Chapter Text
The first thing that puts him off is the vast emptiness in his chest.
There is a lack of something in his body, something sharp and infiltrating carved out of his insides. He feels surprisingly light, as if something has lifted out of him. Nevertheless, he is still able to register a nagging burn in his throat, though, but the pain has been decreased to a level he does not remember feeling in a long time.
As consciousness slowly settles into his limbs, he is able to make out a whole lot of sensations. But unlike before, they do not rush into his ears and pierce his eyes. Instead, they come together one by one, almost as if he is peacefully pieced back together.
He feels an arm draped over his waist, the weight very much present, but not uncomfortable. There is also something warm fluttering on top of his head, a tickling sensation reaching his neck, but not unpleasantly so.
Once he opens his eyes, he faces the dark horrors of last night drenched in light, his bedroom window giving way to a cloudy, but illuminating sky.
Last night.
A violent shudder makes him perch up, as he remembers.
Mike moves to scramble up to sit on his bed, and as he awaits the painful sensation of another rush of blood, another wave of petals—
It never comes.
The blanket he is situated under is a clean off-white color, devoid of any of the blood he knows he has spilled up on it. There are no yellow petals scattered around him either.
Simply put, there is no sign of all the incriminating evidence he expected to find, and for a second, he almost believes he must have imagined the entire thing. Maybe all of this has been a terrible dream. Except the weight on the mattress on his left side is still there, and it stirs slightly, and as Mike turns his head to check—
He is still sleeping, but that definitely is Will laying in his bed. Will, who still has his arm placed around Mike’s middle, and—
Will Byers is in his bed. What the fuck?
Almost instantly, he snaps his head towards the wall, like he knows what he is looking for. And indeed, his closet is still pulled open, and the pile of letters he is sure he has seen Will pull out last night is neatly stuffed back into its box. Merely the fact that it is so organized has Mike believe the entirety of last night has not been a product of his imagination. Because he distinctively remembers that he has always thrown those envelopes in there in frustration, not caring for the mess and locked it away deep into his closet.
In the corner of his eye, he sees his bedroom door open slowly, and there is truly nothing that could have prepared him for the sight of his older sister’s face falling into what resembles relief—
And before he knows it, she is hurrying towards Mike, and his eyes fall shut instantly as he feels tight arms reach around his body. Nancy is hugging him, and Mike cannot even be mad at the tears he feels welling up in his eyes.
“Oh my God, Mike”, she whispers, and she sounds like she might be close to tears as well. “I was so worried! I thought you—”
“Nance”, he mumbles, but his voice sounds alarmingly off. “I’m sorry.”
Nancy seems to have noticed the change in his voice as well, as she pulls away to inspect his face up close. “Is it over?”, she inquires, not even bothering to hide the frantic worry in her tone. “Are you feeling better?”
Deciding straining his vocal cords any more than he has to is a bad idea, he simply chooses to nod instead.
“God”, Nancy breathes, clutching her forehead. “I was so worried. Will told us what happened, and then you’ve just been out for more than fifteen hours. Thank God you were still breathing.”
Will told us what happened.
He follows her gaze onto Will’s still-sleeping form. On first glance, Mike almost believes he looks peaceful, but the dark circles under his eyes betray the impression rather quickly.
“He was so out of it”, Nancy says softly. “He has been awake forever, and he blatantly refused to fall asleep until you woke up. But I guess he couldn’t fight the exhaustion anymore. Jonathan said he fell asleep sometime in the last few hours.”
Mike registers the way his heart is fluttering involuntarily at that information. He lets the sensation simply roll through his body, not trying to fight it for the first time in a very long time.
In this very moment, his world narrows down to Will’s body, Will’s presence, Will’s efforts, just Will, and he cannot even stop his fingers from shooting out and softly tracing the hair strands fanning around the pillow.
“Mike”, Nancy whispers, breaking him out of his momentary daze.
When he looks back to her, her face is carrying a genuine, wide smile, and he instantly feels the tears shoot back into his eyes. “I know we’re not exactly good at this, but— I’m just really glad you’re okay. And I— I guess I wish I had made you feel safe. I should have made you feel like could have talked to me about any of this.”
