Archive of Our Own

November 1987

“So…” Will starts, trying to conjure up the right words, “How did you know that with Vickie, right? How did you know that-, that Vickie wanted to…?”

“Make out?” Robin interrupts, and it’s not helpful.

“To date?” Will corrects. The blood is rushing in his head now; he can hear it in his ears, so loud in fact, he thinks they will be discovered.

He definitely means date. Making out is not the problem. Mike has been kissing him for years.

March 1986

The first night they are back in Hawkins, Mike invites Will to stay over.

“Like a sleepover – it’s not like you have anywhere else.”

And because Karen is just so grateful to have her son back, home and safe, the invitation gets extended to the rest of the Byers family. She doesn’t even bat an eyelid when Nancy takes Jonathan quietly into her room and closes the door.

Mike offers Will the first shower; they’ve been in the same clothes for a week, and between the desert and the cabin they are both badly in need of a wash. No one lets on to Mike’s parents about El and Hopper, not even Joyce as she’s shown the spare room.

The shower is hot and welcoming. Despite the grime and sweat stuck to his skin, the chill had entered Will’s bones the second he had set foot outside and into the spore ridden town; settling across the back of his neck in that old familiar way that spelt threat. He doesn’t want to use all the hot water, but Will can’t help but stand under the stream far longer than necessary, trying instead to focus on the moments that have heated him up in the last few days:

Mike asking to be a team. Mike’s hand on Will’s shoulder on the upside down couch. The look in his dark eyes when Will handed him the deceptive painting.

If memories were fire, Will should burn.

Will dries his body, dresses himself in Mike’s borrowed t-shirt and sweats. The latter pools slightly at his feet, but the thin fabric stretches across his torso, and, as he looks in the mirror, Will can finally acknowledge how much he has really grown. Changed.

He pads back to Mike’s bedroom, absently towel drying his hair, interrupting Mike as he lays down a spare sleeping bag on the floor by his bed. The bedroom has changed – the bunk beds have been replaced by a small queen, even the posters on the walls have been updated. There’s a picture of El in a frame on the table by the headboard, a guitar leaning up against the wall, but, over in the corner, still in pride of place on Mike’s old corkboard, are drawings gifted by Will. There’s even a Polaroid of Will in his Ghostbusters costume pinned up beside them.

Will takes a step around the bed to inspect them more closely, and Mike turns, spare pillow in hand to look at him. Then Mike drops it, almost comically. He dips down quick to pick it back up, but it’s not really necessary since it was headed in that direction anyway.

“Shit!” Mike exclaims, “You-, you gave me a fright.”

“Sorry,” Will apologises, on automatic pilot, “I thought you heard me come in.” He tilts his head in the direction of the drawings, “I can’t believe you kept these.”

“Of course.” Mike responds, like he thinks Will is a fool. “You drew them.”

“Some of these are rubbish, Mike!” Will laughs. “I’ll make you some new ones.”

“I like them,” Mike shrugs, “Plus, you already did.” He points to the rolled-up painting propped up against the edge of the desk and all the heat Will had accumulated in the shower escapes him. He glances instead out of the window; yes, the spores are still falling. He can’t trust his inner thermostat right now.

“You should really go shower before someone else jumps in.” Will remarks. “There’s gonna be a queue if you wait.” He turns back round and Mike is nodding, grabbing clothes from his dresser and bolting for the door. Then he stops suddenly and looks back, almost shy, peeking out beneath his hair.

“I’m really glad you’re home, Will.” He says it quick, quiet like a secret, and then he’s gone and Will is alone again.

Will finally surveys his makeshift bed in the silence – it’s a different sleeping bag from before; probably something brand new this year Karen bought on her latest shopping spree. It’s certainly much bigger than the one he used to curl up in on their basement floor. He folds himself down to the floor and slips his feet inside, his toes cold now, and brings the pillow up to his face. Mike had closed the door behind him and no one is there to witness Will pressing it against his nose and breathing in the scent of Mike.

They’ve been stuck together in a van for several days, and still Will doesn’t think he will ever get enough of this aroma. He wishes he could bottle it; he thinks it would sell for a fortune.

I love you on your good days, I love you on your bad days.

There will be time to cry later.

Mike being in love with El is not exactly news; it’s just tugging at his broken heart that Will had to coerce Mike into telling her. Had to save the world by sacrificing himself and how he feels. But things are good now, right? They can return back to normal. Will isn’t sure what normal means, really, all things considered. Too many monsters, dimensions, deaths have occurred to define it.

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder was an idiot. Distance just puts everything on hold until you return again and have to face reality. If things really were normal, Mike and Will would be huddled on the basement floor together, and Mike would scootch closer and…

But that was never normal. That was somewhere between torture and fantasy. That was a curse.

Will manoeuvres the pillow away from his face back to the ground, then snuggles down and chases after it. He won’t sleep for hours, but he can close his eyes and pretend. Will is good at pretending.

At some point he hears the door open and someone pad back into the room. He lets his eyes fall open enough to reassure himself it is just Mike and then closes them again. He wants to prop himself up on his elbows and watch as Mike towel dries his hair, gets dressed and climbs into bed. He won’t let himself.

There is a sound from above him as Mike scrambles onto the mattress. “Will? Are you awake?”

“Yeah.” Will admits, choosing now to stare ahead at the ceiling. Mike’s head pops over the edge of the bed and looks down at him. “Are you okay?” He doesn’t let Will answer, just barrelling on, “We’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Will turns his head finally to look at Mike. There’s sincerity written all over his face, but there’s fear there too. Maybe Mike is scared for El. Maybe he wishes she was here instead. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I know, Mike. We’ll get him. You’ve already said.”

“Yeah, but I want you to know I mean it. I can’t-, I can’t lose you again.”

This time Will does sit up, leaning on his elbows and forearms. Mike is too close but neither of them move.

“You won’t, Mike. He won’t get me again. I’m safe.” I feel safe, with you he almost adds but stops himself. There’s a whole different danger around Mike.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re safe. I’m glad-, I’m glad you’re here.” Mike’s said this already. Didn’t Shakespeare claim the lady doth protest too much? Will wants to lie down, wants to sleep. But this is Hawkins, and Vecna starts by haunting people in their dreams.

“Could you-,” Will begins to ask. “Would you mind putting the radio on, down low so it doesn’t disturb anyone else? You know,” He adds, in case Mike isn’t following, “They said music helped.”

“Course. Actually, that’s a great idea.” Will watches as Mike jumps from the bed and scrambles for the small radio he keeps on his desk – the same one, even after all this time. But Will can’t afford to think about that right now, can’t bear to remember the feel of Mike’s hands on his waist years ago. Mike swings himself back onto the bed with a bounce, carefully placing the radio on the small table above Will’s head in delicate contrast.

“As long as it’s not Duran Duran,” Mike jokes before switching it on. Thankfully, for both of them, it’s Queen.

Mike is still leaning over the bed, and Will could swear he’s even closer than he was before. He tries not to focus on Mike’s mouth as his teeth bite his bottom lip.

“Well, goodnight then.” Mike says, finally.

“Night, Mike.” Will goes to lie down again, but Mike’s hand darts out and clasps him on the shoulder – from the front this time, a mirror image to earlier in the cabin. Then he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to the centre of Will’s forehead. It’s reminiscent of the first time Mike kissed him – he almost expects to see blood on Mike’s lips as he pulls away.

“Just-, just wake me if you get nightmares, okay?”

Will nods and Mike pulls himself back up onto the bed, reaching over to turn off the bedside light. Will can still feel the ghost of Mike’s palm on his shoulder, the indentation of Mike’s mouth on his head.

Normal is overrated anyway.

The next day Ted makes the suggestion, rather pointedly in Jonathan’s case, that the two brothers should sleep in the basement. Will is almost relieved as he helps Mike manoeuvre an old mattress down the stairs; Mike’s already tried to fight his Dad on this, but Will didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. He doesn’t think he can spend the next few weeks on red alert all night, every night, wishing he could just get up off the floor and crawl into the bed beside Mike.

This is safer. It’s only temporary anyway, just for a few weeks; just until the Byers find a place of their own.

January 1978

It’s icy out, the kind of cold Will is finally old enough to remember from the year before. He’s still years away from learning how the chill will seep under his skin and into his bones; time enough it should bring bliss, relief. It will, when he looks back on this as a memory.

But right now, he’s not wrapped in enough fabrics or layers to appreciate this and he wishes he had packed gloves for school. The wind is making his eyes water, and he wonders fearfully if this counts as crying, and just what his Dad would think. Will stuffs his hands in his pockets and awaits his turn on the swings. He’d gone first, at the insistence of Mike, but now Will just watches as his friends rock back and forth; Lucas trying to gain more height.

“You’re going down, Wheeler,” Lucas is laughing, kicking his legs up and out, Mike chasing after him. It makes Will smile in a way he hasn’t in days. It’s easy, to feel normal, on a school playground, with friends. There are no slamming doors, or raised voices in anger, or words that twist in his gut without him fully understanding their meaning.

Lucas jumps off dramatically, slightly skidding on the ice as he lands, grasping hold of Will for support, who instinctively removes his hands from their sanctuary to ground him.

“Go on,” Lucas says, gesturing to the swings, “Must be your turn again.”

“Are you sure?” Will asks, “I don’t mind.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Lucas confirms, giving him a small push. “I got higher than Mike anyway.”

Will walks carefully over, minding the treacherous surface beneath his feet, before settling on the swings.

“They should really put some salt down.” Mike complains from beside him. He’s said this once already this morning, when Will had skidded in from the car. Will wonders why Lucas sliding over had warranted no comment. But he guesses, with a shrug, that that’s just Mike: Protective. At least when it comes to Will.

The chains are so cold they almost burn his fingers as he grasps them. Maybe they will get stuck and his skin will peel off? But then Mike throws him a smile and Will melts a little, like the sun has suddenly come out.

He knows he shouldn’t worry all the time. His Dad always calls him out on it. But it comes naturally, when you’ve grown up stepping around broken glass.

“Race you!” Mike shouts over, kicking his feet up to gain momentum again.

“You’re on!” Will agrees, pumping furiously to beat him. Lucas, from the ground, acts as umpire. Mike is winning easily, though Will might be letting him.

A small laugh escapes the three boys as they climb higher, then Mike is suggesting - “Jump? On three? One. Two. Three!” Both boys launch from the seats, Will’s hands untangling easily enough despite his worries, and Lucas is manoeuvring himself as if to catch them. Mike and Lucas land heavily on the ground with an oomph, and a giggle, but Will misses his mark and drops into the empty space beside them – his hand coming out to break his fall.

The others rush over to help him up, Lucas checking him up and down as if he has x-ray vision through Will’s clothing, but Mike is staring at his face, concern settled in a frown across his brow.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Mike’s taken hold of Will’s hand and is turning it over. The skin is scraped, slightly torn and bleeding. And Will tries to pull away as if it is nothing.

“I’m fine Mike, it’s just a scratch. Want to go again?” But Mike isn’t letting his hand go.

“We should go see the nurse.” Mike says, decisively. Then his face drops. “It was my fault, I shouldn’t have said to jump.”

“Hey! I’m the one you landed on, remember?” Lucas interjects, but Mike just waves him away.

“You’re fine. Stop grumbling. Come on Will.”

“Really, Mike, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry.”

“Mike always worries.” Lucas says. He doesn’t add about you, but they all hear it anyway. “Well, if you’re not actually hurt then I guess it’s my turn again. Who’s gonna race me?”

“Me!” Will smiles, turning back towards the swing-set as Lucas clambers on again, but he can’t move because Mike still has hold of his hand. “Mike?” Will asks, pointedly looking down. “Gonna need my hand back.”

“Oh. Yeah. Course.” But Mike still doesn’t let go. He looks up slowly at Will, before bringing Will’s palm up to his mouth.

And it shouldn’t be weird. Their Mom’s kiss them better all the time, and heaven knows they have all had worse cuts than this. But the action leaves a small drop of Will’s blood on Mike’s lip, and Will fixates on that as Mike finally releases him. He doesn’t know what it means just yet, but it has to mean something.

Will walks back to the swings, his grip less firm this time. And Mike just watches him; in a way Will thinks will haunt the rest of his life.

May 1986

A few weeks was an understated estimate. It’s been two months, and the Byers are no closer to moving out of the Wheeler’s house. Since the gates opened in March, the military have come and taken over the town – anyone who didn’t escape is now stuck in Hawkins on quarantine. The fence erected around the town practically went up overnight, the entirety of the town centre blocked off. The sounds of the dimension-rips being closed over can be heard on the wind from anywhere within the perimeter, and Will wonders how covering it up will help. Sure, no one can just fall in now, but the gates opened for a reason, and it’s not like Demogorgons haven’t found ways of opening gates of their own before.

The one upside, or downside when you’re stuck inside with nothing to do, is that school is still closed. It’s being used as a giant medical centre; every resident subjected to blood tests and physicals in case the spores that initially fell have done any damage. No one knows if they have; the government aren’t sharing the results. Everyone has been reassured that school will reopen and resume as normal for the new semester in September. His Mom says she has enrolled Will, now it’s obvious they are not going anywhere.

The basement is looking more and more like home; it always did, in a way. But now it’s scattered with a mix of Jonathan and Will’s gathered second-hand possessions gifted by the charity drive. Will’s wardrobe is a mix of donated clothing and Mike’s shirts and sweaters. They’ve long ago lost their scent, but there’s still something comforting about wearing them.

Okay, maybe not comforting, Will amends, in his head. Sacrilegious.

Will is settled on the sofa, usually Jonathan’s make shift bed. Last night they had dragged the mattress over beneath it so they could both watch a movie on the old television. All of Mike’s old videotapes are stored down here, and E.T is still in the VCR. Will debates popping it back on again for something to do, but he keeps getting distracted by the time; keeps checking his watch. The government have also introduced a curfew, in the guise of keeping people safe, and it’s come and gone already with no sign of Mike returning.

Will knows he’s at the cabin with El; knows what he’s busy doing. The pain is old and familiar now, but it still gets Will’s attention. Jealousy and guilt are his constant companions, rearing their ugly heads whenever Mike shoots him a glance across the room, or knocks his knees into Will’s under the dining room table. He learnt very early on that all too much is never enough.

It’s almost half-past-nine before the outside basement door opens, and Mike enters with the cool wind. His hair and jacket are damp, and Will wonders just when it started raining.

“You’re late.” He comments. It’s not an accusation, not really, but, as the minutes had slipped past, fear had grown in Will, like a virus; scared Mike had been caught.

“Had to go the long way – patrols on Jackson Street.” Mike peels his waterproof from his body and throws it over a chair, his wet curls landing on his shoulders and dampening his shirt collar. “Where’s Jonathan?”

“You have to ask?” Will says, raising his eyebrows.

“Nancy.” Mike confirms. Usually he’d laugh as he says it, but there’s a seriousness to his face, something beneath his skin which almost suggests he's in pain. Will scotches over to make room beside him, but instead Mike flops down on the mattress at Will's feet.

"You wanna talk about it?" Will offers, stuck between wanting to help his friend, and not wanting to hear about it at all. Mike is silent for a moment, and Will leans forward to look down at him.

"Do you ever feel-,” Mike starts, “Feel like you've wasted so much time trying to... trying to be someone you're not? Do something everyone expects even if it's not what you want?"

Yeah, Will thinks. Daily. "What happened?"

Mike sighs, runs a hand down his face, continuing to stare up at the ceiling. Will settles back in his seat, looking away. Mike always has a habit of holding things in until he’s ready; he’ll let Will know eventually. Will won’t rush him.

He wishes he had something to do with his hands; a pad and pencil, a Rubix cube, hell – even homework at this point. Then he feels a touch to his leg and Will almost jumps out of his skin; Mike is delicately wrapping his fingers around Will’s ankle. Maybe it’s to ground him. Unlikely to be because he can’t help himself.

