Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As much as Mike thought he wouldn’t make it out of the bathroom alive, the night continued on. 

He and Will got themselves more drinks and threw themselves into the party, not caring about anyone else around them as they yelled the lyrics of each song drunkenly at each other. Dancing together, laughing, pressing up a little too close to allow room for someone else to squeeze by but not moving away once they passed. Mike grabbing onto Will’s shoulders and shaking him excitedly when Fleetwood Mac came blaring through the speakers, that iconic part in The Chain making them jump up and down, pure adrenaline coursing through their veins. 

Mike loved it so much that even now, on their way home, he wont stop singing it. 

“Listen to the wind blowwww, watch the sun riseeee!” 

And—even though he keeps refusing to admit it—he’s pretty drunk. 

So is Will, of course, but he’s always done a way better job of keeping himself composed. They’re used to handling themselves around each other when they’re like this, and tonight they’ve fallen into the very same routine—well, apart from the terrifying feelings and underlying tension that Mike’s trying really hard not to think about or talk about out loud, and being drunk—as well as Will being completely covered in blood—is making it way harder to do either of those things.

Something had been unearthed after their experience in the bathroom. Two pairs of hands had plunged into a shallow grave and grasped onto what had been right under their feet this entire time. In between dancing, singing, and drinking, they’d find themselves in quiet corners, mouths close to each other's ears to talk because of how loud the music was, a little more confident in their closeness and stolen touches. Much longer glances, Will sat on a kitchen counter, Mike stood beside him with his hip resting against the edge of it, arm loosely around Will’s waist, occasionally mindlessly fiddling with one of his belt loops. 

Towards the end of the night, they were sharing a cup, the white edge of it stained completely red. James passed by them again and asked ‘what the hell happened to you guys?’ to which Will just shrugged, but Mike said: Will just got a little hungry. I think he might’ve skipped lunch. He quickly received an elbow in his ribs, and when James shot them another knowing glance and walked away, the two of them burst into hysterics. 

Luckily, they seem to reach the point of wanting to go home at exactly the same time, a quick glance and quirk of an eyebrow is enough to encourage the other to wordlessly follow to the exit. Now, they’re walking (occasionally stumbling) back home, singing in the street, bumping shoulders and hips, and anyone they pass by doesn’t seem to care about how loud they’re being because they’re all equally as intoxicated. 

The crescent moon hangs watching them in the sky, guarded by smokey clouds and clusters of stars. Mike keeps grabbing Will’s hand and swinging their arms back and forth as if they’re two kids about to run through a playground, like some strange echo of their younger selves. Will eventually loosens his grip as a silent you can let go if you want each time, which only makes Mike hold on tighter.

“Running in the shadows— Will, come on!”

Will rolls his eyes, having gone through this routine already, but this time he twists around and positions himself in front of Mike, taking his other hand. He pulls him down, just a little, and stands on his toes so he’s very close to his face. “Damn your love!” 

“Damn your lies!” Mike almost headbutts him with the amount of drama he’s putting into the words, and it sends him giggling; the dungeon master in him seems to come out when he’s had one too many. 

Will walks backwards slowly, and Mike’s impressed. If he tried to walk backwards right now, he’s absolutely certain he would be flat on his ass in a matter of seconds. He almost forgets the next line as he watches Will carefully guide him, their fingers laced together. The sight of him is much more menacing when they pass under each streetlight now; he really does look like he’s enjoyed a three course meal. 

Mike stumbles and curses his long legs for doing him no favours when he’s drunk, his feet landing in all the wrong places every time he takes a step. Will steadies him, his smile morphing into a smirk for a beat before he lets go of Mike’s left hand and adjusts the other one so he can walk beside him again. Any more lyrics seem to have died in both of their throats, but Mike still thinks them over, so much that the words begin to repeat in his mind:

If you don’t love me now, you will never love me again. 

“Finally bored of singing?” Will glances at Mike for a moment before focusing back on the sidewalk. He sways a little, his shoulder bumping into Mike’s upper arm.

“No, my throat just hurts.” Mike shrugs. The angel wings are hooked over his other arm again, and he clears his throat a little disjointedly to prove that he’s not lying, because he really isn’t. He totally didn’t get distracted and forget how to do anything other than stare at Will, because that would be ridiculous. 

“You are considerably louder when you’re drunk.” Will teases, loosening his grip again. Why does he keep doing that? Mike pulls him back in, fingers flexing out and then back around Will’s hand like he’s going to vanish into thin air if he lets go. 

“I’m not—!” Mike starts, but when Will sends him the most disbelieving look he’s had from him all night (which is, unsurprisingly, one of many) he sighs, defeated. “Whatever.” 

Will laughs lightly and then finally returns one of the many squeezes Mike has been giving to his hand periodically for the last fifteen minutes. His breath catches in his throat for a moment and it takes everything in him to not choke on it. 

Mike has realised, and experienced, a whole lot of things tonight, and he’s been trying really hard to process it all. He cycles through his mental checklist for, what feels like, the thousandth time: 

Will is attractive (this, he already knew, but it’s important to note given everything else), Will covered in blood makes him feel a certain type of way, Will letting him put it all over him was probably the hottest thing he’s ever experienced in his life (Will saying make me look really fucking hungry has not stopped replaying in his mind), Will literally pulled him in closer by the waist and clearly enjoyed the whole thing just as much as he did. 

Each thing is terrifying on its own, but it’s nothing compared to the realisation that he’s been in love with him, for like, a really really long time and has been trying his hardest to not blurt it all out to him in the middle of the party, or even here in the goddamn street.

It wouldn’t come out the way he wants it to, though. He knows that. A writer who can’t get his words to make sense when he’s trying to pull them straight from the heart and actually speak them out loud. It’s all so perfectly fine and easy when he’s hiding behind a story or a character or literally anything else that’s not actually him—but this is eating him up inside, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without acting out or just deteriorating completely. 

Maybe he’ll be fine once he’s sober, and he can throw all of these feelings back in their unmarked grave and forget where he buried them. Then he and Will can continue as they are, and he won’t have to risk fucking up the friendship that means more to him than anything else in the entire world. 

Drunk Mike, however, thinks it might be a risk he’s willing to take. 

There are a considerable amount of signs that point to the fact that Will does indeed reciprocate these feelings, and also has done so for a very long time—Mike would have to be blind not to see that. 

Like him looking at him the way he always has, all the touches and brushing his hair delicately out of the way, enjoying being touched by him, saying he would always choose him, entertaining every single one of Mike’s stupid whims even though they clearly drive him crazy, looking disappointed when Mike had stressed the phrase best friends after the insanely intimate encounter they just had, how domestic they’ve been since they moved in together, the fucking painting, surviving the end of the world side by side and being one of the first people he’d gravitate towards in any moment of danger. Not to mention every single night he’d fallen asleep peacefully as soon as he was in Mike’s arms after a nightmare. 

The evidence is damning, but despite all of it, Mike still isn’t completely sure. 

The boundaries of their friendship have always been a little hard to judge, and he’s always been perfectly fine with that. They both have. That’s what makes it so difficult to figure out if this is just another one of those things that is categorised as normal for them. 

But Mike isn’t stupid. Tonight is different. There’s a blatant magnetic force between them that’s pulling them together like one of Dustin’s compasses to a gate. There’s tension, clear attraction, or electricity or whatever, which has knocked them up a few levels. It’s the thick air between them, the staring, the blushing, the sheer amount of touches. 

He knows it would be impossible to feel this tension if it were truly one-sided, and when have he and Will not been on the same page? 

Well, eventually, at least.

And, obviously, very intimately covering someone in blood isn’t an act of friendship by any means. Mike has no choice but to accept that. 

He’s not even registered that his unknown sexuality is another issue that’s risen to the surface, because if he’s completely honest, right now it doesn’t even seem to matter. Like, yeah, it’s crossed his mind plenty of times, but he’s never stopped on the thought for long enough to actually figure anything out. Yes, it’s a little scary because Will’s a guy, but more than anything it freaks Mike out because it’s Will. He can work everything else out later. 

All he knows, at this moment, is that he needs him more than oxygen into his lungs and if that makes him gay or whatever the fuck then he really could not care less. He’s too drunk to worry about exactly what he is right now, other than hopelessly in love with his best friend— that’s quite enough to digest, thank you very much. 

“How much further?” 

“A few minutes, I think.” Will tells him, even though it’s clear he already knows exactly how far away they are from home right now. 

Mike slows his pace down slightly, if that’s even possible, and glances at him. “Did you have fun?” 

“‘Course I did.” 

