Chapter Text
It was a Friday night in the middle of March. Mike was sitting in bed, a notebook in his lap, working on yet another short story that he probably wouldn't finish. He hadn't had time to unwind in ages, and he was enjoying his alone time, even if the story wasn't coming along as well as he'd hoped it was.
Unfortunately, that didn't last long.
“Michael!” his mom shouted up the stairs. “Richie needs a ride home from the Denbrough’s! You have to go pick him up.”
“Why me?” Mike shouted back from his bed.
“Don’t yell at me!” she said, even though she had yelled first. “Come downstairs and we can talk.”
Mike stepped out of the room and down the stairs, grumbling expletives under his breath.
“Why can’t you pick him up?” Mike asked at a normal volume, facing his mother in the kitchen.
His mom was washing dishes. She looked at him in disbelief and waved her sponge in the air. “I’m cleaning, Mike.”
He glared at her. “He biked to Bill’s house, I don’t see why he can’t just bike home like I used to–”
“You know full well why I’m not letting him bike home,” his mother snapped. “What with Will and Barbara and that poor little Debrough boy-”
“Alright, alright, fine,” Mike muttered, because as much as he didn’t want to drive at the moment, he also didn’t particularly want his little brother to go missing.
He walked out to the garage, where Nancy's old car, now his, was waiting. He turned the key and backed out.
Mike was blasting Nancy’s “Heaven or Las Vegas” cassette through the car stereo and singing along to the lyrics. (He wouldn't admit it, but it was one of his favorite albums.) He didn't like driving, and he was usually the passenger princess for Will.
It was especially unpleasant of a drive considering that the Denbroughs lived just about as far across town as it was possible to live. It was in the same neighborhood as the Harringtons', which Mike only knew because Nancy had been seen sneaking into Steve's house one night by Bill's mom Sharon while the teenagers were dating and had gotten a talking to from their mother.
Additionally, driving to the Denbrough's meant passing Will's old house, a place haunted by mostly negative memories.
Mike shuddered as he pulled into the driveway, forcing the memories out of his mind.
He knocked on the door. After a few seconds, it swung open, and Sharon stood on the other side. "Hello, Mike," she said kindly, before turning to shout, "RICHARD! You're brother is here!" up the stairs.
Mike had never liked Bill's parents, thanks to all of Richie's stories, and had to try very hard not to glare at her back as she walked away.
Mike stepped in and closed the door behind him as five kids came stomping down the stairs.
Mike recognized all of them. Mike Hanlon, who he knew because they shared a first name, Bill, obviously, a boy called Stan who was Richie's first ever friend, and, of course, Eddie, who was Richie’s favorite of them all, and the only one that Mike had ever actually spoken to. There were usually two others, but Mike assumed that they must have already gone home.
"Micycle!" Richie said giddily. "What a delight! You're only the third parent here."
"I'm not your parent," Mike grumbled.
"Did Mom say I couldn't stay the night?" he asked. "Eduardo Spaghuardo is going to." Richie wrapped his arm around Eddie, smiling as his friend fought (to no avail) to escape his grasp.
Mike rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "Why the hell do you think I'd be here if you were staying the night?"
"Uh, to join us, of course!" Richie answered, a horrible Cockney accent tingeing his words. "Come on, it'll be fun! We can fix ya up all pretty like! You might even end up more gorgeous than my darling Eds!"
"Not my name, fuckwad," Eddie shot back. Instead of answering, Richie pulled in his face and gave him a dramatic kiss on the cheek. "Ugh, god you're disgusting! When's the last time you brushed your teeth?"
"Right before I made out with Mrs. K. this morning," Richie said with a grin.
"Okay," Mike intervened before Eddie could fire back an insult. "Leave Eddie alone. We've gotta get home or Mom will kill me."
"Ooh, maybe we should stay out longer then-"
"Richard."
Richie rolled his eyes. "Fine, Mayor Buzzkill." He turned to his friends and bowed dramatically. "Farewell, young maidens."
Mike Hanlon smirked at him. "Bye, Rich."
Richie turned to face Eddie and got down on one knee, grabbing his hand dramatically. "Goodbye, Sir. Kaspbrak."
"Not my name," said Eddie annoyedly, but he was smiling, and there was an almost impercebtable blush on his cheeks.
Richie planted a kiss on the top of his hand and Eddie pulled away quickly muttering something about germs, but blushing even harder.
Richie grinned. "Bye, Eddie."
Mike glanced back and forth between the two, trying to figure out why they were acting so odd. Richie and Eddie had always been affectionate, and Richie had been dramatically kissing him for years. But this time it seemed different.
