𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲; byler

- 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎 9 -

𝐼𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 to finish.

Schedules aren't easy to make- especially when I'm trying super hard to not have any clashes between two of them. But, as I said before, I have enough practice with charts so in approximately forty five minutes I have a brand new (completely detached from my own) schedule for Mike Wheeler.

I text him the link, and he responds almost instantly.

what's this? he asks.

your new schedule, I respond.

He types for a while, but at the end the only response I get is two question marks.

It'll work better for you, I text.

um...
why? he says again.

And I really don't have a satisfying response. I un-share my own schedule with him, then close my phone and toss it aside. The first step is done.

Let the Mike detox begin.

                                                                        ✏ - - - - - - - - - -- - -

The second step is Brady.

Yes, I know it's cruel. I know it's not fair to him- but I desperately need a distraction. I go on my phone again, opening Instagram. It doesn't take long to find Brady's account- apparently, he's been requesting to follow me for a while.

Oops.

I confirm and follow him back, then start lightly stalking his page. I don't know how to start a conversation, so liking his pictures is the best way I can show I'm interested. I think.

Ugh. I really don't know shit about these things.

I'm literally floored by how many of his photos are shirtless, and- well, wow. I scroll through pictures of dreamy tan and blond hair, picture with a button down shirt and tie that makes the blue in his eyes pop even more. 

I try to get myself to invest in the profile, but his evident beauty just seems kind of... boring. None of that mysterious charm Mike-

No. How do these pictures get me thinking about him?? 

Brady doesn't send me a message, and it's getting kind of late. I read another chapter of my book, take my meds, and then get comfortable as I can in the sheets and try to sleep.

I'm kind of stressed about the fact that I did virtually NOTHING according to my schedule today. I didn't even do my therapies.
I remind myself one day of laziness won't do any change, and I know tomorrow I'll be back to my flawless obedience of the mighty schedule.

My phone beeps, and I sit up quickly. I fumble as I reach for the device on the bed-side table, and wince as the sharp white light from the screen blinds me.

After my eyes adjust, I see it's an Instagram notification. From Brady.

I don't know why my heart drops.

Hey, Will! What's up? Brady writes, and I stare at my screen another message appears. 

I hope this isn't too weird, but I'm coming by the hospital three days from now. I don't know if you're there at the moment, but I haven't seen you in a while so if you are would you like to have lunch or something:)?

I can't help noticing how long his messages are. Like emails. 

I click the notification. Yeah, I'm here! I'd love to have lunch!

He responds right the same second.
great! say two thirty-five, in the green room? I'll bring take out!

sounds good! I reply, feeling the guilt twisting my throat.
Can't wait: ))) he says, and I close my phone again.

I hate myself so much right now.

                                                                             ✏ - - - - - - - - - -- - -

"you did WHAT now?" Max practically screams, looking at me from the treadmill adjacent to mine.

"Shh! quieter," I mutter, but she basically waves me off.
"You're telling me that you, William freaking Byers, have a lunch-date with the legendary BRADY BRAUGHER??? " I nod a small nod, and she smiles widely.

"Look at my little man-whore. Mike, Brady- you're just having it all, aren't you," She asks, and I turn red at the playful accusation.

"No, it's just- well, I thought about what you said. You're right, Brady is my forever crush and-"
"-you're horny," Max finishes for me, and I can't help the shocked giggle from escaping my lips.

"No! god, Max!! is sex all you think about?" I respond, and she shrugs without answering.
"Well, I think you made the right choice. I also think I need to get the hell off this treadmill, before I pass out." She presses the emergency stop button and the machine beeps to a stop. She climbs off, and stands there for a moment, catching her breath.

"I can't believe I let you rope me into going to the gym, Byers." She says, and I smile. She knew I was uncomfortable with all the dating talk, and she just slyly changed the topic. She knows me too well.

"Come on! Mad Max, you're not going to lose to me, are you? just 10 minutes more! don't be a loser!" I try, but she shakes her head.

"Nope. You're not getting me up on that death machine again. I am finished. " She grabs the towel hanging on the side of her treadmill, and wipes her sweaty forehead. Her fiery hair is messy and sticking out of her ponytail, and she looks so miserable it's kind of funny. We barley did 20 minutes!

"You coming? I need an ice cream after all this exercise," she asks, but I shake my head.

"I'm gonna do a few more minutes. Go ahead to Jane," I say and she smiles and nods. She waves bye, and she's out the door.

Without missing a step I grab my phone from it's place on the treadmill, and plug my earbuds in. I increase the pace of the treadmill as "death on two legs" by Queen blasts through my ear, ignoring my screaming lungs.

Because the third (and final) step in the Mike detox- distraction. And until my date with Brady, a good distraction is hard to find.

                                                                                                            - 𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