Archive of Our Own ^beta

Much to Mike’s dismay, it is not the first time it happens, nor is it the first time Mike mysteriously gains the urge to strangle the nearest person, but it is the first time they properly talk about it. 

Thanks to what little mercy the universe had for them, it’s one of the slower days at the impromptu Hawkins help center – the type of days in which absolutely nothing interesting happens, and it feels like everyone and their mother seems too tired to do anything besides stay in their makeshift beds. 

The day is spent with people either napping or calling relatives, having brushed off the panic that usually comes with a town being split into four and merging with an alternative universe while the looming threat of a fleshy-vine-man-thing hovers over them, even if this is a fact known to a handful of people, and because they signed a bunch of documents with very fancy words, none of them are allowed to speak a single word about any of this, or else men in fancy suits would probably break down his door and, like, shoot him in his sleep or something. 

The usual, really. 

Nonetheless, Mike can admit, it’s a pretty nice day, as far as these apocalyptic days go; the sun is shining, with clear skies to go with, if one only ignores the ominous, threatening, and off-putting red clouds in the distance, it’s warm out, and he’s got a bag of potato chips to munch on. Life is alright. 

It’s just him, Dustin, and Lucas sitting together, taking an impromptu break to eat while Will, Max, and El are still working across the gym, and it’s – nice. It’s nice. 

Or, it was nice, until Lucas, out of absolutely nowhere for no reason whatsoever, says, “Dude, when did Will become a total chick magnet?” 

That’s also when Mike promptly inhales and chokes on a glob of potato chips, because Jesus, give a guy a fucking warning, he wasn’t exactly gearing up to talk about the romantic endeavors of his long-time best friend, no matter how much his mind lingers on the topic, which. It doesn’t. It doesn’t linger. That would be – weird. 

Apparently, he’s the only one that didn’t see this coming, because both Lucas and Dustin ignore Mike’s valiant attempts at avoiding coughing up a lung as Dustin replies, with a startling amount of conviction in just one word, “Right?”

Then Lucas is nodding, and Dustin is saying something else and Mike is suddenly hearing a very faint ringing and Mike can’t even begin to deny it, because it’s totally and utterly and mortifyingly true. 

And – listen.

Mike and Will are best friends. 

In the way of one of the most universally accepted truths, Mike can say that he and Will fit together perfectly; Will is a little quieter and more reserved than Mike, who is just a little too loud and never fails to keep an eye on Will and, yeah, he’s a little protective and quick to come to the rescue, but that’s normal. That’s normal and completely unusual and platonic and Mike is one hundred percent sane about this. 

And, obviously, he’s been keeping an eye on Will while they’ve both been helping out at the help center, just in case anything goes wrong. It’s not weird for him, and especially when Will is in a little bit of a risky territory, with his connection with One and all, so. So. 

So, Mike has noticed the fact that, all day, there’s been two different girls glued to Will – sweet, unsuspecting Will, who has been innocently folding clothes in the back of the gym and minding his own business. 

“I’m telling you,” Dustin continues, and all three of them are staring at Will now, sitting on the gym floor and watching Will fold a jacket while a girl in a blue dress leans a little too close to him. Mike vaguely registers that they’re being a little (very) creepy. Mike also cannot find it in him to give a shit right now. “It’s the California tan. Steve says girls love that sort of stuff.” 

“Nah, man,” Lucas shakes his head, leaning back as he snacks on an apple, “he got, like, buff. Do you see his arms?” 

Mike does, in fact, see Will’s arms. He has not stopped seeing his arms. 

“She definitely sees his arms,” Dustin very unhelpfully points out, waggling his eyebrows, and Mike gets the overwhelming urge to bash his own head in. 

He hears laughter from where Will is, and Lucas exclaims, “Dude. She’s totally into him!” 

“Totally,” Dustin agrees easily. “She’s laughing at his jokes.” 

Mike, despite himself, looks up to see a small smile on Will’s face while the girl next to him grins widely, pressing her lips together to try and force it down. He squints at the sight, something uncomfortable and twisting slithering into his stomach, and he frowns. 

“Maybe,” he slowly suggests, “Will is just funny.” 

“Yeah,” Lucas shrugs, “but she’s putting her hands on him.” Mike is suddenly compelled to blow up the world. 

“He’s not even doing anything,” Dustin whistles, and Mike, not for the first time, nor the last time, has the fleeting thought of pouring his leftover juice onto Dustin’s head. They all watch as the girl says something, Will shrugging in reply and sparing her no glance. He turns away to place a stack of folded clothes on another table, and the girl nervously fiddles with her hands, blush high on her cheeks and eyes wide. “Holy shit, he’s got game.” 

And, the worst part is, it’s true. 

Will, undeniably, has a girl blushing and giggling over him, and he’s not even doing anything particularly out of the ordinary. Then again, Mike thinks he understands, in the most platonic, friendly, heterosexual way. Will looks pretty good, standing there. Folding clothes. Breathing air. Looking good. 

Anyway. 

“What game?” 

All three of them jump at the same time, and Mike whirls around to see Max and El standing over them, El looking a little lost while Max has the same, unamused expression on her face that she usually wears. Despite being blind, she somehow manages to direct it right at Mike, as if she has a sixth sense on annoying the shit out of him. Lucky for her, she doesn’t need to try in order to annoy him to death. 

“Will,” Lucas helpfully supplies while Max moves to sit next to him, El on her other side. “Gina Kapoor is totally into him.” 

“And Amy Liggins was all over him when he was helping her carry those boxes this morning,” Dustin recalls, which Mike very clearly remembers, for reasons unrelated to Will’s arms. 

The only reason he hadn’t marched over there and whisked Will away was because he himself had been busy passing out food to people, and instead had to settle for glaring daggers to the back of Amy Liggins, for some strange, unknown reason. 

