Archive of Our Own ^beta

The problem starts, as it often does, with Mike's mother.

She calls on Friday afternoon, when she knows Mike will be back from class and will have no excuse not to pick up. He lets it ring for a while anyway, turning up the volume on the television to drown out the sound. The call drops after a few rings, and he breathes a sigh of relief, but then it immediately starts back up again and that's how he knows it's his mother calling and that if he doesn't pick up he will have to suffer her wrath for the rest of his days. 

Which is how he finds himself leaned up against the counter of his and Will's shared kitchen, glowering at the wall as his mother does her level best to convince him that having his not-so-baby sister, Holly, fly out to see him is not the colossally bad idea he's sure it is.

"Just for a few days," she pleads, as Mike boosts himself onto the counter and kicks his legs against the lower cabinets. If she could see him right now, she'd throw a fit about scuff marks. He kicks harder, like the spiteful person he is. "She just- needs some time away, right now, with the divorce and everything, and Nancy's too busy with work-"

"And I'm not busy?" Mike demands, picking up an orange off the counter and tossing it lightly up and down in his palm. He is not, in fact, all that busy - he has class four times a week in the mornings, and goes to work the other three times a week in the afternoons, but outside of that he spends the majority of his time hanging out with Will, half-assing his homework, and going to dorm parties even though he does not actually live in the dorms. But his mother doesn't need to know that, because then she would say things like you should take harder classes, Michael or you should try to make new friends, Michael or you should probably not be going to dorm parties because they're lame and you can't hold your alcohol, Michael. Well- maybe she wouldn't say that last one quite like that, but still. He doesn't want this request to turn into a lecture about how he should be living his life.

"Michael," his mother says, and he can so clearly picture her bent over her own kitchen counter, going over her grocery list, opening mail, doing boring adult stuff that Mike is still getting used to having to do himself. She's always been like that - doing five things at once, always distracted but somehow still wanting things from him, and it's only gotten worse since the September, when divorce finally split their family down the middle just like Mike had always known it would. The only good thing there had been Nancy finally paying up on the bet they'd had going since he was fourteen and she was eighteen -

You have to actually give a shit in order to get divorced, Mike.

Yeah? Bet you twenty bucks they get divorced before I'm out of college. 

"I am not asking," his mother says now, and Mike scowls.

"I'm sorry, last time I checked I was an adult-" he starts, and she immediately scoffs in his ear. A fair assessment, honestly, considering that he's only twenty-one and a half and lives in a tiny apartment with his childhood best friend and still can barely afford to have working heat or water or anything, and last time he checked they had, like, maybe three items in their refrigerator, but - he's working on it, okay? He has a job. He pays bills. He drives himself to class and to said job, and he hasn't even gotten into a car accident doing it, unless you count that fender bender last week that was definitely not his fault.

He grits his teeth. "-and I do not have any obligation whatsoever to do what you say," he continues, and his mother sighs, right into the mouthpiece, and Mike can practically feel the disappointed breath against his ear.

"Three days," she bargains. "I'll pay for everything. Her plane tickets, her meals, anything you guys do, just- I just need three days, Mike."

Maybe it's the exhaustion and sadness in her voice, or the fact that she calls him Mike rather than Michael - which suits him better anyway, according to Will and El and literally everyone who has ever met him ever, or maybe he's just bored of arguing, but Mike slumps back against the upper cabinets and mutters, "Fine."

His mother, to her credit, tries to pretend to be grateful. "Thank you," she says tersely, like he's eight years old again and she's just gotten him to reluctantly hand over the cookie tin he'd stolen off the counter. Mike rolls his eyes. He and his mother have never been particularly close, but he supposes she's a decent mother, all things considered - a little distracted, maybe, definitely not particularly emotionally available, and she did put up with his father for an ungodly amount of time, but- he does love her. He's proud of her for leaving his father, which is a maybe weird feeling to harbor but it's true, and he knows it can't be easy becoming a suddenly-single parent. And he does, despite his best efforts, love his younger sister, and honestly he's not busy and can probably stomach a few days of babysitting, especially considering that Holly is almost thirteen now. 

But that does not mean he has to tell his mother any of that. "I still have to check with Will," he reminds her, even though he knows Will won't care. He always liked Holly, anyway. Mike is 90% sure that Holly used to have a crush on Will, too, which is upsetting for a variety of reasons and he sincerely hopes isn't true anymore, but- yeah. Will is sweet and understanding and not petty like Mike, so he will have no issue with any of it.

Still. Principles.

"Yeah, of course," his mother hums, and Mike can tell she's already gone back to sorting through her mail or whatever it is she's doing. She probably knows just as well as Mike does that Will will be nice and good about it, because Will is nice and good in general, at least to people like parents and siblings. Will is just- good. It's a known fact.

But Mike doesn't like to think about that for too long, so he tells his mother he'll call her back once he gets things sorted and hangs up.

He gives himself twelve seconds to bask in self-pity after hanging up, smashing his palms against his eyes and muttering a quiet "fuck" under his breath, before wandering back into the living room and turning the TV back on. 

He's halfway through a show - something random he found on the Food Network that's actually kind of relaxing to mindlessly watch - when there's a sound of a key in the lock.

Mike smiles to himself, shoulders instantly relaxing as he burrows deeper into the couch. This is his favorite part of the day - when Will gets back from class, a few hours after him, and joins him on the couch to watch TV, or maybe at a café or something if Mike is feeling restless and wants out of the apartment, or maybe they just quietly sit in the living room together, Mike making his way through his literature assignments and Will absently sketching away, sometimes for class and sometimes just for fun. The apartment, despite it's smallness, always feels a little bit more comfortable with Will there. Most things do, really.

Mike leans over the edge of the sofa, thanking God for their open floor plan and watching as the door swings open and Will wanders into the kitchen, tossing his keys on the counter and setting down his bag on the floor. 

"Hey," Will says to him, smirking as Mike tilts his head upside down over the arm of the couch. 

"Hi," Mike says, and he's not sure if the flush of blood creeping into his cheeks is due to gravity or due to the presence of Will Byers. Probably an unfortunate mix of both. He pushes through. "How was class?"

Will shrugs. "Fine. Boring, but fine." He walks over to the couch and taps his pointer finger against the end of Mike's nose. Mike scrunches up his face, and Will makes a face back, grinning as he lets his finger linger there. "How's your day?"

"My mom called," Mike says, batting Will's hand away and sitting up, head swimming a little bit with the sudden gravity reversal. He goes a little cross-eyed with it, and Will laughs quietly as he flops onto the couch beside him. "She says hi."

She had not, strictly speaking, said hi, but it's implied at this point. Will has always been her favorite out of all of Mike's friends - not that the bar is terribly high, considering Dustin would rather die than answer to authority and Lucas has a nasty tendency of breaking furniture with basketballs and Max spares no more kindness toward Mike's parents than she does to Mike and El is always asking strange questions and making scary eyes at everyone. His parents barely tolerate the Party most of the time, but Will is and always has been different. 

"Hi," Will answers softly in response, distracted as he narrows his eyes at the TV, which is still playing that dumb Food Network show in the background. He always does that - always quietly responds to the messages Mike's mother passes along, like she can somehow hear him. Mike finds it endlessly endearing. "How is she?"

Will also, incidentally, cares much more about the details of Mike's parents' lives than Mike does. "Um, good," he answers, feeling a small twinge of guilt at the fact that he doesn't really know. "She wants to send Holly out for a few days next month to visit."

"By herself?" Will asks absently, evidently as captivated by this cooking show as Mike had been. His hand reaches out to fiddle with the outer seam of Mike's jeans where it rests over his knee, and Mike lets himself lean into the touch. He's been letting himself do that a lot more than he should, recently, and he reminds himself to scale back a little. This is how it always goes with Will - a give and take sort of situation that starts with Mike wanting more than he should, getting scared, pulling away for a bit, and then cycling right back through to wanting. 

"Yeah," he forces himself to answer, even as Will's fingertips tap out a gentle pattern on his thigh. "I mean- if that's okay. For her to stay here. It would just be for, like, three days."

Now Will glances over at him, if only to prove he'd been listening, because he's polite like that and always makes sure everyone feels heard. "Yeah, sure. Sounds fun."

Mike highly doubts that - Holly is a preteen with a serious mean streak, and she's never found Mike particularly impressive or anything, which makes her endlessly hard to deal with sometimes, but- whatever. If Will thinks it'll be fine, then it will be. 

He settles into the couch, turning up the volume on the TV and letting the sounds the stupid cooking show wash over them. Will smiles and leans into his side, just a little. Mike's heart leaps into his throat, and he leans back, fighting the blush he knows is coloring his cheeks. He should probably not do this, because Will is casual and innocent with physical affection; it's always Mike wanting it to mean more, and he seriously needs to get ahold of himself, but. Will is also, incidentally, very warm and solid, and Mike likes him way, way too much.

Oh, whatever. He'll scale back another day. 

Holly Wheeler is many things, but subtle she is not. Once upon a time, Mike would have chalked her lack of social regard up to age, that she was a kid and didn't know any better, but now she's thirteen and he's starting to think that's just who she is as a person.

"Your hair is weird," she tells Mike in lieu of a hello, thirty seconds after disembarking the plane and locating Mike in the crowd. He didn't bother making a sign or anything, figuring that would upset her delicate teenage sensibilities, and evidently that was a good call, because she's looking at him with the vague sort of distaste one might use for a weird uncle at a holiday party.

He frowns at her. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"It's long," she says. 

"You saw me two months ago, Hols."

This is true - Mike had dutifully come home for a few weeks in the summer, even if most of his time had been spent with Will and the rest of the Party. Holly had been mostly absent then, too - off with her frankly excessive amount of friends at the mall or riding their bikes around and generally being the same sort of annoying kids that Mike and his friends had once been. Less nerdy, though - Holly is the first Wheeler sibling to not be a social disaster, not that Mike would ever say that to Nancy. He doesn't know how his younger sister manages it, what with the bluntness and cruelty and all, but he supposes there's some value in knowing someone will be honest all of the time. That's a quality he and Nancy and frankly both his parents lack - honesty. He wonders where Holly got it from.

"You look different here," Holly says decisively, reaching out and tugging on a lock of his long hair. 

"Different how?" he demands, trying to decide how offended to be. She gives him a look.

"Good different. You look like you," she answers, and Mike barely has time to stutter out a response before she's brushing past him and announcing that they have to go retrieve her luggage from baggage claim.

When he thinks about it, she's not wrong - college has been good for him, small apartment and boring classes aside. Living in a city is relentlessly different from living in Hawkins, and that is about as good as it gets. Plus, he has Will, so. He really doesn't have much to complain about. But he's scaling back on the Will-related thoughts right now, so he forces himself to focus on other things as he helps Holly grab her far-too-heavy suitcase from the rack.

"Christ, how long do you think you're staying?" he grunts, handing it off to her with a considerable amount of difficulty. 

She shrugs. "I needed clothing options."

"Of course you did," he mutters, and pretends not to see her eye roll as they walk out to his car.

He shoves her bag unceremoniously into the backseat, and Holly takes this as permission to claim the passenger seat, which- feels wrong, somehow. Mike bought this car two and a half years ago, when he first started college, and he's never actually used it to drive around anyone but Will, which seems a little impossible when he thinks about it but it's not like he has many other friends. Lucas and Max and El are all at school in California, and Dustin is at MIT, and he's never had any interest in talking to anyone who isn't Will outside of, like, polite hang-outs and invites to dorm parties. So for two and a half years now, it's been just the two of them, in their own little bubble, and Mike feels a strange stab of panic at breaking that bubble, if only for a few days.

But that's ridiculous, and he's supposed to be not thinking these sorts of things right now, so he climbs into the driver's seat and commands himself to get over it.

"So," he says as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the busy street, "What do you want to do while you're here?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Mom mostly just wanted me out of the house, I think."

Mike grimaces. "Yeah, I figured. But, like. I don't know. There's things to do. I'll take you wherever."

Holly gives him a sideways glance, smirking a little. "Since when are you nice?"