In Richie's eyes was a level of sincerity that Mike had never seen in him before. He looked as if he were yearning.
And then it occurred to him.
Oh.
"Alright, I must be off," Richie said. "Tell Mrs. Denbrough she was a great time."
"A-absol-l-lutely not," Bill said.
When they finally made it outside, Mike stuffed his brother's bike in the trunk of the car and climbed in the driver's side. Richie was already in the passenger's seat, staring out the window and tapping his fingers against his thigh rythmically. Though he wouldn't admit it to his friends, long hang-outs tired him, and Mike knew he secretly was relieved by being forced home early.
Maybe it wasn't the best time for an interrogation, but Mike was nothing if not confrontational, and he needed answers.
“Dude,” said Mike, turning the key. “What the hell was that?”
The car rumbled to life. The voices of the Cocteau Twins flooded through the speakers. Mike turned down the volume until it was almost silent, the only way he could listen and talk at the same time without breaking down.
Richie glanced at his brother in confusion. “What the hell was what?”
“You and Eddie. You were acting weird.”
Richie was fiddling with the stereo controls, trying to skip through songs.
“I can’t believe you listen to Nancy's girly bullshit,” he said nonchalantly. “Sissy.”
“Don’t use that word. And don’t change the subject.”
“See, Eduardo Spaghuardo is my best friend,” said Richie. “You might not know what that means, but basically-”
Mike flicked the side of his head. “I know what a best friend is, asshole,” he said. “I have five. And I know Eddie is yours. I’ve known him since you were in, like, first grade.”
“So…?” Richie said, drawing out the “o”.
“So, why were you being all weird with him?”
When Richie didn’t immediately answer, Mike glanced over. Richie’s cheeks were red.
“I wasn’t being weird,” he said after a second, reaching up and adjusting his glasses; his lying tell.
Mike looked back to the road and sighed. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself.
Clearly, this would be harder than he thought.
Impulsively, knowing he'd want to have a long drive, Mike turned sharply onto an old back road, sending Richie, who insisted on not wearing a seatbelt, into the car window, his glasses landing on the floor.
“Holy fucking shit!” Richie shouted. “What the fuck, Mike? What the hell was that for?”
“Listen, Richie,” Mike said. “There’s something I should tell you.”
Richie looked at him seriously. “There's something I should tell you, too.” He took Mike’s hand. “I’ve been sleeping with your-”
Mike pulled his hand away, disgusted. “Richie, shut up. We have the same mom.”
“I was going to say ex-girlfriend, but if you really want to get kinky with it-”
Mike breathed harshly out his nose, ignoring his brother to focus on what he would say next. It had been ages since he'd said it aloud, and he’d only said it twice. Once to El, and once to Max (accidentally). But he had a feeling that this was a good third time.
Come on, Mike, he told himself. Richie won't abandon you. He loves you. He looks up to you.
The last part may have been a stretch, but Mike got on with it anyway.
“I’m gay, Rich,” said Mike hesitantly.
The words did not have quite the effect that Mike had expected. Instead of a shocked gasp or a surprised face, his little brother just stared.
“Yeah,” Richie said tonelessly, as if this were as undeniable of a fact as the sky is blue. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Mike shot him a look. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means, are you just now realizing this? I figured that out years ago.”
“Asshole,” said Mike. “I’m trying to be open with you and you’re just, like, blowing it off or something.”
“I could make so many sex jokes from that,” said Richie. Mike smacked the side of his head.
“Why are you telling me anyway?” Richie said, rubbing the spot that Mike had hit him. “Are you about to break the news that your banging Da-”
“Oh my God, do you ever fucking shut up?” Mike said, voice neatly at a yell. “You’re disgusting. Did you take your ritalin this morning?”
“Who cares? It’s not your problem.”
“It is my problem, because when you don’t it makes you insufferable and I have to deal with it.”
“Well, did you take your anti-emo pills?”
“I did, actually,” said Mike, who had not.
“Liar,” said Richie.
“Whatever. It doesn’t fucking matter. I just came out to you.”
“Well, I don’t care! Go back in if you want.”
Mike turned sharply again, pulling into the parking lot od Carol's Diner, a small restauraunt that was almost always empty.
Mike parked the car and locked the doors, just in case Richie planned to bolt.
“What are you doing you creep?”
He sighed, irritated. “I don’t want to 'go back in.' I just–I’m telling you because…” he hesitated, not knowing what to say. “Well, I know we don’t really get along a lot, because, quite frankly, you’re a little shit. And we fight, and both of us say a lot of mean things in the heat of the moment.”
