Chapter Text
Will’s words from the week before echoed throughout Mike’s head as he followed El onto the stage, raising his guitar above his head and cheering with the crowd.
“You’ve changed,” Will sighed, and the phone crackled for a moment before Mike heard him say, “And I’m not sure if it’s in a good way.”
The bullet had hit Mike square in the chest, and it seemed to have been ricocheting throughout his chest cavity as the days went on, all the way up until this moment. Mike knew he had messed up–he had been flying a bit too close to the sun for a long time now, and it was everything he could do to not plummet straight back down to Earth.
There were rumors in the papers that he was taking it too far. That he was drinking too much, and had moved on from smoking to harder stuff. And it’s not like Mike can say that it’s not true.
To say the move to California was hard would be an understatement. El had promised money, fame, and a rekindling of their relationship. The money and fame were easy promises to uphold, but the latter wasn’t.
Mike hadn’t felt a flicker of a flame for her in months, and he can see the fire that she had for him slowly dying out as they spent more time chasing success.
El lifts the microphone from the stand, and the crowd goes quiet, holding their breath as they wait for her to begin. El had that effect on people–she was very good at holding them in the palm of her hand without them knowing they were waiting for her permission to breathe.
Mike poises his hands over the strings of his guitar, waiting for the right moment. He always knew when she was ready, never had to look for a queue from her.
He had thought that kind of synchronicity was enough for a good, happy relationship, but it turns out Mike was wrong.
“You never say you love me,” El had sobbed.
“But I show you every day,” Mike had countered.
Mike’s fingers pluck a few chords, beginning the song, and El’s crooning voice fills the air. She may be one of few words, but when she chooses to speak, the message permeates the entire room. The crowd hangs onto her with bated breath, almost as if too afraid to sing along because it will break the spell El has them under.
Mike’s mind flashes back to big, brown eyes and tousled hair, and he knows it’s the wrong pair of eyes he should be dreaming about, but he can’t help it. He wrote this song about him, and their friendship, even against better judgment.
El had thought it was about her at first. But as time went on, Mike feared that she figured it out.
And he hates that she knows him that well.
Because now when El looks back at him when they’re performing this song, she doesn’t look at him with love. She looks at him with pity.
Mike can’t hold her gaze when she looks back at him this time, instead focusing on his guitar, and trying not to rush through the song.
His skin feels like it’s on fire, and his heart is beating too fast.
“You’ve changed.”
Mike knows Will is right. But he’s not sure if it’s good or bad. It’s been a year since the last time he saw Will in person, and he’s changed because he realized a lot about himself in that year.
For one, he’s not in love with El anymore.
The second is that he’s in love with his best friend.
But Mike can’t tell Will that’s why he’s acting cagey, right?
Or can he?
Mike misses a chord, and El glances back at him, concern shooting through her eyes.
Mike never misses a chord.
He tries to focus, tries to push Will from his mind, but it’s futile.
He’s gone through it millions of times. How Will would look at him in disgust, how Will would reject him.
How Will would stop picking up his phone calls, and how he’d never see Will again.
Mike couldn’t bear that, so he stayed with El. Agreed to work it out with her, even if in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t fair to her, or himself.
He doesn’t miss another chord, or at least he’s not aware if he did. Five songs passed, and Mike knew he should be more present, but his mind was still in Hawkins.
It’s not just Will he misses. He thinks of his mom, alone with his dad and her wine in that stupid house. He thinks of the tree out back, how it would lose its color in the fall time, and he would make it a point to crunch them under his feet once they fell to the ground.
A swingset, a cloudy day, and a familiar giggle runs through Mike’s mind.
Mike hadn’t known the trees don’t change their colors in California, but it seems that he’s changed completely.
He briefly registers that they’re on the last song of the set list, and his heart rate seems to kick it up a notch in a way Mike didn’t know was possible. He tries to keep his hands steady, despite their shaking.
Thirty seconds before he can run.
A swingset, a cloudy day, and a familiar giggle runs through Mike’s mind.
Twenty seconds left.
A shove against his chest, a smile lit orange by the sunset.
Ten seconds.
A desperate embrace, tears dampening his shoulder before Mike gets onto his flight to California.
One second.
Mike takes the guitar strap off as fast as he can, hands trembling as he fumbles with the strap, and he has enough sense to unplug the amp before dropping the guitar on the stage. He can’t feel his face, can’t see the looks on his bandmates faces as he rushes by them in a blur.
He doesn’t know where he’s going until he’s pushing open the door, spilling out into the frigid air. Screams fill the air, and Mike knows he’s going to let them have him. He feels hands grabbing his, and Mike lets them lead him to the open back door of a van.
Mike knows it’s a groupie. He knows that once he gets into the van that this choice will change everything.
The flash of camera bulbs go off in his periphery, and he gets in the back of the van, letting a girl with chocolate brown hair and velvet voice pull him into her waiting arms.
The van smells like weed, and he takes the blunt from the redhead next to him, and inhales deeply. Mike lets it cloud his judgment as the van door slams behind him, and Mike leans in to take the girl’s lips and he feels her hands slip under his shirt.