She makes a solid point. Mike is definitely not used to being the older sibling - whenever he visits Hawkins, his parents are always there to, like, parent Holly, at least in theory, and the two of them rarely hang out alone. For most of his childhood, Holly was a chore he had to complete - laundry, check, sweeping, check, make sure Holly doesn't die, check. Holly-duty was often argued over between him and Nancy once they were both old enough to babysit her on their own, and those years were quickly corrupted by monsters and alternate dimensions anyway, so his younger sister kind of faded into the background, sometimes. Which isn't her fault, and is maybe-probably Mike's fault, actually, and maybe his parents' fault a little bit too, or maybe just the nine-year age gap is too much sometimes, but- well. It's a little strange, driving his little sister through the city that for two years he's thought of as his (well, his and Will's, but he's not getting into that now) and acknowledging that she's, like, a real person with real thoughts and emotions.

"I don't know," he says, answering her question. "Maybe that's part of me being different here."

Holly raises an eyebrow. "Hmm," she says, like she knows something he doesn't. 

They arrive back at the apartment, and Mike reluctantly helps her lug her bag up the four flights of stairs. The complex technically has an elevator that was advertised in the ad he and Will found it in, but said elevator hasn't worked since 1983. There's something to be said about false advertising there, and Will loves to make dumb jokes about the 1983 aspect of it, but the apartment itself is nice enough and the rent is affordable so they haven't said anything about it.

Holly, however, does have things to say about it. "Why- would- you advertise- an elevator- that doesn't work?" she pants, shoving her bag up the last three steps and collapsing in front of the door of Mike and Will's apartment. Mike takes a few seconds to catch his breath - despite living here for two years, he's never quite mastered the physical burden it is to climb such a narrow and steep set of stairs. He's never been particularly athletic, even though he spent the better part of his teenage years running away from literal monsters, and the stair debacle has long been a point of contention between him and Will.

Thank God we didn't take that other place on the sixteenth floor, Will had said on the day they moved in, standing at the top of the stairs and smirking down at Mike as he struggled to carry the last box of their belongings. You would have died on the spot.

It's not my fault you're, like, weirdly athletic, Mike had panted, allowing himself exactly three seconds to stare at Will's arms, which were exposed in the white t-shirt he was wearing. Will had caught him anyway, and had grinned knowingly as he extended a hand and pulled Mike up the last few steps.

"To trick dumb kids like me and Will into agreeing to rent this place," Mike says to Holly now, as he jams his key into the keyhole and twists it in the specific way he always has to in order for the sticky lock to work. That's the other thing about being twenty-one and living with your best friend in the literal cheapest apartment on the market - nothing works exactly like it's supposed to. The locks stick, and Will's bedroom door requires a firm kick in order to close all the way, and the floorboards creak to high heaven. 

It has character, Will says every time Mike complains about it.

I don't need it to have character, Mike replies every time. I just need the shower to not take eight and a half minutes to heat up.

"Is Will here?" Holly asks as she trails after Mike into the apartment.

"He has class until four," Mike answers, tossing his keys onto the counter and glancing at her with a suspicious look on his face. His sister's expression is carefully blank, and again he gets the sense that she knows something he doesn't. "Why?"

She shrugs. "No reason. Where should I put my bag?"

"My room. Down the hall on the left," Mike answers, and glares daggers at her back as she retreats down the hall.

Listen. He's not, like, jealous of his baby sister or anything. That would be ridiculous, because she is thirteen, and it's perfectly normal for younger siblings to have stupid little crushes on their older siblings' friends. Erica Sinclair used to have a crush on Mike, actually - even if it had quickly faded into vague disdain once they actually started spending time together, with the Upside-Down and everything. Then again, most people had regarded Mike with vague disdain back then, which was a fair assessment considering what an idiot he'd been, but- whatever. The point is, Holly had always acted a little weirder around Will, and if that's still the case, then it's fine. Weird, and definitely not something Mike will be encouraging, but- ultimately fine.

Still. His skin prickles a little if he thinks about it for too long. He kind of has the monopoly on having a crush on Will Byers, after all. Holly doesn't know what she's talking about.

She reappears after a few minutes, flopping down onto the couch and raising an eyebrow as Mike stands blankly in the living room, processing far too many irrational emotions. "You good?"

"I- yeah, I'm fine." He clears his throat and sits down on the couch beside her, folding one leg under himself to face her at a slightly awkward angle. "Totally fine." He is, however, also thinking about how Will is going to be home soon, and wondering if he'll hang out with him and Holly or if he'll slip away into his room like he sometimes does when Mike has a guest. Which- isn't often, because Mike doesn't really have any friends here besides Will, and he hasn't brought a date back to the apartment, like, ever, except maybe once or twice in their freshman year before Mike decided he wasn't so much into that whole aspect of the college experience. Not when he had Will right here.

But he's not supposed to think about that right now. "Hey, you never answered my question," he forces out. "What do you want to do while you're here?"

Holly shrugs, busy looking around at the room with narrowed eyes. "I don't know. You decide."

"Okay, well, we have the whole weekend," Mike says. "And I'm in charge of you, but I'll let you do whatever as long as it's not dangerous."

Holly glances at him, eyebrow raised. "How kind of you," she says flatly, sounding uncomfortably similar to their mother. "Is Will in charge of me too? Or just you?"

A fair question, except that Mike is not supposed to be thinking about Will right now, and the sound of his name just serves as a reminder for that. "Um, sure," he says, because in truth he hadn't thought much about it. "I mean- if he tells you to do something, you should do it, because he generally doesn't say things without good reason, but- but you can't bother him, alright? It's not his fault Mom pawned you off to me for three days, and he's being nice by letting this whole thing happen, so you can't be a nuisance."

Holly rolls her eyes. "I'm not a nuisance. And Will is always nice to you."

She has a point. But Mike is not going to think for too long about that. 

Holly decides to spend the afternoon wandering around the apartment and asking Mike questions.

"What's this painting?" she asks, pointing to a piece Will had done when they first moved in. It's of the swingset where they'd first met, and it hangs proudly right over the couch. Mike hadn't minded the placement- he'd liked it, even- until this very moment. He's never been particularly good at sharing, especially when it comes to all things related to Will, and his sister's eyes on it make his skin feel uncomfortably tight.

"Will made it," Mike says, which is kind of a non-answer, but he doesn't feel like getting into the specifics of his intricate relationship with Will Byers right now. There's far too much symbolism and subtext to unpack, and Mike spends enough time trying to do that on his own. 

"It's the swings at the kindergarten," she states evenly, and Mike shoots a glare at her from where he's curled up on the couch, attempting to read a book for class. 

"It is," he agrees, pointedly turning his page. 

She rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips like a mini-Nancy. "Why did he paint that?"

"It's where we met," Mike says without looking up, fighting the blush he's sure is coloring his cheeks.

Holly hums thoughtfully, and once again Mike gets the sense that she knows something he doesn't. 

Will gets home around four-thirty, carrying a bag of groceries under one arm and swinging his keys in the other. He grins when he sees Holly - she and Mike are sprawled out on the living room floor, playing a game of Uno that he's one hundred percent sure she's cheating at, but he's willing to let it slide if it makes her stop asking complicated questions about the nature of his and Will's relationship.

"Hey, Hols," Will says, setting down the groceries and his keys on the table and walking into the living room to ruffle her hair.

"Hi," she says, grinning up at him as he reaches out to ruffle Mike's hair too. Mike scowls and bats his hand away, and Will laughs as he settles himself onto the ground beside him. 

"How's life?" Will asks, knocking his knee against Holly's as she places a draw four on top of the discard pile. 

"Hey!" Mike yelps, scrambling to take the top four cards on the top of the deck. "Cheater."

"You're just pissed you're losing," Holly says primly. "And I'm doing fine," she adds to Will, who looks altogether too amused by Mike's devastating loss. 

"Yeah? How's school?" he asks, and Holly lays down a draw two. Mike grumbles a string of curses under his breath, and Will pats his knee sympathetically. Holly tracks the movement, eyes narrowed, and Mike shoots her a glare.

"Boring," Holly answers idly, rearranging her cards. "But fine, I guess."

"A fair assessment," Will agrees. He leans over Mike's shoulder, tapping at a green seven in his hand. "Play that one," he murmurs, and Mike does his level best not to shiver with the feeling of Will's breath on his neck.

"Why that one?" he murmurs back, scowling at the growing stack of cards on the floor.

"Because," Will says, and Mike rolls his eyes but plays it anyway. Like he told Holly, Will doesn't tell people to do things unless he has a good reason.

Holly scowls, frantically shuffling through her cards and, evidently, not finding any greens or sevens. "Hey! Now who's cheating?"

"I saw her cards," Will says smugly, and Mike grins at him.

"I told you he's always nice to you," Holly mutters, and Mike kicks her shin. She rolls her eyes and reluctantly draws from the deck.

Will raises an eyebrow at this statement, and Mike gives him a flat look, begging him not to push the matter. Will's mouth quirks up into a wry little grin, the kind that, in Mike's weaker moments, he sometimes thinks about kissing right off of Will's face, and he pats Mike's knee again as he stands up. "Okay, have fun," he says, fingertips trailing over Mike's shoulder just before he leaves the room. "I have to unpack the groceries."

Mike watches him make his way into the kitchen, skin burning where Will's fingers were pressed against it. "Do you want help?"

"Don't worry about it," Will says, but Mike is already standing up, setting his cards down and following him into the kitchen. Holly yelps in protest, and Mike gives her an eye roll and gestures for her to follow. She sighs and stands up, grumbling to herself as she boosts herself onto the counter and kicks her legs against the cabinets the same way Mike always does.

Wordlessly, Mike reaches for the grocery bag, and Will smiles at him as he shoves a carton of eggs into the fridge.

"Thanks," he murmurs, and Mike bumps his shoulder gently as he continues to root through the grocery bag. 

They fall into their usual routine, passing food items back and forth and talking in their usual shorthand, well established by now after over two years of living here together.

"Can you pass me the-"

"Yeah, do you have-"

"Yeah- cupboard for this?"

"Obviously."

Holly watches with narrowed eyes, and Mike only remembers she's there when Will folds up the paper grocery bag and places it in the cabinet under the sink, and Holly hops down from the counter.

"Can we finish our game now?" she demands, and Mike scowls at her.

"I forfeited. You were cheating anyway."

"I was not! Will cheated."

"Will wasn't playing."

"He helped you cheat!"

Will laughs, tapping Mike's shoulder gently, and Mike automatically relaxes a little. Will's always been good at quieting him - Mike is always a little softer, a little less quick to yell, when Will Byers is around. "I'll play with you, Holly," Will says, like the saint he is.

She frowns suspiciously. "Are you gonna cheat?"

"I would never," he states, widening his eyes in mock sincerity.

She must deem this good enough, because she chirps out an "okay!" and wastes no time in dragging him back into the living room. Mike follows them and folds himself onto the ground beside Will, sitting maybe a little closer than he should, but then, he's always a little bit more than he should be, with Will. More quiet, more sweet, more sincere. Less platonic, but whatever. He's not thinking about it.

Will places his hand back on Mike's knee, and Mike pretends not to notice.

The real problem arises when Mike takes Holly out to dinner that night, half because he's hungry and the groceries Will brought home are only the bare essentials, and half because Will is being so sweet to both him and Holly and he's short circuiting over it, a little. He forgot how good Will is with kids. He pays attention to Holly, treats her like an equal, because Will tries to treat everyone like an equal. It's in moments like these that Mike wonders if the signals he sometimes thinks Will is sending him are simply byproducts of his goodness - if the small smiles Will sends him in quiet moments and the eye contact Mike sometimes thinks he's holding a little too long is just the Will Byers effect, a latent urge to make Mike feel seen and respected, but not necessarily more so than anyone else. Mike knows he, himself, acts a little different around Will, but he's always figured that's just because he's less nice than Will is in general, and Will brings out some secret sort of goodness in him that he didn't know he possessed. But he's never been able to apply that same logic to Will, because Will is just- he's just good.

Which he's not supposed to be thinking about, hence the taking-Holly-out-to-dinner thing.

"You're welcome to come with us," he tells Will anyway, because he is a nice and good person who cares about his friend, if maybe a little too much. That would be the- the secret goodness thing, trying to sabotage him.

Will smiles, gentle and soft, and Mike's heart does a weird flippy thing in his chest. "Nah, that's okay. I have to finish a project for class." He reaches out and ruffles Holly's hair again before standing, stretching, and wandering off into his room.

Mike watches him go, and Holly shoves a socked foot into his side.

"Ack! What's that for?" he yelps, scooting away.

"You're being dumb," she says, like that's an answer. "Where are we going for dinner?"

