Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

one

The first time it happens, Will classifies it as a little accident.

He and Mike are walking the long, treacherous trek back to their shared dorm after a frat party that involved a little too much barely-legal drinking; they’re freshmen, having only been at college for a couple months, and they’re still getting used to how different everything is outside of Hawkins, at campus, in a different city altogether.

Mike is piss drunk, Will is just a tiny bit tipsy, which is what makes the trip feel eternal and slippery. Their arms are tangled together and they lean on each other for support, in order to keep themselves on their feet at all. The night is cold and it’s honestly earlier than what they both expected, but that might just be because Will’s buzzed brain still had enough logic in it to recognize that it was time for them to leave if they didn’t want to end up in the worst shape possible for the rest of the weekend.

“Straighten up a little, would you?” Will mumbles, nudging Mike’s side with his elbow. Mike only chuckles and hums in response, making no move to carry some of his own weight. Will huffs out a breath, halfway between amused and annoyed. “Mike, we’re gonna fall over.”

“So be it,” Mike shrugs, the gesture too big; Will almost trips over his own feet and Mike starts laughing like that’s somehow the funniest shit he’s ever seen. Will glares at him, pushing him off him for the pleasure of watching him stumble. “Oh, fuck—”

“Get it together, Mike,” Will covers his mouth with a hand, trying to keep down his giggles. Okay, he might me more than a little tipsy, but it’s honestly hard to tell. Tonight’s the first time he’s drank this much, and he still has no particular fondness for beer or alcohol, but Mike has turned out to be the kind of drinking buddy that turns Will into the shadow of a social drinker. “You’re going to have the worst hangover ever.”

It seems rather convenient that Will feels more at ease around Mike, no matter the setting, but Mike is his best friend. It’s only logical that he’d pry Will out of his shell, just a tiny bit, just enough to let go for one night and enjoy himself like he isn’t dragging around truckload of trauma at all times. Mike’s fake-offended laugh rings across the space between them, pure with joy, his eyes dancing with the light of the lamp posts around them. The paleness of his skin this late at night, paired with the cold, brings out his freckles in a way that makes Will’s fingers itch to trace them.

His breath catches at the sight, but only for a second. He’s gotten better at that, throughout the years; not shutting down whenever Mike as much as look at him with that wide, affectionate smile, those fond eyes. Right now, the look is a little sloppier than usual due to the alcohol, but Mike makes it look ethereal instead of pathetic somehow.

“C’mon, Byers,” Mike says, voice low in his throat, almost speaking through his teeth. His tone drips with warmth as he approaches Will, entering his personal space, and he wraps an arm around his shoulders, the way he did so much when they were younger, and now again with increased frequency. Will tries not to think about the period of time where this type of affection seemed to vanish from his life, allowing the contact to happen now and returning it by wrapping an arm around Mike’s middle. “Don’t be so mean. I’ll have you to take care of me anyways, won’t I?”

Will snorts, shaking his head. “What am I, your personal nurse?”

“If you wanted to be,” Mike says, his tone a little too nonchalant for Will to not blush. Noticing this, Mike drops his head on top of Will’s, putting his towering inches over him to good use and effectively eliminating any semblance of personal space between them. “Aw, see? You’re totally hooked on the idea. You’re gonna love it. I’m a great patient.”

“You got such a big head when you’re drunk.” Is all that Will bothers saying, shaking his head. Mike whines and pouts and shakes his shoulders with his arm to get him to fight back properly, to engage a little more in the teasing, but Will knows his limits better than anyone. If he keeps going, Mike is going to make him spontaneously combust.

Seeing their dorm building approaching, Will hums. “You got your keys, right?”

Mike takes a second to process the question, and doesn’t even pat his pockets. “Can’t remember.”

“Mike,” Will snorts again, rolling his eyes, ignoring the way Mike starts hysterically laughing his ass off again. God, for someone so grumpy and antsy on a daily basis, Mike turns into a fucking goofball as soon as he touches a single drop of alcohol. Will’s not complaining. “You’re so lucky you have me, otherwise your ass would be sleeping on a bench tonight.”

“I am lucky, yeah,” Mike mumbles in agreement, eyes sparkling with laughter. His breath is hot against Will’s cheek, as they’re still pressed together closer than appropriate. But it’s nice. Will rarely gets physical attention like this, ever since they left Hawkins, and he never realized how spoiled he was with his mom’s and Jonathan’s hugs until now, since only Mike ever gets close to cuddly with him these days.

The party parting to different ways of the country hurts, as much as they stay in touch. It will never stop hurting, he reckons, but at least Will has Mike, and Mike has Will.

“You’re not gonna say you’re lucky to have me, too?” Mike asks when Will never replies, seeing as he’s busy opening their dorm with his own keys for them to get inside, his movement limited by Mike’s clinginess. There’s another shake to his shoulders. “Will. Come on.”

He feigns ignorance, guiding them inside and closing up behind him before heading them towards the elevator. Their room is on the second floor, which has never sounded further away than in this exact second. “What is it? You need the bathroom?”

Mike laughs, too loud now that they’re inside, and Will shushes him. Mike successfully reduces his laugh to giggles, shaking his head, but at least does Will the favor of pressing the button to their floor by himself. “Asshole. You know what I asked you.”

“Hm, sorry, I’m too drunk,” Will shrugs, to which Mike pushes him playfully, the same way Will did earlier, only to immediately disrupt his personal space again to go back to hugging. Honestly, Mike isn’t even stumbling that much anymore, he doesn’t need this—but who’s Will to complain? “You’re going to have to work harder than this for a compliment, Michael.”

“We’re pulling the full-names out, seriously? This is how you wanna play this?” Mike asks, voice layered with mock-offense that makes Will laugh, throwing his head back. The elevator stops on their floor, and thankfully, their room is the first on the left, so it barely takes a few steps before they’re in front of their door and Will has to maneuver the keys awkwardly again. “Okay, William, what if I told you that you’re the best friend ever—”

“That doesn’t count, you always say that,” Will rolls his eyes, making Mike groan in amused frustration again. They step inside, and Will turns on the lights as he kicks the door shut behind them. Mike squints, and so does Will, so for several seconds they just stand there groaning under the fluorescent light. Finally, as Will starts moving Mike to drop him off at his bed, itching to change into his pajamas, he says: “Try a little harder, you know you got it in you—”

Will turns his head towards Mike, ready to throw him a smirk, but his amusement dies as he realizes just how closes their faces are. Their noses brush, since Mike was already facing him, hunched over to make up for his height and leaning his weight on Will. His grin is huge, as it often is when he’s this drunk, but his lips are stretched so wide, his dark eyes lit up with so much happiness; it’s the same look from earlier but the closeness makes Will feel it at full force, like he’s still a pathetic twelve-year-old overwhelmed by a crush.

He supposes some things don’t really change.

“Mike—” He starts, a little more serious, and definitely breathless. Mike raises a single eyebrow, glancing down, not moving a single inch even though Will is confident that Mike must have practically felt him talking against his lips, since they’re sharing the same air. Will gestures at his bed. “We should sleep, right?”

He doesn’t know why he phrases it as a question, but Mike doesn’t seem to mind. “Sure.”

Next thing he knows, Mike reaches out with an arm and turns the lights off—it’s a small dorm room, and Mike is all limbs; Will doesn’t envy him simply because it makes things like these downright comical—only to then unexpectedly push Will onto his bed, following right behind barely a blink later.

Will ends up hitting his head against the wall, though not too hard, the air punched from his lungs as Mike lands all over him, instantly turning into dead weight. He wheezes, slapping his hand over Mike’s back. “Michael.”

“William,” Mike retorts, voice full of mirth. Will wiggles, blushing as he feels his whole body rubbing against Mike’s, only for Mike to press his face against Will’s neck and whine like a child. “Stop moving, you’re such a wiggly pillow—”

“Mike, I want my own bed!” Will protests, still wiggling; Mike only concedes enough to allow Will to kick off his shoes, which he also does, and then Mike forcefully pushes him further back in order to fit both their frames properly over the bed. It’s cramped, and Mike’s breath on his neck tickles, and Will loves it. He needs to get out. “Mike, I’m serious. We don’t fit. We’re gonna break the bed.”

“Ask me out for coffee first, jeez,” Mike snorts, making Will sputter, his face heating to a point where Will feels he could fry an egg on it. Mike snickers as Will remains shocked in silence, then leans his elbows on the bed, right next to Will’s head. He’s now caged in, as Mike brings himself upwards to make eye contact. “Will. It’s okay. Let’s just sleep.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Will shakes his head, and he wants to smile, but the tipsiness is fading. He’s too aware of how pressed together they are, how nice it feels to be this close to Mike after—well.

After Henry, they only managed to start patching things up between them around sophomore year, when his family finally moved back to Hawkins following its destruction, and a proper story for Hopper’s return was crafted. Will doesn’t like thinking about that road trip, those endless hours, the emptiness of the view out of his window. The painting. The lies he told and then had to confront. What Vecna did.

It took a lot to get back to this point in their friendship, and sometimes it still feels fragile, despite Mike’s constant reassurance through the years that they’re fine. Better than ever, even.

Will just… he doesn’t want to mess it up again. “We still got our jackets on. And our jeans. Your sheets are gonna smell like shit tomorrow.”

“I can deal with those consequences,” Mike shrugs, and leans down closer, their noses brushing again. Will swallows, blinks fast, and thanks whoever is listening out there that his blush must not be distinguishable in the dark. A sigh against his lips, Mike pressing their foreheads together, and then: “Just relax, Will. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

Will wishes he could tell him that he is everything, so that isn’t a reassuring comment, but that would probably make things more awkward. Not that Mike seems to feel how tense Will is, or if he does, he thinks it’s just because Will wants to be in his own bed and nothing more.

