Archive of Our Own

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” 

Will is, in his own very humble opinion, incredibly grateful for his family. He knows he’s gotten immensely lucky with his mother, defiant even during the worst odds, and El, who is impressive in unspeakable ways. Jonathan, too, is incomparable, for maybe some of the most self-sacrificial regards, for things Will isn’t sure he has the heart to think about too hard. His brother is, undoubtedly, the best around. 

This does not mean, however, that he can’t be supremely embarrassing at times.

“Yes,” Will does a little less than hiss back, although Jonathan looks very unconvinced. “It’s – just Mike.” 

“Just Mike,” he repeats tonelessly, skeptical, and, Will thinks, it wouldn’t be such a bad time for Vecna to crash through the Wheelers’ kitchen window and whisk him away to be make-shift kibble for a pack of demodogs. “And you’re good with spending the next few nights alone? With Just Mike?” 

He doesn’t like how Jonathan is phrasing the entire situation. “He’s just being nice,” Will mutters, and looks around, in case Just Mike suddenly appears out of the kitchen sink to put his own two cents in. 

“Just nice,” Jonathan echoes, and Will swats at him. Jonathan dodges easily, laughing a little, and raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Can’t a guy look out for his little brother?” 

Will stares at him. “Not if he’s being super embarrassing about it.” 

“I think you’re choosing to be embarrassed about it,” Jonathan decides. “Nothing embarrassing about this. It’s big brother duties, you know. I’m just making sure there’s no funny business going on.” 

Will scrunches his nose in disgust. Funny business. Yeah, right. “You’re one to talk. If you’re so concerned about funny business, let me remind you of last summer when –” 

“Okay!” Jonathan interrupts loudly. “That’s – yeah, alright. Alright, fine. You got me.” Will cracks a smile, and Jonathan shakes his head, grinning despite himself. It’s a little startling, how natural it feels, being teased about the boy he likes, whispering in the kitchen in caution of the aforementioned boy suddenly popping in, with the apocalypse raging outside the window. 

“Great,” he dryly replies. “Can I go now?” 

He shrugs. “Sure, buddy.” When Will squints at him, Jonathan’s smile widens, and he raises his eyebrows. He leans in to loudly whisper, “Have fun with Just Mike.” 

“Oh my God,” Will says.

He turns away as Jonathan quietly laughs, returning to the front room for the staircase, where Jonathan would surely be up to his own hijinks in sneaking up to Nancy’s room, which Will would rather not think about for his own wellbeing. 

It makes him a little giddier, thinking about having to spend the next few nights sleeping in Mike’s basement. It had been nothing he had insisted on, merely by the slow assortment of everyone else being tucked away into different areas of the house, and Argyle’s snoring rolling out of the living room, where he snoozes in Mr. Wheeler’s La-Z Boy, until the arrangements had led to him and Jonathan sleeping in the basement. 

Some part of him is both thankful and humiliated by Jonathan’s intentional self-exclusion in spending the night in the basement, and Will would spare it less thought if Jonathan wasn’t so determined to talk to him about it and reassure him that he’d return if Mike tried to pull anything after it had become clear that he would be joining Will downstairs. 

Mike himself must be going a little insane, or perhaps returning into someone more familiar, Will thinks, in his persistent adamancy in joining Will in the basement, pulling out his old sleeping bag with too wide a grin and something like want in his voice when he had said, Just like old times, right?

Will spares a wary look to the basement door.

Just like old times. Totally. 

He takes the time to gulp down a glass of cold water, pretending he doesn’t feel close to implosion with every step he takes towards the basement. The stairs creak like they always have, wooden and old, and the five seconds he spends making his way down are enough to have him self-conscious about the t-shirt and pajama pants he had borrowed from Mike, both too long and almost too tight. 

The lamps glow lowly, and Mike sits on the floor, comic in his lap and chewing at his lip. Will is abruptly reminded that Mike isn’t just anything. 

Mike looks up from the comic, and smiles when he spots Will. “Hey.” 

