Work Text:
The number one rule in the Hawkins extended party on April Fool's Day is to be vigilant. Check above doors, watch where you step, never trust when someone calls for you, all of it. They are all out to get each other and by the end of the day, it's not pretty. By the end of the day, someone is always covered in a bucket of paint. Anyone except Will, Lucas learned a long time ago not to do that. Will gets angrier over the fact that you've wasted a bucket of paint than the fact that he's covered in it.
It's been a long-withstanding thing for the party, since Dustin joined in fourth grade. No rules, free-for-all pranks of as much detriment as they please. The one rule, implemented in 1984, is no playing dead or missing. For... obvious reasons.
This year, though, Mike has practically forgotten about the holiday. Just a month ago he was meticulously planning how he'd outsmart Dustin this year–since Dustin has won the cleverest prank three years in a row and Mike was desperate to reclaim the title–but now those plans and diagrams are buried in his desk drawer. Forgotten.
It's a full day of April Fool's too, falling during their spring break. He could be going all out. They won't have another full day for 5 years. They'll be twenty one year-olds by then, they won't have time for pranks. They'll have fucking college projects and exams or whatever. They might not even all live in the same place. Or even the same state! He could be all alone then.
Instead of taking advantage of this, he's lying in bed. Walkman playing the tape Will gave him as part of his last Christmas gift. A mixtape with drawings to go along with each song. Mike glances wistfully at the drawings, hung up in a collage by his bed. He'd hung them up immediately after the rest of the party left. Will had said he feels bad sometimes that the only gift he really ever gives is his art. Mike said he thinks Will's art is the best gift in the world. Will had laughed all nervously with that glorious little blush on his face. It felt like being bathed in pure sunshine. God, he loves Will's laugh. And his art. And his weird music taste, and just– him.
One problem though, the biggest problem actually, is that Will is exactly the reason he's currently lying in bed with music on full blast, Jonathan Byers' style, instead of going to rearrange Dustin's entire room so he can't ever find anything. And rigging his stereo to loop Every Breath You Take by The Police.
It's been 5 straight days of cold-shouldered silence from Will. It had been a perfect week before that. Then, like a rainstorm that was never forecasted and lasts for days, El comes to lunch on Wednesday with a note in her hand. In Will's precise handwriting is the message "Leaving school early today, don't worry. –Will"
So Mike worries, naturally. When he calls that night, Joyce tells him Will is already asleep. Thursday, he’s not even at school. El said he looked tired the night before. Friday, he has headphones over his ears the entire day, blocking out any of Mike's attempts to talk to him, and goes to the art room during his lunch hour. Mike knows that's where he was because he told Dustin. When Mike came into their shared class at the end of the day, Will was arguing quietly with their teacher. Apparently, he won, because instead of sitting at the table they share, he sits on the floor in the corner. Scribbling away. Mike couldn't tell if he was drawing or working. Joyce answered the phone again that night, with the same claim as before. When Mike went to the movies with Lucas and Dustin Saturday, a particularly gloomy trip, Lucas said he spoke to Will that morning. Will had said he just wasn't up for it. Again, when Mike tried to radio him later, no response. Sunday, he shows up at the Byers-Hopper's door in the morning. El answers. She tells him Will is "out," unable to expand any further than that. He checks at least 8 different spots around the town for Will until he goes home alone.
And it's tearing him apart. Both Dustin and Lucas have spoken to him, but Will hasn't talked to Mike at all. Wednesday morning was the last time he heard from him at all. Mike's very carefully analyzed everything he's done for the past few weeks, months even, and he's found nothing. No reason why Will would be acting like this. For fuck’s sake, Will's birthday was just last week. He planned an entire party for him! (Well, it was a group effort but it was his idea. Mostly.)
Sure, they were dealing with Vecna and the apocalypse as they know it around this time last year. This isn't anniversary effect Will, though. Anniversary effect Will is quieter and jumpier, yeah, but he talks to Mike. He hangs out with the party more than usual. Not less.
