Chapter Text
The microwave hummed like it always did, a low, impatient buzz that filled the Wheeler kitchen. Mike leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes fixed on the rotating bag inside. The popcorn jumped and rattled against the glass, each pop echoing louder than the last. He counted them without meaning to—one, two, three—until they blurred together into a nervous rhythm.
Too fast meant burnt. Too slow meant disappointment. He waited for that perfect pause, the one his dad never caught.
The popping slowed.
Mike lunged forward and slapped the button just as silence settled back into the room. He exhaled, relieved, and tugged the bag free, wincing at the heat through the thin paper. Buttery steam curled up into his face.
Movie night. Just a movie. Just him and Will.
No big deal.
No pressure. No expectation to fix anything between them. Sure, they’d drifted apart a little. But with Will and his family staying here, this was the perfect chance. To make it right. To be the friends they used to be.
Mike held two of his dad’s beers in his palm, the cold burn pressing through his skin. He’d lifted them from the fridge, moving carefully, deliberately, silent as a shadow. In his other hand, a bag of popcorn balanced precariously. Each step across the kitchen was measured, tiny.
He’d stolen alcohol before. His parents weren’t the problem. Joyce was. Joyce was always the problem.
She scared Mike, he could admit that. To himself, not her.
But she was asleep, like the rest of the house. It’s fine. Just two teenagers drinking and watching movies? Not the end of the world.
He headed toward the stairs, careful not to spill the popcorn. The house was quieter than usual. No Ted snoring on the couch and no Holly racing through the hall.
The carpet muffles his footsteps. He reaches his bedroom door, nudges it open with his shoulder—and freezes.
Will stood at Mike’s desk, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed downward. His palm pressed against the wood as he read. Mike’s journal.
Mike’s brain blanks. It short circuits.
The popcorn slipped from his fingers. The bag hit the floor, scattering fluffy, buttery pieces across the carpet and under the desk. The beers fall too, rolling quietly across the carpet. One nudged its way under the bed, lost in the shadowed corner.
Will looks up.
His eyes go wide. “Oh! Mike, I—” He fumbles immediately, the journal snapping shut as if it’s burned him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I was just—”
Mike moves on instinct. His heart is pounding so hard he’s pretty sure Will can hear it. He crosses the room in three long strides and snatches the journal from Will’s hands, grip tight, knuckles white.
“It’s—” Mike starts, then stops. His mouth is dry. “I just—don’t—”
Don’t what?
Don’t read it. Don’t see it. Don’t know.
He doesn’t look at Will. If he does, he might see something there. He can’t handle that. He shoves the journal into the desk drawer and slams it shut harder than necessary.
Idiot, he thinks. Absolute idiot.
He must’ve left it out earlier, sprawled open when he’d been writing. Pen scratching too fast and too honest. He can see it now in his head, the way the pages probably looked. Messy handwriting. Crossed-out sentences. Dates he remembers too clearly.
Which entry did Will read?
The question twists his stomach. Every unspoken thought, every scribbled feeling feels suddenly exposed. His mind races, flipping frantically through memories of ink-stained pages. Was it the one about California? The ones that included Will? But which entry? There were so many.
Mike swears he was just writing about his best friend, about being worried and about missing him. That’s completely normal.
Behind him, Will’s voice is small. “I really didn’t mean to snoop. I thought it was a notebook for school and then I saw my name and I—”
Mike squeezes his eyes shut for half a second. His ears are ringing. He bends down abruptly and starts shoving popcorn back into the torn bag, even though it’s pointless and some of it is definitely covered in carpet fuzz.
“It’s whatever,” Mike says too fast. His voice sounds wrong to his own ears. Too high. Too sharp. “Nothing really. It’s just dumb stuff.”
Will crouches down too, instinctively helping gather the spilled popcorn. Their hands almost touch. Mike jerks his away like he’s been shocked.
Dumb stuff. Yeah. Just dumb thoughts that keep him up at night. Dumb worries about Will being quiet, about him flinching at loud noises, about the way he sometimes looks like he’s somewhere else entirely. Dumb observations about how Will laughs differently now. About how the house feels different when Will’s in it.
About how Mike notices.
“I didn’t read much,” Will says quickly. “Just a little. And I won’t ever again. I promise.”
Mike swallows. He finally looks at him.
Will looks miserable. Pink-eared, apologetic, eyes shining like he’s bracing to be yelled at. The sight hits Mike somewhere deep and uncomfortable. Guilt rises up, tangled with something else he refuses to identify.
