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Naturally, the Byers’ proposed temporary home with the Wheelers does not go over as well with Mr. Wheeler as it did with Mike’s mom.
Mike, Nancy, Holly, and Will and his family are being subjected to waiting awkwardly in the living room while Mike’s parents are having what is very obviously an argument in the kitchen while trying to make it seem like it’s not one. It’s bringing back memories Will would really rather not dwell on.
Every time Will glances over at Mike next to him, which is pathetically often, he’s fidgeting nervously with his hands. An age old habit he’d been doing for their entire road-trip. Will has the insane urge to reach for his wrist and steady him, but with how much of a fucking wild card Mike has been lately Will has truly no idea how that would be received. And he can’t do it in front of everyone else.
“This is ridiculous, Karen! We don’t have enough space–”
“Oh please, we have an entire basement and Michael’s already offered to share his room–”
“Michael is too old to be sharing his room with boys. It’s not appropriate.”
Silence swallows the entire house. Will feels himself freeze almost from outside his body.
Mr. Wheeler continues, though he sounds almost bored. Which at least lowers Will’s blood pressure back to something resembling normal range.“You shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior–”
“What behavior?!” Mrs. Wheeler shrieks, clearly having lost all composure. “Encouraging my son to have friends?”
Nancy, who’s been grinding her teeth while Jonathan holds her hand, gets up without another word and storms into the kitchen. “Enough with that bullshit from the goddamn news, Dad!”
Then Nancy is going off on him while Mrs. Wheeler has suddenly turned into a mediator.
Will feels a little guilty, because he is in fact exactly the kind of boy Mr. Wheeler would not want rooming with his son. And then he feels ridiculously stupid for feeling bad at all when he’s literally slept over at this house nearly as often as he slept at his own, and Mr. Wheeler knows that, and he’s just being a dick and this whole thing is stupid.
Will takes in the room. His brother is unsurprisingly looking rather livid, Will has no doubt what he’s remembering right now. Mike is white as a sheet, Holly ran off to her room, and even his Mom is looking between the kitchen and Mike with an increasingly concerned expression pulling at her brows.
Will clenches his hands into the couch. This may have been blown out of proportion, but he feels bad for Mike if nothing else. There’s an easy way to solve this. He just has to stop being such a baby and go in there.
This isn’t dad, he tells himself as he stands up. It’s not Mom and Dad yelling right now. It’s Mr and Mrs. Wheeler, that’s all. People you’ve known since you were five. Do this for Mike.
Stiffly, he makes his way over to the kitchen. Three overlapping voices go silent and immediately turn to look at him.
“Um,” he says intelligently.
“Yes, honey?” Mrs. Wheeler at least has the decency to plaster on a smile. Even if it looks off and a little creepy.
He squares his shoulders. “I can sleep in the basement.”
“That’s where Jonathan would sleep,” says Nancy, as if she wasn’t fully planning to have his brother sneak into her room. Will just barely resists rolling his eyes.
“I’ll share with him, it’s not a big deal.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance and honestly not sure how well he succeeds, given Nancy’s squint. So he’s still a little on edge from all the— everything. Sue him.
“See?” Mrs. Wheeler turns back to her husband. “We can compromise.” She draws the word out in parts, like Mr. Wheeler is a small child learning to read. Nancy bites back a snort.
Mr. Wheeler looks between the three of them and sighs before simply waving off his wife in a do what you will gesture and walking away. Will thinks it’s entirely too dramatic.
Evidently, Ted Wheeler does not like being confronted with his own bullshit.
“Well alright then!” Mrs. Wheeler claps her hands together cheerfully. Will’s amazed at how quickly she’s able to bounce back like she didn’t just have a screaming match with her husband so bad her daughter had to step in. His own mom was never quite that skilled. “Let’s get you guys set up.”
So Will won’t get to share with Mike. That's alright. Probably better for Will’s sanity, if he’s being completely honest with himself. He still gets to literally live in Mike’s house. They’ll see each other. Definitely more than they have in the last six months. Maybe figuring out where the hell they stand will be marginally less awkward this way.