So, he's lost. Will isn't talking to him, and all attempts he's made at contact have been met with silence or a poorly hidden excuse. Will has literally run out of a classroom to avoid him this week. And so to say it's getting him down is a detrimental understatement. It's more like throwing him on the floor, then digging the floor out around him. He's lost and it hurts so much. The only thing he hasn't tried is climbing through Will's window. Which is only because Will lives on the second floor.
The tape he's listening to clicks to a stop and he sighs. As it rewinds, a painful dinging echoes through the house. He hears his mother say something before shouting at him.
"Michael! Phone for you!"
He kicks his feet off his bed and throws his headphones down onto his neck. The tape still clicks in rewind as he ambles down the stairs. The phone hangs from the cord. He can hear faint whispers from over the line.
"Hello?" He says into the receiver, with maybe an ounce too much hope.
"Hey Mike," comes the weirdly unsarcastic tone of Max. His first thought is fuck, it's not Will. His second is, why the hell is Max calling me?
"Max?"
"And El!" Pipes the girl in question, a little more distant than Max's voice. That explains the whispering, then.
So, with the complete disregard of anything except the thoughts of the best friend who isn't speaking to him, Mike says, "what do you guys need?"
"Oh– well, we're trying to figure out how to do that bullshit paper from Mrs. Lang that she gave us on Friday. And you're our writing guy, so," Max says, drawing out the 'o' at the end of her sentence instead of giving it a proper conclusion. No wonder she can't figure out how to write a paper.
Mike turns to let his back fall against the wall of their staircase with a heavy sigh. His shoulders slump and his head falls back. He pauses his walkman, now done rewinding, and pauses his own problems. It's not like lying in bed is gonna get any papers written or friends back.
"What's it on?" He asks.
"Themes and shit, part opinion but like, we have to centralize a piece of the story to base our opinion on. I think? I have a recording of what she said it's on that we can review. If you get your ass over here and help us," Max replies, that snark returning in her last sentence. Thankfully, their teachers let Max keep recordings of classes for study materials.
Mike looks down at his watch, reading a crisp 1:07. "Where is here?"
"My house!" El shouts from the background.
"I'll be there at 1:20," he says, even though he could be there within six minutes. His record is four, at midnight. The things a boy will do for love. Right now though, he's doing things because he's a good friend, so thirteen minutes it is.
Exactly fourteen minutes later–thanks to his mother–he's knocking at the Byers-Hopper's front door. On his back, a bag with a book, a notebook, at least 8 pens (loose), and gummy worms (not loose). El ushers him inside and up the stairs to her room, where Max is laid out on the bed like she's died. Again. El pulls out her desk chair then goes and sits next to Max on the bed, so Mike assumes that's for him and sits. El starts gibbering on about the book–mainly complaining about the lack of a strong female character, something Mike thinks Max may have brought up first. As she goes on, Max gets up and heads into the bathroom attached to El and Will's rooms.
El's voice raises just a bit and he's nodding along, taking mental notes until they hear a crash and a loud yelp from the other room. He was pretty sure Max normally gets around El's room and stuff just fine, but that sounded like anything but. He jumps up and starts towards the door, knocking quickly. El hovers behind him.
After a moment, he hears Max say, "Come in."
He steps in and looks down, expecting to see Max fallen onto the floor like she can do if she's without support on a poor day. Instead, he sees her fiery red hair dart out of the room. The other door slams behind her leaving... Will, in his sleep shorts and a t-shirt covered in paint, standing there with what must be a similarly confused expression. Mike whips around to find the door he entered slamming in his face. He hears Will fiddling with the other doorknob behind him, leaving only resounding clicks. Locked.
"El! What the hell!" Will shouts and kicks the bottom of his door. That doesn't do anything, naturally. Mike leans back against El's door and falls to sit on the floor. He brings his knees up to his chest, a motion he stole from Will himself. Who instead continues to wrestle with the obviously locked door.