She just gave him a bad impression. That’s all. He just doesn’t want Will hurt. 

El still seems mildly confused about the aforementioned game, but she nods anyway. “Girls like Will,” she agrees, like it’s such a normal and chill and completely unusual thing to say, which – it is, because Will is very likable and attractive and generally polite to everyone, and it’s easy to fall in love with him, which Mike says from the unbiased view of being his best friend, but still. “There were a lot of them who wanted to be his friend in Lenora.” She leans over and steals Dustin’s apple from his tray. “One kept asking him for help in math,” El frowns at her own words, “but Will is very bad at math.” 

Mike can attest to such a thing, because Will had always begged Mike to help him out the night before math quizzes, when they had still shared the same classes, and used to ask for the answers to more than half of homework assignments. Mike had, of course, always relented, but it’s just weird, because no way did Will become some math whizz in Lenora, and the idea of some girl giggling and twirling her hair while Will tries to help her makes him grimace. 

“Bet she wanted to do more than math,” Dustin says, raising his stupid eyebrows up and down again, and Mike barely holds back from dumping his goddamn apple juice all over him. 

Max snorts. “Did you just realize?” The situation only seems to be getting worse by the second. “Melissa had the biggest crush on him in eighth grade, it was almost embarrassing.” 

“Melissa who? Melissa Brown?” Max nods, and Dustin gapes. “Dude, I fucking called it! She kept trying to steal my spot as his lab partner that year!” 

Mike feels – weird. His stomach feels funny, and he refuses to look up from his lunch, no longer in the mood to eat, because – well, it’s not that he isn’t happy for Will, because he is, but – 

But what? There’s nothing to be upset about. If anything, this is good; Will has always been the one that girls have gone up to the most out of all of them, and he’s sweet and nice and easy on the eyes, and it was expected for everyone else to pick up on it, even if Will is his best friend and Mike knew him first. 

He doesn’t know why it makes him so weirdly irritated. He doesn’t own Will. It’s not like he’s allowed any say in who Will is befriending, or – or romancing, or whatever the fuck. That’s none of his business, but – isn’t it, though? 

He’s just a concerned friend, Mike decides. He’s just concerned because some girl could play him into getting his feelings hurt and then Will will be sad and Mike refuses to see Will sad or hurt. He’s just a good friend. That’s all. 

“I can’t believe he’s never mentioned any of this to us,” Dustin muses, a thoughtful look on his face, and he’s still staring at Will and the girl. Mike refuses to look at them. 

Lucas gives him a look. “I can.” Dustin turns to raise his eyebrows at him, and he shrugs. “I’m just saying, he’s always been pretty private with that sort of stuff. He probably got his first kiss and stuff already, and just hasn’t told us.” 

And – Will – kissing someone – kissing literally anyone makes Mike’s vision go a little red, has him feeling all sorts of emotions he doesn’t want to get into right now, and the idea that he went off and kissed someone else and didn’t tell Mike almost has him – 

“Mike?” 

He looks up from his jello cup, to where El sends him a concerned look, and Dustin and Lucas both raise their eyebrows at him. “Wh– what?” 

“Dude, what did that jello cup do to you?” Lucas questions, and Mike blinks at him. 

“What? Nothing,” Mike waves off, grabbing it off his tray and stripping it open. “Shut up,” he adds, for extra measure, and Lucas rolls his eyes. He, very gently, stabs a spoon viciously into the jello and shovels a chunk into his mouth, chewing aggressively while he glares at the wall across from him. 

“Stop being pissy,” Max says, leaning into El and placing her legs on Lucas’ lap. Lucas, very carefully, does not complain. “Just because Will is getting girls and finally leaving you behind doesn’t mean you have to be a dick about it.” 

Dustin promptly chokes on his spit, and Lucas pats him on the back while Mike sputters where he sits. 

“I – he’s not leaving me behind! And I’m – she – I’m not being a dick! I didn’t even say anything,” he insists, definitely not blushing, and he crosses his arms. He brushes off Lucas’ laughter. “You’re not fucking funny.” 

“I think Max is very funny,” El mentions, the traitor that she is, and Mike squints at her. 

“You just like making fun of me,” Mike grouses, and she sends him an innocent smile, shrugging. 

“We’re making fun of Mike?” 

He startles where he sits when Will plops down next to him, looking smiley and sweet all over, and his eyes settle on Mike. 

Mike offers a smile back, and the uncomfortable coil in his stomach has dissipated, and something light and soft replaces it when he scoots a little closer, knees nudging together, and Will presses back. 

“Great timing, Byers,” Max greets, “we’re talking about Mike’s weird possessiveness over anyone he likes.” 

Mike’s protests are drowned out when everyone around him laughs, and he can’t even find it in him to be too mad when Will grins next to him. 

Still, he tries, “That is not true! I – I am being unionized against, and I call for –” 

And he’s still being laughed at, but there’s no real anger, not with Will giggling next to him, with no Mina or Gina or whoever the fuck to be seen. 

Yeah, this – this is fine. 

Actually, fuck that, because this is not fine. 

Really, everything had been going great, prior to about five seconds ago, when they’d only been an hour into their volunteer work, and he and Will are making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches together, and everything is swell and good and great and Will is smiling at him, all soft and nice, and Mike’s insides feel like firecrackers ready to burst. 

“And you just – got away with it?” Will questions, something like surprise in his voice, and he almost sounds impressed. “Seriously?” 

Mike nods, slathering a dollop of peanut butter onto bread. “Yeah! I mean, why would anyone suspect me to spray-paint a dick on his front door?” 

Perhaps it was a sign, him vandalizing the middle school bathrooms years before, because there he was a few weeks ago, spray-painting a dick on Charlie Jones’ front door with Eddie because he had thrown some unkind words at them. Breaking the law was pretty fun when it was to inconvenience assholes and his life didn’t depend on it. 