“Good. That’s good.” Mike nods, awkwardly clearing his throat, then, apparently, he says: “I uh, I hope I wasn’t, like, weird or anything, you know, when I— Like I hope that wasn’t… weird, for you.”

Will is thoughtfully quiet for a moment. Mike can only hear the sound of their shoes against the sidewalk and the light breeze brushing past his ears that’s starting to make him feel dizzy. 

“Did you find it weird?” Will asks tentatively, keeping his eyes on his own shoes as he walks. Reluctantly, Mike loosens his grip to let his hand go, and in the act of pulling away, Will’s fingers brush against his own before he tucks both fists into his jacket pockets. 

“No! No, I didn’t. I liked it— I mean, I mean it was like— an experience, you know?” Mike rambles. 

“Sure,” Will says quietly, letting Mike’s words soak into his skin as he tucks his own hands away. “It wasn’t weird for me, no. It just felt…”

“Normal?” Mike provides after he trails off, hoping it was the word he was looking for. It’s the word that feels right for him, at least. 

Will exhales a breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in his throat all night. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Me too. And, like, it’s not really a normal thing to do, but I’m super comfortable with you, so doing that with a stranger or like, I don’t know, even Dustin or Lucas would feel really weird. But with you I kinda just felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing, you know?” 

Mike curses himself internally after all of this haphazardly falls out of his mouth, because it’s already getting away from him. The right words ploughing a good few steps ahead and lurching out of his grasp. At this point, saying so much whilst being incredibly vague at the same time has become one of his talents. Being drunk only makes it worse.

Will digests his words, seemingly dissecting them and trying to figure out what he actually means underneath all of the rambling—something he’s very used to doing at this point. “Which is… drenching me in fake blood?”

Mike laughs. “Not that, it’s just…”

“What?” 

“I don’t think I can explain it.”

Will smirks. “Try me.” 

“You—” Mike falters, digging his nails into his palms in the comfort of his pockets. He focuses on Will, glancing down at him slightly over his own shoulder. “It’s just you, okay?”

Will narrows his eyes quizzically, matching Mike’s gaze. “What about me?”

Mike internally begs him not to make him say it. Can’t I just throw a bunch of incoherent bullshit at you and you can just figure out what I mean? Or, even better, can’t you just read my mind? That would save me a fuck ton of embarrassment. Or maybe I can just stop running my mouth, talk about something else, and pretend nothing even happened. Yeah. That should do it.

But, as much as he wants to, this isn’t something he can run from anymore. 

He turns away and looks up to a streetlight. “You know…”

“I don’t think I do.” Will laughs lightly, which makes the situation feel a little easier, somehow. Mike considers breaking out into a song again, and they can race home and crawl into their separate beds and he can try to erase every single memory from tonight. The sensory ones are particularly concerning. They’ve left the palms of his hands feeling like they’re screaming. God knows how Will feels right now. Mike wonders if his body is crying out from every place it was touched.  

“Okay, forget it. I’m just digging myself into a massive hole right now.” Mike sways again, bumping into Will. He mumbles an apology and wonders why he isn’t sobering up. He didn’t even feel that bad before they left. Something about the fresh air, probably. 

“You’re not, just tell me what you mean.”

“Will, please—”

“What? Just tell me!” Will giggles. “Nothing you can say will be weird to me, I promise.”

“How can you promise that?!”

“I just can, alright?”

“No way.”

“Mike!”

“Fine, fine!” Mike holds his hands up in defence, and practically chokes out: “It’s fucking attractive, okay!”

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say before he said it, and he could’ve said something much worse, so it really isn’t that bad. 

But Will stops walking. Why isn’t he walking? Mike continues on for a few steps before he realises and turns on his heel to see Will just standing there, looking a little puzzled but also amused. 

“What?” is all he can say, like he wasn’t entirely sure what he just heard and needs to hear it again to confirm he’s not going crazy, and that Mike didn’t really say what he just said. 

He must’ve been expecting something like that, right? Because what else would it be? There’s not really any other explanation anyway, so Mike’s not really sure why he looks so surprised. 

Mike takes a deep breath, one of his hands finding its way into the hair at the back of his neck. He pulls at it a little bit to brace himself for whatever the hell is going to fly out of his mouth next, then he slowly drags it out from his scalp and massages the side of his neck where Will left his mark. He has to stop himself from scratching at it in an attempt to make the burning feeling go away, so he drops both hands to his sides. 

“Well, of course you are. Attractive, I mean. But like, the blood? It just stirred something up in me, and I had to, like, work out what the fuck was going on in my head. I needed to see you like this. And it’s—” Mike pauses only to look at Will again, trying to figure out if he’s pushed it too far. To see if he looks disgusted. But he just stands there, waiting, so he continues on. “It’s just really hot and I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or whatever because you’re my best friend but— but I just feel like— we’re way past that now? Like, my hands were literally all over you and you were letting me put it wherever and jesus fucking christ you look so good.” 

Well. 

Shit.

No turning back now. 

Will doesn’t say anything for an insane amount of time and the silence makes Mike want to crawl out of his skin. He keeps looking at the ground, his face burning hotter than the fucking sun, until he glances up at Will to see him just peering at him thoughtfully as if Mike didn’t just confess… all that. 

Mike isn’t very perceptive. He’s never been any good at figuring out how other people are feeling from their expression or body language alone, but he always thought Will was an exception. Apparently not. Right now, he has no idea. 

“Okay, I’ve made it weird. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget—”

“No, Mike. It’s okay.” Will shakes his head, taking a slight step forward. He’s smiling a little bit, which slows Mike’s heart to a slightly steadier pace, though he still wouldn’t be surprised if it lurched right out of his chest. 

Mike tries not to choke. “Is it?” 

“I promise it’s fine.” Will confirms, his voice level and reassuring. Mike releases some of the tension from his shoulders, relaxes his frown, and crosses his arms. 

“Okay. Okay, good.” His throat is very dry all of a sudden, and he clears it awkwardly before he next speaks. “And I’m like, not just… Like I know you’re, um—”

“What?”

He can’t bring himself to say it. He doesn’t know why. “You know, you being…”

It’s been common knowledge between the two of them for years, and he’s always been comfortable with Will talking about it. He asks questions, sometimes; only because he’s curious. But he’s never brought it up first, let alone in relation to himself, so this is uncharted territory. 

Part of him even wants to lay it all out for Will and ask him to help him figure out what he is. He’s lived it all. He’s known Mike forever. He would absolutely be the best person to give him advice. But that would involve a lot of talking and perhaps a verbal confession and even the mere thought of that makes Mike want to throw up into a nearby bush, even though he’s pretty much damned himself already. 

So, he’s going to continue to be vague and suggestive, and if he makes it home without face planting then maybe he can try and communicate his feelings nonverbally (whatever that entails) because being close with him in that bathroom was too damn easy in the end. He just needs that moment back. He won’t fuck it up this time. 

But again, no. Will deserves to hear it. 

If only Mike weren’t so terrible at words. 

Will raises an eyebrow, still looking calmly amused. “...Gay?”

“Yeah. I don’t want you to think this is just me saying stuff just because of that, like it’s a reason to get away with it. It’s not! If anything, it incriminates me a little more, but—”

“Okay, slow down. I don’t think that at all— but, what are you even saying to me right now, Mike?”

“I don’t know!” Mike groans. “I just think you’re very attractive and I wanted to take a moment—well, the entire night, actually—to appreciate it, and I didn’t want you to think that it was a joke.” 

It’s painfully quiet for a few moments until Will starts laughing. 

He’s fucking laughing. So hard that he leans forward a bit and clutches his arms over his stomach. Mike stares at him, completely bewildered, wondering if he’s really embarrassed himself that much. 

“What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?”

Will straightens his posture, and Mike’s heart sinks at the sight of him all over again. He keeps expecting the blood to vanish every time he doesn’t see it for a matter of seconds, but there it is. His artwork. As red as ever. “You’re so clueless it’s actually hilarious.”

“What does that mean?”

Will rolls his eyes. “You find a guy attractive and suddenly it’s the end of the world.”

“It’s not just some guy, Will. It’s you.” Mike stresses, throwing his arms out to gesture to him. 

“So? I find you attractive, too.”

“I— what?” 

“You are!” 

“You’ll really hurt my feelings if you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Wait, you really— What?” 

“What?” 

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” 

Will looks a little smug, and he’s closer to Mike again even though he swears he didn’t see him move. “Not at all.” 

“Oh.” Mike says quietly, and watches Will carefully as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He takes one out and places it between his lips before stuffing the rest of the pack away. He strikes the lighter a few times, and then looks at Mike expectantly when he has no luck.  