The warm, dim lighting of the basement is not doing Will’s heart any favors, the low shadows cascading over Mike’s face, soft cheekbones and soft jaw and soft, soft eyes. Will wants to – he needs a pencil in his hand, something to indulge him, maybe with graphite on the smooth surface of paper, shitty ballpoint on notebook paper, oils on a canvas. Anything to soothe the insatiable surge of want coursing through his body. 

He slowly swallows. “Hey.” 

Mike seems to not have been granted the supernatural ability of reading minds, because he appears undeterred when he says, “Got the new issue of Green Lantern.” 

“Sweet,” Will responds, and tries not to think too hard about it when he walks over to the couch. There’s already a bundle of blankets strewn over the cushions, a pillow on the armrest. Mike had probably done it for him before Will had come down. It shouldn’t make him want to shake Mike by the shoulders like a madman, and yet. 

Mike has not stopped looking at him from below. “Do you, um,” he begins, “want to –?” 

“Oh.” Will’s throat feels so dry, suddenly, despite the glass of water from two minutes ago. “You – yeah. Yeah, sure.” 

And then he slips down to the floor, and sits next to Mike. 

Their knees are touching. 

Mike has shorts on, and he’s – warm. Maybe he should’ve moved away a little, just enough to leave some room between them, because then maybe Will wouldn’t be so hyper-focused on the little slip of contact between them, except now, Mike is leaning even closer, pushing the comic on their knees, and he’s so much closer than before, and – 

Alright. 

The thing is, Will usually has a better hold of himself than this. 

In fact, he’d like to blame Mike for the incredibly mortifying way his heart has been spinning out of its cage over every small thing between them, with things that Will would usually spare little to no extra thought about, and could even convince himself that the bigger things weren’t so big at all, and he could blame it all on Mike, because, if he were to be entirely honest, it is Mike’s fault. 

Only two days ago, Will has replayed the exact moment over and over again: a heart-to-heart on the porch in the middle of the night, stars gleaming above them, and Mike’s stare as intense as it’s always been. Will had started to sweat underneath it, just them and miles of sleeping civilians, and time alone with Mike had never felt so daunting. 

Truthfully, he barely recalls his own words, but it’s impossible to stop thinking about Mike’s. He’s been playing them on repeat in his brain, the quiet, sincere, and ardent tone of his voice, how, even after the seven hundredth time of replaying it, Will’s heart still skips. 

Of course, we need you, he had said. I – we need you. You know that, right? I – I need you.

And then – Mike, like a crazed man, had held his hand, and Will remembers the way his hand had been so sure, so steady, so warm, holding on like he meant to, and he’d ducked down to look Will in the eye, and he – as if Will wasn’t already going insane over it the first time – repeated, I need you. 

I need you. 

Who even – what does that even mean? 

Which is – anyway. 

Will is completely fine. 

He’s been thinking about it a very normal amount since it’s happened, and he’s been very sane about it all, even though it’s been two days, and Mike’s grabbed his hand exactly nine times since then, had stared into his eyes all meaningfully countless times, and he keeps – looking down, or something, somewhere else on Will’s face, before looking back up into Will’s eyes like he’s trying to get some secret message across, and Will’s brain might explode if Mike doesn’t give him a sign or something that he is also being normal about it, because Will is – he’s going insane, he’s going to run away to Iceland if Mike doesn’t stop or say something or do something even crazier and – and kiss him, or something. 

And – him and Mike. Kissing. That’s –

“Next page?” 

Will jerks out of his thoughts, and looks down at the book. 

“Uh-huh,” he faintly replies. He has no idea what’s happening right now. Bruce Banner has already turned into the Hulk, green and angry, and Will is still thinking about kissing his best friend, who is sitting right next to him. 

He blinks. That has to be some kind of messed up, right? That’s probably, like, the first rule in How to be a Decent Human Being 101 – Do not think about kissing your best friend on the mouth., and it’s an easy enough rule, except that Will is in love with his best friend and thinking very, very hard about it. Not on purpose, of course, but the universe probably doesn’t care about semantics like that. 