Mike knows he’s gay, though. Shouldn’t he be aware of what he’s doing? Will doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Their friendship has always been physical, but this is, well. Will doesn’t know how to feel about this predicament anymore, and through the darkness he can see that stubborn curl to the corner of Mike’s lips that tells him there’s no way in hell that Mike will let him get out of this one. So…

“Okay,” Will nods, shivering slightly at how it causes their noses to nuzzle. Mike nods back, doing it again, and Will has to force himself to relax, to hide any other feelings that no one else needs to know about behind a wall, practically forcing his brain into it. He takes a shaky, deep breath. “Okay, fine. You win tonight. But if you fall off the bed, that’s on you.”

“I won’t fall,” Mike mumbles, sleepiness already lacing his words, slurring them together even more than the alcohol did. If possible, he leans further down. Their lips brush when Mike speaks. “G’night, Will.”

He tries to open his mouth to say goodnight back, or maybe to get Mike to scoot over into a less compromising position, but he’s stopped by the insistent pressure of lips against his, freezing him solid. Mike lingers, three, four, five, six—seven whole seconds, and then his head drops to the side, his body scooting down just a little on the bed in order to bury his face against Will’s neck again.

Well. Shit.

Will only falls asleep after what feels like hours of panicking but were probably, in actuality, just a few minutes, trying to process what just happened but finding his brain empty. When he wakes, the morning sun is burning through the window onto their faces, and Mike’s cursing as he stands to close the curtains, stumbling all the way. When he turns back to the bed, he sees Will blinking bleary, wide eyes up at him and visibly suppresses a grin.

“Scoot over,” he grumbles, voice dry, and for a second Will can’t do anything other than sigh like a lovesick idiot. It’s a second too late for Mike, because he grumbles more words Will doesn’t catch under his breath and then physically pushes Will towards the wall to lay beside him, arm over Will’s middle. A second of silence passes, then Mike sighs, only to whine: “Fuck, my head hurts.”

Will can’t help it: he breaks down laughing, much to Mike’s offense.

He decides to forget about the kiss. Mike is an idiot who probably can’t distinguish up and down from left and right in this moment, much less so last night when he was drunk.

God, Will is in love with a disaster.

two

Things go along rather smoothly after that. Mike never addresses the kiss and Will would rather die than remind him he planted one on him while inebriated. It’s fine, honestly; Will’s gotten so used to brushing off Mike’s affection that it’s entirely too easy to just… not get hung up on a little impulse gesture, a little accident.

Maybe he should be freaking out more. Maybe he should be thinking about it for weeks on end, fantasizing, having panic attacks about it or just worrying, in general, that Mike somehow thinks that it’s okay to kiss his gay best friend simply because he’s gay and they’re both dudes. If that last thought is the case, well, then, he’s not looking forwards to giving Mike a lesson on how this whole thing works, so either way avoiding it is for the best, for now. That’d be really, really awkward. And it’s not like Will minded.

It was just—well, that’s the thing, he doesn’t know what it was. He knows what it wasn’t: romantic. No way in hell. Will refuses to go down that slippery slope, no thanks. He isn’t into self-delusion, though sometimes he wishes he was. Life is probably a ton more fun like that, but unfortunately, Will was born realistically pessimistic, to the point of self-sabotage. He’s okay with it.

Another thing that kiss wasn’t like, though, is Will’s previous fantasies about it. When he allowed himself to daydream that maybe, perhaps, possibly, Mike could return his feelings someday out of some miracle, especially when they were younger, he’d pictured… well, maybe it’s silly, but Mike being Mike, Will always thought that he’d make some grand dramatic gesture out of it when they first kissed. Maybe he’d confess beforehand and tell Will everything he’s always secretly wanted to hear and knows he never will.

All in all, the actual kiss was kinda awful, if Will’s being honest. It tasted of alcohol and he was stiff as a board for all seven seconds it lasted, and it wasn’t at all helped by the fact that the way his stomach was churning with nerves and shock afterwards wasn’t mixing well with all the drinks he had earlier that night. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe Mike Wheeler, his best friend he’s been in love with for so long that he doesn’t even remember when the feelings started, is an awful kisser, and an idiot with not a single thought between his ears. So, this is fine.

They continue being roommates and absolutely nothing about their dynamic changes. They still go out every Friday night after class to the cinema, sharing a bowl of popcorn and sneaking their own drinks and snacks into the theater. They still meet up every Wednesday during their matching free periods to visit the library in campus and share a jar of coffee as they study together in silence. They still share a bed from time to time, through Mike’s beckoning, when the heater in their room decides to be stubborn and Will—secretly, but Mike always notices—can’t handle the cold.

Sometimes, Will lets himself pretend that this isn’t platonic. But the guilt that comes five seconds after he indulges in that fantasy against Mike’s consent is too great, so it’s only that. A fleeting thought. It’ll make his chest hurt, but then he’ll turn to Mike, who’ll be looking at him with crinkled eyes and that huge, dorky smile he saves for only him, and the pain will subside. He can live like this, with this little piece of Mike, gladly so. It’s more than enough.

Tonight, a Friday, they’ve stopped by a cheap, greasy dinner they visit from time to time when they need to escape campus for a little bit, in order to get some burgers after the movie they were watching let out. Mike insists on take-out rather than staying in the establishment, and when questioned about that, he simply busies himself with the menu that they both already have memorized and shrugs.

“’Dunno,” he grins, looking up at Will through his lashes. He’s disgustingly hunched over the table in order to keep their faces at the same level, which Will rolls his eyes at. Mike’s smile turns wider. “I guess… I just wanted to keep you all for myself tonight.”

Will’s mouth drops open, face heating concerningly fast, and he stutters for a second: “I—uh, I—we see each other every day, Mike. I have to deal with your dirty socks—actually, no, I’ve had to deal with your dirty socks every day ever since we met.”

Another shrug, and this time Mike’s smile has a smugness to it that has Will extremely puzzled. “Not the same. Oh—our order’s ready, let’s go, I’m starving.”

Jesus Christ.

Will decides that Mike is just in a really good mood. The movie theater didn’t have any new releases this week, so they watched IT again, for what must be the dozenth time. It doesn’t really match up with the start of the Christmas cheer around them, as Thanksgivings closes in and November closes out—this time without multidimensional entities haunting them, except for in a few of Will’s nightmares; the anniversary effect really does hurt still—but Will enjoys the routine all the same, and their conversations around the movie itself even more so.

They still don’t know how to feel about it; Mike isn’t the biggest fan of the book, and Will has to admit he likes some of Stephen King’s other work better, though he enjoyed the text just fine. Watching this adaptation leaves them both hung up at odd points every time they rewatch it, switching sides and opinions like it’s a particularly unsatisfying tennis match.

They speak of it the whole walk back, and even all the way up their dorm room and as they eat. They’re sitting on the floor now, next to each other, elbows brushing. Mike’s gesturing as he talks, just an unlucky flick of his wrist away from sending his burger flying.

“At least the first half is scary,” he’s saying, to which Will snorts a little, almost choking on a sip of his Coke. Mike narrows his eyes at him. “Oh, don’t even say it—”

“It’s really not that scary, Michael,” Will shrugs, saying it, watching as Mike lets out an offended huff and rolls his eyes. Will laughs, licking sauce off his lips. “Seriously, I just don’t think it’s that scary, it’s pretty standard—”

“Your standards are ridiculously high!” Mike protests, and Will just rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his burger, swallowing around a laugh as Mike continues: “Like, listen, the suspense is good! The clown is disturbing, don’t deny it! I’m not the only one who thinks it’s scary, ask literally anyone, and I do not find your opinion as a horror snob valid—”

“A horror snob, you mean someone that doesn’t think clowns are scary, Michael?”

“I don’t like how you’re using my full name like it’s gonna make your argument valid,” Mike clicks his tongue, shaking his head, but his smile is so, so wide, and his eyes keep running all over Will’s face. He even puts his food down. “Don’t you think the whole exchange with Georgie is disturbing? At least admit that!”

Will rolls his eyes as he swallows another bite of food. “Mike, we’ve faced down worse things. You do remember the Mind Flayer, right? And Henry Creel? He looked like a raising. Seems scarier than a clown to me.”

“We’re not talking about real life here, Will, come on, that isn’t fair,” Mike insists, and goes as far as to grab Will’s wrist, pulling him into his space with the way he shakes it to drive his point home. “It’s about ruining and perverting an image from our childhood, William—!”

“Oh, so when you do that it’s okay?”

“—we’re gonna have to watch that whole fucking thing again, I swear to god,” Mike declares, letting out one of the most unnecessarily dramatic sighs that Will’s heard in quite a while, squeezing Will’s wrist in his hand and ignoring his laughter. “And this time when we watch it, I want you to suspend your disbelief, Will, come on, you even like the book, you’re halfway there, I didn’t even…”

Mike drifts off, glancing down at Will’s mouth. It makes Will all-too-aware of how close they’re sitting; he can make out the speckles of golden brown in Mike’s eyes, as well as the tinniest of freckles over his nose that are usually only visible under the sun. He swallows, since Mike is being a little too—well. He’s all up in his space and he isn’t being subtle about his staring, and Will is used to it, alright, but this is quite blatant, even for Mike.

He parts his lips, steeling himself to ask what’s happening because confusion is settling in fast, but before he can even finish doing that, Mike leans in and closes the space between them, planting a firm kiss against his lips. Will freezes, eyes wide, staring at Mike’s closed eyelids, the way his lashes brush his cheeks.

Will lets out a tiny, panicked sound, and for some reason he can’t grasp Mike just leans even more of his body into his space, moves his lips just-so in a way that sends shivers up and down his spine, opening them, his tongue brushing against the corner of Will’s mouth—

And just like that, it’s over.

Will blinks as Mike sits back, looking not even a little flushed and smiling just like he was during their argument, his eyes affectionate as Will just stares at him in shock. Mike licks his lips, and Will just barely resists screaming in panic.

“Sorry, you had a little mustard stain,” Mike provides, and grabs what’s left of his burger with his free hand, since his other one is still wrapped around Will’s wrist. In fact, his thumb is rubbing back and forth against his skin in a manner that is simultaneously nerve-wrecking, familiar and soothing. “But as I was saying, we’re gonna go again next week, and I want you in the mood, Byers, you hear me? No excuses, forget about real life, you have to open your mind—”

Will is honestly barely listening, just nodding along and laughing when he thinks it appropriate. What the fuck just happened? He—huh? Is he dreaming? Has Mike been drinking and he somehow hasn’t noticed? What the actual fuck? Will shakes his head, feeling a headache building behind his eyes, finishing his food mostly in silence and allowing Mike to carry the rest of their nightly conversation.