Perhaps it’s just because Mike needs something to do with his own hands.

Mike’s fingers creep up above Will’s sock line, pads gently brushing across his skin. Will always thought breathing was overrated anyway. He doesn’t lean forward; doesn’t lean down in case it breaks the spell they are under.

“Mike?”

“El and I broke up.” It’s spoken simply, like someone would announce the weather. It cracks though Will’s brain and body like a thunderstorm.

Will opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes. The silence drags and Mike doesn’t fill it either. His thumb just brushes over the bump in the bone beneath his hands.

“Are you-,” Will tries, when the quiet becomes suffocating. “Are you okay?”

There’s a sound and a movement which might indicate a shrug. “I don’t know.” Mike exhales a breath, deafening in the small space that seems to shrink around them. “I don’t know.” He repeats. Will’s not sure if he’s even talking to Will anymore or just thinking aloud.

“Did she-,” Will hesitates, “Was it you who-?” He falters again.

“Both of us, I think. She just kind of pointed out that it wasn’t working anymore, and it’s not like I disagree. I mean-, I mean I can only say I love her when the world is ending? How fucked up is that?” His grip is firmer now, long fingers travelling up under Will’s pant leg to ghost over his calf.

“Mike, I’m sorry. It’s still shit, however it happened.”

“She said she wanted her friend back. Said we were always closer as friends.” Will had thought they were close enough as a couple - locked at the lips in fact. He almost goes to say this, wants to say this, but it comes out catty in his head and it’s not what Mike needs right now. He wonders absently if Mike can smell Will on the bed sheets, hope sparking somewhere deep inside of him that maybe it brings some comfort; like it always does the other way round. But Mike’s not like him. And he’s just been dumped. At least, at least it sounds like it.

“What did you say?” Mike’s index finger is drawing idle shapes now on Will’s skin. It’s all consuming.

“That I was sorry. That I miss that too.”

Will wants to ask if they hugged it out, if they kissed goodbye. He can’t bring himself to do so.

“Will you be okay?” Will tries instead.

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” Will doesn’t need to see Mike’s face; he can feel his expression through his fingertips. Latching, insecure, lost. “It’s not like we see much of each other anymore anyway. She’s always so busy. Maybe-, maybe I just need something to distract myself.”

“A campaign?” Will suggests automatically, then curses himself. A campaign means memories of Eddie. The grip on Will’s leg flinches, tightens.

“No, something more real life. Like-, like something that would help.” Will waits, he can hear the cogs turning in Mike’s brain. “Like-, like, what if there was a way we could get into the Upside-Down? Through the MAC-Z gate. We could scope it out down there. Check-, check for signs of Vecna.”

“That sounds like a great idea.” It sounds terrifying. “You should work on that – you’ll come up with something.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, Mike. You’ve always been the best planner in DnD, what’s a few real-life monsters, really?” Mike almost laughs.

“How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“Best friend? Kinda had practice.” Shit, wrong word to say. Will can’t take it back now. Mike has found Will’s ankle bone again, is drawing circles round it.

“That must be it.” Mike agrees. His hand stills. “Do you know, I can’t even remember the last time I kissed her. That should have told me everything.”

“It’s okay, Mike. You’ll be okay.” Will pauses, then, “Is she okay?” He has to ask; she is his sister. Sort of.

“I think so. Seemed a lot more put together than me. You should use the walkie though, call her.”

“Later.” Will says, “Right now I’m looking after you.”

Mike pulls his hand away, starts to sit up. He glances across at the television screen. “Were you watching a movie?”

“Thinking about it. Was waiting to see if you arrived home safe first.”

“Can I watch with you?” Mike asks. Will nods, pushes himself up from the sofa and pads over to the T.V. He switches it on, grabbing the remote on the way back to press play. He can watch E.T. again, it saves having to waste brain power on making a decision about something else.

He drops down onto the mattress next to Mike, back leaning against the couch. As the screen illuminates the room, Mike grabs the blankets and throws one between themselves, snuggling under it. A few minutes into the first scene he rests his head on Will’s shoulder.

Broke up. Can’t remember the last time he kissed her.

Will wants to touch his own mouth, but fears it suggests too much, with Mike so close. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand instead. As if to brush away the memory of the first time Mike kissed him there; anything to keep himself from hoping.

July 1978

Apparently they are too young to be left fully unsupervised, so Jonathan pretends to be watching them from the swing on the front porch; headphones on, book in hand. Lucas, Mike, and Will have retreated far enough into the trees by the Byer’s house that it is actually unlikely he can see them.

They are playing dragons and knights, each taking it in turns to be the dragon; large sticks from the ground acting as swords. Just sometime during his turn as dragon, the other two have ended up in an accidental sword fight, and Will sits down on a stump to watch. Mike playacts stabbing Lucas, and Lucas drops his sword heavily, falling to his knees and pretending to gush out blood from his imaginary wound before collapsing backwards in a dramatic death scene.

“Why are you fighting each other?” Will asks, when the laughter stops, “Weren’t you supposed to be fighting the dragon?” Lucas props himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah, but even if we both slay the dragon, we can’t both marry the princess.”

“There’s a princess?” Will feels like he’s missed part of the conversation somewhere.

“Well, yeah.” Mike agrees, swinging his sword back and forth across the dirt on the ground. “Dragons horde gold and kidnap princesses. It’s like in every story ever.” Will has obviously been reading the wrong books. Princess is used as an insult in his house.

“Oh.” He says, pretending like he understands. He wants to play whatever game they are playing. “Then who is the princess?”

“She’s like imaginary or… whatever. Like-, like the idea of a princess.” Mike responds, and Will exhales. No actual girls involved. Good.

“Bet you wish it was Lana Morrison!” Lucas teases, rising to his feet and grabbing his sword again.

“What? Ew! No!” Mike responds, making a disgusted face. But Lucas just laughs.

“You were staring at her all through Math last semester.”

“I was not!” Mike is indignant. He turns to Will for support. “Tell him I wasn’t.” Will had sat next to Mike all of last year and he never saw it. But he’s determined to join in.

“Can’t confirm or deny.” Will states with a grin and Lucas laughs. Mike shoves him.

“Way to have my back!” Will shrugs; Mike’s tone is still fond.

“So is she the princess?” Will asks, “Are you two fighting over Lana?”

“God no,” Lucas shakes his head, “Actual girls are gross.”

“Exactly!” Mike says, launching at Lucas with his stick again, but Lucas fights him off easily. Will doesn’t really have an opinion about girls enough to find them gross. They are just there, in the peripheral of his life, and he ignores them. He has his two best friends and his big brother. Everything else is irrelevant.

His Mom is a girl, he amends in his head, she’s not gross but very nice and kind. Maybe girls change as they grow up?

“Can I fight the dragon now?” Will asks, standing back up, brushing the dirt off the back of his pants, and reaching for his abandoned sword on the ground.

“Only if I can be the dragon.” Mike states, tossing his weapon away, throwing his arms out to the side, and roaring. Lucas and Will chase him around the clearing, Lucas getting one thrust in before Mike turns and mimes biting into Will’s torso. Will falls to the floor and pretends to bleed out, closing his eyes and feigning unconsciousness.

“You ass! You killed him!” Lucas reprimands, and Will listens as Lucas whacks Mike across the chest.

“That’s the game, dumbass.” Will could swear he can actually hear Mike’s eyes rolling.

“Maybe he’s just unconscious. Like the princess in sleeping beauty.” Lucas suggests.

“And what?” Mike is saying, “He needs a kiss to wake up?” Will should be opening his eyes and sitting up, but the conversation has turned to ridiculous, and he’s internally laughing too much to give himself away.

“Exactly.” Lucas confirms. “He just needs a brave knight to rescue him.”

“You?” Mike asks, sounding incredulous. “You’re gonna kiss him?”

“Needs must.” And the pink spot behind Will’s eyelids is darkened as something moves between him and the sun. He’s never been kissed before; he didn’t think it would be like this. Then-

“Move!” And the shadow is pushed aside in favour of another one, and Will can smell Mike now, right up under his nose; Mike’s hands on his shoulders, Mike’s knee pressing into his side. And this is when Will should sit up, and laugh it off - pretend like he’s in on this giant joke. But something is freezing him to the spot. Maybe he really is asleep. Maybe he’s dreaming.

Mike kisses him, quick but firm. Mike never does anything by half.

Will opens his eyes and sits up. He could swear there is almost a look of fear on Mike’s face. Behind him, Lucas is doubled over in hysterics. Will wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and, after a beat, Mike follows suit.

“Can we change games?” Will asks, “I don’t want to be the damsel in distress anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Mike says, reaching out a hand and pulling Will to his feet as Mike rises up off his knees. There are dark stains there from the dirt; Will watches as they move.

“Pirates?” Mike suggests, and Will nods. He raises his stick – a cutlass this time – and charges after Lucas, Mike following in his wake.

Later, walking back to the house, Will and Mike fall behind. “Was that-,” Will hesitates, “Was that your first kiss?” He has to know.

“Yeah.” Mike admits, and his voice is shy; half smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry I stole it.” Will says. He wonders if Mike had wished Will was Lana.

“You didn’t steal it.” Mike shrugs, “I gave it to you.”

July 1986

“Hey Max.”

They are at the hospital again; Mike sitting down in the seat Lucas just vacated and reaching out for her hand. It would have surprised Will, if Mike hadn't confided in him just how much time Mike had spent with Max in the weeks following Will and El’s departure from Hawkins. Before Max shut them out and closed herself off.

“It's me.” Mike continues, squeezing the girl’s fingers. Will takes the other chair and rests a hand on her leg. There's still a cast under the blankets, and Will wonders if she can hear them; if she knows they are there. El keeps searching, but she hasn't been able to find her.

“Will’s here too.”

“Hi Max. Wish you could see the weather today, perfect for skateboarding.” Will pauses, giving her time to reply as he always does. “And no, I haven’t been on a board since California – I’m waiting for you.”

“You skateboarded in California?” Mike asks, glancing up, incredulous.

“Sometimes. There was a park up behind the school. You’d be proud, Max, I got quite good.”

“Okay, you have to show me that.” Mike interjects.

“I will. When she wakes up we’ll both kick your ass – right, Max?” The redhead doesn’t stir; the only response the beep of monitors. Mike turns away again, using his free hand to brush a stand of hair away from Max’s face.

“Lucas says the last cast comes off next week, that’s good. Something to look forward to.” Mike tucks the strand behind her ear. “You need to wake up before then though, because Will has drawn a masterpiece on it and it would be a shame to miss it.”

“Totally my best work.” Will jokes, unsurprised to find tears in his eyes.

“About what you said, before…” Mike starts, quietly. Will feels like he’s suddenly intruding on a private conversation. “I’m trying, I promise. I kind of need you though, as like, my wing-woman.” Will wonders if Mike is talking about getting El back. “It’s just, scary, you know. I mean-, you are totally scary, but maybe you’d frighten me into getting my head out my ass.” Mike is crying now, a solitary silent tear slipping down his cheek. “I need you. Maybe it all wasn’t as-, as stupid as I made out.”

The door swings open and Mike pulls back from the bed; releasing his hand from its grip on Max’s and rubbing the wetness on his cheek away.

“Pepsi or Cola?” Lucas asks, dumping various snacks and drinks onto the bottom of the bed. Dustin follows in behind him, talking ferociously on his SuperCom.

“I’m telling you Steve, it’s this way or no way.”

Steve’s voice comes crackling through. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea Dustin.”

“Well fuck you then! Eddie would have said yes!” He switches off the walkie dramatically, pushing the antenna back down. The other three boys stare at him.

“I just asked if he and Robin could try to use the radio station equipment to tap into the government communications. But he was all Hop told us to lay low. Don’t go poking the military bear. It’s all bullshit.” Will jumps up from his chair and Dustin collapses gratefully into it. “I mean, Eddie always said fuck the man, right? I thought Steve got that.”

Will drops his hand on Dustin’s shoulder, and Dustin reaches up to squeeze it. Lucas settles down on the end of the bed, pushing the snacks aside and resting one hand on Max’s ankle.

“Can you ask El?” Will suggests. “She’d be able to listen in.”

“Oh my god! This is why you are my favourite!” He’s momentarily drowned by synchronised Heys! From Mike and Lucas. “You always have the best ideas. Thanks.”

Will wishes he’d met Eddie. The boy had obviously had such a profound impact on his friends, even drawing Mike and Lucas back into DnD. Every story he’s told is even more outrageous, and Will thinks there is an aspect of hero-worship there. Who was it that said only the good die young?

Will pulls back from Dustin’s shoulder, pausing to grab a Coke from the sheets. He moves to lean against the wall, but Mike beckons him over.

“You gonna give up your seat for me?” Will asks quietly, as Dustin starts to fill Max in on recent events.

“Actually, thought we could share.”

“Well budge up then.” There is no way this chair will take two people, but Will is too addicted to the close proximity of Mike to refuse. In the last two months there had been an inordinate amount of sitting too close, shoulders brushing when they walked, glances that seemed to catch across a room. Will has no idea what to do with all of this. He assumes Mike is just trying to repair the friendship he’d thrown away during that time apart; over compensating even. Will really wishes he could stop reading more into it.

Sometimes it almost looks like Mike is about to kiss him. He never does.

But here’s Mike again, not moving over but patting his thighs. Will rolls his eyes, over-dramatically for the benefit of Dustin and Lucas, and perches carefully on the very edge of Mike’s knees.

“That can’t be comfortable. Would you just sit properly?” Then Mike is shifting beneath him, using his arms to pull Will back and into his lap. Will assents and complies. Mike’s arms stay on his waist, curling further round and interlocking with each other there. Mike leans forward, resting his chin on Will’s shoulder to observe the conversation in front of him.

Lucas is looking at Max with complete adoration; pure love shining out from all his features. His hand rubs along one of her legs as Will allows himself to rest his own hand on top of one of Mike’s forearms.

He wonders, if anyone were to glance over, if Will has the same look on his face.

September 1983

Navigating middle-school has felt like a mine field for Will. He’s smart enough, and he knows how to study hard, but he’s eternally unpopular and, while the Party was just odd in Elementary school, they are branded as freaks here. A.V. club has become a safe haven from the playground and other kids - Troy and his gang in particular.

Will knows the names they are called are insulting – toothless, midnight, frog-face, but he’s not a fighter and would much rather just run. It’s not like Will can use the hunting skills his Dad taught him to actually shoot the bullies, no matter how much he wants to. He’s learnt he’s fiercely protective of his friends, even if he’s not able to actually keep them safe. Some days Will feels fragile; not like glass, but like a bomb. And the bullies are wrong; wrong in their racism, in their taunts about Dustin’s medical condition – which is absolutely out of his control. And wrong about Mike.

Especially Mike.

Mike is the most beautiful boy Will has ever seen; somewhere between a white knight and an angel. Which is why they are right about Will – queer.

Lonnie has been gone just over a year, but the words still burn beneath Will’s skin and live in his veins. Queer. Gay. Fag. He doesn’t think there are positive connotations for those words. Will lies awake at night and plays them over and over in his mind, trying to push the image of Mike’s non-frog-face from his memory. But it always comes back.

Mike isn’t like him. And that’s good. That keeps Mike safe. No one was ever killed or became diseased from having a frog-face. And even on nights when the only memory he can fall asleep to is the one where Mike kissed him once, as children during a pretend game, Will won’t allow himself to want it to happen again. Mike is his best friend and Will will protect him. Even by breaking his own heart.

They are only two weekends into the new semester, and the Party are all sequestered in Mike’s basement playing through the most recent campaign; Mike as Dungeon Master. A meagre roll of six brings it to an abrupt, disappointing end.

