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If there was one thing the Party were all disgustingly aware of, it was just how whipped Mike Wheeler was for Will Byers.
It would be gross, honestly, if it were anyone else. Will asked, Mike moved. Immediately. No hesitation. Like some sort of boyfriend-shaped reflex. They were eighteen going on eighty—one hop, skip, and jump away from a joint checking account, a white picket fence, and maybe a golden retriever for good measure. The kind of couple who said things like we should leave early and actually meant it.
It seeped into everything. Into the way Mike angled his body toward Will without thinking. Into how he kept track of where Will was in a room like he was monitoring vital signs. Nothing was safe anymore. Not movie nights, not car rides, not even D&D.
But it was fine. Really. They were cute. Annoyingly cute.
One thing the Party hadn’t been prepared for, though—something they’d somehow missed despite all the public displays of quiet affection—was Mike’s apparent refusal to call Will by his actual name.
The first time they noticed was during a campaign Dustin had spent weeks working on.
They were holed up in the Wheelers’ basement, the air thick with the smell of cold pizza and soda gone flat, the kind of night that stretched on long enough to make time feel optional. Lucas and Dustin had already argued over dice rolls at least eight times—possibly more, depending on who you asked. Max was openly ignoring everything Dustin was explaining, feet kicked up on an empty chair, eyes flicking between her nails and the ceiling. El looked like she was just happy to be there, smiling at nothing in particular.
And then there were Mike and Will.
They were sitting too close by the end of the table. Not touching—nothing you could technically call out—but close enough that it felt deliberate. Will had a stray die in his hand, turning it over and over in his palm, the plastic clicking softly every time it shifted. Mike wasn’t even pretending to pay attention to the campaign anymore. He was just… watching Will.
Not in a creepy way. In a soft, unfocused way. Like his brain had wandered off and decided to settle there.
Dustin noticed it first. Of course he did.
“Mike,” he said sharply, tapping his pencil against the table. “Do you want to at least pretend you care that your cleric is about to die?”
“Hm?” Mike blinked, eyes flicking to the board. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
Will glanced at him, amused, lips twitching. “You good?”
Mike smiled instantly. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Lucas snorted. Max rolled her eyes. El beamed like she was watching something wonderful.
Will went back to his dice, and Mike went right back to watching him.
Nothing happened yet. Not really. No grand declarations. No scandal. Just the quiet, creeping sense that something was about to go terribly, terribly wrong.
El tilted her head, her smile gentle but knowing. “You are staring,” she stated, like she was announcing the weather.
Mike hummed, unfazed. He reached across the table and plucked the dice Dustin had been waving aggressively in his direction. “Not staring,” he said, shaking the dice tube with one hand. “Just—observing.”
Will glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “Observing what?”
Mike paused for half a second, just long enough to be suspicious. “You.”
Max snorted into her sleeve.
Mike rolled the dice. They clattered dramatically across the table before settling.
Dustin leaned forward, squinting. Then he sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Congratulations,” he said flatly. “Your boyfriend didn’t die in-game.”
Will smiled, relieved. “Oh, thank god.”
Dustin pointed his pencil at Mike. “If you were paying attention enough to even realize that was what was at stake,” he muttered.
Lucas let out a sharp laugh, ducking his head. “He absolutely was not.”
Mike frowned. “Hey, I was paying attention.”
“To Will,” Max said.
Mike opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Closed it again. “…Okay, maybe a little.”
Will’s ears went pink. He busied himself lining up his dice, suddenly finding them to be the most interesting thing in the world.
The game staggered onward after that, limping along under the weight of Dustin’s increasingly dramatic narration and Lucas’s unwavering commitment to arguing about technicalities. Max had fully given up pretending to care, chin propped in her hand, eyes unfocused. El followed along earnestly, even when she clearly didn’t understand what was happening, nodding like it was all very important.
Mike lasted another five minutes before he shifted in his chair, restless.
“I need a drink,” he announced suddenly, pushing back from the table.
Dustin didn’t look up from his notes. “You’re not dying of dehydration.”
“I didn’t say I was,” Mike replied. “I’m just—thirsty.”