They end up at an Italian restaurant a few blocks away from the apartment, because Holly insists that she wants something "normal" and Mike doesn't feel like driving anyway. Holly orders enough spaghetti to feed a village, and Mike orders a salad to balance it out, which Holly steadfastly refuses to eat.

"If you don't eat vegetables while you're here, Mom's gonna kill me," Mike insists, stabbing his fork into a piece of lettuce and waving it in his sister's face.

She bats it away easily. "Do you eat vegetables?"

"Yes. But even if I didn't it wouldn't matter because I'm an adult who can make my own decisions." As it stands, he only ever eats vegetables when Will makes him, because Will is caring and nice and always wants to make sure Mike is okay, even though out of the two of them Will is usually the one with more on his plate. Metaphorically, anyway.

Not that Mike is like, thinking about him right now or anything. Not that he's sitting here with his stupid salad that he only ordered because he knew Will would want him to and is thinking about how he wishes Will had come with them, after all. Not that he's wondering which project Will's working on, anyway, if it's that self portrait that was bugging him so much or if it's something new that he has yet to tell Mike about, and not that he's hoping Will will show him later, after he gets home. He is not thinking any of those things. Obviously.

Mike scowls and takes a bite of salad.

"Is Will your boyfriend?" Holly asks, and Mike immediately chokes on the lettuce in his mouth.

"Wh- what?" he gasps, dropping his fork and swallowing back the salad that suddenly feels like cement in his throat. Holly's looking at him with a strange expression, like she's trying to figure something out.

"Will. Is he your boyfriend?" she repeats, even though Mike very obviously heard her, and the question doesn't feel any less shocking the second time.

"No!" He yelps. "No, why would you think that?"

Holly shrugs, taking another bite of spaghetti like this is a normal conversation and she is not slowly killing him. "Nancy calls him your little boyfriend sometimes, and Mom says he's your person, which basically means the same thing, and you live together and act like a couple and unpack groceries together and have art representing your relationship hanging up on the walls, so- I don't know. Seems like it could be a thing."

"Nancy calls him my boyfriend?" Mike asks through gritted teeth, because all of those things are painfully and glaringly true, and- he knows, okay? He knows his relationship with Will is maybe a little outside the realm of friendship, sometimes - strangers have assumed they were dating on multiple occasions, and the implication always makes his stomach do cartwheels, but- it's different when it's his sister. He wonders if everyone back home knows how he feels, if it's obvious to everyone, including Will, and he wants to die. He's never even officially told anyone he's queer, except Will and El - El because she had a right to know after suffering through two years of excruciating relationship with him, and Will because- well. Mike thought he should know. Just in case. But- does everyone know, then? Is it obvious on him? He doesn't think he'd necessarily mind, but it would be nice if someone had, like, bothered to tell him. He hasn't really dated anyone since El, not outside of a few awkward dates with people he met at class, and Will has pretty much done the same, which has been a good thing because Mike might have actually died if Will got a boyfriend that wasn't him at any point in the past two years, and- it makes sense, he supposes, that Holly would think that they were- are- together. It does. He just wishes it didn't send his brain into overdrive.

Holly nods, answering his question. "I was on the phone with her the other day and she told me to say hi to you and your little boyfriend, which I'm pretty sure she was joking about but I thought it might be true anyway."

Mike fumes quietly, making a mental reminder to call his older sister up and have a long talk about boundaries and how jokes are not always harmless. "Well, Nancy doesn't know what she's talking about," he says, but his voice cracks a little bit and he can tell Holly notices.

"So you're not dating," she states, not sounding like she believes him even a little bit.

"No," Mike huffs, folding his arms and slumping back in his chair. The acknowledgement stings a little, actually - he doesn't necessarily love being reminded of how couple-y he and Will are sometimes, but what's even worse is the realization that they aren't one.

Holly glances up at him, a forkful of spaghetti halfway to her mouth. "Well, why not?"

Mike blinks. "What- what do you mean, 'why not'?"

"I mean," she says slowly, like he's the one being unreasonable, "Why aren't you dating?"

"What kind of question is that?" Mike splutters. He suddenly is not hungry at all anymore, he decides, and pushes his plate away.

"I don't know." Holly sounds a bit frustrated now, which is absurd because she's the one asking strange, overly direct, hard-to-answer questions that are threatening to give Mike a heart attack. "Is there a reason you're not together?"

"I- I don't know, Holly, we're friends. Is there a reason you and your friend Amy aren't together?"

"Sure there is," Holly says primly, and she sounds so sure in her logic, almost Nancy-like, that Mike wants to scream. "I don't like girls like that."

Well, he's certainly not going to think too hard about what she's implying there. Mike tries again. "Okay, well, is there a reason you and, like, Cody from art class aren't together?" Frankly, he's pretty impressed with himself for remembering some of the characters of Holly's labyrinthine social life.

She wrinkles her nose, unimpressed. "Yeah, because I don't like him that way. Is that it? Do you not like Will like that?"

Mike swallows. "Uh. Well."

Despite popular belief, Mike Wheeler does not enjoy lying. He's been forced to, over the course of his life, whether it be about supernatural monsters or relationships or whatever, but every time he does it his gut twists painfully. It's why, seven years ago, he'd put off telling El he loved her for so long - he hadn't wanted to lie, and by then he knew damn well that it would, in fact, be a lie. He'd only done it in the end because he was afraid he'd had no other choice. And this is not the first time he's been asked this question - the him-and-Will question, that is. Any date he's ever brought back to the apartment or allowed to meet Will has questioned him later about it, demanding to know if he thought there was something there, and he's never been able to come up with a decent excuse, because the truth is he does sometimes think there is something there. He knows how he feels about Will, and sometimes he thinks Will might even feel the same, and he's never been able to bring himself to lie about that. It feels like a betrayal of Will, somehow, to say no, of course I don't have feelings for him. It's cost him at least three relationships that might have been something approaching good in the past two years, but he's never really minded. Not when he gets to continue living with Will, existing in the odd little bubble they've created, toeing the line between friendship and something more. 

He hesitates too long, and Holly grins triumphantly. "You do like him!"

"I didn't say that," he says evasively.

"You do," she insists, eyes glowing. "So what's the problem, then? Why aren't you dating?"

Again, Mike draws a blank. His first thought is to protest that he doesn't like me that way, but again, he's not really sure. It feels wrong to say, like he's ruling out the possibility entirely. It feels like closing the door on Will, to assume that he doesn't feel the same, not when there have been so many moments in the past few years where Mike could have sworn he did. "It's complicated," he says weakly, and Holly looks about as enthused with that answer as he expected her to.

"It doesn't sound that complicated," she says evenly, in that little-sister goading way she's mastered so well. How she pulls it off, considering she's two years out of practice with the whole younger sibling thing, outside of holidays and mandatory visits home, Mike has no idea. "You like him. He likes boys, right? And you're a boy, so it so much of a leap to think he'd like you too?"

"We're friends," Mike repeats, which is the truest thing he can think of right now.

"Right, which is all the more reason to think he'd like you," Holly insists, adamant. "He's put up you for like fifteen years now, surely that means you're doing something right."

"Sixteen," Mike corrects in a mumble, stabbing half-heartedly at his salad. "Sixteen years."

"Exactly! That's a long time to be friends with someone."

"That's my point," Mike says, even though he didn't know he really had a point to speak of until this moment. "We've been friends forever, best friends. I can't just, like, switch it up on him without warning."

"Okay, first off, half the population of Hawkins already thinks you're dating," Holly points out, which, okay, great to have that confirmation. He'd thought he was a little more subtle than that. "So I don't know that friends is necessarily the right term. And second, unless you give me a legitimate reason why you and Will shouldn't be together within the next ten seconds, I'm going to have to assume it's just because you're afraid of change."

Mike scowls. "Hey! I am not!"

She rolls her eyes. "Remember when Nancy stopped straightening her hair? You wouldn't look her in the eyes for a month."

"How do you remember that? You were four!"

"I don't remember, but she was complaining to me about it the other day. We like to shit talk you over the phone sometimes."

"Is that also when you discuss my love life?"

"Yes. She says you're oblivious."

Mike growls in frustration, salad forgotten on the table as he glares daggers at his sister. "Maybe you should both mind your own business."

"Right, because that's historically something that Wheeler children are capable of."

Mike rolls his eyes. "Mom and Dad seem to have an easy enough time with it."

"Mom and Dad are definitely not what the blueprint for functioning human beings should be."

She has a point. "Whatever," Mike grunts, retrieving his fork from where he's cast it down in agitation. "Just- Will is not my boyfriend, so. That's all I have to say about that."

Holly raises an eyebrow. "Sure, Mike. That's all you have to say."

By the time they get back to the apartment, it's around eight-thirty, and Mike has not once stopped thinking about the Will debacle. Holly eventually dropped the matter, focusing instead on eating her spaghetti and kicking Mike's shins under the table, complaining about the divorce and about school and her friend Molly or Mindy or something who is just so annoying, Mike, really, more annoying than you, even, but her words echo in Mike's ears all the same.

Well, why not? she'd asked, like it was nothing. Like it was a normal question to ask before ruling out anything - why wouldn't you take that class or go to that restaurant or buy that thing. And she has a decent point, is the thing - what is stopping him from dating Will? Sure, their relationship is complicated, and sure, they live together and any fallout would inevitably be more awkward because of that, and sure, he doesn't want to lose Will, but- the thing is, he doesn't think he would. He and Will have been through hell and back together, and Will's already forgiven Mike for the stupid stuff he does a million times over, so surely if something went wrong they'd sort it out in the end. And... what if nothing did go wrong? What if Mike asked him out, and Will said yes?

That would be- good, Mike thinks. Really good. Better than this hazy flirty limbo they've been in for the past few years, since Lenora really. Since Will handed him a piece of his heart and slapped someone else's name on it, and Mike never bothered to confront him about it. 

I'm gonna have to assume it's because you're afraid of change, Holly had said. Maybe he is.

"She just, like, never stops talking," Holly is saying now as Mike holds open the apartment door for her. She's referring to Melissa or Molly or whoever it is, presumably, and Mike has to bite his tongue so as not to point out the irony of her statement.

"Can't imagine that," he mutters instead, kicking off his shoes. 

He walks through the kitchen and into the living room, Holly trailing after him and still chattering on about Mandy or Maggie or Mina - Mike knows it started with an M, at least - and flops down onto the couch. Holly perches on the arm, not even pausing for breath as she continues to rant.

Down the hall, there's the sound of a door opening, and Will emerges from his bedroom, charcoal smeared across his palms and streaked over his jaw. Mike's heart immediately jumps into his chest - why aren't you dating? - and he sits up a little straighter, face automatically breaking into a smile.

"Hey," he says, sounding far, far too breathless, and Will smiles steadily at him as he wanders over to the sink to wash his hands.

"Hey, guys. How was dinner?"

"Good," Mike replies instantly, and in his peripheral he can see Holly rolling her eyes at him. He's probably being obvious, right now, acting the exact way that got him into this situation in the first place, but he can't be bothered right now, honestly. "We even ate vegetables."

"You ate vegetables," Holly corrects. Mike kicks her leg.

Will turns back from the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel and grinning. "Impressive," he says lightly. He still has charcoal on his face. Mike wants to drag a finger over it.

"Did you eat?" Mike asks as Will walks back into the room. Will gets wrapped up in his art, sometimes, and forgets to do things like stretch or eat food or pay attention to Mike, all of which are equally important things that must be done at least a few times a day. Mike has long been in the habit of reminding him - have you eaten or have you left the apartment today or Will, pay attention to me, I'm bored, and Will always answers in that steadfast way of his - yes, I've eaten or no, but neither have you or give me fifteen minutes and then we can go get coffee or something, promise. 

"I had a bagel," Will answers, flopping down onto the couch beside Mike and draping his legs over Mike's lap, reaching up to squeeze Holly's arm. 

"For dinner?"

"No, on my lunch break."

Mike narrows his eyes. "That was six hours ago."

"Was it?" Will asks absently, trailing a finger over Mike's knee, and Mike's stomach does a cartwheel. Will is teasing him, mostly, like he always does. It's evident in the upward tilt of his eyebrows as he speaks, the teasing note in his voice, like he's making fun of Mike, a little bit, for caring. Which- maybe he should be.

Mike scowls at him anyway. "You should eat something."

"We brought home leftovers!" Holly announces enthusiastically, and Will laughs as she hops off of the couch and tugs at his sleeve, dragging him back into the kitchen. Mike follows, heart doing all kinds of crazy palpitations as he watches Will easily lift Holly up onto the counter, tapping her nose with a fingertip as he reaches for the to-go carton of spaghetti and hands her a glass of water.