“Shit!” Dustin exclaims, looking down at the D-twenty. “I’m out.”

“Troglodytes got you.” Lucas says, conciliatorily patting Dustin’s shoulder, “Tough break, man.”

“You two are still in,” Dustin comments, “We could still win.”

“Next weekend.” Mike suggests, and Will wonders why; it’s not even late. “We’ll pick it up next weekend.”

“Next weekend? Why?” Lucas asks.

“Something I’ve gotta do this afternoon. For my Mom.” Mike adds, but Will knows him well enough to tell he is lying.

“Boring.” Lucas comments, then goes to grab his bag. Dustin starts to gather up his snacks and shove them back into his backpack. They start to head for the stairs, glancing down towards Will.

“You coming?” Dustin asks.

Will stands up, “I-,”

“He’s gonna stay and help me, right?” Mike interjects, throwing Will a look. Will reads him like a book - whatever it is Mike needs him for, he doesn’t want the others to know.

“Yeah.” Will responds, “Sorry, already said I would.” He can feel Mike smile next to him.

“Okay, later!” Lucas calls as they make their way out of the basement, Dustin throwing a wave behind him.

Mike runs a hand through his hair then collapses heavily on the sofa. Will moves to sit next to him, perching precariously on the very edge. Mike is actually shaking.

“Okay-,” Mike starts, then stops. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I wanted-, I wanted to ask you something, but I don’t want you to freak out, or it to be weird or anything.”

“Sure.” Will says, “But you do know you’re already weird, right?” It’s accompanied by a smile, a half laugh. And usually Mike would be laughing with him, but he’s not this time, just leaning forwards and focusing on his hands as his fingers fumble together. “What is it, Mike? Are you-, are you okay?” Will’s concerned; he knows anxious Mike like the back of his hand and the emotion is always contagious.

“It’s about the Snowball.” Mike mumbles.

“The Snowball?” Will is confused. “You mean that stupid school dance in December?”

Mike groans and throws his head back again against the rear cushion, closing his eyes. “What if-, if it’s not stupid.”

“You want to go to a dance?” Will isn’t sure where this is going. The guilty, hidden part of Will wakes up and nudges him in the abdomen – Is Mike asking him to the dance?

No of course not. That would be crazy.

“You’re gonna have to spell it out for me a bit, Mike. I’m kinda lost over here.”

“Like-,” Mike opens his eyes again, but doesn’t fully look at Will, settling instead on a obviously fascinating spot on Will’s left shoulder. “Like, what if I ask a girl to dance…and…and she expects me to kiss her.”

Will’s body tenses. He knew at some point Mike would move onto wanting to kiss girls. That’s the normal thing to do. He probably doesn’t even remember kissing Will once. Unlike Will, he probably never fantasises about doing it again. Will tries to skirt the question.

“Shouldn’t you be more worried about how to dance?”

“I’m panicking about one thing at a time.” Mike confesses.

“I think these things just come naturally. You know? When the moment is right?” Will has no clue, actually, how these things come about at all but figures he should say something.

“Will.” Mike says, finally diverting his eyes from Will’s shoulder to his face, “Since when has anything I’ve done come naturally? Naturally, I cock-up...” It’s not untrue. “Like-, like, maybe it’s something I should practice first?” The last few words are almost lost in a whisper and Will wishes he could see inside Mike’s head right now.

“Are you asking me to recommend a girl for you to practice with?” He asks, wondering if this is where the conversation is going. Mike bites his lip.

“Actually, I wanted-, I wondered if I could…you know?”

Will tilts his head. “No, Mike. I don’t know. You’re gonna have to actually tell me.”

“Practice with-, with…you.” If Will hadn’t been sitting so close he would have missed the last word, so quietly was it spoken. And suddenly Will is aware of every point of contact. Of how, in the short conversation, their bodies have drifted together until their thighs are pressed against one another, their shoulders brushing.

“With me.” Will whispers, scared to raise his voice in case he’s misheard.

Mike is talking to his fingers again, “Yeah. And I know it’s weird, but you’re my best friend, and it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“Once. When we were kids, Mike.”

“Right. But it wouldn’t mean anything. Its not like we’re-, like we’re gay or anything.” Mike shuffles in his seat and Will’s thigh burns. “It would help you too! I mean, when you want to kiss a girl…” He tapers off, and where Will was burning before he now freezes.

Wouldn’t mean anything. When you want to kiss a girl.

“Mike,” Will starts, voice soft, like he’s approaching a scared animal. He wonders what it took for Mike to ask this. “We can’t.”

Mike looks up at him, pulling away enough to draw his knees up to his chin. Then he nods, quickly, and Will thinks Mike is about to cry.

“My Dad.” Will explains, even though the man has long left. “We can’t.” We can’t because I want to and you don’t, not really.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Forget-, just please forget I asked.” Then Mike’s wiping his tears with the back of his hands and Will just wants to hold him. But Mike was wrong; this question has made everything weird.

“Do you want-, do you want me to go?” Will glances over at the stairs. He hopes Mike will say no; the anticipation suffocating.

“I’ve freaked you out, haven’t I?” Mike asks. He looks so young and vulnerable and Will just wants to protect him all over again, even if he has to protect Mike from Mike himself. Will reaches out and places a hand on Mike’s knee.

“No. We’re good. But I can leave, if you want me to.”

“No.” Mike shakes his head, stares at Will’s hand for a beat before meeting his eyes. “Do you want to go?”

“Of course not. Didn’t you buy a new X-Men comic you promised I could read?” Will is surprised his voice is so steady; his pulse clamouring against his vocal cords.

“Yeah,” Mike breathes. Then he laughs, like he’s been an idiot, and finally unbends his legs. He stands up and heads for the stairs. Yesterday he would have grabbed Will’s hand and pulled Will with him. Today he doesn’t, just looks back to make sure Will is following.

Later, in bed, in the dark, Will curses himself for not saying yes. Saying yes and damning the consequences. His heart is breaking anyway at the thought of Mike with some unknown girl; at least if he’d kissed Mike, he would have known what it was he was missing.

September 1986

Will thinks he’s been hallucinating. Maybe Vecna has finally gotten into his head and is showing him things that aren’t really there. Like Mike going to take his hand as they climb the stairs to his bedroom to tackle their homework, or Mike as he cuddles in next to Will under a blanket to watch a movie.

He could swear there have been moments in the last few months where Mike was about to kiss him. Like last week, when Will had been talking about the aspects of abstract art ahead of his new AP class, and Mike had leaned forward; brushing the hair from Will’s face, cupping his chin, and… and Nancy had shouted down the basement stairs for dinner. And Mike had snapped back like he’d been struck by a sudden bolt of lightning.

It shouldn’t feel overwhelming; this belief that Mike would kiss him. Mike used to kiss him all the time, sometimes for no obvious reason at all. But that was years ago, and Will is only too aware hope could kill him long before disappointment does.

He’s propped up on Mike’s bed, fiddling with pad and pencil, trying to just keep his hands busy. Mike is sitting at his desk, actually tacking homework they were set that week and not leaving it until the last minute as usual. Will begins to sketch him without realising; the curve of Mike’s back as he sits in the chair, the pen haphazardly flung between his lips, the furrowed expression on his face. He manages to get lost in a few moments of this, pencil marking the paper in an old familiar rhythm, when he hears a bump and looks up. Mike has face planted onto his science textbook, shoulders heaving in a sigh.

“Want some help?” Will offers. Will had completed the assignment last night; maybe they should have worked on it together but Mike had been out on one of his late afternoon wanders and hadn’t made it home until curfew. Will doesn’t know where he goes.

“No.” Mike mumbles, face still in the paper. “I’m hoping it will go away if I ignore it.”

“Smart move.” Will comments. “Always worked before.” A sarcastic smile finds his face and Mike mirrors it, finally sitting up.

“What are you drawing? Can I see?”

“It’s just doodles. Keeping my hands busy.”

“Can I see anyway?” Mike asks, and he leaves the chair to climb onto the bed, kneeling up next to Will’s outstretched legs.

Will knows the drawing says too much. Every time he draws Mike it comes out beautiful. He passes it over regardless; he doesn’t have the confidence to voice his feelings with words anyway.

“Do I really look like that?” Mike asks, after a pause.

“It’s just a rough sketch,” Will corrects, “I haven’t finished it or anything.”

“You make me look-” Mike stops, fingers moving over the paper almost reverently. “You make me look good.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I need my eyes testing or something.” Will jokes. Mike doesn’t laugh. He drops the pad to the bed, eyes following it for a second, before finding something captivating about his bed sheets. He reaches his hand out, practically unconsciously, and rests it on Will’s leg. Will feels himself tense beneath it.

“Will?” Mike murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask you something. And you can say no, okay? But I have to ask.”

“Okay?” Will sits up from the headboard a bit, his legs shifting beneath Mike’s hand. Mike looks up, catches his eye, then stares down at Will’s mouth.

Will is hallucinating again. Has to be.

Mike’s body posture changes, folding in on itself. Even his voice is shy when it comes out. “Do you want-? Would you like to-? Can we-?” He’s still fixated on the lower half of Will’s face.

Will cuts him off. Vecna be damned. “Yeah.” If this is the only chance he gets, Will is taking it. “Yeah.” He’s been desperate to kiss Mike since the first time he allowed himself to want it, back in Castle Byers; a sharp memory in his mind. So sharp, sometimes it bleeds.

“Yeah?” Mike asks, words laced with disbelief. Will sits up further, lays a hand on Mike’s knee.

“Yeah.” He echoes.

Then Mike leans forward and presses his lips to Will’s. Soft, unsure. He pulls away, catches Will’s eyes, then darts in again, more certain this time. He’s still kneeling on the bed, Will practically under him. He takes Will’s head in his hands, pulling him closer. Their lips slide together, separate with a click, then find each other again. Will fists his hands in Mike’s shirt, before they travel down to find Mike’s waist, his hips.

Mike kisses him again, clumsy, wanting. Teasing Will’s lips open with his tongue, rubbing circles on Will’s jaw with his thumbs. Will wants him closer, needs to feel him against his quivering, disbelieving body.

And maybe it’s Mike who’s in Will’s head, not Vecna, because Mike is moving, clambering over Will’s body until he has a knee either side of Will’s thighs, pressing him up against the headboard behind him; tipping Will’s head to the side and licking forcibly into Will’s mouth.

Their tongues meet, and Will can’t stifle the moan that climbs up his throat, that’s been sitting there for weeks waiting for this. Mike swallows it down. Their hips, waists, crotches are colliding now; Mike’s lips leaving Will’s mouth in favour of his jawline, his neck, his collarbone. Will’s wanted to scream for days with frustration, now he wants to scream for all different reasons. He tips his head back, his hands leaving Mike’s waist to tangle in his hair; long strands wrapping round his fingers, and he pulls.

He's not sure if he’s pulling Mike in, or Mike away, it’s all too instinctive. But Mike moans, a guttural, filthy sound, and Will repeats the movement. Grinning when Mike breaks them apart completely.

Mike’s face is flush, lips plump and slicked wet. Will wants to devour him.

“Are you telling me you’re a hair puller?” Mike asks, grinning back.

“Maybe I’m just suggesting you need a haircut?”

“No chance.” Mike mumbles, finding Will’s mouth again with his own. “Do you know-, know how long I’ve-”

“Yeah.” Will replies, “Yeah I really do.” And he knows it’s not the same in actuality; that Mike just misses El and Will is there and readily available, willing to kiss him without it having to mean anything – at least for Mike.

Mike doesn’t know what it’s like to be in love with his best friend. But Will has missed this, as innocent as it used to be, back when. And he’s just grateful to get a bit of it back; no matter the cost down the line.

If Will’s hallucinating, he’ll gladly die in here.

February 1984

Will had always been the sort of person who went through life grateful. Whether it was nurture or nature, he was never sure, but it was somewhere deep inside of him; something between a blessing and a curse. He was grateful for the dinners on his plate, grateful for the unquestioning love of his Mom and brother, grateful for his friends, his art, his open and honest soul. And he was grateful too to Hopper, and to El - who had found him and rescued him from the Upside-Down.

But if he has to hear Mike utter her name one more time he knew he was going to scream. The kind of scream that starts deep in your abdomen; guttural and wrenching. The kind of scream no pillow could muffle or single breath could contain.

Will came back, and she didn't. And it eats at his insides; the jealousy and the guilt. And Mike talks about her like she was a mix of angel and superhero. And isn't that the problem with the dead? The love can live on long after the life is snuffed out?

Mike misses her like an amputee misses a limb. Let's her name slip into conversation like she's just round the corner waiting for him to call her back. Mike hadn't told the others, but he'd confessed to Will that he tried to contact her every night; counting down the days since he last saw her. Since he had pressed his lips to hers. Something else only Will was privy to the knowledge of.

Forget just eating him up inside, some nights Will thinks it devours him whole.

And Mike had cried, slipped his sleeping bag right into the space next to Will’s in the basement and sobbed into his shoulder. And Will had held him, in the dark. Like a promise. Like a death sentence. Oldest story in the book, right? You love someone and you lose them. Just the one Will loves is in his arms and under his skin - tragedy seeping into his shoulder with the tears. And it would take a bigger man than will not to be moved by it.

But Will is just a boy, and Mike is just his friend, and what else could he do?

Mike had found it hard to walk back into the middle school after it had happened, had reached down for Will’s hand as if instinctively. And Will wonders, out of the both of them, who has the worst PTSD. Will came back, El didn't. And part of Mike went with her.

It's February before Mike broaches the subject of the kiss again. They are in Castle Byers, lost in comics and stories, when Mike starts to tug at his hair like it offends his head and Will is reaching out to stop him. They are still muffled in jackets and it takes a moment for Will’s fingers to find Mike’s wrist and still his movements.

“It's my fault.” Mike says. And it's not the first time he says this, or the first time Will assures him it isn't. If it's anyone's fault it's Will’s - the Demogorgon wanted him after all. El died to save Will, as well as the Party. If Will had just perished in there - in the damp, and the dark, and the cold - would the monster have been satisfied? Would they have been safe? But Mike is shaking beneath Will’s hands and once again he's fucking grateful for this moment; this single point of contact. It tears a hole in him bigger than any gate the Upside-Down could create. 

“Mike, Mike! Listen to me. None of this is your fault. I'm sure-, I'm sure she's still out there somewhere.” Will's said this before too. Lying always hurts but he does it anyway. “Well find her.”

“What if I'm the reason she doesn't want to come back. What if-, what if I scared her off because I was her first friend outside of that shit laboratory and I made a move on her. Confused her. Frightened her.” Mike’s kissed Will before; there's nothing, and everything, terrifying about it.

“She'll come back, Mike. She'll come back and she will still be your friend. She'll be my friend. And if she wants to kiss you again, she will.” Mike is still shivering. He removes his hands from Will’s grasp to wipe his eyes but they are already dry.

“Not likely. Could just be that I'm a bad kisser.” He says it like it's supposed to be a joke, but Will knows Mike enough to hear the insecurity in his voice. Bullshit, he wants to scream. But he doesn't.

“I'm sure that's not it.” He offers Mike a small smile, tipping his head down slightly to look his friend in the eyes as the other stares down at his lap. “Maybe she'll give you the chance to improve, you know? Kiss you lots till you've got it down?”

“What if the second kiss is even worse than the first?”

“I don't think you gave the first much of a chance, from what you told me.” Will’s forcing the half laugh now, trying to put Mike at ease. Trying not to break his own heart.

He thinks back to Christmas, to the mistletoe hanging up at the Wheeler’s front door and how they had both been caught under it; the way Mike had looked at him before clocking the presence of his family. The way Will had taken a step back. Will wishes he'd just kissed Mike, passed it off as a joke. Recalls all those months ago when Mike had actually offered and Will had said no. If jealousy is eating at his gut, then regret burns away what is left.

