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The basement feels different once the others leave. The echoes of laughter and dice clattering fade away, replaced by the low and familiar hum of the house settling into itself.
Mike lingers by the table, fingers moving without purpose as he straightens the D&D books even though they’re already perfectly aligned. He nudges one, then another, lining edges that don’t need fixing. It gives him something to do with his hands, something solid to anchor himself to while he decides whether or not to say what’s been sitting in his chest all night.
Will waits near the couch, hovering in that uncertain space between staying and leaving, like he isn’t sure which one he’s allowed to choose. He shifts his weight once, then stills, hands clasped loosely in front of him. His gaze flicks toward the stairs, then back to Mike when he heard his voice.
“Can you… Stay a little longer?” Mike finally asks.
His voice comes out quieter than he means it to, almost swallowed by the room. He doesn’t look up, keeps his eyes trained on the table, on the books. Anywhere but Will. Because if he does, he might lose the nerve he’s been carefully assembling piece by fragile piece.
Will hesitates for just a second. Long enough for Mike to notice, long enough for something tight and nervous to twist in his stomach.
Then Will nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”
They sit back down on the couch, close enough that Mike is acutely aware of the warmth along his arm, the familiar shape of Will’s shoulder just inches away, but far enough that the space between them feels charged. Fragile. Like the wrong movement could crack something open, or shatter it completely. Which feels absurd, considering they’ve known each other for almost as long as they’ve been alive. And yet.
Mike drops his hands into his lap, fingers curling into his palms as he stares at the floor. His jaw tightens, loosens, tightens again. Testing whether the words will hold together once he lets them out.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You can.” Will’s voice is soft, careful, like he’s stepping barefoot across something breakable. A small smile curves his mouth offered even though Mike isn’t looking.
Silence stretches between them. Not empty, but heavy. Long enough for Will’s shoulders to inch upward, tension creeping in before his mind fully catches up with his body. Long enough for Mike to almost back out.
Almost.
“Who is Tammy?”
The name lands heavier than it should. It drops into the space between them and settles there, dense and unmoving. Mike feels it immediately, the way Will stills beside him, the way the air seems to thicken. He risks a glance now, just one, and catches the moment Will’s eyes fall to his hands.
Will draws in a slow breath. His fingers curl together, knuckles brushing, grounding himself. He always knew this question would come. Maybe not tonight, but someday. And here it is.
“Mike…” His voice softens even further, careful in a different way now. “We don’t need to talk about that.”
Mike swallows, his throat suddenly tight. They already had their closure by the tower. Or at least, that should've been. But it didn't feel like one. Something was still missing.
“I know.” Mike’s answer comes too quickly, like he’s afraid Will might stand up and leave. Then his voice steadies, softer, more deliberate: “But I want to. I want to understand what you were saying. All of it. You’re my best friend. I don’t want there to be parts of you I don’t understand. Or parts you think I don’t care about.”
Will almost laughs. Not because it’s funny, but because Mike isn’t being subtle at all. Not even a little. He knows exactly where this is going. He knows what Mike wants to know. And Will doesn’t know if he’s ready to let him. He’s already holding onto something fragile and precious; the fact that he still has his best friend, that nothing broke between them the last time they stood on opposite sides of a truth he couldn’t say out loud. The idea of making it awkward, of shifting something that can’t be shifted back, tightens his chest.
Truthfully, Will hadn’t expected this. He’d thought Mike would let it go, tuck it away as something strange but harmless, another unfinished conversation between them. The fact that it mattered enough for Mike to carry it with him makes something ache deep in Will’s chest. It hurts, yes, sharp and frightening, but there’s warmth tangled in it too. Something tender. Something dangerously close to hope.
“Tammy…” Will starts carefully, like the name itself might cut if he grips it too hard. “She’s a girl a friend of mine used to love. She was the one who made them realize they were… different.” His fingers curl together in his lap again, knuckles whitening. “She helped them understand that part of themselves.”
Mike doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t move. His attention is fixed entirely on Will now, steady in a way that makes Will feel exposed and oddly anchored at the same time.
“But Tammy wasn’t someone they could have.” Will continues, and his voice stays level only because he forces it to. There’s a thinness to it, like it might tear if stretched any further. “They couldn’t even let themselves imagine loving her back. She wasn’t like them. Tammy was straight and… She had a boyfriend.”
The words wobble, just slightly. Will presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, breathes and keeps going:
“When I said the person I used to have a crush on was my Tammy…” His chest tightens. “I meant that he helped me understand who I am.”