“Help me out, here.” He urges, and Mike’s muscle memory kicks in and he cups both of his blood stained hands around the cigarette. 

Neither of them smoke regularly—they tend to share one when they’ve had a drink or a particularly draining day, so Mike was expecting this to happen at some point tonight, but it’s never felt this intimate before. 

As Will focuses on catching the flame, Mike stares at him, fascinated, and Will stares right back. Once it’s lit, he takes a deep inhale and blows the smoke away from Mike’s face, then frowns at him because he’s standing there like an idiot. “What? Have I made you uncomfortable now?”

Mike drops his hands to his sides. “No! No, I just… I didn’t think anyone saw me that way. Especially not you.” 

“Mike.” Will sighs, then takes another drag, holding it in his lungs for a little longer until he breathes out his next words accompanied by a cloud of smoke. “You’re acting dumb again because you know that’s not true.” 

“Stop calling me dumb!” 

“I will when you stop being dumb and admit you’re good looking.” He says sternly, and holds the cigarette out for Mike to take. 

Mike takes it slowly, the tips of his fingers knocking Will’s. “I can’t admit something that’s not true.” 

“That’s fine, but you’re wrong.” Will shrugs, then watches patiently as Mike places the cigarette between his own lips, an orange glow illuminating his face just slightly. When he pulls it away, he sees a little red mark on the end of it that Will’s looking at, too. “So, can we go back to that massive hole you were digging for a second—”

Mike clears his throat and flicks the ash from the end. “You said I wasn’t!”

Will snorts out a laugh. “Well, regardless, can we just circle back—”

“To what?” Mike takes it as his cue to hand the cigarette back to Will and turn on his heel so the two of them can start walking again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Seriously?” he’s following him closely, a cloud of smoke trailing behind them. “You tell me that you found covering me in blood really attractive and it was like ‘something you were supposed to be doing’ and you expect me to just move on from that?” 

“Yes, actually. That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Mike says dramatically. He’d complain about the fact that this was brought up in the first place, but it was all him. Every single thing that has made his head spin tonight has been all of his own doing, leaving him only with himself to blame. 

“Too bad, there’s no way I’m letting that go.” 

“Well, you have to.”

Will nudges him in the arm. “No, I don’t!”

“Will!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll do it your way, then.” Will storms ahead, placing himself in front of Mike again and blocking his path forward. He holds out the cigarette. “Hold this.” 

Mike takes it, and allows Will to position him where he wants him as if the two of them are in drama class and they’re about to perform a Shakespeare scene or something, his hands firm on Mike’s shoulders.

“What are you doing?” 

“Just trust me for a second.” Will says, and when he’s happy with where he’s placed Mike right underneath a streetlight, he takes a couple of steps back until he’s standing far enough into the shadows that Mike can’t see him. “If I was like, legitimately a vampire right now, what would you do?” 

Mike scoffs. “What kind of question is that?”

“You’re more comfortable talking about things like they’re a story, right?” 

Mike sighs. “What’s your point?” 

“If you didn’t know me, and I came up to you like this,” Will says slowly as he takes a couple of steps forward and looks at Mike curiously. Like, exactly how vampires look at people they want to bite. Desire, yearning, and hunger paint his expression, and Mike wonders if Will’s been taking acting classes in secret or if he’s actually in love with him, too. “What would you do?” 

Mike swallows thickly. “Well, probably run in the other direction because you look like you just killed an entire family.” 

“Would you, though?” Will peers at him suggestively, taking another step. Mike feels like he’s going to pass out. 

“Well, no,” Mike starts, trying to look anywhere else for a few seconds to give himself a moment to catch his breath. A tree. The front door of the house across the street. Literally anything else. “But you’d probably hypnotise me or something—”

“I wouldn’t,” Will says steadily. “Not you.”

Jesus.

“Then— Then I’d… I don’t know!”

“You must know. You’ve clearly been thinking about it all night.” 

“I haven’t!”

“Tell me one other thought you’ve had.” Will challenges. Has Mike really been so transparent tonight? Or has Will really been reading his mind?

“Wait— what exactly are you implying I’ve been thinking about?” 

“Nothing! You’ve just been very insistent on this whole thing and you keep bringing it up, so…” Will shrugs, plucking the forgotten cigarette from Mike’s fingers and sticking it between his lips.

“Please forgive me, Will, for being a little freaked out by how much I want—” Mike sighs, exasperated. “Wanted to do all that. I can’t explain it.” 

Will looks at him thoughtfully like he is, in fact, seeing right through him. “So when you said it’s hot… was that just the blood thing, or—”

“No! You are. The blood just… adds to it, and I enjoyed the… you know…” Mike shrugs, throwing his hands out in front of him and almost grazing Will’s chest with his fingertips.

Will takes a drag and raises his eyebrows, expectantly waiting for Mike to continue even though he keeps trying to unspokenly make his point. “What?” 

“Like, the whole…” Mike gestures to Will with his hands in an awkward up and down motion, knowing it’s clear enough what he’s trying to say. Will smirks because he does know, but crosses his arms and continues to wait anyway. 

“Use your words.” 

Mike’s knees buckle underneath him a little bit and after he locks them back into place he stares at Will, mouth hanging open slightly, completely lost for words.

He’s flirting with him. He has been this whole time. And shamelessly, at that. 

Yeah. He’s way too weak for this shit.

Suddenly, Mike feels extremely unwell. 

“Um. Well, you know what I mean! Just—” he stammers. Use his words? He can’t use his words. How can Will look at him and talk to him like that and expect him to string a sentence together that even vaguely makes sense? Especially when he looks like that. Especially when Mike was the one who made him look like that. 

Thankfully, Will puts him out of his misery. “Having your hands on me?” 

“Jesus— Will!” Mike yells, his face burning even though it’s ice cold outside. “God, you’re making this sound so much worse.” 

“It’s not a bad thing, Mike.” Will chuckles lightly, offering Mike the last bit of the cigarette who quickly shakes his head. He feels way too nauseous now. Will finishes it off himself whilst Mike tries not to have a panic attack. “I mean, it makes sense, you were probably just… touch deprived.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” 

“Well, you were probably just craving a little bit of intimacy. Like, since El you’ve not been the slightest bit interested in anyone else, which is fine! But that was a long time ago, and you probably just wanted to be close to someone and you’re comfortable with me, so like, why not, we were— are— both drunk…” Will theorises, crouching down for a moment to stub out the cigarette on the ground. 

No. 

No, that’s not it. 

That’s really not it. 

Well, it’s partially it. Will’s right on the money with a few things. He was craving intimacy, but he’s pretty sure he wasn’t interested in El in that way at all, and this whole time he has been interested in the person who’s always been right in front of him and he’d tried (and failed) to project all of those bottled up feelings onto her. 

He did want to be close to someone. Wants to be close to someone. To Will. Yes, he’s comfortable with him. Yes, they are both drunk. But Mike has to admit those things don’t make this not real and they don’t explain it away like Will is clearly trying to do right now in an effort to give Mike a way out if what he said is the only thing that’s true. If that’s really where the line is drawn, Will’s giving him the means to distance himself from it. To brush it off like it’s nothing. To step away. 

It’s a classic Will Byers move. He used his own feelings to try and fix Mike’s relationship with El all those years ago, and now he’s telling Mike that if all that was back in the bathroom was a desperate act of loneliness, then it’s okay, and he understands.

God. Mike wants to tell him. To grab him by the shoulders and say you’re not getting it! He wants Will to know how badly he wants him, but he cannot, for the life of him, find the right words to do any of it justice. 

He’s been trying to pretend it isn’t real for years, the last thing he wants is Will doing the same. 

“That makes it sound like I was using you.” Mike sighs, because if he makes anything clear to him right now, it’s going to be the fact that he didn’t do it just because he was feeling lonely. 

“Were you?” Will asks, looking somewhat hesitant to even question it.

“No!”

“Good, because it didn’t feel like you were.” 

“Will, I would never. I swear.”

“I know, I know, it’s just—”

“And I didn’t do it because I was drunk, okay?” 

“Then why did you?”

One of Mike’s hands finds its way into his hair again. “I already told you why, I just get so fixated on some things it’s hard to ignore a thought once it’s there and I just have to see it through, and maybe I was touch deprived or whatever, but more than that I just—” Mike sighs. “I don’t know how to explain it.” 

Will is quiet for a few moments, arms crossed and cigarette butt still sitting between his fingers. He shrugs, his voice much softer when he next speaks. “Maybe try and give me a shorter answer.” 