“Look,” Will says, turning fully on the pallet to face Mike, one hand reaching down for the rough wood to find purchase and ground him. “Do you-, do you want to show me. Like-, like want to practice?”

Mike’s eyes widen but he doesn't say anything.

“Sorry, stupid idea, just wanted to help.” Will is trying to gather the words back up from the air between them and into his mouth.

“I never thought it was stupid.” Mike says, so quietly it's not much more than an exhale. “I suggested it first.” He adds, like it's a secret.

Will grips the pallet harder. “Show me. I really do want to help.”

Mike bites his lip a sec and Will thinks he's going to say no, but then Mike's darting forward and pressing his lips firm and quick against Will’s. It's barely a kiss. Not romantic. Not enough to leave a scar. Will bleeds anyway.

He offers Mike a half smile. “How was that bad?” He recalls the stories of El growing up in a lab, and wonders if it tasted to her like freedom.

“It wasn't?” Mike asks. He's nervous, unsure. But he has stopped shaking. “Can I-, can I try it again? Like-, like just in case she comes back?”

Will doesn't dare speak; doesn't open his mouth in case his own secrets spill, so he just nods, powerless to resist. Mike leans in again.

It lasts longer, by mere microseconds. And Will knows how dangerous it is to chase after him. He does it anyway.

Their mouths collide for a third time, and only when Mike’s hands find Will’s shoulders does Will release his own from their grip beneath him. He gently curls his fingers around Mike’s forearm and holds him there. They kiss again; long enough for Will to detect the chocolate they consumed earlier, still sitting in the corner of Mike’s mouth.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

When Mike pulls back, Will lets him slip away and fall from beneath his fingers. “There.” He finally manages to say, the effort of keeping his voice steady speeding up his heartbeat. “You'll have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah?” Mike asks.

“Yeah,” Will echoes. He finds his comic book again to give his hands something to do; his eyes something else to look at. He can feel Mike watch him for almost a minute longer before he resumes reading himself. Will wonders if Mike can feel the charge in the air the way he can. Maybe, after all, Will's grateful if he doesn't. 

December 1986

It's two days into the winter break and Will is taking every opportunity to ignore his piled-up homework and attempt some creativity. He's liberated a small palette of watercolour paints from Holly's room, and is now spread out at Mike’s desk with a second hand sketchbook Mike may or may not have stolen for him from school.

The light is better up here than in the basement, even if the sky is all grey and wintery - kind of painted in water colours itself. The company may be better too, it's hard to know. Mike is so distracting, practically reading the book in his hands aloud, interspersed with very opinionated commentary. Will kind of likes being distracted. He adds another stroke of pink-grey to his painting of the skyline. Behind him Mike finally throws the book away so hard it bounces off the mattress and lands with a thump on the floor.

Will spins around on the chair and raises his eyebrows. Mike has the heels of his palms pressed into his eyelids, his head pushed back against the headboard.

“I'm so bored.”

“Mike, we've been off school two days, how have you had time to get bored?”

“I'm complicated.”

“No, you're really not.” He really is. Confusing too. But gift horses and all that. “Why don't you get started on some homework?” Mike throws Will a look, lowering his hands. Will laughs. “Or go up the hospital, see Max and Lucas?”

Mike nods at this, but it's absentmindedly. He brings his knees up to his chin and starts fiddling with his fingers as he loops them together around his legs.

“Is she ever going to wake up? I mean-, there's been no sign at all of Vecna, and Hop has crawled two zones by now...”

“Which was a great idea of yours by the way.” Mike shrugs as if it's nothing. He always was best at planning a campaign.

“What if he's really gone? Which is good, it's good!” Mike clarifies quickly, “Means you, and El, and everyone else is safe, it's just-. Where is Max? Why can't El find her? I don't think I can face Lucas right now, no closer to an answer.”

“He knows we care, Mike, it was just a suggestion. I was trying to get you out of your head, not make you dive further into it.”

“Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I dunno. Being maudlin. Distracting you.”

“It's okay, I'm nearly finished anyway.”

“I like watching you paint, you get this all concentrating face.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah.” Mike smiles, “It's a good thing.”

“Well, you lost too much time complaining about your book, because that's me all done.” Will spins and adds the last stroke. It didn't turn out as he wanted, but had given his hands something to do for a bit. The sky outside is darkening now, no longer represented on the paper.

“Paint me.”

“What?!” Will spins back around. Mikes lowered his knees and is scooting forward.

“Paint me.” He repeats.

“What, like a portrait?” Will’s drawn Mike so many times it's embarrassing. There's a small notebook hidden under his mattress downstairs full of minute sketches of Mike’s face and his hands, all his features mapped out by memory. It's practically a love poem.

“No,” Mike laughs, “Paint on me.” Will frowns, and then his eyes widen as Mike pulls his t- shirt and sweater over his head. “On my skin.” Will’s still so caught up in a half-naked Mike sitting looking at him, his brain is having trouble processing the information. Mike bunches the removed fabrics in his hand. “I mean-, if you want. You don't have to.” Shy and devastated Mike has never been something Will can resist.

“Yeah, sure. Could be fun.”

“How do you want me?” In every way, thinks Will, then he snaps himself out of it. 

“Lie on your stomach, so I can do your back.” Stomach is safer, the sight of Mike’s chest and torso makes his insides flip, and what if Will does something stupid and forgets to use the brush and starts painting with his hands. Or god forbid, his tongue.

Mike settles down, folding his arms beneath his head and turning to watch Will. There's a faint blush across his cheeks which seems to extend down to the top of his bare shoulders. He's beautiful. 

Will brings his glass of water over and places it on the floor by the bed, carefully dipping a new brush in, then he perches on the edge of the mattress, one knee under him, the other slightly raised as he hovers.

“What do I paint?”

“Whatever you like.” Mike’s voice is muffled by his arms and his hair. Will can't decide if the boy needs a haircut or if likes it better this way. Will pops the brush sideways into his mouth a minute as he reaches down and gently moves Mike’s hair out of the way, fingers curling round the locks as he spins them into a ringlet and pushes them away from Mike’s face and his back. They tumble onto the comforter by his side. Will watches the freckles on Mike’s skin dance as he breathes, and he is inspired.

“Okay.” He takes the brush back in hand, “This might not work, but I have an idea.”

“Awesome.” There's a shake in Mike’s voice, like he's nervous. Will wants to kiss it away.

The yellow is weak, the paints just cheap, and Will wishes he had acrylics, but he does his best. A rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, inspired by the constellations Mike’s freckles create. Mike starts talking about the next crawl; what he thinks they can do better, now they have discovered the tunnels left by the vines back in eighty-four are still secreted beneath the town; where he thinks the best look out spots should be. But Will isn't really listening, and Mike’s voice dwindles soon anyway. Will wonders if he's fallen asleep. 

There's snow fluttering down outside now, Will can feel the sensation of it before he sees it; the way it silences the world. All the household sounds seem to have vanished with it. He drops his brush into the water for the last time.

It hasn't really worked - he can still see Mike’s skin poking through the paint in places - but he's never painted on skin before and maybe he just needs more practice. He'd been so engrossed in what he had been creating he'd sort of forgotten it was Mike at all, enough that his hands and his body had stopped shaking. They start to quiver now.

“Mike?” Will asks softly, “Are you awake?”

“Uh huh,” Mike hums. “Watching the snow.”

“Your eyes are closed.”

“Still see it.”

Will laughs and flops down beside him on his back. “Want to paint me?” He asks, partly joking, partly desperate.

“Tomorrow.” Mike mutters. 

“Don't you want to see?” Will turns his head to look at Mike. “I could go nick a second mirror from Nancy's room. Or find Jonathan’s camera.”

“In a minute.” Mike responds, then he's unfurling his arm from beneath his head, scootching upwards slightly, and wrapping it around Wills stomach. His fingers play with the fabric at the base of Will’s sweater.

Will feels like he has too many clothes on. Then he curses himself, recorrects - Mike hasn't enough clothes on. He drags his eyes from where they are watching Mike’s fingers back up to Mike’s face. Mike is staring at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Will echoes. “Thought you were asleep.”

Mike grins. “It felt nice. So sue me.” Mike’s fingers have found their way beneath the fabric of Will’s clothing now, tugging his shirt from his waistband, Mike’s hand splaying across Will’s bare stomach.

“Mike?”

“Come here”. Mike suggests, his hand almost trying to roll Will into him for a second, but then it's Mike who’s moving - Mike who lifts his head off his other arm, pushes his hand beneath him for balance, hovers over Will a microsecond, then leans down and kisses him. Mouth open, gathering Wills bottom lip between his own.

And Will was halfway there already, had wanted this since the second Mike had removed his shirt. But he was still foggy on what was allowed; unsure about what he could initiate. Mike’s leg is between his own now, his hand has crawled up Will’s abdomen, his fingers brushing Will’s ribcage. One of Will’s hands find Mike’s hair, the other goes to lace across his back then he stops.

“Mike, we're gonna smudge the paint.” Mike breaks away, starts laying kisses down Will’s cheek bone, his jawline, his neck. 

“So smudge it. Just means you'll have to do it again.”

“Do I sense an ulterior motive here?”

“Would you shut up and touch me?” Will laughs and does as he's told. The paint is still damp enough to leave streaks across his skin. When he glances at his palm, he sees the blue and the yellow have kind of merged together to create a Christmas green. Will hooks an ankle around Mike’s leg and rolls them over, sheets beneath them be damned.

At least Mike isn't bored now. They won't let Will near the crawls, he can't help in waking Max up or protecting El. But he can do this; distract Mike and get him out of his head for a bit.

After all, isn't that what friends are for?

November 1984

Will is unpossessed. El is back… And she is the superhero that saved the world.

For a few weeks it had all almost seemed worth it, because Mike spent practically every night sleeping on Will’s floor in his old sleeping bag he was really getting too big for. And Will just had to wake and look down to find him there. There had even been one occasion when he’d woken Mike screaming from a nightmare, and Mike had actually climbed into the bed and held him until he’d fallen under again; waking up to Mike’s arms around his body, his face tucked into Mike’s chin, their legs intertwined.

But that’s stopped now. Because Will is supposed to be better. Although being secretly in love with your best friend is just about as all consuming as a shadow monster could be. It writhes beneath his skin.

The Snowball is three weeks away. And while Mike had passed it off as a joke to Lucas and Dustin – who were still fighting over who would get to dance with Max – Will knows that Mike is obsessed.

They’re in Mike’s bedroom - clutter all over the floor, dirty clothing tossed on the bed, unfinished homework piled on the desk. Will likes the chaos; it feels like home somehow. Mike is pacing back and forth as Will sits on the bed, back to the wall, carefully negotiating the laundry. Mike’s started on his favourite topic again – El.

“And it’s not even like Hop is going to let her come, but-, but what if she does? And I like-, I like step on her feet or something.”

Will stifles a smile; as painful as the situation is, the image of Mike falling over his own feet is cute. “So you step on her feet.” He shrugs, “Then you try again. You’re thirteen, Mike, it’s not going to be perfect.”

“But it should be! It has to be!” Mike doesn’t add for her. Will hears it anyway.

“So get Nancy to show you how to dance?”

Mike pulls a face like he’s disgusted. “I would rather chew off my own foot than ask her for help.”

“We could always get her and Jonathan to demonstrate for us.” Will laughs, and Mike joins him.

“Your brother and my sister. How did that happen?”

“Byers’ charm?” Will suggests. He’s still joking, as much as he wishes he possessed it himself.

Mike rolls his eyes. “It’s gross.” Will wants to agree, but it’s too nice seeing his brother happy.

“So what do you suggest? Sitting out and not going? You could call El on the walkie right now and tell her it’s off?”

“Fuck no! I can do this. I can do this.” Mike moves to the radio perched on the edge of his busy desk, turns it on and spins the dial to find a channel with music. Then he raises his arms up and starts spinning around the room. Will laughs, despite himself.

“It’s not funny! I’d like to see you do better.”

“I’m not planning on dancing with anyone, Mike. Especially not to Duran Duran.” Mike lowers his arms.

“What, no one at all?” Will shakes his head. “What about Jennifer Hayes? She totally cried at your funeral.”

This time it’s Will who makes a face. The only person he wants to dance with is planning on dancing with someone else. Plus, small town Indiana might have a few derogatory things to say about the subject.

Mike steps up to the edge of the bed and offers his hand. “Practice with me?” He asks. “Then maybe we won’t both suck, you know – just in case?” Will hates the word practice. He’s started having nightmares about that word alone, Mind-Flayer be damned.

“What if I step on your feet.” He counters instead. Because if he can still pass this off as one big joke, maybe Mike won’t be onto him.

Mike smiles and shrugs. “I’ll risk it.” He grabs Will’s hand without permission and hauls him from the bed. “Come on.” Just, when they are both standing, a foot from each other, Mike starts twisting his hands together like he’s not really confident at all. Will never could resist shy Mike, and isn’t it Will’s job to help his best friend out?

“How do you want to do this?” Will asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well-, like-, why don’t we start with you being El? Okay?” No. Not okay. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

“Okay.” He lies.

“So I think I put my hands on your waist like this…” Mike carries out the action and Will wonders which one of them is trembling. “And you put you arms around my neck?” Will settles for Mike’s shoulders instead, internally combusting from the decision between a featherlight touch and holding on for dear life.

“Now what?” Will asks. Mike is too close.

“We sway?” Mike suggests. They do, for a few bars, both looking down at their feet so intently they bump heads.

“Ow.” They cry simultaneously, breaking apart.

“Maybe don’t look at feet.” It’s not a question Mike is asking, Will recognises. He’s being instructed instead.

“Okay.” They move in again. Mike’s sweater is verging on rough beneath Will’s palms; Mike’s hands are burning holes through Will’s two shirts. Then Mike shifts, so his hands fall under Will’s open button up and on top of his t-shirt. And Will wonders to himself how you know you are having a heart attack.

He makes the mistake of looking up and Mike is already staring at him, his mouth muttering gently right foot, left foot and Will is mesmerised. His hands creep up towards Mike’s neck of their own accord without any input from his brain; the pads of his fingers now brushing Mike’s bare skin. Mike stops counting.

“Do you think we’re doing this right?” Mike breathes. Will feels the exhale on his face.

“No idea.” He admits. Privately he’s astounded he can form words at all. Definitely too close.

“Is this when-,” Mike pauses, bites his lip, “Is this when I kiss her? Do you think?”

They’ve stopped moving. Will’s not sure when it happened.

“No idea.” He repeats. His heart is beating so loud now he can barely hear his own voice. Mike’s fingers curl against Will’s back and they inch closer. Mike closes his eyes.

And Will doesn’t want to too; doesn’t want to miss a moment. But it’s obviously well established he has no control of his body right now, and his eyelids flutter shut anyway.

Then Mike kisses him. It’s not as sudden as Castle Byers earlier in the year. And it’s slower too – six or seven Mississippis before Mike pulls back, and Will opens his eyes a fraction before Mike does. He could swear he can see the imprint of his lips on Mike’s mouth. It felt intimate, romantic even, held close together; arms wrapped around each other. But then Mike is detangling himself and bringing his hand up to the back of his neck where Will’s was just resting, and he’s rubbing it awkwardly, scuffing his feet against the carpet and watching them.

“Was that-?” Mike starts. Will holds his breath. “Do you think El would be okay with that?”

The heartbeat fluttering in Will’s abdomen falters and drops to his stomach. El. He was playing the role of El.

“Yeah, Mike.” He reassures. “You’ll be fine.” The heart in Will’s gut snaps in two. This is the last time Mike would ever kiss him. The pain is unbearable.

He’d go through it all again if he could.