Will is just so good, Mike thinks, for the millionth time. So steadfast and sweet and never thrown by anything, and Mike still can't think, in this moment, of any reason why he should not be dating this beautiful boy.

Will takes a bite of cold spaghetti, glancing over at him with a raised eyebrow. "You okay?" he says, red sauce smeared across his mouth. Mike wants to kiss it away.

Holly watches his expression, looking positively exhausted by this whole thing. "Will," she says, as Will sets down his container and wipes his lips with a paper towel. "Why aren't you and Mike dating?"

One of them - Mike's not sure if it's him or Will - makes some sort of choked noise, and Will presses his napkin against his mouth, eyes wide. 

"What?" he asks, voice raspy and cheeks rapidly turning scarlet. He looks how Mike feels.

Holly shrugs, kicking her legs against the cabinets. Mike wants to, like, slam his hand over her mouth and make her stop talking forever, or maybe grab her wrist and drag her straight back to Indiana, or something - but he can't do any of those things, because his brain has conveniently stopped working, and his body remains frozen where he's leaning against the counter. "I was just wondering if there was a reason," Holly continues, as Mike's attempts to laser-beam her into oblivion with his mind continue to fail, "because it seems like you should be."

At least she didn't say anything about their conversation in the restaurant, Mike thinks. Small miracles.

Will, to his credit, seems to have recovered quickly, and he takes a breath as he balls up his napkin and tosses it in the trash can. "I don't know, Holly," he says evenly, pointedly not looking in Mike's direction. "I guess I'd say it's because Mike's never asked."

Mike blinks. "Hang on," he says, and oh, look, he's found his voice again. How come his mouth only ever works against him? "Why is it my fault?"

Now Will does turn to look at him, that stupid teasing smirk on his face. "Well," he says, meeting Mike's eyes with terrifying intensity, "I came out first. Seems like it's your turn."

"Bullshit," Mike says, cheeks flaming. "That is so arbitrary."

Will laughs lightly, picking his takeout container back up and idly stabbing at it with his fork. "Well, you're also more unpredictable. And historically have shown more mixed signals, so, I don't know. Figure it out."

He's so casual about it, Mike thinks, in a panicked sort of haze. Like they're talking about the weather, or tomorrow's plans or something. Like they are not talking about the concept of them, dating, like that's not a thrilling and terrifying idea that's plagued Mike for years on end. Like Mike's baby sister is not still sitting right there, giggling like a maniac.

There's a million things Mike could say in this moment - mixed signals, really? Like Will hasn't lied to him before, seven years ago in a week-soaked van as the world threatened to end. Like he didn't grip Mike's shoulder in a pizza dough freezer and tell him to keep speaking, to keep spilling out lies that did more harm than good. 

But then again, that was a long time ago. Maybe Mike is just running out of excuses.

Will stares at him for a long moment, eyebrow raised teasingly, before shrugging and brushing past him, picking at his food with the tip of his fork. "Is that a good enough answer, Holly?" he asks lightly as he disappears down the hall.

"It's a great answer!" she hollers, and Mike can hear Will's quiet laughter as his bedroom door clicks back shut.

Mike whips around, glaring daggers at his sister. "What. The. Fuck."

"Language, Michael," she chides idly, drawing one knee up to her chest and tapping her fingertips against it. She's still wearing her shoes, and Mike would yell at her for getting dirt on the countertop if he didn't constantly do the exact same thing.

"You have no idea what you just did," he seethes. "I know you have more social awareness than that, Holly, why would you-" he cuts himself off, too frustrated to form an adequate sentence, English major be damned.

"Well," Holly says lightly, taking a sip out of her water glass and peering gleefully at him over the rim, "At least you have your answer."

Mercifully, Mike is able to persuade Holly into a nine o'clock bedtime, even if he does have to give up his bed in order to do so.

"You can either share with me or sleep on the couch," Holly says resolutely, folding her pajama-clad arms, and it's kind of ridiculous to be arguing with a thirteen-year-old in pink unicorn pajamas and Pippy Longstocking-style braids, but Mike's life is kind of ridiculous on all counts right now anyway.

Figure it out, Will's voice echoes in his brain, and Mike is sort of tempted to go bash his bedroom door down and demand a clearer answer.

"I'm not going to be banished to the couch," Holly says for the third time, and Mike rolls his eyes.

"I should banish you to the couch," he says as he roots around in his closet for his own pajamas. "You're the worst little meddler, I swear to God."

"Nancy said it was my job to meddle," Holly says primly, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "Because she's too busy."

"You know Nancy's not always right, don't you?" Mike asks, twisting around to face her with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt twisted in his hands.

Holly shrugs. "Sure. But, like, ninety percent of the time she is."

Mike groans. "Whatever, fine. You can have the bed, I'll sleep on the couch. Asshole," he adds under his breath as he heads for the bathroom to change.

"I heard that!"

Mike rolls his eyes as he walks away down the hall, pausing just outside Will's bedroom door. He contemplates knocking, but then he thinks of that stupid little smirk on Will's face and Mike never asked, and decides to forget it. This is not his fault. Maybe Will should be the one to figure it out, Mike thinks pettily. 

He walks past the door.

By the time he's finished changing, Holly's already asleep, curled up in his bed with her face pressed into the pillow and chest rising and falling gently. Mike softens a little at the sight - he forgets, sometimes, that his sister is still just a kid. A meddling, calculated asshole of a kid, but still. She looks a lot nicer when she's asleep. 

He grabs his book from his nightstand and closes the door, not wanting to wake her. Instead, he curls up on the couch and flicks the light on, attempting to read quietly. This book was assigned by his English professor a few weeks ago, and Mike hasn't quite managed to start it yet, which- is not completely his fault, okay? The first time had been the same day it had been assigned - he'd come home with the intent to be a good, organized student for once, but he'd only gotten three pages in before Will had burst into the apartment, loudly complaining about one of his own professors, and Mike had forgotten all about it. The time after that, they'd been laying in the grass in the park, Will working on an art project for class and Mike flipping idly through the book, but then Will had decided that they should feed the ducks in the little pond a few yards away, and Mike had willingly flipped the book closed and followed him to the waters' edge. 

Now, his distraction is also Will-related, but in a significantly less pleasant manner. 

Because - here's the thing. The way Mike sees it, and evidently how literally everyone else sees it, it's a known fact that he likes Will. It's intrinsic to who he is - Mike Wheeler. Likes; the color blue, DnD, Will Byers. Dislikes; peas, Demogorgons, and- well, his sisters, at the moment. And maybe he's not, like, thrilled that everyone else seems to know this about him, but he always sort of figured that Will would. And yeah, fine, he's maybe exhibited a few mixed signals toward Will over the course of their friendship, but that was years ago - he was fourteen! And the summer before Starcourt, the disastrous mess that it had been, had all been an attempt at normalcy - surely Will was smart enough to realize that. Mike had just been following the steps he'd been shown by society, following the lead of Lucas Sinclair, which was clearly not something that should ever be done ever. Mike sometimes contemplates calling Lucas up and berating him for that - hey, man, remember when we were thirteen and obsessed with our girlfriends? Why didn't you tell me what a colossally stupid thing that was before it was too late? Why wouldn't you, like, mention to me that I was actually in love with Will the whole time, if apparently everyone can see it, Lucas, huh? Why didn't you clue me in?

Idiot. He's an idiot- him and Lucas both, and maybe Will too while he's at it.  

Mike flips his book shut and turns off the lamp. He's not really reading, anyway, and if he's going to sit here and feel sorry for himself he might as well give the illusion of resting while he's doing it. He settles into the worn cushions, wishing he and Will had had the sense, in their freshman year, to spring for a slightly bigger and slightly more comfortable sofa. They'd found this one on the side of the road a few blocks down, and after they'd thoroughly checked it for bedbugs or fleas or any sort of biting crawly thing, Will had deemed it good enough for their apartment.

"And it's green," he'd proclaimed, proud of himself as they shoved it the final few paces into the apartment, Mike huffing and puffing from the awkward weight of it up the stairs and Will barely breaking a sweat. "That's, like. Cool."

"It's kind of vomit colored," Mike had commented in between painful puffs of air. 

"But in a fun way!"

Mike squeezes his eyes shut, wriggling further into the threadbare blanket they keep folded by the coffee table. In hindsight, he probably could have grabbed another blanket from his bedroom, but now Holly's asleep and he's deep in his thought spiral so better to just suffer through, he thinks. 

Figure it out.

God.

Mike tosses and turns, drifting in and out of a fitful sleep for the next few hours with the stupid too-short blanket wrapped around him and the pillows shoved vaguely uncomfortably under his head. His feet hang off one end of the couch, and his arm dangles down to brush against the carpet, and it's- not great, all things considered. Even if the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the mental sort.

Sometime around one, the kitchen light flicks on, and Mike blinks against the harsh light, cursing the open floor plan.

He shifts, tilting so that he can peer over the arm of the couch and into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Holly?"

There's a clatter from somewhere in the kitchen, and a voice mutters a soft "Jesus H. Christ." 

Fuck. Not Holly.

Will emerges from the other side of the kitchen island, glass of water in hand. "Hey, you scared me."

"Sorry. Holly kicked me out of my own room."

Will smirks. "Figures."

"Yeah."

Mike folds his arms beneath his chin and watches as Will leans against the counter, sipping at his water and drumming his fingers against the surface.

Will glances away, cheeks looking almost flushed in the dim light. "How's the couch treating you?" he asks softly, eyes coming to rest somewhere slightly off to one side of Mike. He wonders if he's thinking the same thing Mike is:

Why aren't you dating?

He's going to fucking kill his sister.

"Badly," Mike grunts, wriggling up into a somewhat sitting position and letting the blanket pool around his waist. "I think we should have maybe invested in a couch that I could actually, like, fit on."

Will smirks. "In fairness, couches are generally more designed for the sitting aspect of things."

"Bullshit. Couches have been used as refuge for scorned older brothers since the dawn of time."

Will laughs lightly, meeting his eyes again. "I sort of thought Holly would be the scorned one."

Oh. Okay. They're talking about this, then. Fine. Cool. He can- he can be mature, or whatever. "Yeah," Mike mutters, and now he's the one to glance away. "You'd think. It's kind of demeaning to argue pettily with a thirteen-year-old at the ripe age of twenty-two, though."

"Twenty-one," Will corrects wryly. "You always round up."

"To make a point."

Will laughs quietly, and Mike dares to glance over at him again. "Hey, but, um- I'm sorry if she made you uncomfortable. Earlier. Wheeler kids tend to have issues with... boundaries."

Will raises an eyebrow, taking another small sip of water. "Believe me, Mike, I'm aware of that."

"Yeah, fair," he allows, huffing out a breath that could be a laugh, if his chest didn't feel like it was collapsing in on itself.

Ask him, his brain commands. Ask if he was joking before, dear God, just ask him.

Mike is a coward, so he does not ask him. Instead, he manages to choke out; "I'm still sorry."

"It's fine," Will says evenly, draining the rest of his water and disappearing momentarily to place his glass in the sink. "I don't mind."

Emboldened by Will's sudden absence, Mike sits up a little straighter. "I still resent the implication that I'd have to be the one to ask!" he calls after Will's turned back, and Will's laughter echoes through the quiet of their apartment. Dimly, Mike hopes Holly doesn't wake up and overhear them - he's had quite enough embarrassment for one night, thanks.

"I think you'd have a heart attack if I did," Will says, reemerging and leaning against the wall a few feet from Mike, eyebrow cocked teasingly. Which- yeah, he has a point, actually, because Mike's heart is already doing cartwheels just at the implication. He wonders, again, if Will's messing with him, speaking in hypotheticals just for fun.

It doesn't feel that way.

"Maybe," Mike admits, voice gentler than he fully intends it to be, and there's a little zip of electricity in the air when he says it.

Will's other eyebrow rises to join the first one, and his expression shifts a little, into something more serious. His eyes soften, and for a second Mike thinks Will might, like - reach out and brush a hand along Mike's face, or something. 

It's gone as quickly as it starts, though, and Will clears his throat, shifting his weight and quickly plastering the teasing smile back onto his face. "That's what I thought," he says, sounding pleased with himself and maybe a little embarrassed, too. Mike wonders if that's something that he should do more often - embarrass Will Byers. Will does it to him often enough, anyway. 