Mike swallows thickly. “There is no short answer for this shit, Will.” 

“Well, a simpler one, at least.” Will gently encourages. 

Now, Mike feels a little pathetic. Will is literally having to coach him through this weird veiled confession, trying to ask him the right questions and steer him towards the things he really wants to say but clearly has no idea how. All whilst being so patient and calm and understanding even though Mike knows damn well a lot of what he’s saying isn’t making any sense. It’s just so Will, and though it does make Mike feel utterly hopeless, it’s working— and he loves him even more for it, if such a thing is even possible. 

“Okay, well, I guess I did it because…” Mike tries, heart racing, blood pumping much quicker through his veins, staring at his and Will’s shoes pointing towards each other.

“Because?” 

Mike closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath before looking back at him. “Because I wanted to.” 

Will smiles, taking a few seconds to let those simple words process in his mind, head tilted slightly, looking like he’d just heard what he’d been waiting to hear all night, or forever, even. “That wasn’t so terrible to admit, was it?” 

“No.” Mike slides his hands into his jean pockets to stop himself from nervously fidgeting. “What about you, huh?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you let me?” 

Will shrugs like his answer is the most obvious thing in the world, and there’s no real reason for him to have to say it out loud. “Because I wanted to.” 

Mike nods, relaxing just slightly. “Okay, cool.”

“Cool.” Will hums, that quiet confidence radiating off him, making Mike feel like he’s going to melt into the ground under his feet.

He tries to remain cool, but he’s well aware of the stupid grin that’s on his face right now. “Glad we’re on the same page.” 

And it’s fine, because Will’s grinning too, and Mike’s stomach does quite the flip at the sight of it.

“When aren’t we?” 

There’s a moment, then, somewhere between his last breath and Will’s next, that seems to unearth everything. The undeniable truth. A solid, mutual understanding. It’s something you have to pay attention to catch, like the brief earthy scent just before it’s about to rain, and you know you’ll have to give in to what comes next and let it wash over you. Or drown you, if that’s what you so desire. 

They’re still gazing at each other as their smiles fade into something a little more intuitive, like they’re understanding each other’s thoughts completely without having to speak. It’s as if their conversation continues in those few moments after that first rumble of thunder—then suddenly, their shared ache becomes tangible, and it’s taken the shape of both the sinner and the saint. Mike almost feels like he can reach out and touch it, and in the midst of the thought, his blood red fingers twitch, extending towards Will in a quiet, instinctive gesture. Will’s breath catches in his throat when his gaze is drawn there for a split second, but then it’s gone, and he smiles at him like he can feel it, too. 

They continue on, Mike’s heart slamming against his ribcage so hard he’s surprised he can still methodically place one foot in front of the other. He wishes he hadn’t repressed this whole thing so much because at least then he could’ve gone over what he wanted to say in his head. Like, he could’ve had literal years of preparation. Drafted as many speeches as he wanted until he landed on the perfect one. Will deserves that, doesn’t he? 

But Mike is impulsive. He wants to act on his emotions as soon as he feels them (or as soon as he can identify them), so he knows that regardless of when he accepted these feelings he’d still want to do something about them right in the heat of the moment. 

Which is why he’s going to kiss him when they get home. 

Yeah. He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna kiss Will Byers. His best friend. Just like that. 

He’s already crossed a fuck ton of boundaries tonight— what’s one more? 

And the funny thing is, it’s like they both know it’s going to happen. After this conversation they’ve landed firmly on the same wavelength. Unfortunately, this power hasn’t extended to being able to read minds, so Mike has no idea exactly what Will is thinking (even though he feels like he’s coming pretty close at this point) which is inconvenient because right now all he wants is to know every single thought that passes through his head. 

How long has he felt this way? How long has he wanted this? How badly has he wanted this? Every time they shared a bed, did he wish that he never had to leave? Did he pray to some higher power that their embraces would never end? Did he spend sleepless nights wondering how he could ever move on from it? Does he still? How many times has he thought about kissing Mike? Being with him in the way that, it seems, they were always supposed to? 

There are literal years worth of longing and yearning between them, which makes everything feel a thousand times more intense. Each glance, each touch, each suggestive comment, is so weighted with it all that actually crossing that final boundary will surely feel like nothing either of them have ever felt before, and will probably never feel again. 

It’s just a kiss. It’ll be so easy. Because it’s just a kiss, and it’s just Will. Except it’s not, because it’s Will. 

He can’t fuck this up. 

Mike’s only ever kissed El, so his experience is limited, but he’s relieved that he at least knows the fundamentals. It’s not like Will has much more experience than him, either— one time Mike asked him if he’d ever kissed anyone before (out of pure curiosity) and he told him that he had a short lived make out session with a guy at a party back in high school, but he shrugged it off like it was no big deal and was pretty confused when Mike started immediately throwing millions of questions at him. Who was it? Did I know him? Where and when exactly did this happen? Were you guys ever a thing? Would you kiss him again? 

He even remembers that, at the party in question, he’d spent those twenty minutes sulking on the sofa because Will had left him alone with Max, who took it as an opportunity to theorise every possible reason why he looked so miserable without him by his side.

God, you’re acting like you’re in love with him, or something. 

Yeah. Or something. 

They walk in a content silence until they reach their apartment building, shuffling through the doors and the lobby, still occasionally bumping shoulders and letting out quiet giggles that they think the other can’t hear. Mike’s sobered up a little more after the journey home, but he’s still got enough liquid courage in him to go through with this plan. Maybe Will has a plan, too. Maybe he’ll beat him to it. It would make Mike’s life a whole lot easier, that’s for sure—but he knows nothing is ever that simple.

He presses the elevator button, and as the two of them are waiting, he feels Will turn to look at him. “Can I be honest with you?” 

His heart drops, just a bit. “Uh— yeah. Always.”

“This is not how I saw the night going, like, at all.” Will whispers, leaning closer to him, clearly not wanting to talk too loud because of how late it is. Mike doesn’t even know the time. He’d rather not know, actually. 

“Is that a bad thing?” 

“No. It was just different. I mostly didn’t expect you to call me hot, but—”

Mike snaps his head up and focuses on the elevator’s metal doors, voice raising slightly. “Oh my god, please stop talking.”

“Shh!” Will elbows him. “I mean, take it back if you want.”

“I’m not taking it back, but I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear you say that.” 

“Mike—”

“Sorry, can’t hear you.” Mike shrugs, even though he can’t keep the smirk off his face when he feels Will giving him daggers. 

“Seriously?” Will scoffs, and Mike remains quiet as the elevator finally reaches the ground floor. “Wow, silent treatment. Awesome.”

“No, I’m not giving you the silent treatment, I just want you to forget that I called you—” Mike says as the two of them step inside, pressing the button for their floor. Will’s looking incredibly smug yet again. “Oh, shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

The doors slide closed and suddenly Mike feels like he’s in that stupid bathroom all over again. 

Maybe he never left. Maybe he never will. 

At this point, he supposes such a thing wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Oh, come on.” Will says as Mike leans his back against the wall to his right, and Will lays his palm flat against the cool metal surface next to his shoulder, body still facing the doors but head turned to the side as he leans closer to him. “Say it again for me?” 

If Mike can’t handle this flirting how the fuck is he supposed to handle actually kissing him?

He plays into it, anyway, and ducks his head closer to Will’s. “I think I’ve said enough for one night.”

“Please?” 

Mike glares at him as if it’ll disguise the fact that his face is quickly turning almost as red as Will’s is. “No,” he says. “Besides, it’s not something that needs to be said, it’s just true.” 

“Okay, but…” Will starts, and Mike stares at his own red fingerprints around his mouth. “What if I want to hear you say it again?” 

“I’m not saying it again.” 

“Fine.” Will groans. “But I call dibs on the shower—”

“No!” Mike almost yells, and Will looks at him with widened eyes. “I mean, no. Just leave it. For a little longer. The night isn’t over, is it?” 

Will glares at him in disbelief for a moment before he pushes himself away from the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. “God, I really am going to fucking bite you.”

Mike raises a brow, reaches forward to poke Will in his side, then says: “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” 

Which is his pathetic idea of flirting, apparently. 

Will tries to defend himself with his elbow as the doors slide open, the familiar dimly lit stretch of hallway in front of him. “Oh, wow.” 

“Sorry, that was way funnier in my head.” Mike rambles, following behind Will who fishes his set of keys out of his pocket, focusing his attention on finding the right one amongst his many colourful keyrings. 