No catastrophes, all things considered. Mr. Wheeler didn’t even put up more than a superficial fight. That could have gone so much worse.
___
Mike Wheeler is going to murder his fucking dad.
No seriously, he’s gonna do it. Right now he’s leaning towards strangling him in cold blood, but he’s open to suggestions. Anything to make up for nearly scoring an indefinite sleepover with Will and then losing it.
It was all part of Mike’s plan. Continue what he’d started in Argyle’s disgusting pizza van: Operation fix-things-with-Will. If they shared a room Will would get more comfortable with Mike again, and they’d stay up late talking, and Will would stop being weirdly cagey at random intervals, and things would be how they used to be. Mike would finally have his best friend back. He’s tired of being an idiot. Tired of being so stupid he loses Will without even trying. That won’t be possible if Will is with him all the time. It was fool proof.
Mike is getting that damn sleepover. Screw his dad, and screw Jonathan for that matter. It’s his basement and he’ll go down there as he likes.
Plus it doesn’t matter, he’s not bothered by what his dad said. He’s not even thinking about it. In fact, he’s so unbothered he doesn’t even remember what was said. Some nonsense probably. What is there to be bothered by? Mom and Dad argue all the time. Usually about Holly. Sometimes about Nancy or Mike. Who is Mike to know the specifics?
And even if he was thinking about it, which he’s not, then all he’d be thinking about is that what his dad said was stupid. It totally doesn’t apply to him. He and Will have been doing sleepovers for ages, and it’s never been… weird. It’s all fine. He’s over it because it wasn’t true, Mike isn’t like that. He wouldn’t do that to Will.
Alright, so maybe what his dad said is nagging him a little. Maybe it feels a little bit like poison trickling slowly down his throat. Maybe Mike’s such a piece of shit that he’s itching with the compulsion to avoid Will again, just for the evening. So that he has enough time to properly move the poison down his throat until it sits somewhere in the back of his stomach. But he promised himself he’d be better, for Will, so he makes it into a game of spiting himself.
Mike does all the things he’d want to do if he wasn’t feeling so weird. He sticks close to Will’s side, shares smiles and eye rolls, helps him set up the motheaten basement pullout, and allows their elbows to brush. That last part’s the hardest, for some reason.
But it’s all worth it when they finally get a brief moment alone, secluded in a corner while the rest of the house is in a perpetual hustle and bustle. He leans in to whisper “Sleepover?” to Will from the side. The answering tug of Will’s lips as he nods dissipates any weird queasiness in a single breath.
Suddenly, it’s like Mike was never even poisoned at all.
___
Mike waits until he knows the house is asleep. It takes longer than usual, what with all the new members, so he’s up pretty late. Nothing new, though.
He slips out of his room into the pitch black hallway, but somehow only makes it a few steps before slamming right into someone.
“Ow,” he hisses, just barely remembering to keep his voice down as he rubs his head.
“Shit, sorry Mike,” Jonathan says. Mike realizes they’re right outside Nancy’s room. Great.
Normally he would give Jonathan shit, but he can actually use this to his advantage. “I didn’t see you if you didn’t see me,” he says.
“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”
“Good answer.”
Jonathan snorts, but says nothing in dissent. He just slips into Nancy’s room which— gross. Seriously.
Mike shakes himself and refocuses on his goal. His dad is still snoring in the La-Z-Boy, but thankfully Mike knows he’s not likely to wake. He still takes extra care to step quietly on his way to the next set of stairs.
He has to use the last shreds of his rational brain to not take the steps two at a time. He likely could; he practically knows this basement better than his own room, but probably better to not kick things off with Will by breaking several bones.
It’s pitch black at the bottom, and for a moment, Mike is completely alone in the dark. His stomach drops. Maybe Will’s already gone to sleep.
“Will?”
A light clicks on to his right, bathing a sleepy looking Will in a warm glow. “Hi,” Will says.
Mike grins like a maniac. “Hi,” he replies, and dives right onto Will’s bed.
