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Mike Wheeler sat on the edge of a cliff, swinging his legs off the side as the late night wind combed through the curls on his head. It was the middle of summer, and yet the red knitted sweater he had on wasn't enough to stop his teeth from clashing together and his body shaking in the less than warm temperature. His fingertips were blue around the wide, tall bottle of whiskey he'd snagged from his father's stash and it burned his throat, turning his pale lips as red as roses, filling them with life they hadn't possessed for months now.
In his other hand, Mike held a half-smoked cigarette, lifting it to his lips to take a breath of it. This, he'd stolen from Eddie. He felt like the kids his mother always warned him about, the ones that sat around and coughed smoke, drinking like they were being paid for it but suddenly, Mike felt guilty for ever having judged them. If all the kids his mother warned him about felt like this, they deserved anything but judgment. Help, love, compassion, empathy, but never judgement.
Mike deserved it though, to be looked down on. He was a shit son and a shit friend, a shit brother and a shit student and a really shitty boyfriend. He hadn't seen Eleven in weeks, and he'd barely been able to avoid the rest of his friend group, but he couldn't handle their concern and love. He couldn't handle Dustin, Lucas, and Max and their not-so-subtle worries, how Lucas always sat close, how Max tried to insult him into smiling, and how Dustin pulls him into hugs. It makes him feel like bursting into tears. He can't handle Nancy brushing her hands through his hair whenever she passes him, Jonathan patting his shoulder, Eddie, Robin, and Steve ruffling his hair. He feels ill whenever Eleven shows him affection, he can't return it with his heart fully invested and she can tell, and he can't handle whatever Will throws his way.
He just wants to kiss him. Mike wants to hide in Will's arms, to press their lips together, he wants to wake up with Will at his side and fall asleep the same way.
He feels sick at these thoughts. They're not normal, Will is his best friend, and Will is... a boy.
Mike took another swig of the whiskey as his eyes began to sting with tears, behind him, in his backpack his walkie-talkie crackled with life but he took no notice of the alarmed voices that came through it. His sister, Will, Eleven, Dustin. It seems that his family noticed his absence this late at night, they probably called around but panicked when they found out nobody had seen Mike.
Even Steve and Robin were trying to call him, he heard Lucas, Eddie, and Max, but he let their voices fill the silence and dragged another breath in from his cigarette.
It's okay. He'd be gone soon and they'd realise, eventually, that life is better without him.
"Mike! Pick up right fucking now!" Nancy screamed.
"Mike! Are you okay? Mike!" It was Eleven this time, and Mike found himself thankful that she lacked powers. If she had them, he imagined he'd make a pretty pathetic sight right now.
Mike smiled softly, he didn't deserve their care, but it filled him with warmth like the whiskey in his empty stomach as he continued to kick his legs off the side of the cliff. His ankles were hitting the hard rock side, they must be covered in bruises by now, but the pain was welcomed. He deserved a death like Bob's, or Hoppers. He'd give anything to take their places, he'd accepted this, by taking Eleven home that day, by throwing himself toward death repeatedly, but they didn't ask to die. But if he was going to go out wrapped in the arms of his family and friend's loving words, he could die happily.
Mike hummed a song beneath his breath as he picked up a pebble, it was a brilliant white and he scraped it down onto the black cliff rock he was sitting on until it left marks. He wasn't sure what he drew, it felt like his body was moving on its own but by the end of it, a wizard and a knight were poorly doodled into the floor.
"Mike please answer I'm worried! It's Will, Mike, please, you're scaring me!"
Mike choked on a sob at his voice. At the butterflies that swarmed his stomach and made his heart flutter, why couldn't I just be normal?
He placed down the glass bottle of alcohol beside his bag, it was half empty by now and the world had started to spin, and curled his hand into a fist, burning out the cigarette with his skin before letting the crumbs of ash and the crushed up cig tumble from his palm. It created a telling story, his bag, whiskey, and a cigarette.
Mike took off his shoes next, placing them down beside everything. What happened would be clear now, it wouldn't take long for his body to be found.
"Mike! For fuck sake answer the call! I'm not angry! Please I'll come get you!!"
Mike relented, letting the sobs tear out of his throat at Nancy's cries. He shuffled closer to the edge, closer and closer until a simple breeze could knock him off.
If he's lucky, he'll faint before he hits the water. If not, it'll be a quick, almost instant death, but he'll feel all his bones break.
But he found it didn't matter, he deserved this.
Mike took a breath, closing his eyes as tears trailed down his face, over his freckles and down his neck. In the breeze, his curls danced and his skin tingled with goosebumps, and a smile formed on his face as he leaned forward.
He was falling and it felt freeing, it felt right, it felt final.
He was falling and it felt like flying.