"Talk to him!" El shouts back from somewhere else in the house. "We aren't unlocking it until you do! We will be back in an hour!"
"Unlock it!" Will yells, louder than Mike has ever heard him speak. And Will has yelled at him before. It's the same tone as he's heard before, not just angry but brimming over an explosive cocktail of emotions. He's surprised there's no red pooling on Will's cheeks.
"Also, you cannot get me in trouble, it's April Fool's!" El's voice says finally, receding farther into the house.
"El! Max!" Will tries, to no avail. "Fuck!"
Mike looks down at the tile floor. God, he must've really fucked up if Will can't even stand being in a room with him for five seconds.
"I think they left," he pipes up, crossing his arms and resting them over his knees.
Will takes a deep, shaky, breath, and says, "Yeah." Like there's no worse thing than them leaving. He flops down to sit on the edge of their bathtub, head tipped back to look at the ceiling. He presses the heel of his hand into his eye and takes another deep breath.
Mike hears the front door slam shut and concludes that this really is happening. His fault for believing that Max and El would work on homework during spring break. And on April Fool's Day, for that matter. The one day he shouldn't have trusted his friends.
He's running through everything he's done with Will recently again. He's ticked off, so ticked off that he can't even look Mike in the eye. Maybe it was when he accidentally stepped on and broke Will's fancy graphite pencil two weeks ago. But he'd apologized profusely and Will had waved him off. Maybe showing up at Will's house at 11pm without warning on a Tuesday was a bad move. Maybe he said something that really hurt Will that's entirely slipped his mind by now. He can't think of anything mean he could possibly say to Will, though. Unless it was something he thought was fine but hurt anyway. Hurting Will on accident is almost worse than on purpose.
He wishes he hadn't left his backpack in El's room. He wants a gummy worm.
A sharp metallic taste nips the edge of his tongue and he suddenly realizes he's been biting down on his own nail. Blood pools around the nail bed. Mike doesn't make a move from the floor to get a bandage, despite knowing they're in the cabinet three feet away from him. There are two boxes up there, on the bottom shelf next to a thing of antacids. One has normal bandages and the other box has ones decorated with stars and planets. He also knows that if he picked a plain one–the ones made to blend into skin but still stick out like a sore thumb on his ghostly pale complexion–Will would take it upon himself to decorate it with some markers. And that's why the box of pre-decorated bandages has never been opened.
Speaking of, Mike glances over at Will and sees two bandages placed parallel over his left knee. The only thing decorating them is a red lettering in the middle that Mike can't read. He thinks it says "on" but that doesn't make much sense. Mike guesses it's from falling off his bike, but Will hasn't done that in ages. He's not really a clumsy person. He's precise. Quiet and careful, almost like a ghost if you aren't paying attention. Will's always been like that, ever since Mike met him at age six. Right now, he can barely hear Will's breathing. But once he looks for it, he can pick it out against his own easily. Will's breathing is far more unsteady than usual. Short shallow breaths back-to-back with slow deep ones. Mike finds a rhythm in it quickly. A breathing exercise.
He stays quiet. He'll just tell El that they made up when she comes back and leave Will alone. Like he obviously wants to be.
A part of his heart quickens at the idea, banging around in a blind panic. Leaving Will when he's hurt? That's worse than voluntarily drinking that New Coke shit. He's spent probably weeks of his life dedicated to helping Will. And it's most likely gone the other way around as well. But he's very carefully dissected this situation for five straight days, and he's not really sure there's anything else to do but leave.
Will slumps forward, leaning his elbows onto his knees and holding his head in his hands. He stands up and walks back to the door and wiggles the lock again. Mike watches him walk over to the twin sinks, rooting through a draw on El's side. He walks away with a hairpin in his hand and starts trying to jam it into the door. Two minutes and one door kick later, he returns the pin to the drawer. They've never really had to pick locks in their lives, Mike's not sure why Will thought that would work.