He must notice that he’s completely lost, because after they pick up their trash and get ready for bed, Mike grabs his wrist and pulls him in again, a concerned frown pulling down his lips. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Will says, even though he’s obviously not fine. He feels like his lips are burning where Mike kissed him, and he isn’t sure whether he’s upset or happy or, or what. “Just a little tired.”

Mike knows he’s lying. But he doesn’t push, his eyes shifting to the side for a second with what looks like guilt. What? “Let’s go to bed, then. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Will nods with a sigh, takes half a step back to break away and drop himself into his bed—but Mike pulls and wordlessly guides him into his bed, shooting Will an almost bashful smile. “Do you mind? I’m a little cold.”

Well, that’s some bullshit. The heater is working just fine tonight. But Will thinks back to Mike’s face just now, and realizes he’s probably trying to offer comfort without digging in too deep in regards to what’s bothering him. It’s stupidly thoughtful of Mike, as per usual, and it’s enough to make Will decide that he’s not gonna agonize over this kiss. Yet.

“It’s cool,” Will mumbles, climbing into bed with him, letting Mike draw the sheets over them both. He doesn’t question the way Mike pulls him in, because this part is normal. It’s familiar, as much as it makes Will wants to scream.

Then again, everything about Mike lately makes him want to scream.

Holy shit.

Chapter Text

three

A fluke.

Will deems it a fluke.

See, it’s not that he’s in denial—he is—but it’s just, it makes no sense whatsoever. Why would Mike kiss him just to clean up his lips? Did he forget napkins are a thing? Did he forget how to use his words? Was he just trying to make a joke out of it? Was Will’s mouth even dirty or was that some sort of excuse? Will has too many questions and he’s unfortunately too chicken to confront Mike about it, because…

Well, it’s Mike. And Will isn’t sure he can have this conversation without revealing that he’s been hopelessly in love with his straight best friend forever. No. That’s a level of humiliation that Will just cannot handle. He’d rather just—live his life. Have his best friend in it. Let go of any silly fantasies. It’s better than rejection, it’s better than admitting it out loud.

He ripped off the band-aid, all those years ago, and since then it’s been fine. It’s been under control. He doesn’t want to throw himself off a cliff over it anymore. He’s not in physical pain whenever he as much as glances at Mike anymore. It aches, dull, steady now, and he’s so used to it that Will’s able to forget about it and move on with his life. He has his best friend. It is fine.

So this must be a fluke. Mike got his wires crossed. Got carried away by the movie argument, did a heat-of-the-moment thing—Mike is famous for those. It’s fine. The way he doesn’t address this either, without the excuse of alcohol and a hangover, makes it all the more likely that he’s just… embarrassed, or something like that. He’s acting so natural about it; Will would think he’s forcing it if he didn’t know Mike.

He is so confused.

Barely a couple days after that fluke, though, Will comes down with a cold from hell, to the point where he can barely be on his feet for a few seconds without losing his balance. Mike becomes an overprotective mess over it, obsessively calling every mother they know for possible remedies. Mrs. Henderson suggests lots of snuggling cats, or plushies, as well as tea and soothing music. Karen makes Mike memorize a homemade soup recipe from her mother’s mother, while Will’s mom practically orders him to bury Will under enough blankets that he can’t breathe.

Mrs. Sinclair proves to be the most sensitive and recites a list of drugstore remedies for Mike to buy. It’s a funny ordeal, though Will doesn’t remember much of it because the fever gets him around that time, which sends Mike into even more of a panic because Will can’t form words anymore.

He’s extremely cold. His toes are freezing despite the two layers of socks Mike managed to cover his feet with, and the three blankets. It's seeping up his legs, flourishing in his hands as well, making him feel unsettled. Will just—he doesn’t do well with cold. Hasn’t for years. He hates getting sick, always has, but it got immensely worse after his time in the Upside Down and his possession. Just thinking about it makes him shiver, a whimper escaping his lips as his eyes slip closed.

“Will?” Mike calls, making him stir a little, but he feels frozen. He can’t move. It reminds him of the stiff feeling of his arms wrapped around his knees, as he hid in Castle Byers, and he feels his heartbeat accelerating with the memory, his breath becoming shallow. “Oh, shit—Will? What do you need, can you—can you talk? Will? God, please, talk to me, what—?”

Hands at his face, fingers curling behind his ear, palms on his cheeks. They're warm and big, soft in some places, rougher in others. Will leans into the comforting touch, lips trembling, and a sob finally escapes him from the depths of his chest, mixing in with an awful wet cough.

He didn't have that warmth in the Upside Down. He didn't have this comfort. There was only him, constantly jittery, terrified, cold, shaky. He got sick while in there, too, the air toxic, logging an illness into his throat that didn't go away for more than a few weeks after he was saved. And then there was—the vine.

Just thinking about it makes Will feel like he's choking on it again. The memory is fuzzy; he was halfway gone when it happened. But he remembers the violation of the intrusion. He remembers not breathing, for what felt like forever, whatever was left of his mind slipping away as his rabbiting heartbeat finally slowed down. He remembers dying.

There's shuffling and the attack of cold air on his skin as his blankets are lifted, making him sob even harder—but then arms wrap around his frame, pulling him in, tucking the blankets so tight it feels constricting. Hands grab at him, eliminating any space as Mike makes him tuck his head against his neck. Draw from his heat.

“I'm here, okay?” Mike says the words almost right up against his ear, and Will hiccups, nods. Mike's arms tighten around him. “I'm not going anywhere any time soon. It's okay. Let it out. I'm not leaving you out of my sight, no way in hell.”

The words wash over him like a hot bath would and Will's sobs start up again, this time with relief. His nose is running and it's gross, mixing with his tears and cold sweat, but all Mike does is squeeze him even tighter. It’d be suffocating if it wasn’t the best feeling in the world.

“Can you wrap yourself around me?” Mike asks, his voice so, so, so soft. Mike's voice is always more delicate than usual around Will, just this side of open, but this is impossibly tender and Will can't believe how lucky he is. So he moves his arms and legs, and it's hell, but he manages to hug himself to Mike's body, pressing them fully together from head to toe. “Okay, good, good job, that's perfect. Try to breathe with me, alright? Let's calm down. You can do this.”

They spend forever trying to get Will to breathe properly, instead of hyperventilating. The rise and fall of Mike's chest against his own is the most soothing thing he's ever felt, and he's captivated by the feeling, by the rhythm of it. He can just about feel Mike's heartbeat against his lips, since they're pressed to his neck, and it makes Will feel as if maybe he's found his new favorite song.

He's still crying. There's no stopping that. The tears go on, they run freely with the occasional sob, and eventually Mike pulls back and holds his face with a hand, bringing Will in.

“Sorry, god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he mumbles against his lips, over and over, pecking him non-stop, kissing his cheek, his nose, tasting the tears sliding down his cheeks. Will doesn't understand what he's apologizing for. “I'm here, I'm here, you're here, Will, with me. You're okay. You're right here.”

Mike's kisses are soft and hot like a flame. Will remembers a burning, bloody red heart set on a painting several years ago now and somehow finds it in himself to blush about it, with Mike's lips pressed up against his own, against his skin, burning in their wake. Will supposes that maybe his artistic imagination wasn't all that far off.

They spend all of Will's illness like this. Mike's body heat is like a balm and even though he isn't the cure to it—he keeps getting fed medicine after medicine, tea after tea, soup after soup—Will knows that he would've had, emotionally, the worst time without Mike's support, without Mike's reassuring words and affections to keep him from spiraling. It's embarrassing; Will doesn't like being a burden, but the second he tried to imply that he could take care of himself once his fever went down a little, Mike glared at him and threatened to tie him to bed, looking like he'd have no trouble being the reason for Will's demise if he doesn't cooperate.

He didn't have the energy to argue. He suspects that Mike poisoned his meals, and tells him as much. It earns him an overly aggressive forehead kiss.

On the third day, Will recovers a little bit more clarity, and notices the roughness to Mike's voice, the way he's sniffing and wiping his nose. “You're getting sick too.”

“It's fine,” Mike's voice cracks, and he clears his throat. Will instantly feels guilty, but a hand tangles itself in his hair and pulls back, forcing him to look Mike in the eye. He looks exhausted, but pleased with himself. His smile makes Will’s heart flutter. “I can deal with a little cold.”

“I'm bed ridden,” Will shakes his head, just slightly, because he has a migraine. “It's not little.”

“Then you'll just have to nurse me back to health,” Mike shrugs, like it's nothing, and Will sighs, not even trying to hide how flustered that makes him. “I'd be happy to let you coddle me. I've told you before, I'd be a great patient, unlike you, Mr. I don't want more soup.”

Will’s brain to mouth filter vanishes. “I'm starting to think you just wanna see me in a nurse uniform."

Mike turns so red so fast it makes Will's eyes strain, and instead of playing along with the joke, Mike leans in and kisses him.

This one is different. Deeper. Searching. The brush of Mike's tongue feels purposeful, as do the teeth pulling at his lower lip. Will shivers, considers kissing back, but his brain is so sluggish and lost that the thought comes so late, Mike is already pulling back.

“Maybe next Halloween,” Mike suggests, licking his lips, his voice barely above a whisper, full of something husky that he doesn't think comes from his impending cold. Will stares, feeling the electricity in the tiny amount of space between them. He can't even remember what he said. “Come on, take a nap. You've been awake all day.”

Will hums, lowering his chin and snuggling himself closer to Mike. “’kay.”

There's a snort, a charmed chuckle, and then Mike runs a hand up and down his back, fingers briefly scratching at his scalp, making Will fall asleep in seven seconds flat.

four

Will hasn't been able to look Mike in the eye since he got sick.