Nancy’s lower lip trembles slightly as she continues. “You can tell me now, though. Anytime you want. Whatever you want. Okay?” And if she somewhat pointedly looks into the direction of Will, she is not exactly being subtle.
Mike chooses to nod sincerely, because he is not willing to test his voice right now, not with the way he could very well burst out into tears any minute.
“Alright”, Nancy says, standing up. “Let him rest, alright?”
When she senses his reluctance to leave Will’s side, she continues. “And why don’t you get a shower until then and finally eat something? You look like shit.”
Mike cannot even fight the low chuckle escaping his throat. That’s the Wheelers for you, in their purest form.
When he finally enters his bedroom again, it must have been hours since he has woken up, given the way the sun is in its final minutes of setting and the room is a lot darker than when he had left it.
He might have spent a little too long in the shower, but scrubbing the grime and blood off his skin after he has thought himself to be dead has felt incredibly rewarding.
Mike has never felt this alive during the entirety of the last year, no, the last years, perhaps. And the feeling of being glad to be alive was so foreign, it had caught him off-guard. So, sue him if some of the water dripping down his face have been his own tears instead.
Eating afterwards has been a rather difficult thing, not necessarily limited to the unfamiliar sensation of swallowing food with an unbelievably sore throat and getting used to not having to fight the urge to throw it all up again. After a while, Mike resorted to keeping his gaze fixed onto his plate, since the worrying glances around him made it feel like the food might get stuck in his throat.
He could feel all of their gazes; the numerous questions waiting to barge out of his mother’s mouth, the concerned glances Holly is shooting at him, the confusion wrapping around Jonathan’s brows, the mix of relief and fear displayed in Mrs. Byers' features. But Nancy must have explained something, because they let him eat in relative peace and keep any impending questions to themselves. For now. For now, they are just glad he is back.
Not that he could answer any of their questions, though. His throat still burns to the point that he assumed maybe his vocal cords have been set on fire entirely.
When Mike announced he will retreat back to his room (by gesturing, because he has not spoken a single word so far) no one dared to stop him.
So, with the unfamiliar sensation of having a pleasantly-filled stomach and the entirety of the disgust scrubbed off his skin, he slowly makes his way over to the bed. Will’s sleeping form is still resting, not having moved at all from where Mike has left him a while ago.
He heads over to the space which he has occupied before, slight dent of his body still visible on the mattress, and moves as slowly as possible to lay down.
Leaning against the headboard, Mike’s fingers find their way back to Will’s hair immediately. Careful not to disturb Will’s sleep, he cradles his hand through the strands, noting the absence of shakiness in his fingers.
Apparently, he is not careful enough, though, because—
“Mike?”
He is met with the weight of hazel eyes staring back into his own, and with every blink the fatigue displayed in them makes way for a wild mix of emotions: confusion, surprise, relief, shock, and then something else, something knowing, perhaps, and then—
Their position is not exactly ideal for the hug Will crashes them into — Mike sort of falls on top of Will’s resting body — but he cannot find a single part in his body that minds.
“You’re okay”, Will whispers, and the sensation of having his mouth so close to Mike’s ear causes some warmth to shoot into his own face. “You’re alright.”
Sensing the lack of a verbal reply, Will pulls back slightly, but still keeps his face unfamiliarly close to Mike’s own. “Mike? Is it— is it over?”
He simply nods, trying to smile to make up for the lack of words, but something shifts in Will’s expression. There is a faint warmth against his throat then, Will’s fingers are tracing the skin gently. “Can you not… talk?”
Mike shrugs, and parts his lips, because he wants to try, try for Will. “Hurts”, he simply chooses to say, but it is not that simple, not really, because the pain of using his vocal cords flares in his throat, immediate regret settling inside his body.
Will’s expression contorts into something sad, then, and Mike is somehow overrun by an incredibly large amount of guilt. “It’s going to be alright”, Will says softly. “It’s probably a temporary vocal strain, right? After…”
His gaze shifts towards the closet, and Mike is squirming where he is sitting on the bed.
He knows.
Will knows, because otherwise Mike would have died, suffocated onto his own repressed feelings. He placed this incredible burden onto Will, the burden of his feelings, of being aware of Mike’s true nature, and he almost wishes he didn’t—
But Will is still here.