Besides, the likelihood of them kissing is incredibly low. Like, bottom-of-Atlantis low. Not that Will is against it, of course, if Mike tried to kiss him – which, the idea is already sending him into a spiral, and it kind of makes his palms sweat, but Will isn’t – he’s never kissed anyone, is the thing. 

He might be bad at it, irredeemably bad, and what happens if he is? Any chance he had of Mike liking him back would be diminished, and then they’d be awkward around each other forever, and then Will wouldn’t ever kiss anyone again, and then Hawkins and the whole world would know about his terrible kissing skills, and then he’ll die alone, and his tombstone will say, Here lies the worst kisser ever known, William Byers, and no one will show up to his funeral because it’s – 

Maybe he should practice, just in case. Mike surely won’t be trying to kiss him tonight, and one of his friends would probably be okay with teaching him, even though the mere thought of asking them makes him want to die. Dustin would be fine to teach him, except Will isn’t sure he wants to take kissing lessons from someone he had just met the girlfriend of, and Lucas is great, he is, but Will isn’t sure he’d be able to look him in the eye afterwards. Max, too. 

He’d usually go to Mike for things like this, except – well. 

That rules out all his friends. He has way less options than he realized. 

Mike’s been quiet for far too long. 

Will looks up from the page in front of him, and Mike’s hand is unbudging where it holds the comic, and when he turns to glance at Mike, he is – 

“Oh!”

– so much closer than expected. 

So much closer than expected includes the following: a.) almost being able to count the eyelashes on his face, b.) hearing the inhale Mike had sucked in, and c.) being nose-to-nose with him. 

It’s involuntarily, the sudden surprise that takes him back and sends him toppling backwards, and Mike leans away, too, pink while he watches Will sit up. 

“Sorry,” he blurts, “sorry, I was –” 

“It’s okay,” Will returns, voice a little higher than he’d like and eyes wide, “I just didn’t expect –” 

“Right,” Mike clears his throat, and he’s blushing, and he looks so nice, “right, yeah, no, just –” 

“Yeah,” Will awkwardly finishes. “Um. Right.” 

“Yeah.” Mike rubs at the nape of his neck. He looks sheepish. “So, um. The – next page?”

Will glances down at the comic, fallen off their legs and crooked on the polyester of the sleeping bag. “Y– yeah. Sure.” 

Mike flips the page. 

They fall into silence once more. 

And that – that was weird, Will thinks. Mike had been so close, and he still is, knees still pressed together and arms brushing, except he had been so much nearer, close enough for Will to get all up close and see the dotting freckles that have faded since they were children. His eyes had been so impossibly dark, so different from the light shade they are in the sunlight. They’d almost been intimidating. 

There had barely been a breath between them. If Will didn’t know any better, he’d almost think – 

When he glances over, Mike’s eyes are trained to the page in front of them, focused and intent, and showing no sign of paying any attention to Will’s mental meltdown beside him. 

Mike. Trying to kiss him. Will.

Mike trying to kiss Will.

He tries to keep quiet as he lets out a subtle sigh.

Yeah, right. 

Will is beginning to reconsider his judgment. 

Mike is trying to kiss him. Will. Mike is trying to kiss Will. 

This realization is, of course, through no psychological developments of his own, or a new boost of confidence, but instead the numerous times he has looked up and found Mike to be far too close to his face, as well as the countless sorry’s from bumping noses. 

He thinks he might be growing restless. Or insane. 

Maybe it’s for his own anticipation for Mike to make a move, except, it seems, Mike does not seem to know how to make a move without stumbling a little, and Will has no excuses for the way it makes him fall even further. He is, as Lucas and Dustin would so smugly tell him, whipped. 

And – fine. He wants to kiss Mike. Sue him. He’s been wishing for something like this since eighth grade, right after thinking too hard about holding hands and planning campaigns together. 

Perhaps it’s only by the consistent way his life seems to be the brutally damaged Barbie doll that the universe has deemed fit for experimenting with a pair of scissors and permanent marker, because, as if this epiphany is already not enough to send him down a spiral, the following week brings him a close encounter with a demogorgon, a sprained ankle, and a long, long walk back to the cabin. 