"Is sitting in silence with me for an hour really that bad?" Mike says, just loud enough for Will to hear. "You should try the window next. The fall will likely kill you, but that's better than seeing me, right?"
"It wouldn't kill me," Will responds, his voice teetering like it's about to crack. "It'd be hospitalized at most."
"Not if you fall on your neck wrong," Mike bites back, madder that he didn't take the bait than anything.
"It's grass."
"There's a whole line of rocks around the garden out there."
"Depends on which window I'm going out if I hit those or not," Will says, voice finally cracking on the word those.
"I'd rather you go out neither, but if you must, that's up to you."
“I’d rather stay.”
The room goes silent again. Mike watches Will with level eyes and Will looks back with eyes that dart away every few seconds. A drop of water dribbles from the faucet. Nervous energy begins to make a home in his gut. He runs his hand through the hair at the base of his neck.
"Can you just tell me what I did?" Mike asks as Will locks eyes with the bathmat at his feet.
"Nothing," Will replies, almost like a pained laugh. Mike can't see the humor in the situation.
"You're avoiding me... for no reason?" He says, in a tone far too soft for an argument.
"No."
"So there is a reason," Mike accuses, maybe unnecessarily. So much for leaving Will alone. "I thought we had everything figured out!"
"Well, if you want to go there," Will counters with an entirely new edge to his voice. "You never told me why you didn't speak to me when I was in California."
"First off," Mike starts, sitting up, "yes I did. I called you every day. Number two, once again, you didn’t talk to me either! And you never told me why you lied about that lovely painting you alone made."
"I didn't know you were calling," Will states. "And I thought you wouldn't care if it was from me. I did tell you that."
"Why would you think I wouldn't care, though? I love you and I love your art, I've made that very clear time and time again."
The tension in Mike is rolling itself out into concern that takes hold of his thoughts in such a familiar way it's almost laughable. 30 seconds of arguing with Will and he's already not mad at him at all. It's like magic, looking into Will's eyes. He doesn't know how anyone can look at him at all and be mad. Will appears with too many of his own emotions for Mike to project his at Will for longer than a few minutes.
"If you would happen to remember what happened before I moved, maybe you can realize why I felt that way." Will meets his eye with too straight of a face. Mike can see it's just a facade with the quiver in his lips and the continued shake of his breath.
A single drop of water falls from the faucet and echoes in Mike's mind as if it's been put on a megaphone. He fumbles for a moment too long, making Will look towards the wall again.
"I never meant that. I biked to your house in the rain to apologize, you know that," Mike's throat feels raw all of a sudden. "I feel sorry for that every day. I apologize for that in every way I can. What did you think the wizard hat was about at your birthday? I wanted to end that."
Will sighs and it stabs him in the heart.
"That doesn't mean it never happened. Or that it's never made me worry you'd hate me. It doesn't matter what you meant, it matters what it meant to me." Will holds a hand over his eyes, undoubtedly pressing back tears. "More things than just Castle Byers broke that day, Mike."
Just hearing that makes him want to start sobbing. An old version of him that resides in his subconscious is kicking and screaming that he did this to Will. That he should have only ever been a safe space for him. Someone who he could always, no matter what, rely on. And it's completely and utterly right. That tears him apart even more.
"Will, I could never ever in a million years hate you. There is not a bone in my body that holds anything but love for you."
"Never?" Will prompts, years of insecurity in a single word.
"Never," Mike responds immediately.
There's something fragile in the way Will sinks from the edge of the bathtub and onto the tile floor. He tucks his knees up his chest and they become mirror images of each other.
"How can you be so sure of that, though? Sure, you can sit in front of me and say there's no problem with it, but I've barely expressed it. Would your opinion change if I started talking about guys I liked or, like, actually got a boyfriend or something?" Will reasons in a way that makes Mike know he's thought about this before.