He almost trips over the next word:
“He-” A pause. Brief, but heavy. Saying he while Mike is sitting right there, close enough to feel the warmth of his arm, feels almost unbearable. But Will has survived by omission before, he knows how to do this. “He made me realize things I was scared to admit. Things I didn’t have the words for yet. And I thought there was no way he could ever feel the same.” His throat tightens. “Because he wasn’t like me. And because he already had someone.”
Will swallows, the motion tight and audible to him.
“But that wasn’t even the point.” The words come faster now, edged with something defensive, like he needs Mike to understand this part most of all. “The point was that I finally know who I am. I can accept myself. Even after everything. Even after…” He falters, just for a beat. “…Vecna.”
The silence that follows is sharp. Electric. It hums in Will’s ears, crawls under his skin. He keeps his eyes on Mike. Searching his face, his hands, anything that might tell him what this has done. He’s desperate for a reaction; for relief, for reassurance, for something that says he hasn’t said too much or somehow still not enough.
Mike’s expression is unreadable, like every thought he’s ever had is crashing into every other one at once.
His dark eyes lift to Will’s face, searching it back with an intensity that makes Will’s breath catch.
Then he speaks:
“So… Because I had a girlfriend…” His voice is slow, careful, each word placed with intention. “You thought I could never reciprocate your feelings?”
Will freezes for a second too long.
His chest tightens, stomach flips. And for a second, he can’t even think straight. His hands seemed useless, trembling. Then his head snaps up, eyes wide, heart hammering like it might burst through his ribs.
“No. Mike, that’s not- I wasn’t talking about you, I mean, I-”
“I know it was me.”
There’s no accusation in Mike’s tone. Just the steadiness of someone who’s been waiting, watching, and finally knows. Will’s breath catches, uneven and ragged. The room tilts slightly, like gravity has shifted and he’s floating in the small, humming basement.
“I know I’m your Tammy.” Mike continues quietly as he finally looks up, his eyes locking onto Will’s. “I’ve known since you said it.”
Will looks like the ground has vanished beneath him. His mouth opens, closes again and no sound comes out. He doesn’t know what to do with this moment, doesn’t know where to put his hands or his thoughts, because this was never something he allowed himself to expect. Mike was never supposed to notice. He never had before.
“Mike… I-”
Will starts, but the words die halfway. Mike doesn’t push him to fill the silence. He just waits, patient, steady, letting the moment breathe.
“I just needed to confirm it.” A faint smile lifts the corners of his mouth, uncertain but sincere. “Is it really me?”
Will’s heart stammers. Every wall he built over the years, every careful boundary, every shield, all crumbles. He sees Mike like he’s never seen him before. He can feel his chest aching, limbs light and heavy all at once, terrified of this vulnerability yet exhilarated by it.
Finally, his voice emerges, low, trembling:
“Yes.”
Mike swallows. His fingers lace together, then tighten, like he’s gripping his own thoughts to keep them from spilling out wrong. The pause stretches, making Will’s chest ache with anticipation and dread.
“Will, just- Just listen to me, okay? I need to say this.”
Will nods, though a part of him isn’t sure he wants to hear it. The words settle in the air slowly and heavy and he feels the weight of them pressing against his ribs. His stomach twists again, a little apprehensive. He tells himself to stay still, but every instinct in him is alert, waiting.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the mistakes I made.” Mike’s voice is mostly steady, but there’s a tremor beneath it that betrays everything he’s been holding in. “About how I hurt people. El, especially. I keep replaying everything, wondering if there was a way I could’ve done it right.” He exhales shakily, the sound pulling at Will’s chest. “But there are things I can try to fix now. And things I can't…” His eyes dropped to his hands again. “She never needed a boyfriend. Not really. She needed a friend. A good one. And I could’ve been that… If I wasn’t so busy forcing things into something they were never meant to be.”
Will’s jaw tightens. Jane’s name still echoes with its sharp edges inside his chest. It hurts. Probably always will. And yet, there’s something grounding in hearing Mike say it aloud now. Knowing he’s sat with these thoughts instead of burying them makes Will feel like the air itself has shifted between them, like the basement has shrunk just enough to hold all this unspoken tension.
“I think we were just… Using each other, in a way.” Mike takes a deeper breath and now the trembling is visible. His leg bouncing restless and nervous, a quiet rhythm of anxiety. “She was holding onto me so she could feel normal. Like everyone else. And I-” His voice drops, low, almost confessional. “I was holding onto her so I wouldn’t have to look too closely at myself.”