“Seriously, it’s – it’s fine.” 

“You’re limping,” Mike insists, face pinched in worry, and he’s already stolen Will’s backpack away from him, shouldering both of their bags on his back, and, if the myriad of Will’s problems weren’t already enough, Mike slings Will’s arm over his shoulders, and pulls him close. Will’s brain feels a little like it’s going haywire. “Come on, we aren’t too far out.” 

“Mike,” Will begins, trying to push away a wince when he steps forward, “honestly, you don’t have to –” 

“Just lean on me,” Mike interrupts. “Seriously. I – you’re going to make your ankle worse.” When Will bites at his lip, apprehension clear, Mike gives him a look. “Come on. You know I don’t mind.” 

Will closes his eyes, and tries to force the swarm of butterflies in his stomach to, respectfully, die. He hopes his face isn’t as pink as it feels. 

“Okay,” he mumbles. 

Mike is, above all else, steady, unwavering when Will eases off his own leg and onto Mike’s side, hand tightening into a fist, and slowly moving forward. He’d be more concerned with the guilt slowly coursing through him for the fact that Mike, on top of two backpacks full of supplies, is carefully balancing Will with it all, if the ache of his ankle wasn’t enough to distract him. 

“Better?” 

“Yeah,” Will mutters, and they shuffle forward in the woods. It’s a relief when neither of them go diving to the ground. “It would suck if a demogorgon got me, after everything. You know, like a full circle moment.” 

Mike lets out a small scoff. “No way. Not again. Not on my watch.” 

Will ducks his head, a slight smile at the certainty in his voice, the way he had sounded so sure. “Okay.” 

The woods stay quiet as they walk, significantly slowed down with every pained step, and it’s straining, walking among the bits of pebbles and twigs littering the rocky, dirt ground. The sky remains a dreary gray, having not been touched by the seeping red in the distance just yet, but ominous just the same. 

Despite the leering shadow of something foreboding, the power of being a boy in love with his best friend seems to be stronger than whatever nightmare fuel bleeding into their town, because the warmth of Mike bleeding through their jackets is still clouding up Will’s mind, the subtle scent of his shampoo, the generic kind that Will also has been using. Somehow, it still makes his heart stutter, maybe for the reminder of their close proximity, every breath and exhale so much louder in the lack of space between them. 

Will is grimy in the way running and hiding from a demogorgon gets him, sweat cooling and dirt somehow under his shirt, and he’s sure he isn’t a sight for sore eyes. Maybe he’s a tad bit biased, but Mike manages to make the arduous task of running for their lives look attractive, hair unkempt and leaves stuck at the end, and a streak of dirt on his cheek, on his neck. 

His eyes are bright amongst it all, determined how he always seems to be, recently, purposeful like he gets when he sees the tunneling end come near. His mouth is twisted into a slight scowl, concentrated as they walk. When Will stumbles a little, groaning under the strain, Mike pauses quickly, hand grasping a little tighter at his side. “Want to take a break?” 

Will shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. Let’s keep going.” 

“Five minutes won’t hurt,” Mike persists, looking at Will. His stares have been feeling all-consuming, recently. “Just five minutes.” 

Will presses his lips together, before relenting. “Fine.” 

Mike beams.

Will gets settled against the tall figure of a tree, moss crawling past the roots and up the trunk, and cool to the touch in the shade. It’s a hassle, getting situated with an ankle that seems to go blind with pain, and Will regards it as dead weight, wincing with every minute move. 

Mike sits beside him, shrugging off both backpacks. He zips open his own, and clicks on his walkie, crackling speaker. It pauses when he presses on to say, “Nancy, Dustin, do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?” 

They wait as static rolls on, and Mike sighs as he lets it sit on the dirt floor, antennae still outstretched. He continues rummaging through his bag, until he retrieves two granola bars. He pushes one into Will’s hand, and unwraps his own. Will glances down at the bar. He looks back up. “How far are we, do you think?”

Mike purses his lips as he looks out, before shrugging. “Fifteen minutes?” He guesses. 

