“a fire smothered.” // aged up mw
HIIIII I know this wasn’t requested, but it was something of a writing exercise to get me back into the swing of things. Enjoy!
WARNINGS: HOUSE PARTY, ALCOHOL/DRUG ABUSE, SAD ANGST NOBODY EVER ASKS FOR
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You push through copious amounts of people, the smell of alcohol mixed with vomit and skunk weed almost knocking you off your feet. You note that you’re starting to feel the beginning buzz of a contact high, and roll your eyes in annoyance.
Michael Wheeler has been one of your self-proclaimed best friends since you were adopted into the Party during the summer after freshman year. You vaguely remember Jane approaching you on the last day of school and inviting you to her house that evening to hang out with her and the group. You clicked with them almost immediately, and you’d grown fond of the boy with dark eyes and freckles. Jane called him Mike, and you soon realized he was the same Mike from your English class. Mike was your every day cliche of a gaming nerd. He had the odd sweaters, the fucked up sleep schedule, and the weird obsession with DnD; all of which suited him somehow. It contradicted highly with his uptight attitude and angsty personality, but he was…Mike. Mike, one of your nearest and dearest who you’d found family in. Mike, the boy from English class. Mike, the only boy who’d ever made your heart skip beats.
One day, though, things changed. It started near the ending of sophomore year, just when you’d gotten used to his uptight behavior. He stopped caring about school as much, and began getting in with the wrong crowd. He never fully slipped away from the Party, but despite all of your, and the Party’s, efforts to keep him in line, he went down a very dark path.
Which leads you to today. You’re now freshmen in college, and you’re trying desperately to find Mike in the midst of yet another stupid house party.
“Why the fuck did you have to join a frat?” You grumble, elbowing dancing bodies around you as you’re all but shoved against every wall in the crowded home.
You keep searching the first floor, but have no luck. You look around you for stairs, and then you see him. Well, not him, but his head of hair popping out of the door of what you can only assume is a bedroom. You watch as the rest of him follows, stumbling around like a drunken idiot–because that’s what he is, a drunken idiot–as he fumbles with the zipper of his jacket. Your heart falls as you watch a girl who looked familiar follow closely behind him, her face not registering to a name in your mind.
You swallow bile as you watch the two of them. She whispers something to him that leaves them both drunkenly giggling. You want so badly to look away, but you’re scared of losing him in the crowd again.
Suddenly you’re shoved roughly into the wall behind you, and you attention falls on a blonde girl who looks like she’s a few years older than you. She gives you an annoyed look as she walks past you, and you try not to scream as the heel of her stiletto comes into contact with your toes.
“Heeeyy, you caaame!” Mike slurs from beside you. You jump, and he begins to laugh. “I tho-ought you said you didn’t like parti-ties.” He hiccups, throwing an arm over your shoulder.
“Will called, said you weren’t back yet. Do you know what time it is?” You ask, beginning to lead him out. “Because it’s four a.m. I love you, but this has to stop. This isn’t you.” You shake your head as you give him the same speech you’ve given him a hundred times.
“You say the same shit every week. But the truth is-” He hiccups, “-this is who I am now. Take me or leave me.”
“You’re not the Mike Wheeler I once knew.” You strap him in your car and he scoffs, leaning his head back against your seat cushions. You roll your eyes, rounding the car to the driver’s seat. “He would’ve never slacked off, he would rather die than get as cross-faded as you are now and have been for the past two years–
"He’s also about thirteen years old. Something that I, Y/N L/N, am not.” Mike points out, a lazy smile on his face.
“Exactly, Mike! You’re not a little kid anymore! The partying and bullshitting and goofing off has got to stop!” You argue, exasperation lacing your tone.
“Since when are you the voice of reason?” He laughs dryly. “Last I checked, you aren’t exactly a saint yourself.”
“Since I’ve watched you deteriorate into this warped, fucked up version of yourself!” Your defenses are up, your fists wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly you fear you might strain a muscle in your hands. “It’s scary, Mike! This,” you gesture to his whole demeanor, “is scaring me!”