February 1987

It’s a Sunday. Mike and Will escape the house early – Mike to get out of helping to prepare Sunday lunch, Will to avoid the mess of people and noise. What with all the chaos of the apocalypse, neither have yet learned to drive, so they drag their bikes out of the garage like they are eleven years old again and race down the deserted streets.

It's different to riding to school, Holly in tow; there’s freedom here, laced with nostalgia. On this quiet unassuming morning, it honestly feels like the world is their proverbial oyster. Mike’s taking the lead, and Will is not complaining. He just wishes they could escape the town altogether – go joy-riding for a day to somewhere unknown.

Mike skirts them past the MAC-Z fence, half alert on re-con as usual. Will barely glances at the gate; despite not feeling Vecna since first arriving back in Hawkins, he doesn’t want any more reminders than he can help. They swerve onto Madison, Mike finally pulling up and halting at the edge of the old recreation ground.

“We’ve come to the park?” Will asks, stopping beside him. Maybe Mike is feeling as nostalgic for their childhood as Will is.

“Somewhere to go.” Mike shrugs, “Beats my house. Race you to the jungle-gym?” Then he’s setting off again, Will laughing in his wake.

They abandon their bikes on the asphalt; Mike using the old rusted ladder to climb to the top of the structure. It seems so much smaller than the last time they were here. Will reaches up easily for the monkey-bars; bending his knees to lift his feet up off the ground. He pulls with his arms and pokes his head up through the bars, grinning at Mike.

“Show off!” Mike shouts down at him.

“Hey, just because you have no upper body strength.” Will teases. He lowers his head again, swinging himself forward until he reaches the end. Then he hauls up the ladder also, sitting down next to Mike; both sets of legs hanging over the edge. Mike folds his arms across the metal bar in front of them.

“Do you ever miss it?” Mike asks.

“What? Your lack of muscles?” Mike shoves him.

“No, idiot. The old days. You know, back when-, when things were simple. And there was no Upside-Down, no monsters.”

“Yeah,” Will admits, “All the time.” He looks away from Mike, leaning his arms back behind himself and resting on his hands. “But I guess it shaped who we are, you now? Like I wouldn’t be me, and you wouldn’t be you, and we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“We’d be at the cinema.” Mike counters, “Watching old black and white reruns and laughing at the so-called special effects.”

“Sounds nice.” Will tosses his head back and looks up at the grey sky. “Maybe I’d still be weak though; be everything Lonnie always said I was.” Which might be a ridiculous thing to say, seeing as he turned out queer after all.

“You’ve never been weak, Will. You never needed to survive trauma to prove that.” Mike leans back now too, rests his hand atop Will’s. “I’m not saying who we are is bad. I think we would have ended up here anyway.”

“The swing-park?”

“Sure. No! I mean here, together.”

“I don’t see any universe where you wouldn’t have continued to be my best friend.” Will confesses, and Mike gives his hand a decided squeeze. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then shuts it again. He starts to run a finger over Will’s wrist, watching their hands as he does so.

Will kind of wants to kiss him. He always wants to kiss him. But they are out in the open, on a weekend in Hawkins, so he hesitates. Mike doesn’t have such qualms, eyes darting up and around them quickly before pulling Will’s hand up and into himself, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on Will’s mouth. Will reaches up with his free hand, cups Mike’s cheek and holds him there for a beat; chaste, dangerous. They part, shy smiles dissolving into synchronised giggles. Will wants to pull him in again, but won’t push his luck. Mike releases him.

“I’m gonna go for the chute.” He states, happily, pushing himself up onto his feet.

“Well don’t come running to me when you get stuck half-way down.” Will comments, watching him as Mike navigates the fireman’s pole, then starts walking backwards in the direction of the old familiar chute.

“Are you saying my ass is too big?”

“Absolutely.” Will shouts after him. Mike flips him the bird. Will leans forward, his arms on the bars like Mike had earlier, unable to tear his eyes away as Mike climbs the ladder and starts to slide down with a Wheeee-. He gets stuck, half-way through.

Will explodes into laughter, slipping his legs all the way through the gap and swinging down from the bar, jumping the last three feet.

“Not a fucking word!” Mike reprimands, using his hands to force his body down the rest of the way. Will raises his arms in mock surrender, then heads over to the swings. There used to be four, but one has eroded away in the middle, the fourth vandalised. He eases himself down onto the seat and starts kicking his legs. Mike jogs over and joins him in the remaining swing.

“Bet I can go higher than you.” Mike says, “My legs are longer.”

“Yeah… but I’ve got more muscles.”

Mike stops swinging, looks Will up and down in an exaggerated manner. “Yeah. Yeah you really do.” Will feels himself blush.

“Oh shut up and just race me!”

Mike does get higher, despite Will’s added strength, jumping off at peak height and smashing feet first into the ground. He raises his hands in flourish, then turns to face Will, taking a bow. Will slows his trajectory.

“I give it a seven-point-five. Eight at best.”

“I’ll have you know I could go into the Olympics with that move. You’re just not paying attention.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Mike takes the two steps needed to stand right in front of Will. He wraps his fingers around Will’s hands where they cling to the chains. Will wonders if he’s going to kiss him again. Mike leans down, bringing his mouth to Will’s ear.

“Dance with me.” He whispers, pulling back to gauge Will’s reaction.

“There’s no music.” Will replies, almost as softly.

Mike shrugs. “So we pretend.” Will glances around the playground, the football field beyond. It might as well be a ghost town. “Come on, there’s no one here, Will. Humour me.” Mike steps back and holds out a hand. Will rolls his eyes, but takes it.

He always takes a hand offered by Mike.

Mike keeps Will’s hand in his as he pulls Will to his feet, walking them backwards into slightly more space. Then he reaches up, resting his other hand on Will’s shoulder. Will hesitates.

“I don’t bite you know.” Mike says, “Unless you ask, like, really nicely.”

Will punches him affectionately, then slips his free arm around Mike’s waist, pulling him closer. Mike’s fingers find Will’s neck, the base of his hairline. They start to sway, cheeks touching, and Will realises, with surprise, that Mike really is letting Will take the lead.

It’s intoxicating.

Mike begins to hum. It’s familiar but Will can’t place it. He detangles his fingers from Mike’s, and loops that arm around the other boy’s waist also. Both of Mike’s hands circle Will’s neck, playing now with his hair. Mike’s whisper singing now; Will can feel the vibrations against the skin on his face.

“If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me – time after time. If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting – time after time.” Mike’s singing Cyndi Lauper, last heard at the Snowball in nineteen-eighty-four. Will can feel the tears start to well up in his eyes.

There’s a shout, and a returning holler from across the field; Mike and Will spring apart. Will looks up and can see a group of boys walking onto the pitch in the distance, tossing a football back and forth. He blinks rapidly, hoping Mike hasn’t seen him almost cry.

“We should head back soon,” He says. “Your Mom will be looking for us for Sunday lunch.”

“Can we-, can we have a quick detour first?” Mike tilts his head as he asks, and Will nods in response. “Want to show you something.”

They walk back over to their bikes, hauling them up onto the wheels and swinging legs over. Then Mike throws him a grin over his shoulder, and starts to barrel away. Will, as always, follows.

It takes Will a few minutes to realise the direction they are taking. “Are we going to my old house?”

“Almost.” Mike calls back, leaving the road to cut through Mirkwood. Within five minutes they are there, and Will can’t believe his eyes. This must be where Mike has been sneaking off to since last fall. Will could swear time actually slows down as he watches Mike jump off his bike and throw his arms wide.

“Ta-da!” He announces. Then Mike lowers his arms, grabbing one elbow as if shy. “I know-, I know it’s not as good as it was when you guys made it. And it can never be the same. But you said earlier maybe some changes are for the better, you know? And I just wanted to give you something, somewhere, that’s yours.”

He’s fucking rebuilt Castle Byers. Every branch, every twig, every haphazardly hammered in nail. Will lifts the curtain in slow motion and there’s a new pallet in there, topped with one of the mattresses from Mike’s old bunk beds. He’s pinned some of Will’s childhood drawings to the wall. Even placed photos in frames. There are fairy lights hanging from the ceiling - Mike steps in behind him and turns on the battery pack, illuminating the space.

“Do you-, do you like it?” Mike asks. Will turns round, tears falling now without hindrance. He doesn’t answer the question with words, just steps forward and captures Mike’s mouth in a kiss.

December 1984

Will wonders if he will always be at war with himself – feel his will and self-restraint tug in two different directions? Jonathan has dug out Bob’s video-camera and is documenting his inner breakdown; it’s the evening of the Snowball and Will both wants to run and hide in his bed, buried under his comforter, and also wants to sprint into the gym hall and see if Mike will dance with him again. He’s sure the grainy tape will show the crack right down the middle of his body and his heart.

His Mom pulls him close and shows Will how to dance. And both she and Jonathan are reassuring him that this is how dancing goes. But one of his hands are in hers and it’s nothing like dancing with Mike a few weeks ago. This time he looks down to follow his feet.

He nearly bottles out as they climb into the car.

“You’re ever so pale, Honey, are you sure you want to do this? We can totally stay home.” He knows part of his Mom wants him to stay in, be safe. The rest of her is aching for him to be normal – if only for one night.

“I’m fine Mom, rite of passage – right?”

She’s still looking at him as she starts the car, before offering him a small smile as they pull out of the long drive. “Bet all your friends are going to look so handsome. Not as good as you though.”

“Mom, stop. Please.” Will blushes and she laughs. She’ll wait outside the school all night, even though he’s told her she can go home. Protection doesn’t feel quite so suffocating tonight; knowing she will be there to whisk him away if it all gets too much. But then he would have to tell her why, and he’s not ready for that conversation; not when she worries so much already.

He takes a deep breath before he slides out of his seat. “Just have fun, okay?” She tells him, and he nods – forcing a smile. The gym is decked out in more glitter and streamers than can possibly be aesthetic. It’s gawdy, at best, and it makes Will feel sick. Then he spies Mike and Lucas and the bile in his throat is replaced by his heart.

Mike looks so grown up; the over large brown sports jacket drowning him like he’s dressing up in his father’s clothes. Lucas seems to have made an extra effort too, but that’s not surprising. Will scans the room for Max.

“Hey,” Mike says as a greeting, “You came.” He almost looks pleased, but there’s surprise there too, shining out through his features.

“Course.” Will responds. He wants to squeeze Mike’s hand so hard he finds his own is shaking.

“Byers!” Lucas hollers, throwing his arms around Will. “Looking good man!” Will smiles and blushes again, but his eyes are on Mike and Mike frowns. Will’s not sure what that means. Luckily the awkward encounter is interrupted by Dustin, looking like he just stepped out of a teen magazine. The teasing is automatic, but secretly Will thinks he looks nice, in fact he’s envious of his friend’s confidence to try something new.

Max hauls Lucas to the dancefloor a beat later, and somehow Mike has found his way back into Will’s space, elbows bumping. They share a glance, and for a moment…

But no. Mike is waiting on El.

A girl from Will’s science class wanders over. “Hey Zombie boy!” Will’s head snaps up. Her expression and voice softens, “Wanna dance?” Instinctively Will turns to Mike.

Mike looks like he’s just swallowed razor blades. Will starts to say no, but then Mike is nudging him forward and nodding. And wasn’t this the whole point of practicing before? So Will could dance now.

“I mean-, sure.” He says, and lets her lead him to the dance floor. Maybe he and Mike should have practiced this way round, because when Will places his hands on her waist, all he can remember is the feel of Mike’s on his. And Will holds her at arm’s length; her fingers finding his shoulders. He sways, like he was taught.

Then his eye catches Mike making his way to the dancefloor and oh. There’s El. And she’s beautiful. How did Will ever think he stood a chance?

His hands tremble and the fabric beneath them feels all wrong. The girl smells sweet, and feminine, and she’s trying to make small talk but Will doesn’t catch a word, because Mike is leaning forward and kissing El. Kissing El almost like he kissed Will – just firmer, quicker, more forceful.

And Will feels used, like the butt of a cigarette in an ashtray, like the last dreg of Coke in an empty can. Like a vessel for a shadow monster. Mike will never kiss him again. And Will will never kiss anyone else for as long as he lives.

This time when the bile rises to his throat, he swears he can feel it wriggling, like he’s swallowed Demoslugs and they are trying to force their way out.

April 1987

They are in the middle of AP English when Mike gets up, pushes his chair back with an almighty screech, and bolts from the room. Mr Kent-Davies pauses mid-lecture about the Lord of the Flies and looks at Will. That’s what he remembers later; everyone looked at Will.

“I’ll go-, I’ll go and see if he’s alright.” Will offers. The action was so unlike Mike, that the teacher doesn’t hesitate to write out two hall passes and pass them over. Will walks steadily to the classroom door, then starts to sprint as soon as he reaches the corridor. He’s not sure where Mike has gone – he’s not sure why. Sure, Mike was a little quieter during breakfast and on their ride in this morning, but he’s never known Mike to blow up without a word in school. Especially seeing as they are all trying to keep low profiles following the Hellfire incident last year.

He finds Mike in the third bathroom he checks. The other boy is leaning forward, bracing himself against one of the sinks, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror.

“Stupid. Stupid.” Mike’s muttering under his breath, the knuckles gripping the sink white with effort.

“Mike?” Will asks, softly, approaching him like one would a frightened animal. “What’s stupid?” Mike looks up and catches Will in the mirror. There are tears in Mike’s eyes.

“Everything.” It’s said with bite, with anger, and Will wants to crawl inside Mike’s head and calm him.

“Talk to me, don’t shut me out.” Will takes a step closer. Mike turns, folding his arms across his chest and looking down at the floor.

“We’ve been at this for months, and we are no closer to finding him. Hop’s even started searching zones we’ve covered before. I used to hear Robin on the radio and get excited, hopeful even, that this would be the one, you know? But it never is.” Will steps forward, wrapping his hands around Mike’s elbows. He doesn’t say anything; he knows Mike isn’t finished. “And I guess it should be a good thing? That we haven’t found him. That maybe it means Nancy really did kill him – that Vecna’s gone. But it’s like I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m sitting in class reading a book that was written thirty-years ago, and it all seems fucking irrelevant.” Will nods. “And I don’t know how to get out of my head; how to stop feeling this way-”

Will cuts him off, taking the final step forward, hand reaching for the back of Mike’s neck to pull him closer. Then he kisses him. Quick. Firm. When he pulls back Mike’s just staring at him eyes wide.

“You were rambling.” Will explains.

“But here?” Mike asks, his eyes have left Will’s; darting towards the door of the very public school bathroom.

“Shit! Sorry. I wasn’t-, I wasn’t thinking.” Will takes a step back, then two. He knows the rules of small-town Indiana, even if he’s a little foggy on the rules Mike has in his head about this; it’s not like he’s ever spoken them aloud to Will.

“Sorry.” Will says again. If it were Dustin or Lucas, they’d be shaking hands to get past this. But it never would be Dustin or Lucas. Which is the whole problem really.

“I was-, I was sent to look for you.” Will continues, hoping rambling himself will somehow cover up the awkward moment. “I just wanted to calm you down.” He shouldn’t be talking about it. Shouldn’t be reminding Mike he just kissed him in school.

But Mike is grabbing Will’s hand, avoiding his eyes as he drags him into the furthest cubicle; securing the door behind them. Then he lets Will go, spins, grabs at Will’s head, hand on either cheek, pushes Will’s body up against the wall, and kisses him. It tastes like reckless abandon.

Will can feel every millimetre of Mike’s body pressed up against his own, can smell Mike under his nose, taste his breath, his saliva, his tongue on Will’s lips. Then Will is opening up and inviting him in, grabbing Mike’s head in turn; one hand finding Mike’s cheekbone, one colliding with Mike’s hair, getting caught in the low ponytail. He wants to rip the hair tie away, feel Mike’s hair between his fingers. And because he wants to, he does. All the rules seem to have flown out the grubby, slightly open window right now anyway.