“Great,” Will dryly replies. “So, we’ve still got half an hour to go.” 

Mike’s mouth quirks in a crooked smile. “I mean, it isn’t so bad. At least you’ve got me, right?” 

Will looks away, fighting the urge to do something crazy and – giggle like a maniac, or something. He begins unwrapping the bar, just to have something to do. “Right.” 

It’s quiet, wind rustling the trees and the sparse chirp of birds, while Mike clicks on and off the walkie, with no response. Will stares ahead at the tree across from him as he mindlessly chews on granola. 

Being a little close to stuck in the woods with a sprained ankle isn’t so scary with Mike, he thinks. The white noise of him repeating, Do you copy? Over., does wonders to ward off any worry of the silence that lies behind it, and the threat of any supernatural monsters feels a little more conquerable, even if victory is a slim window to sneak through. 

He shoves the wrapper into his pocket, watching as Mike places it back on the ground defeatedly. “We can try again in a few minutes,” he reasons. “They’re probably busy.” 

Mike’s mouth twitches. “You think Vecna’s already attacking right now?” 

Will rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Mike shifts where he sits, and Will wonders if it’s necessary to sit so close together, because he’s never minded, but he’s also never bumped noses with Mike so often, nor been close enough to count the eyelashes on his face, or spot the slight scar on his hairline. Perhaps it’s partially his fault for not leaning away, but it must mean something, Mike letting him linger.

Like this, his injured ankle is almost entirely ignorable. Like this, their arms are firmly pressed together, and he feels it when Mike moves to turn towards him. Like this, when Will also turns, they’re almost nose to nose. 

Will blinks. “Hi.” It comes out much quieter than he means to.

Mike stares at him. “Hi,” he returns, also hushed. It’s suddenly much more silent than a few moments ago. 

Will’s throat feels very dry. He thinks his hand might be fisted into the ground, clutching onto the grass for dear life. It’s nothing voluntary, an innate reaction to such a lack of space between them, and especially for the way Mike seems content with it, as if he has no plans on moving back. 

Will is nervous, there’s no doubt about it. He unthinkingly bites at his lip, and it’s almost a magic trick, Mike’s stare falling downward. It’s almost mortifying, but, oddly, in a good way. He almost forgets about his own inexperience. Nothing can be so scary with Mike looking at him like this. 

“Um.” Will’s voice is, undeniably, shaky. 

Mike, miraculously, doesn’t seem to care. Will can’t help the hitch of his breath when he leans even closer, something lightning-like coursing through his blood, and Mike places a hand on Will’s arm, the touch light, and – 

“Dodo Birds, come in. I repeat, Dodo Birds, come in. Over.” 

Will opens his eyes. Goddamn it.

“This is Vulture speaking,” Dustin’s voice crackles over the speaker, “I repeat, Dodo –” 

Mike grabs at the walkie, swiping it off the ground and huffing, “We copy, over.” 

“Vulture reporting from the nest,” Dustin replies. “Are you guys good? Over.” 

“Will sprained his ankle,” Mike tells him. He frowns. “Also, none of us agreed to the code names. Over.” 

“Where are you guys?” Dustin asks, before he sniffs, “And I think the code names are fun. Over.” 

“We are,” Will begins as Mike hurriedly fishes a compass out of his backpack, passing it to him, “southeast of the cabin. Almost fifteen minutes away, over.” 

A lapse of silence follows, and they exchange glances as they wait, and, for just a moment, Will wonders if Vecna truly had suddenly attacked. 

Dustin clicks back in to say, “Okay, we’re on our way.” Will sighs in relief as he deflates, relaxing against the tree trunk. “We’ll be there in a minute. Just hang on, over.” 

“Great,” Will responds. “Thanks. Over and out.” 

The walkie clicks off, and he watches as Mike tosses the compass back into his bag, the walkie remaining next to him while he pushes their backpacks closer. Will grabs at his own, and places the bag under his ankle with minimal wincing. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to keep it elevated, he thinks. At least, he hopes so. 

He’s almost nervous, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while he spares fleeting glances towards Mike. Mike doesn’t seem to be faring off any better, antsy as he messes with his backpack, before giving up. 

