Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mike dreads the nights.

Not for any of the reasons he'd deem "normal," whatever that godforsaken word even means. He's not afraid of the dark, nor what lies in it, no, he fears the stillness. That empty stretch of hours where shadows fall, the world itself falling silent.

The nights give Mike the time to think, and good god, Mike does not want to be given the time to think.

Because when Mike starts to think, he can't stop. And no matter how hard he tries to fight it, his thoughts always, without fail, circle back to the same one. A thought that shapes itself with soft chestnut brown hair, skin that still carries the touch of summer, tired hazel eyes with specks that never seem to settle on a singular colour… yeah. This thought breaks itself down into a billion other thoughts, thoughts that all orbit that first original thought, and wow does this terrify him.

Which is pretty silly, all things considered. He's in the middle of the literal apocalypse. Hawkins is split in four; Demogorgons, Demodogs, Demobats, Demo-whatevers are constantly within reach; they still don’t even know the full extent of Vecna’s plans, yet this is what gets to him? His own thoughts? How stupid is that?

Brains are stupid, Mike thinks.

Stupid, ugly, wrinkly things that create dumb little scenarios that Mike enjoys a little too much. Mike's not sure what "too much" even is, but apparently it's more than enough to send him spiralling time and time again. Night and night again.

His days are busy enough, dealing with the end of the world and all. During the day, his brain doesn't have the energy, nor the time, to think about anything and everything... It makes it easier for him to ignore the thoughts of “anything and everything," at least. He's able to shove those thoughts down into an itty-bitty box located at the very back of his brain, ignoring the banging whenever it makes itself present.

Mike can cope with that! Really, he can! It's just that at night, a time of self-contemplation, the banging becomes... loud. Insanely loud, halting Mike's ability to ignore it. Because of this, the box bursts open. It bursts open every. single. night.

This leads us to where we are now; a few long months into the apocalypse, at god-knows-when in the morning, with Mike lying in his bed, thinking. Which is incredibly unfortunate for him, isn't it? Considering the source of his thoughts is currently in Mike's own basement, however many feet below him.

Will has been residing down there alongside Jonathan and Joyce ever since the aforementioned apocalypse had made itself apparent. Which Mike thinks is just... fantastic. Brilliant, even.

I mean, seriously, why wouldn't Mike jump at the opportunity to live with his childhood best friend!? The childhood best friend that also happens to be the brother of his older sister's boyfriend; who, for a reason unbeknownst to him, seems to be trying to explode Mike's head through a multitude of death glares. The childhood best friend who is also the brother of his (as of a couple months ago) ex-girlfriend, who is currently in hiding with her dad — otherwise known as the childhood best friend's step-dad, who kind of, sort of, somewhat hated his very existence right up until he was presumed dead.

Despite all that, Mike should be elated with the fact that he gets to live with his childhood best friend. And he is, don't get him wrong, he just feels... weird. "Weird" might not be the right word; he's always felt this way when he's thinking of (or is in the presence of) this childhood best friend. It's just that now he's come to realise that what he feels about him is... well, weird.

Will. Enough of the "childhood best friend" thing, his name's Will. William. William Byers. William "Will" Byers. A name that Mike's stupid, stupid brain decides to doodle hearts around whenever he dares think it.

Thinking it. Yeah, that's what he's doing right now. Not really the name, more so the person it belongs to, and he can't seem to stop.

But that in itself isn't unusual, especially not during the end of the world. He's scared for Will, of course he is, everyone is. For all they know, Vecna has planned for Will's death to take place an hour from now, and has found a way around their use of music. Will’s still connected to the Upside Down, so what if Vecna or The Mind Flayer has made Will a spy again, has managed to do so in a way that's unnoticeable, and when Mike and the rest of the party do find out, it's already too late.

What if this... Maybe that...
Mike is well aware that anything's possible at this point. He has a right to be scared for Will.

And whilst the thoughts of Will's safety (or lack thereof) do occupy a large portion of Mike's brain, they aren't the thoughts that scare him. Well, they do, just not in the "weird" way. Not in the way that would make him have to re-evaluate everything he knows about himself. Mike is now incredibly aware of how sweaty his hands are beneath his bed sheets.

Hands. Funny word, that is. Hands.
Will has nice hands, Mike thinks.

He's watched Will draw and paint enough to know how gentle his hands can be. How carefully they can trace lines within a notebook; how delicately they can place strokes of paint upon a canvas; how steadily he's able to handle a shotgun. Because, apparently, that's a thing Will's been able to do for years.

Mike's seen Will practice aiming and shooting alongside Jonathan and Nancy. He's seen the way Will's fingers curl ever so delicately around the pump of a gun, seen the way one of his hands firmly grips at the stock, seen how steadily he places a finger over the trigger. Every single one of his movements is precise, confident, and why is it that Mike's brain (that dumb, evil thing) has committed this to memory?

Mike doesn't know how to use a gun. The reason he was watching Will do so was to learn how to use one for himself! That's it, yeah, self-defense and whatnot, that's important these days. Of course he'd oh so vividly remember all these miniscule little details, so that one day, if necessary, Mike himself can replicate Will's own actions.

Mike thinks (scary, he knows) that Will could teach him how to use a gun.

He'd notice Mike struggling and come over to guide Mike's clumsy hands with his own steady ones. He’d trace them, guiding them exactly where they need to go and showing him exactly how to hold the thing steadily. He'd show him how to line up the sights, and how to move smoothly. Mike would feel Will’s chest against his back, would feel the warmth of his arms as they wrap around him. His breath would ghost Mike’s neck as he explains, calm, patient— no.

Stop.

Mike’s stomach twists. What the actual hell is he doing?

Mike wants to scream. Curl up beneath his blankets and scream into his own (still sweaty) hands. Instead he rolls over, now facing the wall closest to him, blankets wrapped tightly around his silhouette. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hopes that sleep will finally overtake him. It doesn't.

Now fully immersed within the walls of his own mind, Mike chants the words don't think about Will, don't think about Will like a prayer. Stupid decision, this is the quickest method to thinking about anything and anyone but.

He tries again to think about something else, anything else. School, DnD, even the goddamn Demo-creatures, but everything loops back to Will.

DnD reminds him of Will. Reminds him of the night Will went missing. Reminds him of how he refused to play it with him before he moved to California, instead opting to “swap spit with some stupid girl” during every possible second of the day. He recoils at the memory.

School reminds him of Will. How it was weird, going to school without him. Biking home everyday without Will next to him. He thinks of Will in a classroom in Lenora, without Mike. He thinks of himself in a classroom in Hawkins, without Will. He still had Dustin, Lucas, and Max, and whilst yeah, sure, they’re great, they’re not… Will.

Existence in general reminds him of Will.

It’s like his brain is magnetised, everything drawn back to the same point, the same person, over and over and over again. He wouldn’t be surprised if it’s currently messing with every compass in a 20 mile radius.

This isn't normal, Mike thinks. It's not normal to think about your best friend this way.

Mike's fighting back tears at this point, and he can feel the eyes of his Han Solo poster glaring down at him. Mocking him. It’s stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Brains are so, so fucking stupid. What would Will say if he found out he thinks about him like this? Not much, probably.

He’d be kind about it. Too kind, that’s the worst part. He would smile that soft, uncertain smile of his, whilst telling Mike it’s fine. It’s not, but he’d see the tension in Mike’s shoulders and say that it is. He’d be gentle. Will’s always gentle. He’d make it worse by not being angry, opting to instead be understanding. To be kind. To be Will.

Mike presses the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, so hard he begins to see colours dancing behind the lids. He doesn’t even know how he’d want Will to react. Does he want him to yell at him? To hate him? To forgive him? Again, he doesn’t know.

What he wants to know is what to do with his feelings. He wants to be able to name them, to be able to take them apart and study each piece, figuring out how they work. But no, they jam. They spark. Everything short-circuits when it comes to Will.

And again, it’s so stupid, because he’s known Will forever. He knows the way Will laughs when he’s caught off guard, he knows the slight sway that takes over Will’s body when he’s nervous, and he knows that whilst Will is drawing the outside world becomes an afterthought. Every tiny, minuscule detail he knows about Will is stored somewhere up there in Mike’s head, and his brain has decided to weaponise this.

He can’t stop his brain from conjuring up images of what he believes Will probably looks like right now. Tousled hair, relaxed features, flushed cheeks… Mike bites down on the inside of his own cheek, hardly even registering the sting that follows. He wishes his brain had an off switch. He’s wished for this his whole life.

Maybe, if he just lies still long enough, the thoughts will quiet down. Maybe, if he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough, his head will empty itself out. It doesn’t, it never does. Mike doesn’t know why he thought tonight would be an exception. Instead, his mind fills the silence with Will’s voice. The sound of his laugh, the way he speaks Mike’s name, the subtle shift in his tone when he’s about to say something he deems important.

It’s unbearable.

It’s addictive.

He rolls over again, gripping onto a pillow as if it might anchor him. What if he keeps moving instead? Maybe then his thoughts won’t settle long enough to turn into anything solid. He’s being naive, he knows he is.

He starts to imagine Will’s voice again, but this time, he’s not remembering. No, he’s inventing. Making up conversations in his head, ones that never happened, and whilst they start out innocently enough…

“Hey, Mike, are you feeling okay?”
“Oh, Mike! You wouldn’t believe what we saw today!”

They shift. They shift into something that Mike’s all too familiar with.

“These past few months, I’ve been so… lost without you. It’s just, I’m so… different from other people.”

A silent beat passes in Mike’s brain. It’s only a second, but it’s entirely unfamiliar. Mike is going to scream.

“And, when you’re… when you’re different… sometimes, you feel like a mistake. But— you make me feel like I’m not a mistake at all. Like I’m better for being different. And that gives me the courage to fight on.”

Mike. Is. Going. To. Scream.

“If I was mean to you or— or I seemed like I was pushing you away, it’s probably just because I was scared of losing you, just like you’re scared of losing me! And if I were going to lose you, I— I think I’d rather just get it over with quick, like— like ripping off a band-aid.

So yeah, I need you, Mike. And I always will.”

Mike feels a spark of both warmth and pain twist together somewhere in his chest. Insane. This… this is insane. Mike is insane, there’s no doubt about it. Will was talking about El when he told him this, but none of it was true, was it? No, Will just knew what Mike needed to hear at that moment, and Mike’s insane for imagining Will was talking about himself instead. Mike hates that it made him feel good. Hates that it felt so real. Hates how he wants to stay inside that insane version of the memory.

Mike's never even thought about El in the same way that he thinks about Will. Not before they were together, not whilst they were together, and not after. God, what would she say? If she found out Mike thought about her brother like this? Not much either, probably. She and Will both are too good for this world. Mike's not sure El would even know why he feels disgusted with himself. Hell, Mike himself doesn't fully know why he feels disgusted with himself.

Mike's “Will thoughts” have their own special place in his brain, and it’s been like this pretty much the entire time that he's known the boy. They’re thoughts that he’d consider odd to have about anyone else, and somewhat recently, Mike realised that these are the types of thoughts an individual might consider to be attraction. Romantic attraction. But this isn't that. This is something different.

Because, whilst his breakup with El was mutual (her needing to properly figure out who she is as an individual, him knowing that she can't need him in the way he needs to be needed), he did love her. He still does. It just wasn't (and isn't) in the way he was "supposed" to.

Huh… now that he thinks about it… he loves her, yeah, but is it (and has it ever been) any more than he loves Lucas? Dustin? Or hell, even Max?

No. No, it’s not.

Will, though... There's something different about his feelings toward Will. There always has been, and he’s known it (subconsciously, at least) since their first day of kindergarten.

He remembers that day clearer than most things. He’d been terrified, out in the world without the presence of his mother, his sister, or even his father. The noise that filled the place had overwhelmed him, and he was too scared to say more than a couple words at a time to any of his teachers. The majority of kids he’d walked passed had already formed their own little friend groups, but Mike hadn’t really wanted to join any of them. None of them had piqued his interest.

But then he’d noticed a boy who did. A boy who, like him, was alone. He’d been kicking at the dirt beneath his feet as he sat on the swingset, and even at the mere age of five, Mike knew the boy was someone worth going up to. Someone worth getting to know.

He vividly remembers walking up to him that day, as well as the way his tiny heart was pounding wildly in his chest. Do you remember the first day that we met? He’d say years later, in the midst of everything falling apart. It was- it was the first day of kindergarten. I knew nobody. I had no friends, and… I just felt so alone, and so scared. But… I saw you on the swings, and you were alone, too. You were just swinging by yourself. And… I just walked up to you, and… I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend. And you said yes. You said yes. It was the best thing I’ve ever done.

Mike hadn’t realised how true those words were up until now. He'd said them back then in an attempt to bring Will back to his own body, terrified he'd already lost the boy. Lying here now, years later, the world half-collapsed and his brain a mess, Mike knows he meant every single bit. That is the best thing he’s ever done. It’s probably the only good thing he’s ever done.

It makes him want to laugh, almost. All these years, he’s tried to be brave, to save his friends, to fix things, to hold everything together. But the bravest thing he ever truly did was ask a boy on the swings if he wanted to be his friend. And that boy went and became the one person Mike can’t imagine surviving without.

Gripping his pillow, Mike tries to muffle the not-laugh-not-sob noise that escapes him. His chest aches with something too big to name. Because that memory, that moment, is supposed to make him happy. It used to, but now it just feels like proof that he’s been in too deep from the start. He remembers the nervous flutter in his stomach, remembers the thrill of being seen by someone, truly seen by someone, for the first time. He’s never felt that exact thing again, not with El, not with anyone, and Mike doesn’t know what to take away from that.

At some point in his life, the need to protect Will stopped just being about friendship. It turned into this quiet, aching thing that sits deep within his chest, and refuses to leave. Every time Will looks at him, Mike feels like he’s standing on the edge of something huge, something irreversible, and if he takes just one step forward, one singular step, he’s never coming back from it.

The air in the room feels almost suffocating, hot from his own body heat beneath the blankets. He kicks them aside, but the relief is brief. The heat lingers, clinging to his skin like a second layer. He opens his eyes and lets them drift up to the ceiling, tracing over every tiny crack and dent that he’s familiarised himself with over the years.

Every beat of his heart feels amplified, thudding against his ribs and reverberating in his skull. His hands are sticking slightly to the sheets, and he can feel sweat prickling against the base of his neck.

His throat feels dry. Bone-dry. How long has it been since he drank anything? Too long. He swallows, grimacing. Water. He needs water. That’s probably why it’s hard to breathe. That’s probably why the weight on his chest keeps doubling in size.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he slides his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool floor beneath his feet. The faint chill is welcome, grounding in a way. He pulls one of the many sweatshirts he has scattered haphazardly on the ground, and the floor groans beneath him as he stands. During the night every sound feels like the equivalent to a fire alarm, and he’d much prefer not to wake anyone up. He knows just how much they all need sleep.

With his feet dragging slightly, he pads toward the kitchen.

He’s fine, really. He’s not running from his own brain, he’s just thirsty. Water will most definitely fix at least half of his currently present problems, he’s sure of it.

The dim light of the microwave clock illuminates the kitchen, painting it in a faint blue glow. He swears someone is already here, the shape of a figure he can’t yet place filling his vision. His heart stutters. “Will?” he whispers, almost afraid to hear an answer.

The figure jolts, shocked at his sudden appearance, and quickly looks up at Mike. His eyes have now fully adjusted to the light in the room, and relief washes over him as he realises the figure isn’t Will.
It’s Nancy.

Her back is propped up against the counter, and she’s gripping a mug in her hands. Her hair is a little mussed, like she had just rolled out of bed herself. Clearly, she too has been doing a lot of thinking tonight.

She blinks at him, surprised. “Jesus, Mike.” She lets out a sigh, looking back down at the mug. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Mike mumbles, moving past her and heading toward the sink. “Just— thirsty.”

She watches him as he fills a glass. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

Mike shakes his head. The water tastes metallic, but he gulps it down anyway, hoping it’ll drown the heat in his chest. Scratch that, the heat in his whole body. He refills the glass.

The quiet between them settles heavy. The hum of the fridge, the creaks of the house. He can feel it all swirling within him, and it's suffocating. Every little sound echoes in the space Will has taken up in his head. Even standing here, he feels weirdly exposed, like Nancy might see it written on his face. Like his brain has somehow jumped out of his head without him noticing, and is currently writing Mike’s every thought in big letters on his forehead.