Will doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but his chest aches. He feels it in the tightening of his shoulders, the shallow rise and fall of his breath. And then, as if his body has a mind of its own, his hand slides forward almost unconsciously, resting over Mike’s.
Mike doesn’t flinch. He closes his fingers over Will’s and squeezes his hand in a gesture of gratitude for the support. The contact sends a pulse through Will’s arm, a tether to this moment that’s somehow both fragile and electric, like that moment itself. He swallows, feeling his heart shift slightly in his chest, realizing that this closeness is a kind of intimacy that words could never fully contain.
“I think I’ve always known that I’m also… Different.” Mike’s words are slow. Careful. “That my feelings for you were different than they were supposed to be, Will.”
The world tilts, then stills, as if someone pressed pause on everything except the drum of Will’s own heart. He can feel it in his throat, in the hollow of his chest, in the restless flutter of his stomach. Breathing feels unnatural, clumsy. Thinking feels impossible. The ground under his feet seems to disappear, leaving him suspended somewhere between awe and terror. He never let himself imagine this moment, never allowed his mind to wander into it.
“How different?”
The question slips out as a whisper, fragile and exposed. His own voice sounds foreign, like it belongs to someone standing outside of himself, watching this moment unfold.
“Like… ‘In love’ different.”
The words cut deeper than Will expects. Because they’re everything he’s ever wanted, but they come wrapped in a weight he can’t shake. Desire surges hot and immediate, a shock behind his ribs. For a moment, he can almost imagine giving in, letting himself reach, let himself hope.
But then Jane flashes through his mind. Her face, her laugh, the way Mike loved her. And guilt wedges itself in so fast it almost knocks the breath out of him. He could never, would never, be the reason her heart broke. He could never take what wasn’t meant for him, even if every fiber of his being is screaming that he wants it, that he’s wanted it forever.
His chest tightens, each inhale a struggle. He wants Mike, wants the heat in his words, the soft certainty in his gaze. But he can’t shake the truth of the past, where he would be stepping into if he lets this go too far. And still, the pull is magnetic, unbearable, thrilling. And terrifying. He swallows hard, forcing himself to breathe, forcing himself to stand in the storm of want and shame and longing.
So why now? Why say this when she’s gone?
Was Mike just afraid of being alone? Was Will nothing more than something familiar for him to cling to in the aftermath?
The questions pile up, each one a needle pressing into the ache, until the hurt sharpens into something almost unbearable. Will snaps up before he can think it through, the word leaving him fast, raw, almost a shout:
“No.”
He’s on his feet before he realizes it, every muscle trembling.
“No. Don’t do that.”
“Will-” Mike starts, his voice careful, reaching, but Will can barely hear it over the storm thrumming in his own chest.
“You don’t get to say that like this.” His voice trembles, anger bleeding through the cracks. “Not now. Not after everything.”
Mike stands too, every muscle stiff. Panic flashing across his face as though he’s caught in a storm he doesn’t know how to navigate. “I know what it sounds like, but it’s not that. I swear I’m not trying to hurt you-”
“But you are.” Will cuts in sharply, and the words feel like fire against his tongue. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me?”
Mike freezes, the tremor in his hands betraying him. Will doesn’t stop, his fists clenching at his sides as he paces, each step punctuated by the hot, ragged edge of memory. “I spent years convincing myself it didn’t matter how I felt. That I didn’t need you to feel the same. That I was fine just being your friend. Fine with whatever scraps were left for me after you started dating El.”
His voice breaks and the tears follow. Unrestrained, hot and unyielding, tracing paths down his face.
Mike swallows hard, eyes darting to Will’s, guilt pressing down so heavily it nearly bends him in half. “Will-”
“And now you say it like it’s something you just figured out?” Will laughs weakly through the ache. “Like it’s something you needed to get off your chest so you don’t feel lonely?”
“That’s not-” Mike’s words falter, caught between his need to explain and the reality of the damage his timing has caused.
“I had to bury this!” Will’s voice cracks completely now, spilling the pain he’s carried like molten glass. “I did it to protect you, so Vecna wouldn’t go after you too. I did it so I could smile and mean it when you were happy with her. And you’re telling me now… When I finally learned how to let it go?”
He stops pacing and finally faces Mike. His eyes burn, tears still glistening, fury and heartbreak tangled together.