They sit below the leaves of the tree, moss on their backs, and help on the way. 

A bird in the distance chirps. The walkie stays silent.

It’s unbearably awkward. 

“So,” Mike starts, drawing out the word, and Will turns to him. “Any ideas on how to spend the next fifteen minutes?” 

It’s teasing, suggestive when he wiggles his eyebrows, and it’s so unexpected that Will lets out a surprised laugh, unabashed, and it’s so easy, how the tension falls away, and it’s only them again. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Will shakes his head, smiling, but Mike looks proud of himself anyway. 

He points out, “I don’t hear you complaining.” 

Will scoffs, nudging at him with an elbow. “Whatever,” he smoothly replies. Mike grins. 

His own body almost feels out of control, how he is so easy to smile, cheeks almost aching with it, warm in the face, and limbs a little jerky. When he slouches against the tree, Mike joins him, shoulder against shoulder, and thigh against thigh. 

It’s after a silent moment that Mike wordlessly raises his left hand, palm upturned, and when Will stares at it questioningly, Mike closes his hand around the air, before opening it once more. 

Will bites at his cheek, an attempt to avoid smiling. He places his hand in Mike’s. 

Mike’s fingers slot through his, certain in its grasp. 

He grins, and Will, for the life of him, can’t help smiling back. 

In the midst of his own mind-melting troubles, as one might regard them as romantic, there is, of course, the entire end-of-the-world ordeal to be dealt with. 

It’s nothing Will is too excited to be a part of, and he’s never liked guns, or holding them, so he avoids having it in his clutches before they’re out the door. Nancy seems to be drawing up another plan in the meantime, huddled at the living room table with Jonathan and Murray, of all people, next to her, and Dustin cutting in now and then with some protest while Max sits beside him. 

He’s sure El is in the kitchen, maybe with his mother and Hopper, and he’s pretty certain he had just seen Lucas walk in there as well. He’s got half a mind to get up from the couch he’s been sitting on and join them, although he isn’t sure if he has it in him to spend another few minutes being squeezed into nothingness by his mother. 

A weight joins his side, and he knows who it is before he looks over. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” Mike returns. His mouth quirks into a half-hearted smile. “Nervous?” 

Will offers a noncommittal shrug. “Not really.” 

Mike looks surprised when he asks, “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Will glances at the table, Nancy’s pen paused in the air, and Jonathan pointing at something on the map. Dustin and Max both look intrigued. “I don’t know. I think it hasn’t set in yet. Everything feels way too normal.” 

Mike raises an eyebrow. “We’re sitting in the cabin of a Russian fugitive, and half the people in here are discussing how to take down a tentacle-y man with superpowers.” 

“But if you didn’t know that,” Will says, poking at him, “this would seem pretty normal, right?” 

Mike turns to look out at the room in front of them, the peak of the kitchen on the right, where El is visibly floating blueberries into her mouth. He nods. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“I’ll probably freak out on the way there,” Will mentions. He chews on his cheek. “What about you?” 

Mike turns back to him. “What about me? Am I nervous?” Will bobs his head in a nod. Mike scoffs. “‘Course. I don’t want you to go.” 

Will’s palms prickle. “Oh.” 

It’s not a surprising confession, and yet. He thinks his heart might be doing gymnastics, at this rate. He needs it to calm down, lest he have a heart attack and die before his first kiss. That’s probably as bad as dying alone, he thinks. Way more embarrassing, at least. 

Mike stares at him for a moment, before bumping their shoulders together. “Come on,” he says, before he gets up from his seat. 

Will blinks up at him. “What?” 

“Just – follow me,” Mike covertly replies, tilting down to grab Will’s wrist and tugging him up on his feet, and Will follows. 

No one spares them a glance as they walk away from the rest of the group, Mike leading them down the hallway and into one of the rooms, multiple makeshift beds arranged on the floor, with blankets strewn around and pillows knocked off the mattresses. 

Mike flicks on the light, and closes the door behind them. Will tries not to think about it too hard. 