He releases an undignified oof at the contact, this pullout mattress is not very soft, damn, but it makes Will giggle beside him. So Mike doesn’t care about humiliating himself at all, actually. Not if it gets Will to smile at him again.
For a moment, they simply stare at each other. Mike feels extremely warm despite the perpetual cold of the opened gates.
Finding himself at an abrupt loss for words, Mike says, “I saw your brother go into Nancy’s room.”
“Ew, gross Mike.” Will rolls over with a hand over his eyes, like he can somehow block out the visual.
“If I have to know this, so do you,” Mike says gravely.
Will uncovers his face, looking unamused. “Right.”
Mike smiles, his own voice going soft. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Will says, going quieter with the shift. His eyes drift around the room, but they keep snagging on certain spots. His drawings, Mike realizes. “Tons.”
Maybe Mike should be embarrassed, he didn’t even consider that Will would see his own art on the walls if he stayed down here. Mike got so used to it he barely even registered they’re there unless he was… having a particularly bad day.
But it’s impossible to be embarrassed of Will’s art. He’d build an entire museum and frame every piece if he could.
“I should find a spot for your newest one,” Mike says thoughtfully. There’s not much wall space left but he’s sure he could figure it out. Just move a couple things around–
Will chokes. Mike flips around and sits up, startled, to find that Will’s gone rigid. There’s an unreadable expression on his face. He looks vaguely constipated.
“Totally,” Will says, but it’s hollow. Worse when he turns on his side, away from Mike.
No, no, no. This cannot possibly be happening again. Will was supposed to stop the random caginess. Mike isn’t sure what about what he said was wrong but it must’ve been something if he’s already screwed up operation fix-things-with-Will again.
He needs something. A hail mary to show Will he doesn’t have to pull back like this. Mike’s not going to be a dick anymore, he’s tired of it.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he blurts.
Will shifts, cautiously turning back to Mike, thank god. They’re both lying on their sides, hands settled in the space between them, bodies cupped inward. Will’s brows are furrowed.
“Shit,” Mike says, realizing the stupidity of what he just said. “Shit, that sounded bad, I didn’t mean it like— I mean obviously everything sucks right now with One and the fucking apocalypse and— and Max–”
A touch to his forearm shuts him up immediately, which is good because Mike was very possibly a few words away from tearing up and completely ruining the mood. Will’s fingers are a little calloused where they brush Mike’s skin. Featherlight.
“It’s okay, Mike, breathe. I understand.”
Of course. He always does.
Will’s eyes are big and open, hazel with flecks of brown glinting in the lowlight. He doesn’t seem closed off anymore. His touch doesn’t leave Mike’s arm.
Mike wonders if he’s had any water at all in the last few hours. His throat is very dry.
“I’m… glad to be here, too,” Will continues.
Mike smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Before he can help himself, he glances down at Will’s hand, still heating his arm. Something flickers on Will’s face, and horribly, his shoulder shifts like he’s about to pull away.
Mike twists his palm up and grabs on before he can think about it. He thinks he hears Will’s breath catch, but he could totally be imagining things. He stays firm, not letting Will go. Not again.
“No secrets,” Mike decides, valiantly ignoring the entire box of unsent letters still stuffed somewhere in his closet. He may be a hypocrite, but he at least wants Will to tell him things, like he always used to. “I meant what I said, all of this will be so much easier if we’re–”
“A team,” Will finishes softly.
“Friends.”
“Best friends.”
Mike feels like he could fucking fly, right now. Will remembered. Mike’s words hadn’t been completely useless, they meant something to Will. Enough for him to remember them so readily. Enough that maybe he thought about that moment as much as Mike.
The last time Will had called them best friends was when he’d said used to, and that hurt more than Mike will ever admit to anyone. There’s no used-to now. Will thinks they’re best friends again, Will wants to be best friends again. Mike’s doing something right for once in his life.
Strangely, as they hold each other's gaze, Mike gets the urge to say… more? To keep going. Which doesn’t make any sense, there’s no tier higher than best friend. That’s why he likes it for Will so much. He’s learned that it’s higher than girlfriend, even. Or at least it should be.
