Work Text:
Oo, baby do you know the Hensworths?
Hal, Annie, Hailey, Molly, and Matt!
Thirteen Star Court
Love comes first
Oo, baby do you know the Hensworths?
July 2013
“It’s spelled with an N, like November,” Mike said plainly. “Not M, like Mike.”
He could see how that might be confusing, but these fans didn’t seem to pay him any mind regardless.
“Could we still get a picture?” the mom asked eagerly, a digital camera swinging from her wrist.
“Sure,” Mike said, his voice drowning under the noise of downtown. He was halfway through smiling when the flash blinded him.
“Sorry,” said the daughter, not seeming very sorry. “But could you say the thing? The thing you always said?”
Oh, fudge. Those were the words she was thinking of, the slapstick comedy bit on the tip of her tongue. The catchphrase assigned to him at age eight by the network because saying goddamn or motherfucker at minor inconveniences wasn’t daytime television friendly. Not when, oh gosh, your older sister borrowed your cassette player without asking. Not when you, the middle child and only son, were forgotten at home during a day trip to the roller coaster theme park. Not when the perfectly poised scandal of two costars - who played siblings - were ‘caught’ making out behind a Dunkin Donuts, buying them another season on air. Oh, fudge!
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mike dismissed, and pulled his arm out of the young girl’s surprisingly tight grip. “You two have a good day, now.”
He didn’t know why he slipped into American midwestern-isms and pleasantries during fan interactions, like he was still ten years old on the red carpet. A perfectly media trained fifth grader rather than a twenty-six year old former child star.
Former child star, current non-active actor. The vibrations emitting from his back left pocket reminded him of this quite often. He started speed walking in the direction of his building, puffing air into his cupped hands to force some circulation. It had been a particularly brutal Vancouver winter, robbing him of any color in his pale - though usually more pleasing - complexion. A glance at his reflection in a storefront confirmed that he wasn’t looking his best, which only served to sour his mood more.
He just wanted to lay on his couch, buy some gems for Cat Go, and spend it all on advanced irrigation. Maybe some bird feed to destress.
The vibrating persisted. He grit his teeth and yanked out his iPhone.
“Michael Wheeler.”
He breezed through the entrance to his apartment building, nodding at security and pressing the button for the elevator.
“Michael,” a female voice said over the line. “How lovely to hear your voice.”
His shoulders shrank away from his ears, since this was definitely not Henry calling about his next big thing. He pushed the button for his floor and stepped back, glad to be alone.
“El. Sorry, didn’t know it was you.”
“Well, you should know it would be me. I’ve been trying you for eons.”
“You’ve been texting for like, maybe a half hour.”
“That’s what I said!”
“Okay,” he emphasized. “I promise from this point forward, I shall never look away from my phone screen. Goodbye society. Nice knowing you, world out there.”
“Actually,” El said, her voice slightly wrapped in wind, “that’s the opposite of why I called. You’re long overdue for a jaunt across the pond. I know you don’t have anything else to do, so I expect you’ll be at my birthday party next Saturday?”
“I know I’m not always the most reliable source on these things” - Mike jammed his key into the lock and let the door glide shut behind him - “but I think it’s generally considered rude to point out to people that they don’t have a life.”
“You have a life.” El pulled the phone away from her ear to order what he assumed was coffee based on the time of day - but he couldn’t know for sure, since his French was pure shit. “You’re just not living it.”
“I so am,” he grumbled.
He really was not. But that was his business, wasn’t it? His agent had yet to send him any remotely interesting scripts, probably because a lot of casting directors didn’t want to touch child stars with a ten foot pole. Drug addicted divas, blah blah blah. And what was the point of becoming a millionaire in middle school, anyway, if you couldn’t lounge about for months - years, even - at your own discretion?
In reality, he’d been simultaneously itching for work and chronically unmotivated to do anything about it. Couldn’t really be bothered. His days were adequately filled with pad see ew and Cat Go. What was the rush?
El’s voice broke him out of this reflection.
“Just come to my birthday,” she insisted. “There’s not one good reason for you to stay there when you could be here. Matter of fact, stay until the holidays, yeah?”
“I can’t do that,” Mike responded, “but your birthday? Sure.”
He was trying to play it off, but El saw right through him like she always did. He missed her too much to pass up an invitation.
She gasped in his ear, “Finally. It’s gonna be fabulous, Mike, I’m telling you. I special ordered an outfit for Curtis and I.”
“Marvelous,” Mike deadpanned. “I hope you got me something too.”
“Oh, just come casual,” she dismissed, and dropped a merci beaucoup in the background. “Make sure to bring your stunning personality, though.”
Stunning indeed. The many demands of hermitude didn’t leave him with much time or desire to socialize with people he hadn’t trauma bonded to on set - but for El, he’d try.
And try he did the following Saturday. To fit El’s definition of casual, he wore his Paige denim instead of Balenciaga set and Adidas shoes instead of Gucci. He knew when to be more subtle, even if there were easily two hundred people milling about the rented villa - six bedrooms, eight baths, two staircases, one elevator, a pool, and a very sparkly pooch.
“Oh, Curtis,” Mike called upon entering, “You’ve outdone yourself.”
El came over to press kisses on each of his cheeks, her bitchy little dog in tow. Mike ignored the bared-teeth growl on the basis that he didn’t acknowledge animals under ten pounds, even if said animal was his best friend’s proclaimed soulmate.
“I missed you,” he said genuinely. When they pulled back, he could tell El had already pulled out the Clase Azul based on her slightly loopy grin.
“Oh, fudge,” she said, with enough fondness that Mike didn’t even mind.
“Pookie,” he responded evenly, ribbing on her television nickname. Perhaps the only favor God had ever bestowed upon him was not being the pookie of the family. “For the birthday girl.”
He handed over the gift bag, which was promptly passed off to someone else for swift removal. She didn’t need to open it - he had purchased her the Louboutins for which she’d shared the link with him no less than seventeen times. She knew what she liked, his pookie, and tonight she liked tequila. Quite a bit.
“Recognize anyone?” El shouted over the music.
Mike shook his head. “I’ll float. Don’t worry about me.”
She assessed him for a moment. Whatever she found must have been satisfactory for her to cut him loose and mingle on his own - as much as he was there solely and completely to hang out with her, he also knew better than to try to keep up with her birthday drinks. She was a total beast. He would let her latest costars take the hit tonight. They came and went, some faces more familiar than others.
There was one face in particular, though, that caught his eye. A little thing in the corner, all eyelashes and blown lips even from here, holding a bubbly rocks glass. His face conveyed he was listening to a B-lister intensively, but the slight twitch in his hands betrayed him. Gotcha.
Mike committed just a few visuals to memory. The slope of his nose, the jump of his brow, the angle of his elbow to where his hand rested delicately between hip and thigh.
Sure, Mike listened to one acquaintance talk about her bandmate’s recent split, and then listened to the bandmate rehash it again when the first walked away. He even probably said some words. But when he spied Mr. Angel Face slide outside, he only counted to ten before excusing himself.
He was smoking a cigarette about ten feet from the door.
“Cigarettes will ruin your good looks.”
He turned in Mike’s direction and his eyes snagged. Mike registered the up-down assessment as he did the same, returning up to catch Mr. Angel Face’s soft smirk.
“You don’t think I look good smoking?”
“I mean for when you’re, like, thirty five.”
“Oh, you mean model elderly?”
They shared a smirk before Mr. Angel Face turned back to face the night. The soft sound of crickets could lull them into a trance. Mike could decide now if he wanted to retreat back inside -
“Do you want one?”
“No, thank you.”
Mike took steps forward and mirrored his body language, completely open to the pitch blackness of the Parisian skyline at night.
“Then why did you come out here?”
Mike sighed. “I should say something deep and contrived about how the air of France called to me, and I need a reflective moment to myself for deep, serious thoughts.”
He looked over, cigarette pinched between his thumb and first fingers. “Is that true?”
“No, not at all.”
The boy laughs, and his real smile changes his face. “Alright. I’m Will.”
“Mike. El’s friend.”