He stood, stretching briefly before glancing down the table. His eyes landed on Will immediately, like they always did.
“I’m getting you water,” Mike said.
Will looked up, frowning faintly. “I don’t—”
“You haven’t drank anything in, like—” Mike paused, glancing up at the clock on the wall. He squinted. “Two hours.”
Will scoffed. “That’s not true.”
Mike raised an eyebrow. “Name the last thing you drank.”
Will opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“…Okay, but—”
“I’m getting you water,” Mike repeated, already halfway turned toward the stairs. “Baby.”
The word slipped out easy. Casual. Like punctuation.
The basement froze.
Dustin’s pencil stopped mid-scratch.
Lucas slowly lifted his head.
Max blinked, once.
El’s eyes widened just a little.
Will, completely unfazed, just rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Mike.”
Mike didn’t notice. He was already bounding up the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, “You can argue with me when you’re hydrated!”
The door at the top of the stairs swung shut.
Silence stretched.
“…Baby,” Dustin repeated faintly.
Lucas leaned back in his chair. “He said it like that was his name. Like, birth-given, government name.”
Max snorted.
El smiled, warm and delighted. “That was a boyfriend word.”
Will shrugged, twisting the dice between his fingers again, entirely too calm for someone who had just emotionally incapacitated the room. “He worries.”
Dustin stared at him. “He’s a pet-name kinda guy now?”
Will smiled, soft and fond. “Yeah.”
The basement door opened again, Mike clomping back down with two bottles of water in hand.
He tossed one to Will automatically. Will caught it without looking.
Mike sat back down, already refocusing on the table. “Okay,” he said. “What’d I miss?”
No one answered.
Mike frowned. “What?”
Dustin slowly set his pencil down. “Nothing,” he said. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
Will took a sip of water, eyes flicking to Mike, fond and amused.
The second time it happened, it was just after school.
The bells had rung ages ago, their echoes still ringing faintly in everyone’s ears, and yet somehow it felt like every single student in Hawkins had decided to leave at the exact same moment. The parking lot was chaos—cars inching forward at a pace that could only generously be described as moving, horns blaring, people shouting out open windows like that might help.
Sardines in a tin. Loud, sweaty sardines.
The Party was crammed—definitely, one hundred percent illegally—into Mike’s old, beat-up car. The seats squeaked every time someone shifted. Dustin was wedged awkwardly in the middle of the backseat, knees pressed up against the back of the front seats, backpack crushed against his chest like a shield. Lucas was squished against the door, elbow practically in the window. Max had claimed the other side with ruthless efficiency, legs crossed and unbothered.
Will sat in the front passenger seat, turned halfway around so he could see everyone, his shoulder brushing Mike’s whenever the car jolted forward. El was tucked comfortably between Max and Dustin, looking perfectly content despite the lack of space.
“I don’t understand why volunteering is mandatory,” Dustin groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Why do I have to help clean up after a freshman almost set a microwave on fire by putting a fork in it during their cooking club just so I can graduate? Explain that to me.”
Lucas snorted. “You did that once.”
“It was one time,” Dustin shot back.
Will glanced back at him from the front seat, leaning around his headrest. “You could’ve signed up earlier,” he said mildly. “Like the rest of us.”
Dustin scoffed. “I didn’t think they’d actually enforce it.”
Max grinned. “That’s on you.”
“All me and Max have to do is hand out drinks at basketball games for a week,” Will continued.
Max’s grin widened. “Which is, like, two games total, by the way,” she added smugly. “Easy mode.”
Dustin made a noise of deep personal betrayal. “Unbelievable.”
El hummed, thoughtful. “I like volunteering.”
Lucas shook his head, smiling to himself. “Of course you do.”
The car lurched forward another few feet. Mike navigated it carefully, jaw set in concentration, one hand firm on the wheel while the other worked the gearshift with practiced ease. His car rattled ominously every time he eased off the clutch, but it held together out of sheer spite.
“Okay, okay—signal, Mike,” Max said lazily as he edged out a little too aggressively.
“I am signaling, they just don’t work.” Mike replied, flicking the indicator on just as a truck honked loudly behind them.