“Okay,” he says, when they’re simply standing in front of each other, “what now?” 

Mike shrugs, sheepish when he responds, “I don’t know. I just needed you alone.”

It sounds incredibly implicative. Will opens his mouth to say something, anything that doesn’t resemble, What does that mean, what do you need me alone for, I think I might have a heart attack, should we kiss – 

“That sounds so weird,” Mike blurts, pink in the face and visibly embarrassed. It’s a sweet look on him. “I just meant – I mean, I wanted to talk to you. Alone. That’s all,” he finishes awkwardly. 

Will is, unfortunately, charmed. “Yeah?” 

Mike grabs his hand, then, as if he’s been thinking about it, palm a little sweaty, and it’s reassuring in a way, knowing that he’s maybe nervous about being alone, too, even if they’ve seen each other’s most humiliating moments. Will has seen him eat a cookie off the sidewalk in second grade. 

“I want to kiss you,” Mike admits, “before you go.” 

It comes out almost shy, although steady, anyway, like he is sure of himself. Will feels, a little, like he might fall over. 

“Oh,” he expresses intelligently. And then, “Okay.” 

Mike blinks. “Okay?” He echoes, as if he hadn’t expected it. 

It’s comforting, thinking that maybe Mike is also nervous, and Will has never regarded himself particularly brave or confident, but Mike looks at him with something that looks like hope or awe or something beautiful and reassuring, and that feels just as startling as bravery. 

Will considers himself, before he shuffles a little closer, close enough to hear Mike’s sudden inhale, and he places a gentle hand on his elbow. They’ve both grown taller, but Will would like to say he’s catching up, and doesn’t need to tilt too far up, or maybe Mike is leaning down. 

A nervous moment passes. 

Will presses a soft kiss on Mike’s cheek. 

When he leans away, Mike is much pinker than before, almost startlingly so, and Will is sure he is no better off. Still, he clutches at Mike’s hand, not having stepped away, and Mike’s eyes are wide in surprise, a little frozen in place. 

“Kiss me when I come back,” Will says. Belatedly, he adds, “Please.” 

“Okay,” Mike answers immediately. “Okay. Sure. Of course. Whatever you want.” He sounds so sincere about it, Will’s heart flip flops in place, and he’s beginning to feel nervous for reasons completely irrelevant to supernatural monsters. 

Will holds on a little tighter onto Mike’s hand. 

“Okay.” 

The summer nights are getting increasingly warmer, and Will isn’t sure if it’s because of another dimension no longer converging into theirs, or because of Mike’s very obvious lack of personal space. 

He’s been visiting quite often, although he’s commonly followed by the rest of their friends, barging through to drag him and El off to Mike’s basement, or to hang around in the cabin, after Mrs. Wheeler has perhaps finally had enough. Nonetheless, Will has very little to complain about, a new kind of happiness blooming in his body, with no lingering shadow at the back of his nape. 

It’s later in the night, now, ticking close to ten, and Mrs. Wheeler will surely have Mike’s head if he isn’t gone soon. Still, this does nothing to avoid the inevitable time Mike will spend on the front porch, unintentionally drawing out goodbye’s. 

Tonight, clearly, is no different. 

“– don’t know why I ever agree to –” 

“If I recall correctly, it was your idea to play Monopoly in the first place,” Will points out, and brings an abrupt pause to Mike’s sputtering. 

Mike brings his lips into a thin line. “Semantics,” he decides. 

Will snorts. “You seemed to care a lot more about semantics when Dustin landed on your property.” 

“That was the old me,” Mike insists, “I’ve changed. I’ve grown.”

Will gives him a look. “That was an hour ago,” he reminds him. Mike waves it off, and it’s more endearing than it should be. 

The front porch light has them both warm toned, moths bumping against the bulb, and the sound of Madonna trailing out of a window, and the quiet noise of people audible, the light from the inside spilling out. Mike clutches onto the backpack he had brought along, Monopoly pieces rattling around in its box. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

Will nods. “‘Course.” 

Mike beams. “Great,” he says, before stepping forward and catching Will in a hug. 