Will’s eyes are wide and his mouth is tilted up in a smile and Mike feels something akin to pride gleam in his chest. Mike really wishes Will had been there, helping them sneak over the fence while holding back giggles and rattling cans. Things are always better with Will around. 

Noticeably, he had missed Will when he was a bunch of thousands of miles away in California, and that entire ordeal is full of unexpressed regrets and turmoil. The truth is, Mike had been the slightest bit worried when he’d seen Will in the airport; with new hair and new tan and new – new arms, Will had looked incredibly different, and damn it if Mike didn’t feel a little like a stranger standing next to him, seemingly in the same, albeit lankier, body, resembling one of those inflatable balloon-men at car washes. 

Now, though, he’s – he has Will back by his side, so none of that matters. Will is smiling at him and laughing with him and they’re both happy and that’s all Mike can find in him to care about in his inflatable balloon-man body. 

“Seriously?” Will asks again, just to be sure, and Mike nods. 

“Seriously,” he replies. He feels weirdly warm in the face. 

Will lets out a puff of air, shaking his head as he places a jam-covered slice of bread on the table. “I can’t believe –” 

“Hey, Will!” 

They both freeze, and Will furrows his eyebrows before looking towards the gym doors, where his name had been called. His expression carefully smooths out, a polite smile on his face as goddamn Amy Liggins makes her way to them, hair bouncing and shoes clicking against the waxed gym floor, and why is she even wearing heels, it’s barely past eleven, and they’re volunteering at a – 

“Hi, Amy,” Will returns when she’s close enough, with her pretty eyes and wide smile. Mike has no clue how she looks so alive so early in the day. Another reason to hate her, Mike decides. “How are you?” 

“Great!” Amy chirps, eyes firmly on Will, and, God, the universe was definitely out to get him, because why can’t he and Will just spend some time alone and uninterrupted. “I was hoping to see you.” 

Mike watches Will’s hands slightly fumble with the butter knife in his fingers, and presses away the urge to take it away and place it on the table. He bites his cheek, and watches Amy with sharp eyes, squinting. Even her make-up is flawless. She’s probably a psychopath. 

“Well,” Will replies, a little awkward, “I’m here.” 

Amy laughs lightly, dimples showing. “Good.” She leans a little closer, and it’s then that she seems to realize that he’s holding an un-jammed slice of bread, grape jam threatening to slide off the butter knife. “You’re making sandwiches,” she observes, as if it’s not obvious. Mike rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Will nods, and shifts from one foot to the other. 

“Cool,” she says. “Need some help?” 

“No,” Mike answers for him, frosty around the edges, and both Will and Amy turn to him in surprise. “He doesn’t.” 

“Oh,” he watches Amy mouth, and she says, “I – I didn’t see you there.” She blinks once, twice, before the chipper face is back on. When Mike doesn’t reply, she continues, undeterred, “I’m Amy.” 

Mike doesn’t make any move to introduce himself, but Will nudges him in the side, and he flatly responds, “Mike.” 

“Oh,” she says again, and she steps away, just a little, looking between Mike and Will. Maybe she’s finally getting the hint. Jesus. “I’m – uh, if you’re good, then I’m just going to,” she points in a different direction that Mike doesn’t care for, and Will nods. “Um. See you later, Will!” 

“Bye,” Will says, and then turns to look at Mike, who blinks at him innocently. Will raises an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“You’ve got jam on your cheek,” Mike says instead, pointing to the left side of his face, where it had been invisible to him, before, a lousy excuse of a distraction. Will lets him get away with it when he purses his lips, swiping at his cheek with the back of his hand, and it’s a moment of frustrated silence as he gets everywhere besides the smear of jam high on his cheekbone, and Mike relents, “Here, let me just –” 

He leans close, and Will stills next to him as Mike raises a hand to wipe away the jam with his thumb, and he lingers for just a second longer. He meets Will’s eyes, who stares back, before a slow flush blossoms on his cheeks. He looks pretty, blushing. 

“Got it?” Will asks, voice a little low, and Mike peers down at his mouth, just to watch his lips shape out the words, a gentle pink, lower lip just a little raw. He glances just once. Twice. Thrice. 

“Uh,” Mike says, before suddenly remembering who and where he is. “Yeah.” 

“Thanks,” Will says, voice cracking, and he clears his throat. “So, uh, the spray-paint?” 

“Huh?” Mike looks down at his hand, before straightening, stepping back. “Oh, yeah! So, we were trying to –” 

It’s a little later that the entire ordeal is forgotten, and if Mike spends the rest of the day trying to get Will to blush again, then, well, that’s no one’s business but his. 

“I just don’t get it,” Dustin says again, for possibly the hundredth time in a row, and Mike, for possibly the thousandth time in a row, considers jumping out the window. 

He’s been trying to ignore both Dustin and Max, two of the most infuriating people he has ever had the privilege of knowing, for the past hour and a half, both of who stand and sit right next to him, entirely unhelpful while he works on placing an apple and juice carton in every lunch bag. 

They’re near fucking impossible to ignore, though, because they’re already hard to ignore on the daily, and especially when the subject of their discussion is whatever new girl is stuck to Will’s side, a sight that has Mike more irritated than he likes to think about and is also very difficult to ignore. 

In fact, it is an impossible thing to ignore, because Dustin has taken it upon himself to narrate every single possible detail to Max, and that would be just fine and dandy if Mike wasn’t forced to be within hearing distance of Dustin going, Oh-ho-ho, she’s putting her hand on his arm! Her hand! On his – holy shit, how is he so calm right now, he’s, like, barely looking at her, and she just whispered in his ear! Max, can you believe this fucking guy, the absolute –

Mike himself has been spending a good portion of his day resisting the temptation to get up and join Will, get him alone and get him away from whatever new girl Will’s caught the eye of, and the only remaining reason why he hasn’t done so is because it would be mildly incriminating. He still hasn’t fully convinced himself it’s a bad idea. 

