too. Have you thought about any places?”
Realistically, Mike doesn’t have a good answer, but there’s comfort in knowing there's time to figure it out, do something that’s based on his interests rather than someone else’s. It sounds like a nice change.
Whatever whimsical part of Mike remains from ’87 still thinks about waterfalls. It can still be painful — a reminder of his adolescent limitations and inability to plan a concrete future for himself and El — but it also gives him hope. When he thinks about the possibility of her being alive, he pictures her by the three waterfalls he’d described to her, a simultaneous symbol of her finding freedom and her shared desire to keep their love alive. She’d never asked it of him, but his life didn’t just start the day he, Dustin, and Lucas found her in the woods. It was kismet, and his life has been about her ever since. Believing that she’s found happiness allows him to have some too.
Other than Hopper during their emotional conversation, he’s never told anyone about the waterfalls. That is, until now.
“Yeah, I’d like to visit some waterfalls,” he blurts out.
So stupid.
He expects Gary to blink at that, but something else happens. “Like Rauros?” he asks, grin spreading wide across his face. And that’s when Mike remembers that even though Gary is a massive dork, he shares a love of all things nerdy. (Maybe part of why Mike cringes at Gary’s dorkiness is the likelihood that he’s looking at his future self. After all, the overlap between “dork” and “nerd” isn’t a perfect circle, but it’s pretty damn close.) “That sounds cool. I’ve seen some pretty great ones in my day. Do you have any in mind? Or do you just like the idea of water pouring down the earth?”
Mike laughs, and it might be the first time during one of their conversations that it feels genuine. “Just like the idea of it, I guess. I mean, my friends and I played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons growing up. It got to the point where we’d compare what was really going on in our lives to the creatures and locations from the game. Waterfalls always seemed like a great location for an epilogue if the characters got their happily ever after, so maybe I imagined that I’d get mine one day too.”
He wouldn’t have expected it, but it’s nice to describe all of this to someone who doesn’t have greater context. Gary hadn’t even heard of Hawkins before Mike joined the team, and he obviously doesn’t know about Mike and his friends’ experiences with the supernatural during their adolescence, but Mike can still talk about his life in a way that feels natural without revealing too much.
It’s just too bad he’s unprepared for what comes next.
“I’ll give it to you, kid, there are some spectacular ones out there,” Gary says as he leans back into the chair. “My dad moved to the U.S. from Denmark as a kid, so I’ve still got family there. Visiting them is a great excuse to see more of the world. We’ve gone to Iceland twice, and there are waterfalls all over. It’s funny, the name makes people think that it’s a tundra, but it’s actually pretty grassy. Greenland’s the one that has no greenery. Maybe it’s intentional false marketing because it’s secluded and they don’t want tourists overrunning the place.”
Waterfalls? Seclusion?
It’s like his brain has gone through electric shock. Mike has long thought it impossible to know where El would be hiding, but this just clicks in a way he can’t fully explain, like he’s found the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
Gary has upended Mike’s entire understanding of reality, and he doesn’t even know.
He really is like Bob.
Of course, Mike has believed that El is somewhere out there ever since that fateful moment at his high school graduation upended everything he’d known to be true. The thing is, that belief has largely been a necessary choice, fueled by its ability to help him move forward. Now, he believes because it’s the only thing that makes sense.
That shift changes things.
She hasn’t contacted him. She won’t let him know if she’s safe. She almost certainly never will. She’s letting him live like this.
No, that’s not fair to her.
It sucks, but the sobering truth is that she probably has the right instinct. In the aftermath of November 6, 1987, the military let the survivors go and eventually stopped keeping a close monitor on them, but everyone still fears that it could resume at any point for any reason. Murray recently told him how the same forces that searched for El had long moved on to new projects, reasoning that she was dead and the rise of artificial intelligence would be a more reliable asset regardless, but who knows what they’ll do if they know what Mike does?
If she’s still out there, then she’s as brave and selfless as ever. That means she won’t even risk putting the people she loves in harm’s way. That reality — her continued goodness and inability to put herself first — hurts him. But it’s not her fault.
It’s a cruel, unjust world, especially for someone like her.