“That was not convincing,” Dustin said.
Mike ignored him, pulling out with a maneuver Hopper would’ve absolutely had his head for if he’d been anywhere within a five-mile radius. Will instinctively grabbed the edge of his seat, then relaxed when they cleared the worst of the traffic.
Once they finally hit the open road, the tension eased. The noise died down. The air felt lighter.
Mike leaned back slightly, settling into the drive, one arm resting comfortably on the steering wheel. His other hand stayed focused on shifting gears, movements smooth and familiar. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windshield, catching dust motes in the air and lighting Will’s hair like it had been painted that way on purpose.
Will watched the road for a moment, then glanced at Mike. “You’re driving like a maniac.”
Mike huffed a laugh. “I got us out, didn’t I?”
“You scared Dustin,” Lucas said.
“I’m always scared,” Dustin replied. “That’s my baseline.”
El leaned forward between the seats, peering out at the road ahead. “We are going very fast.”
“We are going the speed limit,” Mike said quickly.
Max raised an eyebrow. “Barely.”
Will smiled to himself, small and fond, and leaned back into his seat. Mike glanced over at him without thinking, the corner of his mouth tugging up when he caught the smile, before turning his attention back to the road.
The car filled with easy noise—arguments that weren’t really arguments, laughter that came quick and unguarded, the hum of the engine carrying them all home.
Nothing about it felt remarkable.
Which, in hindsight, should’ve been the warning.
Mike pulled up in front of the Byers’ house first, like he always did.
It was muscle memory at this point—slow to the curb, foot easing off the gas, engine idling as the car rattled softly beneath them. The house came into view, familiar and comforting, porch light already on even though the sun hadn’t fully set yet.
Will and El started shifting immediately, backpacks hoisted up and wrestled into place with the kind of coordination that came from doing this exact routine every day. Doors creaked open, cool air rushing in.
“El, wait—” Max started, but it was too late.
El climbed over her anyway, unbothered, stepping awkwardly on the edge of the seat as she maneuvered herself out. She stumbled slightly when her foot hit the pavement, arms windmilling for half a second before Max caught her by the elbow, laughing.
“Girl—jesus,” Max chuckled, steadying her. “You good?”
El laughed too, nodding. “Yes.”
Lucas leaned forward to look out the window. “You could’ve just waited.”
“I wanted to get out,” El replied simply, already adjusting her backpack straps.
Will paused before opening his door, leaning across the center console instead. Mike turned instinctively, like he’d felt it coming, and Will pressed a quick kiss to his lips—soft, familiar, gone almost as soon as it was there.
Dustin gagged loudly on impulse. “Oh, come on.”
Mike shot him a glare in the rearview mirror so sharp it could’ve cut glass. “Grow up.”
Will just giggled, ducking his head as he opened the door and climbed out, the sound following him like an echo. He waved once, easy and fond, before swinging the door shut behind him.
The car felt quieter instantly.
Mike watched Will walk up the driveway, backpack bouncing lightly against his shoulder, steps unhurried. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until Lucas cleared his throat pointedly.
Mike blinked, tore his eyes away, and glanced down.
There—crumpled in the footwell by the passenger seat—was Will’s jacket.
“Hey,” Mike muttered, already leaning over. He grabbed it, rolling the window down with a whine of protest.
Will turned around on instinct, like he’d felt the pull of it. “Yeah?” he asked, shifting the backpack higher on one shoulder.
Mike leaned out the window, holding the jacket up. “Forgot your jacket, sweetness.”
The word slipped out warm and easy, wrapped in concern and familiarity.
There was a split second of silence.
Will’s expression softened immediately, eyes crinkling as he stepped closer and reached out to take it. “Thanks,” he said, smiling in that way that felt private even with an audience. “You’d think I’d remember it by now.”
Mike shrugged. “You never do.”
Will laughed, slipping the jacket on and giving Mike one last look before backing toward the house. “See you later.”
“Later,” Mike said, still smiling.
Will turned and headed inside.
The window rolled back up. The car sat still.
“…Sweetness,” Dustin said slowly.