“Like,” Dustin continues, still making absolutely no effort to help Mike sort all these fucking apples, “sure, he got all muscle-y, and even I can admit he’s pretty fun to stare at, but where are all these girls coming from? And why is Sarah Jennings flirting with him? She barely ever goes after guys, and he’s never even been into girls like that, anyway.” Mike’s frown deepens, and he squeezes the juice carton in his hand just a little tighter, before tossing it into another bag. “I don’t get it.” 

“What’s there to get,” Max replies, sitting on a crate and leaning against the wall. “He’s nice and good looking. That’s all there is to it.” 

That, in Mike’s humble opinion, doesn’t even touch the surface of it all; Will isn’t only nice and good looking. He’s also the best artist out there, with a great taste in music, a fantastic D&D player, and making him laugh is like a prize to be won, and he knows how to juggle and he lets Mike hug him with no question and Will is the best guy out there. These girls don’t even know the half of it. They don’t even know him. 

“Don’t try and swindle me with your trickery, Max,” Dustin says, like a normal person, “girls aren’t that simple.” Mike shoves another apple into a paper bag, the material crinkling under his tense grip. “I don’t expect you to understand.” 

“Right,” Max dryly retorts. “My bad. Maybe I should’ve mentioned how you need to defeat an evil dragon and whisper the full history of You’re-A-Fucking-Idiot Land in our ears to even try and win us over.” 

Mike snorts, and Dustin flips him off. 

“Touchy,” he complains, “you really know – oh, she’s laughing at something he said! She’s laughing! She’s laughing at something he said!” 

“I’m blind, not deaf,” Max snaps, and Dustin’s ears turn red. “So, what? She’s laughed, like, eighteen times already in the past hour.” 

“I know,” Dustin exclaims, as if that explains it all, and Max pinches the bridge of her nose. “He’s got her wrapped around his finger! He’s crazy.” 

That, for some unknown reason, is the last straw for Mike, who slams the paper bag in his hand onto the table and steps away. 

“I’m taking a break,” he snaps, “you guys can do this without me.” 

Dustin blinks as Mike swiftly walks away from them, mouth twisted in a scowl, and looks back at Max. “What’s his deal?” 

“He’s hopeless,” Max mutters, and it goes entirely unheard as Mike makes his way to Will. 

The entire time he’s been here, Mike has been purposely avoiding seeing Will with whatever new girl that’s going after him, because he knows that stupid, ugly feeling in his chest and palms and stomach is going to come back full force, just like did it yesterday, and the several days before. 

All this being said, in the moment when Mike spots Will, presumably doing something important where he’s standing, with Sarah Jennings standing so ridiculously close to him, Mike feels like his head is about to fucking explode. 

She’s got a hand on his shoulder, and Will doesn’t seem to care even the slightest bit when he lets it happen, and something green and full of poison unfurls in Mike. It’s probably something that has a good explanation, except right now, Mike cannot even begin to reason why he feels so – so irritated. 

He walks over there with the speed at which only light would rival, and the sound of Sarah’s tinkering laughter is loud, and it could almost be described as nice if she wasn’t directing it at Will. Mike concludes that he hates Sarah Jennings. 

Will barely has any time to look away from the papers in front of him when Mike appears in front of him and says, “Lunch.” 

Both Sarah and Will look up at him in surprise, and Will seems mildly lost when he expresses, “I – what?” 

Maybe simply saying lunch in a vaguely threatening tone wasn’t the best way to express his wishes. “We’re getting lunch together,” Mike specifies, and offers no room for question. “It’s on me. Let’s go.” 

Will blinks, once, twice, before slowly replying, “O–kay?” He turns to look at Sarah when he says this, who is pinching her eyebrows together and looking bothered. Good. “I – I guess I’m going on a lunch break. Are you good with this, or?” 

He steps around the table and near Mike, and Sarah answers, “Yeah, I’m –” 

Mike, unfortunately, does not care. He grabs Will’s hand and tugs him away without a moment to spare, and Will lets himself get dragged along, no vocal complaint as Mike leads them both out the building. 

Dustin waves goodbye as they pass, and Mike gives a limp hand-raise in response, tunnel-vision on the exit, and Will faintly calls, “Bye!” 

Mike ignores everything around him until they’re both outside, standing in the parking lot, alone and away from everyone else. Will’s hand is warm. Mike tightens his grip on it just the littlest bit, and is pleasantly surprised when Will returns it, fingers slotting through his. 

Neither of them let go, and Mike finally slows down to ask, “Where do you want to go?” 

“Oh,” Will says, and when Mike turns to look at him, he’s a little pink in the face. It’s cute. “I thought you – well, alright.” His eyebrows furrow when he thinks, and Mike wants to press away the slight stitch that appears. “I mean, I don’t know. Is Sunny’s okay?” 

“Yes,” Mike agrees without thinking about it, and they keep walking. 

They make their way off the school property and onto the street, and Mike refuses to let go of Will’s hand, even if they’re both walking at a pretty moderate pace, Will right next to him, and there’s not even anyone else on this street. It isn’t weird, because friends hold hands all the time, and the butterflies in Mike’s stomach are completely unrelated. Maybe he’s just having a stroke. 

“Was,” Will begins, “there something you wanted to talk about?” 

“What? No,” Mike looks at him, at the pink still on his cheeks. “Why?” 

“I don’t know,” Will shrugs, “you just asked to have lunch together out of nowhere, and you looked a little angry, so I was just – I just thought you had something on your mind.”

Mike shakes his head. “Well, I don’t.” They turn onto Cenzea St., and look both ways, before crossing the road. “And I ask to have lunch together all the time.” 