Will makes a humming sound. “Pleasure. So, your place or mine?”
After, Will sat with his back against the headboard and Mike’s head in his lap. There wasn’t much of a view from the twelfth floor in this arrondissement, but Mike was too pleasantly worn out to care much.
After some time, not feeling rushed, he got up to redress. Will had been quite respectful of his clothes, which he appreciated more in hindsight than in the moment. His lips quirked when he glanced over at Will and saw similar sentiment reflected back at him, like he knew what Mike was thinking.
“El will kill me if I don’t get back to her party,” said Mike.
“It’s about four in the morning.”
Mike shrugged and buttoned one cuff in the silence. Funny enough, the silence wasn’t bothersome. He didn’t feel like he was being kicked out, nor especially pressured to stay. Will looked at him with no expectations, only a vague sort of curiosity and satiety.
“Can I have your number?”
Will smiled, all crooked and sexy and lethal. “What, you don’t trust the universe to bring us back together?”
“Oh, please. Tell me you don’t believe that,” Mike griped.
“Why not? You don’t want to work for it?”
Will’s grin only grew with the challenge, and Mike felt a smitten sort of reflection on his face. This game could be fun. He walked out and might as well have been skipping.
See you next time, Will, he thought.
—————
06:11 Twitter alert: @mwheeler87 followed @realwill_byers
11:13 Twitter alert: @realwill_byers followed @mwheeler87
—————
November 2013
Like clockwork, it didn’t take long for them to run into each other at a swanky bar in New York.
Following him on Twitter after their first encounter felt safe - well, it did once Will actually followed him back - but Instagram was something different altogether. Less casual. Mike wasn’t desperate, and he could follow instructions. Will said the universe would bring them back together, not social media, so that shortcut felt like cheating.
But looking at his pictures was harmless. The account was public. He didn’t post terribly often, but it gave some small amount of insight into his life, details that Mike clung to. He posted the occasional selfie, usually with saturated filters that made his eyes look even brighter. More of his posts fell in what Mike would call the aesthetic category - empty runways (#livingthedream), his shadow cast over what appeared to be photoshoot gear (#shinebrightlikeadiamond), cobblestone streets of Copenhagen (#swede), cups of coffee (#psl).
Mike tried not to look too often, as though the universe might see his interest and keep them at opposite ends of the world out of spite. Not to mention he’d wrapped filming on his most recent project, The Wild. The main costume, a black suit and tie, was itchy beyond belief, and the plot didn’t make much sense to Mike - why would the FBI call in a small town detective to help fight vigilantes in the big city? Where did they get their explosives? Why was the detective’s ex wife the director of the FBI? But he was taking his agent’s advice like a good little actor. If Henry thought an action film was the right move, maybe he knew what he was talking about.
Mike was sulking that evening. He knew his irritable mood was obvious based on the wide berth around him, despite the large crowd - but one person didn’t seem deterred.
“What are you drinking?”
He clutched his glass a little tighter before he looked up and over at the leaning figure.
“Dark and stormy.”
“Oh, the jokes write themselves.”
Will waved over the bartender and repeated his order, along with a club soda.
Mike couldn’t resist asking. “Not drinking tonight?”
“Not really my thing,” he responded easily.
Was it possible his waist was smaller than the last time they’d seen each other, just four months ago? Was his jawline more sculpted, and the glint of his eyes more mischievous? Mike hadn’t thought it possible for him to get prettier.
He’d just opened his mouth to say - well, probably something about Will’s skincare routine - when the bartender returned and asked for the name for his tab.
“Wheeler,” said Will. Mike blinked, and he smirked cheekily.
“Didn’t you - whatever. What are you doing here?”
“Potential business opportunity,” said Will. “You?”
“Just say a photoshoot,” Mike grumbled. God, he was a grouch even to his own ears. “Premiere in a couple days. Plus I do have an apartment here.”
“Is that so?”
Mike only nodded, still committed to his brooding - even if Will’s cheekiness and overall presence was making it harder. He had earned the right to nurse drinks and smolder under the low lighting all night if he wanted. Maybe he was practicing to be the next knockoff Bond villain.
He chanced a glance over at Will and saw himself being studied. Not in a way where Will was simply appreciating his custom maroon suit, though he certainly was - but like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. His eyes moved from Mike’s top button to his left eye, then right. It was like being under the world’s coziest microscope. Whatever Will saw, it seemed to amuse him.
“Well, I hope you enjoy your premiere, Mike,” he said finally. “Au revoir.”
Mike bit his cheek to stop himself from calling, but the universe brought us together! He just took a bigger gulp of the drink he’d bought himself.
Who needed a career, anyway? Not Mike. He could live off his Hensworths earnings for probably forever, if he stopped buying so many gems - which he didn’t want to sacrifice, the thought made his mouth purse even more severely - and he didn’t care about his acting legacy. Not one bit. And he didn’t care about gorgeous models with beauty marks placed by the hand of God. Or his waist. Or his stupid skincare routine. He probably didn’t even have one! The audacity -
“D’you want this, bro?”
Mike just looked at the bartender, uncomprehending. Perhaps he’d glared more rudely than intended, if the guy’s side eye said anything. He waved a napkin. “Just cleaning up the bar.”
Was he trying to kick him out? Why was no one letting him sulk, dammit? Did no one have any respect for the creative process anymore?
Mike started to shake his head, but when he tilted back to drain his glass, he spotted digits in blue ink on the napkin. He snatched it from the bartender.
Talk soon :)
All good things in this wretched world emerged once more. He could see colors more vividly. He sensed hope and optimism in the air. Perhaps there was a God.
“Thanks, bro,” he said to the bartender, and slapped down some large bills.
—————
23:54 Hey, it’s Mike.
01:13 hey mike!! good to hear from u :)
11:17 What were you doing up at 1 in the morning?
11:19 what r u doing sleepig in until almost noon?
11:20 i’ve been up for hours
11:24 That’s what concerns me.
11:30 aww ur concerned abt me? :)
11:31 I hate the way you text.
11:48 call me then
—————
March 2014
“Mike, you’re not listening to me,” Will griped.
“I am.”
Click, click, click, click. Sweep, sweep, sweep.
“No, you’re not. I can tell you’re playing your game.”
Three months after their exchange at the bar, if you could even call their handful of words an exchange, they didn’t text much. Will was irritating over text and less so on the phone. In fact, calling Will had become a regular occurrence, increasing quickly to almost daily. And not short phone calls either. Sometimes, yes, Will would give him a ring on a five minute break from shooting just to debate the merits of L’Oréal vs. Lancôme. They both strongly agreed that the splurge for photo shoots was worth it on the basis that skin feel translated into confident visuals. Or, Will had said something like that. Mike just thought he shouldn’t settle in pretty much any area of his life.
Perhaps it was that principle that had kept them on the phone for the past hour, circling around what had been on Mike’s mind all night - night, since Will had just jetted to Barcelona, and with Mike in Vancouver, they were on almost opposite schedules. Didn’t matter much, though. Will was onerously protective of his own sleeping schedule, but Mike didn’t have the same hang ups.
They didn’t talk about serious stuff, really. Mike often only found out about Will’s comings and goings after the fact, like when he mentioned in passing that the coffee in Prague was far superior to that of Sweden. It was usually more… casual. Mike didn’t really know what they ever talked about.
“I can still hear you playing,” Will said, faking annoyance. Mike could hear him flipping through channels until he landed on something that sounded drunkenly shrill, so he knew he wasn’t terribly bothered.
“No you can’t. I just muted it.”
“I can hear your heavy breathing.”
“So what? This is my passion, Will. Let me have this.”
“Your beloved farm.”
“It’s not a farm,” Mike shot back. “It’s a rural lakefront property with wildlife and agricultural elements.”
He had explained this to Will no less than twelve times. Cat Go was not just a game where you fed cats and farmed. It was so much more than that. It was a game of strategy where players fostered diverse wildlife and fauna with calculated decisions about what kind of plants to grow, what kind of animals to buy, what to do during inclement weather. The options were endless. Players could also domesticate kittens and make special vegetable soups. Dedicated players could even unlock secret recipes to strengthen the fortitude of the land.