She’d told him that leaving was the only way for the chaos to end and the rest of their lives to go back to normal. There was just one caveat: He’d never wanted normal. All he’d ever wanted was to stay by her side, and he couldn’t even have that.
That had been their dilemma from the beginning. She’d loved him enough to leave, all because she didn’t want him to sacrifice anything. He’d loved her enough to follow her anywhere, even if he had to sacrifice everything.
He doesn’t mean to spend his Friday evening ruminating on this, with the same beats on a loop, but it was probably inevitable. She’s been gone from his life for almost as long as she was in it, but she continues to dominate every aspect of his being.
He finally returns to the apartment after aimlessly walking around the neighborhood for three hours, too dazed to take in the world around him. It’s only when he reaches the fourth floor that he’s truly alert, if for no other reason than it’s a sad reminder that he really needs to hit the gym for once.
At least he has the place to himself tonight. Will, of course, has left for Montauk. If Jonathan is done with the shoot for the day, then he’s likely God knows where with Pamela, his girlfriend of fifteen months and an aspiring film composer.
He enjoys the guys’ companionship, and he’s even more grateful that they’re letting him sleep on their couch for the summer, but this is a night he needs to be alone. Yes, they were her brothers, but they’ve been able to move forward in a way Mike just hasn’t. While they’d loved her — and still love her — it’s just not the same.
If he’s going to spend tonight focused on her, then he should do the bare minimum and do something she’d appreciate. As it stands, he’s lying on the couch in the small living room, eyes moving between her photo that he carries around with him and the ceiling that’s bound to cave at any moment.
Forget any spores from the Upside Down. Inhaling the asbestos surely lurking in the chipped paint is the biggest airborne threat he’s ever experienced.
Inhaling. Could be fun.
Good thing he knows where Jonathan keeps his stash.
Mike hasn’t told Will, but a few nights after arriving in New York, he witnessed Jonathan and Pamela light up together in his bedroom, the window open so the landlord wouldn’t catch them. In fairness to Pamela, Jonathan was the idea man, telling her it would help her unwind after an intense courseload that semester. Mike had tried to block out any other memory of that evening, but he still has the burden of remembering their panting and moaning, whether he likes it or not.
If there’s a silver lining, it’s that it wasn’t Nancy. Jonathan cleared the lowest bar possible.
Jonathan still owes him for the misfortune of having to hear it, though, so he rushes into the bedroom and opens the side table.
Mike hasn’t spent college life as a total hermit. He’s been celibate, sure, but drinking and getting high are practically sacraments even for the nerdiest out there. It’s not like he does it every week, or even every month, but some experience is more than nothing.
And thank God his mom had insisted he write letters home regularly, meaning he has enough envelopes that all the children of Hawkins can write letters to Santa for the next three years. He can enjoy as many blunts as he wants, so long as he rearranges the buds so that Jonathan doesn’t notice. And boy oh boy, the stash is ever plentiful. Maybe it’s best to just roll one big one.
What harm is a puff or four of Purple Palm Tree Delight?
He’d always loved to make her laugh, and shouldn’t he keep improving one of the few things he truly liked about himself? Besides, she’d told him that Argyle was a funny guy, and smoking that shit was his entire personality.
The A/C is faltering again, which is a good enough excuse to open the windows after he lights up over the stove and inhales repeatedly. The warm June air filters in, airing out the worst of the stench, and the noise of the street comes along with it.
It’s funny; he’d thought he would love the hustle of New York, having grown up in cookie-cutter Middle America, but the reality is that it just feels wrong. It’s like wearing a shirt his mother bought for him only to make her happy.
He wonders what El would think of it. Save for her brief visit to Chicago, she’d never had the opportunity to experience one growing up. Has that changed since? What would she think of New York? Would she be overwhelmed, or would she marvel in all its offerings? Would she prefer a remote place like he’d imagined for them?
God, he hopes so. Whenever he finds himself in the woods or the countryside, he pictures her in his arms, taking it all in. Sometimes he’ll stay until the moon is out and wonder if she’s looking at it at the same time. That way, they’re still sharing something.