Mike makes a guttural sound at the action, his head yanking back slightly with the pull, and Will chases Mike’s mouth as he moves. Kissing had always been a better way of saying sorry than a handshake anyway.

One of Mike’s hands leaves Will’s face, trails its way down Will’s torso, bunching briefly in the fabric to bring him closer. Mike is all in Will’s mouth; a clash of tongues and teeth. There’s nothing delicate about it - maybe it should be frightening to be dominated so much, but Will’s body is too turned on to care. He bites at Mike’s bottom lip instinctively.

Will isn’t sure who moans next, maybe it’s Mike licking blood from his lip, maybe it’s Will, with Mike’s hands now under his clothing and finding his torso; thumbs mapping Will’s ribcage, fingers dancing across his nipples. Will’s hands travel down Mike’s back hurriedly, trying to haul him unequivocally closer; pulling the fabric from the back of Mike’s jeans, running his palms and fingers over the small of Mike’s back.

Kissing is becoming impossible, replaced by heavy breathing, saliva licking, heavy petting. And Will thinks he might faint, here on the grimy bathroom floor.

Then the bathroom door swings open, hitting the wall with a crash, and they snap apart.

“Mike? You in here?”

Mike looks at Will, and they both have to fight not to burst into laughter. It’s Lucas. Mike mimes shhing Will with his hand, holding the other over his own mouth to stop the giggles falling out. He points to the toilet seat and Will rolls his eyes. Really? He mouths at Mike; Mike just shoots him a look.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Mike calls. Will quietly climbs up onto the toilet seat, using Mike for balance; swatting down out of sight. Mike straightens his sweater. Goes to tie his hair back up – has to pull the hair tie from Will’s wrist to do so. Will’s skin blushes where they touch. “I’m just coming.” Mike looks ruined; maybe Lucas will just think he’s been crying.

Mike manoeuvrers his way out of the cubicle, carefully pulling the door closed behind him as he does so. He checks to make sure Will’s feet are out of sight.

“Are you alright, man?” Will hears Lucas ask, “Will was sent to look for you, did he find you?”

“No. No he did not.” Mike says, and Will has to stifle another giggle. “We should get back to class.”

“It’s recess already.” Really? Will never heard the bell. “Dustin’s got your stuff; he was checking the other side of the school.” Lucas pauses, and Will can picture him looking Mike up and down. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look a little…wrecked.”

“All just got a bit too much for me. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Lucas exhales, “I get you.” Will feels a stab of guilt as he realises he’d forgotten all about Max for a bit there. Grateful, that’s what he should be, to have what he has. Even if he doesn’t know the rules. “Let’s go get the others. Maybe Dustin has found Will.”

Will waits a few moments before he lowers himself off the seat and exits the cubicle. He catches his own eye in the mirror and blushes, tyring to rearrange his clothing back to respectable. There’s a small bruise forming where his neck meets his shirt which just might be the beginning of a hickey. He pulls his collar up to hide it.

Yeah, he thinks, wrecked is the word.

March 1985

It’s Spring-Break, the last one in Middle School. The Party, plus Max, decide to skip the over crowded arcade for an afternoon and head instead for the junkyard. There’s something nostalgic about that; even if memories involve Demodogs and Steve with his nail bat.

Lucas, Dustin, and Max are all regaling him with stories of that night back in November, when he and Mike were stuck in the lab. Mike isn’t here today either; he’s supposed to be, but he always has other plans these days. Lucas and Max must have an inkling of how much it is hurting Will, because they make every effort never to mention El’s name at all. Dustin is thankfully oblivious.

When they reach the junkyard, they find many of the boards they used to barricade the bus are still in place. Max hops off the back of Lucas’ bike and starts to haul one off to make a ramp for the skateboard secured to her back. They kill a couple of hours making ramps and obstacles to jump with the board and their bikes. Max is proud when Will picks up skateboarding so fast, and Lucas is distraught as he has been practicing for months. They’ve just made the decision to combine several pieces of corrugated iron into a mega-ramp when the sound of a bike bell makes them turn.

“You’re late.” Dustin reprimands, hands on hips.

“I’m sorry,” Mike calls, bike skidding to a halt beside them. “You know how it is.” He shoots a look at Lucas and grins, “Lost track of time.” Then he’s shrugging, like it’s no big deal.

“Jesus, Wheeler, we so do not want to hear about your love life.” This is Max of course. She turns and resumes rolling back and forth on the board, jumping and spinning it a couple of times to frustrate him. Mike pulls a face. Will knows he wants to ask why she is here.

“Rules are rules, man.” Lucas says, “We said twelve, it’s nearly three.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Shake on it.” Dustin demands, stepping forward. Mike starts to speak but Dustin interrupts him. “You could have called,” He points to the walkie sticking out of Will’s backpack on the ground, “But you didn’t. So apologise like you mean it.” 

Mike sighs, steps forward and shakes Dustin’s hand, then Lucas’. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Okay. Now we are going to go negotiate this ramp while you apologise to Will.” They both grab their bikes again and chase after Max. Mike holds out his hand to Will.

“I am sorry. Are you mad?”

“It’s okay Mike. I understand. It’s not like she can come out and join us here.” Will wishes he didn’t understand. Wishes he could hate her. He can’t; it’s not in him.

Mike’s face looks pained. “I know, but it still sucks I let you-, let you guys down.”

“You’re here now,” Will shrugs, “Race you to the ramp?” He raises an eyebrow at Mike.

“Don’t I have to shake your hand first?”

“Mike, we’ve never shook hands. We’ve never needed to. Let them just think we did. We’re good. It’s okay.” It’s okay. He says it like a fucking mantra.

Mike grins, glances quickly across at the others playing out of earshot, then drops his bike without ceremony. “Come here.” He says, then he’s taking Will’s hand anyway, but he’s not shaking it, just pulling it and Will round the back of a truck and out of sight.

“Mike?” Will questions. His voice is low, practically a whisper and he’s not sure why he feels the need to do that. Then Mike lets go of Will’s hand and places both of his either side of Will’s head; thumbs brushing Will’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Mike says, like somehow this makes it all more sincere. Then he leans down and kisses Will, quick and firm. Like always. Like Mike. “I’m sorry.”

Will wants to put his hands on Mike’s waist, wants to pull him closer. But he doesn’t. Mike steps away and starts to run back towards his bike, “Come on!” He shouts over his shoulder and Will traipses after him, feet weighed down like lead. He licks his bottom lip and he can detect strawberry lip-gloss ghosting across it. Will isn’t just a substitute for El anymore – he can taste her in every kiss.

He tells himself this is the last time; he’s not doing this anymore. No more bottom of the basement stairs quick goodbye kisses, no more hey I missed you pecks in the quiet A.V. room, no more soft kisses last thing at night on sleepovers, in the dark, when the others are asleep.

It’s all too much. Will’s not grateful anymore; he’s angry. All too much and never enough.

June 1987

Will still feels like a parasite living in the Wheeler’s house, doing anything he can to help out his host; which is why he is busily putting away the last of the lunch dishes when Mike saunters down the stairs and leans against the kitchen counter. There’s something so deliberate about Mike’s movements; the boy is trying too hard to appear nonchalant.

“Are you busy?” Mike asks. Will holds up the tea towel and waves it in an obvious manner.

“You could help?” He suggests.

Mike rolls his eyes but doesn’t budge. “Looks like you’ve got it.” He grins. Will pops a tumbler into the cupboard above his head.

“You know, your Mom was saying the other day how much she wished she could adopt me. Says I’m much more useful to have around than you.”

“Ha ha.” Mike deadpans. “I’ve spent sixteen years putting away dishes in this house, must be someone else’s turn.” Will tosses the towel over the edge of the sink then leans back against the oven, crossing his arms, waiting for Mike to speak. Mike shuffles his feet, starts fiddling with his pony tail.

“Out with it, Mike.”

“Right.” Oh my god, is Mike actually flustered? “I just wondered if you wanted to go do something? Like-, like I know there’s not a lot of options between Mainstreet being blocked off-”

“And the Mall being destroyed.” Supplies Will.

“Yeah, that too. But-, but I heard Benny’s has reopened, and I was wondering if you… you know?” Will just stares at him. “Wanted to go get milkshakes or something.” Mike’s practically whispering by the last word, like some part of him thinks the whole idea is absurd.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“You want to?” Mike’s head snaps up, smile slowly growing across his face.

“Sure, Mike. Did you honestly think I’d say no?”

“I just know we haven’t like…”

“That’s because this town’s a dump, Mike. We used to go get milkshakes all the time. Remember when we were ten and they gave Dustin banana instead of strawberry, and he demanded to speak to management! It’ll be fun.” Mike still looks nervous, and Will wonders why; he must know by now that Will would follow him over the edge of the earth. Or under it, if need be.  “Want to raid Nancy’s piggybank to cover the cost?” He says it as a joke, and Mike finally laughs.

“No, not worth the risk. I need all my limbs. I’ve got it covered.” He reaches out and grabs Will’s wrist, “Come on.”

“I can pay for my own milkshake, Mike.” Will says, as he’s dragged to the garage. He can’t afford it, not really, but he’s not letting on. Mike squeezes his wrist.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mike throws over his shoulder, “I told you; I’ve got it covered.”

Mike finally releases him so Will can grab his bike and roll it out onto the driveway. He throws one leg over and glances back at Mike, “Race you?” It’s not a question in actuality, and Mike knows it, quickly speeding up and chasing after Will down Maple Street.

The diner is fairly busy when they arrive, probably something to do with the two-for-one offer posted outside; a just-opened gimmick. They roll their bikes into the racks, taking time to secure the chains and locks. Will eventually has to do Mike’s for him; he could swear the other boy’s hands are shaking. Mike wipes them on his pants.

“Okay, you ready?”

“Might as well,” Will smiles, “As we’re here.” Mike offers him an almost shy half-grin, biting at the corner of his mouth. Will’s nervous – part of him feels like he’s on a date, which is ludicrous; this is just shakes with a friend – but he wonders if nerves are contagious, and somehow Mike has caught them.

Will reaches the door first, but Mike almost pushes past him in his rush to open it. “You in a hurry or something?” Will asks, jokingly.

“Shut up,” Mike mumbles, almost falling over his feet. “You go get a table; I’ll order.”

“Don’t you want to ask what I want?”

Mike gives him an indignant look. “Are you saying you want something other than vanilla?” He asks sarcastically. Will grins.

“I’ll be over by the window.” He walks backwards away from Mike, watching as Mike bounces on his feet. Will nearly bumps into another customer and falls over himself apologising. He throws Mike a well that was awkward look, and Mike laughs from across the room.

The booths are newly furbished enough they haven’t yet had time to grow sticky, and Will easily slides into the one by the back wall, never taking his eyes off of Mike as he approaches the counter and leans over to order. He looks good today; dark jeans, grey AC/DC t-shirt, long hair scooped back and falling down between his shoulder blades. His face has broken out in more freckles since the beginning of summer, and Will is beyond mesmerised.

He shakes himself quickly, removing his head from where it was sitting on his palm; elbow resting on the table. What if someone caught him staring? Will rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, then starts to remove the thin button up he’d slung on on top of his t-shirt that morning; far too hot from acute embarrassment.

He totally misses Mike wandering back over, but glances up when he sees two glasses land unceremoniously on the table in front of him. Mike slides into the opposite seat. If looks could burn, Mike would be melting the milkshakes between them with his eyes.

“You’re blushing.” Mike comments, and Will curses himself.

“Just hot.” Will lies. Mike leans forward, pushing one of the glasses closer to Will with a single finger.

“To cool you down.”

There are two straws in his milkshake, one yellow, one blue. When Will looks over at Mike's chocolate one, he sees his is the same.

"Planning on sharing?" Will asks, eyebrow cocked.

"We always share." Mike replies, with a shrug, spinning the blue straw towards him with his mouth and wrapping his lips around it. The two straws must be for the benefit of everyone else - it's not like they haven't shared enough saliva the last few months to deem them a necessity.

Will kind of wants to reply that’s presumptuous of you. But he doesn’t. He knows what the phrase implies. He sips his drink, cold and sweet. Mike’s knee finds Will’s under the table, gently bumping them together.

“Is it-, is it okay?” Mike asks, which is kind of stupid, because why wouldn’t it be? Will removes the straw from his mouth and passes the shake over.

“Try it.”

Mike smiles, swaps the shakes and does so. “You know one of these days we should just ask them to mix them together.”

“I don’t mind a bit of chocolate,” Will comments, yanking his shake back, “But I know what I like.” He could almost swear Mike blushes this time.

Then suddenly everything becomes awkward, like they’ve both run out of things to talk about. Will would totally be able to keep all his thoughts above the belt if Mike would just stop knocking his knees into Will’s under the table; he thinks his skin must be flushed beneath his pants. Mike places his hand on the table between them, palm up, then looks quickly out of the window finding something obviously fascinating in the parking lot. Will can’t see anything but cars.

He’s faced with an all-consuming urge to reach out, hold Mike’s hand in his. But this is Hawkins, and Mike is a boy, and it’s not a date.

Whatever it is, it’s more than El ever got.

June 1985

“Can I talk to you?”

Will looks up from his sketchpad; Mike is standing awkwardly in the door frame of Will’s room, one hand lifted up to his mouth where he bites anxiously at his cuticles. 

And Will should say no. Should make Mike turn around and leave the house and never come back. Because Will has done everything he can not to be alone with Mike since Spring-Break; since he could taste El’s lip-gloss on Mike’s lips. And it hurts to know where Mike has been this Saturday morning, and what he has been doing. And Will isn’t sure how much more pain he can take before he breaks apart completely.

But maybe he’s a masochist or something, because he’s nodding and saying “Sure” before his brain has had time to intercept his words. Mike closes the door behind him with his foot and Will slips the pad and pencil onto his nightstand. Mike’s walking towards the bed, but not sitting down. And Will has fire ants crawling beneath his skin.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re my best friend, right?” Mike asks, finishing with a small bite to the inside of his cheek. And Will wonders if he really is, anymore. Isn’t that El’s job now? But he nods anyway.

“And I can talk to you about anything?”

Will nods again, but he fears it isn’t enough, so he adds, “Of course, Mike. Always.” It tastes like a lie on his tongue; bitter and hard to swallow. Mike finally sits down, just perching on the edge of Will’s mattress. Will scoots forward from the headrest and settles next to him. Their bodies do not touch.

“It’s about El.” Figures. Will thinks.

“What’s wrong?” He enquires instead. The pain in his stomach is knotting now, and he wonders, if Mike were to turn his head, if he would see Will’s abdomen writhe with the agony.

“I-,” Mike starts, stammers, tries again, “I-, It’s-, Like-,” He stops, shifts his body back further onto the bed and brings his knees up to his chin; wrapping his arms firmly around them and holding on like he’s about to drift away without it.

“Take your time,” Will offers. His hand has found Mike’s shoulder without really registering, and he realises he couldn’t pull it away even if he tried. Mike takes a deep breath.

“Like, I know that kissing is supposed to be what you do with a girlfriend, but sometimes it feels like it’s all we do.” It’s not spoken like a confession, more like a curse. Will thinks his hand is burning – can’t Mike feel it? “And I know she can’t leave the cabin and go on dates, or whatever. But it would be nice sometimes to just sit and read comic books, or listen to music.” Will nods, faking solidarity. “I just wish it was all so easy. Like it is-, like it is with you.”

Oh. The knot in Will’s stomach unravels suddenly and his guts plummet to his ankles. But Mike means the hanging out, the friendship. He doesn’t mean the kissing. He can’t. Will’s fingers curl further into Mike’s shoulder.