“Alright, Mister Lakefront Property. You play your game most intensely when you’re stressed, so why don’t you just tell me what this call’s really about?”
That wasn’t really true. Mike played his game all the time. Rain or shine, happy or sad, rich or slightly less rich. Will just thought he played his game most when he was stressed because that had been his emotional state since the release of The Wild. It was sort of a feedback loop - Mike had less work, therefore less money. Less money meant less Cat Go gems. Less gems meant less resources for his land. Less resources meant he had to work harder to maintain his preferred virtual standards. Ergo, stress. Ergo, less time to look for any kind of work.
“I think you’re using ergo wrong.”
Mike hadn’t known he was speaking out loud. He groaned and flopped back on the couch, bringing the back of one hand to his forehead as he shut his eyes against this assault.
“I wish I never did that movie,” said Mike, forlorn. He had expressed this regret consistently, vehemently, since it decidedly flopped in theaters.
This time, instead of granting thoughtful hmms and sympathetic haws, Will prompted, “So what are you going to do about it?”
Mike frowned at the lack of coddling. “What do you mean, what am I going to do? There’s nothing to do. It’s out there. People have seen me in it with their own eyes. The damage is done.”
“Sure,” Will conceded. “But that doesn’t have to be the last thing anyone ever sees you in. You can do other things.”
“But everything Henry offers me is more action, more car chases, more explosions.”
There was a pause.
“Did I ever tell you I bleached my hair once?”
“What?”
“Google it,” said Will. “You’ll see it.”
“I’m googling and I’m not seeing anything. Just you in a tight tank top, you shirtless, you pantsless, you - oh my God.”
“I know,” Will said grimly. “Be gentle.”
“Oh my God,” Mike repeated with glee. “Oh, you look like Draco Malfoy. You look like a gay Draco Malfoy.”
“That’s a redundant descriptor.”
“Oh, Will, how could you keep this from me? This is a thing of beauty. The very definition of bold choice.”
Mike was going to print this out and hang it over his bed. He was going to take out an ad on the subway and paste it for all to see. No one should live without seeing Will Byers: Platinum.
“Yeah,” Will emphasized. “But it wasn’t my bold choice. My agent made me do it. Leaning into the scene thing, I guess.”
Mike’s smile didn’t waver as he forwarded the photo to El with haste, but he was listening. “Go on?”
“That’s basically it. My agent made me bleach my hair a year into my second contract. You know how many jobs I booked that year?”
“How many?”
“Zero. Big, fat zero. Zilch. Nothing. I was eating beans out of the can and sleeping under like, four blankets every night to save electricity.”
“Jesus, Will.” Mike was not smiling anymore. “That sounds…”
“Yeah, it wasn’t good,” Will confirmed, but his voice was light. Like they were talking about Cat Go instead of his poverty. “I got into modeling to get away from that kind of life, but there I was, poor with grown out roots. All because of something I didn’t want to do in the first place.”
Mike was starting to see there was a lesson wrapped in this story. He made a sound for Will to continue.
“So you know what I did?”
“What did you do?”
“I got a new fucking agent.”
—————
April 2014
So Mike did the only thing he could think to do. He walked out of Henry’s office, ignored his spittle-spotted threats about obsolescence, and straight into Maxine Mayfield’s office in Atlanta. Even with El’s advance warning, he was underprepared for what he met with.
Max Mayfield was known as a shark. There were rumors among other agents that she kept a running list of all the times she’d been called a stone cold bitch, including printed screenshots of texts and emails, and pulled it out for motivation before big meetings. El told him when she was allegedly asked about the truth of it, she just smirked. Despite the top of her head only coming to Mike’s chin and having the overall appearance of a red headed Tinker Bell, he was inclined to believe it.
“No need for introductions,” she said as she breezed past, taking a seat at the head of the conference room table. “It’s only the two of us today. I know who you are, you know who I am, so let’s cut to it.”
Mike bit back a good, how are you?
She spread her hands in a gesture that said please proceed, we don’t have all day. Mike wasn’t sure exactly how to pitch himself, even after practicing in the mirror.
Max sighed. “I know you speak, I’ve heard it on television reruns. So let’s start from the beginning, then. You were on Thirteen Star Court as a kid, then you were in that movie last year. Not many other projects outside of guest starring that I could see. Did I miss anything?”
She said it like she knew she hadn’t missed anything. Indeed, that was the long and short of his acting career.
“And you think you can make it as an actor,” said Max - not especially judgmental, but as if seeking confirmation.
“I already have,” Mike said just as plainly.
“I don’t do egotistical.”
“I’m not being egotistical. That’s just a fact.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and sensed she was doing the same. “People already know me. They follow me on Twitter, they stop me on the street. They repost old scenes of me jump roping or hopscotching or whatever. So like, I’ve made it by those standards.”
“And what are your standards?” Max leaned forward. “If you’ve made it, why are you in my office instead of on a yacht in the Ionians?”
“The Ionian islands are far too windy” - he couldn’t resist that time - “but I see your point. I just want to keep acting. I want to be in cool stuff.”
“Weren’t you in cool stuff last year?”
Was she jeering at him?
“Don’t ruin your reputation by telling me you thought that movie was cool,” he said, grinding his teeth before dropping back with a sigh. “Look, all I’m saying is that I’m recognizable, I don’t have skeletons or a drug problem, and I have some screen appeal besides that. I just want an agent who can give me scripts that don’t suck ass. No flipped cars, no making out in the rain, no eighties remakes.”
I want to make enough money to keep buying gems, he didn’t say.
She looked at him for a moment.
“Really? No drug problems at all?” She sounded skeptical. He shrugged, and she shrugged in return. “What the hell, alright. I’ll be your main point of contact, or you may speak with Dustin, my assistant. He’ll lead you out momentarily. We will handle your scripts, travel, auditions, legal agreements, appearances, interviews, PR, and if we ever need it, damage control. All you need to do is keep your nose clean and check your phone. Can you do that?”
He nodded. She stuck her hand out, and they shook. “Welcome to Hawkins Entertainment. PR will be in touch about fixing your image by the end of the week.”
Mike didn’t think there was anything wrong with his image, but okay.
Flying to Vancouver from Atlanta, Mike reclined in his seat on the plane and opened Instagram. Hello Taylor, hi Leonardo. Justin, hope you’re doing better. Oh, hello Will. Fancy seeing you here - wait. Will was smiling beside a Broadway star Mike vaguely-maybe-sort of remembered from El’s party, posed at the Empire State Building.
@realwill_byers: can’t wait to move here next month! thx for the tour @sinclairlukeofficial :) #bestie #futurehome #welcometonewyork
Hello, Will in New York City.
—————
June 2014
The phone calls didn’t stop by any means when they lived in the same city, but it became much easier to just hang out in person. One day when it was simply too hot for either of them to leave Mike’s couch, Will was watching reality shows while Mike spent gems to his heart’s content. Then he heard his own voice on a commercial break.
“No,” he groaned.
“That’s you!” Will exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “Oh my God, Mike, you were adorable.”
“Please stop,” he complained, when what he really meant was more, more!
“You had such cute cheeks,” Will gushed. “Oh, you were such a baby. How old were you then?”
It was hard to tell from just a rerun commercial, especially when they reused clothes through the early seasons, but he reckoned twelve.
“Oh, little Michael Wheeler,” Will sighed. “I would have had such a crush on you.”
“You didn’t?”
Will shot him a funny look. “No, you attention seeker. I didn’t always have a television growing up. And I guess when we did, my mom watched other stuff. I don’t remember ever seeing it, anyway."
Mike knew it would be ridiculous to pout that Will didn’t have a crush on him when they were kids and didn’t even know each other, so he maturely refrained. Then his thoughts snagged on something else.
“So were you, like… poor?” Mike asked.
Will burst out laughing. “You don’t have to whisper the word poor, Mike. But yes. Things were honestly better once it was just me, my mom, and my brother, but that was also because we could start working when we got older. We made it out just fine.”