Max covered her mouth with her sleeve, shoulders shaking. “Oh my god.”
Lucas stared straight ahead. “You sound like you pack his lunch.”
Mike finally seemed to register the attention. “What?”
Dustin leaned forward between the seats. “You called him sweetness.”
Mike frowned, thinking. “Did I?”
“Yes,” everyone said at once.
Mike opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. “He forgets his jacket all the time.”
“That does not explain the nickname,” Max said.
Mike started the car again, pulling away from the curb like nothing had happened. “I don’t know. It just—fits. He’s sweet.”
And they couldn’t argue. It did fit.
The third time it happened was during an evening at the Byers’ house.
They weren’t there for anything in particular. No movie night, no campaign, no crisis to solve. They’d just sort of… drifted there after school, one by one, like it was the natural endpoint of the day. Someone had put music on at some point. Someone else had kicked their shoes off. No one had suggested leaving, and somehow hours had passed without anyone noticing.
They were all crammed into Will’s bedroom.
To be fair, his room in the new house was much bigger than his childhood one—actual floor space, walls that didn’t feel like they were leaning in—but with six people in it, it was still a tight squeeze. The room hummed softly with the low drone of music coming from the old record player Joyce had given Will, the needle occasionally popping in a way that felt intentional, like it was part of the charm.
The lighting was dim and uneven, coming from a few mismatched lamps scattered around the room. No one had even considered turning on the big light. It was a well-known rule at this point that you did not use the big light when Will was around. He hated it. Vehemently. No one was entirely sure why, and no one was brave enough to challenge it.
It was cold, too. Winter lingered stubbornly in Hawkins, and the tiny space heater in the corner was doing its absolute best, whirring away like it had something to prove. It wasn’t winning, but by god, it was trying.
Will sat on his bed, knees drawn up, sketchbook balanced carefully against them. He was deep in concentration, pencil moving steadily, brows furrowed like the world might end if he got the shading wrong. A strand of hair kept falling into his eyes, and he ignored it every time.
El perched beside him, legs tucked under herself, chin resting in her hands as she watched him draw with quiet fascination. Every so often she leaned a little closer, eyes tracking the movement of his pencil.
Max lay stretched out on the floor near the foot of the bed, lazily tossing a stray tennis ball into the air and catching it again. Thump. Catch. Thump. Catch. It was unclear where the tennis ball had come from, but no one questioned it.
Lucas and Dustin had claimed Will’s desk, hunched over a messy pile of old D&D character sheets they’d unearthed from a drawer like buried treasure. Papers were spread everywhere, some yellowed at the edges, others covered in aggressively bad handwriting.
“Oh my god,” Dustin said, wheezing. “Why did we let you name this guy?”
Lucas squinted at the page. “I was twelve.”
“You named him Shadowfang the Merciless,” Max said without looking up. “And his intelligence stat is a six.”
“He was mysterious,” Lucas argued weakly.
Mike sat on the floor nearby, back against the bed, listening in. He snorted every time they read something particularly unhinged, occasionally chiming in just to make it worse.
“Hey,” he said, pointing at one sheet. “That’s not even spelled right.”
Dustin waved it at him. “Neither is half of this. Look—” He cleared his throat dramatically. “‘Special ability: can disappear into darkness, but only sometimes.’ What does that mean?”
Lucas groaned. “It means I didn’t understand how stealth worked.”
Mike laughed, head tipping back briefly against the bed. “You gave him a tragic backstory too. Three dead mentors.”
“Four,” Dustin corrected. “He added another one later.”
Max finally dropped the tennis ball, cackling. “Why were you like this?”
“Because we were children,” Will said absently, not looking up from his sketch.
El nodded seriously. “And dramatic.”
Dustin flipped to another page. “Oh, this one’s yours, Mike.”
Mike leaned forward. “No, don’t—”
Too late.
Dustin read aloud. “‘Sir Michael the Brave.’”
Mike groaned. “I was also twelve.”
“You wrote a full paragraph about his hair,” Lucas said, incredulous.
Mike squinted. “It was relevant.”