“Yeah,” Will agrees, “with the rest of the Party.” 

Mike frowns. Then he and Will need to start eating lunch alone together more often, he establishes, because something in him is unsettled with the idea of Will finding this – him and Mike getting lunch without the rest of their friends – strange. The thought of spending more lunches with Will, alone, makes his heart skip a beat. He spares no thought to it. 

“Maybe I just want to spend time alone with my best friend,” Mike proposes, and turns to look at Will just in time to see him biting away a smile. Mike grins at the sight. 

“I thought we were all your best friends?” Will points out, raising an eyebrow. 

Mike shrugs. “Yeah, but you’re you.” 

Mike himself doesn’t have time to properly question what in the hell that means, because Will fully blushes, in his cheeks and neck and ears and Mike kind of wants to press his palms against his skin and – and do something. His mind blanks when he tries to think of what. 

He’s grateful when Will doesn’t ask him what he means, and instead says, really quietly, “Oh.” 

And there’s that feeling again, that urge to crowd close to Will and do something he can’t quite think of, like there’s a barricade to the rest of his thoughts, and maybe the reason for his bitter mood for today is hiding behind that, too, but Mike can’t put his finger on it and Will smiling at him like that is incredibly distracting, so he puts it all aside to ponder about later. 

“Sweet, they’re open,” Mike abruptly changes the subject, and they both let go of the conversation, for their own dignity’s sakes. 

When Mike thinks about it, he understands where these girls are coming from. 

And, if he was going to be completely and one hundred percent honest, he gets it; Will looks drastically different from how he had a year ago. He’s got, like, muscle now, and he’s – he’s broad, okay, with t-shirts tight around his chest and shoulders and arms firm and strong and his skin is sun-kissed and half a shade darker than Mike’s, and his hair is shorter and out of his face, and it shows his sharp jaw, kind eyes, and his lips are – 

Well, anyways, that’s – that’s not the point. The point is, Mike gets it, in the most platonic, no-homo-bro way possible. He gets it. 

That does not mean he has to like it. 

He glares where Will and – Jessica? Jane? Jennifer – Jennifer stand together, with Jennifer standing way closer than she has to, and, honestly, who does she think she is, knocking elbows with Will like they’re even friends, and especially when – 

“Okay,” Lucas says, suddenly appearing, “this is getting creepy.” 

Mike scowls at him, unmoving from where he leans against the wall, arms crossed. He probably looks pissed off, and it’s because he is; he’s on break from his own work, where he’s being tasked to do things without Will, because Jessica got to Will before he did, so now here he is, trying to explode Janet, Jennifer, Jen-whatever-the-fuck with his mind. 

“Fuck off,” he retorts, biting his cheek, and Lucas puts his hands up in a surrendering motion. 

“Hey,” he starts, “I’m just here to let you know that you look a little scary, staring at Will’s new girlfriend like that.” 

Mike nearly snaps his neck with the speed at which he turns to look at Lucas. “She’s not his girlfriend,” he hisses, and Lucas presses his lips together, looking entirely unimpressed. Nonetheless, he still sticks close, never having cared too much for Mike’s moods. 

Mike watches Jocelyn brush a hand against Will’s arm, and Will doesn’t even look at her as he picks up another can, placing it in a different box, and Mike wants to walk over there and toss him over his shoulder, and get both of them far, far away from Jacklyn or Gina or Mina or Amy or – or any of these people who keep trying to steal Will away from him. 

Which, he admits, it’s a little weird to say, and especially when Will wasn’t his or anything, but he doesn’t know how to explain this red, hot, uncomfortable feeling that keeps worming its way under his skin, setting his blood boiling and his teeth biting down. 

What’s worse is that Will isn’t even doing anything, he’s neither encouraging nor discouraging the advances, but Mike doesn’t like it. He wants them to stay away from Will. 

He catches himself on the last thought, because – he’s a pretty possessive person, he knows, but that’s a little far, even for himself, but something about Will – Mike wants to keep him close, keep him for himself.

Mike would blame it on being left behind as a best friend, but even he knows, deep down, that Will would never ditch him for any girl, not like Mike did. Will isn’t like that. Will is better, the paramount of humanity. 

So, when he thinks about it – really thinks about it, he has no excuse. Mike has no excuse. He has no reasonable justification for his own feelings. 

“Natalie wants you on folding duty,” some guy in a blue sweater walks over to tell him, and Mike glowers at him for a full five seconds, before the guy backs up and quickly walks away. 

Lucas opens his mouth, before closing it. “Dude, you’re like a fucking cat.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Lucas,” Mike forces out, scornful and irritated, and Lucas raises a singular eyebrow at him. Mike makes no effort to smooth out his harsh expression, and he stalks off, getting ready to drown himself in donated clothes. 

Whatever. Everyone has bad days. He’ll figure it out later. 

When it gets late and almost all the volunteers have filtered out, Mike steps outside to go home.

His bones feel weirdly uptight, like he’s a wire coiled all wrong, and he’s been frowning all day, a permanent grimace on his face. His bad mood still sticks with him, and he doesn’t know what to do with it when he begins walking towards his bike. 

“Mike!” 

He turns around, and Will hurries to reach him, hair flopping while he semi-jogs, and it’s incredibly endearing. He steps forward to meet Will in the middle, and his hunched-up shoulders deflate when Will is finally close. 

“I couldn’t find you,” Will says, and Mike doesn’t reply when he keeps walking closer, until he leans forward and presses his forehead against Will’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of Will’s detergent. “You okay?” Will asks, and he runs a careful hand through Mike’s hair. 

Mike preens under the gentle touch, leaning into it, warm all over. “No,” he mutters, shivering when Will’s fingers brush against his scalp. “Today sucked.” 