Will has held him in his sleep, Will has hugged him, Will speaks to him softly, Will attempts to reassure him.
Will knows.
And Mike does not mind.
These realizations must have been flashing over his own face then, because Will moves to sit up properly, facing Mike, mirroring each other, and—
“Are you ready, to— uhm”, Will stammers, but the uncertainty slowly fades into determination as he looks at Mike. “Can we talk about it?”
Mike blinks.
Will knows, and he is still here. What does he have to lose, really?
Choosing to nod, he shifts slightly to click the lamp on. He feels Will’s stare as he grabs the notebook he has stashed into his bedside drawer a while ago, removing the pen slid into its spiral wire.
Opening a random blank page, Mike clicks the ballpoint pen open.
Okay, Mike writes, and before Will can even attempt to open his mouth, he continues to let the pen glide over the page.
I’m sorry for everything. For—
He worries his lower lip in concentration, because where should he even start?
For not telling you sooner, and for being such an asshole for the past months—
He is distantly aware of Will’s gaze, shifting between him and the paper, as Mike starts to write faster, the pen gaining a life on its own at this point.
months past years, really. Placing the responsibility of saving me from the brink of death on your shoulders was really shitty and—
“Mike”, Will breathes, tentatively placing his own hand onto Mike’s own, causing him to pause his writing for a moment. “I am glad you’re alive, okay? I was so scared that you wouldn’t make it, and I don’t know what I would have done if—”
Will takes a deep breath, then, stopping himself from spiraling further. “And I’m not mad at all. I’m just— a little bit lost.”
Same.
Will snorts, the tension leaving the air for a short moment.
But I can try to explain.
He looks up to read Will’s expression, who simply nods, shooting him a reassuring smile.
Okay, this is all sort of a working theory (by Robin). But I guess whatever I had, it was sort of caused by refusing to face because of my feelings for emotional repression???, at least that’s what she thinks. Like, intense stress. Or I guess an extreme version of fight or flight.
He pauses, spinning the pen between his fingers.
I don’t really understand why it made me grow flowers in my lungs though, but—
Jeez, this is harder than he thought.
From the corner of his eye, he spots Robin’s envelope on the bedside table, grabbing the book page out of it and handing it to Will. Taking in his expression as his eyes seem to fly over the words, he opens his mouth.
“Disappointment, rejection, sadness and regret”, Will reads out, his voice reduced to a whisper. “What?”
I know, it’s all kind of fucked up. I don’t really understand it myself.
“Emotional repression”, Will echoes, as if contemplating the idea. “So did you— I mean— What does that—”
He gathers himself then, exhaling a low chuckle. “I’m sorry, I’m still confused.”
It’s not like Mike cannot blame him, really. So, he points to Robin’s handwritten note. By the way, I read up on the “trope”. Yes, I know what you are thinking, but in most interpretations, it is not about whether the other person reciprocates their feelings or not, it is about accepting yourself. And you deserve that. Because I accept you, and I know he will as well.
“Feelings”, Will reads out loud, the confusion evident on his face, seeping into his features alongside something like… hope, maybe?
He remembers what he heard Robin say, I think he is even oblivious to his own feelings, you know?
Mike nods sheepishly, because actually hearing Will talk about it is sort of nerve-wracking, he realizes.
“Is this about the letter?”, Will asks then, slowly putting the pieces together. “The letter you made me… read?”
Hastily, Mike grabs the pen again.
It was about me facing them. My feelings, I mean. And I did. We don’t have to talk about it, if it makes you uncomfortable. We can just pretend that never happened. I’m sorry that—
Will’s touch against his hand is more determined this time, and his face almost twists into something offended. “I want to talk about it, Mike”, he clarifies. “I’m just— I don’t know if I got it right.”
Oh, he really wants Mike to spell it out, doesn’t he?
Taking a deep breath, he tries to gather the courage he has been lacking forever, tries to find the words he has been unable to put onto paper.
I love you. As in, more than a best friend.
Mike hears Will inhale sharply next to him. His fingers immediately itch to ease the weight of his confession, somehow, so he hastily moves to scratch more words onto the page.
And I’m sorry if this makes things weird, that’s why I kept it to myself in the first place—
“Mike”, Will says. “Can you look at me?”