“What does your brother do?”
“He does photography. He lives in Brooklyn, actually, but he goes to Canada for work a good bit - more than you, actually.”
“That’s because I sold my Vancouver apartment,” Mike said flippantly. “And how did I not know you have a brother that lives here?”
Will blinked, apparently accepting Mike’s lack of detail on getting rid of one of his last home country ties. “I don’t know. Maybe because he lives all the way in Brooklyn, so I only make the trip out there to see him maybe once a month. He’s got a crazy schedule, but this is still a hell of a lot better than when I was in Stockholm.”
His eyes flicked between Mike and where his phone sat on the coffee table, face down. “Maybe you didn’t know about Jon because your nose is always in your phone.”
“That is not true,” Mike said with conviction. “You post on Instagram more than I do.”
“Sure, sure. I think I can hear your chickens squawking.”
Mike snatched his phone to check - the eggs weren’t supposed to hatch until tomorrow, how could he have gotten the timing wrong - until he realized Will was kidding. He grinned. Mike scowled.
“Whatever,” he said, and stretched to put his feet in Will’s lap.
“You just wish you had a richer digital life.”
—————
@realwill_byers posted a photo on Instagram: [music emoji] moonage daydream [cloud emoji]
@mwheeler87 commented: Hipster.
@realwill_byers replied: u love it ;)
—————
October 2014
“So how’d you get into acting, anyway?”
Mike was not in the mood for bonding right now. It was cold as shit outside and he felt like he was getting slapped in the face every time he took a breath. It was only October, for Christ’s sake - but it was this very predicament that landed him between Will and El in a hot yoga class, since they’d convinced him it would feel, quote, amazing to counteract the cold.
Mike didn’t feel amazing. He just felt sore in places he didn’t know he had muscles, and his jacket was sticking to the sweat on his back, and all he really wanted was Tim Hortons. They were trudging through the doors to Mike’s apartment, where he could finally collapse in a heap in an armchair perfectly suited for such a gesture.
“You think you’ll make it?” El called.
“No,” he moaned. “Leave me be, you traitors.”
“We are not traitors for making you move your body,” said Will.
“Don’t take her side!”
“Oh my God, stop whining. I’m taking the first shower since you’re so incapacitated. Try not to pass away before I get back.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Mike simpered, then squealed when he felt a ball of nearly damp fabric hit him square in the face. He tried to throw Will’s disgusting shirt back at him and fell short.
“You two,” El sighed. “I’m going to check on Curtis, see how he’s doing.”
“He’s in a luxury doggy daycare,” Mike groaned, “he’s literally doing better than me right now. Better than all of us, probably.”
“I still worry.” El bit her lip. “What if he misses me? I’ll just check on him, change, and meet you guys back at the bar down the street. Fuck a winters fall, we’ll daydrink.”
Mike pulled out a joint after he showered since Will didn’t drink alcohol. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it, but just didn’t drink himself. And his goodwill was partially self-serving, since Will was so funny when he was high. He looked funny now with his green sweatpants tucked into Ugg boots and a furry jacket open over a shirt proclaiming, sorry, I only date vampires.
Once Will took the first drag and passed to Mike, he repeated his earlier question.
Mike hummed and inhaled. “Don’t know where I got the idea, but I was interested as a kid. My parents didn’t force me into it or anything. My mom stayed at home with us and could take me to auditions. I think they were just humoring me at first, but once I booked Star Court and they figured out letting me on TV was like free babysitting most weekends, it was a done deal.”
“So it wasn’t the money?” Will took two hits. Mike waved off the next offer on account of his low tolerance.
“No, not the money. That was it for you?”
Will nodded. “I was working the pretzel stand at a mall in Indiana when this guy spotted me. At first I thought he was either joking around or hitting on me like a creep, but it actually checked out.”
“A regular Pam Andersen, then,” Mike said, smiling a little.
“Someone actually just asked you, hey, kid, ever thought of modeling?”
Will smiled back, took his last hit, and put out the joint. “Pretty much, yeah. It meant I could help my mom pay bills. I was also seventeen and had no idea what I wanted to do after school, so I thought, hey, it’s better than pretzels.”
“Not much is better than pretzels.” Maybe Mike was getting a little hungry.
Something about his tone made Will chuckle, and Mike huffed a laugh in return. A beat of silence, then they were laughing into their laps, scrunched up like fools. Before they knew it, they were gasping so loud on the fire escape that the upstairs neighbors shouted down from their balcony.
“They just don’t get it,” Will gasped when they tumbled inside. “They don’t understand -”
Mike was crying. “The pretzel stand.” It wasn’t even funny. It was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
El was back, which meant they really had been out there much longer than it seemed. Mike lost all sense of time when he got high. She was wearing tights and a crocheted dress that was better suited for somewhere Michelin starred than their hole in the wall, but all’s well. She wrinkled her nose at Mike.
“You can’t wear a Weezer shirt in public right before you start filming,” she said, as though this were a severe faux pas. “That’s social suicide.”
“Bite me,” Mike said, which sent Will into another fit of giggles.
“Oh, come on. I need a cosmo.”
It was then Mike noticed the wriggling in her arms.
“They won’t let you bring that in,” he said, pointing.
“Curtis is not a that,” El hissed, and she was angry enough that Mike just shut up. Will oooohed like a middle schooler, and Mike had to bite his cheeks to not laugh then - and again when the bartender sent them straight outside to the patio, with El rambling about cruel and unusual treatment of animals the whole way.
“I think that dog is better dressed for the weather than anyone else on the block,” Mike said in reference to Curtis’s little blue sweater and boots. Quite charming, really.
“Doesn’t matter,” El dismissed, “it’s the principle. But I’m not too principled to not still get wasted here. Two cosmos, one club soda?”
Two thumbs up. Two more cosmos. Two vodka martinis. Three tequila shots, one more for luck. Switch to red wine, hate the red wine, go back to martinis.
El had on a hat she didn’t possess when they arrived. Will was wearing her lip gloss and holding Curtis. Mike wasn’t sure how he could leave all this to film next week.
“You two are my best friends in the world,” he said, studying how the dim patio lights filtered through the red table umbrella.
“You’re just plastered,” Will said.
“Definitely plastered,” said El, “but not wrong. Mike, can you believe we had to fake date, like, a decade ago? And here we are.”
“Here we are,” he echoed, equal parts nostalgic and flabbergasted it had actually been ten years. “Ruined for love. Good thing we have our resident romantic here to keep us from becoming regular Scrooges.”
Will was a romantic and everyone knew it - it was written across his face for all to see. Just looking in his eyes would make anyone feel like a rom com character.
“Ruined for love?” Will repeated, looking stricken. “Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”
“Not at all, where we’re concerned.” El gestured at Mike, then reached to steal the last fry from their basket.
“Hey,” Mike said with no heat. “I can’t feel my face, by the way. Just me?”
“No, it’s really cold out here,” Will agreed. “Time for me to take you two lovebirds home.”
“Don’t call us that!” Mike stood up and nearly lost his balance before Will caught his arm. Stupid table umbrella.
“Way to take offense.” El started mock-pouting.
“Stop doing that, I taught you that.” Mike was ready to launch into a lecture, but Will turned back from paying the tab at the bar window and pulled him away.
“Don’t run from our love, Michael!” El called, gasping for air. “It’s a love story, baby, just say yes!”
“Oh my God,” Mike moaned, “you can’t just pull out my weakness in front of everyone.”
The three patrons of this fine establishment didn’t seem to pay them any mind, and Will seemed mostly preoccupied with holding Curtis and keeping them standing.
And that’s how they stumbled home - slightly damp from evening rain, hanging off each other and belting Love Story. A front page exclusive if there's ever been one. What they didn’t catch was Will putting Mike to bed.
“Oh, Romeo,” Mike sighed as his back hit the bed. “Romeo, Romeo, where are my pants, Romeo?”
“You took them off as soon as you got through the door. Tried to before we even got in, actually.”
Mike squinted his eyes in suspicion. “I did?”
“You did. I didn’t let you, though.”
“Oh,” Mike said dreamily, “thanks.”