"Don't get too cocky, Byers," he says, squirming back down into his makeshift bed and yanking the covers back over himself. "We both know I can make you blush when I want to."

It's a testament to his sleep deprivation, Mike thinks, that he's capable of saying such things without spontaneously combusting, and evidently Will agrees, because he releases a startled little laugh, cheeks flushing pink. He looks pretty. Mike wants to kiss him. He wonders if Will would let him, if he tried.

"Enjoy the couch, Mike," Will says instead of giving an actual response, which is probably fair. He raps his knuckles once against the wall, reaching out the other hand to tap a fingertip lightly against Mike's nose. "If you decide you can't handle it, you could always come share the bed with me."

He leaves then, which is a good thing, because Mike's face is rapidly turning scarlet.

Like the good, kind big brother he is, Mike has gotten the weekend off of work, so he spends Saturday in the city with Holly, letting her drag him into every store within a ten-block radius. They spend at least three hours browsing clothing stores, dumb little souvenir gift shops, literally every kind of store Mike could possibly conceive of. He's a little embarrassed, actually, that he's never been in some of these places, because he's lived here for over two years now and they're not even that far from the apartment, but he quickly decides that's not a rational line of thinking when Holly drags him into a taxidermy shop, which- doesn't even make sense. He drags her out immediately, because the store owner is tall and grey-haired and mean looking, and Mike is kind of afraid that one or both of them - the apparently very queer-looking college kid and his vulnerable thirteen-year-old sister - will get, like, hatecrimed or something. Holly makes him go to a department store next, which he's not a big fan of either, but at least the employees there are just twenty-something girls that won't do anything more than regard him with mild distaste as he stands and watches Holly shop.

"If I'd known you wanted to go shopping, I would have made Will take you instead," he grumbles as she tears through a clothing rack at lightning speed. He wonders how it's possible for her to make decisions so quickly - she's rapidly going from one clothing item to the next, muttering no's under her breath each time she passes something along, with the occasional yes as she pulls something off the rack. He's already got three bags of Holly's purchases - his purchases, technically, that his mother will definitely be reimbursing him for - hanging from his arms, because clearly his sister sees him as nothing better than a clothing hanger. 

"He probably would have done it," Holly replies evenly, not looking up from where she's fiddling with the sleeve of a pink sweater. "He's a lot nicer than you are."

This is true, Mike thinks, but then she adds, "He's boyfriend material," and he remembers that he hates her, actually. He glares daggers at the side of her head, and she must notice because she lifts her head to grin at him. "For you," she clarifies. "Not for me."

"Yeah, I know, that wasn't the part I took issue with," he grumbles, hoisting her shopping bags higher up his arm. The thin straps are digging into his arms painfully, because apparently Holly sees no issue with buying her weight in clothing and dumb souvenir shop items. 

"So you agree," Holly says lightly as she turn back to the rack, with an air of finality that Mike does not agree with. "You think he's boyfriend material."

Mike opens his mouth to say no, but changes course at the last second, because protesting like that has, so far, gotten him exactly nowhere with this. Besides, Holly has a point - Will is boyfriend material, objectively speaking, because he is nice and sweet and caring and, yeah, okay, terribly good-looking, while Mike is admitting things. To deny Will's natural dateability would not only be cruel but would also just be patently untrue. "I do," he admits, and even though Holly's back is to him he can just sense her shit-eating grin. "But not for me."

It does send a thrill through his stomach, though - the thought of Will being his boyfriend. He lets himself imagine it, just for a second- being Will Byers' boyfriend. Waking up beside him in the mornings, going on coffee dates and lunch dates and just, like- dates in general sound good to Mike. Driving to Will's college campus to see him after class, stopping by the sandwich shop where Will works part-time just to see him. Kissing him, maybe, against the counter in their apartment, or in his car before they drive off somewhere, or just- yeah. Kissing Will anywhere, really, just sounds enjoyable.

It sounds nice, when he allows himself to think about it, to consider it in a way he's never let himself do before. It also, minus the kissing and the waking up next to each other and all that, sounds kind of exactly like the things he and Will already do all the time. He's starting to understand the whole Holly-assuming-they're-together thing, a little bit, and maybe the whole why not thing too.

"Again," Holly says, sounding vaguely irritated as she slides a t-shirt violently to the no side of the rack, which is a good thing because the material is made of some meshy, bright pink fabric that's kind of making Mike's eyes hurt. "Why not?"

"He's too good for me," Mike answers honestly, banishing the visions of him and Will that are swimming through his vision right now, and Holly turns to give him an appraising sort of look, still clutching her yes items in one hand.

"Well, that's a fair assessment," she says, like the cruel thirteen-year-old she is, and he rolls his eyes. "Do you like this dress?" she asks, and they let it go.

After three hours, Holly mercifully decides she's shopped out, and Mike takes her to a diner that he and Will go to sometimes. He hasn't seen Will all day, he realizes as he slides into their usual sticky booth. Holly had woken up at the ungodly hour of seven-thirty a.m. and had immediately demanded that they "go do something," so Mike had scrawled out a good-morning note for Will (a completely normal, platonic thing to do that he normally wouldn't have thought twice about, but Holly's exasperated glare had said otherwise) and allowed his menace of a sister to drag him out of the apartment.

He misses him. Like a ridiculous, lovesick idiot, he misses him.

Once again, Holly, orders enough food to feed a village, and Mike makes a mental reminder to have a discussion with his mother about teaching her child the importance of money and how people like Mike do not have an unlimited supply of it. He sets Holly's bags of clothes and other useless items on the floor at first, but she squawks indignantly at him, so he moves them to the place on the bench beside him, scowling all the while and taking care to make sure all the receipts are still there. He's serious about reimbursement - Holly will be flying home with another two suitcases worth of belongings and a dollar total written on her arm - this child cost x amount of dollars per day, pay up please.

Holly is silent as she eats her burger, staring at Mike like she's trying to figure something out. He shifts uncomfortably under her gaze, picking at his fries. Holly has never really interacted with El, but the way she's looking at him right now is a little too reminiscent of her - knowing and cold and like maybe she's considering telekinetically throwing things at him with her mind, something that El has done on multiple occasions, and still maybe not as often as she should. 

He cracks. "What?"

Holly pops a french fry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a full minute before swallowing and answering, "Okay, if you repeat this to anyone I'll kill you," which does not bode well for Mike. She continues; "Look, don't let this go to your head or whatever, but- you're actually kind of a cool person."

Mike blinks. He doesn't know what he'd been expecting his sister to say, but it certainly wasn't that. "I- huh?" he says intelligently, hand pausing with a french fry halfway to his mouth.

Holly looks vaguely pained at the concept of being nice to him, but she pushes through anyway. "I just mean- you said, before, that Will's too good for you, and I don't know if that's true."

Of course it's about Will. Mike rolls his eyes. "Hols, you have no idea what you're talking about, okay? My relationship with Will is very-"

"Complicated, I know, you said," she interrupts, and again he is upsettingly reminded of his ex-girlfriend. "I get it. But- and again, if you tell anyone I said this I will gaslight you and everyone else to high heaven, but- you're, like. You're good, Mike."

"What's that mean?" Mike demands, and she lets her head fall back against the side of the booth, groaning.

"I don't know how to say it," she whines, and okay, now she's mostly just reminding him of himself, and that's even worse. "Just- I know I make fun of you, but you're a decent big brother a lot of the time and you help Will unload groceries even though you know he'd be fine to do it all himself, or maybe because you know he'd do it all himself, and you took two days off work to hang out with me just because Mom is stressed, and- I don't know, Mike. I don't think you see yourself how everyone else does, sometimes."

Mike stares at her, mouth hanging slightly open and french fry still dangling pathetically from his fingertips. "You- you really think?" he asks, tears burning the backs of his eyes, which is maybe stupid considering she's his baby sister who doesn't know anything about anything and he shouldn't feel this validated by a somewhat fumbling speech that only cites, like, a few bare-minimum acts of relative kindness, but- listen. Mike isn't particularly used to praise like this from his family members, okay? Sue him if it's kind of nice to hear.

For maybe the first time this trip, Holly gives him a genuine smile. "I do think," she says, even as she kicks lightly at his leg under the table. "It's not just me, either. All your stupid dumb friends worship you, even if they don't show it. And, you know, Will's obviously crazy about you."

Mike chokes on air, cheeks immediately flushing red. "You don't know that."

"Mike, oh my God," Holly groans, leaning over to bang her forehead against the table in a classic Wheeler-drama sort of way. "I know I just said all those nice things, and I stand by them, but you're also sort of an idiot sometimes."

"Believe me, I know," he grumbles, dipping a fry into his ketchup and swirling it around. 

"He literally said that all you had to do was ask!" Holly insists, lifting her head up from the table to glare at him in exasperation.

"He was joking," Mike counters. "Probably."

"Probably," Holly repeats, not looking like she believes him even a little. Honestly, Mike's not entirely sure she should - believe him, that is. Who is he to discern the words of Will Byers, anyway? "Right."

"You're thirteen," Mike says stubbornly. "How do you know anything about relationships? And before you interrupt me," he adds, as Holly's mouth opens to do just that, "why are you so interested in mine?"

Holly presses her lips into a thin little line, all Nancy-like as she returns to poking at her food. "I don't know," she mumbles, shifting in her seat and suddenly looking very young. "I guess, like. I want to believe that- that there are good relationships out there. That- not everything ever ends in..."

Divorce. Mike should have known. He's known since he was ten years old that his parents were far from a happy couple, but he still remembers the sharp sting in his throat the day his mother called to tell him it was finally over. He'd cleared his throat, sliding to the kitchen floor and stretching the phone cord taut. 

Oh, he'd said faintly. Um. Okay. I- yeah, okay.

I'm sorry, his mother had said, like he cared, which maybe he did, a little. I wanted to tell you in person but-

It's fine, he'd interrupted, because it was, really. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it, and he was eager to call Nancy up and make good on their bet, but- well, maybe Holly had a point, yesterday, when she said he's afraid of change. 

He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around her, but the way she's fidgeting right now tells him that she doesn't want to talk about it.

Mike clears his throat. "Well," he says gently, knocking his shoe against Holly's under the table, "I can't promise that me and Will are going to happen. But Nancy and Jonathan are still going strong, right?"

"Yeah," Holly agrees softly, bobbing her head and glancing up at him. "Yeah. But I don't like Jonathan as much as I like Will, so."

Mike huffs a laugh. "Brutal."

"There's nothing wrong with him! I'm just saying."

There's a beat, and Holly takes another bite of her burger. 

"You really think he's crazy about me?" Mike asks.

Holly throws a french fry at him. "Don't push your luck. My niceness has it's limits."

Mike rolls his eyes and reaches for his own burger, taking a bite. Holly smirks and returns to her own food as well, but he doesn't miss it when she mutters "he totally is, though" before taking a bite.

They wind up back at the apartment after getting lunch at the diner, because Holly has proclaimed herself exhausted from all the decision-making - deciding how best to spend Mike's money, that is. Upon entering the apartment, Holly immediately flops down onto the couch, where- oh, great - Will is already sprawled out, sketching. Holly eagerly slings an arm around his shoulders, and Will glances up, smiling at her.

"Will!" she cheers, and he leans over to tap her nose. "We bought stuff."

"You bought stuff," Mike grunts, dropping her shopping bags on the floor by the side of the couch. "With my money."

"Right, so, we bought stuff," Holly says, in what Mike is quickly learning is her logic tone. Flawed logic, but whatever. "It's a trade off."

Mike sighs, leaning over to place their takeout container from the diner on the coffee table. "Hi," he says to Will, who's watching him with an entirely amused expression. 

"Hi," Will echoes, lifting a socked foot to nudge Mike's leg. "Good day?"

"For me? Sure," Mike says, even though it objectively wasn't. He, for some reason, doesn't want to hurt Holly's feelings. If she has any, that is. "For my wallet? Not so much."

"I'll help you convince your mom to pay you back," Will says idly, returning to his sketch. His notebook is turned carefully away from Mike, the way he always does when he's keeping a piece a secret. It's a surprise, he'll say if Mike asks, and Will Byers only ever lies sparingly and for good reason, so Mike usually drops the matter. Most of the time, within a couple weeks Will will present Mike with a finished piece, grinning widely as he holds it up to the light. And on the rare occasion he doesn't show him, well, Mike assumes he has his reasons. He lets it go.