“You don’t get to make this about your guilt, Michael.”
Mike opens his mouth, then closes it. The weight of Will’s words pressing down so heavily he can hardly speak. He reaches, almost instinctively, but hesitates, unsure whether to offer comfort or apologies, unsure if either would even be welcome.
“Will, I-”
That’s when it happens.
Will turns almost without thinking and slaps Mike across the face. The sound cracks through the basement, sharp and final. For a heartbeat everything freezes. Mike stumbles back half a step, cheeks burning, but his hands don’t rise. His eyes don’t flare with anger. He’s stunned, yes, but there’s something else there too: awareness. Raw and open, like he’s seeing Will more clearly than he ever has.
Before Will can pull away or before an apology can even form, Mike’s hands are on his wrists. Firm and desperate. Steadying him in a way that’s not about control but about holding onto the fragile thing between them.
“Hey!” Mike’s voice is breathless, cracked with emotion as he pulls him closer despite the resistance, forcing Will to face him. “Look at me.”
“Let go!” Will shouts, tears spilling freely now, blinding him to everything except the ache in his chest. “I don’t want to hear anything anymore. It’s too late!”
Mike doesn’t relent. He tightens his grip just enough to keep Will there, to anchor him. And Will has no choice but to meet his gaze. He sees it then: the trembling, the sharp inhale and exhale, the vulnerability shining through every inch of Mike’s posture.
“I know!” His voice shakes, raw but unbroken. “I know I don’t get to make this about me. And I don’t want to. But you said you don’t want to be afraid anymore…” His eyes hold Will’s without faltering. “And neither do I.”
Will stills. His chest heaves, hot and ragged. Something inside him softens against his will, melting in the face of honesty he never expected to receive. It presses into the wound he’s carried for so long.
“I’m not scared anymore.” Mike’s words come faster now, almost urgent, spilling over the tightness in the air. “I’m not scared to say that I’m completely in love with my beautiful, sweet, brave best friend.”
Will’s anger flickers, destabilized, turning into something far more painful; a mix of longing, guilt, disbelief, and relief so sharp it makes his knees tremble.
“But I’m not saying this so you’ll feel like you owe me anything.” Mike adds quickly, voice faltering just slightly, heart etched into each word. “Not because it’s me. Not because of our history. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
His grip loosens, steadying rather than restraining, and Will feels it, the difference between holding someone and holding onto someone.
“All I want…” His voice breaks, delicate but insistent. “I want you to know that you are loved, Will Byers. Deeply. Completely. In a way I never want you to doubt.”
Will’s lips part, but no sound comes out. The words seep in anyway, soothing something raw inside him, faster than he ever thought possible. Like Mike gently blowing on a wound, the way he used to when they were kids, the way he’d held him when nightmares left him trembling in the dark. Because beneath that, deeper and unspoken, there’s something else, something Will has always carried quietly; a hollow space he’s watched his friends fill: the way Mike and Jane fitted together, Lucas and Max, even Dustin and Suzie, Jonathan and Nancy, Robin and Vickie. All of them wanted, all of them loved somehow. And there he is, just Will, aching to be wanted too. Aching to finally taste that love for himself, finally feel it wrap around him in the way he’s always dreamed, in the way he never let himself hope for.
“Most of the things I did these past years…” Mike continues softly, his voice steady but trembling at the edges. “Right or wrong… They were because I love you. As my best friend. But not only that.”
Will swallows, a knot tightening in his chest. He has always wanted to be loved. And somehow, cruelly and achingly perfect, is coming from Mike. The one who knows him better than anyone. The one he had loved for so long, quietly, painfully, hoping just to be enough in any small way.
The silence stretches between them, thick and trembling. Mike’s gaze never wavers, steady and open, offering him a space to crumble if he needs to.
“If you tell me that you’re really over me…” Mike says carefully, sincere in every syllable, “then I won’t push this any further. I promise.”
Will’s anger doesn’t vanish. It twists inward, collapses into a hollow ache, leaving devastation in its wake. His hands slip from Mike’s grasp, not from retreat, not from rejection, but from the sheer impossibility of keeping himself together.
“Why didn’t you say anything before? Why did you-” Will’s voice fractures completely, the words choking in his throat. He presses his palms into his eyes, trying to stave off the heat rising to his cheeks. He drags in a breath that doesn’t quite work. It catches in his chest, then forces himself to look up again.
