Byler AI Oneshots ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

(Byler) Love, Mike

It had been a month since El and Will left for California. A month of Mike staring at the empty space in his room where Will's presence once filled the air with laughter, inside jokes, and the comfort of someone who understood him better than anyone. A month of half-written letters to El that never felt quite right. He always tried to sign them with "Love, Mike," but the words stuck in his throat like they didn't belong to him. Every time he tried, he just couldn't write it. So instead, he signed with a simple "Mike" and folded the paper away, feeling like something was missing.

Now, Mike sat at his desk, staring at El's latest letter. He could hear her voice in every word, her hopeful, innocent tone that made him smile despite the distance. She described life in Lenora, how she was adjusting to the new school, how Will was doing his best to make her feel at home. The part about Will caught Mike's attention, making him sit up straighter.

*"Will has been painting a lot, but he won't show me what he's working on. I think there is someone he likes, cuz he has been acting...weird."*

Mike's heart clenched as he reread the sentence, each word like a thorn digging deeper into his mind. Will liking someone? The thought twisted something in his chest. Will never talked about liking anyone before. They never needed to talk about stuff like that. So why now? And who could it be? Mike's mind raced with questions, with images of Will smiling at someone else, laughing with them, sharing his thoughts, his secrets, his art.

He didn't realize how tightly he was gripping the letter until he felt the paper crumpling under his fingers. With a frustrated sigh, he tossed the letter aside and pushed himself up from the desk. The room felt too small, too suffocating. He needed to do something, anything, to stop his thoughts from spiraling.

He found himself at the phone, fingers hovering over the dial pad. He knew Will's new number by heart, had tried calling it more times than he could count, but no one ever answered. Still, his hand moved on its own, dialing each number slowly, almost as if giving himself time to back out. But he didn't.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Mike's heart pounded in his chest, each ring echoing in his head like a countdown. But just like all the other times, there was no answer. His breath hitched, and he slowly hung up the phone, letting his forehead rest against the wall.

"Why can't he just pick up?" he muttered to himself, frustration and hurt lacing his voice. "What could he be so busy doing that he can't answer one call from his best friend?"

The thought of Will making new friends, of finding a new best friend, gnawed at him. Mike wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, but it did. The idea of someone else being there for Will, someone else getting to see that soft smile, that shy laugh... it made him feel hollow, like he was losing something he couldn't even name.

He trudged back to his room, sat at his desk, and stared at a blank sheet of paper. He had tried writing to Will so many times, but every time, the words felt wrong. Too forced. Too personal. Too... something. But maybe this time, he could get it right.

"Dear Will," he began, the pen moving slowly, each word feeling heavy with meaning. "I really miss you. How are you? How's California? Sorry for not writing to you sooner. Maybe after I stay with you guys, you could stay with me, you know, just you and me like old times. Maybe we can write a bit more to each other. I really want to talk to you over the phone, but El always answers, which I don't mind, but I want to talk to you, you know?"

Mike paused, biting his lip. He wasn't sure if he should write the next part, but the words came out before he could stop them.

"Are you still into art? El said that you're working on something for a girl you like. Is that true? Me and the guys really miss you, especially me. I can't wait to see all the things you've drawn since we last saw each other. Well, I guess I'll see you in 'Cali' soon for the spring."

He stared at the letter, reading it over and over, wondering if it was too much, too revealing. Then, slowly, he put the pen to paper again and wrote, "Love, Mike." He stared at the words, his heart pounding in his chest. It felt too vulnerable, too exposed. He couldn't send this. Not like this.

With a frustrated sigh, Mike crumpled the paper and shoved it into his back pocket, not wanting anyone to find it in the trash. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he wiped them away angrily. He missed Will so much, more than he ever thought possible, and it scared him. Scared him that these feelings had only come to the surface after Will left. Scared him that he didn't know what they meant.

He glanced at the photograph of him and Will dressed as Ghostbusters, taped to his wall. He reached out, tracing Will's face with his finger. "God, I miss you so much," he whispered, his voice cracking as the tears finally fell.

Just then, his walkie-talkie crackled to life, Lucas's voice cutting through the silence. "Mike, you there? Me and Dustin just found a crazy-looking animal on the side of the road. Wanna come check it out? Over."

Mike stared at the walkie, his hand hovering over it. He should go. Distract himself. But he couldn't. Not right now.

"Can't right now. I'm busy, Lucas. Over and out," he replied, his voice hollow.

He turned the walkie off and lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His gaze drifted to the calendar on his wall, each day marked with an X, counting down the months until spring break.

"Only five months left to go until I can see him," he murmured to himself, a bittersweet hope curling in his chest.

He just hoped Will hadn't forgotten about him.