Nancy sets her mug down, now finished with its contents, and crosses her arms. There’s something soft in her voice when she says, “It’s weird, huh? The quiet. Feels wrong, almost. After… everything.”

Weird is one word for it. The quiet feels like punishment. Like the world’s decided it’s done screaming, and Mike is it’s replacement.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Mike leans next to her against the counter, staring at the water in his glass like it might hold the answers to every question Mike’s ever had in the history of… ever. Nancy watches him quietly for a moment, then shrugs and says, “You know, I think I’ve spent the past week pretending everything’s fine. Just… going through the motions. But it’s not. None of it is.”

Mike nods in response.

He and Nancy aren’t what people would consider to be the closest of siblings. Maybe when they were younger, but not in recent years. It’s kind of funny, now that Mike thinks about it. You’d think that during these times they’d be closer than ever. Mike’s not fully sure why, but her honesty towards him makes his chest ache.

“Yeah, it’s… I’ve been doing the same,” Mike adds. “Going through the motions, and stuff.”

Nancy lets out a bitter laugh, tucking her hair back behind her ears. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Caring about all these dumb, little things that don’t even matter. And people, who… who might not even notice. Not to the full extent, anyway. Who knows, maybe they do, and we just don’t see it.”

Mike freezes mid-sip, the words slicing through the fog in his head. He doesn’t answer immediately, just lets the glass press into his fingers, suddenly aware of how tightly he’s holding it. “Yeah,” he eventually gets out, staring out into the dimly lit kitchen. It comes out quieter than he meant for it to. “People are… yeah.”

Nancy huffs softly, something like agreement. “Tell me about it.” Her voice is half a laugh, half a sigh. “You think you know someone. What they want, what they feel… and then it turns out you didn’t know anything at all. Maybe they didn’t either.”

Mike glances at her. She’s staring down at the floor, a distant yet thoughtful expression painting her face. Jonathan, he thinks. She’s definitely talking about Jonathan. Or maybe Steve. He’s not sure, and it doesn’t even matter, not really. What matters is that something in her words hits him somewhere deep. It’s like she’s said them to him directly, not just out loud.

Her words float in the air, somehow simultaneously both weightless and heavy. You think you know someone.

Mike stares ahead, not at anything in particular, his brain’s gone elsewhere. There’s a hundred memories lighting up all at once. A standout being when El was piggybacking into Max’s mind from a pizza dough freezer. Will was sat next to Mike, helping him say what he thought he needed to say in order to help El.

You're the heart, he’d assured him. The way his eyes had locked onto Mike's own as he did so. Despite everything to do with that situation, It made Mike feel like he was on top of the world.

You think you know someone.

God, he did. Or, he thought he did. He knew every version of Will. He knew every shift, he knew every quiet smile, he could decipher every broken sentence. Somewhere between dating El and watching the Byers move to California, something… changed. The ground beneath their friendship shifted and Mike, being the dumb, stupid, idiot he is, let it happen.

Now it feels like he’s relearning Will all over again. Every look, every word, every quiet silence between them. It’s like trying to solve a puzzle; one with a million pieces and someone’s hiding half of them from him.

Maybe he never knew him at all. Maybe he just liked thinking he did.

Mike exhales, slow and shaky, and looks directly into the blue light that is the microwave clock. 4:07 AM. The world’s still ending, and all he can think about is the boy who is (or isn’t) asleep in his basement.

Their friendship is better now, he thinks. It’s mending itself, slowly but surely. The (physical) distance between them has been breached, and Mike’s number one priority is something other than his relationship with El — those facts definitely help. He and Will are close again, but Mike feels as though Will is still a bit… closed off. Not that Mike can blame him, he is too. A year of distance does that to people, he guesses.

“You okay?” Nancy says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Mike startles slightly, almost forgetting she’s still here. His hand jerks on the glass, a small slosh of water catching the light. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at the microwave like it personally insulted you.”

He huffs out a laugh, small and humourless. “Yeah. Just— thinking, I guess.”

“Dangerous hobby,” she says, almost smiling. She looks away from Mike now, gaze dropping down to her socked feet as she changes topics. “You ever notice how nights feel longer lately?”

He has. But even so, Mike shoots her a glance. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she says, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater, pulling them over her hands. “When it’s quiet like this, I start thinking about all the stuff I should’ve said. To people. About people.” She exhales, half-laughing. “I guess the dark makes you honest.”

Mike swallows. The taste of copper lingers. “Yeah. Honest and crazy.”

Nancy smiles at that, but it fades almost immediately. “Maybe it’s the same thing.”

He looks at her, really looks at her. She’s staring at the mug she placed on the counter minutes ago, as though it’s going to reveal the secrets of the universe to her.

Mike’s the first to speak, this time. “Do you… do you think people know? When you care about them, I mean.” The question slips out before he can fully register what he’s asking.

“If you show it, yeah, I think so.” She doesn’t look up. “Why?”

He shrugs, too quick. “Just wondering.” His chest burns with the effort that comes with keeping his tone even.

She hums, thoughtful. “I guess sometimes it’s easier to tell when it’s too late. You know? Like, you don’t realise how much someone means to you until they’re not there.”

It’s like she’s thrown that stupid mug directly at him. His stomach twists.

Until they’re not there.

He thinks of Will. Of course he thinks of Will. He thinks of how it felt when he disappeared, how it felt when they pulled his “body” out of the lake, how the world itself felt wrong without his presence.
How it still does, sometimes, even when he’s standing right in front of him.

Nancy keeps talking, unaware of the shift in Mike’s demeanor. “I used to think love was this big, dramatic thing, but it’s not. It’s just… knowing that you’d do anything to keep someone safe. That you’d rather hurt than see them hurt.”

Her voice blurs at the edges and Mike can feel his heartbeat in his throat. He can’t look at her. The truth of what she’s saying is crawling up his spine like static. “Yeah,” he manages. It comes out thin.

If Nancy notices the crack in his voice, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She just gives a small nod.

“I don’t think it ever really goes away,” she says after a moment, her voice quieter now. “Even when things get… complicated. Even when you don’t talk as much, or you’re on different sides of the world, or— you know, whatever. It’s still there. Just quieter.”

Her eyes flick toward him, just briefly. “You know what I mean?”

He wants to say no. To say that he doesn’t know what she means, that he’s never felt that way, but the lie catches on his tongue. What benefit would he get out of lying about this? There’s no point in it.

Nancy’s voice is a gun, her words the bullets, and she’s terrifyingly good at aiming. Hell, she doesn’t even know she’s aiming. “Yeah,” he whispers in response again.

Of course he knows what she means. He knows all too well. Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how much he tries to bury it under excuses of fear, El, and everything else, something inside him keeps circling back to the same place. The same orbit, the same gravity, the same person.

“It’s funny,” Nancy speaks again, the ghost of a smile flickering on her face. “You think love’s supposed to be this clean, logical thing… but it’s not. It’s messy. It’s confusing. It’s crazy. And then, one day, you just realise… that’s kind of the point. It’s not something that needs to be explained, or studied, no, it’s just something that happens. You just… love them. You just love them, and that’s that.”

Something inside him stops.

His heart stutters, skipping a beat that doesn’t come back right away. It’s like his body recognises it before his brain does; this sharp, sudden knowing that rips through him. It’s as though there’s a breath he’s been holding in for years, and it’s begging to finally be let out. His mouth and throat have dried out again.

Evidently, the water hasn’t been helping as much as he hoped it would.

Every word she fires tonight feels like a reflection of something he’s never had the courage to admit, not to himself, not to anyone. His grip on the glass tightens whilst his other hand grabs at the counter behind him. His knuckles turn white, and later he’ll look back at this moment and wonder how that damn glass didn’t shatter.

You just love them.

Mike’s chest is going to explode.

It’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room. His body feels far away, the pulse in his wrists too loud. His head aches, the hardly-lit kitchen suddenly feeling too bright.

You just love them.

It’s such a simple sentence, stupidly simple, and yet it feels like his brain and heart have taken this moment to team up and become professional athletes together. He doesn’t breathe for a few seconds, he doesn’t do anything for a few seconds, he’s physically unable to.

You just love them.

The words echo like a heartbeat.
He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or be sick.

It sounds unbelievably simple when Nancy says it. It shouldn’t hurt, it really shouldn't hurt. And yet…

He thinks of Will again, and it hits him like a wave.
Scratch that, it hits him like a tsunami, sharp, unstoppable, overpowering.
The way he can hear Will’s laughter linger after he leaves a room. The way he can see Will’s eyes soften when he talks about something he’s passionate about. The way Will makes Mike feel like he’s someone worth surviving for, rather than some broken, failing version of a person.

You just love them.

Oh.

Mike sets the glass down before he drops it. His hands won’t stop shaking. His ears won’t stop ringing. His vision won’t focus. God knows where his heartbeat has run off to.

Oh… shit.

Nancy finally looks at him again, a faint crease between her brows. “You okay?”

He forces a breath, alongside a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I just— you know, didn’t think I’d be getting a lecture on love at four in the morning.”

This earns him a small laugh. “Yeah, well,” she says, rubbing at her eyes, “I didn’t think I’d be giving one.”

Mike just nods. He can't formulate sentences, not anymore. He's surprised he even managed to get that last one out.

What the fuck.
What the fuck.

“Mike…?” He can feel Nancy's gaze on him. He doesn't know how long he's been standing there, still as ever. Time’s moving too fast and too slow all at once. It's an odd feeling, but it's not like he's focused on it.

He can't even imagine what he must look like right now, frozen in place. Honestly, he doesn't care. It's the least of his problems because, again, holy shit.

“Mike…?” Nancy tries again, her whole body now turned toward Mike’s. “Are you sure you're okay, because you seem… very far from it.”

This isn’t happening. This isn’t his reality, no, it’s– it’s just Will. He’s just…

He can’t finish the thought.

He loves him. Holy shit, he loves him.

He, Michael Wheeler, is in love with William Byers.

“Mike.” Nancy puts a hand on Mike's shoulder, forcefully yanking him out of his thoughts as she grips it tightly. His head shoots up to face her, brown eyes meeting blue. She’s scared. He can see how scared she is. She can most definitely see how scared he is, and— shit. He can't do this. He doesn't want to do this. What the hell is he going to do with this.

“...Huh?” Mike finally (and intelligently) responds.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Nancy breathes out, relieved. “What the hell happened there? I was scared Vecna possessed you for a second, you just— you froze and stared at nothing for a full minute, holy shit Mike, don't do that!”

Mike blinks at her.
What?

“...What?”

“Wait, did something happen already? Are you safe? Mike, do you…” Nancy pauses, trying to decipher Mike's words. He’s not giving her a whole lot to work with. “Holy shit, Mike– is it him? Did he find you? Are you– are we–?”

“No!” Mike shouts, cutting Nancy off mid rant. If he were in a different headspace, he might have worried about waking up his entire neighbourhood. “Wait… yes?” He continues, trying to piece together her words. Clearly, his mind (that dumb, stupid, idiotic piece of shit) is elsewhere. “Uh… what did you say?”

“Mike, holy shit.” Nancy lets out a frustrated sigh. “Are we safe? Are you safe? Did something happen–?”

“No!” Mike cuts her off again. “No, nothing happened, I'm great. We're great. Everything's great.”

His pulse is everywhere. In his hands, his throat, even his teeth.
It’s like his body’s trying to outrun itself.
He wants to run. It would make his panic almost tactile.

“Mike–”

“I'm fine, Nancy!” He shouts into the night. Lying is second nature to him at this point. “Tired! I'm just– tired. That's all. Sorry for… worrying you, or whatever.”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—

“...Okay,” Nancy lets out another sigh. Whether she buys his words or not is beyond Mike's knowledge. "Okay– yeah, just… you'd tell me, right? If it wasn't fine?”

No.

His eyes drop. Too heavy to meet hers. Too much.

“Yeah.” He responds eventually. The word tastes like blood.

Mike can feel her eyes on him long after his voice fades into the air, his pathetic attempt at sounding fine falling flat between them. She’s still standing directly in front of him, her arms now crossed and posture full of worry.

“You’re not fine,” she says quietly.

Mike’s laugh cracks halfway out of his throat. “You’re incredibly observant.”

“Don’t be an ass,” she says, but there’s no bite behind it. She brings a hand up to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking at Mike again. “Seriously, Mike. You scared the shit out of me. You just— froze. Like, completely gone. What happened?”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t.

Nancy studies him for a long moment. Her expression softening when she realises she isn’t going to get any answers out of him. “You don’t have to tell me,” she says finally. “But whatever it is… don’t keep it all up here.” She taps the side of her head gently. “You’ll implode.”

He forces a faint smirk. “What if I already have?”

Nancy smiles at him and moves toward the counter, grabbing the forgotten glass of water and shoving it into his hands. “Drink. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

He obeys because it’s easier than fighting. It hits his stomach like a rock. Nancy goes back to leaning against the counter beside him, arms still crossed. They stand there like that for a while, both too tired to fill the air with anything.

Nancy exhales after a while. “Just… try to get some sleep, okay? Whatever’s going on, it’ll still be there in the morning. You’ll think clearer when you’re not—” she gestures vaguely at him “—whatever this is.”

He wants to tell her that this isn’t the kind of thing sleep fixes. That there’s no version of a morning where he wakes up and this isn’t true. The words don’t come.

“I’ll try,” he says instead. It’s another lie, but a gentle one.

Nancy hesitates. She’s still watching him, it’s as though she expects him to shatter the second she looks away. Finally, she sighs. Pushing herself off the counter, she starts to head back upstairs. “If you need me,” she says, pausing to look at him once more, “don’t be an idiot. Just knock.”

He nods, refusing to look up.
And then she’s gone.

The silence returns the moment her footsteps fade up the stairs, and it’s somehow heavier than before. Mike feels like it’s aware of every thought he’s had not only tonight, but throughout his whole life. It’s pitying him, he can feel it.

He catches sight of his reflection in the microwave and barely recognises the person looking back at him.

He looks like a wreck.
A pale, wide eyed, messy-haired wreck.

The sight grounds him, in a way. Reminds him that there’s a face to his thoughts. Reminds him that he isn’t just his brain. Reminds him that he’s a human person with a human body that has human responsibilities and is kind of, sort of, definitely in love with his human best friend.

What the fuck.

“Fucking idiot,” he mutters into his palms, something resembling a laugh escaping him.

He slides down the counter until he’s sitting on the cold tile floor. It bites at his skin through his sweats, but he doesn’t notice.

Sliding a hand down from his face and onto his chest, he presses the heel of his palm there. Maybe if he presses hard enough, he can push the feelings back down. He can just pretend this whole night never happened. It doesn’t work. He never actually believed it would, he’s not that stupid.

He tilts his head back against the cabinet, closing his eyes. He laughs again, a soft, broken, half-breath of a thing. “I’m in love with Will Byers,” he says quietly, like testing the words out loud might make them less dangerous. Incredibly stupid decision, now it’s just more real.

Opening his eyes, he lets his gaze shift to the general direction of the basement. For a split-second, he thinks of going down there. Just to look. Just to make sure Will’s real. But then the split-second is over and Mike abandons the idea as quickly as it came. He could hardly handle Nancy’s presence, there’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to handle Will’s — asleep or not.

Mike forces himself to his feet, knees popping in protest. He glances toward the basement again before turning away, heading for the stairs.

His room’s always been too honest, every poster and scattered notebook reminding him of some version of himself he’s tried to outgrow. His heart’s still beating too fast as his brain replays everything Nancy had said downstairs, a flash of Will’s face accompanying each word. He presses his face into a pillow, groaning into the fabric.

What on earth is he supposed to do now? With a truth that feels too big to fit inside him? A truth too dangerous to say out loud? It’s not like he can tell anyone. He can’t tell Will— God, he especially can’t tell Will.

And even if he just tried to ignore it… the thing about knowing something — really knowing something — is that you can’t unknow it. It’s always going to be somewhere in his head, and he doubts it’s still going to fit into that tiny battered-open box up there.

His brain is (somehow) louder than before.
It’s not only replaying Nancy’s words, it’s replaying everything.

The rain-soaked bike home from the quarry and the emotions he felt alongside it. The way Will looked at him in that stupid weed-filled van. The painting (of which Mike can currently hear screaming at him from one of his walls) and the speech that followed. Every memory feels different now. They feel sharper, weightier, truer.

God, how didn’t he see it before? He’s been called oblivious his whole life, but he didn’t think it’d be true even towards his own stupid fucking feelings.

He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as his hands find his chest again, resting right over his heartbeat. The thumps he feels are steady, fast, and strong. He’s half tempted to tell it to shut up.