Mike steps closer, careful but unrelenting. And Will can feel the heat radiating off him, the faint smell of his shampoo, the weight of every year they’ve known each other. Mike’s voice stays steady, but beneath it quivers something strained, something that’s been pressed down too long and is now threatening to break free.
“I was scared.” He says simply.
Will can’t seem to find a rhythm, his chest tight with disbelief and anticipation.
“I think I always knew…” Mike continues, eyes locked onto him, unblinking, unwavering. “I knew what choosing you would mean. What it would say about me. About us. About how the world would see you. How it would see me.”
Mike’s jaw tightens.
“And I hated myself for thinking that way.” He shakes his head sharply, the movement full of frustration and regret. “So I buried it too. I told myself that what I felt for you was loyalty. Habit. Fear of losing my best friend.”
A pause hangs between them, thick and charged.
“But it was never confusion.”
Will can feel the pulse of his own heartbeat, erratic and loud in his ears, the tension rolling through his limbs.
“I loved her.” Mike says plainly, without flinching or apology, letting the words fall like stones. “But loving her never scared me.” His voice falters just slightly, a tremor that cracks the control he’s tried to maintain. “Loving you did.”
He steps closer again, close enough that Will can feel the warmth of his body, the urgent rhythm of his breathing, the subtle tilt of his stance that demands attention, demands response.
“Because loving you meant admitting I wasn’t the person I thought I was supposed to be.”
Mike doesn’t look away. His gaze pins Will in place and in that look is the vulnerability that makes it impossible to resist. “I didn’t choose her over you. I chose fear over you.”
The words hit like a weight dropped onto Will’s chest, unavoidable and inescapable. The world around him contracts until there is nothing but the minimal space between them. His knees feel weak, his pulse thunders like drums in his ears.
He has nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide from the truth, from the want. From the fear that has finally unspooled into something he can see, touch, and maybe, just maybe, finally answer.
Will doesn’t say anything. He just breaks into it.
Before he even has a chance to stop himself, he folds forward, forehead pressing gently against Mike’s chest, hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only solid thing left in the room. His fingers dig in, nails biting lightly, seeking anchor in a world that suddenly feels unsteady.
A broken sound escapes him, half-laugh, half-sob, raw and unfiltered. Mike doesn’t hesitate. His arms come around Will immediately, instinctive and certain, as though he’s been waiting for this exact moment. One hand presses firm between Will’s shoulder blades, grounding him, while the other cradles the back of his head, fingers threading gently into his hair, untangling strands as if soothing the weight from his mind.
Will trembles against him, grief and relief tangled together in a messy, beautiful knot. Mike doesn’t let him fall apart alone. He rocks him slowly, deliberately, each motion like a promise, each wordless gesture a lifeline.
“I’ve got you,” Mike whispers, voice low and certain, steadying him, letting Will lean into something that finally feels like safety. “I’ve got you now.”
Will lets himself believe it, even for a moment. His tears stain Mike’s shirt, hot and heavy, and still Mike doesn’t flinch. Still he holds him like the world could crumble around them and this would be enough.
“Because I’m your paladin.” Mike adds, a small, teasing smile curving his mouth against Will’s hair.
Will lets out a broken laugh, catching somewhere between a sob and a snort, raw and jagged, trembling in rhythm with the lingering ache in his chest.
“Mike-” He shifts just enough to look up, needing to see the curve of Mike’s mouth, the certainty in his eyes, proof that none of this is a dream, that none of it is imaginary.
“I’m serious!” Mike insists, thumb brushing beneath Will’s eye to catch a tear. “I’ll fight the world for you. I’ll protect you. That’s literally my whole build.” His grin wobbles, slightly uneven, and he laughs softly despite himself. “Low charisma. High loyalty.”
Will laughs properly this time, breathless and shaking, letting it out like it’s been waiting for years to escape. His forehead drops back against Mike’s shoulder, feeling lighter somehow.
“You’re such an idiot.” He says, voice muffled but full of affection.
“Yeah,” Mike replies, chin resting against Will’s head, arms tightening just a little more. “But I’m your idiot.”
And then it hits Mike, slow and overwhelming, settling deep in his chest instead of crashing.
Will is still there.
Curled into him like this, where he belongs. Forehead pressed against Mike’s collarbone, fingers knotted in his shirt with a familiarity that aches. He isn’t asking for anything. He isn’t waiting to be convinced. He’s choosing to stay, even now, even after everything. The weight of him is real, warm, trusting. Mike can feel Will’s breath shudder against his skin, feel the damp of tears soaking through the cotton, and it makes something in him go unbearably soft.