Will’s face swam in front of him, but Mike thought he might be smiling. “No problem. El’s downstairs waiting for me in her Uber, I’ll get her home safely before I walk back.”
“Yes, walk back here,” Mike said, and gasped like that was the best idea he’d ever had. “Sleepover.”
Will was definitely smiling. He could hear it in his voice. “No sleepover tonight. Maybe tomorrow if you remember this and ask again, I’ll stay. Deal?”
“No deal.” Mike started pouting, but it was hard to concentrate on holding it when he could just be looking at Will. “You can’t sleep alone tonight, Mr. Angel Face!”
“What?”
“That’s you! Mr. Angel Face. That’s your name.”
“Alright, tiger. There’s water and Advil by your bed for when you wake up. Mr Angel Face is signing out.”
Mike said okay byeeee, the way Will texted, or maybe he just thought it really hard. But he was so comfy under the duvet where Will tucked him in. Surely he could just close his eyes and when he opened them, Will would be back.
—————
@ElHopperUpdates: guys new mel pics dropped!!! [attachment] [attachment]
@jumbopopcornshrimp replied: Omg I wish I had friends like these
@hensworth13 replied: i think they’ve been dating for like years. Idk who that other guy is
@wetookachonce replied: Will byers??? Swoon
@jsonmyfeet123 replied: He’s sooo cute holding El’s dog omg holy heart eyes. Is he gay
@1dstanverified replied: Think so. He’s been out in the modeling world for a while now. Seems like a nice guy :)
@hensworth13 replied: Kk as long as he doesn’t steal el from micheal we’re good lol
@yolo.warriors replied: the two boys look close and el hopper is such a cutie dog mom!!
—————
March 2015
Mike did not typically take the subway. He rarely admitted this to anyone since he knew it made him sound like a jackass transplant, but it just… wasn’t for him. He could never really be bothered to figure out his route, and he didn’t find the busking to be particularly charming. Let alone his fear of being caught in a flash mob. Gag.
But Mike had been in Georgia for four months filming for an indie slasher film - Camp was nothing glamorous, but it was at least mildly interesting - and Will was on some remote island guest starring for America’s Next Top Model, then off to Tokyo, then Berlin, so it was almost March before they saw each other again. There was an art gallery he wanted to see in Chelsea, so what was Mike supposed to say?
He agreed to go before he was aware of Will’s new environmentalist kick. Apparently he’d learned about all kinds of sustainability initiatives in Germany and wanted to bring it back to New York. Like being vegan and a general light in the world wasn’t making enough of a positive impact. Even with Will’s crinkly eyes and big grin distracting him, Mike was confused why they started walking instead of dialing.
“I brought you a coffee,” he said, puzzled. “Did you want something different?”
“Nope, this is good, thanks. We’re just around the corner from the closest subway station.”
It was too late to back out, but whatever. It would be a short ride made especially easier for Mike when Will let him complain for the first twenty minutes, mostly paying him no mind. He’d just reached the end of his bitching rope somewhere around 24 minutes and pulled out his phone for some light entertainment - sprinkler activation and the like - when the train car slowed to a screeching stop. It stayed immobile long enough that the people around them started murmuring.
Will rolled his eyes. “You think everything’s okay?”
The intercom buzzed like an answered prayer, but everyone groaned when it was too staticky to understand.
“I think we live here now,” Mike said.
“Well, at least you’ve got everything you need,” Will commented. “You should be good for days.”
“You certainly think highly of yourself.”
“I meant Cat Go. Just till your acres until we start moving.”
Mike settled in. Chop, chop, chop. Mince, mince, mince, mince. Somewhere between ten minutes and an hour passed before his phone screen went black. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, which had grown longer than ever before, almost to his jaw.
“Here,” said Will, passing him his unlocked phone.
“Shall I send myself a virtual phone charger?” Mike said, sulking.
“No.” Will rolled his eyes and swiped through his home screen, tapping on -
“Cat Go,” Mike said loudly, astonished. “You play?”
“Not really, but you do. So go ahead.”
Mike settled back into his seat, shoulders slightly hunched like someone might try to take his treasure. He opened Will’s land and found quite the elementary set up, but something he could work with.
“Okay, I can work with this. I’ll build you something you’ll like. Please look.”
Will was already looking.
“I think you would like having a little pond because you can breed fish to make unique colors, and also some animals are attracted to their reflections in the water. So I’ll build that and add koi, maybe some lily pads for aesthetics. And I know you like cats, you’ll only need one cow for their milk…”
The train moved at some point. They did not make it to the gallery in time, but they did find their way back to an ice cream shop with plant-based options.
“I can’t believe you need plant-based, sugar free ice cream,” Mike said, shoveling his own dairy-packed, sugar-filled rocky road. “So high maintenance.”
“Whatever,” Will dismissed. “The clock’s ticking anyway.”
“Why’re you thinking about that?”
Will eyed Mike like he was asking an obvious question. “I’ll have to decide what’s next pretty soon. Maybe even something that allows sugar when it isn’t my birthday.”
Don’t say anything stupid, don’t say anything stupid, Mike chanted internally.
“Any ideas?”
Will slowed his stride for a moment, then kept walking closer to Mike’s slowed-to-accommodate pace. “Not really. Try it.” Will raised his spoon of lemon sorbet to Mike’s level.
“Lemony,” was all he could think to say. “Uh, what about your art?”
Will nodded, like he was considering Mike’s words carefully. “I think I like making art too much to put it out there for sale. I don’t want it to be my business, you know? I just want to make it. Give it away or keep it or toss it with no pressure. But I would like to do something a little more creative than modeling eventually. I just don’t know what that is.”
“I can tell you it’s not singing.”
“Mike,” Will whined. “I’m aware of that.”
“The deaf are aware of it, Will. Wait, I can’t believe I haven’t asked yet - how was Tyra?”
“Mm, I wouldn’t know,” Will said with a shrug. “I wasn’t on set when she was. I didn’t know reality shows were filmed like that, to be honest.”
“You mean how it appears cohesive, but is really filmed over and over on twelve hour days with constant producer instigation and intentional sleep deprivation?”
“Yeah, pretty much that.” Will shoveled in more sherbet. “But the production was pretty cool to see. Like, I guess I had no idea what acting really entailed. You’re very talented - don’t let that go to your head.”
“Too late,” Mike said cheerfully, and dumped their empty cups in the next trash can. “I am having second thoughts about turning down Celebrity Big Brother, though. And by the way, I hope you know where we are. Since I have no fucking clue, my phone’s dead, and my toes are about to fall off.”
“Oh my God,” Will stressed. “We are literally around the corner from my apartment. You’ve walked this way no less than twenty times.”
Mike shrugged. “If you say so. Can I come in? Do you have unhealthy snacks for me?”
“Yes and yes.”
When they made it up the stairs and Mike was munching on goldfish crackers, he noticed a new piece of art hanging over the thermostat.
“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing with his sticky hand before licking off his fingers.
“First of all, use a napkin. Second, that’s an old picture of me and Lucas playing a game when we were kids. Dungeons and Dragons. Jonathan sent that photo to me a while ago, I just finally got a frame that worked right before I went to Tokyo.”
“You played Dungeons and Dragons? Holy shit, I loved that game growing up.” Still sort of really did, and just haven’t had anyone to play with. Mike washed his hands and rid himself of any evidence of gluttony.
“Yeah,” Will nodded. “What’s your class?”
“Paladin.”
“Cool. I’m a cleric.”
Mike surged forward to kiss Will square on the mouth, hot and needy.
An hour or so later, Mike sprawled out with only the sheet covering his midsection. Will laid in the opposite direction with his head at the foot of the bed, wearing only boxers and his Bowie tshirt.
“We’ve gotta stop doing this,” said Will, smiling lazily like he didn’t mean it at all.
Mike caught his ankle in one hand and snaked his arm around Will’s calf. “Then stop saying sexy things.”
“You mean nerdy things.”
“Yes, for the love of God, no more of that and I’ll behave.”