The commotion continues to soundtrack his thoughts for an indeterminate amount of time, which is the last thing he needs right now. Taking a whiff, he figures it’s been long enough to close the windows back up and drown out his thoughts with something more pleasant.
A few feet away from the couch is a table with a vintage record player, which Joyce and Hopper had given the boys as a Christmas present back in ’89. Boxes of vinyl sit below, poking out and begging to be played.
He racks through the selection, hoping to find something she’d enjoy. It’s more difficult than he’d expected, but given her preference for cheesy pop music, he shouldn’t be surprised. Top 40 and the Byers brothers don’t exactly go together.
If he’s not going to find something that he knows she’d enjoy, he might as well try to listen to something new. She’d always been open to trying new things, whether it was music, movies, food, you name it. She was always so excited by the seemingly endless possibilities the world had to offer that she wouldn’t turn her nose up at anything.
After some rummaging, he finds an album with artwork that stands out in its simplicity of just a sea blue wave for cover art. He has no idea what it is, but Pamela had recently gifted the apartment with several records she’d acquired on a recent trip to London, and this was one of them. If Jonathan trusts her taste, then Mike does too.
He puts the record on and lies on the couch, his gaze fixated on her picture, and lets the music take him in.
It’s trippy, complete with distorted guitars, an amplified bassline, and vocals demanding he strain his ears if he wants to figure out the lyrics. Yeah, there’s stuff that it reminds him of, sure, but it’s also something new. And listening while high? He gets it.
The pot’s doing its magic, thank fucking Christ.
He may as well have written the lyrics. Song after song, they’re about yearning, romance that’s simultaneously short-lived and intense, and identity. Maybe drugs too. It’d be fun to share this with El and see what she’d think.
He’s forced to get back up from the couch to turn the record over, but it isn’t enough to break him from this melancholic euphoria. That is, until he bumps his knee while returning to the couch, and it hurts like a motherfucker.
All right, there is some harm in Purple Palm Tree Delight.
The throbbing will lessen soon, so he just flops back onto the couch, returning his attention to her photo and wondering what she might look like now.
What’s her hair like? Did she get the tattoo covered up? Does she still wear that ring?
It’s fun to imagine. Words have never been enough to describe how attractive he’s always found her. As nice as the framed picture he has of her is, it still doesn’t do her justice. He misses the way her already-wide eyes would grow bigger when they were together and how soft her skin was, even right after fighting a monster.
The album continues, songs touching on similar themes in different ways. It’s been a good listen, and he’ll need to thank Pamela the next time Jonathan brings her over.
Then the final track begins.
It starts normally enough, but the singer’s earnestness is more pronounced this time, which comes through in the lyrics.
“First you look so strong, then you fade away. The sun will blind my eyes, I’ll love you anyway.”
It may as well be their relationship. They’re bound. If this is what it means to be in love — both the good and the bad — he’ll take it.
He hitches a breath as the song continues, lyrics continuing to reflect his own yearning. He takes it all in but keeps it together, until he doesn’t.
“And all my time is yours as much as mine. We never have enough time to show our love.”
Other than “I love you,” it’s what he’d most want to say to her if he saw her again. It doesn’t make sense to the people around him, but he doesn’t have it in him to care what they think. They just don’t get it, and that’s okay. What they had — still have — is theirs alone, even if time has never been on their side.
The song continues, but the lyrics are done. It’s both purposeful and directionless, but it makes sense. And then, the album just ends.
That’s it. Just like her.
He gets up to replay the song twice, taking it all in. He’s spent years writing thousands — maybe millions — of words, many of which have been about her and their relationship. Nothing has ever been able to do it justice, but this simple song does.
That’s when he finally starts to cry. Not quiet, dignified tears, either. These are tears of pure agony, ones that cause his face to burn and snot to come out of his nose.
He still can’t bring himself to be angry at her, but she’s still breaking his heart in a way he’d never imagined her being capable of.
Why won’t she come back? Why can’t she come back?
He just wants her in his arms, or himself in hers. He isn’t picky. They’d become intimate in that way starting in the early spring of ’87, and in the aftermath of many a tryst, he’d hold onto her, seeking her assurance.