“Sure it was.” Will laughs lightly, and Mike watches his hands closely as he finally locates the key, holding it so hard that his thumb almost turns white. Is he nervous, too? Is Mike nervous? Apparently so. Very much so, actually. It seems to be getting worse the closer they get to their apartment. 

“Just don’t wash it off yet.”

“Why?” 

“Just don’t.”

Will frowns. “Doesn’t it… remind you of all the upside down bullshit?”

“Not really.” Mike shrugs. “It’s not like you’re dressed as a fucking demogorgon, is it?” 

“No, but, it’s a little intense.” Will says through a laugh, and then clears his throat. “Does it not even make you feel a little bit… dizzy?” 

“Oh, believe me, I have bigger things making me feel that way right now.” 

“Really?”

“Totally.” Mike mumbles, coming to a firm stop behind Will when they reach the door. He’s a little too close because, in his defence, he didn’t realise how close they were to getting there, and he wasn’t really paying attention, but now he’s right behind Will, watching him push the key into the lock over his shoulder. He takes advantage of the situation, though, and ducks to whisper right next to his ear. “I might be a little drunk.”

Will pauses for a moment, shoulders tensing up slightly, before he pushes the door open. “I know.”

He steps inside, then holds it open for Mike who trails in behind him. The comfort of being in their own home settles as a calm warmth in his chest. “Are you?”

“Uh huh.” Will says as he locks the door. He then walks towards the kitchen, dumps his keys onto the counter, and begins untying his shoes.

“Awesome.” Mike nods, trying not to trip over his own feet as he kicks off his boots. 

Will places his neatly by the table, then shuffles off his jacket and hangs it on the back of one of the dining chairs. Mike sets the angel wings down by the door and throws his own jacket over the back of the sofa, but, still feeling a little cold from the walk, he grabs one of his —Will’s?— sweatshirts that he sees on top of their clean laundry pile. A soft dark green one. Probably Will’s. He slides it on without a second thought.

He straightens it out and brushes his hair out of his face, then carefully readjusts his piercing, the metal a little cold against the pads of his fingers. He considers taking off the rest of his jewellery, or at least going to wash the makeup off his face, but it wouldn’t exactly be fair when he’d practically begged Will to remain in costume for some completely undisclosed but quietly obvious reason. He reaches into the neck of the sweatshirt and fishes out the silver pendant he’d been fiddling with all night, letting it rest against his chest like it’s the only anchor he has left tying him down to sanity.

“Hey, Will." Mike starts, the name suddenly feeling heavy in his mouth. “I have a question.” 

“Yeah?” Will asks. Back turned to him, he reaches into a cupboard for two empty glasses and begins to fill them with water. Another wonderful idea. Mike wouldn’t have remembered to drink any water if it weren’t for Will. He’d probably be dead without him, he thinks. He lingers by the sofa, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that he feels like he’s swaying when he’s pretty sure he isn’t. 

“What do you think of my piercing?”

The faucet is shut off so quickly that the sudden absence of the sound of running water is jarring, and Will quietly places the two filled glasses down. He turns, leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Are you seriously asking me that? Again?”

“Yes.” Mike says simply, stepping into the kitchen and mirroring him against the counter opposite. Will looks him up and down for a brief moment when he notices he’s changed, but doesn’t comment on it. “Tell me. Honestly, this time.” 

“I’ve been honest every time you’ve asked.” Will shrugs. It’s dark in here, which makes him look all the more unsettlingly beautiful. The moonlight pours in from the window at the other end of the living room, giving everything this weird, bluish tint that makes Mike feel like he’s watching a movie instead of existing in his own life. 

He sighs. “No— don’t give me that bullshit. You know what I mean.” 

Will’s mouth opens slightly like he’s about to hit him back with some sort of playful argument, or a vague, non-specific opinion that he knows Mike doesn’t want to hear. He brings his lips back together and pauses for a few seconds, staring him down.

“Well, according to your logic,” Will says as he turns to grab the waters, proceeding to pass one to Mike who accepts it and holds it against his chest. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“The hell does that mean?” 

Mike waits impatiently for Will’s answer as he finishes most of his glass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know exactly what it means.” 

“No, I don’t.” Mike says firmly, taking a small sip himself after Will stares at him, then the drink, as a silent encouragement.

Will turns his back to him to place his empty glass in the sink. “I think you do.” 

“Well,” Mike starts, now looking at the smudged blood on the back of Will’s neck. “I don’t understand.”

“You understand just fine.” Will says quietly, fussing with the rest of the dishes that they left earlier, seemingly trying to distract himself from this conversation. 

“Just tell me what you think of it.” Mike pleads, then takes another steady drink. When Will stays silent, he places the glass down and steps towards him, leaning against the counter so he can duck his head and try to catch his eyes. “I keep worrying that you hate it.” 

“I don’t hate it.” 

“Will, please.” Mike says gently. “I just need to know.” 

Will finally looks up at him—well, it’s more of a glare—and Mike gives him his best pretty please face that seems to work every time.

“Okay,” he gives in, drying his hands quickly on a dish towel and hanging it on one of the lower cupboard door handles. He turns, and then pushes himself up so he can sit on the counter, his thigh coming to rest just slightly against Mike’s stomach. He leans forward and clasps his hands together, pausing for a tense moment, before: “I think it’s hot.” 

Mike immediately frowns. “Shut up.” 

“What?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Will says calmly. “I’m serious.” 

Mike scoffs. “Well, you could’ve just told me that in the first place!”

“I couldn’t, though.” Will shakes his head. “It’s okay if you call me hot because it doesn’t mean anything to you, but I didn’t want you to— I don’t know. Think it was weird coming from me.” 

Doesn’t mean anything to me? Is he being serious? 

“Stop it. No. That’s ridiculous.”

“Just didn’t wanna freak you out, that’s all.” 

“It wouldn’t have.” Mike says firmly, his hand suddenly itching to rest on Will’s thigh. He leans closer, just a little, and the pressure on his stomach is oddly comforting. 

“Well,” Will shrugs, looking out of the window that’s now opposite him. “Couldn’t be sure.” 

“Well, uh— thank you?” 

“Satisfied now?”

“Yeah,” Mike nods. “Promise I won't ask you again.”

“Good.” Will chuckles lightly, then looks down to his joined hands where he runs a thumb comfortingly over his skin in a slow rhythmic motion, like he’s trying to distract himself or calm down. 

Mike knows him too well. He knows how he goes into himself when he’s having a hard time. Hell, he even managed to do it when he was being possessed by a goddamn interdimensional monster. He always puts everyone else’s feelings before his own, and apparently, he’ll even do it with something as seemingly miniscule as his opinion on Mike’s recent piercing choices. If he’d said it in the first place like Mike had so desperately wanted him to, there was a risk that he’d take it the wrong way, which, to Will, clearly wasn’t worth taking until now. 

But that’s not what he meant. That’s not even what he said. He should’ve known well enough that Mike would never take it the wrong way because he’d always been so accepting of him. Yeah, he’s a little awkward around the subject, but ever since he’s known he’s been completely supportive of him and he wouldn’t be caught dead being the type of ‘friend’ that would get offended or freaked out at such a comment, regardless of sexuality. 

Will had to know that. Will does know that.

Which leaves Mike with only one plausible answer. Yes, Will’s always been confident in telling Mike he’s a good looking guy, and tonight he’s proved that continually, but something about the piercing had driven it home, right in his gut, that his love extends to want, and his comfort to craving. It was to Will what the blood is to Mike. In the grand scheme of things, these oddly specific things don’t really matter, they’re just catalysts that fuel the feelings sitting, waiting, at the bottom of their guts. 

And Mike doesn’t have a clue how deep it goes for him, how far back— to the painting, at least, so there’s every chance he’s already experienced other catalysts over the years with just as much force as this one. Other little things that solidify the fact that there is no one else. That there will never be anyone else. The difference is, Will’s clearly been aware of his feelings for much longer—whereas Mike has done an astounding job at repressing them—and it’s turned into such a fragile thing that he’s had to keep guarded all this time. The confession he made was a trivial one, yes, but it’s clear to see it’s something so much bigger than that. 

“Listen, uh—” Mike clears his throat. “It doesn’t mean nothing to me, alright?” 

“What?”

“Like I said before, I really mean it. I’m not just saying this shit for fun.” 

Will breathes out shakily, still keeping his gaze fixed on his own hands. “Then why are you saying it?” 

It’s right there. Right in Mike’s throat, it’s balled up in a tangled mess, but it’s there. He’d give it to Will like that if he could get it out. They could pull it apart together. 