He exhales slowly. “I’m… in love… with Will Byers,” he says again, this time to the dark. His voice sounds smaller than before. “I’m in love with Will Byers.” He repeats, faster this time, but still just as quiet. “Holy fucking shit, I’m in love with Will Byers.”

For the umpteenth time tonight, he lets out a weak laugh. One that turns into something closer to a sob before he can stop it. His chest feels like it’s splitting open.

He’s not ready for this. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for this.

He’s in love with Will Byers.
He’s in love with his best friend.
And for the first time in his life, he lets himself feel what that actually means.

It’s terrifying.
It’s freeing.
It’s everything.

The clock on his nightstand blinks 4:43 AM in harsh red light.
He stares at it until the numbers blur.

Throughout all of this, the world remained quiet. That awful, endless kind of quiet. The kind he dreads.

Now, for the first time, he understands why.

Chapter Text

Mike is avoiding him.

Will has spent his whole life studying the organism that is Michael Wheeler. He knows the intensity in his eyes when he’s solving a problem no one else even knows exists; the expressiveness his face exudes when he feels an intense emotion; the off-key hum he lets slip when he’s bored. He can read the subtle straightening of Mike’s back when he slides into the role of leader, and he's memorised the narrowing of Mike’s eyes when someone underestimates him.

Will’s also recognised the way Mike’s voice softens when he’s speaking to him. Seen the way his posture relaxes when Will enters the room. The way his gaze always finds Will somehow, lingering on him right up until the very second Will looks back. Normally, all of it drives Will insane. The quick glances, the seemingly subconscious shifts toward him, the way his hands fidget whenever Will catches him staring… What the hell does any of this mean? Literally what is Will supposed to take away from it all?

And why is it that, within the past two weeks, Will hasn’t registered any of it? Why has none of it happened?

Oh, right. Mike’s avoiding him.

Well, not avoiding–avoiding. Mike’s still there, and it’s not as though he’s leaving every room Will enters, or is opting out of any tasks they’re asked to do together. Will’s not even sure “avoiding” is the right word; Mike’s just… off. Will's noticed how when Mike's words come out, they seem rushed and rehearsed. Noticed how his gaze no longer lingers, now it just flickers. When he laughs, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and when he talks, there’s this (barely noticeable, but definitely there) edge in his voice.

No one else seems to have caught sight of this sudden shift in Mike’s behaviour, but Will knows for sure he’s not imagining it. Mike’s acting weird, which… okay, sure, Mike being weird isn’t exactly some all-new, exciting, groundbreaking discovery worthy of being displayed in a museum, but this is different weird. This is the kind of weird that feels deliberate. It’s like Mike’s suddenly learnt how to build walls, and has decided to start testing out his new abilities.

At first, Will had thought that he himself had done something wrong. He replayed every recent conversation they’d had in his head, combing through each and every word for something he said that might've come across wrong, too sharp, or too… honest. He hadn’t been able to find anything.

Then he thought maybe it wasn’t him at all. Maybe Mike was just tired, or stressed, or something else of that nature (which, again, would hardly be groundbreaking news – apocalypse and all). But two weeks later, Mike’s still all tense shoulders and half-smiles and darting eyes, and Will’s running out of excuses that make sense.

He tries not to think about it too much. That’s a lie. Obviously. Will gave up on trying not to think about Mike years ago, he figured it’d save him at least a little bit of unnecessary stress, and god knows he had (and has) more than enough of that. Maybe it did, for a while, but it hardly matters because it's all catching up to him now.

He’s tried to distract himself, throwing all of his energy into something else—anything else. Fixing old radios, mapping routes, or sketching whatever stretch of scenery happens to be in front of him. It works for a few hours, maybe a day, but then he overhears Mike having a casual conversation with someone who isn’t him and Will’s brain just… blanks. Dragging him right back to square one.

It’s pathetic, really.

He tells himself that every time, like acknowledging the fact might make it sting less, but it never does. It just makes him more aware of how ridiculous he is. Because it’s not like Mike owes Will anything. Will isn’t entitled to his smiles, or his glances, or the quiet moments that used to pass between the two of them but god, it hurts. It hurts so much. Especially considering Will had just started to believe he had fully gotten his best friend back. It hurts how easily Mike can take all these things away from Will. It hurts how easily Will lets him.

After Lonnie, Will liked to tell himself he’s used to people pulling away from him. People leave. It’s what they do. They get uncomfortable, or scared, or bored, and then they go. But Will stays. He stays and tries to convince himself that this time he won’t take it personally… but he always does.

Especially when it’s Mike.

Because Mike was never supposed to be one of them.

Mike’s the only one who’s never seen Will as someone who needed to be pitied. He’s the one that stands up for Will when he’s too scared to do so himself. He’s the one who sticks by Will when the world is going to shit. Mike was supposed to be his constant, so if he’s pulling away now, of all times… what does that say about Will?

“Dude.” Robin claps her hands directly in front of Will’s face. He jolts, nearly falling off the workbench he’s sat on. The radio that was once in his lap clattered onto the floor, alongside the screwdriver that was once in his hand.

“Jesus, Robin, what the hell!” He hisses, looking at the girl as he grips onto the edge of the table tightly, stiff legs dangling off it.

“Sorry, sorry!” Robin apologises, smirking. She gets up to lean beside him, abandoning the swivel chair she was occupying as she does so.

Despite his current annoyance toward the older girl, Will had found that he really enjoys being in Robin’s presence. He takes the opportunity to help out alongside her (and by association, Steve) any chance he gets, and currently the two of them are sitting in a tiny workshop located in the WSQK building. Robin and Will understand each other in a way that no one else can, and it comforts Will to no end. He’s never had anything like this before, and the aforementioned comfort is something that he very much so needs right now. The electric hum of equipment fills the room, and Will discovers he’s grown accustomed to the noise.

Robin picks the radio and screwdriver up from the ground, setting them down beside Will before she tilts her head at him. “You look like you’re about three thoughts away from an existential crisis,” she starts. “Which, by the way, kind of my whole thing, so, what’s up?”

Will exhales, picking up the radio again and fiddling with the knobs. The built in LED clock flashes the numbers 12:36 at him. It’s midnight? When on earth did that happen? 36 minutes ago, he supposes. “I mean, nothing worth noting, it’s just… don’t worry about it, it’s fine– I’m fine.”

“Said every not-fine person in the history of all not-fine people ever.” Robin says as she pushes herself onto the workbench beside him. She turns her body toward him, crossing her legs as though she’s settling in for a show. “Come on, Willy boy, what’s going on inside that anxious little head of yours?”

Will pauses his knob-turning to look at her. “Okay, so first off, never call me that again,” Will starts as Robin snickers to herself, “and second off, I’m serious. It’s nothing. Just– I don’t know, people… stuff.”

Robin quirks an eyebrow. “People stuff. Right. How incredibly vague. Do you want to narrow that down or should I just start guessing?”

Will doesn’t answer. He just shrugs as he goes back to the radio, opening the back and carefully messing around with the wires.

Robin hums thoughtfully, continuing to study him. “Okay, so it’s not your family. If anything were to happen to El or Hopper, I’d be one of the first to know.” she gestures to the room as a whole. “Radios and all. And if it were Jonathan or your Mom you were sulking about, you’d be much more dramatic about it.” Will suppresses a scoff. “It can’t be Dustin or Lucas either, because I’d first noticed this staring-off-into-nothingness thing you’ve got going on days ago, and those two were in here with you earlier today. You’re all still getting along great.” Will’s still not looking at her, but he swears he can hear the smirk on her lips as she says “so who does that leave us with, Wise Old Will?”

“Wise Old Will…?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that your Dungeons and Dragons name?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“Stop avoiding my original question, Willard.”

“Willard?” Will fails to bite back the smile that begins to form on his face.

“Who. Does that. Leave us. With?”

“Uh…” Will hopes his face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. Vecna, if you can hear him, just take him now. “Steve?” Comes his response.

“Right. Yeah. Steve.” Robin states. “I can’t believe it. His stupid hair’s gotten to you too.” She continues, voice monotone as she tries (and fails) to appear unamused.

“Yup. Uh-huh. You’ve got me pegged.” Will’s still messing with the radio wires, but he’s not actually trying to fix the thing, he just needs to keep his hands busy. He’ll probably explode otherwise. Let’s hope the radio doesn’t beat him to it.

“It’s actually Mike though, right?”

Will makes the mistake of freezing for a half-second at the mention of Mike’s name.

Shit.

“Hah! So it is mini Wheeler!” She exclaims, delighted as she pumps a fist into the air. “You’re moping over Mike! What’d he do? Do you want me to slap some sense into him? Because I will. I’ve kind of been wanting to for a while now, actually. Because oh my god that kid is annoying. Seriously, Will, you should really reconsider your taste in–”

Will cuts her off with a loud groan, bringing his hands up to his face and abandoning the radio entirely. “Okay! Thank you! I get it!” He hears Robin snicker next to him. She’s enjoying this way too much. “And seriously, he’s not that bad.” He wants to bring up examples of Mike being not that bad, but he refrains. Now his face most definitely looks as hot as it feels.

“Well…”

“Robin.”

“Will.”

“Robin.”

“Will.”

“Oh my god.”

Robin grins as though she’s won the lottery. “Aww, is little Wilhelm blushing?” She sing-songs. Will wants to die.

“I am not blushing.” Will exclaims, blushing. He removes his hands from his face to flail them around slightly, his voice high. “And seriously, what’s up with these names? Wilhelm? Really?”

“Oh please, you’re totally blushing! God, this is amazing.” She uncrosses her legs, ignoring the name-thing entirely as she lets one swing off the table, continuing to sit on the other. She puts an elbow on her knee and settles her face into the palm of her hand. “Squilliam Byers, hopelessly pining after his best friend as the world comes to an end… This is like, prime material, by the way. In different circumstances, I’d be writing this down as a movie pitch.”

“Okay! Super happy this is entertaining for you! but can we not?” Will mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “I’m serious, Robin. It’s not–” he lets out a shaky sigh. “It’s not like that.”

He can feel Robin’s eyes boring into the side of his head, reading him with an amount of empathy that makes him want to squirm. “...You sure about that?”

No. No he’s not. Obviously he’s not.

In lieu of a response, he picks the radio back up.

Robin’s voice softens. “Hey. I’m not… I’m not making fun of you, okay? Well, I mean, I am, but it’s, like… lovingly.”

Despite himself, Will huffs a laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Duh.” She turns her body away from Will now so she can nudge his shoulder with her own. “Look, if Mike’s being weird or dumb or whatever, that’s on him. You didn’t do anything wrong, I know you didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t feel like you have to decode every single micro-expression his stupid face makes.”

Will looks at her, finally. “No– No, you don’t get it. It’s not just… weird. It’s like he’s decided not to look at me, like he’s trying to forget I’m there or– I don’t know!” His voice faulters, smaller now. He shifts his gaze back down to the radio. “And I can’t figure out why.”

Robin blinks, and for the first time in seemingly ever, she doesn’t have a joke prepared. “Well,” she says after a beat “maybe he isn’t avoiding you,” another beat, “maybe he’s avoiding how he feels around you.”

Robin’s voice trails off and the workshop hums around them. He swears the fluorescent lights weren’t this bright before. His pulse is ringing in his ears.

Will Swallows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Robin, again, stares at him. “Are you serious?”

Will stares back, radio yet again stilling in his hands. “Serious about what?”

“Oh my god, Guillermo, you’re smarter than this.”

Will (or Guillermo, he guesses) is becoming increasingly annoyed. “Smarter than what?!”

“Dude, Mike is like totally into you.”

The room doesn’t seem to hum anymore.

What.

“What.”

Will blinks at her again, his brain blanking so quickly and violently he’s half-convinced he misheard her. “What?” He repeats, his voice higher and sharper than he’s ever heard it before.

Robin throws her hands up. “Oh, come on! I know that you’ve seen the way he looks at you! The kid’s basically got your name tattooed directly onto his forehead with some type of neon ink that glows!”

“That’s– no– he doesn’t–” Will splutters, his voice cracking somewhere in the middle. His pulse either spikes or stops completely, and he can feel heat quickly crawling its way back up his neck. “He does not look at me like that. You’re just– I don’t know, reading into things.”

“Am I? Am I really, Willelmus?” She challenges, putting an arm on his shoulder so she can use the back of her hand as a head rest. “I mean, I thought you were at least somewhat aware of his feelings toward you, I hardly even know the guy and even I was able to pick up on it.”

“Exactly! You don’t know the guy!” Will opens and closes his mouth a few time, struggling to find the words. “Mike– he doesn’t… he’s… he’s not…” Will can’t say the word. The sentence It’s not my fault you don’t like girls! echoes somewhere in his head.

“I’d argue the opposite, actually. He definitely is.”

“He used to date my sister, Robin.”

“You mean the sister that grew up in a literal lab? The sister who learnt what a waffle is the same week she had her first kiss? That sister?”

“No.” Will states, sarcasm oozing from his voice. “I meant my secret sister Elizabeth from… England.”

“Your sister’s the Queen of England?”

“Yes. And Mike used to date her, apparen– okay, this is stupid.” Will cuts himself off, “what does El being from a lab have to do with any of this?”

“Okay, so I didn’t know El until much later than the rest of you, so I’m just going based off of what I’ve been told, but didn’t she literally not even know what a friend was after she escaped the lab?”

“I think you’re forgetting that I also wasn’t there for that first week.”

“Oh. Right– sorry, but uh… I’m sure Mike, Dustin, and Lucas told you all about her, no?”

Yeah. Yeah, they did. Will thinks back on them ranting to him about her whilst he laid in his hospital bed, he remembers soaking in every detail they’d given him and thinking she was one of the coolest people to walk this earth. A smile tugs at his lips. He still thinks El is one of the coolest people to walk this earth, both with and without powers. She’s one of the strongest people he knows, both emotionally and physically, and man does he miss her. He misses her so much. He hopes she’s doing alright.

“I still have no clue what this has to do with anything,” Will finally starts a response to Robin’s question. “But uh, no. She didn’t know what a friend was.”

“Right. So do you think she would have known what a romantic relationship was?”

“Well, no…?” Will says, still just as confused as before. “What does this have to do with Mike, though? El already broke up with him. She needed to learn who exactly she is as a person because she was never able to, and– we already know this. How does Mike come into play?”

“Well, my dear Wilmer–” Will lets out an exasperated sigh. Robin continues, “I don’t think Mike ever loved her, either.”

The words hang in the air between them for a moment. Then two moments. Then three moments, and Will thinks he’s going to collapse. Which is stupid, because what Robin’s saying isn’t even true.

“I mean,” Robin begins to add, an additional three moments later. “He definitely loves her. And she definitely loves him — you’d have to be blind to miss that. But it’s like… as friends. They love each other as friends, and it’s always been that way.”

Will opens his mouth, shutting it again when nothing comes out. Steve’s muffled voice can be heard from the next room over, the scraping of a chair following it. The sound feels weirdly distant, like it’s coming from another world entirely. A world where Will isn’t sitting here, with his heart thrumming too loud, pretending he didn’t just hear what Robin said.

He blinks once. Twice. Thrice.
“You don’t know that,” he says eventually, voice coming out a lot thinner than he meant for it to.

Robin shrugs, unfazed. “I don’t not know it, either.”

Will frowns, yet again looking down at the radio in his lap. He kind of wants to throw the thing against the wall. He refrains, instead opting to push the buttons at random.

“You want to know what I think?” Robin asks.

Will doesn’t answer. His head keeps spinning. He continues to poke at the radio. Robin takes that as her cue to keep going.

“I think…” She starts slowly, like she’s still trying to piece her thoughts together herself. “I think that Mike’s one of those people who believes he has to be a certain way. Y’know? Like, he’s got this checklist in his head of what makes a person “normal,” but unfortunately for him, he’s a nerd. Nerds aren’t considered normal. He’s a nerd, with nerdy interests, and that’s the one not-normal thing he’ll allow himself, because if he tried to hide that, he’d probably explode. Anyways, It’s the outlier. He has to make up for that outlier by compensating extra hard into something else. Something he had yet to check off.” Robin pauses, choosing her words carefully. “He had friends, he had decent grades, but you know what he didn’t have? A girlfriend.”

Will doesn’t move, but his fingers pause on the dials.