But Will’s more like a best friend on steroids, almost like a—
Oh, god. Mike snatches that thought and slams it into the same box as his letters before it can manifest into anything tangible. Some of the queasiness comes back. Shit like that is exactly what his dipshit dad was throwing a fit about.
Will is still looking at him, and he gets the urge to shy away. But he’ll be damned if he lets his idiot dad crash his first sleepover with Will in ages, and he’s trying to be better than this. He promised himself he would. For Will.
So Mike does the other thing he really wants to do, and squeezes Will tighter. Will squeezes back immediately, like he was waiting for Mike to show it was okay. Waiting for a signal.
Something shifts in the air. Mike feels his own breathing in slow motion, even though it’s definitely picked up. They both shift closer, clinging to each other’s arms like something could rip the other away, and it could.
Except Mike, as he clings on and nothing springs out of the shadows to snatch Will away, is realizing that neither of them have to let go. Not if they don’t want to.
With the chaos settled down a bit, it is finally dawning on him that Will is here to stay. Not only does he get to see Will at school, if school is even still a thing, but before and after school too. He can go everywhere with Will. They can have sleepovers every night if they want to. For the foreseeable future, Mike never has to not see Will again. He never has to do these excruciating last six months again.
He never has to be without Will.
The euphoria of Will being in his house after months slams him like a truck, becoming almost too much. In a jolt of energy he leaps over to Will, tackling him and shattering that unspoken barrier between them to pieces.
Will yelps his name way too loud for how late it is as Mike topples onto him, but Mike pays him no mind. He rolls them over until they’re swapped, folding Will into an embarrassingly desperate hug, and buries his face in Will’s chest. In his defense, there really is nowhere else to put it without getting a little too close to Will’s face, so.
Will definitely thinks he’s crazy, but after a moment tentative arms come around Mike’s back, and–
Oh.
They haven’t hugged in so fucking long. Mike’s hands fist into the back of Will’s shirt without his permission, but Will responds with his own just as desperately. It feels so damn good. Maybe it shouldn’t, but Mike can’t bring himself to care when Will is holding him like this.
“Fuck. Missed you,” Mike says into the fabric. It’s only when he speaks that he realizes his voice is scratchy with unshed tears. Will can probably feel them on his shirt or something. He breathes in to try to make them go away but all he inhales is Will’s scent and it goes straight to his head. He’s thinking he might’ve set himself up for failure here.
“Missed you too, Mike,” Will sniffles. Shit. Will’s definitely crying.
Mike pulls back—Will’s arms actually spasm for a second before he realizes Mike isn’t going anywhere— and braves looking Will in the eye. Sure enough, tears glisten on his cheeks.
“S-sorry,” Will says, and half releases Mike to wipe at his cheek. Mike mourns the loss immediately.
“No hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, gently batting Will’s hand away to touch Will’s cheek instead. It’s just to wipe the tears with his thumb, but Will’s breath catches, and Mike can’t help but linger.
He was right. Pulling back from Will’s chest did make their faces close. Wow. His brain is going a little fuzzy as he stares. Will just– he looks so soft in the dim light, okay? Mike can’t be blamed for getting distracted. Anyone would. It’s Will Byers.
It’s totally normal. Probably.
“Stay?” Will asks, barely a breath. His eyes are wide with dried tears and something achingly hopeful. Mike gets the feeling he’s not just talking about tonight.
Still, Mike’s answer is the same.
“‘Course,” he says. “Always.”
Will’s grin is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud so huge Mike had forgotten just how bright things could be. His chest expands until he’s practically soaring.
He dives back into Will’s chest before he does something irreversibly stupid. Will simply wraps his arms back around Mike in response. Mike nuzzles into him before he can think about it, and Will sighs contentedly.
Mike’s entire body feels like it’s melting into the sheets. Will honestly might fall asleep and wake up to a Mike shaped puddle in his new bed.
Maybe it’s naive, the world is literally ending, but Will’s arms feel like a promise. They feel like everything is going to be okay.
Mike thinks, rather smugly, as he holds Will closer than he’s been in years, that tonight's operation was a raging success.