He tries not to swallow it down. “You’re not making this easy for me, you know that?”

Will finally looks at him, their faces close again. He searches Mike’s eyes for a few moments, seemingly in an attempt to wash away final doubts of his own. Mike hopes he’s looking at him intently enough for him to get the message loud and clear. Head ducked, tilted slightly, a slow glance down towards his mouth and then back up again.

He thinks he has the upper hand for a moment until Will holds him there, staring at him hard enough that it prevents him from moving at all. “You’re not making it easy for yourself.” 

“I know,” Mike says, voice quiet, heart beating loudly in his ears. “What am I supposed to do?” 

“Do what you want to do,” Will says, his eyes pleading. It’s clear enough what Mike wants to do right now, and Will does a pretty good job of making it obvious he knows exactly what that is by keeping his eyes locked on his own lips. “I’m right here.”

Mike’s breath catches in his throat. “What are we actually talking about right now?” 

It’s a stupid question. They’ve already offered themselves up to each other countless times throughout the night in a suggestive back and forth: If you ever get hungry, I’m all yours. I’d always choose you. I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. Because I wanted to. I’m right here. 

Really, they should talk about it. Make sense of it all. It would be the sensible thing to do. But what else needs to be said at this point? Everything made sense back in that bathroom, where they reached for each other in the dark, didn’t say a word, and embraced what has been living dormant for far too long. 

Will looks at him, as if to say: it’s obvious, isn’t it? 

“Mike.” 

Even though it’s just his own name, uttered quietly through a steady breath, it’s confession enough. It’s more weighted than the rest of it, and it knocks the breath right out of Mike’s lungs. 

Now would be as good a time as any. Right here in the kitchen. Right like this. They stare at each other knowingly for a few moments, Mike even sways forward just a little. It would be so easy to just lean that little bit further. Close the gap. He could turn to stand in front of him, even. Between his thighs. Put his arms around his waist. 

But something isn’t right.  

He lets himself rest a hand on Will’s thigh, just for a moment, before he turns and leaves him sitting there on the counter. If he’s gonna kiss him anywhere, he wants it to be in a place where he can be completely surrounded by him and his things and literally everything that comes with him; which is why he starts heading towards Will’s room.

Call him a perfectionist, but apparently somewhere deep in his brain, or maybe in a dream he forced himself to forget, he’s seen this play out before and this is how it’s supposed to go. This is where it happens. It just makes sense. Now all Will has to do is follow him. 

He flicks on the orange lava lamp that sits on the dresser, and it fills the space with a dim, peaceful glow. He then heads straight for the bed and throws himself down, letting the comfort of it wash over him. He accidentally catches sight of the alarm clock and the green numbers scream 3:17AM at him which doesn’t seem to add up because this entire night feels like it’s lasted five minutes—he’s never been so awake in his life. 

At least neither of them have class in the morning. He and Will could make out all night if they wanted to.

Ah. Shit. Yes. The whole reason he’s here right now. 

Kissing Will. 

Which is fine. Everything is totally fine. 

Mike isn’t really dying, he just feels like he is. 

He shuffles, trying to make himself more comfortable, resting his head on Will’s pillow. His heart beats erratically against his ribs, his stomach is doing somersaults, and the empty space there is churning for what he’s truly been after all night, plus the last ten years. 

Then, he hears him jump off the counter, and his gentle footsteps are at a steady pace until he reaches the doorway.  

He stands at the threshold, the same way he did when he first showed Mike his costume. Tilting his head slightly, he looks down at him. “You lost?”

“No,” Mike says. “I just like it in here”

“What’s wrong with your room?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs, turning to stare up at the ceiling. “Just wanna… hang out.” 

“Okay,” Will says, sounding uncertain but clearly deciding not to question it. 

Mike waits for him to move, to step in the room at least, but he stays exactly where he is. It’s deadly silent, all he can hear is the high pitched ringing in his ears that’s most likely a result of all the loud music he’s been exposed to tonight. But that’s the least of his problems right now; his main concern is why the hell Will is so far away from him. 

He tries not to sigh like a spoiled child, but he can’t help himself. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

A silence long enough for him to have to turn and meet Will’s gaze follows, and he’s looking at him like that again. 

“You haven’t invited me in.” 

Oh. So now he wants to play the fucking vampire? 

Mike raises a brow at him. “Well, it’s your room so I'm not sure that applies, but— you may enter.” 

Will bows his head, slowly steps inside and then leans against his dresser, continuing to look at Mike thoughtfully. It’s quite a picture, seeing him standing there, and Mike wouldn’t be surprised if he actually did turn out to be a vampire because he wears it so well. The persona fits him just right, hugs his body in all the right places, just like Mike knew it would. But, as much as he would love to lie here and look at him all night, he’s still too far away. 

Is he seriously going to make him work this hard for it? 

He has no choice but to take matters into his own hands. 

“My head’s fucking spinning,” he groans. “Help me up?”

“Seriously?”

Mike pathetically holds his arms out, waiting for him to step closer. “Please?”

Will clearly knows it’s a ploy, but he moves forward anyway, to the side of the bed, and reaches forward to grip onto Mike’s forearms. He tries to pull him up, but all Mike does is pull him right back down until he falls onto him, landing between his legs, his chest up against his own, pressing him down into the mattress. 

“Wow, you’re such a jerk.” Will laughs and tries to climb off him, but Mike slides his hands around him and pulls him closer, holding him in place. 

“And you should’ve seen that coming.” He teases as Will continues to struggle. He feels staggered, heavy heartbeats coming from his chest, but he can’t tell which are his, and which are Will’s—but one thing’s for certain, they’re both going crazy. 

“Well, I don’t wanna get blood stains all over my sheets.” Will manages to jab at Mike’s side, making him squirm. “Let me go.” 

Mike stills them both, holding Will as firmly as he can, moving his head to catch his eyes so he can look at him pointedly, like he’s never been more serious in his life. 

“No.”

“Mike—”

“I will wash them myself.” 

Will scoffs out a laugh. “No, you won’t.”

“Promise I will.” Mike pleads, voice softening. “Just stay.”

Will looks at him long and hard, and for a moment Mike really isn’t sure whether he’s going to just get it over with already and kiss him or drain him for every ounce of blood in his body. 

At this point, he’ll take either.  

Will adjusts himself, placing one of his thighs outside of Mike’s so he can prop himself up more, their legs now loosely slotted between each other. His right palm lays flat near Mike’s shoulder, and he holds himself above him, creating just a little bit more distance. 

“What exactly is your plan, here?”

“Well, I didn’t answer your question,” Mike starts, completely mesmerised by every inch of Will’s face. “From before.”

Will frowns. “What?” 

“The vampire question.” 

“Oh— so, what? I’m getting a demonstration?” Will laughs, moving to rest on his elbow instead, which brings him much closer to Mike’s face.  

Oh. God. 

“You sure are.” 

Will instinctively uses his index finger to brush his hair away from his piercing again. “Okay, what’s your next move?” 

Oh. God. 

Like most things tonight, Mike hasn’t thought this through, but he lets his impulse take over and he brings his outside leg up to hook around Will’s hip. He’s not strong by any means, and he’s still a little intoxicated, so he doesn’t know how he does it, but he manages to push up slightly and then flip him over until he’s the one laying flat on his back, their legs still slotted together. He holds himself up with his palms resting either side of his head, looks down, and, well, it’s quite a sight. 

Will’s chest is rising and falling with irregular breaths, and he looks up at Mike with a wild grin on his face. He can see his own handprints all over him from this angle, from his mouth to his hips. 

“Alright,” he reaches up to delicately hold the silver pendant that’s now hanging just above his face. “Now what?” 

Mike says it like it’s obvious. “You’ve gotta fight back.” 

Will scoffs, giving the necklace the slightest tug. “Are you sure?”

Mike swallows thickly, then nods. 

Will shrugs as if to say suit yourself and then circles both of Mike’s wrists with his hands, knocking him off his balance so he falls against his chest, causing the two of them to erupt into a fit of giggles. Will has no problem quickly flipping them back over, and the whole thing plays out like a hazy movie fight sequence until he has his forearm propped horizontally under Mike’s chin, pinning him firmly in place. 

He’s smiling, breathless. “Now I think you’d just go for the kill.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Mike encourages, tilting his chin up and angling his neck to the side. 

And, yes. He’s serious. Deadly serious, in fact. 

Will lets out a quiet, breathy sound—something between disbelief and amusement—and takes his arm away to hold himself up, giving Mike a moment to breathe. “I’m not actually going to bite you, Mike.”

