Chapter Text
It’s chilly, as it often is on a mid-February morning, but the sun that slips through the blinds warms Mike’s face enough for him to be able to fall back asleep. That is, if it wasn’t for the fact that said sunlight is directly in his eyes. Which, now that he thinks about it, is strange for a Monday morning. The sun should still be just about hidden behind the tree line outside his window.
Shit.
He sits up with a start and looks to his bedside table, hopelessly begging that the sun had somehow made a mistake and the clock would read “6:30”.
Shit.
7:55. Class starts in five minutes. He leaps out of bed and throws on the first shirt he sees—a blue flannel— and the black pants he wore yesterday. He slips on his beaten up converse from freshman year and grabs his leather jacket that’s hanging off his doorknob. He decides he’ll have to skip breakfast, given that his mom would be sitting at the counter with her morning coffee, and he really can’t afford another lecture about being late. Instead, he opts for a stick of gum, killing two birds with one stone as he also doesn’t have time to brush his teeth.
Speaking of his mother, how the hell is he supposed to get out of the house without her seeing him? Mike’s eyes glance between his window and his bedroom door. On the one hand, his bedroom is on the second floor. He would have to jump at least eight feet, risking a sprained ankle, a broken bone, or possibly even death. On the other hand, his mom would yell at him. He chooses the window.
Mike has never been very coordinated. It’s something that Lucas makes fun of him for daily; But really, it’s not fair to compare the team captain of the Hawkins High basketball team to the president of Hellfire, aka nerd club. Okay, yes, Lucas is co-vice president of Hellfire as well, but he’s still a jock. Let’s just say that Mike Wheeler has not picked up a ball in… ever. The most athletic thing he’s done in his lifetime is ride his bike, which has now gone untouched since he got his driver's license ten months ago.
He slides open his window, and as carefully as he can, steps onto the overhang roof below him. Immediately he loses his balance and falls backwards onto his butt. Who decided to make roofs slanted, anyway? Didn’t they consider the thousands of uncoordinated teenagers that would have to sneak out daily?
Okay. He’s flat on his ass, but he isn’t falling. He can work with this. Creeping towards the edge of the roof, Mike crab-walks his way down. It isn’t the most eloquent way of doing things, but at least he can’t slip this way.
Now for the dangerous part. Yep, that’s a long drop. He would definitely break his shins if he attempted it. Thankfully, what Mike lacks in athleticism, he makes up for in brains. Carefully, oh-so-very-carefully, he turns himself sideways and grabs onto the gutter. Then he drops.
Mike has always hated his height. It made him stand out, his extra-long limbs making him even more clumsy than he already would be. But right now, as he hangs from the edge of his roof, he has never been more grateful. His feet dangle mere inches from the ground, making it possible for even him to stick the landing.
He checks his watch. 8:01. If he drives fast enough he could make it before the gates close at 8:10— The line between a trip to the office accompanied by a phone call home, and a simple mark in the gradebook. Without a second more hesitation, he jumps in the driver’s seat and puts his car in reverse, praying that he didn’t just alert his mom of his presence.
⋆ ˚｡❥ ˚｡⋆
Mike arrives at 8:09, just as he sees the janitor approaching the front door. He slips through while giving the man an embarrassed smile, receiving a grimace in return. Whatever. Like that guy has never been late before. Who is he to judge? Mike shakes it off and makes his way to his first class— AP Calculus. Which— who thought that it would be a good idea to schedule calculus at eight in the morning?
Mike scowls at the thought as he turns the corner. His thoughts are literally and metaphorically knocked from his brain when he feels something run into him.
No. Not something. Someone.
It was a boy only a few inches shorter than him. He has chestnut hair that smells faintly of vanilla and lavender. Not that Mike noticed on purpose. The boy’s head is just currently directly under his nose.
They both take a step back, allowing Mike to see the mystery guy’s face. Safe to say, he isn’t what he had pictured someone who uses vanilla shampoo to look like.
He’s wearing black T-shirt— one of a band that Mike doesn’t recognize— and black ripped jeans. He has clunky black combat boots— actually, let's just assume everything is some shade of black— and there’s a chain belt around his hips that doesn’t really look like it’s doing anything, but Mike thinks it looks pretty cool.