“It was blonde,” Max said. “That’s not lore.”
The room filled with laughter—easy, warm, layered over the soft music and the hum of the heater. Will smiled to himself, pencil still moving, like the sound alone was enough.
At some point, Mike leaned back again, shoulder brushing lightly against Will’s knee. Neither of them moved away.
It was comfortable. Lived-in. One of those moments that felt small while it was happening and important later, when you looked back and realized how rare it was to feel this safe, this settled.
The night stretched on, long and content, the kind of time that didn’t feel like it was moving at all.
Eventually, Max shivered, her earlier bravado wearing thin. She reached back and yanked a stray blanket off the back of Will’s desk chair, wrapping it around herself with a dramatic huff until she was little more than a vaguely annoyed burrito on the floor.
“This is a hate crime,” she muttered, voice muffled. “Who keeps their room this cold?”
Will hummed vaguely in response, already distracted again.
At some point, he and El had shimmied fully under the mountain of blankets on his bed, legs covered and shoulders pressed together. The blankets were mismatched and layered—too many patterns, not enough coordination—but they looked impossibly soft. Will’s sketchbook was balanced carefully between them, El leaning over it like she was offering sacred guidance.
“You should give her pink hair,” El stated, firm and decisive.
Will grinned. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” El nodded sagely, already reaching for Will’s pencil stash. She dug through it with purpose, brow furrowed, clearly searching for a very specific shade she’d already decided on. “Not light pink. Dark pink. Like—strong.”
Max groaned from inside her cocoon. “I’m fucking cold,” she complained. “Can’t we move to the living room? It’s like a sauna in there all year round.”
Will shrugged, pencil still moving. “Jonathan’s doing something down there. I don’t know what, and I’m not sure I want to.”
Lucas snorted. “Fair.”
“It’s cold,” Max repeated, kicking one socked foot out from under the blanket for emphasis before tucking it back in quickly.
Mike, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the bed, hummed quietly. He tugged his shirt sleeves down a little further, hands disappearing into the cuffs like it was second nature.
Will noticed instantly.
He always did.
He paused mid-sketch, pencil hovering. “Cold?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at Mike.
Mike glanced up, caught. “What? No. I’m fine.”
Will narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. “You just did the sleeve thing.”
“The what?” Dustin asked, distracted, still flipping through character sheets.
“The sleeve thing,” Will repeated, gaze never leaving Mike. “You do it when you’re cold.”
Mike opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. “…Okay, maybe a little.”
El looked between them, thoughtful. “You should get a blanket too.”
“I’m good,” Mike said automatically.
Max popped her head out of her blanket burrito. “You’re a liar.”
Will studied Mike for a moment longer, eyes flicking over him like he was taking inventory. The sleeves pulled down too far. The subtle hunch in his shoulders. The way he’d gone a little quieter.
He glanced at the bed, then back at Mike.
“I have your hoodie somewhere,” he muttered.
Mike blinked. “You do?”
Instead of answering, Will leaned forward and started digging through the mountain of blankets beside him. There was no real system to it—just hands disappearing beneath layers of fabric, pushing aside quilts and throws like he was searching for buried treasure. El scooted back slightly to give him room, watching with mild curiosity.
Max peeked out from her blanket cocoon. “If that thing doesn’t surface in the next ten seconds, we’re losing Will to his own blankets. Suffocation.”
“Found it,” Will said triumphantly, sitting back up and producing the hoodie seemingly out of thin air.
It was unmistakably Mike’s—soft, worn in, sleeves a little too long. He didn’t even bother smoothing it out. He just tossed it across the room.
Mike caught it easily, grin already spreading across his face. “You stole this?”
“I didn’t steal it,” Will said, entirely unbothered. “I sleep in it.”
There was a beat.
Lucas slowly looked up from the desk. “You what.”
Dustin gasped dramatically. “That’s a crime.”
Mike laughed, warm and breathless, clutching the hoodie to his chest for half a second before pulling it over his head. “I was wondering where this went.”
Will shrugged, clearly pleased with himself. “It smells like you.”
Max groaned loudly. “I hate it here.”