“Maybe that just takes time to build up,” He suggests, “It’s all still pretty new.” Will doesn’t mention the fact El and Mike have been kissing since December. Doesn’t point out they were friends since nineteen-eighty-three. Doesn’t scream that El was all Mike talked about for a year after he thought he’d lost her to the Upside-Down.

“It’s just-,” And now Mike turns slightly, looking right at Will; the movement shifting Will’s hand from Mike’s shoulder to his arm. Will pulls it away and back into himself. “It’s just that sometimes when we are kissing I kinda-, I kinda zone-out, you know?” And no, Will doesn’t know. Every time Mike has kissed him, Will is absolutely there, in the moment.

“Why?” Will asks, before he can stop himself.

“She just-,” Mike loosens the grip on his legs just enough to shrug his shoulders, “She just wants to kiss for ages. Like five-minutes at a time.” There’s a vulnerability in Mike’s eyes as he says this, and Will is caught between needing to look away, and wanting to fall into them.

“Isn’t that normal?” He prods, gently, “With a girlfriend?”

“I don’t know.” Mike whispers, and it is a confession this time; Mike doesn’t know what he’s doing and it scares him. Mike always knows what he’s doing – that’s why he’s the leader of the party.

“Can you talk to her?”

Mike shakes his head. “I want to talk to you.” This should be flattering. It isn’t.

“Maybe you just need more practice?” Will suggests, then inwardly curses himself. Not a word he should be throwing about right now. But Mike’s eyes light up at it anyway, and he’s finally lowering his knees to sit cross legged facing Will.

“Okay,” Mike says. And now Will wants to draw his body up and into himself; use his own legs as a shield, his arms as weapons if Mike reaches out. “We can practice.” Mike confirms.

“I meant with El.” Will’s voice is tiny, quietly laced with tears he really doesn’t want to fall right now. He doesn’t look at Mike.

“Right,” Mike says, and Will can see the other boy’s head drop in his peripheral vision, “Of course. Stupid.” He whispers the last word and with it goes any self-restraint Will had left.

Mike was offering to kiss him. Offering so he could go and kiss someone else. But where there were knots in his stomach before, now there are bubbles; forcing words up and out of Will’s throat.

“It’s not stupid, Mike. You’re not stupid.” Will sighs heavily, swings his legs round and mirrors Mike’s position. He bumps one of his knees into Mike’s. “I want to help.” And he does, despite the pain and the consequences. Because watching Mike lost is devastating to him, and Mike is his friend first. “What can I do?” He asks, tipping his head to try and meet Mike’s eyes. Mike is biting his cuticles again.

“I mean-,” Mike’s mumbling through his fingers, so he lowers his hand, “I mean, can I show you? What she does?” Will doesn’t trust himself to respond, but Mike ploughs on anyway. “Like, you pretend to be me, and I’ll be El.”

And that’s absolutely new. Usually Will is El and Mike is Mike, wanting to kiss her.

“Yeah, okay.” Will breathes. And it’s hardly a sound, let alone words, but Mike is close enough to catch it anyway.

“And then you’ll see what I mean. About it going on too long, and having to zone-out?” Will nods, even though the concept is ridiculous.

The whole situation is ridiculous. Will feels like one big bruise, that he lets Mike keep pressing into, just to prove it’s still there. Masochist. Definitely.

“So we usually sit like this, or something like this…” And Will thinks he’s going to be sick, because Will and Mike have always sat just like this, face on, knees touching. And it stings like betrayal to hear him doing it with someone else. “And I put my hands on her legs, or something…” Then Mike is actually reaching out for Will’s fingers, pulling them in towards Mike’s space and his body, and lowering them onto the outside of Mike’s thighs; just so Will’s palms brush Mike’s bare knees.

It's too much and not enough. And Mike hasn’t even kissed him yet. Will’s whole body is vibrating; the rumble of a volcano before it erupts. Or maybe it’s Mike’s body? They are so close it’s hard to tell the difference.

“Then she puts her hands on my face…” Mike’s hands seem to have grown - they engulf Will’s cheeks almost completely. The touch burns like lava. “Then she pulls me in.” And Mike completes the action.

There’s this tense awkward moment where their noses bump, and Will wants to ask if that usually happens, but then Mike is angling Will’s head and their lips meet. They’ve done this before. It shouldn’t be overwhelming.

It always is.

And Will is wondering if they sit here, like this, mouths on each other for the next five minutes, when Mike pushes him away just enough to break apart then pulls him in again. And again. And again.

And Will is glad he wasn’t listening to music when Mike bombarded him this innocent, inconspicuous Saturday afternoon, because then he wouldn’t be able to hear the click and the slide as they make and break contact over and over.

And Will wants to grab Mike by the hair and pull him closer, but he’s supposed to be playing a role right now, and it doesn’t sound like Mike usually does that with El. So instead he’s bunching his hands into fists, gathering the fabric of Mike’s shorts between his fingers and hanging on.

The kisses are getting closer together; Will could swear Mike’s lips feel fuller than when they started and they’re wetter too – slick with shared saliva. The tips of Mike’s fingers have found Will’s hair and are curling into him, and Will is learning when a certain touch means he’s to move his head and kiss from the opposite direction.

They didn’t set a timer. That probably defeats the object. What if they have to do this again? Oh god, please let them have to do this again.

Then Mike’s mouth finds Will’s for possibly the hundredth time, and maybe Mike’s getting tired, or is zoning-out, because his lips are parted this time; catching Will’s between his own, and Will goes all light headed. He figures the gaps in kisses are probably there to help him breathe. Will is not breathing.

Then he’s opening his mouth too, just slightly, just enough to be deniable if questioned, and he realises Mike is breathing; he’s breathing into Will’s mouth, and onto his tongue, ghosting past Will’s teeth. And they should stop. They should stop because five-minutes must be up by now, and Will is not zoning-out in anyway whatsoever.

But Mike makes this noise, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and it climbs up the back of Mike’s throat and into Will’s mouth, and it’s instinctive when Will slides his hands up Mike’s thighs and grabs the other boy’s waist to haul him closer. It doesn’t even feel like kissing anymore. It’s too wet, and messy, and uncoordinated for that. Mike’s grip tightens on Will’s face and he parts them again, slightly further this time; holding Will’s mouth out of reach but staying close enough to bump their foreheads together.

“Does it-, does it always feel like that?” Will asks, he still has his eyes closed; he doesn’t remember shutting them. He senses Mike shake his head against the skin of his own.

“No.”

“Maybe-,” Will starts, remembering why they are doing this, “Maybe it does for El?” Will pulls away completely now, sliding his face from Mike’s hands, withdrawing his fingers from Mike’s abdomen. “Maybe that’s why she likes it so much.” He opens his eyes fearful he’s said too much; scared he’s given himself away.

Mike’s eyes are still closed; his breathing is quick and shallow. His mouth is still wet from contact with Will. Will thought Mike looked devastated earlier – he’s looking devastated in a whole new way now.

“Maybe,” Mike mumbles. His hands twitch in his lap and Will hopes, somewhere deep inside, that Mike wants to reach out for him again. “Did you-?” Mike begins to ask, “Did you zone-out?”

“No.” Will says it with conviction, damning the consequences. He waits, but Mike doesn’t say anything else. “Did you?”

“No.” Mike finally opens his eyes and looks up at Will. “No.” He repeats, and Will wonders if he’s actually trying to say something else.

“But that’s good, right?” Will confirms, metaphorically punching himself in the gut, “Means next time you’ll enjoy it, be present…or whatever.”

“Next time?” Mike’s voice is confused but his eyes are hopeful.

“With El.” Will clarifies.

“Right.” Will could swear the hope dies. “With El.” Mike confirms.

The weight on Will’s shoulders is pushing him down, and he wants to collapse onto the bed and sleep. The volcano has erupted and Will’s left in Pompeii; buried so deep under ash no one will find him for years. When Mike finally says goodbye, thanks him and leaves the room, Will’s still screaming silently to be discovered.

August 1987

Mike and Will are on tunnel patrol. Hop had worked hard to map them all out at the end of last year, and, despite the lack of threats, the Extended Party are regularly sent out in pairs to check them.

Extended Party. If you had told twelve-year-old Will that his little DnD circle would grow to include his Mom, his brother, the local chief of police, Nancy Wheeler, an old Russian speaking journalist, and Steve fucking Harrington and his platonic BFF, he never would have believed you. He’d have laughed in your face.

It’s strange what the end of the world does to people. Forget Extended Party; it’s more Extended Family now. And there’s El too. Sometimes he misses his adoptive sister so much he actually aches. They bump into her sometimes, down here, but Hopper always tries to keep her close. He and Joyce have worked out a training schedule for her and they are rigorous in keeping it. Will, on the other hand, gets to explore perpetually empty tunnels.

With Mike, which helps.

They’d been paired together automatically – Will and Mike, Lucas and Dustin, Steve and Robin, Nancy and Jonathan. Makes sense when you think about it, especially as it is all so obvious to everyone that Mike and Will have gotten over their spat from the eight-month separation between nineteen-eighty-five and six. Will panics, sometimes, in case people know just how close they have become. He panics even without anyone knowing.

It’s like he’s the delicate crockery sitting on a table centre stage, knowing any minute the cloth could be pulled from beneath him. El and Mike have been broken up for just over a year, but that doesn’t mean Mike’s suddenly into Will. He just wants someone to kiss when the loneliness gets too much; someone close and convenient who Mike has comfortably kissed since childhood. Magician with a table cloth – will Will be left standing when Mike is ripped away from him? Maybe all this affection is just a party trick?

The loneliness gets to Will too. He’s not going to stop Mike. Even when he’s lying awake at night debating with himself whether Mike is breaking his heart or healing it. He’d lived through a year of not kissing Mike, and it hadn’t helped either. This way there’s less to cry about, at least for the time being. Until the inevitable crash.

It’s another hot summer day, far too hot to be secreted underground with no ventilation. They are both in shorts and t-shirts, axe in Mike’s hand, shotgun flung across Will’s back. Just in case Hop says. Mike finally caved on getting his hair cut – said the heat was too much. He’d dragged Will to the same barber, but Will had been unable to fully part with his bowl cut; sure, it’s shorter now, sitting far above his neck. But when the word is going to hell – possibly – Will takes comfort in the familiar.

They enter the tunnels by the WSQK radio station; headquarters since February when Steve and Robin landed a job there. Murray had done something to engineer it, and Will is like ninety-percent sure bribery was involved. But now they have a way of communicating the crawls under the nose of the government, and Steve and Jonathan have been working with Hopper to convert the basement into a hidden underground HQ. It all works. There’s still pride bubbling in the pit of Will’s belly when he remembers the ventures into the Upside-Down were Mike’s idea, and the other boy co-ordinated the whole plan. He can see his twelve-year-old Dungeon Master in Mike these days. It’s a welcome relief following the eighteen-months when that version of Mike seemed lost.

In fact, Will is so busy trying to watch Mike out of the corner of his eye, he trips over his feet and almost goes hurtling to the ground. Mike catches him and pulls him back up.

“You okay there?” Mike’s hands are still on Will’s shoulders; Will can feel the heat of Mike’s palms through the thin fabric.

“Yeah, sorry. Distracted.” Will admits. Mike offers him a smile and they set off again. This time they walk a little closer, Mike occasionally knocking his elbow into Will’s, both swaying slightly with the contact.

“I get it,” Mike says, “All this feels pretty pointless. It’s not like we’re going to find anything.”

“You try telling Hopper that! Anyway, wasn’t this originally your idea?”

“Well, yeah. Back last year when it felt like threats were imminent. I’m all for searching the Upside-Down – we need to find Vecna – but I don’t see how he’s going to break through in these tunnels.”

Will shrugs at him. “It’s not like they are going to let us go down there. They don’t let me do anything.”

“Your Mom’s protective, can you blame her?” Mike raises an eyebrow. Their fingers brush and Will fights the urge to hold Mike’s hand.

“Are you saying I can’t look after myself?”

“I’m saying Vecna came for you once. No one is going to risk that happening again.”

“Which is why you are here. With your axe.” It’s sarcastic and Mike grins.

“Exactly!” He glances at the gun on Will’s back, then playfully shoves his shoulder. “We can protect each other.”

“Mike, at least I can fire a gun. I remember you trying out for Little League – you couldn’t swing a bat to save your life. If anything, I’ll be protecting you.”

“Sure, sure, you tell yourself that.” He laughs. “I’ve been practicing anyway,” Mike adds.

“The woodpile is very frightened, Mike.”

“Shut up.” Mike’s tone is fond, all the same. Their hands collide again; this time Mike links their pinkies. It seems to Will like an automatic action; he’s not even sure Mike is conscious of it.

“It’s not like we have anything better to do anyway.” Will confesses as they turn down another intersection in the tunnels. It’s even warmer down here; the air tasting hot and stale on his tongue.

“I dunno,” Mike’s pinkie finger grips more tightly, “We could go ride our bikes out to the lake. Go swimming or something.” Will feels Mike’s whole arm shrug against his.

“I take it you don’t mean Lover’s Lake? You do remember all the water emptied into the gate?”

“The pool then.” But that’s not a much better idea; they both stop for a moment, thinking simultaneously of Billy. Then Max.

“Hospital.” Will says, “When we’re done here, we are heading to the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees. “That sounds like a good plan.”

Will pulls his hand free, Mike almost chases after it, then stops himself. “It’s too hot in here.” Will confesses, using both hands to lift the shotgun from his back and up over his head. He rests it against the tunnel wall. Then he finds the hem of his blue t-shirt and starts to pull it over his head. In the still air, Will hears Mike’s breath hitch.

“You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?” Mike asks; it almost sounds like a tease.

“No, Mike.” Will exaggeratedly rolls his eyes. “It’s hot, and we have another two miles of tunnels to check.” Mike is still looking at him, biting at the spot inside his mouth where his lip meets his cheek. “Earth to Mike?” Will waves one hand in front of Mike’s face as the other tucks the top of his t-shirt into the waistband of his shorts, hanging down his back. Then he picks the gun back up.

Mike takes a step forward, crowding Will up against the tunnel wall. He carefully, purposefully, removes the shotgun from Will’s hands and places back down where it was. He props the axe up beside it.

“Two miles.” Will reminds him. Mike shrugs, his hands have found Will’s hips, his thumbs brushing at the warm skin above Will’s shorts.

“I’m finding something better to do.” Then Mike leans forward and presses his lips onto Will’s. It’s a soft, almost languid movement, and Will fears his legs are going to give beneath him. It’s embarrassing really, how much this still affects him.

“Two miles.” He repeats into Mike’s mouth as it opens to give him access. He finds Mike’s new haircut with his fingers and uses it to tug Mike closer. Mike has one leg between Will’s, his bare knee pressing against Will’s thigh where the material rides up. Will didn’t think it could get any hotter. He was very wrong.

Mike’s hands are burning against Will’s abdomen, snaking round and dipping slightly into the back of Will’s shorts in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer. Will trails his own hands from Mike’s head, down his back and grasps at the fabric there. It’s clumsy, unceremonious, but he pulls the shirt up and over Mike’s head. He could swear he hears Mike groan as they have to break contact to complete the action.

Then Mike is all up in his space again, his fingers grabbing purchase on Will’s skull, in his hair; tilting Will’s head to the left and licking his mouth back open. Will’s fingertips are dancing across Mike’s bare back, damp with shared sweat. One of Mike’s nipples brushes against his own and Will can’t help the gasp that escapes his mouth for Mike to swallow. He wants to spin Mike round, to pin him against the wall instead. Will doesn’t know if he’s allowed to do that.

He does it anyway.

Mike slides down the tunnel wall slightly so Will doesn’t have to lean up; parts his legs enough for Will to step between and hold Mike there with his body alone. Mike’s hands are roaming Will’s torso now in mirror to his own. Kisses are messier, slicker. The softness has gone, replaced with pressure and something that tastes like desperation.

