Here is is. The last chapter.
Enjoy.
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Staring hard into the bathroom mirror, his fingers wrapped tightly around the porcelain base of the Byers' sink, Mike truly thought for a moment that his reflection was staring right back through him.
He didn't know quite why he was so nervous, all he knew was that his nerves, feeling exposed and hot, were shot and he couldn't quite calm the overbearing hum inside of his chest. Tearing his gaze away from the mirror where he'd been shooting daggers into his own reflection only moments before, Mike glanced outwards to the left, raven black eyes scanning the glass of the small single window high up on the wall across from the toilet.
The snow was still falling, and in some way, watching the snowflakes drift aimlessly downwards through the blurred windowpane instilled peace in the boy. In reality, he knew very well why he was nervous. Giving gifts was never something that Mike was completely comfortable with, and in some odd way, giving them always came back to him. What if he didn't do well enough in choosing a present? What if they hated him for doing a poor job? It was stupid, he knew that. Yet there he was, half trapped in the Byers' bathroom as he tried to find some sense of calm to work with before he had to give Will his gift.
From inside the tiny room, Mike could hear the smooth croon of Blue Christmas drifting throughout the house.
"Calm down, Wheeler," Mike whispered only to himself, his words feeling weighted as he stared out the window. He was breathing deeply, letting out long, subtly relieving exhale as his eyes dropped from the sink. The predicament he was in was silly, and he knew it. He'd been the only one to do this to himself. He could have just stayed home early Christmas Eve, like he usually did, even if he hadn't wanted to. He could think of better things to do than sit and drink hot chocolate with parents he hardly spoke to, listening to someone like Armstrong (but not as good, of course,) and wishing he was with Will. So he decided, to the distaste of his mother, that he would be with Will on Christmas Eve.
So here I am, Mike thought to himself cheaply as his fingers flexed against the sink's edge. Here I am, doing exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to go see him. So here I am, at Will's house, in Will's bathroom, hiding from him because I don't want him to think that his boyfriend is a total lame-o.
Twisting his fingers against the sink, Mike's face turned back down towards the porcelain bowl, a smile creeping across his lips.
I might never get used to that, he thought.
From outside the door, a gentle knock echoed against it's wooden surface. Bringing Mike out of his trance, he turned towards the door, his heart racing.
"S-Sorry, just a minute," Mike replied weakly, his eyes lingering on the mirror for a moment before he finally took a look at the door.
"No rush, honey," Joyce spoke softly from outside the bathroom, her voice patient and sweet as a mother's voice should be, "I'm just running out to grab some icing. Wanted to see if you needed anything?"
Mike's hand drifted from the sink and fell from the bathroom counter, rising and laying gently against his stomach. He'd never really considered just how much he appreciated Joyce before, but goodness, he sure did. There was never really a good time to tell her this, never a specific moment when it had stood out to him. Rather, it had been an accumulation over the years, more prominently in the strenuous past month and a half that they'd both gone a little crazy during. She did a lot for him, and he wasn't even her own blood. He made a mental note to thank her the next time he got a chance, when a bathroom door wasn't separating them.
"N-No, I'm okay, Joyce. Thank you," Mike replied slowly, hearing the woman's feet shuffle slightly.
"Well, alright," she said finally, and Mike could imagine the smile that was likely crossing her face. "I'll be back shortly. You three be good," she poked, and as she walked away, her footsteps growing lighter, more muffled as she went, Mike knew they would be.
Taking one last, much needed deep breath, Mike listened as the front door opened and shut in unison, and reached outwards, wrapping his fingers around the bathroom doorknob and twisting it open.
The Byers' place always smelled like something delicious was cooking, and most of the times Mike had come over, there was. As he stepped out into the hallway this time, it smelled like cooked Christmas turkey and fresh vegetables. The house was dim, lit mostly by the dull kitchen bulb and the lights strung up around the Christmas tree, but it was enough to give the place a heavenly glow. Mike's heart fluttered as he scrunched his socked feet against the carpet, taking a moment to exhale before he heard that one familiar, pleasant voice.
"Mike, are you coming back out or am I going to have to come save you from the bathroom monster?"
Will's voice did nothing to calm his heartbeat. Mike absently reached up and placed a hand over his heart, that same childlike smile crossing his lips again. Mike. Mike.