Mike’s voice was muffled as he tugged the hoodie down, sleeves swallowing his hands immediately. “Thanks, gorgeous.”
The word slipped out easy. Casual. Fond.
Still devastating.
Dustin froze mid-motion.
Lucas stared.
Max went very, very still inside her blanket.
El smiled.
Mike didn’t even notice. He was too busy adjusting the hem of the hoodie, shoulders relaxing instantly now that he was warmer. Will watched him with quiet satisfaction, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Dustin finally found his voice. “He said gorgeous.”
Mike blinked. “Huh?”
“You thanked him,” Lucas said slowly. “And then you called him gorgeous.”
Mike glanced at Will, who raised his eyebrows innocently. “You did,” Will said.
Mike opened his mouth. Closed it. Then laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean. He is.”
Max dropped her head back onto the floor. “I’m moving out.”
Will looks over at her, “you don’t fucking live here?”
El nodded thoughtfully. “That one is romantic.”
Mike shrugged, still smiling, and leaned back against the bed again like nothing world-altering had just occurred. Will picked his sketchbook back up, cheeks warm, pencil resuming its steady path.
The music droned on. The heater hummed uselessly. The room stayed cold.
But Mike was warm now.
The fourth time it happened was after movie night in the Wheeler basement.
The credits had long since rolled, the TV now glowing blue with nothing on it, casting soft light over the mess they’d made—empty popcorn bowls, discarded candy wrappers, a half-finished bottle of soda someone had forgotten about. Everyone moved slow, weighed down by tired limbs and the comfortable aftermath of doing absolutely nothing together.
The Party gathered their things at an unhurried pace, no one particularly eager to be the first to leave.
Mike stretched from his spot on the sofa, arms reaching over his head as he let out a long groan. “Anyone want a ride?” he asked through it, voice muffled slightly by the stretch.
Max didn’t even look up as she pulled her jacket on. “Nah. It’s not that bad out there tonight,” she said easily. “And if Dustin falls off his bike, it’ll be funny.”
“Dude, what the fuck?” Dustin protested, fumbling with his gloves.
El giggled, bright and unashamed.
Will was still curled up next to Mike on the sofa, hood pulled up, knees tucked in close. He rubbed at his eyes sleepily, blinking like he’d only half realized the movie was over. He opened his mouth to speak—
“Nope,” Mike said immediately.
Will paused, glancing up at him. “What?”
Mike looked down at him, expression firm and utterly unsurprised by his own decision. “I’m taking you and El home.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a statement. A declaration.
Will furrowed his brows, a small smile tugging at his lips anyway. “Mike,” he said softly, “we live, like, five minutes away from you now.”
“And?” Mike replied, already reaching for his keys. “It’s cold.”
Max snorted. “So?”
“Dustin falling is funny,” Mike continued, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “It’s not when it’s you.”
Dustin spluttered. “Why am I the control group here?”
“Because you’re the only one of us that needs to wear a helmet,” Lucas said, deadpan.
Mike ignored them all, already helping El into her coat. “C’mon. I’ll drop you off.”
Will watched him for a second, fond and a little amused, before sighing dramatically. “You’re impossible.”
Mike shrugged. “You knew that already.”
Will stood, stretching slightly, then leaned back in to grab his scarf. “You’re really doing this?”
“Yes,” Mike said. “Firmly.”
El nodded in agreement. “He worries.”
Mike shot her a look. “I do not—”
“You do,” Will and El said together.
Mike stopped, then huffed a laugh. “Okay. Fine. Maybe I do.”
Max zipped her jacket up. “God, you sound like a dad.”
Lucas slung his backpack over his shoulder. “He’s not wrong though.”
Will stepped closer to Mike as they headed for the stairs, bumping their shoulders together lightly. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting,” Mike said. “I’m being considerate.”
“Mike, I swear, we’ll be fine,” Will said, earnest even through the sleepiness clinging to his voice. “I’ll even call when we get back. You’re way too tired to be driving.”
“Will.”
“Mike.”
They stared at each other, neither giving an inch.