“You’re scared of me?” He asks sadly.
“I’m scared of who you’re becoming. Mike, I love you more than anything in the world. You know that. It’s no secret I hold you higher than the rest. But you can’t just expect me to sit back and watch the only boy I’ve ever loved and truly cared for just…disappear. You can’t expect me to not try and help before it’s too late.”
“You can’t help something that doesn’t need to be helped, Y/N.” He says, disregarding the feeling your confession of love gives him, just like every time before. “You know I love you too, but I can handle my own. I’m not a little kid. I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“You’re right, you’re not a little kid. Which is why you need to grow the fuck up, Mike! And until you do, every time you see me, it’s gonna be like this. I mean really, Mike, when’s the last time we saw each other when you were sober?” You raise an eyebrow at him once your car is parked, daring him to smart off.
“I don’t…I don’t remember.” He slouches, defeat washing over him.
Your heart clenches as you watch him, a broken boy that used to have so much fire in him; a fire smothered by an unknown cause.
“I feel like we’re a million worlds apart, Mike. I don’t like it. And it’s not just me. Everyone’s worried about you. Just…tell me what’s wrong. What happened to you that made you so broken?”
The question strikes Mike in a way he didn’t expect, and he finds himself sobbing into his hands in the front seat of your small, teal-colored car, your hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.
“I couldn’t deal with everything that happened to all of us before we met you. The-The nightmares, Y/N. They were so real. I needed an escape and soon I got so addicted to feeling nothing that I just…drifted through life. I would look at our friends when I was sober and my chest would ge-get all tight, and my throat would dry up.” He begins hyperventilating.
“Hey, hey.” You coo. “Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow, when you’re not cross faded and wigging out.”
Mike nods, closing his eyes as he leans his body toward you. He finds his head in your lap, and you’re running your fingers through his hair. You begin singing a soft song you used to sing to him when he’d come to you with stress over a test, or just life in general.
“I really do mean it when I say I love you, you know that right?” Mike sniffles, placing his hand on one of your knees.
Your head is propped against the back cushion of your seat, your eyes closed. “Yeah, I know.” You don’t raise your head or open your eyes as you respond.
“Y/N, do you love me?” He asks sheepishly.
“Mhm. So much.” You mumble, beginning to fall asleep as you continue humming.
He sighs. “Goodnight, Y/N.” He finally closes his eyes, the back of his eyelids burning on account of a combination of being high, sleepy, and having just bawled his eyes out.
“You’re making my car smell like sex.” You grumble and he laughs, sighing as he gets comfortable enough to fall asleep.
You’re awakened by a light tapping noise on your window. You blink a few times, and soon Will’s concerned face comes into view. You unlock your door carefully, as to not wake Mike, and Will throws open your car door.
“What in the world happened last night? You were supposed to call me!” Will is frantic, the bags under his eyes indicating he hadn’t slept a wink since he called you.
“What time is it?” You mumble.
“It’s 11 in the morning, Y/N. I thought you two were dead or something. Couldn’t you have made it into the house?”
“Believe me when I tell you this: No way in hell.” Your hyperbolic statement earns an eye roll from Will.
“Willy, my man!” Mike says from under you and you jump, a flashback of last night running through your brain. “What’s up? You look like death, dude.”
“Yeah, thanks to you.” Will snaps. “Inside. Both of you, now.”
“Why so hostile, Will?” Mike jokes as Will’s frail arms shove the both of you through your front door.
Will doesn’t answer, and you look around your living room to find all four of your other friends sitting on your furniture, staring at the both of you as if you were both convicts.
“Sit.” Will says and you follow his orders, finding your place next to Max on the couch.
“Hey, Y/N.” She smiles lightly, and you return the greeting as Will begins to speak.
“I’m not one to speak in front of groups, but I’ve reached my limit with both of you.” Will starts, making a point to look at both you and Mike.