Will sighed and nuzzled in closer to Mike, relaxed. His words didn’t betray that he felt any discomfort in their current position.
“So tell me about filming in Georgia. You’re the main character’s best friend, right? Audience favorite, killed in act three?”
“You’re not supposed to know that, Will. But yes. Let me tell you about this fake blood mishap…”
—————
@realwill_byers on Twitter: I’m happy to announce I’ll be starring in my first ever film, Mark of Time! Coming to theaters near you. #markoftime #happypridemonth
—————
July 2015
Will’s movie, Mark of Time, released a month after Camp. Mike saw it twice - once with El, once alone. Will only had about fifteen minutes of screen time as the faithful friend of a traumatized soldier returning home, but his presence on screen brought a lot of depth. Fans online generated theories about Will’s character being in love with said best friend, which would bode well for his continued support. That type of star-crossed romance buzz generated a social media following that could really propel his career, according to Max.
He was good. Will tried to brush this off when Mike told him, but he really had a sense for it. Mike actually forgot he was watching him the second go around.
Hawkins Entertainment had pulled all the stops for Mike, including a PR makeover - apparently desperately needed, since he had little to no social media presence beyond that which was associated with Star Court. It was reasoned that if he were going to be in more adult films, he needed to digitally dress the part.
Their investment paid off when Camp did well - actually, extremely well in the box office. Critics were calling it the hauntingly homoerotic cult favorite of the year. Mike embraced this conclusion, especially as the narrative pushed his career further away from the child star moments away from disaster crowd. Mike was grateful yet again that he had enough therapy and couth at age 17 to conduct his mental breakdowns in private.
So, doors were opening for both of them. Mike was hearing from people he hadn’t met since he could legally drink alcohol, and he introduced them to Will as soon as he could. He wasn’t shy about sharing his connections if Will might benefit.
That was how they became intertwined. Even if it wasn’t by his design, it was certainly his doing in some capacity.
—————
@WillWatchers: Theory on Will Byers relationship: a thread (pt 1/42)
@jsonmyfeet123 replied: Wait you’re genuinely insane for this
@caramelmacchiato replied: Everyone knows michael and el haven’t been together in forever but that doesn’t mean he’s dating this model. He probably doesn’t even know Byers really
@1dstanverified replied: If you read the thread you would know they’ve been photographed together a lot. And michael comments on will’s insta posts. I ship it idcccc
@bylernation replied: Power couple!!! I’ve known they were together since like early 2014. Did anyone else see that time will posted a story of him to heaven is a place on earth??
@hensworth13 replied: YES that’s totally a hensworth reference!! Yay secret bfs :)))
@dogwidabloginthecity replied: Guys I literally live around the corner from michael and he has people spend the night all the time. None of this is true
@1dstanverified replied: Top 10 things that never happened /: let me live sis
—————
October 2015
“I really don’t know how many times I need to say it,” Mike said into the phone testily.
“Right.”
“It’s not that hard to remember. It’s in the literal theme song.”
“I know.”
“It’s said with an N like November, not an M like Mike. Hensworths. Shouldn’t interviewers know that?”
“Sorry, what did you say? You’re breaking up.”
“I’ve never met Chris, Liam, or the other one. No Hemsworths around me. Never played one on television either.”
“Mike, I’ve always admired how you kept your cool in these kinds of situations.”
“Situations of hopelessness,” Mike said.
“Situations of mild irritation,” Will amended.
“Situations of working in Idaho when you’re still in New York,” Mike grumbled.
“Oh, is filming your next blockbuster not a sufficient way to spend your time?”
“Appealing to my ego won’t help,” Mike insisted, though it was helping a lot and he wanted Will to continue.
“You are such a primadonna.” Mike could hear him shaking his head. “Couldn’t worse things happen on a set interview than mispronouncing your fictional last name?”
“Hmmph. Can’t think of anything.”
Will sighed, long and suffering.
“When you get back, we can become shut ins. We’ll just never leave the house so your sensibilities can be protected. We will Instacart groceries and live in bathrobes and only watch Real Housewives reruns. Endless gems.”
“Endless gems,” Mike said dreamily, coming to a stop outside the makeup trailer where he was due - two minutes ago, now. “You’re such an angel.”
“That’s Mister Angel Face to you.”
Mike blinked several times. Even when he hung up and his brain resumed functioning past the embarrassment of imagining when he could have possibly said that out loud, he couldn’t stop blushing.
—————
February 2016
Two things came to Mike’s attention soon after his return to New York. First, Mike realized he was very much in love with Will. Chronically, unconditionally, and to borrow from Will’s favorite movie, hopelessly and irrevocably. And second, much harder to deal with given the first, the Internet apparently knew about it.
It happened on a regular Tuesday - or perhaps irregular, since neither of them had anywhere else to be. Mike’s plants were thriving enough to attract wild horses, which were actually the rarest animals in Cat Go. He was quite pleased with this. Will was wearing wired headphones, probably listening to some of his hipster eighties music as he drew in a sketchbook. Their heads were at opposite ends of Will’s couch, knees knocking together in the middle anytime they moved.
Mike shifted onto his knees just enough to reach and pull out one of Will’s earbuds.
“Can I help you?” Will spoke without looking up, like he’d known it was only a matter of time before Mike would interrupt him.
“I’m bored,” he droned. “Entertain me.”
“I’m almost done with this, then we can go for a walk.”
Mike wrinkled his nose. “No.”
“C’mon. You’re bored and I want ice cream. We’ll get out of the house for a little bit, come back here, maybe get high and watch some Game of Thrones.”
Mike tried to do his usual moan-about-physical-activity bit, but Will was ignoring him to wholly focus on his drawing. His tongue stuck out just a little, which was maddening in its sweetness.
“Alright,” Will said some time later, ripping the page out of his sketchbook with gusto. “All done.”
Mike looked up, surprised to see Will’s hand stuck out to him. He shook it in a gesture like take the drawing, silly.
“For me? You never let me see your work.”
“That’s not true.”
There were times that Will let Mike see a work in progress, and he had a few pieces of art around his apartment with his signature - but he was usually so reserved about his work that Mike had come to think of it like a diary, something he just wasn’t privy to.
He accepted the offering and widened his eyes like it might allow him to take in more detail. Of himself. Of Mike just like he was the moment before, legs curled in and arms crossed over his midsection, half laying on his side. The depiction was cartoonish, with their real life background replaced with what looked like - it actually looked like a rural lakefront property. The colored pencils made everything - the butterflies over his head, the green rolling hills, the stone pathway leading from Mike’s resting place, a patch of grass, to a water well - look hazy and serene.
“Earth to Mike?”
His neck snapped up to see Will standing, looking at him expectantly.
“You promised me ice cream,” Will said pointedly. “Hurry up, no excuses. Don’t tell me you’ll Door Dash it, we’re perfectly capable of going to get it ourselves.”
Mike knew realistically that he was a handful. He could be self-centered and lazy and petulant about his routines and preferences. He could be vain and superficial, especially when stressed. What he didn’t know was that someone could see him like this, too - soft and sweet.
“I’m in Cat Go,” he said.
“No,” Will replied with equal measure, “you’re in Greenwich Village. I just drew you in Cat Go since you’d rather be there anyway. Now come on, Farmer Mike. I want dairy-free Cherry Garcia.”
Mike ignored the farmer comment in what he thought was a generous gesture of tolerance, since he was mostly preoccupied with a different thought.
I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.
Oh God, he was in love with Will. He was in love with him and had been for - shit, he didn’t even know how long. Curiously, there was no shift inside him at the realization, most likely because this moment wasn’t the falling. The feeling wasn’t new. This deep sense of satisfaction and admiration and longing had roots around his heart and lungs and everywhere else, too.
Mike thought of the way Will liked videos of unlikely animal friendships and sometimes cried about it. He liked soft clothes and secretly, Ed Sheeran. He paid his family’s bills. He cheated at board games. He let Mike complain about nothing all the time. Like, constantly. He wouldn’t take the last bite of shared food until Mike told him twice he didn’t want it, and Mike should have known he loved Will because he always wanted the last bite of nachos, and he would usually prefer the non-vegan appetizers on the menu, but he let Will choose and he let Will eat more of it, so he would know Will was fed. He thought of Will’s two front teeth and his natural blush. He loved Will.