Despite the crawling pain in his mind at the idea of Will with someone that isn't him, he says, "No, of course not."
"Neither of us can be sure of that answer right now, Mike."
"Yes I can," he responds without thinking. He likes men, of course he wouldn't start hating Will if he "acted" on his sexuality like, well, people do. He'd be jealous if Will got a boyfriend, but that's different. If Will wants to talk with him about boys and crushes like girls at a sleepover, they can do that. He shouldn't have to hide after he's told Mike about it. It's part of him–of both of them–and that's something to accept. That he can put in the work to normalize in their one-on-one conversations, if that's how he can continue to prove to Will that he's a shoulder to lean on.
Will hides his head in his hands, sighing again. "How can you say that so quickly? With no proof."
Mike figures there's three quick ways he can answer this. Only one of which sounds like a remotely normal thing to say. So, he goes with that one.
"Tell me about your crushes right now," is what he says, and certainly what Will hears, but inside he's just thinking 'me too, me too, please kiss me again.' And... it's really, really, not the time for that.
"Right now?" Will asks, peeking out from between his fingers. Mike nods and Will turns to look out the window in a way far too reminiscent of a past day. "Do... do you remember that guy with the Zelda t-shirt I pointed out to you last week?"
"Oh yeah, he had nice hair."
Will laughs softly, "Yeah, I was looking at that more than his shirt."
"Wasn't he kinda skinny?" Mike points out with a slight head tilt.
"I, um, don't really like buff guys? I guess," Will responds in a stilted manner. He's not looking at Mike again, but at the tile near his shoes, which is an improvement.
"Do you have a–what do they call it? A type? Do you have a type?" Mike questions, bringing his knees down from his chest to cross them like he was taught to do in Elementary School. He leans in, though not entirely on purpose.
"I mean–" Will looks Mike up and down, in a fast motion that's barely perceptible. "–People who are nice to me? Tall? I don't know! It's weird talking about this with you. With... anyone."
"You're more uncomfortable than I am," Mike observes, a bit giddy.
Will cracks the smallest of smiles and it makes Mike's heart burst with glee. "Alright, alright. You've proven yourself, or whatever."
Mike's grinning back at him like a madman until he remembers why El and Max have locked them in this bathroom. His face falls with consideration.
"Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because... you're scared I'd hate you?" Mike guesses gently. His hand flexes beside him, as if it wants to reach out and bring Will close to him.
Silently, Will stands up and walks back over to the sinks. Mike moves to stand up next to him, leaning on the countertop and watching. Will swipes around in a drawer for a moment before pulling out a cotton pad and soaking it. He scrubs at the bridge of his nose and across his cheek, revealing a deep purple and yellow bruise and a long red scratch respectively. Mike is frozen.
"This is why I wasn't talking to you," he starts, looking into the mirror instead of at Mike. "I didn't want you to know stuff like this still bothered me. That the people who ridiculed me for years continue to be so fucking right every day. And I knew if you found out you'd get sucked right into it, and get all protective over me, and I didn't want that to happen. It's my problem."
"Will..." He carefully takes hold of Will's chin to turn his head to see him face-to-face. The bruise settled onto his nose isn't the largest–Will has definitely had worse facial injuries–but the cut along his cheek is darker than it should be after four days of healing. And it's too long, almost stretching from the side of his nose down to the bottom of his ear. Mike has to refrain from running a finger along the ever so slightly raised skin. A frown etches itself into his face. Will looks on the verge of tears.
"Is it just this?"
Will shakes his head. "I have a scrape on my leg and a big bruise on my upper arm."
Mike brushes his thumb along Will's cheek.
"You should've told me. If someone is hurting you, it's not just a you problem. That's a problem for me too, the whole party actually. You can't take everything on alone," Mike says, still cradling Will's face in his hand.