“Just do it. I have a high pain tolerance now.”

“Bull. This is ridiculous.” Will giggles, until Mike doesn’t. 

“Will, come on,” his smile falls until he’s looking up at him with a far more intentful expression on his face, parting his lips to release a shallow breath. “Please?” 

Will doesn’t take long to start seriously considering it. 

His own smile fades and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, and when he releases it, it’s far less red than earlier, but in this light it doesn’t really make a difference. Shiny from the saliva, Mike’s eyes are drawn there like a magnet as he takes a deep breath in, and as much as he’s been trying all night, nothing could have prepared him for this. 

He knew exactly what he was asking for, and yet, it still catches him off guard when it happens. Will spends a little while staring at the spot on Mike’s neck that he’d already mapped out for himself earlier before he slowly leans down, hovering there for a painful beat before he steadily exhales, and when Mike feels the warm breath on his skin, a chill spreads through his entire nervous system in intricate tendrils, pulling all of his organs together and calming his body to a peaceful rhythm. 

Will’s teeth land on his skin as softly as they possibly can, just grazing him gently until he applies the smallest bit of pressure in his most careful version of a bite. Mike jolts a little in reaction, and he lets out a nervous giggle because he’s not sure what else to do. It hurts, just a bit, but in a strange, almost fucked up way, it feels nice. 

Will makes a small hum of a sound as he pulls away, like he truly gets it now, and stays hovering by his neck like he’s curious to see what he’s going to do next. Completely rendered speechless, and convinced he’s now immobile, Mike lays there helplessly like he’s more ready than ever for Will to take whatever he wants from him. 

Then, Will leans back into the same spot and delicately kisses it. 

It’s a quiet and soft gesture, but it makes Mike’s heart sink right through the mattress. Will’s lips against his skin feels like, what a vampire would call, a little drink: a small amount of blood taken from a victim to gauge a reaction before the real feed. 

Will pulls back, face just inches from Mike’s, and he’s not sure what his reaction actually is, but it’s enough to make Will smile at him softly, and then slowly roll off him to lie by his side. 

Mike feels immediately cold without the pressure of his body against him, and he wonders if he’s really messed this whole thing up for good this time. He didn’t even say anything, and yet he’s still managed to freak him out. Mike Wheeler, serial fuck up. Delusional weirdo and idiot. Always pushing it one step too far. This was bound to go sideways. 

It’s painfully quiet for a while until Will turns to lay on his side, propping his head up on his elbow. Mike is forced to make his brain catch up with the rest of his body, and he realises that a small part of him is still scared for everything to change. What’s about to happen is huge for him, for them both, so he’s putting too much pressure on himself for it to play out perfectly. It’s fragile, and Mike’s notoriously heavy handed, so he’s well aware there’s still a possibility he could break it. Will must’ve seen his worry, even for a split second, in the look on his face, or at least felt it in the speed of his heart against his chest. 

Mike can feel his eyes on him, scanning every inch of his face. “Talk to me.” 

He keeps looking at the ceiling as he takes a deep breath in, and then he turns to look at Will who’s still considerably close to him, his heavy lidded gaze and soft smile turning his insides to liquid. He relaxes, and realises that all Will wants to do right now is help him through this, like he has been this entire time. He owes him his honesty. 

“Will—” he starts, and it comes out a little scratchy before he swallows to clear his throat. He can still feel their ankles loosely slotted together. “This is… a lot.”

“I know,” Will hums, bringing up his free hand to rest against Mike’s arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth, grounding him back in reality. “You’re fine.” 

Mike breathes out shakily, suddenly feeling like he’s going to cry. He was holding it together so well until now. “I feel like everything’s changed.” 

“Is that bad?”

“No, fuck— Not at all.” 

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid. This is just— it’s all so new, and I don’t wanna fuck it up.” Mike sighs, feeling like the whole conversation is happening before his mind can even process it. He’s finding it hard to believe he and Will are even directly talking about this right now. “I don’t know you like this—”

“But you do.” Will argues, and Mike feels his own expression soften. “How did it feel? Back in that bathroom?”

It’s a loaded question, but the answer is simple. “It felt right.”

“Then you know me.” Will reaches forward, his warm hand coming to rest against the side of Mike’s face. “Stop overthinking it.” 

“I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Will sighs. “But can you try?” 

Mike nods lightly, and shuts his eyes for a moment as he leans into the touch of Will’s palm, completely unable to fathom how he’s so good at making him relax almost instantly. He supposes they’ve always been that person for each other, from the first time Will fell in the playground and scraped his knee, to quietly comforting each other through every life threatening battle, to right now. 

For some reason, this moment felt the scariest of them all, until suddenly it doesn’t anymore. 

Now, there’s just one more thing he needs to know. “How long?”

“Huh?”

“How long have you—” Mike tries, looking back at him. “You know.”

“Liked you?”

Mike’s heart almost stops. “So you do like me?”

“Do you seriously have to ask that?” Will laughs quietly, hand sliding down to rest against Mike’s chest. 

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around all this, alright?” Mike manages a laugh, then rests his own hand on top of Will’s. 

“Not even thirty minutes ago, you literally told me you thought we were way past best friends.” 

“Shit,” Mike winces. “I didn’t think you caught that.” 

“You underestimate me, Wheeler. I’m extremely observant.”

“That, you are.” Mike agrees, laughing lightly, until he turns his attention to their hands and runs his fingertips over Will’s soft skin, mapping out the curves of the bones underneath. “So… how long?” 

Will goes quiet, taking a deep breath, watching Mike trace his methodical patterns over his fingers like the sight of it is some obscure painting, hidden in the back of a museum that he can’t quite accept is truly taken from real life. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever not liked you, Mike.” 

Oh. 

Mike digests that easier than everything else he’s experienced tonight.

And suddenly, everything he’d been working out in his mind this whole time, becomes undeniably real in just a few words. Just a few seconds. He can feel all the years of their friendship surrounding him like an ocean, and he sinks completely. Right in the middle of it. 

“That’s—” he tries, but he doesn’t know what else to say. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Will almost whispers, the weight of it now hanging in the air instead of on his chest.  

“I think—” Mike starts, and it takes everything in him to muster up the courage to utter his next words. “I think I’ve felt the same for a long time, too. I just buried it so deep I couldn’t reach it until now.” 

Will’s breath catches in his throat, his own eyes now welling up just slightly, and as soon as Mike notices this, he shuffles his position, resting on his side so he’s mirroring him, his head propped on his own hand. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Will says, unable to keep the smile off his face. “What do you wanna do about that?” 

Mike finally breathes it out. 

The thing that’s been stuck in his gut for as long as he can remember, whether he could name it or not. 

“I just really wanna kiss you.”

And Will sighs with relief that the words have finally graced his ears.

“So kiss me.” 

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Mike shuffles forward just slightly and moves his hand up to cup Will’s face. Will watches him patiently as he traces the fading blood stains with the tips of his fingers for what feels like forever until he, once again, hooks a finger underneath his chin and tilts his head up a little, making sure the angle is just right before he leans forward. 

He feels Will’s shaky breath on his mouth before he finally closes the distance, their lips landing softly against each other. Will goes still for a moment until he completely relaxes in an echo of the moment Mike slid his blood slicked fingers into the back of his hair earlier, and it settles in him like a brand new sensation that feels strangely familiar. It’s nothing like he ever could’ve imagined. It’s almost indescribable. The feeling spreads through his veins, underneath his flesh, warming his heart and filling it up to the brim, satisfying the unearthed hunger that had been subconsciously driving him crazy for years.

It’s so soft that Mike feels like he’s going to disintegrate or start bleeding out for real, and he almost expects to feel a trickle of blood slide out the corner of his own mouth. The sound of the kiss rings in his ears after he pulls back, and thankfully, Will is beaming at him like he’s the most incredible thing to ever grace the earth and he can’t quite believe that he’s real, that any of this is real. So, Mike needs to make sure he proves to him that it is, whilst also proving it to himself, because right now, he feels like he’s dreaming. Any moment he’s going to wake up in his own room, longing for the boy on the other side of the wall. 

He leans in, just as delicate, and kisses him again, letting it last for a little bit longer this time, sliding his hand to rest against the back of his neck. When he pulls away, he can tell his skin is flushed even in this dim light, and Mike finds himself trying to take it all in, because, god, the look on his face right now is something he never wants to forget. 

His hand finds its way to Mike’s side, fingers splayed in alignment with his ribs. “You okay?” 

“I’m good,” Mike nods a little bit eagerly. They stare at each other, trying to fathom their new reality. “Are you?” 