"She'll probably listen to you, actually," Mike says, nudging Holly aside so he can perch on the arm of the couch. "She likes you better than me."

"Most people do," Will says absently, and Holly cackles gleefully.

"Ouch," Mike mutters, and Will glances up to smirk at him.

"Chill," he tells him. "I like you just fine."

He goes back to his sketching, and Holly gives Mike a look like, See? 

He scowls at her and flicks on the television, doing his level best to let the sounds of some arbitrary sitcom drown out the noise in his brain.

They all eat dinner together that night, which is, objectively, torture. Holly still has more leftovers than anyone ever should need, so Will heats them up in their microwave of questionable integrity, and they all sit around the kitchen island picking at spaghetti and leftover diner food. Holly prattles on about their shopping day, mercifully leaving out their several Will-related conversations, and Will listens intently, like the saint he is. He seems genuinely interested by everything Holly has to say - something that Mike can certainly not relate to, but it's endearing, how hard Will tries to make Holly feel important. Not that she needs a confidence boost or anything but- it's just nice. Will is nice. Mike wants to kiss him.

Holly kicks his leg, and Mike shakes himself out of his stupid little reverie, clearing his throat and pointedly returning to his spaghetti. 

"You okay, Mike?" Will asks, tilting his head to one side and giving him a teasing little grin, almost like he knows what Mike's thinking, and Mike lifts his head to glare at him.

"Fine," he says, because he thinks Will is being a little annoying about this, actually, with the Mike never asked and the mixed signals and everything, and, like- does he know? Does Will just enjoy torturing him? Or is he just being his usual genuine self and sending Mike into a panic in the process? "I'm fine."

"Mike is mad because I said nice things to him," Holly announces, which is definitely not the part he's mad about, but whatever. 

Will raises an eyebrow. "What sort of nice things?"

Holly grins. "I told him he's a good person."

Will scrunches up his nose. "Oh, that's all? That's kind of bare minimum as compliments go, Hols."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, what would you have said?"

"Holly," Mike hisses, kicking her shin from where he's sitting on one of the bar stools they have at the counter. "Would you stop, please?"

Will laughs lightly, leaning heavily against the granite and giving Mike a once-over, like he's trying to figure out how best to answer. "I would have said he's smart," he says, voice softening a little, and Mike's heart sort of stops beating for a second. "Smarter than he gives himself credit for. And he's also a lot nicer than he thinks he is, at least to the people he cares about, like. I don't know, he does nice things without even realizing how nice they are, and acts like it's no big deal because it's just part of who he is, the- the being nice. And he also- you also," he corrects, dropping the pretense of addressing Holly as Mike glances up at him through his lashes. "are a good leader, and you have this way of speaking that just sort of makes people believe you, which- could maybe be used unfairly, in some situations, but in general you just use that ability to reassure people. You're very- I don't know, Mike, you're just very bold, in everything that you do. It's comforting, I guess."

Will pauses for a beat, and he and Mike stare at each other. Will's face is dead serious, the teasing tone almost entirely gone, and his face is a little closer, maybe, than it had been before, and- and Mike kind of really, really wants to kiss him, maybe more than he ever has before.

He doesn't feel all that bold, right now, actually. He feels a little scared, actually - like he's on the verge of something very important but is only now realizing how far the drop is from the precipice he's hovering over. Will is so genuine, and probably really believes all the things he said, but Mike- Mike is a coward, at heart, and he doesn't know how everyone around him manages not to see that.

"Wow," Holly mutters, in less of a holy shit why is Will Byers so perfect way, which is what Mike is thinking, and more of a why are these people so lame way, which is also sort of fair. Either way, it breaks the tension, and Will's face immediately snaps back into the teasing expression that Mike is starting to think is actually just a front. Will breaks eye contact as he reaches over and steals a french fry from Holly's takeout container, and Mike hurriedly glances away as well, wishing his face didn't feel quite so hot.

"And, you know, while we're saying nice things," Will adds, voice light enough to sound teasing but cracking a little in a way that probably only Mike could ever notice, "you're also, you know. Kind of attractive."

"Kind of?" Mike squawks, even as his face, impossibly, heats up even more and Holly gives him a knowing look. "I'm sorry, I will have you know that multiple people have referred to me as smoking hot."

Will gives him an unimpressed look, biting into his french fry. "Which people?"

"I don't know, just- people," Mike says, convinced his head is going to, like, explode or something from the sheer rush of blood to his face. 

"Yeah. Totally," Will agrees flatly, and Holly cackles.

"Anyway," Holly says, swinging her legs and looking altogether too pleased with herself, "Minus that last part, that's basically all the same stuff I said, so."

"It is not," Mike protests, scowling at her. "You just said I'm a decent big brother, which felt kind of backhanded, by the way, and you said that I don't see myself the way everyone else does, which was also sort of questionable."

"Shut up, you were totally flattered," Holly grumbles, folding her arms and nudging her takeout container aside. "I'm full, by the way."

Mike rolls his eyes and takes the empty container, walking over to the kitchen trash to throw it out. He's painfully aware of Will's gaze on him, something heavy and questioning, but by the time he turns back around Will has already carefully averted his eyes and is nodding along in faint amusement as Holly continues to slander Mike's good name with words like he was almost crying and he's so easily flustered.

He suppresses a sigh and sits back down on his stool, groaning good-naturedly along with the conversation.

Will turns to throw away his own takeout container, and Holly waggles her eyebrows at Mike. Boyfriend material, she mouths, way too gleeful.

Mike scowls.

The couch is not any less comfortable on the second night.  

Mike retires to it as soon as Holly goes to bed, not bothering with the pretense of reading this time. Will has long since retired to his room, and Mike can hear the soft sounds of music spilling from under the door. Will has it turned down as low as possible, but Mike can still hear it. Will probably thinks Mike finds his music obsession irritating, or at least inconvenient, because he rarely plays it at full volume when Mike is home, but Mike actually enjoys it. It's comforting, knowing that Will is just down the hall, off in his own little world working on his art but only a few short steps away should Mike want to talk to him. Which- he always wants to talk to Will, but. Whatever.

He knows, logically, that Will cares about him. Likes him, even, on the days Mike lets himself hope. But it's one thing to know and another to hear it uttered in such specific detail, said in that low, serious voice he uses when he really means something. For a second, he'd forgotten where he was, who he was - he'd forgotten that Holly was still there, looking at them both like they were complete idiots, which maybe they are. It's just hard to focus, sometimes, when Will Byers looks at him like that.

Mike shifts, and the arm of the couch digs uncomfortably into his neck. His feet are scrunched up beneath him in a pathetic attempt to keep himself confined to the couch, but his knees are poking out from under the stupidly thin blanket.

Mike sits up. "Fuck it," he mutters. If Will cares about him so much, he won't mind sharing a bed. It had been his idea, anyway. And it's not like they haven't before - Will sometimes creeps into Mike's room during the colder months, when the nightmares come back and the nightlight in his room isn't enough to keep them at bay, and Mike holds him tightly until he cries himself to sleep. And sometimes, on bad days when Mike feels lonely and sad and empty, he'll crawl into Will's bed and shove his face into Will's shoulder, and Will will card a gentle hand through his hair until his breathing evens out and he feels a little more whole. So really, this is far more normal than usual, even. 

Okay, so he definitely gets the are-you-and-Will-dating thing, when he thinks about it. But whatever. It's fine.

He knocks twice on Will's door, smiling when he hears the absent-minded "come in" from the other side. He inches it open and pokes his head inside, fighting the fluttering feeling in his chest when he catches sight of Will. He's already in bed, sketchbook in his lap and lamp turned on. His hair is damp and ruffled from showering, and his cheeks have a slight flush in them. He looks sweet. Kissable.

But that's not why Mike's here, he reminds himself. He's not going to be- distracted.

Will glances up, smirking. "Hey, Mike. Couch get too uncomfortable?"

"Shut the fuck up," Mike mutters, taking this as permission to slip the rest of the way into the room. He flops down on Will's bed, wriggling up onto the pillows and attempting to sneak a peek at what Will's drawing, but Will is well accustomed to his scheming by now and easily tilts the page out of view.

"It's a surprise," he says, even though Mike probably could have gathered that.

"A surprise for me?" he asks anyway. "Or in general?"

Will gives him an unreadable look, lips twitching into something that could either be a smile or a grimace. "If I told you," he says, dragging his pencil idly down the page. "It wouldn't be a surprise."

"Right, of course," Mike agrees, smiling a little as he tucks himself under the covers and leans against Will's hip. Will absently reaches out to drag a hand through Mike's hair, and Mike suppresses a shudder as Will's gentle fingers brush against his scalp. 

This is not nothing. If Holly walked in right now, she'd probably take this scene - Mike cuddled up against Will, Will's hand in his hair - as confirmation that Mike has, like, been lying this entire time and he and Will are actually dating, and maybe a few months ago Mike would have written the scene off as just the way he and Will are with each other, but he's starting to think that that- the way they are with each other, that is- is, you know. Not entirely platonic.

There's silence for a few beats, the only sound the scratch of Will's pencil against paper, oblivious to Mike's internal panic, and Mike's breathing, low and quiet. He lets his eyes drift closed, doing his best to let go of his Will-induced stress and instead just relishing the feel of Will's warm body pressed against his.

Eventually, Mike hears the rustle of paper as Will sets his pencil and sketchbook aside. The lamp is still on, glowing faintly against Mike's eyelids, and Mike can picture Will's face, probably looking down at Mike with his fingers poised halfway to the light switch. "I meant it, you know," he murmurs, hand stilling against the side of Mike's face, and his voice is barely above a whisper, like he's afraid to break the delicate balance of the evening.

Mike doesn't open his eyes. He's not sure if Will thinks he's asleep or not, but he doesn't want to risk losing the moment. Will shifts beside him, and Mike feels it as his lips brush, just lightly, over Mike's forehead. 

Okay, so Will definitely thinks he's asleep.

Cool. Awesome.

"Goodnight," Will whispers.

The light switches off, and Mike lets himself drift off to sleep in Will's warm embrace.

It's nearly noon when Mike finally stumbles out of Will's room, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed. Will and Holly are already in the kitchen, laughing about something as Holly sits on the counter, swinging her legs and munching on a bowl of cereal as Will does the dishes.

"Mike!" Holly cheers when she spots him, milk dribbling down her chin. She wipes it off with her sleeve.

Will twists around to face him, amused. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"Hi," Mike says faintly, cheeks flushing at the memory of Will's soft voice bidding him goodnight, at the lips brushing his forehead. He wonders if Will would have been so bold if he'd known Mike was awake. Probably not, but then, Will has been something approaching bold a lot more over the past couple days, so. Who knows, at this point.

"You slept in," Holly chides, not looking particularly upset about it. "We've been up for hours."

"My sincerest apologies," Mike grumbles. "It's not my fault you wake up way too early for any normal person. And that you woke Will up."

"I did not," Holly says indignantly. "He got up on purpose, to hang out with me, because he's way nicer than you are."

"Well," Mike admits, glancing over at Will where he's still leaned up against the sink, still in his pajamas and looking, objectively, very kissable. "That's not not true."

Will raises an eyebrow, but says nothing as he turns back to the sink. 

Holly gives Mike a knowing look. He does his best to ignore her.

Will leaves for work at one-thirty, and Mike and Holly decide to spend the day sitting around the apartment playing board games.

"You're sure you don't want to see more of the city?" Mike asks, watching helplessly as she absolutely kicks his ass at Sorry!

"What more could there possibly be?" she asks, easily swiping one of his pieces out of it's place and moving it neatly back to the starting position. "Sorry!" she says, not sounding like she means it even a little. He supposes rules are rules, though. 

"I don't know," Mike answers, scowling down at his upsetting position on the board as he draws a card. "All we did yesterday was, like, shop and eat. There's parks and museums and stuff too, you know."

"There are parks in Hawkins," Holly says dismissively. "And I hate museums. Plus, do you really want me to spend more of your money?"

This is fair. Mike lets it go.

It's nearing six o'clock when Holly declares herself the ultimate champion of all board games ever, which is sort of hard to argue with because she did beat him at, like, twelve different games in rapid succession, and goes to take a shower.

"Don't use up all the hot water!" Mike hollers as she disappears into the bathroom, carrying a pink bath towel and an ungodly amount of hair products.

"I won't!" she shouts back, even though they both know she absolutely will.

Mike sighs and wanders into the kitchen. Holly might be an insufferable tweenager with very poor sportsmanship, but it has been almost six consecutive hours without her mentioning the Will thing, so he's considering it a win.