He’d give anything to be with her again. It doesn’t matter if it kills him. It sounds like a great way to go out.
He imagines what it would feel and sound like. He imagines their adult selves rediscovering each other and finding new ways to connect. Even in just his mind, it’s a sight to behold.
Lying on the living room couch, his mind flashing between what he remembers and the possibilities he imagines, his hand wanders to the zipper of his jeans.
He doesn’t just want her. He needs her. And in this instant, he feels her. It’s everything he’s needed.
It’s over sooner than he’d like, but it still feels amazing. He hopes she’d feel the same way.
Only as he exhales does he realize that he'd once again tuned out the sounds of the surrounding world, and that meant he hadn’t heard the door unlock and open just a moment ago.
Staring at him with an unreadable expression is Jonathan.
Should have just taken a cold shower.
When Mike can finally bring himself to leave the bathroom, freshly showered and in his sleepwear, he sees Jonathan sitting at the dining table.
The couch is now a hazard zone.
He’s never wanted to turn invisible more than this moment; except maybe the time he accidentally dropped the “love” bomb in the summer of ’85.
It only now occurs to him that he hasn’t eaten dinner, but he suddenly feels a pang of hunger that he needs to address immediately. He walks past the table and into the kitchen, gathering the ingredients necessary to make a grilled cheese sandwich.
The entire time he prepares his meal, he can feel Jonathan’s eyes on him, lasers doing everything to burn right through.
He brings the finished meal of grilled cheese and Doritos back out, ready to go straight back to the couch, but he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he sees Jonathan standing and looking at him with surprising sympathy.
Wait, what?
“Sit,” Jonathan says softly, gesturing to the dining table. “We need to have a talk.”
Mike groans. He already knows he fucked up by beating off on the couch, so is anything more than the perfunctory “Sorry” he gave once he’d processed what had just happened necessary?
On the other hand, he’s a guest in Jonathan’s home, so he doesn’t have much of a choice. He nods his head and sits himself down, making as little eye contact as possible.
Only he could have managed to have separate awkward encounters with both Byers brothers in less than twenty-four hours.
He quietly eats his food as he hears Jonathan tapping his fingers on the table, clearly trying to figure out where to start.
“I know what today is,” Jonathan finally says, leading Mike to finally look up.
“I miss her too.” It’s quiet, but there’s a rawness in Jonathan’s voice that Mike isn’t used to hearing. “Every day. I think about how excited she was when we first moved to Lenora, and how we failed her because we were so wrapped up in our own lives that we couldn’t see how much she needed us. I think about how much she’d smile whenever your letters came in. They were some of the only times she was happy out there. I think about how she trusted me not because she thought she was supposed to, but because she saw something in me that she decided she could.”
It’s the most Mike has ever heard Jonathan say about El, especially after that fateful night, but it makes sense. While Mike acts out, Jonathan acts in. He carries his pain quietly and without complaint. Mike doesn’t know how he does it, but this is the first time in years that he’s witnessed Jonathan get teary eyed.
That’s when Mike starts crying again himself. It’s just as pitiful as before. Jonathan being Jonathan, he just observes Mike defile himself even further.
It’s difficult to figure out something — anything — to say, but Mike eventually comes up with something. “I don’t want to stop feeling this way. I want to keep living, but I don’t want to stop loving her. I don’t want to stop being her boyfriend. I don’t want to go out with anyone else just because that’s apparently what I’m supposed to do after a while. And it’s not about what she’d want, it’s about what I want. I’ve only ever wanted her and will only ever want her. If living like this is the only way I can have her, then fine. She’s worth it.”
Sweet catharsis.
Mike has tried for years to be succinct when talking to others about how he’s handled grief. He’s told people he’s just not ready not move on, and he just needs to go at his own pace. He’s reassured them that he could be open to finding love again. He’s said all the right things to get them off his back. And it’s all been one giant joke.
He readies himself for what Jonathan will say next. He prepares to hear a gentle suggestion that he’s unwell or regressing, and that he really needs to go back to seeing a therapist of some kind.
Naturally, Jonathan’s response surprises him.