“Boys like girls. This is what he’s been told his whole life. From the moment he popped out of the womb, the adults around him have been telling him—” Robin raises her voice a pitch, “‘—Oh, the ladies are just going to love this smile of yours! You’re so handsome, I’m sure all the girls at school are swooning!’ And his young, dumb, sponge of a brain just soaked it all in.”

Robin starts gesturing vaguely with her hands, seemingly pulling the thoughts out of the air surrounding them. “So then, he gets through elementary school and enters middle school. Suddenly, it’s not only the adults and teenagers around him who are obsessed with the concept of love, but also his classmates. Every girl seems to have a crush on a boy, and every boy seems to start feeling awkward around girls. He sees this, and he’s all like ‘Okay, this is what people do. This is what normal people do. This is what I’m supposed to do.’”

Will glances over to her, expression unreadable.

“And then,” Robin continues, “Boom! El enters the picture! And El? She’s awesome. She’s mysterious, she’s badass, and she’s objectively cool. Best of all? She’s not disgusted by Mike. In fact, she likes Mike. How could she not? Mike was the first person to show her genuine kindness. Mike didn’t have to chase her or impress her, because she’s already decided that he’s worthy of her time.”

“Robin–”

“Shh! I’ve got a rhythm going here!” She exclaims, holding up a finger to Will’s face. She’s staring at the floor beneath them so intensely Will’s half-scared she’ll open another gate. “And it’s not like he didn’t care about her,” Robin continues. “He totally did, and I’m more than sure he still does. He just…” She hesitates, turning to look at Will now. “He liked what being with her meant. She made sense. She fit the picture he was hoping to create.”

Will’s grip tightens on the radio.

“She was the perfect box to tick on the list. ‘Girlfriend.’ Check. ‘Mom! Dad! Sisters! Cousins! Look at me! I have a girlfriend! I’m doing it! I’m normal like you!’”

Robin huffs out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Except then she left, and then the whole list kind of imploded on itself. And do you want to know the worst part, Wilfred?” She looks back at Will, eyes narrowing with meaning. Will was already looking at her, and he gulps as their eyes meet. “You’re standing right there next to him whilst it does.”

Will’s eyes search hers, but he doesn’t find any answers within the things. “What does that mean, exactly…?”

“It means,” Robin begins, “that you don’t fit the checklist either, and that freaks him out. Because every time he looks at you, he’s reminded that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t actually want what he’s supposed to want. And that? That realisation? It’s… well, it’s scary.”

Will continues to stare at her, something tightening in his chest.

Robin softens a little. “I think he’s avoiding you because you make him feel too much. Not in a bad way, or anything. Just… in a way he’s not ready to face. Not yet, at least. Maybe he’s only just realised it.”

Will swallows hard, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s… ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Robin remarks, smiling a little. “But can you tell me, with one hundred and one percent certainty, that I’m wrong?”

Will opens his mouth, and for the second time tonight, no words come out. He just goes back to staring into the back of the radio, the mess of wires being something he’s sure resembles the inside of his chest. He wants to laugh, or cry, or maybe (similarly to the radio) just shut down. Because, if Robin’s right (and that’s a major if) what the hell is he supposed to do with that.

“Will,” Robin says, voice still soft.

He doesn’t look up. He’s physically unable to. “You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

“Why?” Robin questions and something inside Will cracks — the pressure pushing down on the glass that is his chest becoming too much to hold.

“Because it’s not true!” Will shouts, voice cracking on the last word. “None of it’s true!” It’s now that he remembers that they aren’t the only two in the radio station, eyes flicking towards the door. When no one comes in, he turns to look at Robin again. “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?” Will’s voice is just above a whisper now. “Mike doesn’t– he can’t feel about me that way. He only sees me as as friend. Insisted on the matter, actually.”

“Insisted?” Robin quirks a brow. “Insisted how?”

Will doesn’t answer right away. His mind flashes back to the roller rink —  the memories he associates with it, the conversations that took place in it.

‘That’s because she’s my girlfriend, Will!’

Mike’s voice sharp, defensive in a way that made Will’s stomach churn.

‘And us?’

‘We’re friends! We’re friends.’

A noise escapes his and he hopes Robin takes it as a laugh. “He– he quite literally said it to my face. That we’re friends. That’s what we are. And I mean, yeah…” Will blinks a few times, trying to rid the wetness that was starting to fill his vision. “It’s not like he’s wrong. We are friends. That’s what we’ve always been.”

Robin’s quiet for a second. “You know, people usually don’t feel the need to make already clear things clear.”

Will glances at her, confusion evident in his eyes.

“Listen, I’m just saying,” Robin persists, “if you have to insist that your friends, it’s probably because you’re trying to convince yourself of it. I mean,” Robin huffs a laugh, “have you watched any movie ever?”

“That’s–” Will continues to stare at her. “That’s not what this is. This isn’t some movie, that’s not… that’s not how this works.”

“How does it work, then?” Robin questions, her expression portraying something that Will isn’t able to decipher.

“It doesn’t,” Will states. “It just doesn’t.”

Robin’s eyes haven’t left Will in a long while. She’s not pitying him, Will can tell, she’s just seeing him. Seeing how desperately he’s trying to hold himself together.

“You don’t have to convince me, Will.”

He lets out a sigh, stuffing the wires back into the radio before moving to screw the cover back on.

“I’m not saying you have to believe it, either,” she goes on. “Just… maybe stop trying so hard not to believe it. Because from where I’m sitting? It’s pretty clear you mean just as much to him as he does to you. Who knows, maybe even more.” Will curses whatever all-knowing being it was that thought it would just be the funniest thing in the world to make blood rush to your cheeks when you feel flustered. “Whether or not Mike knows what to do with that — that’s his mess to figure out. Not yours.”

Will swallows, still busy screwing the back of the radio shut. His voice comes out small. “Do you… do you really think that? The stuff you said about me—” Will doesn’t know why this is so hard to say. Robin already knows how he feels, and is more than okay with it. So why is this so, so, so hard? “—About me meaning a lot to him. In that– in that way.” Will swallows, still not looking up from the radio. “Do you really believe that?”

Robin shrugs lightly. “I think that people show how they feel, even when they don’t want– no, especially when they don’t want to.” Her mouth quirks up into a small grin. “And this best friend of yours is about as subtle as–”

Will whacks the radio, ensuring the cover won’t fall off now that he’s finished screwing it back on. What he wasn’t expecting was for it to crackle to life the second his hand made contact. What he also wasn’t expecting is–

‘I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things…’

Both Will and Robin freeze.

‘We can do the tango just for two…’

Will blinks at the radio, wide-eyed. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

‘I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings!’

Robin’s mouth falls open in mock awe. “No. Way. Did you just–”

“I didn’t mean to actually fix it!”

‘Be your Valentino just for you!’

The crimson on Will’s face darkens as Robin just bursts out into laughter. The noise is bright and unrestrained, her head tipping back as Freddie Mercury croons on.

‘Ooh, love! Ooh, loverboy!
What’re you doin’ tonight?
Hey, boy!’

“As that!” Robin manages to get out between her giggles, slapping at Will’s arm. She’s keeling over and clutching her stomach now, Will grabs the back of her shirt to make sure she doesn’t fall off the table, trying (and failing) to suppress his own laughter.

“As what?” He asks, voice a whole lot lighter than it was before.

“As that!” She lifts her head, nodding toward the radio before laughing even harder than she was before. “Mike– he’s– oh my god, dude– dude, I think I’m dying–” Robin manages to say between her laughter. She grabs onto Will’s shoulders to steady herself and looks straight into his eyes. “That,” She points at the radio. “He’s as subtle as that.”

‘I’d like for you and I to go romancing!
Say the word, your wish is my command!’

And at that, Will just buckles down with her. He grabs at the arm on his shoulder, holding on whilst laughter courses through his own body. He still isn’t sure if there’s any truth to her words, but he doesn’t really care right now. He just allows for the pure giddiness he feels right now to take control of his body, overriding any other emotion that might try to surface.

Will doesn’t know how long they sit there after the radio sputters quiet again. The room feels smaller now, the air heavier in a way that isn’t bad, just… unfamiliar. Will’s never really known what to do in silence that doesn’t hurt, and he’s two weeks out of practice.

Robin swings her legs idly, red converse gently knocking against his knee every few seconds. She hasn’t said anything since Freddie Mercury’s voice rang through their eardrums, and Will’s eternally grateful for it. He’s still trying to get his pulse under control.

He watches the green glow that is the radio’s dial fade in and out, his reflection catching faintly on the glass. His cheeks still burn and a small smile still plays on his lips. He feels this small, fragile calm wash over him — something he hasn’t felt in a long while.

It’s almost weird how Robin’s presence doesn’t demand anything from him. There are very few people in his life he feels he doesn’t have to put a mask on for, and he didn’t think he’d be adding to the list during a time like this. Robin’s not trying to ‘fix’ the silence (the quiet hum she’s letting out under her breath doesn’t count). She’s not waiting for him to talk. She’s just existing beside him and it feels… safe.

He allows himself to breathe a little deeper.

He starts replaying things in his head. Not the painful things, this time. Not the roller rink, or rushed goodbyes, or awkward silences. Smaller things. Quieter things. The way Mike’s freckles look in dim basement light, the way he insists on keeping every single drawing Will’s made for him, the way his hair falls over his eyes when he’s bent over a campaign map.

And then there’s this one memory — a nothing memory, really — of the two of them sitting together outside the Wheeler house a few days before Will left for Lenora. It was hot, far too hot for Hawkins, and Will remembers hearing the sound of sprinklers somewhere down the street. Mike had been rambling about something or other, waving his hands around as he did so, and Will had just… watched. Not because he didn’t care, but because he did. He cared too much, and this was around the time he fully came to realise that. Will’s always loved how expressive Mike is, loves how loud he is about the things he cares about, and being able to witness this over and over again? It’s like catching sunshine in a bottle. It’s the kind of warmth that felt undeserved, and yet, there it was.

He hadn’t realised he was smiling at him hopelessly until Mike paused mid-sentence, blinking at him rapidly as his body stiffened slightly. Will remembers how he looked at him then. Remembers how fast Mike looked away, how quickly he changed the subject. Will also remembers how quickly he himself had denied swearing he could see a flush form on the boy’s cheeks.

He used to hate himself for things like this. For noticing things he was sure didn’t even exist. He used to hate himself for even wondering.

But right now, with Robin beside him, it doesn’t feel like something he has to hate himself for.

Maybe it’s okay that he noticed.

Maybe it’s okay that he wants to believe it means something.

The thought alone makes his heart sprint and his throat tighten, like he’s doing something dangerous. Maybe he is, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It just feels new. It’s like there’s this massive forest within the depths of his brain, one he’s always been aware of but has never had the courage to explore, too scared of where he might end up. Now, he realises, he isn’t scared. Not anymore.

That doesn’t mean it stops hurting, because of course it doesn’t. There’s still a low, steady ache somewhere between his ribs, but it’s more manageable now. It’s less of a wound, more of a bruise he’s learning to press down on.

Weirdly, he thinks that maybe this is what hope feels like. Not fireworks, or sudden revelation, just this strange, fragile peace. Like when you cry for so long you forget what it was that you were crying about in the first place.

“Hey, uh–” Will nearly jumps out of his skin as the sound of the new voice slices its way through the comfortable silence he and Robin had created. He looks up to be met with the face of none other than Steve Harrington. Will has no clue how he didn’t hear him approaching. He’s usually always at least somewhat aware of his surroundings. It’s a habit of sorts.

“Are either of you aware that it’s almost three in the morning? I’ve been waiting for you two to finish–” he gestures wildly between them “–whatever this is for hours. Some of us actually like sleep, you know?” Steve throws his hands up in exasperation, and then he turns his head to look at Will directly. “And you,” he points at him. “Your Mom is starting to get insanely worried. She’s called like fifty times now and I’m done reassuring her that you’re fine. Clearly something is going on in here, and I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Will quickly opens his mouth, half-ready to explain, but Steve barrels on, “but I can only stack and unstack chairs for so long, so please, can we all just get into my goddamn car, and then get into our respective goddamn beds. Please.”

Will (who is definitely not flustered right now) turns his head slightly to look at Robin. She seems to be about to burst into laughter again.

Robin presses a hand to her chest, pretending to wipe a tear. “Geez, Dingus, you really know how to crush a moment.”

Steve stares at her. “Yeah, that’s me, moment crusher, whatever, but the longer I wait the more hazardous driving becomes, and neither of you have a license!”

“Wow,” Robin exclaims, “I can’t believe you don’t care about the very deep and emotional conversation we were just having. Words were being spoken. Feelings were being felt.”

“You weren’t even talking to each other when I walked in here! And before that you were laughing your asses off! and I just– this doesn’t matter! None of it matters! Let’s go!”

Robin hops off the workbench, landing on the floor with a clatter. “Fine, fine, but only because you said ‘please.’”

“Yes! Finally! I’ll be in the car, make sure you lock the front door.”

Steve leaves and Robin stands near the edge of the table, slinging an arm around Will’s shoulders. “Come on, Loverboy.” He can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he jumps down and begins to walk with her.

“Can I give you some advice you didn’t ask for?” Robin asks, locking the radio shop's door as they fall into step with each other.

“You’re gonna anyway,” Will huffs, smile evident in his voice.

“True,” She pauses. “If you keep waiting for people to spell out how they feel to you, you’ll miss half your life,” Robin flicks her eyes toward him, “especially when the people you’re waiting for are as openly emotional as a piece of wet cardboard. But y’know,” Will keeps his eyes glued to the ground, heart in his throat. “Some things you’ve got to risk asking for.”

They’re at Steve’s car now, Robin sparing him one final look before opening the passenger door.

“Whatever you’re scared of him saying to you, Will… it won’t hurt worse than not knowing. And besides,” she smiles at him, proceeding, “I don’t think he’s physically capable of feeling a negative emotion toward you for more than like… three seconds.”

Will watches her settle into the passenger’s seat, loudly clicking the door shut as she says something to Steve, getting an eye roll in response. Will stares at the shape of his reflection in the window — it’s slightly abstracted from the all too familiar spores of The Upside Down. Robin’s words have settled somewhere deep inside of him, and Will’s not sure how much longer he’s going to be able to keep them in there.

The drive home is quiet. Robin’s half-asleep in the passenger seat, head tipped against the window with her mouth parted just enough to fog up the glass. Steve keeps the radio low, a familiar song he can’t quite place right now bleeding its way through the static; Will can’t help but hum along.

His forehead is resting against the cool glass of his own window, watching the town he grew up in slide past in pieces, all of it illuminated in a faint orange glow. Will would love to say that the lack of other cars on the road, empty parking lots, and silence that accompanies Hawkins is something unfamiliar, but he can’t. Every day that passes, at least ten families finish packing their bags and move out of the town, but it’s not like Will can blame them. They’re quite literally living upon the gates of hell. Will doesn’t even know why all these people leaving makes him sad, the majority of Hawkins hated him. Hated people like him, and they probably still do. But he can’t help it. He misses how alive it used to feel.

Steve clears his throat, looking at Will from the rearview mirror. “You good back there?”

Will blinks, pulled from his thoughts. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Steve hums, unconvinced, but he doesn’t push for answers.

Robin stirs at the sound of Steve’s voice, mumbling something incoherent before slumping further into the seat. Her reflection flickers in the window, eyelids fluttering, mouth curving faintly into a sleepy grin as the next song fades in. It’s another one that Will recognises, and—

Oh. Oh, you have got to be kidding him.

‘This thing… called love…
I just… can’t handle it!’

Okay, seriously. Is Freddie Mercury watching him? Somehow? Is he currently in The Upside Down and trying to communicate with him? Is he one of El’s lab siblings, and he just has this ability?

‘This thing… called love…
I must… get ‘round to it!’

Will’s half tempted to smash his head through the glass.

‘I ain’t ready!
Crazy little thing called love…!’

Gee, Freddie. Will thinks. Way to rub salt on the wound.

Well… If we’re both going crazy, The sentence starts to echo somewhere deep in Will’s mind then we’ll go crazy together, right? He bites his lip. Yeah. Crazy together.

The corners of his mouth twitch, just barely.

It feels dangerous to smile, but he does it anyway.

What if Mike held up his end of the bargain?

Robin’s voice comes back to him then — you make him feel too much.

He swallows hard, gaze flicking back to the window as a blur of trees fill his vision. For so long, he’s tried to shut out the possibility of Mike Wheeler loving him back. But the weight of Robin’s words keep pressing at the edges of his ribs as though they’re something alive, and they’re oh so desperately trying to crawl their way out of the prison that is Will’s body.

