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They were lying in the same bed, under the covers. Mike didn't really care, not as long as he still had Will's hand, warm, brushing his belly.
That pineapple pizza was fatal to him in the process of indigestion, and now he suffers the consequences... more or less.
Feeling his fingers tracing circles on a perceptive but smooth engine was not a doom at all, it was more of a dream he treasured to himself.
He seemed so intent on easing his pain, not knowing it was causing another.
Mike focused on his hairstyle; his hair was disheveled, but that point marked perfection. He felt him breathe against his skin.
Will bit his lip as he felt his best friend's fingers gently rest on his head, caressing the strands he found in his path of wild hair.
Some things must remain secret. In fact, most of our feelings or thoughts should remain secret, even though it can be hard not to express them.
It's hard not to feel the urge to show them implicitly.
Will had found a way to convey his emotions and vivid ideas through the visual arts. Painting was an escape, and only a few could be lucky enough to appreciate it. Or the unlucky ones, for that matter.
Eleven was smart, smarter than anyone would think, so of course she can't, under any circumstances, see the paint on the canvas.
He was afraid she would find the reason for his constant nervous attitude: Mike.
It was so precious to him. His own Dorian Gray. The person who paints in a distorted way as a landscape to hide his ineffable sensations.
Now he understands Basil.
Because the idea of exposing Mike was terrifying. Something so intimate to him was not allowed to be proclaimed art in this world.
The reason of an artist is to hide and show the art.
But the product had a lot of its own. You could look at the painting and immediately think of Will Byers.
Now he couldn't even show it to the world. And less his real reasons. The true feeling behind the canvas.
Only who stars in it.
Will the protagonist also judge him and scold him without calibrating his fury? Disgust? Contempt? Humiliation? Rejection? ...
Would Mike be capable of something like that?
“What are you thinking about?” interrupted the boy with the indisputably freckled face, creating a haze of saudade inherent in his friend's neurological connections.
Mike had been behaving imperceptibly, fitting in with some of his transient personality.
He supposed he would understand it somehow, but he couldn't. Years of mental delay had marked a before and after, without being able to decipher anything that has to do with the people he loves the most, especially Mike.
Will crooned in response to his thoughts. As for Mike, Will brushed over some of the shadows of his abdomen limitedly with his fingertips, warming his skin with the breath that came from his lips.
He wanted to understand so many things that his commotions were compliments for disorder.
This he did not understand. He didn't understand what he was doing...
He smiled and raised his gaze, tilting his head just a little so that he managed to tenderly collide his nose with Mike's, and Mike sighed as he stopped feeling it in his navel. "What are you thinking about?" he asked again, this time whispering within a whisper, a secret.
The image of Will so close to him was meant to be delicate, cautiously painted.
He didn't want to break it.
Will hissed and Mike slipped, his saliva sounding thick as he passed it.
They both smiled, because Mike didn't understand what was happening either, inside everything was rampant.
“What are you thinking about?” he whimpered this time, balling his hands into fists at the surprise pain that stunned him.
Will's smile widened. Mike's voice had sounded almost microscopic. Tender. Shy.
Mike had swallowed himself between his ow shoulders, pulling away from Will a little, knowing that he had begun to manage a melancholy of sheer strangeness.
He felt that he was beginning to call him like a few months ago, when his palms sweated waiting for the line to be free. Or when his frown broke because the line was free but was taken over by the female voice he must have longed to hear.
He felt that he was starting to miss him like a couple of years ago, when his palms sweated when he saw his forehead covered in icy sweat, because he likes it cold. Or when his frown broke when he didn't hear his true friend behind that particular tone and terribly composed words.
“You.”
Mike’s heart reacted.
They both reacted and their hearts beat in tune.
They directed their gazes where they should and Mike moved closer to where he should.
Will composed himself proud of what he said and his smile didn't dissolve the moment his lips touched something else.
They weren't strangers, they seemed to have known each other for a lifetime, despite having lived together far away for many years.
Mike took advantage of the split lips and bit delicately into the pale skin, feeling fiery.
He heard him sigh at his move and he grabbed his neck to support him and bring him closer,, more than he thought possible.
So many kisses and finally he had given the right one. He thought hesitantly, 'fuck pineapple pizza', 'never liked it'.