Not that Mike hasn't been thinking about the Will thing, though, because he definitely has - it's almost certainly the reason why he'd lost so badly to Holly at every single game they own. He can't stop thinking about it- about the signals Will is almost definitely sending, about the serious look in his eyes when he told Mike how good he was yesterday, about- about his lips, pressed against Mike's forehead like he meant to do it.

Mike is, quite possibly, a colossal idiot.

Deciding he needs to get out of his own head, he picks up the phone and dials the number of one El Hopper, benevolent ex-girlfriend and possibly his best friend. Second to Will, obviously, but after this weekend Mike is starting to think more and more that friend is not a term that he can really use honestly in terms of that relationship.

El picks up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Am I an idiot, El?" 

"Oh," she says, sounding faintly amused. "Hi, Mike."

"Hi," he huffs, not thrilled about being derailed by trivial things such as pleasantries or manners or whatever. "Am I an idiot?" he asks again, which is definitely not the best way to phrase it but is the best opener he can think of right now.

"Yes," El responds without missing a beat. Mike rolls his eyes - El gave up on trying to be nice to him about seven years ago, when they broke up for good and one Max Mayfield assumed the position of El's right-hand woman. "But what is the context?"

Mike leans against the counter, tugging absently on the phone cord and chewing on his lip. "Holly's visiting right now," he says, which El probably definitely knew considering Will lives here and she's his sister and they talk on the phone constantly, but whatever, "and she asked if me and Will are dating."

"Well, are you?" El asks idly, like she doesn't know perfectly well that they're not.

Mike scowls, wishing he could reach through the phone and shake her by the shoulders or something. "No," he gets out through gritted teeth, "Asshole. Anyway, that was fine until she asked why we aren't, and I think I might be a complete idiot because I can't think of a single reason why we shouldn't be."

"That is because there isn't one," El says primly, and he can perfectly picture her expression, all stoic and even. She's so - steadfast, about everything, and usually he appreciates it but in this particular instance it's sort of really fucking infuriating. "Also, why are you asking me about this?"

"I think weirdly you're the best person to ask," Mike admits, which is the truth - ex-girlfriend or not, El probably knows him best out of everyone in the Party, and she certainly knows Will just as well. Plus, she has a calm way of answering such questions that, while obnoxious at times, is also just very comforting. She's not mean like Max would be, and doesn't hem and haw like Dustin or Lucas would - when she speaks, it's always in full sentences, no um's or uh's or trailing off midsentence, like she's taken the time to fully think through what she's about to say before speaking. It's a quality that Mike admires, mostly because he very much lacks it.

"Well, obviously," El replies, her amusement back in full force. "I am the best person to ask about most things, except maybe society things, but that is not my fault because I was-"

"Raised in a lab, yeah, I know," Mike grumbles. "You use that a lot, you know that?"

"Yes. But we can talk about that a different time. What does Will have to say about all this?"

"Well, that's the stupid part," Mike says, even though pretty much every part of this could feasibly qualify as the stupid part. "Holly asked him- which was a shitty move, by the way, and I will not be forgiving her anytime soon- the same thing she asked me, about- about why not," he continues, feeling suddenly very childish and foolish, like he's asking a question that should have been obvious. "And he said it was because I'd never asked."

There's a beat of silence where El could either be thoughtfully mulling this over or fighting back the incessant urge to laugh at him, and Mike has no idea which. These things tend to be a bit of a coin toss, with her.

She clears her throat. "So ask him, then," she says, and her voice wavers a little, so great, okay, she is laughing at him after all.

"I can't," he groans, letting his head fall back against the cabinets.

"Why not?"

"Don't you start with that too," he admonishes, blinking up at the ceiling. "It's just- complicated."

"It can't possibly be more complicated than this elaborate dance you two have roped yourselves into," El says, which is, unfortunately, extremely true. 

Mike swallows. "What if he says no?"

"Do you think he'll say no?"

Mike hesitates. "I... I'm not going to rule anything out," he answers weakly. It's a cop-out and they both know it.

El sighs impatiently. "Mike, I have witnessed you and Will acting like hopeless messes around each other for at least seven or eight years now, probably more. I know that he is important to you and you do not want to ruin things, but I do not think that tiptoeing around it is a good long-term solution. You have done that for a long time, and it hasn't gotten you anywhere, so- maybe it is time to try something different."

Mike lets his eyes fall shut, letting her words sink in. She has a point, and he knows it - he's known how he felt about Will since he was thirteen years old, and he's done approximately nothing about it, aside from breaking up with El, but that likely would have happened anyway considering how fed up she was with him by the time they ended things. So far, the doing-nothing-about-it has gotten him exactly nowhere, besides, like, this apartment and this good thing he has going, but- well, the good thing isn't because he hasn't said anything, is it? His relationship with Will is built on shared looks and subtext, and he'd be lying if he said that admitting how he feels would destroy that. He's pretty sure, at this point, that his and Will's relationship, platonic or not, is basically indestructible.

"That's what I thought," El says softly in his ear, even though he hasn't said anything. "Just ask him, Mike. He literally said he wants you to, so I do not know how you are still managing to agonize over this."

"I'm talented that way," Mike deadpans, and then, "But- what if he was joking, or something?"

"Mike," El groans, exasperated, "Please stop looking for reasons to be miserable. It is not fun to watch. Just quit sabotaging yourself and ask him out."

Well, he'd wanted direct advice, hadn't he? It doesn't get much more direct than that. "Thanks, El," he mumbles, feeling a little chagrined. "I'll think about it."

"No, you will stop thinking and actually do it, Mike-" she starts, but he's already squeaking out a quick "Okayloveyoubye!" and slamming the phone down. El Hopper's honesty is best enjoyed in small doses.

By the time Will gets home, Holly is already asleep, once again claiming Mike's bed as her own, and Mike is already agonizing over what he's going to do about his own sleeping situation. Is it safe to assume Will is going to let him in again? Or has he somehow made things weird? He's not sure how he could have done that, considering he hasn't spoken to Will since earlier today and things had been perfectly normal then, but- he doesn't always trust himself to judge these things correctly. 

He's sitting at the counter, going over his notes for class in the dim lighting of the LED lights they've strung up along the cabinets and doing his level best not to do something ridiculous like doodle Will's name with hearts around it on the margins of the page. Not that- not that he's never done that before, in moments of weakness and extreme math class-induced boredom, but whatever. The point is, he's studying, like a good student, and he's definitely not thinking about kissing Will against this same counter, or anything dumb and lovesick like that.

The telltale sounds of Will's key in the lock ring through the apartment, and Mike's heart leaps in his chest as he flips his notebook shut and turns to watch the door swing open.

"Hey," Will says, smiling evenly as he drops his keys on the counter. "Homework?" he asks, nodding to the notebook on the table and the pen that Mike is clicking absently in one hand.

"Yeah," Mike says distractedly, eyes catching on the way Will's hair is falling in his eyes. It's grown out a little, recently, and Mike thinks it suits him - but then, most things do. It's Will Byers, after all. 

Will eyes him warily, eyebrow raised as he plucks an apple from a dish on the counter. "You good?"

"Uh huh," Mike says, not really bothering to be convincing with it as he watches Will bite into the apple. He still wants to kiss him. Badly, really.

Ask him, El hisses in the back of his brain, and honestly Mike wouldn't be surprised if she was telepathically communicating with him all the way from California for the sole purpose of fixing his disaster of a love life. For someone who was his love life for nearly two years, she sure is invested. Even if, technically, she is not psychic. But Mike's pretty sure she's lying about that anyway.

"Were you being serious?" Mike hears himself say, and Will's other eyebrow rises to join the first as he sets down his apple.

"About which part?" he asks, not sounding particularly thrown by the question. Mike supposes that, by now, Will is more than used to Mike's absurd tendencies to blurt out random things.

"I- all of it," Mike says weakly. He feels kind of pathetic right now, seated on his stupid little stool across the kitchen island from Will and asking dumb questions that the answers to should probably be obvious. "I mean- with the compliment stuff, yesterday, I know you meant that, because you said that you did-"

Will's eyebrows, impossibly, climb even higher, and oh right, Mike wasn't supposed to be awake for that. He presses on anyway. "-I just meant, like. When Holly asked about um- about us, and you said it was because I never asked, just- did you mean it? Is that really the only reason?"

Will presses his lips together, releasing a soft breath as he drums his fingertips against the counter. "I don't know," he says, all quiet and soft and serious, and Mike still wants to kiss him. "I mean, I always figured- I know I said the thing about you having a heart attack, which, you know, I do genuinely believe, but- I figured I've been obvious. All this time. So, I guess, yeah, maybe I was being a little passive and a little petty, and I wanted you to ask."

"You wanted me to ask," Mike repeats. "Like, hypothetically? Or...?"

Will gives him a look. "Mike. Come on."

"It's a genuine question! You're going to have to be clear with me, Will, I'm very stupid."

Will half-laughs at that, amusement battling with the strange melancholy written all over his face. "You're not," he says softly, and oh, right, Will thinks he's smarter than he gives himself credit for. Mike's not entirely sure he believes that, but if Will says it, it must be at least seventy percent true. 

There's a beat, and Mike finds himself slowly unfurling from the stool and coming to stand on Will's side of the counter. Will turns to look at him, hip resting on the edge of the granite, and there's palpable tension in the air as Mike repeats, a little softer, "What do you think you've been obvious about, Will?"

"Mike," Will says again, with the same come on tone of voice, and Mike's pretty sure he gets it, now, but he wants confirmation. He wants to hear Will say it. "I painted a freaking heart on your chain mail, remember? That's not nothing."

"You also lied to me about it," Mike points out, and Will glances away, biting his lip. 

"You knew I lied," Will says, swallowing hard. "I know you did, but you never confronted me about it so for a while I thought you- you were being nice or something, trying to let me down easy, but I don't think that anymore, I think."

"That's good," Mike says, his fingertips just barely brushing Will's as he inches them along the top of the counter. "Because that's not what it was."

"What was it, then?"

"I don't know," Mike admits, voice low and gravelly. "I think I was scared. And- confused, and I figured if you really wanted me to know you would have just told me, so I never said anything, but... yeah. I don't know. I'm not scared or confused anymore, though, if that helps."

"It does, a little," Will says, glancing over at him again. "But that was also a long time ago. And I know you haven't spent eight years torturing yourself over a dumb painting I made when we were fourteen."

"You'd be surprised," Mike says wryly, and Will huffs a laugh. "But you're right. I think- I guess I just never knew I could? It didn't feel like I was allowed. To, um. Ask you."

Will's eyes dart all over his face, bright and intense and maybe a little longing. "You're allowed," he says, barely a whisper. "If you want."

There's a beat, and Mike almost leans in, but then he remembers the whole asking thing and swallows, letting himself and Will hang in this strange little moment, seventeen years' worth of shared looks and sidelong glances and subtext drifting through the air between them, and he thinks he can feel it dissipating, the tension fading a little.

"Mike," Will whispers, sliding his hand the rest of the way over to press on top of Mike's, pressing it into the countertop. "Ask me."

"I..." Mike swallows, gaze darting to Will's lips. "Okay, it feels super weird to ask you on a date when we literally already live together," he blurts, because he's never been good at the half-sentence subtext thing, honestly, and words sort of spill out of him, sometimes.

But maybe that's a good thing, because the tension breaks, and Will tilts his head back to laugh softly, a grin splitting across his face. "Fine," he says, tilting his head back to look at Mike with his eyes twinkling, another hint of that teasing smirk. "Ask me something else, then. It doesn't have to be that."

"Like what?" Mike demands, letting his sudden surge of confidence send him stumbling a little closer to Will, crowding him, and if he just reached out his other arm, he could press Will against the counter like he's been imagining for two and a half years now, ever since they moved into this miserable little apartment and Mike started what has been, possibly, the best chapter of his life. 

Will stares up at him, amusement etched all over his beautiful, beautiful features, and he lifts the hand that's not covering Mike's to rest gently against the side of his neck. His fingertips dig into his skin, gentle but insistent, and despite his amused demeanor his voice is dead serious when he replies, "I think you can figure that one out for yourself, Mike."

Now Mike does reach out, leaning close and winding one arm around Will's torso to grip the counter on his other side, caging him in. He presses closer, nose brushing Will's as he leans back against the counter. "Will," he says, as seriously as he can muster, even though they're already all tangled up in each other, breathing the same air, "Can I kiss you?"