Around them, the rest of the Party had gone suspiciously quiet. Dustin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, wearing the kind of shit-eating grin usually reserved for impending chaos. Max watched with open delight, eyes flicking back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. Lucas shook his head slowly, like he’d seen this exact argument play out a hundred times already. El clasped her hands together, smiling.
“Mike—” Will tried again.
“I’m driving you home,” Mike said, calm and immovable.
Will huffed, shoulders slumping. “You are so stubborn.”
Mike didn’t even blink. “It’s literally already freezing over out there. I’m driving you both home.”
He stepped closer as he spoke, already reaching for Will’s jacket where it was draped over the back of a chair. Will barely had time to react before Mike was lifting it and gently guiding his arms into the sleeves, movements practiced and careful, like he’d done this a thousand times before.
Will went pliant immediately, letting himself be dressed without protest. “I can put my own jacket on,” he muttered, though he made no move to do so.
“I know,” Mike said, tugging the zipper up just enough. Not all the way. Never all the way. “Humor me.”
Will tilted his head back slightly, looking up at him, eyes soft and fond and entirely unconvincing in his attempt to look annoyed.
The Party watched. Unblinking.
Mike smoothed the collar down, hands lingering for half a second longer than necessary. Then, gently—naturally—he nudged Will toward the door.
“Come on, darling.”
The word slipped out warm and unthinking, wrapped in concern and certainty.
Silence hit the basement like a dropped plate.
Lucas drops his head to look at Max, “they’re disgusting.”
Max hums, “insufferable, even.”
Mike grabbed his keys, unfazed. “Shoes on,” he said, already opening the door. “Before it gets colder.”
Will shook his head, still smiling, and followed him out without another word.
Behind them, the Party exchanged looks—knowing, amused, slightly emotionally wounded looks.
The fifth time it happened was in a dingy diner on the edge of town, the kind with flickering neon in the window and booths that had seen better decades.
It had been Dustin’s idea. Of course it had.
“We need dinner,” he’d declared, like it was a matter of survival, and somehow that had turned into everyone piling into cars and ending up here. Truly everyone this time—the Party, plus Steve, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan, all crammed into mismatched booths that barely fit them, coats slung over the backs of seats, the table crowded with plates and glasses and baskets of fries.
The place was mostly empty, save for them and the nice older lady behind the counter—the kind who called you sugar without irony and topped off your coffee just because she felt like it. She’d already decided she liked them. Especially Will.
Steve slurped his milkshake a little too loudly.
Nancy shot him a look sharp enough to draw blood. “That’s gross, Steve.”
Steve didn’t even pause. “This cost me five dollars,” he said, shaking the cup slightly. “I am not leaving a speck of it in here.”
Robin snorted beside him. “He’s right. Respect the milkshake.”
Nancy groaned and went back to her fries.
Will had long since abandoned any attempt at sitting normally. He’d curled himself into a loose ball in the booth, knees drawn up slightly, his head tipped sideways and resting against Mike’s shoulder. His hood was up, shadowing his eyes, lashes heavy with exhaustion. The diner was warm, the lights low, and with how empty it was, it felt private enough that he didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
Mike didn’t move an inch.
One arm rested along the back of the booth behind Will, steady and familiar, like it had always belonged there. He shifted just enough to make Will more comfortable when Will sighed and settled his weight fully against him.
Steve noticed. Of course he did. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Well can you clean the glass out quicker?” Will huffed suddenly, voice muffled against Mike’s shoulder. “I wanna go to bed.”
Dustin looked up from his fries, unimpressed. “You didn’t wanna come here in the first place, you grouch.”
Will lifted his head just enough to glare at him, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. It was a look that would’ve killed Dustin on the spot if it were physically possible.
“I am not a grouch.”
Lucas pointed at him with his fork. “You kinda are when you’re tired, dude.”
“I am not a grouch!” Will fired back, mortified, his voice cracking just slightly on the word.
El giggled, bright and unrepentant, tilting her head as she studied him. “Only when you are tired.”
Will groaned and dropped his forehead back against Mike’s shoulder. “Okay. Traitor.”
Mike laughed quietly, the sound vibrating where Will was leaning against him. “You’re definitely tired.”