"I wanted to try. And it just ended in me lying and– I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to look at me differently again or try to beat someone up and get targeted," Will explains quietly and quickly, choking down tears.
"I'd rather get targeted and beat to a pulp than see you like this again. God, how did this happen?"
Some of that tampered anger is running back through him, though entirely directed away from Will and instead at whoever hurt him.
"Cornered me. Pocket knife. Please don't get beat up for me."
"How many people?"
"Three. You can't take three people. Especially three sports guys."
Mike nods, slowly, and lets Will's face go. "Sure, but the whole party could."
"No, no. I'm not bringing them into this. Only El knows. Because I have to live with her."
"Will, deep breath." Will takes a calming breath and blinks at him. "I'm not saying I want to get the party together to beat some people up. I think only Max would be willing to actually do that with me. But, if these guys know you have us behind you at all times–provided they can do the math–maybe they'll leave you alone. If not, I will make myself a target. More than I already am. We can share the spotlight."
"You don't have to do that."
"You don't deserve it any more than I do," Mike insists, reaching out to take Will's hand in his. Will looks down at their joined hands with a resigned expression.
"Yes, I do. There's something wrong with me. You don't have that."
It really strikes him, how Will says it. It doesn't sound like him. It's in his voice and it's coming out of his mouth, but they aren't his words. They're taken from somewhere else, someone else. Parents, bullies, or even the news could be the origin. Maybe all three.
And something inside of Mike says, fuck it.
"If there's something wrong with you then there's something wrong with me, too."
He can see panic build up inside Will until he whispers a startled, "What?"
"I... um, like guys. Boys. Men. Whatever."
Will's eyes widen even more, which Mike would've thought was impossible. Alas, he must soldier on through the decision he's decided to make on this here day.
"I'm sorry?"
"I don't think that's how you're supposed to respond when someone tells you they're... gay," Mike says, sounding way more confident than he actually feels.
Sure Lucas and Max know he has a crush on Will, at the least, but he's never really discussed any other part of the internal debate he's been slowly untangling these past few months. Which started when he kissed Will, escalated when he realized later that night that he wanted to do that again, and got elevated when he figured "oh my god, liking guys explains so much." Which led down the path of discreetly trying to find information at the library and, when that failed, bothering Robin and her girlfriend. A lot of it, like 99% of it though, has been him sitting in his room, scribbling down his train of thoughts in a notebook and reading it to make it more concise.
That scribbling did happen to be a lot about Will, in all his loveliness, but it proved a good outlet. An outlet that, after realizing that he didn't just have a crush on his best friend of 10 years, but was in love with said best friend, also came to the conclusion that he's never really felt that way about anyone else. That everything with El was different and wrong. In his heart, he knew it was all wrong, and then he figured out why. And it clicked. Everything, the pieces he'd been collecting since probably 19–fucking–84, falling into delicate place. To reveal something he still held a great fear for, but something he knew he could come to accept. Especially since he and his best friend had the same thing going on. Not exactly the same, but still the same in one way or another.
The only piece he's still missing is Will's feelings for him, but that one's an extra. It isn't necessary for the bigger picture of his own identity, just something he'd like. Mike thinks he could spend his whole life loving Will in silence. As long as he still gets to be by Will's side.
Still barely a foot away from him and holding his hand, Mike can see the gears turning in Will's head as he attempts to process what Mike has just confessed.
"Are you... is this a prank?"
"Why would I do that to you?"
Will sucks in a tiny breath. "You wouldn't. You're being serious."
"Yeah," Mike says with a nod, and he mentally pats himself on the back for managing to say anything at all.
"But– how?" Will stammers out.
Mike waves him off. "I will show up here tomorrow with, like a letter or something, that vaguely explains what's going on in my head–which is a lot, by the way, but that's not the point right now. The point is..."
"We're on the same team," Will finishes.
"And have been. And will continue to be. Because..." Mike says, drawing out 'because' to force Will to fill in for him.