Mike either hasn't noticed or doesn't mind it, because once again, there's no change in his behavior. Sometimes, Will catches him staring, more often than he ever did before, but he isn't sure if he's just noticing it more, hyper-aware of Mike as he is now, or if Mike is just doing it more often. Or, more obviously than before.

It's not awkward, but it feels like there's a lot going unspoken between them and only Will seems aware of it. Only he seems confused. He nurses Mike back to health when he inevitably comes down with his own cold, but to Will’s chagrin and pettiness, it ends up not being nearly as bad as his own, and then, well… they just keep sleeping in the same bed. They keep platonically cuddling, and sometimes Mike keeps his lips pressed to the back of Will’s neck when they do. Their routines remain the same. Their conversations aren't strained; in fact, they just seem to be growing longer and longer, deeper.

More than once, they’ve had to force themselves to go to bed instead of finishing off whatever topic they’re stuck on. Somehow, their grades aren’t suffering because of it, and Will suspects it’s because their study sessions are almost disgustingly perfect. They just seem to be unable to annoy the other. It reminds Will of their friendship before the Upside Down, when they wanted to spend every waking moment together. It makes his chest warm, nostalgia filling him up to the point of giddiness.

Except it’s not really the same, is it? Because they’re older now. And they’ve gone through a lot, both together and apart. So, sometimes, when they're pressed together at night, holding onto each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Will remembers the clearest memory from his bed ridden time, that one kiss—hot, on the edge of heavy. Wanting. It'll make him shiver and Mike immediately gets on his case about it, only for Will to put on his sleeping socks as an excuse.

They don't address it. Will doesn't know if there's anything to address at all. And he figures, fuck, the end of the year is drawing so near, and he’s so excited for Christmas. He can deal with this after. He promises it to himself, even, as a New Year's resolution. He'll talk to Mike about it, regardless of whether his feelings get involved or not, because they kinda already are and he needs to put a stop to it before it gets worse, no matter how much it’s gonna hurt.

After all, how is he supposed to live in peace when he vividly remembers Mike practically admitting he'd like to see him dressed up as a nurse? Some things have to be unearthed because Will just can't handle that shit. Jesus Christ.

The holiday break finally arrives, and the two of them make the drive back to Hawkins. Mike drops Will off at home before heading to his own, and Will spends the next couple days leading up to Christmas catching up with his mom, Hopper, his siblings—El is absolutely glowing lately, as well-adapted to normal life as Will has ever seen her, happier than ever. She’s taken up a job as an assistant at the library, but Hopper keeps making non-too-subtle hints about her joining him at the station, or training to be a teacher at the school. Whatever she wants, really. It makes Will dizzy with joy to see his sister like this.

Jon arrives from New York on day two with the biggest smile and a million brilliant pictures to show them. He had to drop off Nancy at her house, as well, and Will tries not to think too hard about how similarly intertwined he and his brother are with the Wheelers. Instead, Will basks in his family’s love, trying to guess what presents they might have gotten him. Hopper looks continuously frustrated about Will’s attempts to make them all slip up, which makes him think he’s been right about more than one of his suggestions.

Will decidedly forgets all about Mike’s kisses, even when they call each other at night to exchange whatever gossip they’ve caught wind of. Most of it is related to Mike’s extended family showing up—one of his cousins has a new husband and thus a new car, someone is getting divorced and Mike’s disappointed it’s not his parents, his grandpa keeps confusing him with Nancy because they showed up with virtually the same haircut—but they also make plans, tidying up loose ends in regards to the campaign they planned together, figuring out how they’re gonna fit their presents in the car for the ride back to school.

Christmas dinner is a bit of a mess, as always—Mom overcooks the food, just a little bit, which is better than other years but just as tasty as usual. Hopper almost breaks a wine bottle, and El gets a little too bubbly with eggnog for the first time. She refuses to take off the sweater their mom knitted for her, and keeps asking Will and Jon for piggyback rides. Will’s almost sad it isn’t Thanksgiving, because then he would’ve had an excuse to tell everyone in explicit detail how much he loves them and how thankful he is for them. He tells them anyways.

The day after Christmas, they sleep in really late, and Jon cooks breakfast at around one p.m. As Will walks right past him in the kitchen, Jon reaches out and ruffles his hair, which is a little awkward because Will’s the same height as him now, but just as heartfelt as it’s ever been. “You seem happy. How’s Mike?”

“Aren’t you dating his sister?” Will quips back, because quite frankly, the idea of talking about Mike with Jon of all people still terrifies him. He was in the van. He hugged him at the pizza place. Even after coming out, Will’s managed to avoid the topic for years and he has no desire to revisit it. Jon sends him a look, to which Will squirms. “I mean, he’s—good. He’s fine. We’re good.”

God, that sounds like a lie and it isn’t. Jon hums in consideration, looking him up and down before showing him mercy. “Do you want your eggs scrambled?”

Later that afternoon, Will and El make their way to the Wheeler’s, and Karen practically ties them down to the dining table and feeds them more food than they can stomach. Dustin arrives not soon after to the same treatment, and then Max and Lucas become the next victims. Mike whines about it the whole time, wanting to kidnap them all into the basement, to which his mom pulls his ear and tells him to behave like he’s still seven.

Will laughs harder than he should at it, and Mike grumbles about unfairness to him as he takes a seat beside him, scooting his chair over so they’re pressed together. Mike’s elbow digs into Will’s side, but that’s fine. It’s honestly nothing compared to the affection they’ve shared in their dorm room.

Once they’re done eating, though, the six of them practically rush downstairs and gather around the D&D table, taking their life-long designated seats. They exchange Secret Santa presents and Mike is extremely offended at Max’s idea of a Christmas gift for him being a gift-card to the nearest Gap for all of five seconds, before she pulls out his actual gift, it being a signed copy of his favorite book that Will may or may not have helped her get.

Mike tries to catch his eye when the reveal is made, but Will ignores him in favor of thanking Lucas for the new, fancy sketchbook and drawing pens he got him, and beaming at the way Max gets flustered about the hand-made stickers he drew up for her skateboard. He doesn’t get to see what El got Dustin and what Dustin got Lucas, but he knows Mike got El a set of Jane Austen books, and overall, it’s a good, sweet memory that Will knows he’ll always cherish.

It’s probably the happiest Will’s been in a while. Not that he isn’t happy rooming with Mike—sometimes he can’t believe that their dream plans of going to college together, living together, came true—but there’s something special about the basement, all their friends together, a holiday-themed D&D campaign that Mike and Will half-assed on the way to Hawkins and have been fixing up over the phone.

It makes him feel warm and cozy, a feeling that only increases when Lucas brings out drinks, a new tradition that’s been present since senior year. This time, though, college has seasoned them all in the highs and lows of getting drunk, so he doesn’t bring out a couple six-packs of beer. Instead, this year, there’s a vodka bottle, another of tequila, and lots of orange juice that quickly loosens Will’s tongue.

“Enough about us, though, what about you guys?” Dustin is asking, patting Mike’s leg, since most of the conversation post-campaign has involved their friends’ experiences and anecdotes. Mike’s sitting in the middle of the couch, Will is pressed against Mike’s left side, Dustin leaning against the right armchair. He hands Will a refill of his drink over Mike, though he doesn’t get to grab it because Mike gets there first, taking a sip before letting Will have it. Dustin stares and blinks. “Nothing new to tell? For realsies?”

Mike opens and closes his mouth several times, hesitating, and then exchanges a look with Will that he simply doesn’t understand. Mike keeps looking at him, too, so Will just shrugs, having no idea what he wants, as rare as that is. Mike clears his throat. “Yeah, no, nothing new, man. It’s been pretty quiet.”

“Really?” Max asks, a note of skepticism to her voice that Will can’t help but question himself. She glances between him and Mike and tilts her head, her grin mischievous. Will considers their seating arrangements: they’re pressed as close together as possible, Mike has an arm thrown around his shoulders, Will feels smothered in the best way possible. Nothing out of the ordinary. He doesn’t get what she’s reacting like this for. “Not even like… a hot date? Not a single drop of love in the horizon for either of you?”

Mike tenses up and glares at Max, and Will gets the feeling that they both know something that he doesn’t. “Nope. No one.”

“Actually, I mean,” Will starts, his words slurring a little. Jesus, he’s had way too many drinks. Mike’s neck audibly cracks from how fast he turns his head to look at Will, who just blinks blearily up at him and stares at his freckles as he speaks. “I’ve gotten a few numbers.”

Mike’s mouth falls open with what appears to be shock. Lucas snorts, and goes: “Well, you always get a lot of numbers. It’s kinda unfair, actually, how do you even pull so much—”

“I sure hope this doesn’t lead to you asking for advice, stalker.”

“What? No, no, no!” Lucas denies quickly, but there’s a smile on his lips, an even wider one on Max’s. Will sighs in jealousy; they’re so cute. He can never decide whether he’s so happy for them that it’s gross, or they’re so gross that he makes it all the way to happy. He wants a boyfriend. He wants Mike. Life's unfair. “I mean, just saying—but like, Will, have you called any of those numbers? You never do.”

Mike’s eyes are heavy on his face. He can feel them practically burning a hole through his skin. Will shakes his head and feels the glare die down, just a little, though he doesn’t understand why it’s even present at all.

“I mean, it’s mostly girls,” Will shrugs, and Dustin actually giggles over it, finding it immensely funny as usual that Will is such a chick magnet. “A couple guys too, though. From class.”

El opens her mouth, her eyes curious, but Mike beats her to any words, tone clipped. “You never told me that.”

Will shifts his eyes back to him and frowns. “I didn’t think it was that important, honestly.”

“Are you gonna call any boys?” El asks before Mike can continue, her eyes shining with amusement. Will looks at her and hums, thinking about it, trying to remember which guys even gave him their numbers. It was literally just two, but the alcohol is making it muddy, so he just shrugs. It doesn’t matter. He’s already head over heels for the boy cuddling him right now.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, and feels the way Mike’s hand almost painfully squeezes his shoulder. He side-eyes him and the grip loosens, but it doesn’t make Will feel any less confused. “I’m not really interested.”