Your eyes widen and you almost choke on air. “Me?! I didn’t do shit!”
Will rolls his eyes before continuing. “Mike. We love you and we just wanna know what’s going on. We’ve been letting this shit slide for far too long.” You gulp when you hear the curse word escape his lips. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you and manifested, but we need to figure it out. Lay it all out on the table. And that’s why we’re all here.”
“I don’t need a fucking intervention. I’m walking home.” Mike snarls before beginning to get up, Jane grabbing his sleeve to stop him.
“Stop. Let him speak.” She looks up at him through her eyelashes, her voice soft but stern. Mike stops in his tracks and looks at her for a few seconds before sighing and sitting back down.
“And as for you.” Will says, turning the attention to you. “You not coming to terms with who you are and who you love most is, quite frankly, agonizing to watch. We know you love Mike more than the rest of us. We also know that boys aren’t the only humans on the Y/N L/N menu.”
You gasp as you look away from everyone to one of your throw pillows on the floor.
“How is that important right now?” Lucas protests. “So what if she loves not just boys? It shouldn’t matter.”
“He’s right.” Dustin adds. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry, bud.”
“Fine.” Will sighs through his nose. “Mike?”
Mike sighs and begins to explain his reasoning from the previous night in-depth, and your heart sinks watching him get so worked up. You look around the room and watch all of your friends sink into themselves almost simultaneously as he speaks. Part of you feels the ache of not being in the loop because you know next to nothing about how they’re feeling, but they’ve assured you dozens of times before that you’re better off. You find comfort in knowing that they’d protect you from ever experiencing anything similar for as long as they could.
When he’s finished, you all find yourselves staring off into space in complete, deafening silence for a few minutes. Your chest feels heavy and you sigh, standing from your seat and clapping your hands. They all collectively jump at the sudden noise, and, in any other situation, you’d have probably laughed at them.
“You guys want anything to eat? I’m not sure what we have but I think we have the stuff for spaghetti.” You offer, and they all slowly snap back into reality as they all nod and shrug.
You return the collective nod, pivoting on your heel and moving toward the kitchen to begin making the world’s easiest meal.
You once again find yourself humming some random tune, this one from when you were really little, and jump when someone lightly taps your shoulder. You find Will behind you, and you turn back to your pot of boiling pasta.
“That was pretty shitty, Will.” You say, not turning to face him as you stir your pot.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just got so frustrated with you two ignoring your obvious feelings.” He says. “I know that’s not an excuse, especially not for outing you.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re frustrated with anyone, nor does it matter if all of you knew or not. What matters is that it was supposed to be my decision. You of all people should recognize that.” You point out, your calm tone heightening Will’s anxiety.
He begins to imagine you whipping around to face him, the boiling hot water in your hands as you splash him with it. He supposes he deserves it, as he knows you’d never out him.
“I know, please forgive me.” He frowns, hugging you from behind.
You sigh, turning in his arms to wrap him in your embrace. “You’re a dumbass, but I’d never be able to stay mad at you.” You pull away, offering him a smile. “I mean, who’d finish off my cookie jar with me and quote every word of the Rocky Horror Picture Show when we’re sad?”
“Am I interrupting something?” Mike asks from the threshold of your kitchen, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.
Will wiggles his eyebrows at you before winking and turning away, leaving your face to overheat. “Nope, I was just leaving.” Will offers the boy a sly grin as he passes him.
You catch Mike’s stare and avert your gaze back to your pasta, picking up the pot of boiling water and draining the noodles. Mike clears his throat from behind you, and you visibly tense up.
“You know…I could help if you wanted?” Mike suggests and you shrug silently, gesturing to the ground chuck sitting on the counter. Mike lets out a small breath of laughter as he opens the package, getting the skillet ready to cook it. “I thought you said you didn’t eat meat.”
You nod, “Yes, however tonight I have a house full of carnivores. I figured you’d all end up here at some point this week.”