Will hums, and Mike can feel the rumble of it, so close to Will, head on his shoulder, and there’s a silent few moments until he presses, “Any reason why?” 

And there is a very obvious reason why, because apparently Mike’s sour mood has been apparent to everyone and has warded them all off, and the solution to it all had been occupied by another girl or another task or another thing, so Mike’s bad mood had gotten worse, but Will is here, now, running his hand through Mike’s hair how he likes it, so he can’t find it in him to care much, anymore. 

“No,” Mike says, finally, because it doesn’t matter anymore. “How about you?” 

“It was okay.” There’s a pause as Will’s hand rakes through his hair, until it lingers at the very bottom, right near the nape of Mike’s neck, and he tugs, just the slightest bit. Goosebumps rise on Mike, and he shoves his face into the side of Will’s neck, just between his shoulder, and tucks himself against Will’s skin, chills running through him. “Could’ve been better,” Will adds easily. “Where were you?” 

Trying not to jump off the nearest bridge, Mike thinks faintly. Still, he says, lips brushing Will’s skin just the barest bit, “I don’t know.” Will sucks in a breath, and Mike would lift his head and ask what’s wrong but – he’s comfortable, and Will isn’t moving away. “Sorry.” 

“No,” Will replies, sounding a little strangled, “it’s – it’s okay.” 

Mike then stands up straight to look at Will, who looks vaguely ready to burst into a million flames. “Are you okay?” 

“Uh-huh,” Will replies, not sounding okay at all, and he clears his throat. “Let’s – I think Jonathan’s here.” 

As if on cue, the headlights of a car roll into view, and they both watch as it drives closer, until it stops beside them, and Jonathan lowers the car window. Mike waves, and Jonathan raises a hand in return. 

“Hey, Mike,” he calls out from the driver’s seat. “Do you need a ride?” 

Mike shakes his head. “No, I’m good. I’ve got, uh,” he absently points to some place over his shoulder, “my bike.” 

Jonathan stares at him. “Are you sure?” 

Mike nods. Just like always, every time Jonathan looks at him, he still feels like he’s being dissected alive. “Yeah.” 

“If you’re still feeling bad,” Will says, and Mike turns to him, “just – let me know. I’ll keep my walkie on.”

Mike nods again, except his stomach is fluttering and he suddenly has the urge to jump where he stands. It’s just the consideration, the care of it all, the attentiveness that Will always carries that makes Mike turn into mush. 

He watches Will climb into the passenger’s seat, and waves while he shuts the door. “Goodnight.” 

“Night, Mike,” Will replies, smiling, and Mike returns it. 

He’s still standing there, smiling like an idiot, until the car drives out of the parking lot, and Mike turns on his heel to get to his bike, suddenly all alone. 

He’s got some thinking to do. 

And – okay, no one said he was the best at thinking. 

His mind is carefully blank on the entire bike ride home, because he knows that if he starts thinking about it all right now, he’s going to have some big revelation, and then he’s going to crash and die and then Nancy is going to revive him back from the dead just to murder him herself, and that would probably be the biggest inconvenience out of all of this, so it’s just better not to think until he’s home and cozied up in bed. 

Or, that’s what he keeps telling himself, throughout dinner and half-hearted chatter with his family, and through climbing upstairs and changing into a sleep shirt and brushing his teeth, and then he stares in the mirror and wonders if he should chop his hair off, and then he collapses into bed and expects to sink right into slumber. 

Except nothing ever goes how he expects it to, because, after a full two minutes of his face shoved into his pillow, he’s still awake, and the image of Will’s smile, teeth gleaming in the streetlight and eyes scrunched upward, is still in the forefront of his mind, and he has absolutely no excuse not to think about it. 

So, he thinks about it. 

– Which proves to be the worst idea in the world, because when he lets himself think about it, all he’s thinking about is the multiple girls that flirt with Will, the ones that grab onto him and giggle in his ear and try their best to win him over, and all Mike can do is stand there and watch, and maybe One is onto something about trying to destroy the entire world. 

It’s a stupid thing to think about, because, again, it really isn’t his problem, and, if anything, he should be happy for Will, but the prospect of trying to be happy for him makes him want to turn over and suffocate himself in his pillow, and he doesn’t know what his issue is, because – 

Because this isn’t normal. This isn’t normal or friendly or platonic, because Mike keeps fighting this strange, possessive urge to keep Will as his, which is definitely not something that just best friends do, and they definitely don’t stay up and lose sleep because their best friend is getting popular with the ladies. 

And yet, here Mike is, staying up and losing sleep because the entire female population of Hawkins seems to be into Will. 

Mike doesn’t understand why he’s so torn up about it, because, if anything, this is good, because Will still hasn’t had his first girlfriend yet, and he probably hasn’t had his first kiss yet, either, which – he probably hasn’t, because he would tell Mike if he did, and Mike refuses to even entertain the idea of Will kissing someone and not telling him, but the thought of Will kissing anyone else – kissing anyone that isn’t Mike, it – 

Mike’s eyes shoot open, and he sits up in bed. 

Holy shit, he wants to kiss Will. 

Well, okay, maybe – maybe more than that, too, because Mike wants to kiss Will, but the barricade in his brain is breaking, and the entire dam is crashing down and his entire flood of thoughts is drowning out everything else, and now all Mike can think about is Will, and holding his hand and wrapping his limbs around him and kissing his forehead and eating meals alone together and dating him and calling Will his. 

And – okay! Okay, maybe Mike wants to kiss Will on the mouth and be his boyfriend. Big deal. 

The problem lies in the fact that he has absolutely no idea how to deal with it. 

Shit. One take him now. 

Alas, Mike awakes and lives to see another full day of thinking about Will. 