“That’s okay,” he says gently, nodding with a kind smile. “You don’t have to live your life a certain way just because people say you’re supposed to. And you shouldn’t be with anyone just because it’s what people expect of you. I think you remember that I learned that the hard way.”
Mike laughs softly. He’s witnessed how Jonathan and Nancy’s relationship has improved since they’ve broken up for good. They were together for so long because that was what everyone had expected of them, but what good was that? They were constantly on edge around each other, always saying the opposite of what they meant, and never what truly mattered. Now, Mike will sometimes see them hang out and laugh, being honest about their opinions and open to debates.
“I still like you better than the boyfriends she’s had since,” Mike trades back. “You’re a tough act to follow.”
“And so is El,” Jonathan says, smiling once again. This is probably the most emotionally open conversation the two have ever shared. It’s nice.
Silence overtakes them, but it’s different from that morning’s incident with Will. While that had an undercurrent of so much left unsaid, this is a moment where no words are necessary. Jonathan gets Mike in a way most people don’t, and neither would have thought about it before, but it just makes sense.
After a while, Jonathan finally speaks again. “Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but Will told me about your theory. And maybe I’m trying to cope just as much as everyone else, but honestly? I think you might be right.”
Mike’s eyes widen. He really didn’t expect this.
“She was always so methodical,” he continues as he shakes his head. “And honestly, I can’t see how she wouldn’t have had all bases covered. Hopper taught her well that way.”
Hopper.
“Does he know about the theory?” Mike asks, afraid of what the answer might be.
“No,” Jonathan responds reassuringly. He leans forward with a look that promises honesty. “Look, I know how it looks like he’s fine, but there are still moments where the mask slips. He’s just gotten better at putting it back on. Will and I went out to Montauk over Easter, and he was sullen the entire time. Wouldn’t say why, even to Mom, but we could all guess. And he’s been more withdrawn ever since.”
“Is that why you’re not out in Montauk right now?” Mike asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do you not want to deal with him?”
“Yeah, but not for that reason,” Jonathan says with a shit-eating grin. “You guys may not love it, but the pot has been pretty good for me, at least when I smoke it for the right reasons. It helps me unwind and remember not to take myself too seriously. I know I’ve been dealing with a lot lately, but it’s just part of getting older and taking on new responsibilities. I’m learning to live with it, and I’m okay. Of course, the Pig Chief of Montauk won’t like that answer, and I don’t want to deal with that.”
Mike laughs. How has he not previously seen how funny Jonathan can be? He’s not boisterous like Steve or quirky like Robin, but he’s snarky and analytical, finding humor in subtlety.
“By the way, I know you smoked some of it this evening.” Shit, Mike had expected Jonathan would just think he’d been crying and nothing else. “You left the blunt on the floor. It’s fine, but try to clean up after yourself so that we can hide the most obvious evidence, all right? And if you’re going to enjoy it, it’d be nice if you chipped in. I’m not exactly a starving artist, but I still have a long way to go.”
Mike just nods and gets up to clear his plate. As he cleans up in the kitchen, thinking of Jonathan’s words about the need to follow his own path, the epiphany hits him.
Go to Iceland. Go anywhere. Find her.
It won’t happen immediately. Travel requires money, and there’s no way he can afford to travel the world with the money he makes from his part-time job during the school year or the allowance his parents give him. As tempting as it often sounds, dropping out of school is out of the question if he’s going to make this work.
How it happens, he doesn’t know. But this time, he’ll make a real plan based on logic rather than desire. He doesn’t just owe it to her. He owes it to himself.
It’s a long shot. His theory that she’s in Iceland could be wrong, but an idea is better than no idea. And even if she doesn’t plan on reaching out to him, he needs her to understand that he deserves to have a say in their future.
She’d told him that life wasn’t a D&D campaign, and he couldn’t write the ending. She was right but still missing a key detail.
There’s no use in being resigned to an ending that hasn’t even come. His life is his story, and while he can’t decide everything, he has agency. It’s time to exercise it for once in his life.
Mike doesn’t know his favorite date. There’s a chance he never will.
But he believes that he’ll one day discover the answer.