It’s nothing dramatic, and it’s become a more common thing, yet it never fails to make the godforsaken butterflies make their untimely return to Will’s stomach. Mike holds him like it’ll always be the last time, as if his entire body is falling into Will, and it’s a nice feeling, being trusted like this, being held like Mike wants him this close all the time. 

His hands don’t leave Will’s shoulders when they part, remaining incredibly close, and Mike makes a show of looking around, peering over Will’s head and behind him, as well as peeking into the windows of the cabin. He looks, a little, like a very cautious prairie dog. 

Will stares at him. “What are you doing?” 

“Making sure no one is about to interrupt us,” he answers, still swerving around, until he settles back to look at Will, “or the world isn’t about to explode before I get to kiss you.” 

Will doesn’t know why the idea that Mike wants to kiss him has him so surprised every time. Maybe because, despite their numerous attempts, they have yet to kiss at all. 

“Okay,” Will returns as nonchalantly as he can. “Great.” 

It’s for this that Will tugs him close, pausing only a whisper away from Mike. He tries to keep a sliver of space, just in case Mike has changed his mind halfway through the motion, but it doesn’t seem to matter, anyway, when Mike swoops forward, and their noses knock together. 

“Shit,” Mike exclaims, and Will can’t resist the bubbling laughter that spills out. 

He rubs at his nose, feeling a little like he might sneeze, and he’s probably alarmingly loud with how he’s laughing, except he can’t help it, really, and he must not be too insane if Mike’s laughing as well, head bowed and leaning onto Will’s shoulder. “Of course,” he chokes out, “of course we –” 

“I forgot,” Mike whines, “okay, I don’t know what happened, I’ve never had my nose in the way of –” 

“Oh my God,” Will giggles, pulling Mike even closer, and he wraps his arms around Mike’s middle, a clumsy embrace when they’re both still shaking with laughter. “Aren’t you supposed to be the experienced one?” 

“I never said that!” Mike replies, sounding affronted, and Will’s cheeks ache from smiling. “Whatever. Whatever. Just – come here.” 

Of course, here is a little ambiguous, with them already chest to chest, but Will complies anyway, standing up a little straighter when Mike lifts his head up from Will’s shoulder. Will would be more self-conscious about his own unabashed grin if Mike didn’t match it, looking irrefutably happy in the night.

They stare at each other, and the laughter falls away, although the joy remains, and the giddy feeling in Will has yet to leave. It’s quieter now, with the subtle chirp of crickets and the hum of the moths, intimate but free. Light, even. Familiar. 

Mike lets go of Will’s shoulders, hands moving upward instead. He grasps at Will’s face, all gentle when he has his palms against Will’s cheeks. Will stares back, eyes wide and so warm. 

They stare at each other. Will feels pleasantly breathless. 

“I’m going to kiss you, now,” Mike says, soft and certain. He sounds determined, almost. Confident. 

Will is less so. 

“Yeah, okay,” he meekly replies. 

Mike, like the rest of him, is gentle, even in this regard of touching Will, soft when he kisses Will, and Will isn’t sure what he was expecting, except every possible expectation flies out the window when Mike’s mouth insistently presses onto his. 

It’s careful, as if holding something delicate between their lips, and Will shivers a little underneath it, hands unthinking when they clutch onto Mike’s shirt, pulling him even closer. Mike’s nose bumps into his, and he angles Will’s face a little to the right, and Will goes easily. Mike’s hands shake a little where they hold him in place, and Will loves him for it. 

It’s gentle, and it’s soft, and it’s careful, and, most importantly of all, it’s Mike. Will wants him this close for the rest of time. 

He supposes he had forgotten about the need for air, leaning away to suck in a breath, and Mike grins at him, rosy cheeked and undeniably attractive. Will wants to kiss him again, and again, and again. 

“Good?” Mike asks, a little mumbled. 

Will nods. “Good,” he says. It comes out a little too raw.

Mike bites at his lip, and it does nothing to conceal his smile. “Great,” he deems it to be, and leans in again. 

They’re careful to avoid crashing noses, this time.