“You should lose the numbers,” Mike suggests, his voice surprisingly serious.

“That seems…” Will frowns again, licking his lips, watching how Mike’s eyes glance down to look at the gesture before meeting Will’s gaze again. He considers the suggestion and sighs, because, it’s just—what if his love for Mike makes him miss out on something else? It’d be nice, to go on a date or two. To pretend there’s nothing risky about it, to pretend people wouldn’t hate him for it, to pretend he doesn’t hate himself for it, to pretend he isn’t in love with someone he has no chance with. “I don’t know, is it necessary? Shouldn’t I have… options?”

Silence fills the room. Everyone’s staring at him, at Mike, waiting for his reaction because his expression has suddenly frozen into something that Will doesn’t recognize, which honestly scares him, because he knows Mike better than he knows himself.

“Options? Is it necessary?” Mike repeats, voice tight, his frown mirroring Will’s—but there’s something off about his. He’s not confused like Will, no, Mike looks upset. Suddenly, Will isn’t feeling as relaxed as he was just a few seconds ago. “Is it? Having, having options, how could you even ask—you know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

And just like that, Mike is getting up from the couch, taking away all of Will’s warmth, and making his way up the stairs with angry, hurried steps. Will stares after him in shock, blinking and shaking his head and rubbing his eyes because he has no idea what the fuck just happened, but somehow, he has a feeling it’s his fault.

He looks at everyone’s equally shocked faces, lingering on El, who throws a glance up the stairs and then at Will, rather pointedly. Will lets out a sigh, confused out of his mind, and then silently stands, clutching his drink, to follow Mike up the stairs. He almost trips over a brand-new Christmas themed carpet at the basement door, since the Wheelers are very extra about the holiday. It’s not like his mom is any better, but Karen goes all out every year. Probably overcompensating for something, as Mike says, but Will doesn’t let himself get distracted by the pretty Christmas lights and jolly décor for too long before he’s making his way up the stairs and into Mike’s room.

He knows he’s in his room. Mike doesn’t like to linger around any other space in his house if the basement is already occupied, much less so during holidays where he can accidentally run into some family member he barely knows. So Will doesn’t even bother to knock as he opens the door, feeling a little dizzy. He’s truly had too much to drink.

Mike’s sitting on his bed glaring at the floor, and doesn’t glance at him as Will closes the door behind him. He leans against it, knocks his head against the wood, taking a second to force himself to get his thoughts straight because god, he’s wasted and he just doesn’t understand what is going on with Mike, with him, between them, and hasn’t for a while.

“Mike?” Will asks, his voice smaller than he expected it to come out, unsure and afraid—genuine to what he’s feeling. It instantly gets him Mike’s eyes on him, and the frown on his face softens almost unwillingly the second their eyes meet. “I… what is going on right now? Seriously. I’m really confused.”

“You’re confused? Seriously? I—” Mike starts, chokes up as he looks Will up and down… and seemingly gives up. It instantly makes Will alarmed because even though Mike is a little firecracker sometimes, they rarely argue. And even then, Mike always speaks his mind with Will. It makes him lean off the door to try and approach him, but he stumbles, almost drops his drink—hands on his arms, pulling him up, catching him. Mike’s grip is tight. When did he move? “You’ve had too much. You need to lay down, c’mon.”

Will’s feet move on their own, following Mike’s beckoning as he guides him to his bed. He looks up at him, staring at his downturned lips, the unhappy furrow of his eyebrows. Mike takes his drink from Will, sets it on his nightstand, and with his hands now free, Will reaches out and grabs Mike’s face between his hands, studying the way he freezes and stares down at him, his face carefully pulled into a mask of nonchalance.

“What’s going on?” Will asks again, a desperate edge to his tone. Mike’s jaw clenches, and it makes his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. Mike isn’t looking him in the eye, isn’t hunching to facilitate it either, and it leaves Will stranded. “Mike? Are you okay? Please, I really don’t understand—”

“You’re drunk,” Mike breaks in, and takes Will’s wrists in his hands to slip his hands away from his face. The gesture hurts. Mike makes him sit down and then unexpectedly kneels down on the floor, taking off Will’s shoes for him with a care that Will’s only ever seen directed at his art. Although, that might be a lie. When he was sick, he thinks he saw some of this. “I’m fine, okay? Don’t worry. Just lay down and get some rest.”

“Mike,” Will calls again. He feels incapable of saying much else, even as Mike stands up and takes Will’s jacket off him, too. He pushes him into the bed, goes as far as to arrange his legs, and part of Will hates this with passion, feels pathetic and dumb and useless. The rest is indescribably concerned by Mike’s distant behavior. “Mike, please—”

“Will, it’s okay,” Mike insists, and goes to turn off the light, leaving just his bedside lamp on. He tucks Will into bed, and then sits at his side, on the edge, eyes shifty. He looks like he wants to bold. “Sleep, I mean it. Do you need anything else?”

Will shakes his head no. Mike stands. “I’m gonna call your mom, and get you some water for when you wake up—”

“Stay,” Will begs, and blindly reaches for Mike’s wrist. He manages to catch it, but only because his voice made Mike freeze. The way he looks down at Will now speaks of disbelief and shock—and then it softens. Will doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Mike gulps, like he’s forcing his feelings down. “Please. Stay.”

“Okay,” Mike agrees, letting the word out in a breath like it’s been torn from him. He nods and grimaces, as if to himself, and then he’s taking off his shoes and stepping out of his jeans. He pauses, staring at Will. “Do you wanna take your pants off?”

Is this a proposition? Will’s drunk brain provides, and he practically shoves the thought down into a little box covered in little spikes in the furthest corner of his mind. None of that. “Yeah.”

Mike takes off his jeans. It’s—humiliating, honestly. And Will tries to help, changing his mind halfway through Mike undoing his belt, but he’s having none of it, shushing his protests and softly slapping his hands away. When that’s done, Mike drops Will’s pants to the floor right next to his own. And then he gets under the sheets with him, tucking them both in.

It’s not close enough. Will turns around to face him and tangles their legs together, but he’s too tired and afraid to do more. The mood is—he doesn’t get it. Mike stares at him, finally making eye contact with him in what feels like forever, half of his face bathed in yellow from the lamp. There must be something in Will’s face that gives away his internal turmoil, because the longer Mike looks at him, the less angry he looks. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to look at him at all.

“Fuck,” Mike mumbles, and then he’s bringing Will into him like he always does. The whiplash of it startles him, and Will barely can make sense of where his limbs are going before Mike’s pressing his lips against his own. It’s a harsh kiss, desperate, and Will gasps with it, letting out a confused whimper—Mike draws back just as fast, and for once, his face is flaming. His eyes are teary, but Will has no words in him, eyes slipping closed. Mike makes him tuck his head under his chin. “Fuck, fuck, shit. Okay. Shit.”

Mike curses out loud like that for a while. Will falls asleep to it.

He just doesn’t get it.

Chapter Text

five

Will wakes up with a headache from hell. He regrets making fun of Mike for being so hungover before.

He’s alone in bed, which is… new. Sure, at home, ever since they got back to Hawkins, Will has been sleeping alone with no trouble, but he’s not in his own bed now, is he? He’s in Mike’s. He’s in Mike’s room. And Will’s somehow let himself learn that being in Mike’s space means waking up to the heat of Mike’s body against his own, or at the very least, with one of their arms half-heartedly thrown around the other’s middle.

He never realized how cold it feels to wake up alone, but now he surely is. And not only that, he can smell the wisps of Mike’s body wash on the sheets and pillows around him, can feel the cold spot where he was most likely sleeping beside him with his fingertips, since his arm is extended that way, outside of the blanket. Will stares, eyes half-open, at the empty space, reflecting on last night. Reflecting on the whole month of November and December, really.

Why did Mike kiss him the night they went out to that party? Why has he kept doing it since, looking not even a little flustered or nervous about it? It’s weird. Will doesn’t remember anything changing that could’ve triggered it. What is he missing? Because this is ridiculous. Mike got upset over him having other people’s numbers and not telling him about it because—because why? Because he got jealous?

Now, hold on, Will’s brain cuts in, skeptical, why would he be jealous? You’re just getting your hopes up.

He’s gonna throw himself off the top of a building, holy shit. Will is gonna steal Mike’s bike and head all the way to the ruins of Hawkins Laboratory, climb to the roof, and jump. He sits up, ignoring his pounding head, and looks over to the nightstand. An aspirin and a glass of water sit there, innocent and inviting. Will downs them both with shaking hands as he remembers Mike undoing his belt and pulling down his zipper, Jesus Christ, Will’s been ignoring this for too long, hasn’t he?

That can’t be platonic. It can’t. He can’t imagine Lucas and Dustin doing the same thing for him, he can’t imagine doing that for them. Hell, he can’t imagine Mike doing that for literally anyone, ever. He’s prickly like a cactus, would rather die than say sorry even though he would literally die for his friends, but Mike just—that level of tenderness. Kneeling down to take off Will’s shoes. Looking like he can’t stay mad at Will for the life of him.

Mike wouldn’t even carry Holly when she was a baby because he didn’t like that she pulled his hair. Will refuses to let his self-deprecation get the better of him this time. Maybe he’s getting this all wrong, maybe he’s being stupid and Mike is gonna turn around and say that yeah, no, this is absolutely one-hundred percent platonic, he just feels that close and comfortable with Will. But maybe not.

Will doesn’t like betting on maybes. It rarely gets him anything good. But he’s certain he’s gonna go insane if he doesn’t do something about it, because now he’s hurt Mike, and that’s the last thing he’s ever wanted to do at any point in his life.

He waits a little bit until his headache doesn’t feel like a hammer trying to crack his skull open. Then, he finally stands from the bed, makes his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth—yes, he has a toothbrush at the Wheeler’s, why wouldn’t he?—and starts to head down the stairs.