Will just nods, eyes desperately drawn to Mike’s mouth, silently begging him to indulge himself once again—and how could he ever dream of denying him? How can he deny himself anymore?

Hand coming to rest against Will’s shoulder, he slowly pushes him down until he’s flat against the mattress, and he hovers over him from the side. Then, he loosely props a leg up to rest across his thighs, brushes his hair softly out of his face, and then leans back down, leaving a handful of soft kisses against his lips that he so graciously returns, almost like the two of them are trying to get used to the feeling and familiarise themselves with the taste of it, and each time, they get a little longer, a little deeper. Mike makes a map of his mouth, kissing each corner delicately, his top lip, then the bottom, then realigning them again carefully until Will suddenly pushes up with a little bit more force, propping himself up on his elbows. He chases after Mike who pulls back and gapes at him, images of his own bloody hands all over Will’s body flashing through his mind in quick succession. It’s clear he knows exactly, and specifically, what Mike wants, and he’s telling him he can have it. 

He smirks at Mike’s reaction. “Didn’t I say you don’t have to be so gentle?” 

And, well, he doesn’t have to tell him twice. 

Mike practically climbs on top of him, knees either side of his hips. Their mouths connect disjointedly and hungrily as desperation fills the two of them up until there’s nothing left apart from the pure desire to devour each other completely so they can attempt to merge into one. Until their blood is running through each other’s veins. 

Will’s hands are all over him, like they’re not sure where they want to land. He didn’t have the pleasure of experiencing the taste of it earlier like Mike did, so now his palms travel across his body like he’s learning how to truly see him for the first time. Cupping his face, hands at the sides of his neck, traveling down his chest, warm fingers sliding just slightly underneath his sweater, resting delicately against his skin until they dig into it just a bit. Mike shudders at the feeling and smiles against Will’s mouth, and in return he slides his fingers into his hair, not resisting the urge to give it the slightest tug which only makes Will smile right back. 

It’s deep, it’s desperate, it’s slow and hungry. Mike only pulls back for a moment to slowly run his tongue, upwards, over Will’s bottom lip and then the top, which immediately makes him push up again, then pull Mike until he comes crashing down against him, refusing to take a moment to separate for a breath. Open mouthed, they kiss each other over and over, tongues and teeth grazing until Mike finds himself trailing kisses across Will’s jaw and down the side of his neck. He rests his hand on his chest, fingers sliding up to lay across his collar bones where he feels his erratic pulse slow to a steadier rhythm. 

He still can’t quite believe it’s happening, and yet, nothing has ever felt so real. He must spend too long divulging himself in the soft, scarlet smudged flesh of his neck, because his head is being tilted up again and his mouth meets his best friend’s once more like he needs him more than anything, and this is proving to him that he’ll always need him. That he never wants to lose him, and if he was going to lose him, he’d rather get it over with quick, like ripping off a—

The memory makes Mike kiss him harder, if that's even possible at this point, and in it, he’s saying thank you. Thank you for needing me. For choosing me. For being my best friend. For loving me all this time despite how long I took to finally get here. Thank you for waiting for me, because you knew, somewhere deep down, that there was a chance we could have this. You must’ve seen it in me, despite how quiet it was at times, because it’s impossible to completely hide something that lives in me as deeply as this does. 

It’s like Will’s talking back to him in their own made up language that no one else will ever be able to understand, and Mike is terrible at specifics, but this he feels all over him, much stronger than anything else. 

I need you and I want you echo in his ears like a sacred prayer. But the loudest one of all is, undoubtedly, I love you. 

Mike takes a moment, pulling back, suddenly feeling incredibly flustered and completely stone cold sober. Which isn’t a bad thing, it just gives the entire situation a new kind of clarity and sharpness to its edges, and he looks at Will, both of their faces bright red, until they burst into a hysterical fit of laughter. He slides off him, ending back up against his side, letting his head drop and rest in the crook of his neck, giggles erupting from deep in their stomachs. 

It’s such a relief to be laughing, because yes, everything’s changed—but they’re still them. 

“I can’t believe we just—” Mike mumbles against him until lifts his head up and meets his eyes. “Will. We just kissed.”

Will scoffs out a laugh. “Okay, kissed is an understatement.”

“I guess,” Mike says, laughter subsiding. He then holds his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment where all he can taste is Will. “Well— how was it?” 

“Are you really asking me for a performance review right now?” Will chuckles. “Way to kill the mood.” 

“Come on, indulge me.” Mike presses, poking him in his side. 

“All I’ve been doing tonight is indulging you.”

“You love it.” Mike teases, and Will doesn’t deny it. “So how did I do?” 

He glares at him long and hard, smirk resting easy on his mouth. “You did good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Very good.” Will nods slowly until Mike shuffles up to meet his face closely again. “Exceeded my expectations.”

“You had expectations?” Mike’s eyebrows are drawn up in surprise.

“Not expectations, I guess. More like—” Will shrugs. “What I’d pictured in my head.” 

The thought that Will had imagined kissing him before this makes his face burn. “Oh.” 

“What?” 

“You’ve thought about it?”

“How could I not?” Will smiles, hand sliding into the back of Mike’s hair. “So many times. All the time. I mean, look at you, you’re—”

He doesn’t say anything else and just stares at Mike, his face full of calm admiration, the exact same way he’s always looked at him that feels so much clearer now. 

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.” 

That hits Mike considerably hard, and he’s rendered speechless for a few moments, knowing he’s looking back at him exactly the same way. Suddenly, he’s struck with images of them when they were kids, when they were unafraid to cling to each other when they felt like it because of the pass their innocence gave them: holding hands on those earlier journeys to Castle Byers, linking pinkies under the dinner table, arms pressed firmly against each other on the sofa in the Wheeler basement, huddling for warmth during a sleepover. 

At some point, these moments had gone quiet, but even then they’d never stopped seeping through the cracks. Their love had always translated so seamlessly into actions, even when they’d tried to ignore it or push it away, so of course, of course, being like this now feels as easy as breathing. Easier, even.  

And it’s such a sweet relief to finally embrace it for what it is.

“Well,” Mike shrugs, still a little flustered from Will’s compliment. “You don’t have to imagine it anymore.” 

“So you’re telling me I’m not dreaming right now?” 

“I don’t know, are you?” Mike teases as Will’s hand slides down to rest back on his own chest. Mike delicately picks it up and holds the backs of his fingers against his mouth, proceeding to mumble against his skin, “I might be.” 

“You’re not.” Will confirms, gazing calmly at him. “We’re not.” 

“Prove it,” Mike smirks, dropping Will’s hand. “If you’re so sure.” 

Will scoffs, then suddenly sits up and turns to push Mike down until he’s the one laying on his back. In a fit of giggles, he climbs onto him and sits where his hips meet the bottom of his stomach, and Mike props his legs up so that Will can lean back against his thighs.

“Is that a challenge?” 

“Maybe.” Mike shrugs, smiling underneath him, hands resting on his knees. “Or I might just want you to kiss me again.” 

“Like it’s that simple, huh?”

“It is that simple.” His hands slide up Will’s thighs and eventually reach underneath the hem of his bloody t-shirt, his palms laying against his warm skin. “Are you just dragging this out to tease me?”

“Of course I am,” Will answers simply, shuddering slightly at the touch. “You’ve got blood all over your face, by the way.” 

Mike then reaches up to the area around his mouth with one hand, and sure enough, his skin is tacky with the substance that had transferred there. “Oh. Jesus.”

“You brought it on yourself.” Will smirks. “I get it now, though.” 

“Get what?”

He shrugs. “It suits you.” 

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” Will nods, leaning down a little so he can swipe his thumb slowly over Mike’s bottom lip. “I just don’t understand how you managed to get so much of it on you.”

“Well, can you blame me?” Mike tries to pull him down closer, but Will remains firmly in place, hand now cupping his jaw. “I was hungry.” 

He finally lowers himself down further until he’s hovering just inches above him, and he traces his fingers over the side of Mike’s face with so much care that it tears his heart to pieces and instantly puts it back together. “Are you still?” 

Mike runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Starving.” 

Then there’s nothing else to say. Will meets him in the middle and they completely melt into each other, like two souls colliding in the darkness that have finally reached the resting place they’ve been searching aimlessly for, only to realise it had been right in between them all along. They cycle seamlessly through the soft and the delicate to the sharp and hungry, laughing and picking apart all the moments that lead up to this. 

There’s enough to dig their teeth into until the sun comes up, and it’s a strange relief, that when the morning light pours into the room, they don’t go up in flames.