El was not as surprised to learn of this as he was. She popped her gum on FaceTime, red lipstick not budging.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Mike cried.
“I heard you, Michael,” she replied calmly.
“Pookie. Help.”
“What do you want me to do?” She laughed like his world wasn’t fractured. “That ship has long since sailed. You’ve got it bad. But like, I don’t think this is a bad thing.”
Mike stuttered for perhaps ten minutes without actually expressing a cohesive thought, before El slammed down her nail file and pulled off her sunglasses.
“Michael. I am in Lake Como. Do you know why people come to Lake Como?”
“The alpine scenery?” he tried.
“Quiet. Peace and quiet. So you’re going to think of how to tell Will you love him, and I’m going to get back to it. Because this is not an emergency. This is a good thing that you can figure out on your own, so I’m not playing into your drama. Okay? That’s literally what you have Will for. Love you.”
She hung up. Mike launched backward on his living room rug, a sigh torn out of him from the depths of his very being. It felt like he laid in that very same spot for the next thirteen days, until there was banging at the door.
He groaned and lifted himself up, dusting off invisible lint to lumber over. Mike opened the door and Will darted inside before Mike could even process his presence - though really, who else would it be?
“You missed Vanderpump Rules at my mine. Twice.”
Fuck, Will’s face was sort of blank. Like covert distress.
“I had enough crab rangoon to feed everyone backstage at fashion week,” he continued. “You haven’t returned my calls. Are you having some sort of celebrity-grade breakdown? Has the embarrassment of singing on Jimmy Fallon in 2002 caught up to you, or what?
“No,” Mike squeaked. The embarrassment of that incident was something he had stewed in for quite some time now, and would likely never escape.
“What is it then? Are you like, done with me? Did I do something?”
“No. Sorry. I mean it, I’m really sorry.” Mike could tell he was blinking rapidly and picking at his nails, something he thought he ditched around seventh grade. Will shifted back and forth on his feet with a little hop. He pressed his lips together and averted his gaze.
“Okay. Well, shit. I guess I just don’t understand what’s going on here.”
Amazing, wonderful, beautiful Will was fidgeting. Mike can’t have that.
“I just got busy and, uh, needed space. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you the lymphatic drainage membership you’ve been wanting, how’s that?”
“I don’t need you to buy me a lymphatic drainage subscription. Coachella’s literally months away.”
“A home sauna, then. You can do hot yoga at home to your heart’s content, you maniac.”
“Deal.” Will preened. “You know me so well. Let’s get high and go to the MoMa. I’ve got tickets for tonight.”
“Alright. Dinner’s on me, you pick.”
Mike could hear the softness in his own voice. He felt naked, like Will could see right through him. Maybe there was a sign on his forehead. I love you! I want to bite your face and help you make tofu marinades! But Will acted like everything was normal again. And for a time, it was.
—————
@harryslefttit: Guys I’m literally shaking I saw michael wheeler and will byers at the moma today
@michaelby3rs replied: Pics or it didnt happen
@harryslefttit replied: I couldn’t take pics inside the museum!!!
@swagdadsocks replied: Yes u can omg ur totally clout chasing
@dogwidabloginthecity replied: I dont think they ever hang out without el
@ballerinabaddieco replied: Omg you’re all so dumb. I took this pic of them outside [blurry photo]
@dogwidabloginthecity replied: That’s not even them, they’re standing so close together it’s got to be photoshopped
@yolo.warriors replied: idk i kinda ship it :3 bylers unite!
@elhopperhensworth replied: Ur shipping two people who never even interact irl omg ur all weirdos. How about u focus on the people who are clearly in love and just really private about there relationship #mel
@americangirldoll replied: celebrities are real people, you shouldn’t be shipping them at all! go outside pls
@1dstanverified replied: Oh here comes the fun police (373 retweets)
@wetookachonce replied: I think michael and will would be super cute together but has anyone checked on will’s movie bf from mark of time? I rlly thought they were dating<\3
@paladinpal replied: ok you’re for sure delusional. will wpuld never date him are you blind
@paladinpal replied: sorry that was rude but they arent dating it’s confirmed
—————
May 2016
So then, Mike and Will took the Internet by storm. That was how the magazine came to be - and relatedly, the torture of Michael Wheeler.
Will didn’t mind the shipping. He seemed to think it was funny and sort of cute. He tweeted something about being grateful for support from the LGBT community, which Mike knew was genuine, but the fans really ran with it. It sort of made Mike feel like the box where he shoved his feelings was crystal clear, and it made the concept any kind of confession feel far-fetched. If Will had feelings for him in return, wouldn’t he be encouraged by all the fanfare to say something? Better safe than sorry, that was Mike’s motto.
Max connected with Will’s PR team to make a game plan. Will and Mike both made it clear they wanted to avoid intentional baiting and would rather just live their lives normally.
“The good news is,” Max had reassured him, “that’s exactly what we want you to do. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working in your favor.”
There was just one little thing they agreed to, so subtle and firmly within the ordinary that Mike had forgotten all about it - until he saw the Rolling Stone cover at the bodega.
His jaw dropped and he froze for a second. The image plastered on the front? William Byers shirtless. Jeans unbuttoned. Arms behind his head with a wolfish grin and lipstick kisses littered all over his chest.
“You gonna buy that?” the owner called. Mike grabbed the Red Bull he came in for and scrambled to swipe his card.
He tucked the magazine under his arm and rounded the corner before opening it - not to read, but to see the front and back side by side.
There was the picture of Will looking quite satisfied on the front, and then the picture of Mike on the back. He was wearing smudged lipstick and looked absolutely debauched, hair sticking up and jaw slightly slack. His white button down was half untucked from his slacks, giving the impression that he’d just been interrupted during a very private moment.
They hadn’t even done this photoshoot together, but for the eyes that wished to see, it sure looked like they did. Mike snapped it shut and beelined back to his apartment.
This teensy tiny insinuation broke him, and then it broke the Internet.
—————
@WillWatchers: I CANT BREATHEEEE
@hensworth13 replied: i’m actually freaking out. do you think this means anything
@RollingStone: Alert! Will Byers spotted on the cover of Rolling Stone, access exclusive interview content inside. “On the topic of his relationship status, Byers was tight-lipped. He would only disclose that he’s not currently looking for anything new. Sorry, gentlemen!”
@hensworth13 replied: michael wheeler i need you biblically
@delightfuldelilah replied: he’s pushing 30 bro
@ninetieskid42 replied: And looking better every day I swear. Had the biggest crush on him on the Hemsworths back in the day too! Lol!
@edwardsparkles90 replied: it’s hensworths :)
@bylernation replied: I need Byler fandom to lock in bc there’s no way that wasn’t intentional. They’re basically confirming their relationship #stonegate
@jsonmyfeet123 replied: Idk that quote about not dating is super vague… I’ll believe it when I see it
@wetookachonce replied: idec i know mike is thirsting over that pic just like the rest of us
@elhopperhensworth replied: Y’all are so annoying ffs, Michael is wearing lipstick bc he was kissing a GIRL. It’s literally so obvious. You’re embarrassing yourselves fr
@hensworth13 replied: Lololol stop trolling
@jumbopopcornshrimp replied: guys can someone post the interview plzzz i heard will byer shaded his old agency
@harryslefttit replied: Omg I hope he did, fuck the demodogs lol.
—————
July 2016
Mike was filming with A24 in Quebec for the next five weeks while Will was prepping for, then attending, Milan fashion week. They were back to phone calls for the time being, at least until the Snowball awards show in Paris. Their schedules synced back up in New York after that, which was Mike’s only motivation to survive the separation.
He’s not looking for anything new. He’s not looking for anything new.
Those words rang in Mike’s mind for the entire month. At any moment he could tune out of cast interviews, the makeup trailer, even table reads, to think about those six words. Realistically, it meant Will wasn’t looking for anything at all - or, optimistically, it meant Will already had what he wanted. Mike didn’t know if he was brave enough to ask, and he wouldn’t get the chance to find out until after Snowball.