The house is extremely quiet this morning. Will figures that Ted and Karen are driving their relatives to the airport, and that by this time, Jon must have already picked Nancy up for a day-long date. He has no idea if any of their friends slept over, but considering how Mike never came back downstairs and how tense things were, he can’t image that they did. There’s only noise in the kitchen, so Will approaches with careful steps, his shoulders a little hunched.

Holly is sitting on the island, drawing into her brand-new coloring book. Mike is at the stove, cursing under his breath at what seem to be slightly-burned scrambled eggs. How Mike manages to burn scrambled eggs is beyond Will, but it makes him smile at the familiarity of the sight, remembering similar occasions at the dorm’s kitchen.

Holly notices him first, and instantly calls out for him. “Will! Come, come, isn’t this so cool?!”

Her voice is a little too much when Will’s dealing with a hangover, but he ignores the pain and approaches, trying not to take personally the way Mike’s gone stiff and doesn’t turn to look at him. He lets his eyes fall on Holly’s drawings and can’t help but beam. “Oh god, Holly, you’ve gotten so good—how’d you like the pencils I got you?”

“They’re magical!” Holly practically shrieks, bouncing on her chair and pulling at Will’s wrist so he’ll sit down next to her. “They mix so pretty! Thank you so much!”

“I’ll have to get you some proper art books next year at the rate you’re going,” Will ruffles her hair, trying to contain his excitement. The Wheelers are not exactly the most… supportive family, when it comes to stuff like this. Nancy isn’t around anymore to encourage Holly’s creative endeavors, and well, neither is Mike, who has always found it difficult to do so anyways. He’s glad he can give her this. “You’re way too good for drawing books, honestly. Maybe you’ll surpass me one day, huh?”

Holly gasps like he just spoke blasphemy. “Never! Your binder is soooooo good!”

Mike chokes, and Will frowns in confusion. “My binder?”

“Uh-huh,” Holly nods, looking down at her drawings and grabbing a green pen to keep at it, pouting her lips. “The binder with all the art! You know, the one Mike hides under his bed—”

“Holly!” Mike snaps, and Will shifts his wide, shocked eyes towards him. Mike’s face is burning scarlet, and he’s holding two breakfast plates that he practically slams down on the kitchen island. Holly cheerfully reaches for her own, not bothered at all by her brother’s outburst. “I told you to stop snooping around my room!”

“It wasn’t even under your bed this time,” Holly sniffs, carefully slicing a sausage down the middle, tongue poking out between her lips. Will just stares at Mike, mouth open. “I saw you looking at it this morning in the living room—”

“Oh my god,” Mike shakes his head, growing impossibly redder. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“This binder,” Will speaks, though it would probably be best if he remained quiet, considering how freaked out Mike looks. Still, the petty part of him is… curious. Besides, he’s gotten so much grief over the lack of explanations from Mike, maybe he can give him some back, right? So, Will grabs his breakfast plate, noticing that his eggs are actually cooked just the way he likes it, and ignores Mike’s glare, looking at Holly. “What’s in it, exactly?”

“All your pretty drawings from like, forever,” Holly happily provides, going so far as to giggle. “It’s like—time travel! You were really bad and then you got really good.”

Jesus. That’s—kinda a hit to his ego, but he gets what she’s trying to say, and he can’t help but side-eye Mike, because the last time Will felt like he was really bad was before middle school. Has Mike… collected all of those drawings? Seriously?

“How come I didn’t know about this binder?” Will asks out loud, less towards Holly and more towards Mike, who is now tearing a piece of toast apart in his hands, not even properly eating it. “Could’ve used some of it to build my portfolio, or something. Maybe for an art project.”

“Mike’s real creepy about it,” Holly shrugs, throwing her brother a dirty look. Mike makes a face at her, squeezing his toast like he wants to throw it at her. Holly purses her lips and then throws Will a surprisingly mischievous grin that reminds him that this is Nancy Wheeler’s little sister. “He looks at it for hours. Once, I saw him pet one of the pages—”

“Holly, why don’t you just finish your breakfast and quiet down for a bit, huh?” Mike cuts in, pointing a finger at her, taking a deep breath, shifting his weight on his feet.

“What’s in it for me?” Holly asks, raising her chin, and Will chokes on a bite of his eggs. Holy shit.

“I’ll get you a puppy for your birthday,” Mike promises, which is some bullshit because there’s no way Karen Wheeler is letting a dog near any of her furniture. But Holly is a bit of a gullible kid still, who actually seems to consider it with suspicion, looking at the way she squints her eyes. Mike scrambles and looks around the room for inspiration. His eyes land on Will, and don’t move from him. The eye contact feels electric. “I’ll get Will to give you art classes?”

“What?” Will lets out, though it’s mostly drowned out by Holly screaming DEAL! at the top of her lungs. Not that he minds the idea, it’s just—wow. Low fucking blow, though he guesses it’s deserved. Holly shakes his shoulder, so Will forces a smile towards her, not wanting to kill her enthusiasm. “I mean—great, it’s great, I can’t wait to see your progress…”

Still, he doesn’t like the way Mike is looking at him, like he can’t wait to look away. Like he’s still licking his wounds. It hurts in a way that makes him want to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, and Will doesn’t even know what, exactly, it is that he did to upset Mike. Because even if out of some miracle Mike is jealous, they’re not dating. What right does he have to be this upset?

“Can we talk for a second?” Will asks him directly, and Mike very pointedly doesn’t look at him as he considers this. He seems embarrassed and angry, his mouth twisted, brows furrowed. It reminds Will of a garage under the pouring rain and a loud roller skate rink. And he can’t do that again. “Mike, please. I’m serious. We need to talk.”

The phrasing makes Mike flinch, and he hesitates for entirely too long. Holly looks between them and whispers: “Oooh, Mikey’s in trouble.”

“Holly,” Mike protests, but it’s half-hearted, not having any of the heat from earlier. He lets out a deep sigh and nods at Will, gesturing him out of the kitchen with a quick hand. Will swallows one last piece of toast and eggs and stands, stepping under the kitchen threshold, Mike on his heels—

“Wait!” Holly calls, making both of them turn. She points above them with a smile that’s a little too knowing for Will’s taste. “Mistletoe!”

Mike loses all color in his face. “Holly, not now, we—”

“Nuh-uh!” Holly shakes her head, crossing her arms. “Rules are rules! Nancy said that if you don’t kiss under the mistletoe then you’ll have bad luck for the next seven years!”

“That’s breaking mirrors,” Will mumbles to himself, but he’s honestly quite done with the situation and he doesn’t have it in him to argue with a child over a goddamn mistletoe kiss. He turns towards Mike to say as much—and his expression makes him freeze.

He looks done, as well, but with Will rather than Holly. His arms are crossed, it’s the less relaxed that Will’s ever seen him around him in literal years. Mike looks back at him, perhaps sensing Will’s shocked staring, and their eyes meet. Mike’s expression remains guarded, his jaw clenches with stubbornness—he’s not falling into the same trap he was last night, and for the first time ever since this whole situation started, perhaps even before it, Will realizes with certainty that Mike doesn’t want to kiss him right now.

It hurts more than it should. “Mike…”

“I’m gonna tell mom you took her credit card to get Will his Christmas present!” Holly tries again, and Will looks between her and Mike in disbelief because he did not know Mike did such a thing, and he has thus far not received any present from Mike yet. Mike tenses up for a second, staring at Holly, who just pokes her tongue out at him.

He turns towards Will and moves so determinately that Will can’t help but startle when Mike grabs him by the neck of his wrinkled shirt and pulls him in. The press of their lips lasts less than three seconds; it’s barely a peck and Will isn’t even sure it happened when it’s done. Mike practically bolts out of the kitchen after that, footsteps echoing in Will’s ears as he heads for his bedroom.

And that’s what gives away how upset Mike truly is, because the basement is his comfort place. Their comfort place. The basement has an implied open door at all times, for all party members, but especially for Will. Mike going up to his room usually means he doesn’t want to be followed, doesn’t wanna hear any words, doesn’t wanna look at anyone.

Fuck. Will thought this was gonna get messy before, but it’s probably evolved to disastrous now… and he still has no idea why.

+ one

Mike thought he was doing the boyfriend thing right.

No, seriously, he was so confident about it. All semester, Mike’s tried his hardest to take it slow and steady. At first, he wasn’t sure whether he was being too subtle, if he was phrasing things right, if he was doing things right. But he figured, hey, Will’s smart. Will gets him, he’ll see that he’s trying and meet him halfway. And he did; Will leaned into his touch, looked up at him with those captivating hazel-green eyes of his shining with affection, took turns planning their dates to the movies and other outings.

The way their relationship has worked all their lives, they’ve never really needed to say what they’re thinking. They just knew, and acted accordingly, and okay, admittedly, sometimes it’s just creepy how they can tell what the other needs without saying it, but that’s just how in-sync they are.

Well, that’s just how in-synch they were, because now Mike has no fucking idea what is happening between him and Will. Things have been weird ever since that one frat party in early November, when he finally gathered the courage to kiss his boyfriend. Will’s been looking at him differently, his thoughts carefully hidden behind a curtain of uncertainty that made Mike scramble to make it better.

Flirt a little more, take him out on a few more dates, the normal stuff. Refill his coffee for him in the mornings before he can even think to request it, ask him to sleep with him more often because Will’s always been too shy and stubborn to ask himself, even when he needs the company. Kissing him more.

The second kiss was—well, Will didn’t have any stains. Mike just couldn’t stop thinking about the first, so he did it, and he thought that was fine, but the noise Will made, his face afterwards, just… he concluded that maybe Will just isn’t into kissing, which is okay, it’s cool, he doesn’t even know if Will’s kissed anyone before, maybe while he was living in Lenora. And regardless of if he has or hasn’t, Mike’s okay with Will not being into kissing because he still gets to hold Will at night and throw his arm around his shoulder in public, and watch him steal his sweaters and jackets while thinking he’s being subtle.

But then Will got sick and Mike panicked. It’s been years since he’d been so fucking scared for Will, quiet Will, sweet Will who doesn’t deserve any of the shit he’s been through, and for that matter, didn’t deserve any of the shit Mike put him through when he was still a dumb teen in denial, either. He’s been trying to apologize to him for years, some of his desperation slipping out during those days when he was the sickest, and he doesn’t know if Will knows and understands that. He thought he did. Now Mike isn’t so sure.