This isn’t a crush.
It never was something fleeting or half-formed. This is years of quiet love, carried carefully, protected, endured. This is why Will is holding on like this. Why his tears feel heavy, like they’ve been waiting for Mike specifically. But not for him to fix anything. Just to be here.
Mike isn’t Will’s Tammy.
He’s not an idea. Not a mirror. Not something Will loved from a distance to understand himself and then leave behind.
He’s Will’s Mike.
The one he came back to. The one he stayed with. The one whose arms he’s in right now, trusting him with something fragile and enormous.
And the understanding settles gently but firmly into Mike’s bones, filling every hollow place he didn’t know was there.
Mike tightens his arms around Will, slow and sure, like he’s answering something without words.
And Mike knows, with a certainty that feels like coming home, that this is who he wants to be. For Will. With Will.
Mike’s hands then come up slowly, thumbs brushing away the damp tracks on Will’s cheeks. His fingers settle firm at Will’s jaw, steadying him there, like he’s afraid Will might slip away if he doesn’t anchor him to the moment.
Will’s breath stutters. His chest rises too fast. His hands are still twisted in Mike’s shirt, knuckles tight, gripping proof that this is real. That he isn’t imagining any of it.
Mike looks at him. Really looks. Like he’s committing Will to memory. Like this is the last second before something crosses a line neither of them can uncross.
“You’re so damn beautiful.”
The words come out rough. Honest and unfiltered.
Will lets out a shaky laugh that breaks halfway through. No one has ever said that to him like this. No one has ever looked at him like this and meant it.
“Mike…”
The name falls apart in his mouth.
Mike closes the distance between them painfully slow. Every inch gives Will time to pull back, to turn away, to change his mind. But Will looks up at him through wet lashes and there’s no hesitation in his eyes. No fear. Just something open and aching and sure.
So Mike kisses him.
It isn’t careful or particularly sweet. And he can taste the salty tears in his lips.
It’s desperate. Their mouths collide, unpracticed and uneven, driven by everything they’ve swallowed down for years. There’s no elegance to it. Just need. Just urgency.
Will gasps, startled, instinctively rising onto his toes as his arms enlace around Mike's neck. Mike groans softly and deepens the kiss without thinking. His hand slides to Will's waist, firm and protective, keeping him close.
For half a heartbeat, Will freezes.
Then he leans in.
It’s clumsy. His mouth doesn’t quite know what to do, lips parting on instinct, breath shaking. But the want is unmistakable. It spills out of him unchecked, raw and overwhelming. He kisses back like someone starving.
Mike feels it. All of it. The innocence and the intensity. The way Will gives without reservation. Something tightens painfully in his chest and he doesn’t push further. He adjusts instead, softening just enough to guide without taking control, letting Will set the pace even as the heat stays sharp.
Will makes a small, helpless sound into the kiss, overwhelmed and breathless.
Mike breaks away just enough to press his forehead against Will’s.
They’re both breathing hard.
Will’s eyes are wide and unfocused, lips swollen. He looks wrecked. Dazed. Like the world shifted under his feet.
“Oh.” The word comes out stunned. Bare. “Oh.”
Mike smiles, just as breathless, his thumbs still warm against Will’s skin.
“Yeah.” He murmurs. “That.”
Will laughs softly, disbelieving. And then pulls Mike back in without thinking much.
The second kiss is messier but less hesitant. Will's fingers slip into Mike’s carefully combed hair, ruining the part as he grips on. This time, he knows exactly what he wants.
When they finally pull apart again, Will stays pressed against him, face tucked into Mike’s neck. His heart is pounding so loud he’s sure Mike can feel it.
“That was…”
The sentence trails off, overwhelmed, a quiet laugh dissolving into Mike’s chest.
Mike wraps both arms around him, solid and grounding, holding him like something precious and fragile all at once.
“So good.”
And once they start, stopping feels impossible. Less a choice than a consequence of being eighteen and catastrophically bad at self-control.
It’s like the kiss unlocks something neither of them knows how to put away again. Years of restraint collapse all at once and the basement feels too small for it, too alive, like the air itself is vibrating.
Will feels it first as a rush under his skin, but when Mike inhales sharply against his mouth, when his hands tighten like he’s bracing for impact, Will realizes Mike feels it too.