The pen glides out of his fingers, then, because Will is looking at him with an unfamiliar intensity, his heart sort of jumps in his chest, and then he feels the weight of Will’s hand cradle his own cheek, and—
Mike’s brain sort of stops functioning, then.
“Are you saying—“, Will whispers, almost as if he cannot believe it, but the hard evidence is right in front of him, the notebook in Mike’s lap carrying the words for eternity. I love you. As in, more than a best friend.
“That is what you have been… repressing?”
When Mike nods, he is ready to face any reaction, really. Will might push him away any moment, bolt out of the door and announce he will move back into the basement with Jonathan, or maybe look apologetically and reject him kindly, or maybe—
But nothing could have prepared him for the glassy look creeping into Will’s eyes.
“You were so scared to—“, he stammers, voice shaking. “You almost died because you were hiding… these feelings?”
Mike’s fingers twitch with the need to clarify, to divert, to explain, but his head was entirely empty, because— Will is right.
Yes, Mike has been willing to take the entirety of his feelings to the grave, secret well-hidden and buried under the weight of earth and lies, and the realization seems to dawn on Will then.
And he does not seem to approve at all.
“I just cannot believe you—“, Will says, voice shaking relentlessly. “You’d rather die than let me know?”
And when the first tear spills out of his eyes, Mike cannot take it anymore, retrieving the pen back between his fingers.
I didn’t know how this worked, what would have happened if I were to tell you and then hear you reject me. I didn’t want you to feel like you have to reciprocate my feelings at all, because you don’t feel the same, and that’s fine. Because apparently it was about coming to terms with it myself, and it’s sort of crazy that I almost had to die in order to accept it, but—
“I do”, Will whispers.
And nothing makes sense anymore.
“What?”, Mike instinctively exhales, the shock momentarily making him forget he shouldn’t talk. Immediately, he feels himself wince due to the increasing pain, causing Will to twist his face in worry.
“Don’t talk, you idiot”, he laughs, wiping the tears off his own cheeks. “But yeah. I— I also—”
Will curses under his breath, then, closing his eyes, almost as if he prepares himself for something.
His other hand moves to cradle Mike’s other cheek, and he is holding Mike’s face in between both of his hands, and he is staring at him so— lovingly, holy shit, holy shit—
“I’ve been in love with you, like forever”, Will whispers, and Mike observes how the tension escapes his shoulders visibly, almost as if Will is relieved by his own confession.
The floodgates open then and there, and Mike begins to sob rather loudly.
“Oh, fuck”, Will exclaims. “I didn’t want to make you cry, shit, it probably hurts to cry, right? Oh no—”
Mike cannot help himself then, and releases a shaky, but genuine laugh. It is truly an endearing sight, Will’s dorkiness is simply adorable and— Mike is allowed to have this thought, he is not forced to suppress it, tuck it into a corner of his brain he is too scared to approach.
They hold each other for a while, letting their cries and laughter alike pass by.
After what feels like hours, Mike removes his head from where it had been comfortably tucked into Will’s shoulder.
There is something he has been dying to do — not literally, because he has somehow managed to barely evade death, even though the urge is still clawing his insides. So, he hurries to wipe his cheeks, grabs the abandoned pen from where it has almost rolled off the bed, and—
Can I kiss you?
Uncharacteristically shyly, he lifts his gaze to observe Will, who is gaping at him, lips parted around an inaudible gasp.
“Sorry, I— I just can’t believe this is happening”, he tries to explain, a blushing mess, and Mike wants to cover his face in kisses. That’s kind of what he has been asking for, anyways.
Will moves his own fingers over Mike’s, causing him to drop the pen again.
“Yes”, he says then, lifting Mike’s hand to Will’s cheek, and holy shit, he is allowed to touch Will, Will wants Mike to hold his face, holy shit—
Mike’s brain short-circuits once again, his thoughts pleasantly shut-off and the entirety of his sensations reduced to Will — Will’s hand cupping his cheek, Will’s eyes on him, before they flutter shut, Will’s warm cheek against his own hand, and—
Will’s lips, pressing against his own.