"There's nothing wrong with us?" he guesses, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.
"That's what I was thinking, yeah. We’re a team. And I think we should talk to the party about this, and you should tell me who this was."
“Fine,” Will says with an exasperated fondness. “Later we can do all that.”
Mike gently swings their joined hands back and forth. "And now that this is all out in the open, and we've both been honest, let's keep doing that."
"Sounds like a plan. These last few days have sucked."
"Oh, I know! I've been pouting since Thursday."
Will flicks him on the forehead. "Clingy."
"Not my fault you're so easy to be around and love," Mike replies, taking a little hold of Will's waist. It's definitely too much if he's judging by how Will glances down and freezes up.
"Why do you keep telling me you love me?"
Mike smiles softly. "Because I do. You're awesome and my very best friend and absolutely brilliant. Not to mention how selfless you are, or resilient, or brave, or how great your art is. So skilled."
Will tucks a piece of hair behind Mike’s ear. "I love you too, you caring, loyal, kind, nerd. And I love all your stories."
They're inches apart now. Mike can feel Will's breath ghosting across his face. Will's hand that he isn't holding threaded through his hair. He locks eyes with Will. A wave of comfort he recognizes from years and years of Will's presence floods him full of warmth. He leans into Will's touch like a guiding light.
"Could I ask you something?" Mike whispers.
"Always."
A click, which passes over Mike's head like when his mom starts going on about her book club. He stays locked with Will.
"Can I–?"
The door to Mike's left slams open, barely avoiding slamming a dent into the wall. Will's hand leaves his face first, then they're feet apart, completely detached and both turned toward El, in the doorway. His heart starts beating wildly.
El gives them a weird look as Max walks in behind her, neutral as ever. El grabs her arm and tugs her out of the room without a word. Mike doesn't dare to look over at Will, knowing full well that he must be as red as a firetruck.
Loud whispers rise up from behind the door, mainly from Max. He starts tapping on the countertop in a frantic motion that almost hurts his finger.
"Calm down," Will says, a smile in his voice. Mike wants to fucking scream. What the hell did he just do? Was… was that– he tried to kiss his best friend. He was about to ask if he could kiss Will. And Will was… going along with it? He was looking at Mike with those same eyes Mike knows he looks at Will with.
And now he's smiling. He's not looking at Mike with concern or disgust. He's smiling to himself.
Will turns and opens up the medicine cabinet, pulling out the box of bandages. He grabs Mike's hand from off the counter.
"I noticed the blood on your finger earlier. Sorry I got you worried enough for that." He wraps Mike's thumb up in a bandage as El opens the door again. Both she and Max step in together.
"So you have made up?" El concludes with the same look on her face as before. Max is smirking. Mike's too busy focusing on how gently Will is holding his hand to start screaming at her.
Will nods. "Yes, we've been talking this whole time. I'll stop avoiding you all."
"Mike? Confirm?" Max adds.
"Yeah."
The girls lock eyes and nod together.
"We're gonna go mess with Lucas now. Enjoy your lives, losers."
They turn and walk away from El's room with a small bounce in their step.
"Thanks, I guess!" Mike yells after them.
Will turns to him with a sparkle of determination in his eye. He grabs Mike's shoulders. It makes a shiver run down Mike's spine. He gets ready to agree to whatever Will is about to say.
"Would you like to ruin their day with no repercussions?"
And, despite the fact that he just thanked them, they did also lock them in a bathroom. Mike still wants to scream. That's their fault. He thinks Will may have also broken the lock on his door. That deserves whatever plot they can come up with. They've still got plenty of hours in the day to get back at El and Max.
"I'm in."
Hours and hours later, while laying in silence on Will's bed, they hear blood-curdling screams from El's bedroom.
"Oh my god!"
"What the hell!?"
"Is that a rat?!?"
"Is it dead?!?!"
Will holds his hand up for a high five. Mike returns it with a grin.