“No,” Mike says, softer this time. “It’s—It’s fine. Just forget it.”
He stands, clutching the ruined popcorn bag, and forces a laugh that doesn’t sound convincing even to him. “Guess we’re not eating this.”
Will smiles weakly. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Mike turns away before his face can betray him. He dumps the popcorn in the trash and wipes his hands on his jeans, heart still racing. His thoughts won’t slow down. All he can think about is the closed drawer. The journal inside it.
He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. Whatever Will read was innocent, of course it was. Friends write about each other all the time. He’s not the only one with a journal, not the only one who puts thoughts down on paper. Nothing about this is unusual.
Mike bends down picking up one can and reaches his long arm under the bed to grab the other lost beer. He stands awkwardly holding the two cans and when he turns back to Will and says, “Here,” handing him a beer can.
Will takes it and stands there looking down at it. Both of them in silence.
His pulse was roaring in his ears, drowning everything else out. He needed air. Space. A second to get himself back under control.
“I—I’ll just grab another bag,” he said, already backing toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”
He places his beer on the nightstand and nearly dashed out the door.
All he wanted was a moment to catch his breath. To hide the way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Why were his hands shaking?
Mike’s legs felt like jelly as he made his way back downstairs. He didn’t even notice when he tossed another bag of popcorn into the microwave.
He paced in the kitchen, arms crossed tight over his chest, rocking on his heels. He dragged a hand through his hair, then shook his head, like he could physically shake the thoughts loose.
It was just a journal.
Will was his best friend. He wouldn’t judge him for whatever thoughts he’d read, wouldn’t read more into it than it was. But…why would he?
Why did his stomach feel like it was folding in on itself?
The popping started, but Mike barely registered it. He was too busy replaying the image of Will standing there, the way his shoulders had curled inward, the look on his face when Mike walked in.
He paced. Turned. Pacing again.
God, he was such an idiot.
The popping grew frantic, then uneven.
Mike didn’t notice.
The microwave beeps three times before Mike even realizes it’s done.
“Shit—”
He lunges across the kitchen, nearly colliding with the counter as he yanks the door open. A thin curl of smoke drifts upward, and his stomach sinks at the sight of blackened kernels scattered through the bag.
He digs his hand inside anyway, scooping out a handful before his brain can catch up with his body. He shoves the popcorn into his mouth, immediately regretting it as the heat burns his tongue.
“Ow—” he mutters around it, chewing too fast, swallowing too quickly. His eyes sting, whether from the smoke or something else he doesn’t want to examine too closely.
Get it together.
He tips the rest of the bag into a bowl, the sound too loud in the quiet kitchen. A few scorched pieces tumble in, and he considers picking them out, then doesn’t. He just stares down at them, jaw tight, thoughts running in jagged circles.
Mike swallows hard and grips the edge of the counter until the shaking in his hands eases. He takes a breath. Then another. When he finally trusts himself not to drop the bowl, he turns toward the stairs.
Each step feels heavier than the last.
By the time he reaches his bedroom door, his chest is tight in a way that aches.
He nudges it open with his foot.
Will is sitting on the very edge of Mike’s bed, spine straight, hands folded in his lap over the beer can like he’s afraid to touch anything. Like he’s afraid he might be asked to leave if he shifts too much. His eyes flick up the moment Mike steps inside.
Mike forces himself to not stare at the way Will looks smaller somehow, contained to the corner of the room like he’s bracing for impact.
“I, uh. Popcorn burned. Kind of.”
He lifts the bowl like proof, like that explains the tightness in his chest and the way his pulse won’t slow down.
Will nods, a faint, relieved smile tugging at his mouth. He shifts just enough to make space beside him, but still stays right on the edge.
Mike notices. He hates that he notices.
He set the bowl down on his desk, hands trembling ever so slightly, adrenaline still coursing through him as he squinted for the remote under the dim glow of his bedside lamp.
When he turned back to Will, his palms were damp and his thoughts loud and uncooperative.
“Movie?” Mike asked, holding up the remote he’d spotted near the bed.
Will nodded again.
Is he afraid to talk? Jesus Christ.
“Will, it’s fine, alright? Let’s just forget it happened.”
Please.
“Okay. Yeah.” Will smiles softly and taps his finger on the top of his beer can.
Mike turns the TV on and grabs the popcorn bowl.
The screen flared to life, the opening credits spilling blue light across his room. He scooted on the bed until his shoulders pressed against the headboard.
He grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth, chewing too fast. His tongue still stung faintly from the burnt kernels, but he barely noticed. He was aware of everything else instead. Every sound, every shift of air, the way Will hadn’t moved yet. Like he was waiting. Like he wasn’t sure he’d been invited.
That made something in Mike’s chest tighten.
Friends watched movies together. Friends sat on beds. They did this all the time—at least, they used to. Before everything got distant.
He shifted the bowl in his lap, then, he leaned forward a little and held it out.
“Uh,” he said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near it. “You should probably eat some before I destroy it.”
He forced a small, crooked smile onto his face.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Will let out a quiet breath. Not a laugh, exactly, but something close. Relief, maybe. Mike didn’t let himself look, but he felt it in the way the mattress dipped, just a little, as Will shifted closer.
“Okay,” Will said softly.
Mike stared straight ahead as Will climbed onto the bed properly this time, moving slowly, like he was testing whether it was still okay. Ridiculous—it’s not like they’d watched tons of movies in his room before. Was he on edge because he’d been caught? Shouldn’t Mike be the one on edge? It was his thoughts that had been exposed.
Will finally settled beside him, still leaving a sliver of space between their bodies for the popcorn bowl.
Will reached in, fingers grazing popcorn, and withdrew with a small handful. The movie swelled louder, filling the room, and Mike let himself breathe again. He focused on the screen, on the colors and the noise and the familiar opening scene.
“Oh—our beers,” Mike muttered, grabbing the can from his nightstand.
Will lifted his can, eyes flicking to the label. “Isn’t this the one you drank that made you throw up all night?” he asked, tilting his head.
Mike shot him a glare. “I wasn’t throwing up all night. Lucas was full of shit.”
Of course Lucas had to tell Will that. Honestly, it was the one time Mike was glad Will had been in California. It was embarrassing enough that the other guys had learned he was a complete lightweight. He was working on it, alright?
Will raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with skepticism.
Mike rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.
Right now, he didn’t care about the consequences. He just needed something to steady his nerves. And…somebody had just read his damn journal. That was reason enough, wasn’t it?
They popped the cans open at the same time. Because they’d fallen and rolled earlier, the beers were shaken up, and the instant the tops came off, foam shot up, spraying both of them.
“Ah—shit!” Mike yelped, jumping back from the bed as the sticky spray coated his face.
“Oh no!” Will gasped, fumbling to keep his own can from spraying more.
They both scrambled, ending up sticky and damp, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Mike cursed under his breath, Will muttered, “No, oh no,” and somehow they were both laughing through the mess.
Mike held up a sticky hand. “Hang on.” He darted out of the room and grabbed two hand towels, wetting them under the sink a little. Back in the room, he started patting down the sticky spots on his face and arms. Bringing the other over to Will.
“Here,” Mike said, holding it out.
Will took it, murmuring a soft, “Thanks,” and began wiping his face, hair, and arms. Mike’s eyes drifted downward, catching Will tugging at the soaked shirt, trying to pull it off his skin.
“Uh…I might need to go down to the basement to change.” Will said, still fidgeting with the wet shirt.
Mike shook his head. “Just borrow one of my shirts.” He ducked into the closet, rummaged, and grabbed a plain t-shirt off a hanger, then handed it to Will.
“You sure?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”
Will nodded, staring down at the shirt in his hands before opening the door. He froze as someone moved down the hallway. He quickly shut it, turning back to Mike.
“Mom.” Will mouthed for Mike to read his lips.
Shit. Was she coming in here?
Mike dashed over, quickly hiding the cans on the nightstand behind a stack of books.
They froze for a moment, holding their breath. But, Joyce never came into the room. Mike exhaled softly as he heard the bathroom door shut.
“Just change here, it’s fine,” he whispered loudly.
He deliberately kept his eyes averted so Will would feel comfortable. It wasn’t a big deal. He and his friends had changed clothes a ton of times at school before gym class. Will was making a big deal by trying to go to the bathroom just to change his shirt.
Will pulled off the wet one, and Mike slid back onto the bed, grabbing the bowl of popcorn. He started stuffing it into his mouth, chewing quickly. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Will tugging at the new shirt. For a brief moment, his head was caught in the neck hole and his chest was exposed. Mike’s gaze drifted over his chest and stomach.
When did Will get so fit? He hadn’t been gone that long. Mike noticed the beginnings of abs forming under the smooth skin, the way his jeans fit his waist just right. His thoughts lingered on the small details of Will’s skin.
