Chapter Text
“This is just pointless,” Mike rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time as they approach the entrance to the small building. “I don't get why we come here every damn day.”
Max, walking ahead, snorts.
“Classes are only three times a week, quit being so dramatic.”
Her snide tone only irritates him more. A fresh barb is already spinning on his tongue, ready to slip out and say everything he thinks about all of this.
But the moment Jane turns around and fixes him with that look, Mike's jaw slams shut.
“What?” he asks, defensive and a little nervous, realizing Jane isn't about to turn back around.
Damn Max watches them with an amused smirk, standing behind her friend and making mocking faces at Mike.
“If I hear one more word from you that sounds even remotely like whining,” Jane starts, her voice threatening, pinning him with those horribly perceptive eyes, “I will tell Will that you— Mm!”
“Shut up,” Mike hisses, quickly clamping his hand over her mouth and glancing around as if anyone here would actually care. “You promised me you'd never bring that up again.”
He looks at her with pleading eyes while Max is openly giggling now, enjoying watching Mike land himself in yet another humiliating situation.
Jane mumbles something and, a second later, pulls his hand away without any effort at all.
“I don't recall making any promises about the way you—”
“Jane!” Mike's eyes go huge, trying desperately to convey his begging and despair.
“Fine, okay,” his friend exhales tiredly, then lifts a threatening index finger. “But you won't say a single word about massage being useless ever again.”
Mike immediately starts nodding with unhealthy enthusiasm. “I promise!”
“Good,” Jane nods and keeps walking forward. She glances at the wall clock in the hallway with displeasure. “If we don't hurry up, we're gonna be late.”
Jane's pace quickens, forcing them to catch up. Mike sticks his tongue out at Max, not caring at all how childish it might look.
“Hey, I wanna know what Wheeler did, too! Jane, you absolutely have to tell me,” Mayfield says cheerfully, making Mike grit his teeth.
“Actually, we're running late,” he snaps, grabbing Jane by the elbow and steering her away from the irrepressible Max.
“You do realize your pathetic attempts to run away from this topic only make me more curious, right?”
“Piss off!”
“Can you two shut up?” Jane says as they reach the right room, where their “very interesting” classes are held. There's a coatroom next to it where they leave their bags and phones.
Mike glances briefly at the mirror, adjusting his light blue short-sleeved shirt. His baggy jeans go well with the simple flip-flops Dustin bought him at a thrift store (the occasion being the summer that arrived a week ago). His shoulder-length dark hair cascades nicely, giving him a cute look. He looks decent, even good.
With each passing day, Mike feels more confident in his own looks—college really is doing him good.
They finally enter the right room and greet the others. It's packed with girls who came to master the art of massage, and Mike is the only one who stands out for belonging to the opposite gender. At first, he was even embarrassed by it, but now he's gotten used to it—the girls treated him really well and made him feel comfortable.
Truth be told, Mike was never interested in massage—except for those times when he'd sat at his laptop for hours, typing out a new chapter for his book and dreaming about feeling the muscles between his shoulder blades worked on—so, yeah, his first appearance here was definitely not voluntary. More like voluntary-mandatory, if you factor in certain special conditions that formed the basis of his agreement.
Originally, Jane had planned to attend amateur massage classes with Will, who never knew how to say no to his only sister. But the end of the semester turned out to be so busy that Will had to put all his plans on hold and seriously buckle down with his studies. Understanding and accepting her brother's difficult situation, Jane began searching for new candidates, but got turned down by Lucas, Dustin, and Mike. And then, very inconveniently, Carlton happened to be nearby and offered himself, like, “if Will couldn't make it, then I think I can learn and later help him catch up on what he missed.”
At that suggestion, everything inside Mike flipped upside down. Such a wild fire blazed in his stomach that he was ready to tear and thrash, because, god, Mike hates Carlton—this weird (in the worst sense of the word), stupid, and absolutely mediocre person who, he's sure, is hopelessly in love with Will.
And look, Mike's not a bad friend, okay? Of course, he's glad that Will is such an attractive and popular guy, not at all lacking attention from both genders, but… that doesn't mean Mike has to silently put up with it.
Especially considering the fact that he's been in love with his best friend in a very un-friend-like way for god-knows-how-many years. And—the best part of this situation—it's not just limited to certainty about Mike's feelings alone, no.
Honestly, Mike is about eighty-nine percent sure his feelings are mutual.
He reached this conclusion through long and convoluted research, tests, and other internet crap that could help him determine “is that man in love with you.”
The results turned out to be encouraging, because—“if your man stares at you for a long time, remembers all the little things connected to you, often touches you for no reason, defends you in arguments, constantly offers help, lets you wear his clothes, always laughs at your jokes, and cancels all his plans to spend time with you, then he's definitely in love with you”—at least, that's what Mike read in Holly's love magazine.