They move without thinking, or maybe thinking just stops mattering.
Will laughs into Mike’s mouth as they kiss again, the sound bright and unguarded for someone who was crying a few minutes ago. And Mike stiffens for half a second in startled panic before chasing it with his lips, trying to muffle the sound. His breath stutters against Will’s and the way he kisses back isn’t careful at all. It’s urgent. Like he’s afraid that if he pauses, even for a second, he’ll lose his nerve.
“Shh!” Mike whispers, breathless, their foreheads bumping together.
His voice is low, but there’s a tremor in it that makes Will’s chest ache. Mike’s hands come up like he needs to anchor himself, fingers curling into Will’s sides, thumbs digging in just enough to ground them both.
Will clamps a hand over his own mouth, eyes wide and sparkling, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, still buzzing, still barely contained.
Mike exhales a quiet laugh that sounds almost helpless. For a second he just stays there, eyes closed, like he’s steadying himself before diving back in.
They don’t stay still for long. They stumble sideways, nearly tripping over a stack of board games. Mike swears under his breath, one arm wrapping around Will’s waist automatically to keep him upright. When his back hits the bookshelf, the sound is sharp enough to register, but he barely reacts. His attention is locked on Will, wide-eyed and dazed, like he can’t believe this is actually happening.
Will crowds into his space without hesitation, kissing him again with a sudden, desperate edge. Mike answers instantly, hands sliding to Will’s back, firm and sure, like something inside him finally snaps into place.
The kiss deepens not because they plan it, but because they can’t help it. Because holding back suddenly feels impossible.
Mike’s hands move like he’s memorizing. At Will’s waist, pulling him closer. Up his back, steady and warm. Tangling into his hair with a care that doesn’t match the intensity of the kiss, like he’s afraid of hurting him even as he’s losing control.
When Will tilts his head back on instinct, exposing his neck, Mike’s breath hitches audibly before he presses quick, careless kisses there, unable to stop himself.
The gasp Will makes goes straight through him.
Mike grins against Will’s skin before he can help it, something bright and disbelieving flashing across his face, and when Will slaps a hand over his mouth again, Mike’s thumb follows, resting there for half a second too long, like he’s feeling the proof of it.
“Oh my god!” Will whispers, laughing under his breath. “Your family is right there.”
“I know.” Mike says, and the way he says it is reckless, almost defiant.
He kisses Will again anyway.
They make it to the couch in a clumsy blur. Will half-falls into Mike’s lap, and Mike lets out a surprised laugh as his hands come up to steady him, instinctively pulling Will in close. For a second he just holds him there, breath coming fast, eyes scanning Will’s face like he’s checking to make sure this is real, like he’s afraid to blink.
Will kisses him everywhere. Nose, cheek, jaw, mouth, too excited to choose. And Mike laughs again, soft and breathless, his hands tightening around Will’s back like he doesn’t know what to do with all of this except hold on harder.
When Mike catches Will’s hands and kisses each knuckle slowly, deliberately, it’s not just teasing. It’s reverent. His mouth lingers as if touching Will like this is something sacred and terrifying all at once. Will groans quietly.
“You’re ridiculous.” Will murmurs, fond and warm.
Mike huffs a quiet laugh. “You love it.”
They kiss again. Slower now, softer. Still smiling against each other's mouth. And Mike is acutely aware of every detail. The way Will relaxes into him. The way his own chest aches with something too big to name. The way he keeps one hand firm at Will’s back, like he’s afraid if he lets go even a little, Will might disappear.
Then the basement door creaks open.
“Michael?!” Mrs. Wheeler’s voice carries down, cheerful and completely unaware. “Jonathan’s here to pick Will up.”
The world ends. Briefly.
Everything freezes with them still tangled together, Mike’s hands warm and unmistakable at Will’s waist, Will half-perched in his lap like gravity forgot whose side it was on.
Will becomes instantly, painfully aware of everything. His flushed skin. His uneven breathing. The way his mouth still feels tender and swollen. His heart is pounding so loudly it feels reckless, like it might betray them all on its own.
“Coming!” Mike calls back.
The word cracks on the way out, just a little, and then panic detonates.
They try to separate at the same time, which is immediately a mistake. Will shifts the wrong way, Mike jerks back too fast, and Will’s knee knocks hard into the coffee table with a dull thunk that sends a stack of magazines sliding off the edge. Mike lunges on instinct to catch them, which only makes things worse. His elbow clips a tower of boarding games, and suddenly dice clatter across the floor like they’re applauding the chaos.
