Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler wakes up with flowers covering his left arm again.
This happens rather often, usually in the middle of the night while he’s sleeping. Pen or marker of some sort curling around his hand and up the inside of his forearm. Delicately beautiful roses and sunflowers and dandelions. Today, they are in messy black ink that looks as if it were done in a rush.
He smiles, his lips pulling back over teeth doggishly, and gets to his feet.
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Will Byers doesn’t look at his arms much during the day.
He really tries not to. But more often than not, when he does look, he finds little messages in messy, round handwriting. Bubbling over his freckles and carving into the space between his bones.
I love your artwork.
I hope you’re feeling okay.
Dearest mystery person… when will you agree to meet me?
He never replies. He stopped doing so years ago. There is always a quiet guilt in his stomach as he picks up a pen to respond, and so he drops it. Again and again, no matter how much he wants too. He will never be enough for her.
But it makes him smile.
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“Micheal!” His mother calls, exasperated. He blinks himself back to reality, a sheepish look coloring his face. Mike knows by her expression that it wasn’t the first time she said his name. “Will you please take Holly to school?”
Mike is weirdly fond of his mothers huffy tone. He hears it more often than not, and it has worn a hole into his chest just to have a place to fill.
“Yes, right. Of course.” One downside to getting his driver's license is he now has to run errands he could have previously ignored. Now, Mike has to leave the house thirty minutes earlier than usual whenever his mom wants him to take his little sister to school. Cold nipping at his cheeks and grazing miniscule scars. “C’mon, Hols.”
The drive is the same as usual. Mostly silence except for the radio, which churned out whatever was popular at the moment. Holly hates his music taste, so they never listen to his mixtapes. But, as an upside, she liked him more because he let her sit in the front seat. Little things.
“Mike.” She sits up in her seat, peering out at the cars in front of them. “Why can’t I just get out here?”
They go through this nearly every morning. She isn’t allowed to get out of the car until they’re at the drop off. “Hols, you know I’d let you if I could.”
She groans dramatically and flops into her seat.
When he finally makes it to school, he is late. Which is not unusual, but he swears he’s not trying to make a habit out of it. He stumbles into class, murmuring nervous apologies to his English teacher. Lucas leans in from the seat beside him, his voice low. When he whispers like this, his voice becomes gravelly and soft. It’s easy to listen to.
“Everyone decided to have lunch in the art room this morning.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” He smiles, an awkward thing, as the teacher sends him a glare.
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“Will!” His sister's sing-song voice floats through the hallways, light and slightly scratchy around the edges, just like their mothers. Jane is dressed in her usual saturated colors and mismatched items. Today its paint splattered overall shorts over pastel purple leggings and a warm red sweater.
Will falls into step beside her, walking towards their only shared class- Art Foundations. There is a gentle sort of chaos that surrounds her every move, lapping up every drop of attention she receives for it.
“I wonder what Mom wants to tell us tonight.” Jane hums as they pause to let a group of people pass through. The walls buzz with the cramped sounds of students.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” He replies, taking her hand to pull her through the crowd. Her hair falls gently into her face. Now that it has grown out, you can’t even tell she cut her own bangs.
“Sure, I guess. But I think Jonathan knows.”
“Mmm.” They duck into the art classroom, away from the crowd in the hallways and the glances. “Maybe. But does it really matter? We’ll find out tonight.”
“Uhg. You’re right…” Jane melts into her seat, pouting.
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Mike is sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, the solid material rough even through his shirt. Lucas sits beside him with Max draped across their laps. Her legs over Mike's and her head on Luca’s thighs. Mike will never admit it, but he enjoys how touchy she is with him. The casual intimacy dappling their time together.
She has Mike's left arm in her hands, gently tracing the petals and leaves coating his skin. The room is bathed in soft midday light, gracing the scene with gentle touches.
“She’s really talented.” Max hums, trailing her thumb over the inside of his wrist where a stray petal spreads over the space.
“Huh?”
“Your soulmate.”’
“Oh. Yeah, I know.” He shrugs. It is a normal part of his life by now. Works of art tracing his muscles and decorating his hands, dipping through his fingers and curling into his palm.
Max herself has words all over her arms, wrapping sweetly around scars that marred her wrists. They were mirrored on Lucas’s skin. It's sickeningly adorable, really.
“Is she still not answering you?” Dustin asks from halfway across the room, looking up from his notebook. No matter how much he studied, he is still stressing about finals. He has paint splattered all over his fingers, even though he’s not at all an artist. Actually, Mike is pretty sure he’d never even touched a paintbrush.
“Yeah. I don’t know why, so don’t ask. Again.”
Dustin spread his hands, giving him a look that is all eyebrows. Mike huffs in response.
“I think I failed my math exam…” Max sighs, interrupting, and Mike softens at the defeat in her tone.
“Why?” Lucas tilts his head down towards her, his fingers curling through her hair.
“I guessed on, like, half the questions.”
“Max, we studied for weeks.”
“I know, but seriously! Math is my worst subject.”
Lucas just shakes his head, and Mike can’t help but laugh. He’s also sure he failed his math final.
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Dinner is loud, as always.
Warm lights on warmer wood, with the cheery bustle of voices and hands. Jane is talking animatedly to Hopper, who is listening softly. She had taken to him easiest when Joyce had started dating him, and now it’s like they’d never know each other differently than father and daughter.
It’s a sweet sight, though Will knows he may never love the man the same. Jane had never really been on the bad side of Lonnie’s temper- so shielded from the matter by Jonathan.
Which, now that Will thinks about it, may be the reason his older brother smokes so much. Green scented fog curling around memories and stealing them away for a time.
Joyce clears her throat, and the table filters to a stop. All eyes turn towards her, and she gives an awkward little smile.
“Okay! I know you all have gotten settled in here, and I’m so proud of you.” Her voice wavers a bit, but she plows on. “But… we’re moving!”
There's a moment of silence, and then the table explodes with noise.
“What?” Jonathan blurts, his voice cutting through the overlapping voices of the twins. There is outrage bubbling in his eyes, tiredness in his tone.
Joyce sighs, giving him a tight smile that is similar to her I told you so face. “Look, Jon, even between Hopper and I, we just can’t keep up with the bills.”
“I’ll get another job!” Jonathan tries, words waning on desperate in the way they wind through his face.
“Honey, I won’t make you do that again.”
He opens his mouth, gesturing helplessly. Nothing manages to escape him except a tired sound of grief. His chair is pushed back, and no one tries to stop him. The muffled grumble of his old car quickly fades.