There is a surprised breathing sound, which could have escaped either of their mouths, both of them stuck in disbelief that this is happening, this is real, those are indeed Will’s lips against his own mouth, Will knows Mike loves him, Will loves him—
Will’s other hand shifts around the back of his head, sliding through his still-damp curls, causing Mike to gasp into the kiss. The lips sliding against his own are so very warm, the heat erasing the faint memories of blood pouring out the same mouth mere hours ago, of petals falling out of them because—
Will has seen it all, Will knows it all, and he still wants to kiss him.
The realization makes him crash his lips even harder against Will’s. The sudden energy pouring through his limbs is surprising him, and it seems to catch Will off-guard too, because they are sort of falling on top of each other. Neither of them minds though, not really, because still, they refuse to stop.
Mike might have grown addicted to the sensation of feeling Will’s lips against his own already, the shifting between hesitance and feverish desperation causes his head to swim, but this time there is no impending pounding headache, no unpleasant dizziness, it’s just Will, Will, Will—
He cannot help but smile against Will’s lips then, causing the mouth beneath his own to twist into a grin as well, and they break apart then and there. Mike cannot even be slightly mad about it, nestling his head back into the shoulder beneath him, and the combined sounds of their weak laughter ring off in his bedroom.
“I love you”, he mumbles into Will’s sweater, not caring for the strain he puts on his vocal cords for once, because Will has to hear. “Love you, love you—”
“Shut up”, Will chuckles softly, “don’t strain your voice.”
But he goes back to twisting his fingers back through Mike’s curls, and the touch is so pleasantly grounding, reassuring that this is, in fact, real, happening, Will’s body under him is alive, breathing, and— so is he, Mike is alive.
Mike is alive, and so is Will, and they just kissed.
Holy fuck.
“I love you too”, Will whispers then, almost as if he cannot believe he is allowed to say it.
He shifts his head to rest on Will’s chest instead, the pounding heart beneath him a tether to reality, because— this is Mike’s reality now, Will’s heart is beating so very fast because of him, because of his words, because of his touch, because of his kisses, and—
And then Will is yawning.
“Sorry”, he laughs as Mike lifts his head in confusion. “Sorry, it’s just— I haven’t slept a lot.”
The guilt rushes back to gnaw on Mike’s insides, and he immediately pushes himself back to sit on the bed, propping the pillows back from where they had moved during their rather frantic kissing (Mike feels his cheeks heat up at the realization). He puts the notebook on top of his bedside table, not caring to close it, or hide the page, or rip it out because—
Will knows, Mike knows, his secret is out there, laid bare, and he is still alive.
“What are you doing?”, Will asks, but follows suite, scrambling back up.
Mike is resting his head back against the pillow, patting the mattress next to him. “Sleep?”, Will understands. “But are you even tired, I mean—”
Mike bores his finger into Will’s chest. You, he is trying to say.
“Okay”, and Will gives in, laying down properly, and Mike lifts the blanket to drape it over both their bodies. “But you don’t have to stay, I mean, if you’d rather catch up with your family—”
Instinctively, he presses his index finger against Will’s lips. His brain supplies him with the realization that he can, in fact, give in to the urge he has been suppressing for far too long, so he presses his lips there instead.
Shut up, he is trying to communicate, and it seems his message comes across well. With pink cheeks, Will parts his lips. “Okay”, he whispers, breath hot against Mike’s own mouth. “Stay?”
Mike nods immediately, and shifts his body to mirror Will’s form.
Almost automatically, because it is so easy to operate when your brain is not screaming at you to suppress what feels so natural now, he moves to tuck Will’s head against his own chest gently. One hand stays on top of his head, while the other pulls him closer by the waist.
Of course, Mike wants to catch up with his family, of course he wants them to know. How much he loves them, how happy he is to be alive, how sorry he feels for almost leaving them, and eventually — how much he loves Will.
And Will. There is so much he wants Will to know, now that he is allowed to verbalize the secrets he has been harboring for years. And he will. Mike will show him all of the letters, he will demonstrate the depth of his feelings, and he will even talk to Nancy about it, like he promised.
Someday, he will be able to admit the words he has resorted to noting down on paper for years to all of his loved ones.
But right now, he wants to be here.
In this very moment, it is enough to simply press a kiss onto Will’s messed-up hair and pull him closer than he has deemed possible.
Mike is alive, and for the first time in a very long time, he is so very relieved about that.