And maybe… maybe he should let it.

Maybe it’s okay to think that Robin might be right.

Maybe it’s okay to think that Mike might not have it all figured out either.

Maybe it’s okay to believe that the way Mike looks at him means something worth meaning.

Maybe it’s okay to hope.

‘She drives me crazy…!
She gives me hot and cold fever!
Leaves me in a cool, cool sweat!’

Will lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, fogging up the window slightly. His hand itches to draw his and Mike’s initials in the condensation, but it fades away just as quickly as it formed. He can feel his cheeks pinken and he prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that Steve hasn’t spared him any glances.

Freddie continues singing, his staticky voice floating through the car like a cruel joke, and at the same time, some kind of a sign. Will can feel the corners of his lips twitch up again, a smile fighting to win against the weight in his chest.

He closes his eyes, and for the first time in the history of ever, allows himself to start imagining the possibility that is Will Byers and Mike Wheeler in this world. Not in a fictional world he made up for the two of them — not a DnD world, or a world where literal and figurative monsters don’t exist. In his world. In their world.

He shifts in his seat, moving one of his hands to clasp the other as he imagines it as Mike’s own. It’s a thing they’ve done before. Hand holding. Will has fixated on the way Mike’s fingers feel wrapped around his palm since they were five years old. But it’s not something they’ve done recently, and Will wants to imagine it as something he gets to do every time he stands next to the boy. He doesn't want to just grab at each others hands either, he wants to know what it would feel like to intertwine their fingers.

He drifts off with a sigh, images vivid in his mind as the soft echo of Freddie’s voice drifts off with him.

‘Crazy little thing called love… (yeah, yeah)
Crazy little thing called…’

Will’s chest feels as though it’s going to burst as he watches the way the basement light catches on Mike’s curls. They’re laying on their stomachs side-by-side, elbows propping themselves up so they’re able to read the well-loved X-Men comic they have splayed out in front of them, but neither of the two are looking at it. Will sees something sparkle in Mike’s eyes as a flush brushes its way over his freckles. Will feels a hand grasp his shoulder as Mike asks “Hey, Byers?”

“Yeah?” Will’s sure his eyes are twinkling just as much as Mike’s own, and he swears he sees them dart to his lips before going to talk again.

“Will?” Huh. Okay, his voice there sounded… weird. Oh well, at least the breeze of this field they’re laying in feels nice.

“Will.”

Will wakes with a jump as the world snaps back into focus.

Damnit.

“Sorry man, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Steve apologises. He settles back in his seat after un-twisting his body from where he had stretched to reach Will. He meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. “We’re um… we’re here!” He nods his head to the right.

Will, still half-asleep, turns his head to see the Wheeler(-Byers) house. The porch lights are on. Who’s still up right now?

“Oh!” Will shouts a bit too loudly into the night, suddenly more awake than ever. “Shit– yeah, thanks! Thank you. Sorry for– uh… falling asleep.” Will stammers, Steve just lets out a small amused laugh.

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Steve smiles at him as Will opens the car door. Will’s about to thank him one last time when Steve adds: “Tell your Mom you’re alive for me, okay?” Will responds with a small laugh. “Yeah,” He adds after a couple seconds. “Yeah, okay.”

“Awesome. You have a good rest of your night, yeah?” Steve offers a thumbs up. Jesus Christ, he treats him like a distant nephew or something. Still, Will returns the thumbs up, so he guesses he fits the part.

Will watches Steve drive away when he hears the door fling open.

“Will!”

Joyce’s voice cuts through the night as he hears her heavy footsteps quickly approach him. He turns around as she stops right in front of him. Her hands moving in quick stiff movements, like she’s trying to decide whether to hug him or strangle him. She opts for the former, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso as he does the same to her back, melting into it.

“Hi, Mom.” Will mutters into her hair, nose resting on the crown of her head.

Eventually, Joyce pulls away from him.

“What on earth have you been doing? Do you have any idea what time it is? I’ve been calling for hours but Steve just kept on saying you were busy and wouldn’t let me talk to you!” Joyce presses the tips of her fingers to Will’s chest before continuing her ramble, “I was about to just go down and pick you up myself but Jonathan kept insisting that if anything was wrong, Steve would have just told me that and I–”

“Sorry, Mom,” Will blurts out, wincing. “I was just… I lost track of time, I–”

Joyce lets out a shaky sigh as she pulls Will into a hug again, the scolding dissolving alongside the tension in her shoulders. “You scared me half to death,” her voice comes out mumbled from where her face rests in his shoulder. “God, Will, you can’t do that to me.”

Will’s grip around her tightens before he can stop himself. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ll try to make sure it never happens again, but just in case it does, I’ll make sure Steve knows to just give the phone to me.” Will sighs into her hair, melting into the hug once more. “I’m okay, though. Promise.”

Joyce pulls back to look at him and Will can see her eyes soften. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Good.”

She moves to stand next to him as they fall into step with each other, heading for the house.

Will clears his throat once they step inside, locking the door behind them. “I’ll meet you in the basement in a bit, okay? I’m just gonna grab a drink of water and brush my teeth.”

Joyce hesitates, studying him for a second, then nods. “Alright. Don’t be long.” She squeezes his shoulder before heading for the basement door, muttering something to herself under her breath as she does so.

Will walks further into the living room, set on making his way to the kitchen when he freezes. There’s a figure sitting on the stairs.

He’s making eye contact with the figure sitting on the stairs.

Huh. Mike’s up.

Oh, shit.

Mike’s up.

Chapter Text

He’s alive.

That’s the first thought that slices through Mike’s brain the second Will’s eyes lock onto his own. Which is kinda dumb, because he already knew Will was alive. Was certain of it the moment Joyce slammed the front door open however many minutes ago, the noise jolting him out of his thoughts before he rushed to look out his window for what had to be the billionth time that night.

The flood of emotion that rammed directly into his chest upon spotting Steve’s car alongside a tired, thumbs-upping Will Byers — it’s something that Mike’s unable to express through words. If he tried, the best he’d be able to tell you is that it felt scarily similar to hearing Will’s voice through a static-filled radio back in November of 1983.

Now, though, they’re just… staring.
Frozen like two brain-dead idiots bathed in the half-light seeping through the living room curtains.
Will’s only a couple steps inside, caught mid-motion, like he lost the ability to walk the second his eyes landed on Mike.

He’s still wearing the same jacket he threw on before he left, and the hair on the right-side of his head is sticking up slightly. Mike has to physically repress the urge to sprint up to him and start running his hands through it — has to repress the urge to touch him at all. That would be weird.
Then again, weird’s a close friend of theirs. They’ve gotten pretty familiar with weird.

The sound of Joyce’s footsteps fades down the basement stairs, but Mike never registered the noise in the first place. All he can hear is the steady thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat in his ears. Will blinks, and Mike swears the world tilts because — shit. He’s real.

He should say something. Anything. He should stand up, move, breathe, do literally anything that doesn’t involve sitting here and staring at Will like some sort of creep at the bottom of his living room stairs… but he doesn’t. His body doesn’t seem to remember how.

Mike hadn’t meant to still be awake. He’d tried to sleep—trust him, he’d tried. It’s just that sleep isn’t exactly an option when it’s three in the morning and Will still hasn’t come home. Especially when you factor in the fact that there are beings from another dimension that seem to have a personal vendetta against him and—oh yeah! Mike’s in love with him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Every noise that leaked into his room from outside had him craning toward his window; every zoom of a car, every gust of wind, every rustle of whatever animal is up right now. Each time he looked out his window only to be met with an evident lack of Will, the dread in his chest grew tenfold.
Eventually, this dread had consumed him whole.

His brain started listing things Mike wished he’d said to Will. Things he could’ve said before… well, before anything could happen.

Apologies, jokes, half-compliments that died on his tongue before he ever managed to finish them. Seriously, Will deserves to know how goddamn pretty his eyelashes are before he meets his demise. Okay, what the hell is wrong with him? Who thinks that right now?

At some point, he’d started to picture what it would be like if Will had actually…

But then Joyce’s footsteps started thundering downstairs, the front door flung open, Mike caught sight of Will through his window, and he didn’t think. He just ran.

If he’d thought it through, he would’ve stayed upstairs. Would’ve restarted his quest of falling asleep, this time with the surety of Will being alive. Would have allowed for Will to have his moment with Joyce, but no. He just had to make his presence known.
Curse Will and his ability to make the small amount of logic Mike has left jump off a cliff.

Coming back to the present, Mike watches as Will’s eyes begin to soften around the edges, and the relief in his chest begins to twist. That dizzying gratitude that Will’s okay—it’s still there. But something sharper has started to wedge itself next to it. All the fear that’s been building for hours, all of the what-ifs, all of the worst-case scenarios that wouldn’t stop looping through his head… it all starts screaming at him. Begging to be let out, begging for a place to go.

Mike exhales through his nose, jaw growing tight.
He doesn’t mean to open his mouth.
But he does.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

The words come out louder than what he was anticipating, rough and cracked and way too full of everything he’s been trying to hide (from Will, and everyone else). They hang in the air like smoke, physically weightless yet entirely too heavy, and the second they’re out in the world, Mike wishes he could drag them back in.

He watches Will flinch as his eyes widen again. It was just barely, but Mike notices it, and his heart sinks. Shit. Shit—this isn’t at all what he wanted. He doesn’t know what exactly it is he did want (he never does) but he knows he’d never want this. His mouth and brain are mortal enemies who lack the ability to communicate before they act, and again, shit. He’s an idiot. A stupid, ignorant idiot who should most definitely be apologising to Will right now, but he isn’t.
Because he’s an idiot.

Will’s mouth begins to repeatedly open then shut again, like he’s trying to piece together whatever language it is that Mike has started speaking in. His shoulders have grown tense and there’s a little crease between his eyebrows. The confusion, the hurt, it’s all so evident on Will’s face, and Mike wants to explode on the spot.

“I—” Will starts, but the word fell apart before it even formed.

Mike’s already sunken heart somehow sinks deeper. God, what is wrong with him? That’s the first thing he says? Not an ‘are you okay?’ Or a ‘thank god you’re home,’ but that?

“Robin. I was– I was with Robin. At the Squawk. Fixing… radios.”

Mike takes in the words, and for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with them. He blinks once, twice, like that’ll make him comprehend the sentence easier, but all it does is make the name echo louder in his head.

Robin.

Of course he was with Robin.

She’s Will’s new best friend, after all.

She’s the one Will goes to for help now, she’s the one that Will feels the most comfortable around, she’s the one that Will seems to gravitate toward when the three of them are in a room together, and Mike would be kidding himself if he said it doesn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t bother him. Will’s his own person, he can make friends with whoever he pleases, it’s whatever.

He’s safe.

That’s all that should matter.
He’s safe and he’s breathing and the dim light is making his eyes twinkle and— fuck.

Mike still can’t shake the buzzing in his chest, it’s as though his brain still hasn’t managed to catch up with the fact that Will Byers is alive.

“Robin. Right.” Mike finally starts a response. “You were with Robin. For…” Mike brings up his wrist, glancing at his watch as if he hadn’t been counting the hours, minutes, and seconds Will had been gone all night. “Seventeen hours. You’ve been fixing radios with Robin for seventeen hours.” Mike looks back up at Will now, glaring into his still-wide eyes.

“We just– we lost track of time.” Will states, voice coming out tired in a way that’s much heavier than just exhaustion. “It’s not that big of a deal, Mike.”

“Not that big of a–?!” Mike can’t help it, he lets out a laugh. One that’s loud, and much more disbelief than humour. His arms shoot out as he shouts “Not that big of a deal?! It’s three in the morning, Will! You just– I don’t know, disappeared, and your Mom’s been yelling into the phone on and off for hours, and I—” He cuts himself off. Thank god he cuts himself off. He doesn’t want to know where that would have trailed off to. “You… you could have been hurt.”

Will’s eyebrows draw together, his face covered in confusion. Why is he confused? Is the idea of Mike caring about his well-being that shocking to him? “Well, I’m not.” Comes his reply. “Sorry I didn’t check in with you whilst I was busy not dying.”

“Not dying?” Mike repeats, incredulous. “That’s where we’re setting the bar now? Not dying?”

“I was just with Robin.” Will lets out a huff. “It’s not like I was wandering the woods alone.”

He may as well have just punched him in the gut.
Mike thinks he would have preferred that.
Still, he lets out a scoff before continuing.

“Yeah, because that just makes it so much better.”

“You’re acting like I actually did die, Mike.”

“You did for all I knew!”

The words rip out of him before he can stop them, raw and far too honest, and Mike swears the room is closing in on them.

He doesn’t notice how Will’s face twists with guilt and disbelief. He doesn’t notice that when Will quietly says: “you don’t mean that,” there’s a lilt in the words — one that implies he’s trying to convince both Mike and himself of it. Mike doesn’t notice any of it because he’s too focused on keeping his heart in his body..

“Don’t–” Mike cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair before continuing. “You don’t get to tell me what i mean. You were just gone, Will. You were gone, and with all this—” Mike starts gesturing wildly to the world at whole “—insane shit happening right now, and all the insane shit that’s happened–” Mike shudders. “That’s happened to you… What the hell was I supposed to think?”

Will, again, blinks at him.

“That I was with Robin. You knew that I’d be with her today, you knew we were working together at the Squawk—”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you’d be doing that for seventeen hours!”

“Oh, well, forgive me for not knowing I needed to give you a schedule.”

“You don’t need to give me a schedule,” Mike huffs out, exasperated. “You just need to, y’know, come home before three in the stupid goddamn morning. You can’t not expect me to—”

“Not expect you to what?” Will cuts Mike off. “Worry? Care? Because, wow! That’s new. Didn’t think that was something you did anymore.”

The words shoot through Mike like bullets, and in an instant, his mouth and throat dry out.
He stares at Will, caught somewhere between denial and disbelief because—

Wait.

What?

If Mike wasn’t stunned out of his mind right now, he would’ve notice the way Will’s gaze flicked away almost immediately. He would’ve noticed the way his shoulders tensed, would’ve noticed the regret that’s consuming his face, would’ve noticed the crack in his voice whilst the words tumbled out of him. But he didn’t notice—still doesn’t notice—and forms a response.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be stupid, Mike.” Will lets out a bitter laugh. “You know exactly what it means.”

“No! No I don’t, Will!” It’s not a complete lie. Mike has a small inkling of a feeling he knows what Will’s talking about, but there’s no way—

“You’ve been avoiding me, Mike!”

Mike blinks, completely blindsided.
Oh.
Will noticed.
He didn’t think Will cared enough to notice.

“For weeks!” Will shouts, continuing. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks! And don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, because I swear to god–” Will’s voice rises with every word he speaks. It’s shaky, but more than sharp enough to slice through all the anger that had been building within Mike. “You barely even look at me anymore! You only talk to me when you feel like you have to, and even then, it’s as though the whole time you’re just– I don’t know! Fighting the urge to make a run for it?!” Will lets out a huff. “And now you’re… what? Sitting here acting like you care?”

“Who—” Mike stammers. “Who said that I didn’t?”

“You never show it.” Will’s voice comes out rough, grainy around the edges, and every single emotion that Mike is capable of feeling is swirling somewhere in his chest. “No one needed to say it.”

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, but for the umpteenth time that night, the words die in his throat. What can he say, really? ‘Sorry, talking to you makes me feel like I’m going to implode!’ Or, maybe he’d say, ‘Oh, yeah, haha! I’m like, hopelessly in love with you, and whenever I’m in your presence, I have to resist the urge to stare at your mouth! And actually, now that I think about it, I think I’ve kinda already been doing that my whole life! Whoops!’

Yeah, that’d go over so massively well.

So, instead he says:
“That’s not fair.”

Will huffs out something akin to a laugh. “Fair? You think this is about fairness, Michael?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what this is about, Will!” He snaps, lying. It comes out louder than he meant for it to, voice jagged and dripping with more hurt than anger. “I’m sorry if I didn’t—I don’t know! Stare at you enough lately, or whatever. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care!”

“Then please, Mike!” Will whisper-shouts, levelling his tone again. “Explain it to me.” Will’s eyes look directly into his own again, and Mike swallows. “Explain to me why you’ve been acting like I don’t exist.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. He tries, he really tries, but the words keep dissolving on his tongue. He probably looks insane right now, like a goldfish repeatedly opening and closing its mouth. But at least when fish do that, bubbles come out. Mike’s got nothing.

At his lack of words, Will continues.