But those aren't even the biggest pieces of evidence, considering that he and Will have had all of that between them for as long as Mike can remember. Like, he didn't even know things between them could be any other way, without all of the above aspects. So Mike didn't really rely on those stupid tests, preferring to make analyses from his own experience.
The only downside to this approach is Mike's obliviousness. I mean, it's not that he can be called a careless guy, especially when it comes to Will, but there's definitely some blindness (or lovesick hubris) in him that won't let him evaluate the situation soberly.
It's so stupid! Mike has actually always been the person with the best analytical mind, the ability to properly use the knowledge he's gained, and to correctly systematize facts. But all of that vanishes the moment he starts breathing the same air as Will. The fact that Mike starts resembling a stupid, dreamy teenager who's finally met the object of his affection (which, essentially, is exactly what's happening) and does weird things like staring at Will for ages, floating on rainbow clouds, and planning their whirlwind wedding, huge house, three kids, and a few cats…
He knows this makes him pathetic, alright?
Anyway, by putting in maximum effort, Mike really did learn how to notice: the light touches that ignite a fire in his heart, the piercing eye contact, the insanely endearing attentiveness, and much more. All of this shaped his frontal lobe in such a way that at that crucial moment, when stupid Carlton for some goddamn reason decided he had the right to help Will catch up on massage skills, his impulsive brain decided to blurt out: “I'll do it! I'll do it!”
Despite Carlton's protests, Mike started firing off a bunch of arguments about why he needed these damn classes so badly.
And, as the most wonderful and best friend in the world, Jane's choice ultimately landed on him.
(God, he's probably never smiled as wide in his life as he did that day).
All that smugness started to fade when Mike finally understood what exactly he'd signed up for. But it was too late—now Jane would never let him stray from this path.
Still, as much as Mike dramatizes things, it's really not that bad (except for classes on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays): sometimes it's even fun, considering he actually likes spending time with women when it doesn't require him to pretend to be romantically interested in them (being gay really is amazing). Besides, it satisfies his constant need for new, even if minor, knowledge, so, honestly, Mike truly has nothing to complain about; he just likes to whine.
Today's class is meant to reinforce the basics of a new technique they picked up only recently. It's pretty interesting, because over the next two hours, all the discontent that had filled Mike's head before coming here disappears. Mike absorbs all the instructor's guidance, obediently follows her lead, and tries to be as competent as possible in such a delicate matter—since they already have the basic theory down, the practice comes much easier than it might seem.
Mike, Jane, and Max occasionally exchange unimportant phrases, fully absorbed in their task. When the lesson starts winding down, some of the people there begin to disperse with the intention of taking a break—a little while later, the woman, noticing her students' fatigue, allows them a breather.
The very next second, everyone starts bustling off in different directions. Mike personally needs the bathroom, but considering he's the only guy among girls, the only restroom here is the women's. Feeling just as awkward as all the other times, he hurries over to Max and grabs her elbow with obvious intent; the girl rolls her eyes. “Again?”
Mike grimaces.
“Trust me, I'm not thrilled about having to go pee holding your hand every time either,” he snaps, nodding meaningfully toward Jane, who's busy chatting with another girl.
Of course, he could have asked her to go with him, to avoid having to listen to Mayfield's grumbling one more time, but Mike thought it would be tactless to distract his friend for such a minor reason just because of his whim. So he heads where he needs to go, dragging Max along behind him.
The bathroom is small—just three stalls, a modest sink, and a round mirror on a wall painted dark beige.
Usually, Max checks the room for any other people, and if there aren't any, Mike quickly does his business while she guards the entrance.
That's how it goes now: Mike stops at the door while Max slips inside with a displeased expression. “I don't get why you're being so difficult when everyone already knows about your situation and doesn't mind at all.”
“But that doesn't mean I need to empty my bladder in the presence of strangers,” he answers, indignant. “Especially when those strangers are girls.”
Max scans the empty space and comes back to Mike.
“Quit yapping,” she pinches his arm, making him yelp.
“Hey!”
“Looks like there's no one he—”
Suddenly, a high female voice cuts her off, disproving the assumption she never got to finish. Following the first voice comes a second—apparently, there are two girls in there, casually chatting about something.
“Alright, we'll wait,” she concludes, while Mike exhales impatiently.
They stand side by side, not forgetting to elbow each other and grumble quietly. From the restroom come the sounds of a purse zipper and water running—all of it mixing with pleasant voices.
“…and so,” the girl continues in a satisfied tone, “I gave him an amazing massage, using that technique we learned last week, remember?”
After receiving agreement from her friend, the girl goes on: “He just melted: he started thanking me for the wonderful dinner and looking at me with those adoring eyes,” she giggles. “I was wearing only a T-shirt, if you know what I mean.”
“God, someone was in a very serious mood,” the other girl chuckles.
Mike and Max slowly exchange glances, unable to hold back grins. Of course, it's rude to eavesdrop on other people's (and, what's more, such personal) conversations, and the best thing to do would be to step away from the door and wait a little farther off, but who's judging? Gossip is always interesting.