“Shit!” Mike mutters under his breath.
Will stumbles sideways, grabbing blindly for balance and catching Mike’s sleeve instead, nearly taking them both down. Mike steadies him at the last second, hands firm at Will’s sides, their faces way too close again.
They lock eyes.
Too close to hold their laughter. Absolutely not helpful.
Footsteps sound faintly upstairs.
They jerk apart properly this time.
Mike fumbles with his shirt, tugging it down like it’s personally offended him. Will runs both hands through his hair and over his face, trying to erase more the traces of snogging his best friend than the evidence of having been crying.
Mike crouches abruptly to scoop dice off the floor, immediately bangs his head on the table, and swears again, louder this time.
Will bites his lip to keep from laughing. It comes out anyway, a quiet, breathless sound that makes Mike look up at him, wide-eyed and flushed and very much trying not to grin back.
“Okay, go!” Mike whispers, urgent. “Go. Go.”
Will nods, heart still racing, legs not entirely steady beneath him, like the floor hasn’t finished rearranging itself yet.
He heads for the stairs and doesn’t even make it to the first step before Mike catches his wrist and pulls him back just enough to steal one last kiss, quick and reckless and absolutely unnecessary.
“Mike, stop!” Will whispers, the words tangled in a nervous laugh as he glances toward the stairs. “Someone’s going to see.”
“I wanna see you tomorrow.” Mike says, low and earnest, still holding on.
Will nods, frees himself, takes one step, then turns back because of course he does. He presses one last kiss to Mike’s lips, softer now, like punctuation fornthe night. One last time. Actually last.
Jonathan is waiting at the top of the stairs, jacket slung over one shoulder.
His eyes flick over Will in half a second and catch everything Will is desperately hoping he hasn’t noticed. The too-bright smile. The flushed face. The hair that looks like it’s been negotiated with rather than styled.
Jonathan raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Just smirks and opens the door.
Will ducks his head, cheeks burning, unable to stop smiling as he steps outside.
“Call me when you get home.” Mike says, appearing by the door as the Byers say goodbye.
Will nods again, refusing to look back, because he knows if he does he’ll smile too big and give himself away completely.
The summer air is warm against his face, and the world feels brighter than it did this morning, like something fundamental has shifted inside him.
Behind him, Mike lingers in the doorway, still stunned, still grinning. Jonathan notices not one thing. A collection of them.
Will walks too fast, like he’s late even though he isn’t. His hair sits wrong and his shirt doesn’t quite fall the way it should, tugged just enough to feel unfamiliar. And his mouth, Jonathan’s gaze lingers there a second too long. Swollen, pinker than usual. Not obvious, maybe, but hard to ignore if you know Will well enough.
Jonathan waits. Let Will buckle in, let the door shut, let the car ease away from the curb before saying anything, like he’s giving Will a head start.
“You’ve got something on your neck.” He says lightly, eyes still on the road.
Will freezes.
“What?” His hand is already there before he finishes the word, fingers clumsy with sudden panic. “Where?”
“Left side.”
Will twists toward the mirror, heart jumping into his throat. He checks once. Then again. His breath comes a little too fast before his hand drops back into his lap.
“…There’s nothing there.”
Jonathan laughs, quiet and pleased. Will turns toward him, heat flooding his face.
“Jonathan.”
“I know.” Jonathan says easily. “I just wanted to see if you’d react.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It stretches, settles, filled with the hum of the engine and everything Will isn’t quite brave enough to say out loud yet.
After a moment, Jonathan asks, gentle but well pointed: “Worth the wait?”
Will feels like he's about to faint. “What are you talking about?”
Jonathan glances over just once. It’s brief, but it’s the look he’s always had for Will; the one that says he doesn't have to pretend.
Will exhales. His shoulders loosen. His eyes drop to his knees. Then, he nods. Small and shy, but certain.
Jonathan smiles, soft and knowing, then turns his attention back to the road.
“Yeah, thought so.”
They’re almost home when he adds, like it only just crossed his mind: “And hey... Tell Mike Wheeler-”
Will groans and slides lower in the seat, already regretting everything. “Jonathan, stop.”
“-that if he ever actually leaves a mark,” Jonathan continues calmly, “he better be serious. Because I’m not explaining that to Mom.”
Will lets his head fall back against the headrest, completely red and wrecked.
“Jonathan!”
Jonathan just grins and turns up the radio.