Chapter Text
I set my plate in the sink as Mom and Hop chatter on about his work and push in all the chairs.
“We’re going to bed, it’s pretty late.” Mom comes over and rubs my shoulder gently.
“Alright, Mom. Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome, baby. I love you.” She looks at Mike. “Goodnight, Mike. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Byers.”
She smiles warmly before taking Hopper’s arm around her own and heading to their room.
“Night, kids.” Hopper calls before their door shuts behind them.
Now it’s just Mike and I.
He leans against the counter, tossing a wax apple aimlessly between his hands.
“I should wash the dishes,” I tell him.
“No problem,” He straightens up, grabbing the towel hanging from the cabinet. “I’ll help.”
I smile, turning on the sink and getting started.
With each dish I wash, Mike takes them and rubs them dry, organizing them in the cabinets.
“When did you know you liked me?” Mike asks me when we’re done, looking away.
My ears begin to burn.
“Or how your ears go red when you’re embarrassed.”
I hold my hands over my ears.
“Well, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember.”
I move my hands to the counter, leaning against it.
“Really?” he spins around fast, nearly hitting his head on an open cabinet.
“Yeah. Maybe around second grade? I don’t think I knew it then - I mean I was a baby. But as I got older, I stopped thinking of our friendship as just friends. I felt myself thinking of you in the way that girls would think about boys.”
Mike laughs out loud. I furrow my eyebrows.
“What’s funny about that?” I cross my arms.
“No—Nothing. It’s just,” he sweeps his hair back, his glasses wobbling on his nose. “It’s weird thinking that someone liked me for that long without me knowing.”
“Yeah, well it’s also strange liking someone for that long without them knowing, too.” I clap back.
Mike smiles smugly.
“Touché,” he tosses the towel on the counter.
“We should get ready for bed, too,” I suggest, flicking off the kitchen light.
“Alright,” Mike follows behind me, both of us marching upstairs.
In my bathroom, I scour my cabinets for my extra toothbrushes. Mike wanders around my room, staring at the walls. Weirdo.
In the bottom drawer I finally find a black toothbrush.
“Mike!” I call him over, raising the toothbrush. He smiles and comes in, taking it from me.
A pea-sized amount of toothpaste dots my toothbrush, and I run a bit of water over it before shoving it in my mouth.
“Why do you do that?” Mike asks, putting toothpaste on his own toothbrush.
“Do what?” I mumble.
“Put water over your toothpaste? It makes zero sense.”
“I don’t know, it just activates it.” I grin.
“Whatever that means,” he shrugs, dragging his toothbrush over his teeth.
Something about us just standing here, brushing our teeth together feels so intimate. Like we’re some married couple getting ready for bed together. Well we actually kind of are, aside from the married part.
I fill my mouthwash cup with water, then lift the cup to my lips, swishing it around in my mouth. As I’m about to pour out the extra water, Mike snatches it, downing the rest and swishing it around as well. I smile.
First I spit, then he does - us both wiping our mouths after the fact. But neither of us leave the bathroom once we’re done brushing our teeth.
We just stand beside each other in the mirror, now clear from fog. I stare at Mike, and he picks at his teeth.
I’m too scared to say anything.
“Why are you staring?” he whispers, amused. My stomach flips.
I choke on nothing and bring my fist to my lips. Mike lets out a soft laugh.
“I was just looking at your glasses,” I say, which isn’t a lie.
He tilts his head and steps closer, lowering himself until we’re eye level. The space between us shrinks, my back brushing the wall.
“Can you see them clearer, now?” he asks lightly.
I hesitate, then reach out, slow and careful, sliding his glasses from the bridge of his nose. For a second, he just lets me. I smile despite myself.
I drag my finger across the bump on his nose.
“What are you doing?” he mutters.
“You look prettier without your glasses,” I whisper back.
His expression softens, and then he catches my hand, our fingers tangling innocently. He leans in, snaking his hand around my waist and giving me enough time to pull away.
But I don’t.
When his lips meet mine, the kiss is light - almost hesitant. But it holds some sort of certainty unlike our disaster of a kiss earlier today. It makes my chest ache in the best way possible.