I'll never get used to that, either, he thought.
"I'm coming, just wait," Mike called back, swallowing hard as he rounded the corner into the living room. His eyes roamed the sight before him.
"I almost opened it before you got back," Will admitted from the couch, his face a wash of subtle embarrassment as he crossed his legs in front of him. Will was tucked into the far side of the Byers' couch, a blanket wrapped around his waist as he held the lap-sized box in his hands. He gave Mike a small smile, earning one back easily, before Mike glanced down at the gift. He let out a quiet laugh, hoping he didn't sound too nervous, before he approached the couch, settling into the spot next to Will.
"You know you're not opening yours before Christmas, right?" Will assured the boy next to him, giving him a watchful eye as Mike shrugged.
"That's okay. I just wanted to be with you when you opened yours," he responded, watching with growing anxiety as Will turned his head down, observing the wrapped present before him.
"Can I...?" Will whispered, like a child on, well, Christmas morning.
"I'd like you to," Mike whispered back.
He watched, resisting the urge to fidget, as Will ran a smooth hand over the side of the small box, wandering until he finally snagged a finger on one wrapped edge of the gift. He didn't know why he was so nervous, it was just a gift. He'd given them before, many times since they'd met. This was a little bit different though, wasn't it? It sure felt like it. Observing Will as he peeled the paper back from the box beneath, Mike shifted back on the couch, bringing his legs up into a criss-cross position.
"It's kinda stupid, but—" Mike began.
"Stop it, you," Will urged, pulling the last of the wrapping paper off. Easily, Will pried open the top of the box carefully and flipped open the lid.
His hands hovered over the opening for a few seconds, almost hesitant, before he reached into the box and slid out the book inside.
He practically knew the cover by hand. He'd seen it several times, he'd picked it out himself, and he'd wrapped it up carefully and precisely, yet again, by himself. Still, Mike found himself pausing to stare at it's subtly reflective surface. It was a beautiful deep blue, the colour of a pristine summer sky. The type of blue that tinted the waters of foreign beaches. Around the edge was a thin elastic binding strap, stretched around the ends of the book to keep it from flying open on it's own. Will cradled the object in his hand like it was worth a million dollars, placing his thumb tenderly against the gold brushed edges of the paper.
Eyes flittering from the cover to Will's face, Mike's heart threatened to jump right up through his throat and out of his mouth. Will had a look, one particular look, on his face. A look of heavy surprise, engraved in the curl of his lips and the edges of his widened eyes. He looked like he was staring down at a chest full of treasure. Fingertips pressing into the cover ever so slightly, Will glanced towards Mike, taken aback.
"Mike, how much did this c—"
"Open it," Mike murmured, searching Will's expression as the two boys stared at each other. Blinking several times like he was bringing himself out of a state, Will sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he turned forward again and opened up the sketchbook's cover.
Mike had read and reread the words a million times, thinking them over until he couldn't bear to anymore, but still, he leaned slightly forward, chin brushing Will's shoulder as he stared down at the first page.
To my favourite boy,
I know you've already got something to draw in,
but this looked too nice to pass it up. All I ask
is that when you draw me, make sure I've got
a cool looking sword in my hand. Alright?
Blue
Staring down into the book, Mike felt Will shift just slightly beneath him, his chin still resting stable on Will's shoulder as the boy sat back just slightly. Their shoulders bumped into each other, gently, and Will let out an exhale that sounded like it had been trapped inside of his chest for decades.
"Draw me sometime," Mike repeated, as though Will hadn't just read the words on his own. Will reached out slowly, tracing a finger over Mike's messy lettering, a tiny, contemplative smile playing on his lips. The look that crossed his face then was thoughtful, very, and he sat in silence like this for for a moment, before he whispered back.
"I draw you all the time, Mike."
Mike's hand, previously drumming nervously against his knee, settled against Will's upper arm. His thumb brushed circles against the fabric of Will's sweater. He could feel his heart swelling inside of his chest, filling with warmth and adoration. He thought for a moment, my, I've spent too long without you saying my name. I'd like to hear it again. A few times. Always and forever.
Mike had never thought his name to be anything special until Will had said it.
"Do you?" Mike murmured.
"All the time," Will whispered again, the words sounding like they fell heavy on his tongue. In the entirety of the Byers' living room, Mike felt like there wasn't an ounce of oxygen left for him to breath.