“You did just call me a little sh-”
Mike interrupted him. “But I do care about you. I care about you more than almost anything in the world. Well, besides Holly. And Will. But regardless.” He paused. “I want you to know that… y’know, I’m here for you. And we can tell each other… things, that maybe we… I can't tell other people. For reasons.”
Mike looked back to Richie, and was taken aback by what he saw.
Silent tears were streaming down Richie's face. We wiped at them under his glasses quickly, clearly trying to avoid any appearance of emotion.
Mike’s heart tore.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Mike was awful. He was a horrible person. He made Richie cry.
“Richie, you can tell me anything,” he said, trying to fix his mistake.
Dear God, please let those be ‘relieved’ tears, he begged internally.
They were not relieved tears.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Richie said sharply.
“Rich-” Mike started, but Richie cut him off.
“No!” he insisted. “I’m serious! Me and Eddie are friends. We’re just friends. It’s nothing like you and Will!”
Mike was taken aback. “Wait, hold on, I didn’t say anything about Will. Don’t bring him into this.”
“Why not?” Richie demanded. “You clearly want to ride his dick or-”
“Beep FUCKING beep!”
“-the other way around or something, I don’t see why pointing out the obvious is so detrimental!”
“Yeah, well, I could say something similar about you and Eddie,” Mike shot back, quickly growing angry with his brother's arguing.
“Yeah, well… Well…”
And suddenly Richie sobbed.
Mike had never been great at managing people's emotions. He felt them, but he couldn’t fix them.
But this... this was different.
When Mike saw Richie sitting there, crying for the same reason he himself had cried so many times before, Mike saw himself. It was like looking into a mirror of him four years ago, and not just because they looked nearly identical.
Awkwardly, Mike scooted across the seat and started to hug his brother.
“Get off me, asshole,” said Richie, but he didn't try to push him away.
“Richie, I get it,” he said. “I’ve been in the same situation as you. Probably since I was, like, nine. It's not exactly a parade."
Richie snorted.
"But it gets better," Mike said. "Well, for the most part. I still hate myself sometimes-it kinda fluctuates. But the point is, some day you'll accept it." He ruffled his brother's hair. “Plus, Eddie clearly likes you.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Richie said sarcastically, sniffling. “Eddie Kaspbrak’s a flamer too. Hell, maybe the whole town is gay!”
“I’m serious! He was blushing and everything.”
“Oh, so the same shit Will does around you?”
“Will is straight, Richie.”
Richie snorted. “Yeah. And Dad’s a democrat.”
“Rich,” Mike mumbled to get his attention. “I can’t… I can’t be hopeful.”
“Yeah, well, me neither,” his brother said bitterly.
The pair sat in silence for a moment.
There's no way Will is gay, Mike was thinking.
But after a second, Richie said, "Mike?"
"Hmm?"
Richie wiggled out of Mike's arms and sniffled again. "I think something is wrong with me."
"Oh, Rich," Mike said softly. "There's nothing wrong with you, alright? Nothing. You're perfect."
"But..." he choked. "I don't even know if I don't like girls. I feel like I might be into girls, too. And that's weird and it's not okay."
"Hey, hey," Mike said. "Nothing's not okay, Richie. It's fine to like both. Do you know Max?"
"The hot redhead?"
Mike rolled her eyes. "Sure. Well, she's bisexual. It's the word for liking guys and girls."
"Bisexual," Richie repeated, as if tasting the word.
"Yeah." Mike smiled and ounched his brother in the arm. "Maybe that's you, and maybe not. Anything's okay."
Richie gave a small smile back.
"I really like him, Mike," said Richie quietly. "Like a lot."
"And I like Will," Mike said. "Also like a lot."
Mike looked back out the window as the pair sat in silence. They'd never felt this close before. It was kind of calming, despite how much Mike didn't want to admit it.
“Two gay kids,” Mike said after a second. “Mom and Dad’s brains are going to break.”
“Who do you think is next?” Richie said. His voice morphed into that of a sports commentator. He held an imaginary microphone in front of his face. “My ticket’s on the druggie cousin Boris Pavilovsky, completing the infamous look-alike triad.”
It was Mike’s turn to roll his eyes. “At least we barely talk to him. But if Nancy started dating Robin or something, Mom might implode.”
Richie hummed thoughtfully in response.
“Why don’t we get something to eat?” Mike asked, gesturing to the diner
The smile Richie returned was almost blinding.
“I’m a tad too young, for you, dear,” he said in his horrible British accent. Mike glared at him and shoved his head.
“Beep beep, Richard.”