“You used to tell me things, Mike. You used to tell me things you wouldn’t tell anyone else. We– we both did. You used to make me—” Will stops himself, pressing his lips together, like he’s just realised exactly how much it is that he’s saying. “This is stupid. This is– this is so stupid. Just forget it.”

“No. No, say it.” Mike pushes, despite the tightness of his throat. “I used to make you what?”

Will shakes his head, eyes darting everywhere but Mike. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Uhh, no. It clearly does.” Mike insists, voice cracking a little. “You can’t just– you can’t just drop something like that and shut down on me.”

Will exhales sharply from his nose, his frustration bleeding into the air between them. “You started shutting down first.”

Mike swears his heart is going to burst right out of his body soon. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if you were to look into his chest right now and see the stupid thing attempting to go for the “world’s fastest irish jig,” if there is such a thing.

Mike’s mouth begins to move before his brain can stop it. “I wasn’t—”

He stops. Swallows. Tries again. “I wasn’t avoiding you, Will.”

“Bullshit.” Will replies. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“I–” Mike stutters under Will’s gaze. “I just… I couldn’t.”

Confusion softens the expression painting Will’s face as his eyebrows knit together again. “Couldn’t what?”

Words are failing him again. His thoughts are crashing and slamming into each other, knocking around the exterior of his mind. They’re thoughts of Will. They’re always thoughts of Will. His laugh, his hair, his moles, his eyes, the sway of his hips when he walks, the purse of his lips when he draws. It all blends into the same dizzy ache that’s been eating at him for weeks. Months. Years.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike mutters, voice barely above a whisper.
“Couldn’t what, Mike.”

Mike shakes his head, his shoulders rising and falling alongside the movement. He still can’t answer that question. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to answer that question, so instead, he answers a different one — one that Will hadn’t even asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Will continues to look at him. Mike’s not looking back, he can’t, but he can feel his stare. He can always feel his stare.

Right now, he’s staring at him in a way that makes Mike feel as though he’s being peeled open. Like his soul is being let free, revealing to Will everything his body is preventing him from revealing. Mike’s throat, again, tightens.

“I didn’t do anything wrong?” Will repeats, quietly. There’s something raw beneath his voice, something so incredibly tender that Mike isn’t quite able to place. “Then why is it that when you do look at me, it’s like you’re… I don’t know. Scared.”

Mike’s head snaps back up at that. “I don’t—”

But then he meets Will’s eyes again, and any lie he was going to voice dies with the contact.

Mike exhales, dragging a trembling hand down his face as he says, “I’m not scared of you, Will.” Even he can recognise how small his voice sounds. “I’m just… scared.”

“Of what?”

Mike’s eyes flick back to the carpeted floor of the stairs beneath his feet. He’s already said too much.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

Will lets out a shaky laugh. “Mike, I’ve been scared every single day of my fucking life.” Mike’s shoulders tense as his eyes squeeze shut, trying to harshly blink away the tears he can feel forming. “Try me.”

Mike could so easily just drag this back around to the apocalypse. Could blame his sudden distance on being ‘so scared I’d lose you that I did it myself before the world could do it for us.’ But he doesn’t.

And you know what else he could do? He could just tell him. Screw it, the world’s ending, who cares anymore? He could just let the truth out. Could let the weight of it all finally float through the air and rediscover the joy that is having clear airways. Mike could just tell Will that he’s been avoiding him because every time he smiles, gravity rearranges itself. That he’s been pulling back from Will because being near him makes his chest all fuzzy, and being away from him makes it grow cold. He could just tell him that whenever they’re near each other, he’s in a constant state of almost saying something so, so incredibly stupid. But he doesn’t.

Because that’s terrifying.

So what comes out instead is:
“It’s not your fault.”

Will blinks, hard.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know.”

And then they just go back to staring at each other, the air around them feeling as though it’s holding its own breath, and Mike hates it. He hates that they’re like this now, hates that he’s the reason behind why, hates how easily he lets his thoughts get to the best of him, and hates how easily Will is able to read him. Yet, at the exact same time, hates how Will can’t seem to read every single part of him. Maybe if he just read those parts, the parts that terrify Mike, it’d be one hell of a lot easier for him to let Will go.

God, he really hopes his bottom lip isn’t visibly trembling right now.

“You keep saying it’s not my fault,” Will’s voice cuts through the silence, “but you won’t tell me what it is. Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong, Mike?”

Mike feels his hands ball into fists, and— “Because it’s me, okay?!” The words tumble out of him, and then more start to follow. “It’s my fault. It’s—it’s always been my fault. I don’t even know how to be around you without—”

He stops himself, mouth slamming shut. A beat passes. Then two. Then three, and he starts to bite the inside of his cheek. By the fourth beat, he starts to taste blood.

“Without what?” Will asks, voice soft and full of sincerity. He slowly starts to resume his footsteps, inching closer to where Mike’s still sitting on the stairs, left leg bouncing rapidly.

Mike grips onto the edge of the step he’s sat on. “Don’t.”

Will pauses. “Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what.”

“Like that.”

“I don’t know what ‘that’ is, Mike.”

“Like you—like you actually care.”

Will’s face twists at that, not with hurt or anger but with something else entirely. “I do care. Of course I care about you, I thought that much was obvious.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know. Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Silence goes back to engulfing them (the repeated thuds of his own heartbeat doesn’t count), and Mike kinda just wants for the floor to swallow him whole. And then he remembers that’s an actual possibility, and shudders.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Will says finally, a slight sting in his voice. “You’re mad that I care about you?”

“I’m mad that you make it so damn easy to care back!” Mike explodes, his voice echoing through the room. And now that he’s started, he can’t stop. Fuck. He can’t stop. “I’m mad that every time you walk into a room, my brain just—” he lets out a noise here that can best be described as… odd. “I can’t even think or breathe or– god, Will, I can’t even look at you without feeling like my chest is going to cave in on itself.”

He should stop talking.
He’s already said way too much, so he should really stop talking.
But he doesn’t.

“I tried to ignore it. I tried to ignore the way my heart does this stupid little—” Mike makes a hopeless gesture in front of his chest, fingers twirling around each other before mimicking an explosion. “—whatever whenever you look in my direction. I see you smile at other people and it’s fine, great even, but then you direct it at me and it’s like… like suddenly everything inside me forgets how to function. Like my lungs miss their cue and my brain right there with it, or— I don’t know, like gravity’s decided it’s done with me specifically. And I know it’s stupid, it’s so undeniably stupid, but still, whenever you’re with me it feels like the floor tilts and somehow I’m the only one who’s noticed.”

For the first time ever, Mike wouldn’t be able to tell you if Will was still even in the room.

Still, he continues.

“So I guess I thought my next best option was to ignore you, rather than just my… you know,” his voice wavers. “I thought that maybe if I put a bit of distance between us, I’d get better, but clearly, I couldn’t even do that right.” He huffs as he gestures to himself on the stairs, hand flailing in front of him. “It just made me miserable. More than I already was, I mean.” Mike looks up, confirming that Will hadn’t left him before looking down again. It’s too much. “I’m sorry. I’m– I’m so sorry, Will.”

Will doesn’t respond. Not with words, anyway.

One second he’s a good five feet away from Mike, staring at him with something cracked and awe-struck and downright terrified in his eyes — and the next second he’s there. Right in front of him. And Mike can’t help but look up again, breath stuttering in his throat as Will’s silhouette fills his vision. He’s close enough that Mike’s able to watch the tiny tremor in Will’s lip.

And it’s then that Mike realises he wants to know what it feels like between his own.

Holy shit.

His thoughts hadn’t gotten this far before.

Sure, he’s imagined falling asleep cuddled up together beneath a shared blanket on the basement couch, he’s imagined fingers tracing the back of his hand before they finally intertwine with his own, he’s imagined those same fingers threading through his hair whilst he did the same to their owner, he’s imagined brushing pinkies, lingering hugs, heads against shoulders, hands resting on knees. Hell, he’s even imagined quick pecks to each other's hands, fingers, and foreheads.

And whilst all those thoughts definitely scared (and still scare) him, the thought of proper kisses — mouth-to-mouth kisses — was always just… too much. Far too much and far too terrifying for his brain to have even considered conjuring the image.

With Will this close, however…

The thought stops being this distant, impossible daydream and turns into something else entirely. Something that’s terrifyingly plausible—no, real.

Mike squeaks. Genuinely squeaks. Because now that he’s fully aware of just how badly he wants to kiss Will Byers — and with Will's lips right there — he can’t help but imagine it. Can't help but imagine leaning forward, closing the tiny amount of distance between them, crushing his lips against Will's own. Would they be soft? They look soft. God, it's ridiculous how soft they look.

And then, his mind starts to wander further. What if he kissed the tip of Will's nose afterward? Or started peppering kisses across the expanse of his cheeks? Would a blush form under his lips as he does so? What if he pressed tiny, clumsy kisses to each and every one of the moles on his face? What if he stopped focusing on his face entirely, trailing kisses down to his neck and Will just… let him? Would he let him kiss his collarbones? His shoulders? How would Will react to him doing so?

Feeling blood rush to his cheeks, Mike pulls his gaze away from Will's lips and instead opts to look into Will's eyes, thoughts no longer coherent as he registers the dilation of Will's pupils. But that doesn't necessarily mean anything—they're in a reasonably dark room, after all.

He's close enough that Mike can feel his breath ghosting against his cheeks, can see the way his eyelashes splay against his cheekbones when he blinks, can track the way his gaze drops to Mike's lips when he doesn’t meet his eyes again afterwards, and can see how his eyes flutter shut completely as he starts to surge forward. Wait.

Wait, wha—

Oh.

Will’s lips are on his.

Oh.

Will’s kissing him.

That’s the only thing that exists in Mike’s head the instant Will’s lips collide with his own. There isn’t a world anymore—no stairs, no light, no thump of a heartbeat, no gateways to hell. Time seems to have given up on him as well, stretching out like gum as the universe offers Mike a full century to comprehend the unmistakable press of Will Byers’ lips on his own. He feels like all he is and ever will be is that single and impossible (yet undeniable) sentence that’s currently ricocheting through his skull.

Will’s kissing him, Will’s kissing him, Will’s kissing him, Will’s kissing him—

And then he’s not.

Because just as fast as it happened, Will jerks back like he’s been physically shocked, stumbling off of the stairs and standing back up on the living room floor in one swift motion. His eyes are huge—horrified as he brings his hands to his mouth. A mouth that Mike just felt pressed onto his own. Mike never even got to press back.

Will’s shaking. His full body’s trembling, and Mike can feel his own doing the same. Will’s eyes meet his again, tears starting to prick at the surface as he mutters:

“Oh my god.”

And now, Will’s backing away from him. Terror coating his face as his hands continue to press over his mouth, like he’s trying to physically shove the moment back inside himself. His breath hitches, sharp and panicked, and it snaps something in Mike — not gently, not slowly. Violently. Like someone’s just whacked him across the head with a baseball bat.

Because Will’s looking at him like he’s done something wrong. Like kissing Mike is the kind of thing he needs to recoil from. Like it’s the kind of mistake that they aren’t going to be able to come back from.

But it wasn’t a mistake.
It wasn’t a mistake at all.
And Mike cannot—he cannot let Will think it is.

With his brain finally catching up to his body, Mike grabs onto the railing of the stairs as he pulls himself up. His legs are jelly, knees forgetting how to operate, mind still stuck in the dizzy haze of ‘Holy shit,’ ‘He kissed me,’ and ‘Holy shit, he kissed me!’ as Will continues to slowly back away. His gaze is now pointed at the floor, following his feet as he repeatedly mutters a myriad of apologies. He’s about five seconds away from bolting.

At this realisation, Mike lurches forward. One of his socked feet just barely catches itself on the bottom step before he launches himself at Will. His hand shoots out on instinct, fingers just barely catching onto the fabric of Will’s jacket, tumbling into him slightly before steadying himself by firmly latching onto his wrist with both hands.

“Will—” Mike rasps out, breathless. “Will—wait.”

Will freezes. Body going rigid as he braces for Mike to pull away, to yell, to confirm every awful thought he’s so clearly spiralling through at this very second. His hand twitches in Mike’s clasp, trying to pull back in a way that’s gentle, apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” Will whispers again, it being the first one Mike fully registers. His eyes are still pointedly at the floor. “I– I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have– shit, I’m really sorry, Mike, please just—forget this ever happened.”

“No.”

The word leaves Mike in a way he doesn’t recognise. It’s low, certain, coming out of him like its been waiting years upon years for the exact right moment to claw its way out of his chest. Will remains frozen. There’s not a breath, not a flinch, not a shift. Just frozen. Like the singular syllable has locked him in place.

Mike takes a lungful of air he’s pretty sure he hasn’t earned as his fingers curl tighter around Will’s wrist; he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

“No,” he repeats, softer this time. “Don’t… you can’t ask me to forget that.”

Will squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to allow for any tears to slip. “Please,” Will pleads. “We don’t… You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Mike interrupts, stomach flipping. “I want to remember. I want—” He cuts himself off, because he can hear how crazy he sounds, but god, there’s no taking it back now. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Will slowly, hesitantly, and finally reopens his eyes and lifts his gaze from the floor. His eyes lock back onto Mike’s own, and he has to take a second to admire the way they shine in the half-light. He swears the sight knocks one of his ribs loose.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Will utters, voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t have done that— Robin– she… she said some things. And they got stuck in my head. But that’s not… that’s not her fault.” Will swallows, dropping his gaze again. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” his voice cracks on the word ‘kissed.’

Mike’s breath catches. “But you did.”

“Yeah,” Will breathes out a low laugh. “I did. And that was stupid of me. And now you’re being nice about it because you’re… you.”

Mike returns the laugh, if you could even call it that. “You say that like I have a track record of being nice.”

One of Will’s eyebrows twitch, like the sentence stung even though it’s barely anything at all. Mike sees it. Feels it. And suddenly the joke isn’t funny anymore.

“I’m not—” Mike swallows, trying again. “I’m not saying that to make you feel better. I’m not just being nice right now.”

Will blinks, thrown. “You’re…” He’s looking at Mike again, like he’s trying to read his mind. At this point, Mike wouldn’t be surprised if he actually could. “What are you being, then?”

“Honest,” Mike declares, holding his gaze like he’s gripping onto the edge of a cliff. “I’m being honest, Will.”

It comes out much steadier than he was expecting — quiet, but firm. Not that Mike’s complaining.

“Honest about… what, exactly?” Will’s expression is one he’s unfamiliar with. One that’s completely unreadable. He loosens his hold on Will’s wrist, not letting go, just easing. Terrified of holding on too tightly. Even more terrified of not holding on at all.

“Honest about…” Mike starts, and then stops. He’s never felt more fragile in his life. His words start lining up in his throat like dominoes—one push, one singular push, no matter how light… they all go.

He lets out a breath.

“When you… kissed me.” Mike begins, slowly, “I didn’t– I wasn’t freaked out. I was freaked out before you did it, sure, but that’s because I–” his breath catches. “Uh…” Mike can’t believe he’s about to admit to this. Words can’t express how much he really, really can’t believe he’s about to admit to this. “I kept… Imagining it—and god, okay, I know that sounds– insane, whatever, but you were right there and— Jesus Christ, okay.” He clears his throat, cheeks burning—god he hopes the light isn’t catching on him in the same way it is Will. Not that he’s still looking at Will, there’s no way in hell he’s facing that. Catching his breath, he reopens his mouth after what he hopes isn’t a pathetically long time. “I was scared then. Before it happened. But when you actually did it?” Mike shakes his head, allowing for his hair to fall in front of his eyes — using it as a shield, of sorts. “It didn’t feel wrong. Not for a second.”

Mike hears Will begin to open his mouth, he’s close enough to physically hear that slight part of his lips, but before Will can say anything — be it denial, more apologies, or whatever else — Mike pedals on.

“And I’m not just saying that because I’m nice. That would–” Mike chokes a laugh, “that’d be an insane thing to say if that was my intention, but it wasn’t. I’m not… nice.” Another laugh falls out of him, a much tinier one. “I know you think I am. Or that I used to be, at least. But that was— that was always just with you. But if I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I’ve really been nice to you since… well, since we were around thirteen.”

If Will reacts, Mike wouldn’t know. His gaze refuses to leave where his fingers are curled on Will’s wrist. Still, Mike presses on — voice soft but unshakeably certain.