My feet move without meaning to, my shoulder brushing the wall as we stumble half a step closer. Mike adjusts with me, bumping his forehead softly against mine, letting out a quiet, breathless laugh against my mouth.
Our lips move slowly, fitting together in a way that feels surprisingly natural, like we’ve practiced this in some other life.
I feel him hesitate, then press in just a little more, tilting his head. I follow his lead instinctively, heart racing. My back leaves the wall as we turn slightly, our hands still tangled between us, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like he’s checking if this is still real.
I’m honestly on edge about if this is real, too.
He pulls back for a second, breath warm against my face. “Is this okay?” he whispers, voice barely steady.
I nod my head quickly before grabbing his face greedily, pulling his mouth back to mine. His lips part my own and we take turns tilting our heads like we’re bobbing for apples.
My fingers tangle in his curls while his grip the back of my neck and my waist, pulling me closer to him still.
My heart pounds louder and louder.
All I can taste is him.
But to my dismay, Mike slowly pulls away, only the sound of us both catching our breaths filling the room.
Mike’s eyes stick to mine, half-squinted.
He gently takes his glasses out of my hands and then slips quietly out of the bathroom without a word.
What the hell just happened?
It still doesn’t feel real.
My body moves stiffly, like a robot, as I shut off the bathroom light, then my bedroom light as I enter.
Mike sits in my bed, back against the bedframe. He tugs at the lamp chain and it flickers on.
I realize I don’t have anywhere else for Mike to sleep. I got rid of my old sleeping bags years ago!
“Are you…?” My finger points aimlessly at the bed.
“Unless you don’t want me to,” Mike grumbles, understanding the words I didn’t say.
Are you sleeping with me?
I guess he is. I haven’t shared a bed with Mike since we were kids, and it was just innocent then. Kid stuff. But we’re not kids anymore.
Anxiously, I climb into bed too, and Mike scoots onto the inside of the bed, letting me have the outside.
When I sit, crossing my legs over each other, Mike gently grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together.
“I want to tell you something,” he says, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles.
“S-sure,” I stutter, still not used to having this much physical contact with him.
“I think that day we found out you had those powers was the day I started catching feelings for you. But I guess I just didn’t acknowledge them. Or maybe I tried not to. Maybe I was scared to. I realized I’d just been using El as this sort of shield, keeping me from realizing what I felt for you. That I was different. And deep down I think I already knew that - that I was like you. And when you came out that day, it gave that spark within me light. It showed me that it was okay to embrace that part of me I tried so hard to hide. All of this time I’ve been in Hawkins alone, all I could do was think about everything I did or said wrong. And not only with you, but with everyone. Even with myself.”
A warm tear glosses my cheek. Mike flicks it away with his thumb.
“Thank you for telling me that, Mike.” I sniffle.
“Will. I’m in love with you,” he finally says the words I’ve only ever wanted to hear nearly my entire life.
I press my lips to his, hard - sinking deeper in it for every day we couldn’t tell each other how we felt.
Mike breathes against me, my hands pressed against his chest.
I’m the one to finally pull away this time.
I caress the side of his face with my hand, a gentle smile pushing against my cheeks.
“I’m in love with you too, Mike.” I laugh quietly.
He exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath for years, and presses his forehead to mine.
For a moment we just stay there, eyes closed, smiles lingering between us. Then Mike shifts, gently urging me back against the pillows. The mattress creaks as we sink down, and he reaches for the blankets, pulling them up and around us like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I curl into his side without thinking, my head finding his shoulder, his arm settling around me as if it’s always belonged there. The warmth under the covers is comforting. Mike squeezes me just slightly, almost protectively.
I let out a quiet breath and relax fully against him. After everything we’ve held back, this - being wrapped up together, safe and close makes coming home feel worth it.
Just being like this fills a void in me, one the Carlton never got to fill. I remember feeling unsettled and incomplete with him, and now I know why. It’s like there was some Mike-shaped hole in my heart, one that needed closure and needed to feel understood. Mike can understand me more than I’m sure any other guy ever could. Maybe that’s why I feel so safe held in his arms right now.
“‘Night, Will.” Mike whispers, hot air against my neck.
“Night,” I whisper back.
I don’t think I’ll ever go back to New York after tonight if I could help it.