Maybe it’s weird that they’ve been dating like this, so quiet and delicate without really addressing it ever since they moved in together. But Mike was fine with that, too, has been fine with it all semester because he was just nervous. A little scared. He couldn’t bring himself to kiss Will without the rush of alcohol in his veins because of that, and besides, he’d only ever kissed El before and that didn’t always feel right. It was nice, but the idea of kissing her never made him feel as desperate and out of his depth as the idea of kissing Will did. And still does.

Mike wants to kiss Will even when he’s angry and upset at him, which doesn’t seem fair, because Will clearly isn’t as into it as Mike is, he always looks confused and startled when Mike does it and never reciprocates, never makes a move like that himself. And again, it’s fine, really, if Will isn’t into kissing, because Mike wasn’t that into kissing El either, so maybe it just—varies, or something.

Regardless, Mike thought he was doing fine in regards to everything else, he felt like a good boyfriend, and he doesn’t understand why Will would imply that he needs to keep his romantic prospects open. How fucked up is that? What did he do wrong? Maybe Mike got too clingy. Maybe he abused the kissing a little too much and Will got tired of it. He took Will out on anniversary dates, so it can’t be that.

God, he’s gonna go insane, he has no idea what Will is thinking and he doesn’t feel ready to hear it, because what if Mike’s read Will’s feelings all wrong all this time? What if—what if Will fell out of love with him, at some point, and Mike was too worried about being a good boyfriend to notice? And Will is too polite to just break up with him without a heads up. Maybe his comments last night, in front of all their friends, were just a sign for him to take a hint.

But, see, that doesn’t add up either, because Will chased after him, and kept asking what’s going on, if Mike was okay… holy shit, he’s just going in circles with this. And he can’t help but be furious, still, and he’s holding onto the feeling because it’s not fair that Will can just look at him and make Mike want to kiss the ground he walks on. It’s not fair that he’s upset and confused and heartbroken but he still wants to kiss Will until he’s out of breath.

So, Mike just bolts from the kitchen and heads back upstairs, a part of him is indescribably furious at how Will waited until Mike moved in for the kiss instead of just doing it himself. It’s just—not even a stupid mistletoe kiss? Will doesn’t even want something as simple as that?

This is gonna drive him mad.

Will is on his heels within seconds of Mike making his way upstairs, and he’s tempted to slam his door on him but physically can’t bring himself to do so, because he knows that Will would end up looking up at him with those wide teary eyes he has and Mike would fall to his knees and grovel, which really isn’t the point here.

God fucking damn it, he must’ve done something truly awful if Will can’t even say to him what the problem is, when Will has never had any issue calling him out before, even being brutally honest with him at times. Mike is entitled to be angry. He tries to convince himself of this despite how hard it is to be mad at Will, because he’s the one that had to hear his boyfriend of the last few months and best friend of forever imply that he’d like to have a few options outside of him.

Mike turns towards Will the second the door is closed and stares at his chin, finally deciding to speak his mind because fuck this shit. “What’s your problem?”

Will has the gall to look alarmed at Mike’s accusatory tone. “My problem? What is yours?”

“See, I don’t get it!” Mike gestures with his hands at Will, up and down his whole frame. “I just—I don’t get why you aren’t talking to me! Why aren’t you telling me what’s wrong? Why aren’t you telling me what I did wrong? You always do!”

“What?” Will’s expression screams of disbelief, his jaw slack with shock. But then, suddenly, there’s a switch, and Mike recognizes the way Will’s eyebrows furrow, how the corner of his mouth twists. Now he’s angry, too, and Mike has to physically steel himself, clenching his jaw to avoid giving in to him. “No, no, wait just a second, Mike, what—why are you pining this on me? Do you have any idea how confused I am right now? How weird the last two months have been for me? And you’ve never explained yourself! Why aren’t you talking to me?”

“What do you mean weird?!” Mike demands, forcing himself to straighten his back and square his shoulders. Will takes a step towards him, crossing his arms, making him swallow. “What do I have to explain?! I thought it was pretty obvious that I was just doing my best! I’ve been trying my best for months, I thought everything was fine, and now all of the sudden you come out with, with needing to keep options around like, like what, like I’m just a convenience for you? Is that all this means to you now?”

Will looks away from him, glancing around the room like he can’t quite believe the words out of Mike’s mouth. His expression is raw, defensive yet genuine, and the disbelief and bewilderment never leave it. “Mike, are you seriously telling me that this is all because you’re jealous? Are you joking? What makes you think you have any right to be jealous—”

Mike’s face feels hot with anger. “What makes you think I don’t have a right to be jealous, are you kidding me?!”

“My whole life can’t revolve around you, Mike!” Will snaps, reaches out, digs his fingers into his shoulder. Mike gets flashbacks to the previous arguments they’ve had like this, so similarly confusing and full of unfinished, unexplained emotions. But they’re a far-away echo, in comparison to the way his heart shatters at the words. “I already give you too much of myself, always have, I—I can’t give you this too, don’t you get that? I’ve been trying to move on and you aren’t letting me!”

Oh.

The fight leaves Mike with a rushed breath of realization. He didn’t—he hadn’t noticed this was the case. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think it. He thought he and Will were getting closer. He thought… he felt like things were going okay. How didn’t he put the pieces together before? This—okay. He never thought this would happen.

“So, what, it was—it was pity?” Mike asks, then clears his throat when he realizes how wet his voice is already. His eyes are prickling with tears he doesn’t want to shed. Will freezes at him, eyes widening, but Mike can’t bring himself to keep looking at him, setting his eyes on the floor instead. “The last few weeks, was it all—just, you were trying to let me down easy or something? Because I think spitting on my face would’ve been a lot better than this, just so you know.”

“What—” Will starts off sounding angry, but then he takes a second. “What do you mean by that?”

“You could’ve told me you don’t love me anymore,” Mike shakes his head, something about the words feeling sickeningly familiar. Maybe this is karma. “Like it would’ve—I would’ve understood. You didn’t have to—”

“Mike,” Will’s voice is fragile, all of the sudden. Mike’s gut instinct is to look at him, but he presses his lips together and pushes it down, sitting on his bed instead. He remembers last night, the way Will held onto him and begged him to stay. Was that all just an act? “Mike, I—I think there’s been a big misunderstanding here—”

And that makes him angry. “What is there to misunderstand? You’ve made yourself clear, you’ve been trying to break up with me and, and you haven’t been able to because I’ve been all over you—!”

“Break up with you?” Will’s voice is low, raspy. There’s a sniffle and Mike has to close his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers. If he looks at Will, he’ll break, and how is that fair? He’s the one getting broken up with. He doesn’t understand why Will can’t just fucking—get it over with. Rip off the goddamn band-aid. “Mike? I’m not doing that.”

“What?!” Mike snaps, burying his face in his hands and leaning on his knees. Jesus fucking Christ, Will is killing him. “You literally just said—”

“Mike, we aren’t dating.”

A pause. Mike lifts his head and stares at him. “Excuse me?”

Will looks like he just got his shit rocked. Mike wishes he had better words to describe his expression, but he’s genuinely never seen Will look this impacted, this bewildered about non-life-threatening situations. Will takes a single hesitant step towards the bed, and Mike is too baffled by the bullshit he just let out to do anything to stop him; Will sits down next to him. Their elbows brush.

“We aren’t dating,” Will repeats, staring straight ahead. And then he looks at Mike. “Mike, I’m not breaking up with you because we aren’t dating. Do you understand that?”

“No, I don’t,” Mike answers, and he realizes his voice’s softened—god, he can’t even hold it together against Will for five fucking seconds, can he? “I really don’t understand. Will, we’ve been dating all semester. What are you doing? Are you gaslighting me or something, because that’s seriously messed up—”

“What? No!” Will quickly denies, and Mike notices how he doesn’t look angry anymore either. He looks… confused, and Mike swallows down a few more petty words, because he’s never seen Will this unbalanced before. “Look, Mike, I’m just—I’m gonna need you to walk me through this, okay? You say we’ve been dating all semester. Why?”

“Because we have?” Mike asks, frowning at him. “I’ve literally been taking you out on dates every week, we share everything except our toothbrushes and shower time, we live together, we sleep in the same bed all the time, we—we cuddle, Will, I’ve undressed you like a million times, and—”

Mike is blushing. Will’s face isn’t any better. This isn’t anything new to him and from Will’s expression, he knows that Will can tell this isn’t anything new to him either. Because he’s lived it. But saying it out loud and listing it off like that practically throws into the spotlight how disgustingly in love Mike is with him, how intimate they’ve been over the last few months. It’s embarrassing, especially because Will is looking at him with wonder, now, with barely concealed affection.

Mike’s so confused. “And we kiss. Or, well—I kiss you, because you never do, and you never kiss back either and it’s like you don’t even like it, which is fine, just, I don’t know, you could’ve told me I was being too clingy—”

“Oh my god,” Will snorts, covering his mouth with his hand and shaking his head. Mike stares at him in disbelief because he’s going through something here and he doesn’t see how any of this is funny. “You think I don’t like kissing?”

“I think you don’t like me,” Mike presses his lips together, shaking his head and glancing away from Will, because acknowledging that hurts, it hurts like nothing’s ever done so before. Will’s smile has completely vanished when Mike looks back. “I think I—I’ve been making you unhappy and you never said anything, and I hadn’t caught up to it either—”

“No, no, Mike,” Will reaches out and wraps a hand around his wrist, hesitating before sliding it upwards to intertwine their fingers. Mike doesn’t even try to deny the contact because he’s weak, and Will’s looking at him with big, hopeful eyes. He feels like he’s going to miss something big if he as much as blinks. “It’s not that at all, it’s just… I didn’t know we were dating.”

Mike blinks. “What?”