“I’m not like you. I’m not kind to people—not naturally. I don’t go out of my way to make anyone feel better—I don’t hover, or check-in, or worry about where they are at three in the stupid fucking morning—” he would worry. But no one needs to know he actually cares about the people he’s close to. And it’d be in an extremely different type of worry anyway, so… unimportant. “—But… but you’re the exception.” He sucks in a sharp breath, before lamely adding: “Okay, now it sounds like I’m circling back on my words and actually am just saying this to be nice, but—no. No, this is different, it’s just…” Mike inhales, deeply, then slowly breathes back out again. “It’s just you. I can’t stand the idea of doing anything if it’s not with you, I just—it’s always been you.”

There’s so much Mike’s admitting to in that last sentence. So, so many things he wouldn’t be able to comprehend on a properly functioning brain (if there is such a thing), let alone a panicked and sleep deprived one. But he’s half convince that the (stupidly warm) wrist he’s clasping somehow isn’t Will’s anymore, and the boy has disappeared completely. He needs to look at him—he needs to confirm he’s been here the whole time, because whilst Mike doesn’t want to take the words back, he doesn’t think he’d be sad for very long if Will never heard them in the first place.

His worries (or hopes, he hasn’t decided yet) are confirmed when he looks up to see an incredibly overwhelmed Will looking back at him. Mike feels a muscle in Will’s wrist spasm, his fingers surely twitching with it, and with that — alongside the look in his eyes — Mike deciphers that Will’s currently debating with himself on whether he should be pulling Mike into a hug, or pushing him away entirely before bolting downstairs.

They stand like this for a long while — Will trembling under his hands, Mike struggling to keep himself upright, both of them refusing to break eye contact whilst the air between them stretches into a single thread; one that’s guaranteed to snap if one of them dares breathe too hard.

Will’s the first to move.

His wrist giving a tiny, involuntary jerk in Mike’s loose grasp before he starts to move his free hand toward (what Mike assumes to be) his face, but it stops before it was even above their hips. Hovering. Suspended in the air like it’s scared to touch him—no, like it’s not allowed to.

He drops his hand, balling it into a fist at his side. His posture re-tightens, his eyes squeeze shut again, his feet shuffle back (just barely—no more than an inch before stopping again) away from Mike.

Will doesn’t believe him.

Will doesn’t believe any of what he’s saying right now. His brain — it’s physically not allowing him to.

He nods at Mike then. Not in agreement, but in resignation. It’s a shallow, fragile imitation of understanding—a nod someone gives when they’ve already accepted that their name is at the very bottom of the list. Now he’s gently — oh so very incredibly gently — prying his wrist out of Mike’s clutch. Offering him a weak smile as he holds the thing with his opposite hand, circling patterns into his skin.

The smile makes Mike’s stomach drop.

Because, Mike realises, Will thinks he’s sparing him.

And that’s it, isn’t it? That smile—it's the thing that makes it undeniably clear.
Will thinks Mike is only saying these things to prevent him from shattering;
He thinks every word is a mercy kill;
He still thinks Mike is lying to protect him—trying to ensure that he doesn’t feel bad for his actions.

Because Will’s been taught not to hope for much of anything his whole life, hasn’t he? Life has thrown the worst at him time and time again—a compromise is the best he can ask for, the best he thinks he can get.

Was Will expecting for Mike to let go of him just before? Yeah, he was, so he just let go first to avoid any unnecessary disappointment when Mike did it for him—he thinks it's inevitable.

He’s already accepted that this is the best he could possibly get.

“Will…” Mike murmurs, grabbing at the bottom of one of Will’s sleeves, palm brushing over his hand as their eyes lock yet again. “Hey, I— I meant what I said. All of it.” His voice cracks, but there’s no way he’s going to admit to thinking about kissing someone only to have them not believe it. “You didn’t imagine any of that.”

Will’s eyes still don’t leave his as he offers him another — somehow weaker — smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice thin. “Yeah, okay.”

You know what? Mike thinks. Fuck it.

He doesn’t allow himself the time to think another second, because thinking is the exact thing that will have him stumbling over his words, or backing away, or convincing himself that Will wanting him is the most ridiculous thing in the universe—no matter how much truth may lie in that statement, because whilst Mike has truly no idea what he might have done to gain the affection of Will fucking Byers, the fact that it’s even a possibility within itself…?

He releases his hold on Will’s sleeve, moving both of his hands to grasp his biceps.

He’s done holding back.

“Will, the only thing I hated about that fucking kiss was the fact you never gave me the chance to kiss you back.”

Before Will has the time to even react to the admission, Mike slides his hands up from Will’s biceps, trailing the muscle in his upper arms and shoulders before stopping at his neck, palms planted atop his collarbones. Mike takes a step forward, closing the inch Will had stepped back and then some.

“Look at me.”

And Will does. It’s hesitant, but he does.

Moving his face so it’s unbelievably close to Will’s — close enough to feel his breath on his lips — Mike’s voice drops to something laced with a kind of raw certainty he’s never let himself use—something he didn’t even know he was capable of until now.

“If you want me to stop,” Mike starts, hearing Will’s breath hitch. “Tell me right now.”

He doesn’t give Will the room to spiral, inching even closer, their foreheads a hair away from brushing against each other. He needs for Will to physically feel each and every one of his words against his skin—needs for there to be no imaginable way Will can mistake this for pity.

“Say it,” Mike whispers, warm breath ghosting Will’s mouth. “If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—tell me to stop. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Will opens his mouth.
No sound comes out.
He closes it.

His throat bobs. His breath stutters. His lashes tremble. He tries again.

He opens his mouth.
Words still don’t come.
He closes it.

Instead—

His eyes drop.

Directly to Mike’s mouth.

Then up to his eyes.

Down again.
Up.
Down.
Up—

And that’s all the answer Mike needs.

“Okay,” he breathes, relighting the ignitions in his hands as they return to trailing—gliding up the sides of Will’s neck, fingers slowly inching their way behind it. “Okay,” Mike breathes again, hands now sliding up Will’s nape as he registers two hesitant, shaky (yet fiery) touches to his hips. “Okay,” Mike breathes for the final time, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of Will's head before finally—finally—closing the minuscule distance between their lips.

Right, so here’s the thing. Mike has never — ever — known Will Byers to be someone who kisses people. Like… at all. Which, okay, might sound a bit rude, but come on, he knows the guy! Will is the type of person who tenses when the idea of romance is even hinted at him. When Lucas or Dustin would bring up any crushes they had before getting with their respective girlfriends, Will would try to fade into the background. When any girl would show even the tiniest bit of interest in Will, he’d immediately shut them down; the only exception Mike can think of being at the snowball — where he'd danced with a girl only after Mike himself had insisted he'd do so. But even then… Mike saw the way he was dancing with her. And… well.

With their lips pressed together now, Mike can take a guess as to why Will reacted the way he did to all that stuff.

Will wasn’t able to pretend.
And right now, Mike really wishes that he wasn’t able to either.
Was he ever actually any good at it? Pretending?
He doesn’t know, and at this present moment, he really doesn’t fucking care.

Because holy fuck—he’s kissing Will Byers.

And holy fuck—Will Byers is kissing him back.

And holy fuck—Will Byers is good at it.

‘Good’ might just be the biggest understatement of the century because—again—holy fuck.

Mike doesn’t know what it was he was expecting here. Tentativeness, maybe? Something gentle, soft, almost shy. If he had fully thought it through, Mike would have expected Will to hold himself still, careful, with the worry he might somehow be doing it wrong evident in his posture and how he doesn’t know where to place his hands. Mike would have assumed Will would be worried he’d be too much, worried he’s not enough, or any of those other terrible, stupid lies that seem to consume his mind. Mike would have assumed that he’d be the one to take the lead, that he’d be the one to initiate any new type of contact, that he’d be the one guiding Will. But that’s not what happens. That’s not what happens at all.

Because the second Mike’s lips brushed Will’s own, he went still, sure, but it was only for a heartbeat. A seventh of a second that passed before he surged in with a force— no, an urgency that has Mike clutching onto Will's hair to keep himself from collapsing. Hands that had previously been just barely grazing Mike’s hips suddenly grab—bunching his shirt and sliding up with this heavy force until they settle on Mike’s waist—grasping tighter and pulling him closer. Their chests are flush against each other, Will’s breath is a hot, uneven, and staggered pattern that Mike is sure mirrors his own, and shit—his lips are warm. So, so incredibly fucking warm.

With everything going on, Mike doesn’t register just how tight his clasp on Will’s hair is. The strands slip between his fingers, silky, warm, soft— Christ. Suddenly, Mike has never been more grateful for this fucking apocalypse; because he has zero clue as to how on earth he’s survived this long without being given the opportunity to not only thread his fingers through, but also grip at the hair of Will Byers whilst he kisses Mike senseless. There’s no way—absolutely no way that in any ‘normal’ timeline, he’d ever be given the chance to do this, to feel this, to hold Will like this, with Will’s lips on his, with his hands tangled in Will’s hair, and Jesus fuck—Will’s lips on his.

And then, suddenly, they’re moving. Not away (thank god) but backward. Will laid his palms flat on Mike’s waist, sliding up, and up, moving to Mike’s chest and fisting at the fabric there before he started pushing, and pushing, and pushing, and—thump.

Mike whimpers—fucking whimpers the instant his back hits the wall, and rather than freezing, or pulling off of him, Will’s response is to groan. Low and deep and fuck—Mike felt it. He felt the sensation vibrate on his lips, feels the sensation swirl throughout his body, and at that, Mike makes another, somehow even more embarrassing noise, and Will chases it. Fisting his hands tighter, angling his head higher, pressing his lips closer, and Mike has to remove his hands from Will’s hair to tightly wrap his arms around Will’s neck to keep himself from crumbling.

It hardly works; he can feel his knees wobble, can feel himself begin to sink down the cracked paint of the wall—but then one of Will’s hands — one of Will’s beautiful fucking hands — unfist from Mike’s shirt, grabbing onto Mike’s left thigh to keep him from falling. He rests Mike’s leg against his hip, all whilst keeping his lips firmly pressed to Mike’s own, but before he even has the time to process that, Will moves his other hand to Mike’s jaw. Pulling away for a fraction of a second to reangle both of their heads and dive deeper into Mike’s lips. Realising that his head isn’t angled down anymore, Mike registers the fact that their faces are now level with each other, and his arms (still wrapped around Will’s neck) tighten their hold.

Mike, being overcome with a sudden wave of boldness, separates his lips slightly to gently nip at Will’s bottom lip and— oh. Okay, yeah, Mike gets why Will chased his own noises now because shit. Will gasps into his mouth. Startled, sharp, loud to not only his ears but his whole… everything. Mike wants to hear it again, to feel it again, wants to swallow it whole and do the same to any noises that follow, but before he can start to go any further, Will pulls his face away from his.

And shit, okay, was that too much? Did he hurt him? Did he—

But before Mike even has the chance to open his eyes (or fall to his knees and sob), Will’s crashing back into him. Mike chokes on a gasp, and Will drags a thumb across one of his cheekbones. It’s now that Mike registers just how insanely strong his hand feels where it's pressed against the skin of his jaw. There’s a new kind of focus evident in Will’s actions. It’s like he’s in the process of making a decision that’s been sitting in the back of his mind for years upon years.

And then, Mike feels it. A light sweep of warmth at the seam of his mouth.

It’s so gentle, barely qualifies as a touch; more question than actual action, and Mike responds instantly—parting his lips, he allows for Will’s tongue to slip in and holy shit. Holy shit, he’s making out with Will Byers. He’s making out with Will Byers, he’s making out with Will Byers, he’s making out with Will Byers, he’s—

And with that in mind, the leg against Will’s side presses harder and the arms wrapped around Will’s neck squeeze tighter. His hands ball into fists, fingers digging into his palms, nails surely leaving crescents in the skin.

Will makes another sound, one that travels right down Mike’s throat, and — for the bajillionth time tonight — holy shit.

Who taught Will how to do this? Was he living a double life? A life without Mike? A life where he’s casually making out with random stupid idiots behind sheds? Or bleachers? Or wherever else? Did he meet someone in Lenora? Because how in the ever-loving fuck does Will Byers — Will fucking Byers — know how to kiss— no, make out like this?

But then Will’s hold on his leg slips slightly and Mike can feel him grunt into his mouth before readjusting his grip. And that little misstep — as tiny as it was — sets off a chain reaction of realisations in Mike’s brain. The subtle hesitation in all of Will’s movements, the imperceptible pulls and pushes that seem more reactive than deliberate, the slight quiver in his hands, the (barely-there) pauses before he leans in again… it all adds up. Will doesn’t know what he’s doing—and yet, somehow, he’s doing it perfectly—because of course he is. He’s Will Byers.

Will presses in again (and again and again and again) like he’s been starved for years but only just found out what hunger actually feels like. Mike can feel every shake of his now — not hesitation, probably a hell of a lot of fear, but it’s all overpowered by this wild, reckless need that’s somehow syncing with his own. Their mouths keep moving against each other like they’re trying to map every inch they’ve missed out on over the years, lips parting, sliding, catching—everything. They don’t slow — Mike hopes they never slow — but if anything, their movements build. Will’s breath is still hot against Mike’s mouth; he feels it every time they break for half-seconds that don’t even count as air. Mike’s pretty sure his brain shuts off entirely when Will makes that soft, overwhelmed noise again — a noise he’s already addicted to — and threads his fingers through his hair again, settling his hands on the top-back part of his head before drawing him impossibly closer. Every part of Mike is buzzing, burning, begging, and fuck, if this is what making out is supposed to feel like… he owes El one hell of an apology. Well, another apology to add onto all the other apologies he’s realised he owes El for the way he’s treated her over the years, and— okay, Jesus Christ, file those thoughts away for later, stop thinking about his goddamn sister.

It takes them far too long to notice the edges of dizziness crawling in. Mike feels Will’s rhythm falter first. There’s a tiny stutter of breath against his lips, but Mike continues to chase him anyway. It’s stupid, desperate, shameless, but Will huffs against his mouth and presses one last, dizzyingly deep kiss to him before pulling back. Mike — now fully aware of just how starved of oxygen he is — allows for his head to fall back against the wall with a thud, his chest heaving. His lips feel swollen, bitten, wet — and at that he’s opening his eyes to search for Will again. He needs to ensure that what just happened did, in fact, happen, and when he finds his face in the blur of colours moving in front of him, he relaxes. Will rests his forehead against Mike’s, his own eyes half-lidded, breaths mingling in this hot, messy rhythm neither of them can get under control, and for a few suspended seconds (minutes? hours?), they just breathe each other in.

Mike’s the first to speak. Or the first to try and speak, at least. “Will,” Christ, okay, his voice is low. Hoarse, raw, cracked, borderline pathetic. Will’s eyes flick to his, wide and blown yet somehow still soft, and Mike feels the hand Will still has on his leg grip tighter. Mike swallows. He has half a mind to punch his chest in an attempt to get his lungs to cooperate. He’s allowed to stare at Will’s (also swollen, also bitten, also wet) lips now, right? Do you earn that right upon kissing someone? Probably… hopefully. “I—” he starts, intelligently. For someone who aspires to be a writer, words sure are failing him. Language feels impossible right now. “That was… you were…” He huffs out a shaky breath because finishing that sentence might actually, genuinely kill him. Will’s eyes still haven’t left his, and the hand that was previously on his jaw is now squeezing his shoulder. Leaning into the touch, Mike tries again to form a coherent sentence. “I didn’t know you could… I mean, I didn’t think—” Mike laughs once, low and stunned. “Jesus, Will.”

Will chuckles at this—full on, properly chuckles, and Mike doesn’t try to repress the smile that’s quickly spreading across his face. Man, did he miss that noise—it’s been far too long since he last heard Will let out a genuine laugh. Will lets his face fall into Mike’s left shoulder before he forms a proper response. “I didn’t know I could either, honestly,” Will admits, the fabric on Mike’s shoulder muffling his voice, but it’s clearly just as wrecked as Mike’s own. More, even. Mike would be lying if he said it wasn’t making his head spin. “I was just—I don’t know. I had no clue what I was doing. Was I even any—”

“If the next word to come out of your mouth is ‘good,’ I’ll kill you,” Mike cuts him off, zero bite in the words. He feels an exaggerated eye roll press into his shoulder, and his smile widens before continuing. “Because good is the biggest understatement of the millennium.” Mike removes his leg from Will’s hand, trying not to sway forward as he pushes Will off of his shoulder and grabs his face with both hands. “Will, I’m pretty sure that was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Will blinks at him and Mike feels the cheeks beneath his palms burn. He wants to know what that burn would feel like pressed against his lips. But before he can make any decisions, Mike sees Will’s lips tug up into a grin. “You know,” Will starts, voice still rough around the edges. “I was half convinced you hated me when I woke up this morning.” He shakes his head slightly, amusement evident in his tone, like he can’t believe this night is a reality any more than Mike can.