“Ah, preparing for the herd. Truly a mama bear with her cubs.” Mike says awkwardly, and you stifle a laugh. “So…about last night…”
You stay silent, your throat tightening when you remember the girl and the car ride home and the argument, all the way to falling asleep with your best friend’s head in your lap. You’re reminded of the cramp in your neck from sleeping in such an awkward position and reach up to rub it, wincing at the pressure applied.
“You okay?” He changes the subject.
“Yeah.” You answer simply. “Neck cramp.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to pass out like that.” Mike laughs nervously.
“You never do.” You comment under your breath, but it doesn’t go unheard by the Wheeler boy.
He frowns, his chest tightening. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”
You close your eyes as you stir the spaghetti sauce into the pasta, and you don’t say anything for a few moments. Mike tries desperately to ignore the whirring of his brain as anxiety gets the best of him.
“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” You ask quietly, opening your eyes once again. So quietly, the hairs on Mike’s arms stand up.
Mike stops stirring for a split second, having been caught off guard. He looks at you and notices the deep frown you’re now wearing, not unlike his own. He really takes a good look at you and notices that your hair seems more lifeless than usual, your face showing color for the first time in weeks. He guesses it’s from the hot steam coming off of the noodles below your chin. He notices your posture, more slouched than usual. He looks at your eyes, and sees that your eyelashes are hanging onto small tears.
“For hurting you all the time.” He says finally. “For making you worry yourselves sick, all of you. But especially you.”
You blink and the tears you were holding back hit your cheeks. You wipe them away before they fall into your pasta and take a deep breath, turning to face him. He looks away from your bloodshot eyes and back to the meat, beginning to stir it around the skillet again.
“I know you’re hurting, Mike. Any blind man can see that, and I’m so sorry you’re carrying this constant weight with you. But shutting all of us out and turning to other things for a temporary escape is not the way to fix it.”
“I’ve tried to talk to all of you, I just never know how to address it.” He says. “It affected all of us heavily, I never wanted to bring back any bad memories. They all seemed to be over it, I didn’t wanna kill their progress.”
You look away from him with a laugh, shaking your head as you put a bowl of pasta and sauce aside for yourself. He’s hit with a wave of confusion at your laughter, but says nothing.
“Mike, they’re all still struggling. Will cries to me at least once a week. Jane is no better.” You say. “You always seem to get it in your head that you’re so alone in the world. Mike, you were never alone. And you’ll never be alone. You’ll never ever be a burden.” You approach him slowly, wrapping your arms around him from the side.
“I’ve just always felt like I had to be the strong one, you know? I’ve never had to play the vulnerable part.”
“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Mike. You’re allowed to feel shitty and be sad.”
Mike turns the oven eye off and turns in your arms so he’s now looking down at you. You pull your arms away and back away a few inches, and he takes a deep breath.
“What if I don’t know how?” He tears up, and you wipe a tear away as it falls.
“Crying in front of your best friends and opening up to them about what’s been going on with you is a good start.” You attempt a weak joke and he smiles softly.
“I love you, Y/N/N.” He says, and you hug him once again. He kisses the top of your head as he hugs you back, and the two of you stand in each other’s embrace for a few seconds.
“I know. I love you too.” You respond gently and he leans his cheek against your head.
“I know.” He repeats, and your heart fills with a certain warmth you hadn’t felt in a while.
You reluctantly pull away once again, placing your hand on his cheek. He leans into your touch, that adorable, cheeky smile finding its rightful place on his lips once again.
“It won’t be easy, but you’re gonna be okay, Mike. You all will be.” You reassure him.
“As long as I’ve got you around, I know it’ll be okay.” He says sweetly, kissing your cheek. “But if you ever feel a weight too, talk to me, okay? You don’t have to be strong all the time, Y/N.” He once again repeats your words and you jokingly shove him away softly, a bashful smile on your face.
“When are you gonna stop copying me?”
“When you stop being so wise and philosophical.”
“So…never?” You smirk and he laughs.
“As long as I’m breathing, I will live to annoy the shit out of you.”
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