Will grins. "Now, was that really so diffi-"

Mike's mouth is on his before Will can finish the sentence, and Will makes a vaguely affronted noise against his lips even as he pulls him closer, winding both arms around Mike's neck. I love you, Mike thinks, as he closes his eyes and tilts his head to the right, slotting his lips between Will's like they belong there, and maybe they do. I love you, and I love you, and I love you, his brain chants, and he's not really thinking about much of anything else as he slides his hands down to grip Will's waist, tugging him in even as he pushes him back, and the cold countertop is probably digging uncomfortably into Will's back right about now but he doesn't seem to mind as he huffs out a warm breath into Mike's mouth, a soft sort of whimper that Mike will definitely mock him for later. I love you, he thinks again, as Will tangles a hand in his hair, dragging his teeth along Mike's lower lip. Mike groans, low and soft, the sound rising from somewhere unbidden. Maybe it's just the Will Byers effect, he thinks, as he loses himself in the sensation of Will's lips moving gently across his, of his arms wrapped firmly around Mike's neck like he wants them there, of his torso pressed flush against Mike's, as close as he can possibly get. 

And, God- could he and Will have been dating this whole time? If Mike had just asked, like Will had suggested - might Will have said yes? Could they have been happily together since the start of college, or maybe even before that, if Mike wasn't too much of a coward to ask for the things he wanted? Maybe to just, like, admit to the things he wanted might have been enough, even. To say how he felt, instead of leaving Will to decipher his decidedly mixed signals. He can't help but wonder, and it hurts a little, but any regret is quickly drowned out by the thrilled pounding of his heart and the gentle brush of Will's nose against his cheek and the overwhelming giddiness that's seeping deep into his bones, a quiet beat of he wants this, he wants me, he's kissing me, and I love him, I love him, I love him. 

"Hey," he murmurs against the side of Will's mouth in between kisses, and Will presses closer, snagging his lips again like he's annoyed at being interrupted. "We should go on a date," Mike gets out, as Will continues pressing kiss after kiss to his lips, catching the words as soon as they fall from Mike's mouth. Mike taps at his waist, and Will pulls back a little reluctantly, eyes hazy and lips kissed red as he processes Mike's words. "Like- it felt stupid to ask before," Mike continues, and he's not even sure how he's forming coherent thoughts right now, but then, his brain has always moved a little too fast for him to keep up, so. "Because we live together, and Holly doesn't leave till tomorrow morning, so we'd have to, like, wait at least twenty-four hours before going on said date, which would be stupid and awkward because we already live together, which- yeah, I just said that, but whatever- but it's not like I didn't ask because I don't want to, because I do, I want everything with you, just-"

Will's mouth, mercifully, stops Mike's from continuing to spill out unnecessary words. He kisses Mike once, twice, firm and reassuring, and Mike's thoughts scatter a little as he breathes out a soft sigh against Will's lips and leans into him.

"We should go on a date," Will agrees, pulling back just slightly to regard him seriously. "Multiple dates, even, and we should kiss, and make out, and be all couple-y and gross and- yeah. That sounds good."

Mike grins. "Yeah," he breathes, way too giddy to care about how idiotic and lovesick he sounds. "Yeah, that sounds- I love you," he blurts, if only because the little voice in his brain won't stop, like, screaming it. Will's eyebrows raise, and he releases a soft breath.

"Oh," he whispers, looking kind of awed, and if Mike had any cognitive function right now he'd probably make fun of him for not knowing, after Mike basically just complained for like five whole minutes about how long he's been trying to figure out if Will loves him back, and immediately afterward just went ahead and stuck his tongue in Will's mouth, which- he definitely shouldn't think about for too long, because his face is already terribly flushed and he doesn't want to faint and die. "Oh, you- really?"

"I- yeah," Mike says, wanting desperately to make fun of him but not being able to bring himself to be anything but honestly. "Like. A lot."

"I love you too," Will says, and Mike realizes that he, himself, is actually a complete hypocrite, because the words kind of stun him even though Will definitely more than implied it as well, and also participated in the whole making out aspect of things.

"Oh," he breathes, and Will grins at him in a definitely mocking sort of way, so maybe they're both hypocrites. Mike decides he's fine with that.

Just as he's leaning in for another kiss, the overhead lights flick on, and he turns away from Will long enough to see Holly standing in the corner by the light switch, looking thoroughly unamused.

"Hey, Hols," Mike says evenly, not bothering to untangle himself from Will even a little bit. This is all her fault, after all, and he's far, far too happy right now to let arbitrary things like embarrassment get the better of him. "Everything okay?"

"I heard voices," she says flatly, eyebrow quirked, and brushes past them both toward the sink. "And I wanted water," she adds, already reaching for a glass. "But please, don't let me interrupt." She lets the glass fill up halfway before turning back to face them, eyes stern. "Keep it down, okay? The walls are thin and some of us have early flights tomorrow and don't want to have to listen to their older brother-"

"Okay!" Mike interrupts, cheeks flaming, and Will laughs quietly into his shoulder. "Got it, thanks, Holly, see you in the morning."

"See you," she says wryly, and Mike remembers that he actually hates her as she wanders off down the hall. "I'm happy for you!" she shouts just before disappearing into Mike's room.

"I'm disowning her," Mike mutters, turning back to Will, who looks not nearly embarrassed enough by the situation. "Little shit."

"You know she's literally the girl version of you at that age, right?" Will says, which is just the single rudest and most accurate thing he's ever said.

Mike scowls, even as Will leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. "I don't want to hear it," he states resolutely, trying and failing to suppress the smile that is threatening to crack his face in two.

"Okay," Will says evenly, blinking up at him. "You should probably shut me up, then."

Mike doesn't need to be told twice.

Mike is awakened the next morning by an incessant knocking coming from the direction of Will's bedroom door. He's tangled up in Will's arms, buried under the covers with his head tucked against Will's neck, and Will's breathing is warm and gentle against the top of his head. They'd slipped in here last night after being interrupted by Holly, and Mike had eagerly folded himself into Will's embrace as they drifted off to sleep.

He shifts, rolling over as best he can while still being sort of tangled up in Will to squint at the alarm clock on his desk, which proudly displays the time: 6:01 a.m. 

The knocking grows louder, and from the other side of the door, Holly calls, "Mike! I know you're in there! Wake up, we have to go to the airport!"

Will groans from where he has his face pressed against the top of Mike's head, nudging him with a shoulder as he scoots closer. "Make it stop," he whines, and Mike laughs softly at him.

The knocking stops, and the door swings open to reveal Holly, already dressed and covering her eyes with one hand. "Are you clothed?" she demands, shoving half her body into the room, and even though she's got her eyes covered Mike can sense her glare. "My flight leaves at seven-thirty, Mike, we gotta go."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he grumbles, reluctantly freeing himself from Will's warm embrace and sitting up. "And you don't have to cover your eyes."

She peers through his fingers suspiciously at him, eyebrows raised. "Oh. Okay, then, put on some real clothes so we can leave."

Mike rolls his eyes, but dutifully drags himself out of bed, presses a kiss to Will's temple, and goes in search of some clean clothes.

Holly is already packed and dressed, a shocker considering her many, many clothing options and the fact that Wheelers are not, in general, a very punctual people, but she stands in the kitchen and bosses him around all the same. In any other circumstances, Mike would probably be annoyed, but he just spent a solid chunk of the night making out with Will Byers, so he's pretty sure nothing can bring him down, today. He's grinning like an idiot, a dopey smile tugging at the corners of his mouth no matter how hard he tries to press it down. He gets dressed as quickly as possible and shovels a few bites of cereal into his mouth, convincing Holly to do the same before slipping quietly back into Will's room.

"I'm leaving now," he whispers to Will's sleeping form, all curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows, and leans over to kiss his forehead gently. "I love you."

Will hums faintly, fingers darting out from the blankets to wrap lightly around Mike's wrist. "Love you too," he mumbles sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes, and Mike's entire body floods with a warm sort of glowing feeling at the words. He reaches out a hand to press against the side of Will's face, swiping his thumb over Will's cheek, and Will hums appreciatively as he tilts his face into the touch and presses a kiss to Mike's palm. 

"Mike, let's go!" Holly shrieks from down the hall, and Mike kisses Will's forehead one more time before tiptoeing back down the hall. On his way out, he catches a glimpse of Will's sketchbook, opened to the page with his mystery drawing on it.

It's a picture of Mike.

The warm feeling burns golden in his chest, and Mike smiles to himself as he leaves the room.

He gets to have this, he thinks giddily. He gets to wake up with Will and kiss him against the counter and be- be dating Will. He gets to answer 'yes' when nosy thirteen-year-olds ask if they're together. 

When he thinks about it, he's pissed at himself for not letting himself have it all sooner. But the warm feeling continues to cascade over him, and any bitterness fades quickly enough.

"Twelve seconds," he tells Holly as he reenters the kitchen, rooting around in the junk drawer for a pen and piece of paper. She rolls her eyes at him, but says nothing as she watches him scrawl out a hasty note to Will:

Working till 2:30 today after I drop off Holly. I'll see you when you get home from class. 

Love, 

your boyfriend (!!)

It is, objectively, the dorkiest thing he's ever written, and he intentionally doesn't let Holly read it as he tapes it hastily to the fridge and ushers her out of the apartment, but, well. 

He's happy. Mike is happy. Even being woken up at six in the morning by his dictator of a younger sister can't burst that bubble.

Mike lets himself bask in it, a little, as they drive in silence to the airport. Holly sits quietly in the passenger seat, doing her best to keep up her moody teenager act, but every so often Mike catches her looking at him out of the corner of her eye, expression pleased and soft and loving, almost. Like she's happy for him.

He flicks on the radio, and she rolls her eyes as he hums along to whatever cheesy love song is playing.

"Dork," she mutters, leaning against the window and doing her best to suppress a smile.

Mike grins, removing one hand from the steering wheel in favor of poking her in the side. "Shut up, you care about me," he teases, and she yelps and bats his hand away.

"Maybe a little," she admits softly. Mike decides not to push his luck, but they're both smiling by the time he pulls into the airport parking lot.

They argue over Holly's bags for a few minutes as they unload, Holly insisting that he help her carry them even though he has already done his fair share of older-brother acts of kindness these past few days. He relents anyway, because, again, he's very happy today, and is maybe a little bit more generous than usual as a byproduct.

He helps Holly check her luggage and walks her over to the terminal, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Hey," he says, as she hesitates a few feet away from the line, glancing over at him with raised eyebrows and a suddenly very childlike expression. "You know you can come visit anytime you want, right? If- if it's too much, back home or whatever, just let me know and I'll fly across the country and kidnap you for a few days."

Holly huffs a laugh, a little shyer than usual as she fiddles with the end of her ponytail. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, of course."

He's being- intense about it, he knows, but Holly is still just a kid, and she did kind of single-handedly fix his disaster of a love life, and maybe- maybe he's just been reminded, recently, of how much he really does care about her. 

There's a pause, and then all at once Holly rockets into his arms, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. "Thanks, Mike," she whispers, sounding kind of choked up, and Mike swallows back the sudden lump in his own throat as he squeezes her tightly and patting her back with one hand. It's somewhat awkward, because they're Wheeler kids and are, by default, sort of repressed and emotionally stunted sometimes, but- it's nice. Mike thinks, objectively, he might be getting better at this whole older-sibling thing.

Holly pulls back after a moment, swiping at her eyes, and Mike does her the courtesy of pretending not to notice. "Hey, maybe next time we can both go visit Nancy and bother her instead," Holly says, laughing a little. "If you can manage to be away from your boyfriend for a few days."

Mike rolls his eyes, poking her arm good-naturedly. "Don't be ridiculous. Obviously I'd bring him with me."

Holly laughs for real, loud and bright, and the warm feeling once again cascades through Mike's stomach. Maybe this is just what it is to be a well-rounded person, he thinks, with a somewhat functional family and a boyfriend probably still sleeping back home and friends he cares about. Maybe normal people feel like this all the time, and maybe he's one step closer to being one of those people.

It feels better than he ever thought it would.

Holly steps away and into the line to board the plane, waving over his shoulder and calling out a slightly embarrassed, "I love you!"

"Love you too," Mike laughs, giving her a wave and watching her all the way until she disappears into the crowd. Then he turns and walks out of the airport, content in the knowledge that this is the happiest he's ever been.