“I had no idea we were dating,” Will reiterates, raising his eyebrows at him like he’s wondering if Mike hit his head as a child or something. Will should know that yeah, he did, actually, and so did he, so he doesn’t get the judgement. “I don’t—Mike, I don’t remember ever talking to you about dating. At all. Or even, like—I didn’t even know that you like men, Mike, much less so that you like me.”

“But…” Mike drifts off, shaking his head again in bafflement. What? How is that possible? He thought— “But I asked you to move in with me.”

Will opens and closes his mouth like he has no idea how to tackle that. “As a friend. As your best friend, right?”

“No?” Mike frowns at him, and turns his body towards Will, hunching over slightly. He squeezes Will’s hand in his own, licking his lips—he catches Will’s glance towards his mouth and feels like he’s getting whiplash, because he’s never noticed something like that before. What the fuck. “Will, I literally told you when I asked to go to college together and move into the same dorm that I wanted to—to spend the rest of my life with you. Together with you. Just us.”

“I thought you meant that platonically,” Will says, to which Mike’s mouth drops open. Will’s blushing furiously now. “You know, like, when we were kids…”

“I mean, yeah, like when we were kids,” Mike nods, and can’t help but snort the way Will did earlier, a little helpless, and most definitely breathless. “When we were kids and I had a crush on you and I was in denial about it, yeah. And like in sophomore year, when I—when I asked you if you wanted to start another party. Just you and me.”

“I… I mean, I thought that was just your way of… making up for that one summer, and that fight…” Will blinks repeatedly at him, bites his lip and god Mike can’t help but stare at it. He knows he has a problem. He has no intentions of fixing it. Will’s voice comes out embarrassed. “My eyes are up here.”

“I know,” Mike shrugs, and a part of him wants to get angry again as he processes all that Will is admitting. He… didn’t know they were dating. He thought they were just friends. Best friends. And they are, but Mike’s been operating under the assumption that they’re also so much more. Holy fucking shit. “Oh my god. I’ve been kissing you for weeks, Will—did you think I was just doing that platonically?!”

“I didn’t just think it!” Will tries to defend himself, but he’s fumbling now, visibly mortified at the idea that a kiss could be platonic on top of everything else that they do together. “I was concerned about it, actually! I thought you were confused about—about how the gay thing works!”

“I’m not a complete idiot!” Mike exclaims, but he’s having a hard time being mad instead of breaking down into hysterics, because— “Holy shit, you thought I was platonically fantasizing about you in a nurse outfit?!”

“Mike!” Will tries, but it’s too late—Mike is laughing. He attempts to stifle the sound with his hand, but it’s to no avail, because the laugh bubbles up from the depths of his chest and instantly makes him double over, breathless, his forehead landing on Will’s shoulder. “Michael, this isn’t funny!”

“Yes it is!” Mike shoots back, giggling a little and then letting out another laugh when Will scoffs. “Oh my god—you thought I was trying to platonically shove my tongue down your throat—”

“Don’t be crude, oh my god, you asshole!” Will tries to push him off, but Mike is leaning his whole weight into him and pushing him backwards on the bed, moving too much with his laughter and grabbing to his hand too hard. “You’re laughing too much for someone that just assumed we’re dating!”

“That’s not nearly as embarrassing,” Mike shakes his head, chuckling. “I thought—I thought you got it, Will, you always do. You always just… get me. It’s one of the many reasons why I’m so fucking in love with you.”

Will takes a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky exhale. “You’re in love with me.”

Mike straightens up and looks at him in the eye, and the final embers of his anger vanish at Will’s shocked, enchanted expression, like he can’t quite believe that’s true. Mike shakes his head and uses his free hand to hold Will’s face, his heart stuttering at the way he leans into the contact.

“I know I made you wait too long,” Mike says, because now he knows that Will didn’t get it before. So he’s going to make sure he gets it now. “Like—mortifyingly long, and I was—I was such an ass to you about it just because I was confused and scared and… and then I lost you. For a year, I lost you. But it was all messy back then, and you weren’t really living in Hawkins yet, and with, with the painting stuff—”

“God, don’t remind me,” Will shakes his head, letting out a little huff of an embarrassed laugh that makes Mike want to smother him with kisses. Maybe he’ll get to do that now, with some luck, without Will misinterpreting it. “I understand, Mike. I really do.”

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. It’s always been you,” Mike clarifies, because he knows Will needs to hear it. And the way his eyes gleam, almost completely green in the morning light, the way his lips tremble; it’s enough to make Mike swallow and stare in amazement. “Will, can I kiss you?”

The question seems to startle him, and then Will’s whole frame relaxes, like the final piece of the puzzle has settled in. “Yeah. Please.”

Mike is overeager. He leans in a little too hard, at least for how he wants the kiss to be—soft, loving, saying everything he’s going to be repeating for ages now—but Will’s hands grab the neck of his shirt and pull him in, embracing it, and Mike is floored because Will is kissing back, holy fucking shit, this is the best day of his life.

He grabs Will by the jaw and angles him just-so, their lips sliding together in a way that sends sparks all through Mike’s body, stealing a sharp breath from him. Will’s trembling but that might just be Mike, in all honesty, because he’s holding back so much—he’s been holding back for what feels like ages, ever since they moved into the dorm and he was too scared to make a move, ever since that first drunken kiss. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about how good it feels to kiss Will, to feel his slightly chapped lips against his own, to steal the breath from his lungs.

It’s kinda scary, how much he wants to consume him, drink him in. His hands stray, betraying the best of his intentions as they grasp onto Will’s shoulders, down his arms, feeling as his muscles tense up with the contact, shivering at the way Will gasps against his mouth. This should be sweet, it should be exploratory, and Mike is about ready to pull back and try again because he doesn’t want to mess things up—

But then Will parts his lips and teases him with his tongue and oh god, whoever said that Mike knows how to hold back anything? Whoever said that he knows what self-control is? Because now he’s chasing after that electrifying contact, parting Will’s lips and diving in like a man willingly jumping into the ocean to drown.

Will makes a sound, something between a gasp and a whine, and it’s like a gut-punch. Mike pulls back and stares at him, feeling like he’s floating, and Will doesn’t just stare back. No, he looks, and he licks his lips, and a couple blinks later Mike has to contend with the fact that Will’s straddling him and kissing him, tangling his hands in his hair and pulling it back to angle their lips properly, the way Mike’s always dreamed he would.

It’s—it’s getting out of hand and Mike honestly doesn’t know how to stop because this, this is the spark he’s been missing for the last couple months, the dot that puts the picture together in his head. He’s dating Will Byers, and it should feel so so wrong, but all Mike actually feels is Will’s saliva-slick lips and the way his cold hands fall to his neck, trying to pull him in closer, closer, like there’s any space left between them at all.

A break for air, and Will says: “God, I love you.”

Mike’s brain doesn’t have as many pretty words in it. “Please lose those guys’ numbers or I’ll throw myself in front of a bus.”

Will bursts out laughing but he’s nodding, mumbling okay, okay, sure as he leans in to kiss Mike again. This kiss is softer, a little more like what Mike intended in the beginning, but deeper—it allows him to squeeze Will’s hips in his hands and memorize every twitch to his body, every lovesick sigh against his mouth, almost obsessively categorizing what gives Will goosebumps and what makes him gasp.

The doorbell rings and scares them both into breaking apart. Mike stares at his closed bedroom door for a second, shaking his head, as Holly’s footsteps just about echo downstairs, on her way to open the front door. He feels lightheaded, and the only thing on his mind is how he wants to press Will against his pillows and make up for lost time. But Will’s standing up and pulling him with him, running a hand through Mike’s hair to try and make it look decent.

“You know,” Will comments, hands at Mike’s shoulders. Mike blinks down at him feeling like his head’s been wiped clean from any thoughts that aren’t his lips, and he stares at them as he speaks. “That first kiss you gave me was so awful.”

“What?” Mike’s eyes snap upwards to meet Will’s amused gaze, and he can’t help but scoff, blushing. “What do you mean it was awful? I thought it was cute!”

“Mike, you stank of beer and vodka,” Will snorts, and Mike stares in betrayal, shaking his head with disbelief. Will remains unbothered, and goes as far as to lean on his tiptoes to peck his lips. As if that makes up for anything—well, it kinda does, actually. “It was my first kiss ever, too! And then you kept making it gross with the mustard, and then I was sick, and drunk last night—”

“I hate you,” Mike bites back a smile, leaning down until their noses brush. Will swallows. “Guess I’ll just have to make up for lost time—"

“MICHAEL!” His mom’s voice rings from downstairs, and Mike flinches like he just heard nails against a chalkboard. “COME CLEAN UP YOUR DIRTY DISHES, YOUNG MAN!”

“God fucking damn it,” Mike grumbles, scrunching his nose at Will when all he does is laugh. “Have you got no compassion?”

“Just go,” Will rolls his eyes, giggling, pushing him towards the door. Mike feels the irrational urge to eat him up, which isn’t new, but it certainly is helped by the fact that now he feels free to corner Will against any wall to do so. “I’ll clean up here. Don’t think your mom would appreciate having to pick my pants up from the floor.”

Mike shrugs. “I mean, she knows we’re dating.”

Silence. “Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“How many people think we’ve been dating all this time?”

Uh. “Everyone? I think?”

“Oh my god,” Will lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re crazy, aren’t you?”

Mike pouts, reaching out to take Will’s hand and pressing his lips against his knuckles. “I mean, crazy together, right?”

Will melts. His smile is the brightest thing Mike’s ever seen. “Yeah. Crazy together.”

All in all, Mike figures this year’s holidays could’ve gone a lot worse.

extra

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“When are you gonna show me the binder?”

A sniff, the rustling of bedsheets, and then: “I gotta go, actually—”

“Michael—”

“William.”

A sigh. “Guess I’m not giving you my Christmas gift then.”

“…Christmas gift?”

“I might have found this one nurse costume in a thrift shop…”

“Holy shit, seriously?”

“What do you think, Mike?” Laughter. “Of course not.”

“Oh,” a pause. “Well, now I’m definitely not showing you the binder. Or giving you your Christmas present—”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I love you too.”