“Aaand… I'll be honest, he didn't last long,” the stranger rustles her purse zipper again, seeming to put back whatever she took out earlier. “That's how, from a very close friend, James turned into an amazing close boyfriend,” an ecstatic sigh. “Cass, I swear, it was the wildest sex of my life. He was so hungry.”
That draws a laugh from the aforementioned “Cass.”
“Which is pretty expected, considering everything you served him that evening,” she says. “Plus, you've talked plenty about all those signals, like, the exchanged looks, the accidental touches, and the rest. Everything was leading to you two getting together.”
“Yeah, I…”
Having reached a silent agreement, Mike and Max hurriedly step away from the door—clearly, the conversation is wrapping up, so it'll be wiser not to stand right at the entrance.
Despite how cliché it is, Mike can't stop thinking about the girl's words. It's surprising that, if you only look on the surface, their situations are very similar: the tension, the games on the edge between “friendship and relationship,” and the so-called signals—Mike and Will have all of that in spades.
When the girls leave the restroom, Mike and Max try to look as casual as possible and absorbed in their supposedly interesting conversation, even though they're not really saying anything.
“So, what d'you think?” Max asks once he's inside the stall.
His friend stands on the other side of the door, doing something with the faucet.
“What do I think about what?” Mike asks, confused, once he's finally emptied his bladder.
Max hasn't made him uncomfortable in a long time—honestly, Mike sees her as a sister, if not more. And, as much as he hates to admit it, they're too much alike to be embarrassed about stuff like this.
“About what that brunette said, obviously,” Max continues meanwhile. “Maybe you should give it a try too, since you put so much effort into keeping Carlton out of here.”
At just the mention of the other guy's name, Mike rolls his eyes.
“That's stupid,” he mutters, zipping up his fly.
Max snorts. “What? Why's that?”
“Food, massage, minimal clothing,” Mike lists, throwing her a pointed look that practically screams “are you kidding me?”
“Well, yeah, I agree, not the most original idea, but that doesn't change the fact that it works.”
“Maybe, but one-off favorable outcomes don't guarantee it'll always be that way,” he counters, soaping up his hands. “And anyway, I don't think something this basic would work in my situation. This is Will, Max.”
The girl rolls her eyes, leaning her elbows on the marble sink. When she starts speaking, she gets this condescending, patient look on her face, like she's explaining something to a child.
At least, that's exactly how Mike feels when it comes to his tender feelings.
“Exactly, Mike. That's the point—it's Will,” she says. “You don't need to do something supernatural to get him. God, I'm pretty sure you barely need to do anything at all. Just 'cause Will's kind and shy doesn't mean he can't act for something or someone; you know that perfectly well. Byers is one of those people who only need one step from the other person so he can take the next thousand, and this, as you called it, basic idea is perfect for that.”
Mike stares thoughtfully at his hands, which he keeps wiping even though they've been clean for a while. Max's words burrow into his brain, disrupting his usual train of thought and sending it in a completely different direction.
Maybe Max is right?
For his whole life, Mike has been used to making the first move and, in general, taking initiative—it comes to him completely naturally and intuitively, especially when he's confident his attempt won't go unnoticed or yield no results.
Doing the same thing toward Will is a one-way ticket; Mike knows that perfectly well. And, essentially, everything points to the outcome being wonderful, that the “ticket” will bring him happiness, but he can't help chickening out—acting impulsively and taking the first step turns out to be way harder when you and your loved ones aren't in danger.
And even though all his friends already know just how in love Mike is with Will, his best friend, fortunately, doesn't notice it at all. But sometimes—or, for example, in moments like this—Mike almost wishes Will could see his hopelessly lovesick gaze. Maybe if his friend saw it, the need to risk it and act first would disappear.
Seeing Mike's turmoil, Max exhales quietly and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I'm sure everything's gonna go better than ever. And—I can't believe I'm saying this, but have you seen yourself? Seriously, Mike, you look like an adorable puppy that just begs to be cuddled. And I'm sure Will loses his mind every time he sees your pretty face and can't screw your brains out.”
“Max!” he exclaims, stunned, feeling his cheeks burn.
He never thought he was ugly, despite the doubts that sometimes plagued him, but hearing compliments from Max Mayfield?.. This seems like a completely new level.
And it seems like it's actually working. Because right now, Mike feels encouragement and confidence starting to fill him up.
If he's got an eighty-nine percent guarantee and the support of all his friends, then why should the remaining eleven percent bother him so much?
“Seriously, you moron. Just think carefully about what I told you,” his friend squeezes his forearm one last time before letting go, “and never bring it up again. 'Cause, trust me, I will never, never in my life repeat what came out of my mouth a minute ago.”
When Max leaves, leaving him alone with himself, Mike lifts his gaze. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, unable to believe he's really going to do this.
Well.
It's now or never.