Because, he reasoned, he was comparing it to himself, wondering why his own body didn’t look like that. That’s what friends did, compare each other. That’s why he was staring.
Will’s head popped out of the shirt, and Mike immediately shifted his gaze back to the flickering TV. He kept eating, but chewed too fast, biting the inside of his cheek. He tried to stay cool, pretending he wasn’t sucking in air from the pain.
“I remember this part,” Will said, smiling at the TV as he flopped back on the bed, as if nothing had happened.
Because nothing had happened, besides sticky skin and wet shirts.
Will reached into the bowl and grabbed a handful of popcorn, eating it one piece at a time as the movie got to the good part. The tension in the room eased, slowly unwinding as the minutes passed. They laughed at the bad special effects. Mike made a comment about how the monster looked like a rejected D&D miniature, and Will snorted before he could stop himself.
It all felt completely normal. Like it used to. Mike relaxed, not thinking about the journal or the tension that had lingered between them. By the time the first beers were finished, he even snuck back downstairs to grab more, settling back in to keep the evening going. It was nice to have Will here; things felt familiar and comfortable.
Then, at the same moment, they both reached for the bowl of popcorn.
Mike’s fingers brushed Will’s hand.
It was nothing. Barely even contact. A split second.
And yet—
Mike jerked his hand back like he’d been burned again.
Will froze. His fingers stayed hovering over the popcorn, unmoving, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to keep going.
Mike laughed too loudly, the sound sharp and wrong even to his own ears. He raked a hand through his hair, heart pounding. He made a stupid remark about the movie and then cleared his throat.
What was his problem? Maybe he just remembered that damn journal.
A guy in the movie said something funny. He laughed again, even though he hadn’t registered the joke at all. His eyes stayed glued to the screen like looking anywhere else might get him in trouble.
After a second, Will relaxed. He grabbed some popcorn and leaned back again, attention returning to the movie like nothing had happened.
Like everything was fine.
Mike’s gaze drifted down after some time passed and he had relaxed enough.
Will’s hands rested in his lap now, popcorn dusted over his fingers. They looked soft. Unlike his. The kind that didn’t have scars or calluses or—
For no reason at all, El flashed through his mind. Her hand, brushing against his face. He looked at Will’s hands. Would it feel like that?
His mind went blank before he could hold onto the thought and examine it.
Shit. The alcohol was making him feel all fuzzy and hot, a warm buzz that lightened his limbs and blurred his edges.
Will was feeling it too. They laughed a little too loud at the same jokes, lingered on lines that weren’t really funny, nudged each other with elbows, smiled wider than usual. The room felt warmer, the movie dimmer, and for a few moments, everything else, the journal, the tension, the awkwardness, slipped quietly into the background.
Will was close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and he found himself aware of it in a way that made him shift, just slightly, so he wasn’t too close.
A particularly loud scene made Mike flinch, and he bumped his knee against Will’s. Will didn’t move away, didn’t flinch, just laughed again. Mike felt a strange tightness in his chest.
He noticed Will leaning just slightly closer when the room went dark for a scene change, his shoulder brushing Mike’s again. The lamp in his room seemed to be too low now. Should he flick on the bedroom light?
His fingers twitched a little. The beer was supposed to make him relax. How was he relaxed and on edge at the same time?
The screen lit up with a slow, dramatic kiss between the two leads, and Mike felt his stomach twist in an odd way. He shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth, using it to keep his hands busy, eyes darting down to the bowl so he wouldn’t have to stare at the screen.
Then he gulped more of his beer and noticed Will do the same. They were past their limits now. He knew that.
Without thinking, Mike started rambling. “Bullshit dramatics. It’s not even like that. I mean…” He waved vaguely at the screen, where the actors were leaning in, mouths crashing together. “With El it is…it was nice, sure, but it’s not…it’s not like that.” His words slurred slightly as he gestured at the TV, then shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth, chewing fast. “Not like that at all.”
Will laughed. “I know.”
Mike shot him a look, hand freezing in the popcorn bowl. His vision felt hazy on the edges. He felt…funny.
“What do you mean you know?”
Will glanced at him, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “You’re right,” he said, dragging out the words, his voice barely audible over the flicker of the TV.
Mike’s brows furrowed as he took a slow sip of his beer. “But you wouldn’t know. You haven’t kissed anyone.”
“Yeah, I have,” Will said, so nonchalantly it almost threw Mike off. His attention flickered back to the movie.
