I’m going to start posting snippets of my writing to force myself to finish this…
an excerpt from chapter two of my fic
Synopsis:
Will is happy. He’s a junior at NYU, with the world's loveliest roommates, in an apartment he adores, and he turns 21 this Sunday. And after a year and a half apart, a year and a half of running away, he’s ready to face Mike Wheeler again. I mean it's only one night, right?
Or
Mike Wheeler is invited over to apartment 20.3 and Will's roommates, over the course of five nights, desperately try to prove to Will he definitely has a chance.
Mike might be coming down with something. Because his nose is totally blocked up right now, and he’s just counted sneeze number three within the past ten minutes. Or maybe, it’s because his head is stuffed so far into his closet he’s breathing in dust that’s definitely been around longer than he has.
He’s been digging in here for what seems like an eternity, and there's now a growing pile of clothes building on the floor behind him to show for it.
Mike pulls back out of the closet, now half empty, and still traitorously void of anything remotely sensible. He had half thought if he rummaged in there long enough the outfit gods would’ve blessed him with a shirt he deemed worthy. Despite his efforts, no Narianan style portals were opened, and he still has nothing to wear.
He decides to vocalize this to Lucas, “I have nothing to wear,” he gives the pile of clothes a quick kick.
“You have plenty of crap Mike, just choose whatever and get it over with.” Lucas is laying on Mike's bed, comic book in hand, and he knows Lucas has read that one before because he remembers lending it to him, and then the month afterwards begging for it back.
Mike frowns at him.
“Yeah, that's the problem. I have a bunch of crap. I don't have anything nice to wear.” Mike says, moving to sit on the edge of his bed, nudging Lucas's leg out of the way.
“Is it a nice outfit event?” Lucas says peering at Mike over the top of the comic book, shielding himself from Mike dramatics.
Mike gives a weak shrug in response, “I don't know, I don't go to dinner parties.”
Lucas tosses the comic book to the side, eliciting a worried look from Mike that goes completely ignored. He sits up, crossing his legs “Don’t yell at me for asking, but does it really matter that much?”
Mike turns his head to look at Lucas, disappointed. He should know better than to assume he’d understand the seriousness of the situation at hand.
He doesn't get to answer- although if he did it would have come out something like “Fucking obviously, don’t be stupid.” which he doesn’t say, not out of self-restraint but because Lucas keeps talking to add- “It’s Will dude. He’s not gonna care about if your shirt has too many buttons- or whatever it is you keep mumbling to yourself about. He’ll just be happy to have you there.”
Rationally, logically, Mike knows he’s right. Because Mike knows that if it was Will who was coming over to his apartment on Friday, the last thing he’d care about was whether or not his shirt had short or long sleeves. He’d just be happy that it was Will, and he was Mike, and they were Mike and Will, together.
He tries to apply this logic inversely. Tries to convince himself that if that’s how he feels, surely Will feels the same. He tells himself that there has hardly ever in the history of the entire world been a thought Mike has that Will didn’t have first. Because a year ago, that was the objective truth. But now? He isn’t so sure.
And Mike doesn’t have the first clue how to tell this to Lucas without sounding any more insane than he already had yesterday, when he called him four times and begged him to drive over from Connecticut and help. He had said no the first three times, then Mike had reminded him that Dustin and El were on their spring break road trip this week and he was otherwise unsupervised. Lucas had made it into Boston right after dark.
The truth is Mike doesn’t really know how to talk about any of it. They don’t really talk about Will. At least, Mike doesn't. Not because he doesn’t want to, more so because he doesn't have anything to talk about.
Every now and then Lucas might mention how Will called, telling him about a new project he’s working on, then Max will chime in and talk about some evil professor Will swears is out to get him. Sometimes El visits, and she might make a comment about how Will thinks he could be developing a pollen allergy, or Dustin will stop by and offhandly ask if he heard about Will’s new job.
“No, I didn’t know he was taking 3D art, that’s pretty cool.” He had told Max and Lucas last spring.
“Pollen, really? He didn’t have an issue with it back home.” He’d questioned El in the summer.
“An art therapist? That’s perfect for him.” He’d smiled at Dustin earlier this winter.
At some point, they’d all realized Mike stopped knowing all of the things he should know, and they just stopped asking if he’d heard. The assumption that Mike knew- because of course he did, because he always did- dissolved into a tacit understanding that Will was not a subject to be broached. Not unless they wanted to stare Mike in the eyes, with the confession that he was the only one being shut out.