It had been three years since they first met at El’s birthday party. Three years of being strangers, then friends, then best friends, with the occasional hook up. Three years of collecting parts of Will, tucking memories of his crinkled eyes and the nape of his neck away for safekeeping. Three years of lapping up all he could get and learning how to give in return. They had built the easiest, most natural relationship together, filling a Will-sized gap Mike didn’t know he had.
Max was right by his side for the first hour of the red carpet. He did see Will in the corner of his eye right when he was pulled aside by a blogger and couldn’t get away. It looked like he was introducing Max to his friend Lucas. After what looked like uncharacteristic speechlessness from a distance, Mike didn’t hear from her for the rest of the night.
He didn’t see Will again until he was backstage, right before he was set to present an award. Mike immediately felt like a fucking teenager. Clammy hands, check. Dry mouth, check. Crush looking right back at him with a perfect smile - a smile that Mike thought maybe, potentially, reflected the same lusciously debilitating feelings back at him - check.
Mike was whisked away before he could go say hello I love you please let me knit you more cardigans so you’ll keep warm all the time, but his rapidly beating heart and stuttering breath told him everything he needed to know.
He was definitely brave enough to ask.
—————
@1dstanverified: Anyone else think @mwheeler87 was a little flustered when he presented the Best Supporting Actress award @ snowball last night?
@hensworth13 replied: Yeahhhh but omg him handing @real.eleanor.hop the award had me cryingggg
@caramelmacchiato replied: Ik so cute!!! But why was Michael sweating bullets fr
@harryslefttit replied: he def saw will backstage and got all worked up omg my headcanon
@michaelby3rs replied: AHHHH Who’s writing this fic
—————
July 2016
Mike thought that if this were a movie, Eye of the Tiger would be playing on his walk to Will’s apartment. He certainly had enough energy to punch the air or run around the block if he were so inclined - but as it were, the buzz under his skin would only quiet when he made it to his destination.
How hard could it be, really? He just needed to ask Will about the interview. Just one cool, calm, collected friend asking another friend about the friend’s love life. Perhaps they’d also discuss the weather and other similar, very casual topics. Sports. Foreign policy. Whatever other normal people talked about.
He practiced in the elevator. By the way, I got bored on the plane and picked up an old rag. Happened to read something about you, actually. What did you mean when you told Rolling Stone you weren’t looking for anything new romantically? Just wondering, pal of mine. And after you explain that, do you have a cardiologist, perchance?
Mike stepped off the elevator. He ran his fingers through his hair and tamed the curls into an elastic. He wiped his hands on his flannel, put them in his pockets, then took them back out.
He knocked. The door swung open seconds later.
“Hey,” Will said, same easy expression as always.
“So I’m in love with you,” Mike said.
“Good, good,” Will said. “Wanna come in?”
“Yep.”
He stepped in and closed the door behind him. Will watched him toe off one shoe, then struggle with the other.
“Sorry - the shoestring, it’s just - I knotted it really tight.”
Mike bent down and tugged at the knot. His hands shook too much, so he just ripped it off with a high-pitched laugh, hysteric to his own ears. He should have paid attention to physics in high school so he would know now the chances of the floor swallowing him whole at this exact moment.
“By the way,” Will said when he stood, “did you just say that you love me?”
“Oh, that? Yes. That’s what I said.”
“I - uh. I thought you didn’t believe in love.”
Mike looked up, puzzled. Will wore a similar look of caution.
“Why would you think that?” Mike asked.
“You said it once, basically. With El. That you don’t believe in love.”
“I said it once, basically.” Will nodded in confirmation. “Okay. Well, basically saying it is not the same as actually saying it.”
“Oh my God, you are the most frustrating person ever. You said it.”
“I think I would know if I didn’t believe in love!” Mike threw his hands in the air. “Believe me, I would know.”
Will glowered and pouted a little. This would usually prompt Mike to make fun of him a little and keep the petty argument going in circles until Will stomped his foot in the funny way he did sometimes, but the topic at hand was a special case.
“So what, are you rejecting my confession?” Mike asked. He tried to come across relaxed, but he felt very much like he was hanging over the edge of a cliff.
“No,” Will said, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I’m actually trying really hard to not be insecure and believe you. It’s just that you’re saying exactly what I’ve wanted to hear for like, at least two years now.”
Could he hear birds chirping? Was that sunshine and a choir singing?
This. This Mike could work with. He stayed rooted firmly in place, afraid that if he moved, he might lose this chance.
“Okay. Well, it’s true. I love you. I want to be with you. I love your art and your playlists. I love that you giggle when you’re high and I love that you downloaded Cat Go just in case. You know me in ways no one else ever has, and I didn’t even know it was happening until it’d happened. It’s a done deal.
“You’re nice to absolutely everyone and everything, and you already make me a better person, someone who takes the subway and flies commercial sometimes. I’m not going to stop wanting to like, cover you in warm blankets and feed you mushroom paella. Because I love you. And sex would be nice too. I like that with you so, so much, because it’s you, and I want to do everything with you. So, yeah. Now you know.”
It was already worth baring his soul, just to see it wash over Will. He should know people - Mike especially - thought he was lovely. The air between them felt tight with tension that made Mike want to gently, softly, so nicely, push Will’s hair out of his face.
“For the record,” Will said, voice wavering only at the beginning, “I’ve loved you since I’ve known you. I love that you are yourself all the time. You’re spoiled and you complain so much and you’re just irresistible. Like, really, do you know how many times I’ve had to sit on my hands just to stop myself from holding yours?”
He had a good idea.
“I’ve just been so completely, obviously smitten with you,” Will stated, suddenly close, “that even strangers on the Internet know it.”
“Hipster,” said Mike.
“You love it,” said Will, and leaned in.
This kiss was different from any other. Will held his shoulders so Mike could, in turn, wrap his arms around Will’s waist. They were close, so close, and Mike moaned when Will opened his mouth slightly. It was sweet enough to make him dizzy and real enough to ground him, right here.
Mike chased him to press their foreheads together when they broke apart. He brought his hands up to cradle Will’s face.
“I definitely always believed in love,” Will panted. “But if I didn’t, I would now.”
“Yeah,” Mike managed, voice hoarse. “Even when I didn’t believe in love, I believed in you.”
“Oh my God,” Will laughed loudly. Mike’s hands slightly smooshed his cheeks, thumbs pushing out, which made for the absolute cutest thing he’d ever seen before he pulled away to interlock their hands. “Don’t quit your day job to start writing love songs. That was horrible.”
“You love it,” Mike said, half teasing, half seeking confirmation.
“I love it,” Will said, almost shy as he looked up at Mike through his lashes. Wow, how had Mike forgotten to mention his eyelashes in his confession? “Also, sex is on the table. Like, so totally on the table.”
Mike started walking Will backward. “Sex on the table?”
Will didn’t even try to muffle his giggle. “Oh, fudge.”
“Don’t say that right now.” Mike threw his head back as if in physical pain from the cringe. “Please don’t say that right now. How do you even know that, I thought you never watched it -”
“I’m a filthy liar,” Will gasped when his back hit the next surface. “I binged Star Court the first time I was in New York without you.”
“I can’t even look you in the eye.” Mike buried his face in Will’s neck.
His hands came up to hold Mike by the back of the head. “Bend me over, then.”
“You’re going to kill me,” Mike said with obvious delight. His arms wrapped tighter.
“I love you, too.”
—————
July 2017
@realwill_byers posted a photo: anniversary #throwback w/ @mwheeler87 :)
@michaelby3rs commented: OMG I ALWAYS KNEW IT WAS REAL
@1dstanverified: Fr this had to have been taken in like 2016, look at Will’s uggs and Mike’s long hair. They’ve been dating for years #confirmed
@hensworth13 commented: this is hands down the best day of my life.
@bylernation commented: who else has been on this ship since #stonegate?? Fav couple forever, so cute
@mwheeler87 commented: I’d trade all my gems for you.