Mike stared at him, a popcorn kernel stuck in his teeth, stomach twisting. Must be the goddamn beers. He felt a little sick and set the can on the nightstand, nearly missing as his vision doubled for a moment.
He turned off the TV and faced Will. Will sat with his back against the headboard, slowly meeting Mike’s gaze, looking confused.
“What?” Will asked, noticing Mike’s slack jaw.
“You’re lying.” Mike nodded, as if he were completely certain.
There was no way Will Byers had kissed someone—not because he wasn’t capable. Mike was sure he was. Probably knew how to do it pretty well. But he hadn’t told Mike. He would have definitely told him. So, yeah. He was bullshitting. Right…?
“Why would I lie?”
They stared at each other for a beat too long. Then Mike blurted it out, louder than he meant to. “Who?”
Will’s gaze darted around the room. He shrugged, shaking his head. “No one you know.”
Why was the room so hot? Mike exhaled sharply, frustration burning in his chest.
“What, someone in California?” he said, exaggerating the last word, his tongue heavy, the syllables blurring together.
Why wouldn’t Will tell him this? He’d been staying at Mike’s house for weeks now and hadn’t mentioned it once. Had they really drifted that far apart?
“Yeah,” Will said. “It’s not a big deal.” He shifted on the bed and finished his beer, setting the can on the nightstand. The clink filled the space between them.
Not a big deal?
Mike tugged at the collar of his shirt, suddenly restless. Still too hot. He stood up without really knowing why.
“It’s just—I thought we were friends,” he said, the words tumbling out unevenly. “Don’t friends tell each other stuff?”
He started pacing.
Will slid closer to the edge of the bed, leaning slightly to one side, like the room wasn’t quite level. “We are friends,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.”
Mike nearly stumbled as he turned, the room tilting. He muttered the words back to himself under his breath. ‘Not a big deal.’ He huffed out a laugh that didn’t sound like one.
He stopped in front of Will, looking down at him. “We’re supposed to be friends,” he said, the words slurring despite himself. They came out heavier than he meant them to.
Will looked up at him, eyes a little glassy, shoulders tight. He swallowed. “We are,” he said again, quieter this time. His hands rested on the mattress, fingers curling into the sheets. “Mike, it wasn’t—I didn’t think you cared.”
Mike’s gaze drifted to Will’s lips, the way they pressed together when he swallowed, the faint curve at the corners. It was just a quick glance, nothing more, but it hit him anyway. He kissed someone. And didn’t tell him.
“I don’t,” Mike finally said, pacing again, dragging a hand through his hair. The room felt too small.
“I mean—” Mike stopped, words piling up faster than he could sort through them. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, jaw tightening. He didn’t even know what he was trying to say. Just that something felt wrong. Off. Like he’d missed a step and was still falling. “I mean, you didn’t tell me. You tell me stuff. Or you used to.”
Will’s shoulders slumped a little. “You’ve been…busy,” he said quietly. “With El. With everything.”
That landed somewhere uncomfortable in Mike’s chest. He scoffed too quickly, the sound sharp and defensive. “That’s not fair.”
“Why not?”
Mike opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
He dragged both hands down his face, palms pressing hard against his eyes before exhaling. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “It just…feels weird, okay? Finding out like this.”
Will nodded slowly, careful, like he didn’t want to make it worse. “I’m sorry.”
The word softened something in Mike, just a little. He sagged and dropped onto the edge of the bed, the room tilting as soon as he sat. His legs felt heavy, his head swimming, and he planted his hands on the mattress to steady himself.
He just wanted things to be normal. Back to how they used to be. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. He needed to fix it.
“Did you like it?” Mike asked before he could stop himself.
He regretted it immediately. But why? It was a perfectly normal friend thing to ask. The kind of question he’d asked Dustin and Lucas before. He was thinking too much, overanalyzing, just making sure Will didn’t feel uncomfortable. That was exactly what he was doing.
Will hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean…yeah. Sure. It was good.” He let out a small laugh, light and unguarded. The kind of laugh that always, inexplicably, made Mike smile.
But he was not smiling.
Then Will added, almost as an afterthought, “Good enough for it to happen more than once.”
Mike’s stomach lurched.
He bolted upright, stood too quickly. The motion sent a violent wave of dizziness crashing through him, his vision flashing white at the edges. “I—” he started, but the word never finished forming.
Mike stumbled for the bathroom.
He barely made it. He hit his knees on the tile and lurched over the toilet just as his stomach clenched violently, his body folding in on itself.