Maybe it was selfish, to assume that he’s owed some introspection into his life, but what had he done to warrant the silence?
So how does he say that to Lucas? That he can’t agree that Will won’t care because he doesn’t know what it is Will even cares about anymore. And how to tell Lucas he feels like he’s missing a part of his soul, and that he hasn’t felt this hollow since freshman year of high school? How can he find the words to describe that despite every horrible thing they’ve survived- monsters, and death, and the end of the world- the hardest thing he’s ever had to overcome is the realization that Will has made peace with the past and moved on to bigger and better things, without Mike. Mike who’s whining about a couple missed phone calls and tethered to a past he’s not sure he’ll ever escape from long enough to learn to stay alive, not without the dull ache reminding him that they had all been something once. Something great.
And they still were, he supposes, in some regard, but it doesn’t matter much because to face the truth that maybe the only thing that had been tying the two of them together all along was pain, is to admit that they can never return to the innocence of two boys ignorant to the cruelty of the world, aching for a normalcy that can never be granted as long as they are bound in the face of their own tragedies.
Instead of saying any of this out loud, instead of begging him to understand that this is his last chance, his lifeline out of the self pitying hole he’s dug, and his last shot to prove himself wrong, that he and Will can still be something, Mike just sighs and says, “Yeah, I guess.”
Lucas, for what it’s worth, sees through Mike's bullshit. He’s a writer not an actor, okay?
“Dude,” Lucas places a hand on his shoulder, catching his gaze, “he’s your best friend. Whatever you’re worrying about, stop.” Mike can only hum an agreement. He's tried a lot, it doesn’t work.
“I’m overthinking it.” Mike says, convincing himself that saying it aloud will make him believe it’s true.
“You always do.” Lucas assures him, Mike might have taken offense in a different situation but he’s aware enough to know it’s mostly true.
“It’s just a party.” He mumbles, mostly to himself. Just a party. A dinner party. A themed dinner party with Will and his friends and his roomates
“Right.”
“At Will's house.” in New York, a city he’s been to twice and imagined more often than he was probably allowed.
“Exactly.” Lucas says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It’s reassuring, and Mike supposes this is why he’s UConns team captain. Half this conversation has been a pep talk. “It’s just Will.” he adds. Mike sits with that for a moment, facing Lucas in contemplation. There are only a couple things Mike Wheeler is certain of, and Will Byers infinitely understanding nature is one of them. If Mike had done something to hurt Will, if he was dense enough to not notice it, and stupid enough to not apologize, then this was Will’s olive branch. Most certainly undeserved but there regardless, Will had never required anything of Mike other than himself. So, that’s what he’ll give him. Tomorrow, Mike Wheeler will drive himself to New York City, march his way into Will’s apartment, and surrender himself completely to the only person who has never asked him for anything more. He’d be a fool to give Will anything else if not his entire being, and if he’s completely honest he’s more than willing to grant him the world. It’s where he belongs, his very existence, in the palm of Will Byers’ hand.
35 years ago today Will Byers calls Mike Wheeler to invite him over to the birthday party his roommates are throwing him in New York city. They haven’t spoken in over a year, he didn’t even think Mike would pick up. But he did, and now he’s on his way to Will. So, now what?
First Chapter of my Fic
Five Nights Under City Lights is out now!! by eyes_fulla_stars on ao3!!
First day on writing on this blog. Honestly, this is mostly just for me to get some kind of therapy? I really don't know. I guess, I'll just start with some of my interests in case someone decides to read this, and wants to follow me, in case I, somehow, have a charming enough personality.
I just turned 20 years old, my name isn't actually Sera, much like I said in my description, I want keep myself anonymous, 'cause I don't want anyone that actually knows me to find this. My favorite color is actually pink, I love pink. I'm a writer, and hope to be a published author one day in the near future. I dropped out of college last year due to money issues but hope to go back this autumn, I want to be a kindergarten teacher. I love kids, though I don't want to be a mother, birth scares me. I'm bisexual, while not closeted, no everyone in my life knows I am bi. I really love any type of horror media, I've recently gotten into splatter punk, so far, I've only read "The Slob" by Aron Beauregard. I've mostly gotten into it due to me wanting to learn how to write gore. My favorite YouTuber right now is Papa Meat AKA Meatcanyon and of course, Wendigoon.
I have no idea for how long I'll be doing this, but probably for a while. Goodbye, whomever reads this, hopefully we'll meet again.