"Will?" Mike hummed, watching as the smaller boy glanced towards him.
"Mike?" he responded.
Finding his strength once more, Mike dropped his hand from Will's arm and reached out, stealing one of Will's hands away from his gift.
"I love you," he spoke, not dulling it down or diluting it, and certainly not in any way self conscious. Will could see it, and Mike could tell. The way Will's face lit up said everything it needed to, without saying anything at all. Leaning to his side, Will tucked his forehead into Mike's shoulder, returning the gentle squeeze of Mike's hand against his own.
"I love you right back," he whispered sweetly, nothing but honest.
Shutting his eyes, Mike flexed his fingers against Will's, a peaceful smile crossing his face as his eyes drifted shut.
Because Mike did love Will, beyond the barriers of his fifteen years and beyond even his own physical being. He loved him with every ounce of his strength, every hint of power inside of his body. He loved Will like the oceans love the moon, like century old lovers still love beyond death and life and like soulmates love each other and everywhere in between. He wondered if his body had been created to be able to hold that much love, and then he thought, easily, for Will he could.
For Will, he could hold all the love under the sun. All of it. Always.
-
"He still might remember," Joyce had whispered, her knees growing tired as she knelt down in front of the bawling boy before him. She hadn't seen him cry much, certainly not as he grew older and strayed from scraped knees and banged foreheads. Mike was getting to be such a tidy young man. A young man who could handle his own feelings, who would stand up for his friends, who would hold doors open for his mother.
So Joyce had knelt in front of him, watching the sobs come tearing out of his chest like he'd just watched someone die. He seemed like somebody different, somebody else entirely. He didn't look like the Mike Wheeler she had watched grow up, not entirely. He looked weaker. He looked alone.
Mike could feel it all throughout his body, the tears dripping eagerly onto his shirt as he trembled. Anyone within the vicinity that didn't have any context might have truly thought he'd just lost someone.
In a way, he had then.
"A....And......and if h-he doesn't?" Mike managed to gasp, placing the back of his hand against his forehead as a throbbing headache began to grow against his skull. The pressure banging around inside his head was horrendous, and in return, Mike stood up, twisting away from Joyce as he served the chair he was sitting on a welcome kick to the leg.
"What then?"
"Honey—"
Mike wasn't listening. He stared down at the chair in front of him, and he kicked it. He kicked it again. And again. And again. He kicked it until he felt Joyce's hands against his upper arms, spinning him around away from the piece of furniture as she had rose from her crouch. Joyce's eyes were steady, filled to the brim with hurt but stronger than her pain, still. Mike hadn't realized how hard he'd been breathing until he no longer had the rattle of the chair battering to cover it up.
"You know him, Mike," Joyce whispered. It was true, but more than just a general sense. Reaching up and wiping the back of his sleeve against his damp cheek, Mike felt quiet hiccups rising in his chest. He forced them down the best that he could.
"B-But what.... what if—"
Joyce's grip on him tightened, more firm, as it needed to be.
"You know him," she whispered again, and Mike understood.
He wouldn't lose Will, because Will wouldn't let that happen without a fight. And he could fight. And he would.
Mike knew.
He always knew, from that very moment that his own personal hell had branched off from Will's own pain, that he would get him back. He knew Will well enough, knew how Will knew himself well enough, to be able to cling to this, even if nothing was guaranteed. Even if there was a good chance, according to the doctors and the nurses, that Will might never remember. He knew better than them, not scientifically, but deep down inside of himself.
As Mike stared towards the half-open door into Will's hospital room, Mike felt that he would get Will back someday. He didn't know then that he would, not for sure, but he felt it. He didn't know when, or how, or where he would get him back. He only knew that he would, and he would do whatever he needed to.
He would have waited forever, if he had to.
On December 16th, 1985, Mike Wheeler got Will Byers back, safe and sound, and if anyone nearby had been able to feel the sheer force of emotion that had exploded between the two boys that evening, they might have thought the entire universe was ending.
-
Sitting in Will's living room, with the boy he loved tucked into his chest, Mike thought maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have even cared if it did.
As long as he had Will by his side, Mike was home.
He couldn't, and wouldn't ever be able to remember a time when he hadn't didn't feel that way.