It turns out to be worse, knowing about his stupidly huge crush on his best friend, because Will, as Lucas had once said, is a total chick magnet, and now he has to witness as several girls keep coming up to him and trying to woo their way into his life. 

As it is, apparently Mike is some sort of fan of self-imposed torture, because he assigns himself to help Will with the incredibly exhilarating task of folding clothes, and Will seems all too happy with his company. 

There’s only the added bonus of both of them heading to Will’s after this for a sleepover, just the two of them, because Will had brought it up over the phone, before Mike had left the house this morning, in light of his worry over Mike’s own disgruntlement yesterday, and Mike had heard the words sleepover and just us and tomorrow and had immediately replied, “Yes, yeah, I – of course.”

Anyways. So, here he is. Helping Will fold clothes, for productivity purposes and not at all for fending off any oncoming admirers, and definitely not for standing so incredibly close to Will that their arms keep bumping and if Mike were to scoot any closer, their sides would be pressed together. 

When Mike looks up and sees an approaching girl bounding in their direction, he can’t help it when he sends a sharp glare her way, nor can he find it in him to feel very apologetic when she stutters in her steps and turns the other way. 

“What was that?” 

Mike freezes where he stands, before slowly turning to look at Will, who stares at him, seemingly lost, and his gaze bounces between the distant girl and Mike. 

“What was what,” Mike says, folding a shirt in half, and Will gestures to him, pushing a pair of pants to the side. 

“That,” he expresses, “why did you –” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mike lies, like a liar, and abruptly drops the shirt in his hands. “Are you feeling thirsty? I’m feeling thirsty. I’m going to go get us some water.” 

Will looks absolutely bewildered as he watches Mike walk off. “Mike, what are –” 

When he hurries off to where a volunteer passes out water bottles, Mike tries his best to return back to being a normal-behaving, sane person who isn’t in love with their best friend, even if it’s very evident that pretending is not working, and especially when Will catches him warding away any girls that approach him. 

God, he thinks as the volunteer hands him a water bottle, and he chugs it like his life depends on it, he really needs to get a hold of himself. 

Unfortunately for Mike, he does not get a hold of himself. 

In fact, he seems to lose all grasp of himself, and instead shreds off a little more of his dignity with every passing second, being a little too grabby and close to Will, and being too harsh to anyone that comes near them. 

Will, being the perceptive guy that he is, and ever so in-tune with Mike, catches wind of Mike’s rushing inner-turmoil rather quickly, and does not speak a word of it, even when it’s just them together, riding their bikes to Will’s current house. 

The world around them is pretty quiet, save for the chirp of crickets and the subtle rustle of trees, the crinkle of leaves and twigs snapping under them as they slowly ride their bikes through the edge of the woods, nearing to Will’s, and they’ve both been carefully silent the entire time, and Mike knows what Will is doing.

He’s – doing that thing again, where he can tell Mike is thinking really hard about something, and he’s waiting patiently like a good friend while Mike figures out how to express himself until he’s ready to talk, a strategy that works every time. 

And, unfortunately for everyone involved, it’s about to work again. 

“Will,” Mike starts, abruptly hitting the brakes, and Will doesn’t hesitate to follow, “I – I need to stop.” 

Will frowns as he rolls near, hopping off his bike to walk closer. “Are you going to throw up,” he asks warily, “because I told you not to eat five jello cups in a –”

“What? No. I’m not – I’m not going to throw up,” Mike says, even if it feels like he might, out of sheer nerves. “I’m just – I need to tell you something,” he settles on saying, and it makes Will’s eyebrows furrow in concern, head tilting as he steps closer, and, God, Mike wants to kiss him. 

“Okay,” Will replies, holding his bike up by the handles. “What is it?” 

“Um,” Mike says brilliantly, and all the courage he has ever had in his noodly body is gone. 

Will looks so patient, standing there and waiting for Mike to assemble his thoughts, and he’s always so nice, even when Mike is being ridiculous and being jealous and even though Will’s opinion is maybe the most important to Mike, some part of him knows that Will would still love him no matter what. 

He blinks, eyes wide and shining in the moonlight, lips barely downturned, and Mike blurts, “I really want to kiss you.” 

Will drops his bike, and it goes tumbling to the ground. 

For a very, very long moment, there is only silence, and they both stare at each other, and Mike can feel mortification flooding in, amidst panic and a strange mixture of every emotion he’s ever had, and Mike wonders if it’d be possible to move to the moon. 

And then Will says, “What?” 

“Um,” Mike replies. “You can – you can ignore that. I meant that – well. Okay.” He presses his lips together. “I – I can explain.” 

The rest of the world seems to fade away as Will keeps standing there, silent, with his bike discarded on the ground, and his face is very, very pink right now, and he looks cute, just standing there and blushing, but those are thoughts for another time, because Mike just said he wants to kiss his best friend, which is still very glaringly true, but he seriously needs to get himself out of this pickle. 

“So,” Mike continues, when Will doesn’t say anything, “I’ve been doing some, um, thinking and – and self-reflecting, and I’ve come to a few conclusions.” 

Will is still staring at him as he slowly replies, “Okay?” 

“And I’ve realized,” he barrels on, “that I’ve been jealous.” 

That seems to kick Will out of his daze, because he blinks into the moment and rasps, “What?”

Mike’s face feels like it’s on fire. “It was just – I’ve had to watch, like, half the female population of Hawkins come up to you and flirt with you and that by itself isn’t that surprising because Max says girls like it when you’re nice and good looking and you’re nice and good looking, but I kept feeling, like, weird about it, because,” he brings up his hands in an ambiguous gesture, “I wanted to, like, pick you up and keep you in my arms or something, which is – yeah, and then Lucas mentioned girls kissing you, which is fucked up because I want to kiss you, so please –” 

“Mike,” Will finally interrupts, which Mike is very grateful for, because walking into the sea seems like a great idea, right now, “breathe.” 