Mike snorts in disbelief. As if there could ever be a world where Mike Wheeler hates Will Byers. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing the apples of Will’s cheeks. “I was completely convinced you’d never speak to me again if I spoke more than five sentences to you… that was my limit.” Mike laughs at himself, now realising just how absurd he’s been. “I gave myself a limit of five sentences I could use to talk to you each day—not counting one word responses. I thought that if I went over that five sentence limit, I’d say something so incredibly stupid that’d make you realise I—you know… wanted to kiss you.” Mike doesn’t even try to push down the blush he can feel forming. He’s pushed down every feeling he’s ever felt ‘too much’ of his whole life, and he doesn’t need to do that here. Not with this. Not with Will. “And… well,” Mike continues, “can’t say I was wrong.” His voice dips, steadying itself. “So I guess we’re both idiots.”

Mike couldn’t be happier with the fact Will can’t hide himself away right now; his face still being held firmly in place by Mike’s hands. Mike gets to watch and feel every single one of his reactions—both the big, and the small. Resting his hands on Mike’s hips, Will begins to speak again. “You gave yourself a sentence limit?” He begins, face full of so much amusement and adoration and holy fuck, please don’t let this be a Vecna vision. “Mike, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” For ‘the dumbest thing he’s ever heard in his life,’ Will seems pretty happy about it.

God, he’s gorgeous.

Mike’s somewhat convinced Will’s face is going to start melting through his hands. That his face is going to drop suddenly, and start calling Mike every disgusting word that’s been aimed at Will his entire life—that Mike’s been aiming at himself for far longer than he’s realised. He doesn’t know the full extent of Vecna’s visions, it’s not a subject people who’ve experienced it like to tell — if they’re even able to tell it — but he does know one thing. He goes for your biggest insecurities.

Wouldn’t it be so funny if Vecna showed him a night where Will — the ridiculously incredible and gorgeous Will — reciprocated his feelings, only to then drop the bomb that the whole thing was a joke? To laugh in his face whilst he does so? If that happens… if this really is a vision…

“Mike,” Will’s voice cuts through his concerns. They must be evident on his face, or movements, or whatever else, because Will’s hands are the ones on Mike’s face now. His own are hardly touching Will anymore, hovering in the air surrounding his cheeks as they shake violently.

Will’s thumbs sweep across Mike’s cheekbones, and then his grip firms—not harsh, just sure. He watches Will’s throat bob as his eyes flick over Mike’s face, like he’s checking for something, confirming something. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, Will inhales deeply before saying:

“Do you remember, when we were around… eight? Maybe nine? And you had ‘totally mastered’ biking with no hands?”

Mike freezes.

What?

But before Mike can ask him as much, Will pedals on. “We were both going to your house immediately after school because my Mom said I was allowed to stay over that morning.” A smile tugs at Will’s lips and his fingers press harder into the skin of Mike’s cheeks. “And during that bike ride home, you had insisted that you didn’t need to use hands, and me — being the incredibly gullible little kid that I was — had believed you. But then the second—the literal second you took your hands off the handle bars, you swerved into a streetlight, crashed, fell off the bike, and scraped the shit out of your knees.”

Again… what?

Why is this important? Why is Will talking about this? And Christ—is this really the memory he had to choose? Come on, man.

Mike feels heat crawl up his neck and Will’s smile becomes brighter before continuing his retelling of the distant memory.

“And you tried so hard not to cry when I rushed to your side. Your face was all red and blotchy.” There’s something fond in his voice—something filled with so much warm, gentle affection that makes Mike feel like he’s falling all over again. “And then once I was sure you weren’t hurt too badly, you told me — through the tears that you definitely weren’t shedding, but if you were, they were from ‘pure rage—’” Mike groans dramatically, cutting him off and Will lets a laugh slip before pedaling on. “You told me that you had ‘meant to do that.’ So I sat next to you on the ground, helping you brush away the gravel that had planted itself into your skin, while trying not to burst out laughing as I told you that ‘that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life.’” Mike scoffs weakly, the clouds of worry in his mind beginning to clear as Will bites down another laugh. “It was not. Obviously. But you believed me. So it’s fine. You… you remember that, right?”

“Uh… Yeah?” Mike can feel his heart trying to crawl up and out of his throat. “But… Will, why—”

“He doesn’t know about that memory,” Will cuts in. “Vecna—he doesn’t care about memories like that. He only looks for the ones that hurt. This one would be invisible to him.” Will huffs, shifting his hold on Mike’s face before steadying his voice again. “This is real, Mike. Trust me, I’m having a hard time believing it too, but… I’m certain it is. However, if I wake up in Steve Harrington’s stupid BMW within the next few seconds, I’m throwing myself out the window.”

Mike chokes out a laugh at that, and Will’s grin only grows.

“See?” Will says softly. “You laughed. Vecna’s not someone who aims to make you laugh. Especially not in the middle of freaking out—he thrives on the ‘freaking out.’ And that’s why I’m so sure this is real.”

Mike stares at him. Because Will saying things like that in a voice like that whilst holding his face like that should be illegal. The last of the panic in his chest dissolves, and is replaced by something else entirely. Something that makes his breath catch and his hands start moving before he even thinks about it.

“Yeah,” Mike whispers, voice still grainy as his fingers move to cup Will’s jaw again. “Yeah, okay.”

Mike watches Will lean into the touch. Watches his eyelids flutter half-closed, watches the way he (not literally) melts in Mike’s hands. The sight alone knocks the air out of him harder than the wall had. With a swallow, Mike brushes his thumb over the corner of Will’s lips and feels it quirk up under it. Mike’s own smile pulls crooked, helpless, and he leans forward the tiniest bit. Just enough for their noses to brush.

“I’m gonna—” Mike’s voice breaks, so he tries again. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Will nods. God, he nods so quickly that Mike doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Except he does, and connects their lips again.

Not for long. He pulls back after a few seconds, it was only a peck.
And then he’s doing it again.
And again. And again and again and again.
And if the small noises Will is making between and against the short kisses are anything to go off — alongside the way he’s moving his hands to tangle in Mike’s hair — he’s enjoying it.

“Sorry,” Mike says between kisses, not sorry at all. “I just really like your face”

Will giggles at that — wholeheartedly, unabashedly giggles — and that’s when Mike breaks.

He pulls back a fraction — just enough to admire the flush on Will’s cheeks, the shake of his shoulders, the curve of his smile — and Mike swears the world tilts.

So with that feeling, Mike leans back in and presses a short kiss to Will’s cheekbone. Then another beneath his right eye. And another to his left cheek.

Will tilts into each one.
So he continues.

Mike kisses the bridge of Will’s nose, the tip of it, the corner of his mouth, the mole above his lips. They’re all soft, fluttery, short-lived kisses that take place immediately after the one before it. Mike’s making it his personal mission to not let a single part of Will’s face go un-kissed, and the boy’s laughter is doing nothing but encouraging him.

“Mike,” Will says, voice cracked and disbelieving, “what are you—”

“Checking,” Mike murmurs, smile wide, kissing the soft spot just below Will’s cheekbone, “that you’re actually real.”

Will gently slides his hands out of Mike’s hair, tenderly (and still slightly shakily) wrapping his arms around his neck. “I think you’ve confirmed it,” Will states, letting out a soft laugh after he does so — Mike rewards the noise with a kiss to the corner of his eyebrow, and he laughs again. “Like… a lot.”

“Mm,” Mike hums, kissing the corner of his jaw. “Not enough.”

“Mike.”

“You can never be too sure, you know?”

Will laughs again—Mike wants to swallow the noise whole. “You’re such an idiot.”

God, Mike loves him. He loves him so much.
He can’t believe he was so terrified of this.
He can’t believe he still is so terrified of this.

And then (to the despair of many) Mike gets an idea.

An idea that could very easily ruin this whole entire thing, but Mike needs to see it through.
He’s confident it’ll work out.
Probably.
Hopefully.

And so, with slight hesitation, Mike moves back to Will’s cheek. He presses a soft, short kiss there before quickly following it with another, and pausing. After no more than three seconds, he resumes his actions, pressing another short kiss into his skin, which is quickly followed by a noticeably longer kiss, and that kiss is followed by two short kisses. Each one is timed, deliberate, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before Will picks up on it — if he hasn’t already — so, he continues.

Three long kisses are pressed onto Will’s jaw; three short, one long, is pressed onto his forehead; and then there’s another short kiss pressed right next to the bridge of his nose. Pausing for a few seconds, Mike rests his lips there, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he feels the trembly things burn where they lay atop Will’s skin.

He’s noticed.
Thank god he’s noticed.

Mike lets another beat pass before moving to the skin below Will’s left eye.

Long, short, long, long.

Will’s eyes flutter shut, and Mike takes it as an invitation to kiss his eyelids, angling his jaw upward.

Long, long, long.

Will lets out a sigh, and Mike moves to patch it up, angling his jaw back down again to press into his lips.

Short, short, long.

And then Mike pulls back a few inches, closes his eyes, and waits.
He doesn’t know what it is he’s waiting for, exactly, but still. He waits.
A beat passes. Then two. Then three. And by the forth, Will’s hands are grabbing Mike’s face, telling him “don’t move,” and crushing their lips together again.

Holy shit, okay.

Short kiss, short kiss, pause.

(I)

Short kiss, long kiss, short kiss, short kiss;
Long kiss, long kiss, long kiss;
Short kiss, short kiss, short kiss, long kiss;
Short kiss, pause.

(L-O-V-E)

Mike’s breath hitches, cheeks burning, and Will continues.

Long, short, long, long;
Long, long, long;
Short, short, long, pause.

(Y-O-U)

Short;
Long, long, long;
Long, long, long, pause.

(T-O-O)

Mike's lips part as he smiles against Will’s own, feeling Will’s own lips press against his teeth as he smiles with him. And then Will, seemingly having more to say, presses more kisses directly onto Mike’s teeth.

Long, short;
Short;
Short, long, short;
Long, short, short.

(N-E-R-D)

Mike laughs onto his lips, love and pure giddiness overwhelming each and every one of his senses. Will returns the laugh, low yet bright, and presses their foreheads together before speaking.

“This is—this is insane,” Will voices, shoulders shaking with the laughter. “This is… this is crazy.”

Mike slams his mouth shut and bites down on his lip—fighting to hold back the smirk that’s already creeped its way onto his face. “Well…” He starts, voice low, teasing, dripping with an amount of adoration he didn’t know he was capable of. “If we’re both going crazy—”

“Oh, fuck off.” Will interrupts, voice cracking somewhere between laughter and exasperation, and flicks Mike on the cheek lightly. Mike just laughs harder.

It’s different to the laughs from before—it’s that full-body, shaking, ridiculous laughter that leaves a person gasping for air. He removes his hands from Will’s face, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, leaning in to helplessly muffle the noise in the crevice of Will’s neck, and begins to sway the two of them gently. Will mirrors him instantly, laughing just as hard, wrapping his arms around Mike just as tight, and shifting and moving his feet in a way that has them swaying with rhythm — the walls outside of the room fading to nothingness.

Mike’s heart is just about to burst out of his chest; and It’s now, Mike realises, that in the entirety of… forever, he’s never been overcome with this amount of pure, unfiltered, unadulterated joy.

After a few more moments, they collapse together—sliding down the wall right next to the stairs and settling on the floor, now hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder. Their breathing’s still uneven, but calmer. Mike tilts his head to the side, just enough to look at Will, and sees him looking back, eyes sparkling. His breath catches in his throat. “You’re… you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice soft now, but entirely sincere.

Will blinks, cheeks pink, eyes flicking down to Mike’s mouth for a millisecond before looking back at him. “You’re just saying that.”

Mike shakes his head. “No. No, no I absolutely am not.” Will’s flush deepens, and Mike grins at the reaction. “Dude, I have no clue how you apparently haven’t noticed, but I’ve got… quite a bit of a staring problem. Your beauty just completely blinds me.”

Despite his flustered state, Will scoffs at him. “Oh, I noticed. It made me go insane, you don’t even understand.”

“Well… I think I might have an idea.” Mike smiles, shifting his body to face Will properly and he mirrors him. Leaning in, Mike presses a soft kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth, punctuating his statement.

Will laughs, quiet this time, teasing but completely unguarded. Mike chases the noise, kissing his mouth directly, smile widening.

“I’m serious, though. You’re so beautiful.” Mike’s grinning like an idiot, but he doesn’t care. How could he? He gets to tell Will Byers just how inconceivably pretty he is and not be scared of the response. He gets to see how the blush on Will’s face deepens at the words, gets to see the way he tries to fight against it as he sucks in and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip—a bottom lip of which Mike gets to feel between his own. A bottom lip of which he has felt between his own.

“Mike—” Will splutters. “Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” the words come out oozing with an unbelievable amount of adoration, considering how harsh they are. Mike watches as Will tucks his lip back between his teeth as he tries to repress a smile of his own, because… holy shit. He gets to love Will Byers. He’s the dictionary definition of a dumbass, and he gets to love, and be loved by, the Will Byers.

“Ehh… don’t really want to,” comes Mike’s eventual response, smile (somehow) widening. He probably looks so stupid right now, but Will doesn’t seem to care, and therefore, neither does he. “I mean, Will. Seriously. Have you seen your eyelashes?”

Will quirks a brow. “Do you have a thing for my eyelashes?”

“Maybe,”  Mike responds, dragging out the middle letter. “I just have a thing for you, I think.”

Will, for the umpteenth time tonight, scoffs despite his blush. “God, I never knew you were a sap.”

“Not my fault it’s so easy to get lost in your eyes.”

“Christ, okay. You’re one to talk.”

And now it’s Mike’s turn to fluster.

“What.”

“Mike, there’s about five sketchbooks in Lenora right now full of nothing but drawings of you.”

“What.”

“And that’s not even including all the loose pieces of papers with your face scribbled onto them that I’d shoved into the very depths of my locker.”

“What.”

Will laughs helplessly where he’s sat. “I don’t know why you’re so shocked, you know that I draw you.”

“Well—well yeah, but this is different and you know it—shut up.” Mike splutters. Will laughs harder.

“I never got why Troy and whoever else would call you ‘frogface.’ I’ve always seen you as someone who’s objectively pleasing to look at. I’m pretty sure your nose was sculpted by Greek Gods. And don’t even get me started on your cheekbones.”

“Will—”

“Mike,” Will cuts him off. “I’m serious. You’re stunning. And also my muse.”

“Will, oh my god.”

“You are.”

Will shrugs, biting back a laugh. “Really, you don’t even know the extent of it. I’d try to draw anything else—literally anything else, and then suddenly… boom! You’re on the page. Be it your hair, your hands, your eyes…” Seemingly taking note of the fact that all of these features are either right in front of him or directly touching him, Will flushes. “It’s extremely embarrassing, actually. I never said that. You completely imagined that.”

“What happened to your whole thing about this being entirely real?” Mike snickers, bumping his knees into Will’s own.

“I lied. Vecna made me say that.”

“Did he make you kiss ‘I love you’ into my lips through morse code, as well?"

Will, sucking in his cheek and trying to bite away the blush that just keeps growing, blinks at him.

“You say that as if you weren’t the one who did it first.”

“You say that as if it didn’t make you absolutely swoon.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You absolutely did.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“So are you! You understood me!”

“No I didn’t. I just kissed you in a very random pattern that I’m only just now learning spelt out ‘I love you too.’ Pure coincidence.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Mike pokes the warmest part of Will’s cheek, smirking.

“You love nerds.”

“Ehh, more of a Reese’s guy, personally.”

“Hm…”

Mike leans in again, kissing Will suddenly, and he immediately melts into it.

They part after a few seconds, and Mike — with the most lovesick grin to ever lovesick — turns and leans back against the wall.

“Nah,” he starts, trying for casual, failing miserably, “nerds definitely taste better.”

Will chokes on absolutely nothing, the choke turns into a laugh, the laugh turns into giggles, and the giggles turn into muffled noises after he turns to lean against the wall next to Mike and shoves his face in his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he manages to say through the aforementioned muffled noises—Mike right there with him, giggling into the crown of his head and pressing small kisses there. “Yeah, I guess they do.”