Will made a noise of protest. “I’m fine.”
Robin smirked. “You’re arguing like someone who is not fine.”
Jonathan watched the whole exchange with a soft smile, sipping his coffee. “He’s been like this all evening.”
Nancy leaned over the table slightly, amused. “You wanna leave?”
“Yes,” Will said immediately.
“No,” Dustin said at the same time.
The older woman behind the counter chuckled as she passed by, topping off someone’s drink. “Y’all look about ready to pass out right here.”
Will lifted his head again, polite despite himself. “Sorry, ma’am.”
She smiled at him kindly. “No trouble, sugar.”
Will relaxed again after that, cheek settling back against Mike’s shoulder, eyes finally sliding shut like his body had decided the argument was over whether he liked it or not.
Mike glanced down at him, fond and helpless, then back up at the table. “We can go soon,” he said easily. “Let him finish his fries.”
Dustin squinted at him. “Why do you get to decide?”
“Because,” Robin said before Mike could answer, “he’s clearly in charge.”
Mike rolled his eyes, but his hand shifted just slightly, steadying Will as he dozed where he sat. “And I’m your ride home, dipshit.”
The diner hummed quietly around them—cutlery clinking, the low murmur of the heater, Steve still fighting his milkshake. Outside, the night pressed in close and cold.
Mike’s hand slid up without thought, fingers slipping beneath the edge of Will’s hood like they belonged there. He threaded them gently through Will’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in slow, absent circles. It was careful. Familiar. The kind of touch you only did when you knew exactly how someone liked to be soothed.
Will hummed quietly, eyes still closed.
“Eat quicker,” he muttered, voice muffled and drowsy, vaguely aimed in Dustin’s general direction.
Jonathan snorted into his coffee. “He’s such a brat when he’s tired.”
Will cracked one eye open just enough to glare at him. “I can hear you.”
Dustin, suddenly motivated by survival, shoved the last of his fries into his mouth in one go. Max physically recoiled.
“Oh my god,” she said flatly. “You are foul.”
She pushed her empty plate aside and stood, shrugging her jacket on like she’d been waiting for permission to leave this entire time. “I’m ready when you are.”
Steve sucked loudly on his straw, determinedly extracting the last remnants of whipped cream before plonking it back into the glass with satisfaction. “Home time,” he declared. “Robin—please tell me you still have my keys.”
Robin fished through her jacket pockets, humming thoughtfully before holding them up on her pinky finger. “I thought about lying just to see you squirm,” she said cheerfully. “But I wanna go to bed.”
Steve sagged in relief. “You’re a hero.”
Mike glanced down at Will again, thumb brushing lightly over his cheek. Will leaned into it instinctively, eyes fluttering shut like his body had fully given up pretending to be awake.
“Come on, petal.” Mike murmured softly. “Let’s get you home and in bed.”
The table went dead silent.
Steve whipped his head around so fast it was honestly impressive. “Why do you sound like you’re married with a mortgage and four kids?”
Dustin, wiping his hands on a napkin, nodded gravely. “They do that,” he said. “That one’s new, though.”
Max stared at Mike like she was seeing him for the first time. “Petal,” she repeated faintly.
El smiled, bright and sincere. “It’s very romantic.”
Will cracked one eye open again, cheeks pink, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t even pretend to. He just shifted closer into Mike’s side, trusting completely.
Mike flushed, finally realizing—really realizing—that he had an audience. “What?” he asked weakly.
Nancy shook her head, amused. “You two are unbelievable.”
Jonathan smiled softly. “He’s not wrong, though. You look exhausted.”
Mike nodded, already standing and helping Will up without a second thought, keeping a steady hand at his back. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re heading out.”
Will leaned into him, half-awake, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Mike adjusted it immediately.
The older woman behind the counter waved them off with a fond smile. “Get home safe, sugar.”
Mike smiled back politely. “We will.”
As they filtered out into the cold night, the Party exchanged looks—grins, head shakes, quiet disbelief.
Because they’d known Mike Wheeler was in love.
They just hadn’t known he loved like this.
But it was fine. Because it was them.