“Breathe, yeah,” Mike echoes, sucking in air, “totally. Love breathing. Um.” Someone duct tape his mouth shut immediately.

Will is still staring at him, but it looks like he’s only catching up to Mike’s word vomit, because then he asks, “I don’t – wait – is that – that’s why you were acting so weird, recently?” 

“I wasn’t acting weird,” Mike automatically defends, but Will raises an eyebrow, and he deflates, flushing. “Well, I just – listen.” 

“You were jealous,” Will says, sounding a little out of it, but he doesn’t sound horrified or disgusted or weirded out, because then his face breaks out into a smile, and he’s beaming when he laughs, “I – you were jealous? Of who?” 

“Of everyone,” Mike wails, putting his face in his hands. “It’s like every girl in the world realized how hot you are, and now I have to, like, fight them off or something, and it sucks because some girl is going to come around and sweep you off your feet and I’ll –” 

And Will is laughing even harder now, and Mike has no idea what to make of it, because he doesn’t seem to be laughing at Mike, no demeaning tone to it, but Mike has no clue what he’s laughing at. 

Mike waits, arms dropped to his sides and feeling a little out of place, while Will keeps laughing, an arm around his middle as he tilts over, and then he sucks in a deep breath, and giggles a little more, which is entirely sweet and all things good, and then he says, “Mike, I’m – I don’t like girls. At all. I – I like guys.” 

“Oh,” Mike answers, brain fizzling out. “Oh.” 

And, well, Mike is a little bit of an idiot at times, but the two brain cells working overtime in his brain work together to have his mind wrap around the fact that Will – and guys, Will likes guys, which is fine, obviously, because Mike likes guys, too, he’s pretty sure – or rather, just a guy, just one, just one guy and it’s a guy who also likes guys and – 

Then it hits him that Mike is a guy, and he’s single and free and tolerable enough, so maybe he has a chance. This hope, however, lasts all of three seconds when Mike realizes he’d have to still fend off the other half of the population. 

“Okay, then some other guy is going to come around and – and sweep you off your feet,” Mike readjusts, frowning. “And I think that’s real stupid.” 

Will is grinning, now, pink cheeks and white teeth and hazel eyes and everything Mike likes so much. “Why?” 

“Will,” Mike presses out, staring Will dead in the eye, “if you end up kissing anyone that isn’t me, I’m going to spontaneously combust.” 

Will laughs again, and it looks so good on him, and Mike wouldn’t mind getting laughed at if Will looks so happy like this all the time, and Will is walking closer, leaving his bike still on the ground, and Mike steps away from his own bike, just to get a little closer to Will, until they’re barely a foot apart. 

“I mean,” Will starts, “then it’s good that I – I don’t want to kiss anyone else.” 

“Anyone else,” Mike repeats, eyes wide. “So, you –” 

“Yes,” Will answers, unable to hold back another laugh. “Mike, I –”

If Mike was any bit patient, he would stay where he is and Will would offer some grand love confession, and it would be all sweet and romantic under the moonlit sky, with them alone in the woods together, and Mike would be patient and a gentleman and have some sort of class. 

Mike, unfortunately, is not a patient person, and instead kisses Will right on the mouth before he’s finished talking. 

He leans in with the enthusiasm and charm of a drunk guy at a karaoke bar, but it turns out to be alright when their noses only bump once, but then he leans a little to the right, and then their lips press together, and then –

Will is still smiling into it, and it makes Mike’s own stomach flip over at the feel of it against his own lips, and it’s everything Mike has ever wanted, electricity jolting through his spine, and Will places a careful hand on the dip of his back, and Mike feels like he’s going to faint right then and there. 

He squeezes Will’s waist under his own hands, pressing further into Will, and maybe he’s pressing a little too hard, because Will leans back under the pressure, but he’s doing nothing to discourage it when he wraps an arm around Mike and tilts the slightest more to the left, pressing Mike even closer. 

It feels like his mind is both melting out of his ears and also blasting every cheesy love song in his brain, because – he supposes this is what they were singing about, with goosebumps racking up Mike’s skin and the warmth of Will’s hands and the sweetness of the chocolate bar they were sharing when they were leaving the help center and the fact that it’s Will kissing Mike.

Mike only leans away when his lungs feel like they’re about to collapse in his chest, which isn’t even that big of a deal, but then he’d die and then never get to kiss Will again, so he moves back and watches Will stare back at him, and the giddy feeling in his bones amps up again. 

“Hi,” Mike says, ever the romantic. “We – we should kiss again. And go on dates. And make out.” 

Will’s blush only seems to deepen at Mike’s words, and he slowly nods. “We should go on dates.”

“Great idea,” Mike replies, even though he had brought it up, but it makes Will giggle, so it doesn’t really matter. “And what – what about the other stuff?” 

Will smiles, looking a little smug, a little flustered, and Mike really wants to kiss him again. “What about it?” He asks, even if he sounds like he knows exactly what. 

Mike, for the life of him, cannot help but flush pink. “Um. Well.” 

He has never been smooth or charming, but the embarrassment he feels is something different with Will, all warm and comfortable and it doesn’t feel humiliating when Will bites his lip, smile poking through. 

Will curls a finger through Mike’s belt loop and pulls him in, Mike stumbling to get even closer, eager all over, but Mike can’t find it in him to be even the littlest bit embarrassed. He isn’t entirely sure what to do with his hands, but he places them on Will’s sides, and it doesn’t seem to be a bad move when Will grins at him. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Will tells him, just a breath away, and Mike’s eyes widen. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, “yeah, no, yeah, you should – you should definitely do that, I think we –” 

And then Will promptly shuts him up with his own mouth against Mike’s, and Mike – 

Mike is fine with jealousy if it ends up with Will kissing him like this again.