Now that Mike can actually see him, he notices how his sweet-smelling, very shiny and soft looking hair covers his forehead and just barely reaches below his ears. Stop thinking about his hair, you’re being weird. He has on eyeliner, which brings Mike to his most important observation: it’s running.
Mystery boy’s eyes are red and watery as he swipes beneath them, muttering a “sorry” as he rushes past Mike.
Honestly, Mike has no idea how to comprehend what just happened. He stands there like an idiot, looking back and forth between the boy walking away, and the direction he came from.
Based on his very intelligent observations, actually, it looks like he just walked out of the principal’s office, which would explain why he was upset. It really shouldn’t be too much of a surprise to see someone that looks like him in the principal’s office, which Mike doesn’t really think is a fair judgment, but it’s what everyone else would say. All in all, the situation makes sense. So why is Mike so thrown off by it?
He shakes his head and continues his journey to goddamn calculus.
⋆ ˚｡❥ ˚｡⋆
“Hey,” Mike greets his friends, Lucas and Dustin, as he sits his lunch tray down on their usual table.
“Hey dude. No offense, but you look like shit.”
“Thanks, Lucas. You know, you really know how to flatter a guy. Your future girlfriend is going to be one lucky lady.”
Dustin laughs his signature “Dustin” laugh (basically a giggle) while taking a bite out of a french fry.
“I’ll have you know that I’d be a great boyfriend,” Lucas retorts. “But seriously though, what’s up with your hair?”
“I overslept. Managed to make it to class twenty minutes after waking up though, so I’m actually quite proud of myself.”
Mike recalls the brief interaction he had this morning in the hallway for perhaps the hundredth time. Maybe his friends can help. Help with what exactly, Mike doesn’t know, but something has been bugging him and he needs to get to the bottom of it.
“Hey, do you guys know that kid that wears all black? Chain belt? Eyeliner?”
“The gay kid?” Dustin supplies.
Oh, that’s right. Mike knew he had heard about him somewhere. He’s kind of famous around school. Well, him and his boyfriend. Even with it being 2006, they’re still the only openly gay people at the school. The only time he’s really talked about is to be made fun of, but he doesn’t seem to get, like, beaten up or anything, as Mike assumed he would be. Everyone seems to be kind of scared of him, though they would never admit it out loud.
In short, the only things Mike has ever heard about the kid are… words he doesn’t want to repeat. Usually they’re said to friends behind stall doors, murmured as they stare indiscreetly at his locker, or, for the braver ones, said to his face as they slam into his shoulder in the hallway. And every time, all Mike can do is roll his eyes. After all, he’s already established that he’s not the strongest guy out there. He would just cause both of them to get beaten up.
But now, another, much darker thought has popped into his head. What if the boy wasn’t in the office because he was in trouble? What if he was there because of someone else? What if someone hurt him? Or cornered him in the bathroom and threatened him? Or—
He’s getting sidetracked. He can think about this later.
Mike nods. “Yeah, I guess.”
Lucas furrows his brow. Their friend group— the Party, as they call themselves— seem to be the only people in this school who have never talked about him. They have no need. They all know what it’s like to be an outcast; what it’s like to be picked on. The day that any of them stoop down to that level is the day that Mike turns in his D20. “What about him?”
“I ran into him this morning. Literally, like we collided.”
“Oh shit?” Dustin stops with another fry halfway to his mouth. “What happened?”
“Nothing really. He apologized and walked away.”
“He apologized? Interesting. He seems like the type to roll his eyes and tell you to ‘fuck off’ or something.”
“Dustin, you of all people should know not to judge a book by its cover,” Lucas jokes. “We’re co-vice presidents of the town’s ‘Evil Satanic Worship Club’.”
“True, my bad. I’m sure he’s a sweet guy. Like a kitten.”
Mike knows his friends are just joking, but they’re kind of right. He did seem sweet. He sure smelled sweet. Stop thinking about that, dammit. Still, he can’t forget the look of absolute devastation on the boy’s face as he wiped his tears. How could anyone make him cry?
“Do you guys know his name?” Mike asks, still half caught up in his thoughts, wondering if the boy is feeling better now.
“Byers, I think. Will Byers.”