If this really was a magician’s trick; this would be the moment Will bursts into flames.

July 1985

The comic is damp in Will’s hands, his clothes plastered to his body from the rain, his fingers shaking as he goes to turn the page.

Not my fault…

They’ve fought before, but never like this. Will had never allowed his jealousy to take over, to spill out of his mouth with malice and desperation. He’s always prided himself on his ability to be understand, to keep his feelings under control and put other people first. This isn’t the sort of fight you fix with a handshake. It’s not the sort of fight that is resolved with a kiss.

Because Mike doesn’t get to kiss him, certainly not the way he did back in June, before he was heartbroken about breaking up with El. Well, being dumped by El. And Will has been the bigger person for years; it adds weight to his shoulders and drags him down; the gravity of the situation and the earth increasing until Will is a crumpled mess on the floor.

He won’t be a practice kiss anymore, won’t be a scapegoat for someone else.

But still he wants Mike to chase after him so bad it’s a physical pain in his abdomen. A siren that wails and he never can turn off - deafening him alongside his broken heartbeat.

Not my fault you don’t…

But it is, isn’t it? Will chucks the comic aside and screams. Screams like he’s never given himself permission to scream. Screams like he can drown out that siren. Mike’s photo is pinned up to the walls of Castle Byers, pride of place as always. It’s mocking now.

He could close his eyes, could remember the smell of Mike up under his nose, the taste of his tongue as it slipped past Will’s lips. But he won’t. His body can’t hold itself together any longer; his arms aren’t enough to hold the pain inside. He rips the photo down from the wall and tears it in half.

“Stupid. Stupid!” Will’s been stupid, since the beginning. He was stupid to offer to help. Mike was right all along. A stupid idea.

Tearing isn’t enough. He grabs the metal bat from it’s propped up perch by the door, clambers out of Castle Byers, and raises it above his head. This is where he first volunteered to kiss Mike, knowing it would eventually break his heart, but not understanding it. The bat comes crashing down, right through all friends welcome. He raises it again.

Mike dancing with him in his bedroom. Crash. Mike saying ‘can I show you’. Crash. Mike pressing his lips to Will’s as they were the last to leave the A.V. room in February, asking if Will was okay. Can I do anything? He’d probed. Mike who broke Will’s heart. He smashes the bat into the structure over and over; a sanctuary now cursed with memories.

Will falls to his knees and sobs. Why would Mike mention staying in his basement and playing games for the rest of their lives if Mike hadn’t at least thought about it? Maybe there had been a time when that had been enough for Mike. It isn’t enough anymore. Will feels the heckles on the back of his neck start to rise up: a threat, a promise of danger to come.

It’s not Will’s fault Mike likes girls.

October 1987

Recently, they’ve been filling their weekends and hours before Curfew walking out to the new Castle Byers. It kills time, and gives their bodies a break from cycling. Sometimes, on dull days or dark nights, Mike even teases Will’s fingers apart and holds his hand enroute. It’s dangerous, definitely stupid, but Will never stops him.

The air has turned much cooler now, summer having finally fallen completely away, and they are bundled in several layers each, one of Mike’s jackets flung over Will’s shoulders. He hadn’t inherited this one; he’d been gifted it last week at school when Will had shivered at the lunch table and Mike had pulled it from his own back and handed it over. He’d insisted, later, that Will kept it. Looks good on you. He’d said. Will wonders if Lucas or Dustin had noticed the exchange. Neither commented.

Mike’s backpack is laden with snacks and drinks, spare torches, the walkie, and a couple of books for entertainment. He hadn’t let Will carry anything, which has become the norm. Will saunters on beside him, it’s only two-PM and there’s no hurry. There’s too much traffic today for Mike to risk holding his hand, so they just keep gravitating towards each other instead; elbows bumping, shoulders brushing. Shy smiles being exchanged as they catch each other’s eyes and don’t look away. By the time they are six feet into the woods, Mike is grabbing Will’s hand and they are running for the den.

Will isn’t sure why they bothered to bring things to do; as soon as he’s switched on the lights, Mike is grabbing his face, pulling Will up, and kissing down into him – Mike’s mouth opening up before Will can even catch a breath. He pushes Mike away slightly, just enough to walk him backwards to the makeshift bed, then Mike’s almost falling over it in his haste to sit down. He reaches for the zipper on Will’s (his) jacket and drags it with him as he descends.  

Mike shuffles back further onto the pallet; Will collapsing down and straddling Mike’s hips as Mike starts to slide the jacket from Will’s shoulders. Will returns the favour, fingers slipping in his rush. Mike’s flinging the clothing away somewhere behind Will on the ground, reaching up for Will’s face and pulling him down to meet his mouth again, his body arching up as Will starts to pull the shirt and sweater from the waistband at the back of Mike’s pants.

Will wishes he could think clearly at moments like this, when Mike’s collarbone is beneath his mouth and Will is marking it possessively, because then maybe he would stop and say something. He lies awake at night, every night, trying to perfect the phrases in his head.

Mike, what are we doing?

What does this mean to you?

Am I just a best friend with a warm mouth?

Will sucks harder, like he can lay some claim, and Mike moans. He’s trying to remove Will’s button up, undoing them one at a time, working his way up, but his fingers keep fumbling. Will takes pity, leaving a wet stripe with his tongue across the bruise on Mike’s skin before pulling away.

“Need some help there?”

“Please.” Will laughs, Mike seems to have left all his independence outside. Will finishes undoing his buttons while Mike pulls his own tops over his head. Will’s t-shirt follows suit. Then Mike reaches under Will’s thighs, lifts him, and spins them round so Will’s back hits the mattress, Mike hovering over him. There’s a chill in the air, hot breaths visible before their mouths collide again; Will’s torso a mix of goosebumps from the cold, and flushes from the heat. Mike presses down into him, chests lined up, nipples rubbing against each other and Will exhales a sound caught somewhere between a gasp and a groan.

His hands are on Mike’s back, mapping out the bumps in his spine, drawing shapes on his shoulder blades. Mike’s fingers have found Will’s waist, his hips; thumbs pushing Will further down into the mattress. Mike’s tongue slips back out of Will’s mouth and starts to assault his jaw, his chin. He begins to lay kisses down Will’s throat, his Adams apple, his neck.

“So, guessing we’re not reading today then?” Will jokes, breathily.

“Nuh uh.” Contributes Mike, against the skin of Will’s chest. Will deploys one hand to explore Mike’s hair and the back of his head.

“Didn’t fancy Lord of the Rings?”

Mike stops, lifts his head and throws Will a look. Will tries to bite back a smile. “Are you telling me to stop? Because I can totally stop. Just say the word.”

“Fuck no.” Will admits, pushing Mike back down again with the hand on the back of his head, “Was just checking.”

“You talk too much.” Mike’s kissing lower now, mouth reaching Will’s abdomen, lips against the small hairs there. Will shuts up.

Can we do this always? His brain supplies. Are you mine?

October 1985

Almost the entire house has been packed up now; fourteen years of memories stuffed into brown boxes and loaded onto the rental truck. The bedroom doesn’t even look like his anymore, his yellow walls the only faint reminder. Will can carry the bed and the mattress with him to Lenora, but there’s no evidence he can keep of the last kiss on top of it.

He and Mike are mostly good now. Which is what Will tells himself, over and over. But Mike never fully apologised for the fight after he broke up with El, and Will never really apologised for being selfish and not understanding. And the end of the world kind of got in the way, and, once the dust settled, Will was moving house, and taking El with him, and Will and Mike hadn’t been alone in a room together for nearly three months.

How do you say goodbye to your best childhood friend who used to kiss you sometimes, when he was having struggles with your now sort of step-sister? How do you pack those feelings in a box and cart them all the way across the country? Or do you finally put them down and leave them behind?

Will’s DnD collection is shaking in his hand, and, as symbols go, it’s probably a good one. He drops it into the donation box. Not taking with, not leaving behind; giving away and letting go.

“Woah, dude, that’s the donation box.” Of course, Mike is behind him.

“I know. I’ll just use yours when I come back.” Will hesitates a minute, looking up at Mike, the weight of things they haven’t said hanging in the air between them. “I mean-,” He amends, Mike’s face frowning, “If we still wanna play?”

“Yeah, but-,” Mike looks worried, almost scared “What if you wanna join another party?”

And for a moment Will doesn’t think of DnD, of Mike’s basement, junk food, Dustin and Lucas. Doesn’t think of the Party as a whole; just of Mike. Maybe Mike is asking What if you make a new best friend? Or, more dangerously, What if you want to kiss someone else? So Will answers all three questions.

“Not possible.”

And Mike’s face lights up, like Will has said the right thing. Like this separation isn’t pulling him apart inside the way it is for Will. And Will can’t take it anymore; he can’t carry that smile with him in the back of the van and pull it out as comfort when he misses it. So he throws Mike a grin, painful to accomplish, and starts to head for the door.

But then Mike is launching forward, grabbing Will’s wrist, his hand; yanking Will back into the room, and Mike’s personal space, and finally into Mike’s arms. And Mike is gripping Will’s torso with force as he hugs him, and Will knows the consequences of indulging in this, but he’s hugging back anyway; snaking his arms around Mike’s waist and resting his head on Mike’s shoulder. And Will wants to cry, but he doesn’t. And he waits for Mike to speak, but he doesn’t do that either.

Then the silence is finally broken when Mike pulls back, takes Will’s face in his hands, and plants a kiss on his forehead. Firm and noisy, like a smack.

But Mike is crying now, Will realises, and he can’t help but reach up with one hand and to wipe the drops from Mike’s cheek with his thumb. Will should say something, but the words won’t form, spilling out of his body as tears instead. And Mike is closing his eyes at Will’s touch, and pulling him closer like an invitation.

And Will already has too many memories he can’t carry with him; he doesn’t need anymore. Yet he craves Mike like an addiction, and how much more damage can it really do at this point?

Mike kisses him soft, like he once did to bloody skin. Like a promise. Like something that could heal. And it’s a press of lips and nothing more, and he’s pulling away before Will can open his mouth and gather Mike inside him.

Mike still has his eyes closed as Will slips away and leaves the room. He finally understands the flavour of bittersweet; it tastes like goodbye.

November 1987

They have fled the MAC-Z, finally, having navigated bodies to escape down the Radio-Shack tunnel entrance. Will is still weak on his feet, and Mike has an arm thrown around his waist holding him up. His Mom keeps glancing back over her shoulder to check they are still following.

They haven’t talked about it yet. Will with Superpowers.

Will’s body is drained, but his soul is aflame. He’d reached inside himself and found the part of him that didn’t need to be apologetic anymore, didn’t need to second guess, found strength and confidence in who he used to be, before he knew the meaning of queer and the feeling of mistake. When they get out of here, he’s finally talking to Mike. It’s time.

They meet Lucas at one of the tunnel intersections, he’s bloody and bruised and looks devastated. “The kids,” He says, “I lost the kids.”

“We know, Honey, it wasn’t your fault.” Joyce reassures him.

“Then this Demogorgon it-, you should have seen it. I thought I was a goner, and then-, then it was like with Max. What happened?” He looks across at his friends, eyes darting between them. Mike speaks up.

“So, Will’s a sorcerer. Totally channelled Vecna and killed a Demogorgon, right in front of me. Two, apparently?” He asks, turning to Will.

Will offers him a weak smile. “Three.”

“Three!?” The other’s exclaim, in unison.

“Yeah, there was one after Robin too.” They all start walking again, stunned into silence for a few moments.

“Okay,” Lucas finally speaks up, “How?”

“You know how I can-,” Will stops, out of breath, trying to walk and talk at the same time. He glances at Mike, and Mike takes over.

“So I’m guessing it’s because of the hive-mind, right?” Will nods. “So we know that Will can see out of the eyes of those connected to the hive-mind; like with Derek, and the Demogorgon. And I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, but because we were so close to Vecna-”

“Vecna was there?” Lucas interrupts. “And you all survived?”

“We thought he was going to kill Will. He killed everyone else, all those soldiers.” Joyce explains. “Then he like, lifted Will up, and levitated him right up until they were face to face.” Will hears his Mom’s voice start to break. He uses his free hand to clasp at her arm. “And then-, then he just let him go.”

“Said I wasn’t important enough.” Will doesn’t think they heard the part where Vecna called him wrong. He doesn’t feel wrong, not anymore. It’s liberating.

“Then Vecna starts to walk off, and the next thing I know there’s a Demo coming after me. And it stops, midair. And that’s when I see Will. Arms out, eyes white. Fucking sorcerer.” There’s admiration in Mike’s voice; Will wants to bottle it.

They’ve reached the hatch leading up to the WSQK radio station. Joyce and Mike help Will and Lucas climb up and out, then they start the long walk back to the building.

“Wait ‘til I tell Max about this. She’s gonna lose her shit. She always said you were special.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the only one of us that could skateboard, remember?” They all laugh, but it’s a hollow sound. Max is gone and the kids are missing, and how can laughter exist in a world like that?

Will gravitates towards Mike again, wrapping his arm back around his shoulder. Mike slips his hand round Will’s waist, pulling him in enough to plant a quick kiss on his temple. Will looks up, but the others are walking in front, oblivious.

“Just don’t-, just don’t scare me like that again, okay?” Mike says, eyes wide.

“Scare you? Think of the fright I got when I saw that Demo about to pounce on you. Scared me enough to unlock fucking superpowers.”

Mike grins. “Still totally cool.”

“You’re not freaked out?”

“Freaked out? Will, you were amazing! You were-, shit, Will! You were breathtaking.” But Will doesn’t have time to ruminate on this, hardly time to blush, because they have reached the station and Robin and Murray are running up the hill.

Will has to wait a couple of hours until he gets the opportunity to really talk to Mike, alone, uninterrupted. In the end he has to rope Robin in to distract his Mom long enough for her to leave his side at all. Will’s been lying collapsed on the sofa for the last twenty-minutes, but, when the others finally vacate the room, he sits up and scootches over. Mike folds himself down onto the seat cushion next to him.

He's silent for a moment, reaching for Will’s hand and the playing with Will’s fingers; teasing them between his own. All the questions that had been plaguing Will for months have dropped away, leaving only one thing left he needs to ask. But just as he opens his mouth, Mike darts forward and kisses it.

Will carefully lifts his hands to Mike’s shoulders and pushes him away.

“Mike, stop. I don’t want to-, I don’t want to just do this anymore.” Mike looks hurt, pain tightening his features. But Will has to say this; has to plough on. “I want-, I want to actually date.” The pain is replaced with surprise, then shock, then confusion.

“I thought-,” Mike starts, choking on his words. “I thought we were dating. I asked you, like back last year, in September.” Will’s head fills with fog for a moment before it begins to clear as he revisits the memory:

Do you want-? Would you like to-? Can we-?

“You asked me out?” Shit, if only he’d let Mike actually finish a sentence that day instead of just assuming. “It wasn't just for making out? Like, for fun or-, or whatever?”

“You think that's all it was?” The pain is back in Mike’s voice now, maybe even a hint of anger. “Why would I kiss you just for fun?”

“You used to, all the time. Before.” They’ve never spoken about this; about the kisses they shared before Will had left for Lenora. Will had always been too afraid in case Mike had figured out what they meant to Will.

Mike swallows, audibly, and Will watches the movement. “It was always more, for-, for me. I'm sorry I never said anything.” Mike brings his hands up to his face, pressing the heels into his eyes. “God I'm so stupid, I thought you wanted me to-, that you wanted to-”

“I do. Fuck, I do. Shit, Mike, I just asked if we could date, doesn't that tell you everything?” Will reaches up and pulls Mike’s hands down from his face, drawing them into himself and clutching at Mike’s fingers. “I’ve been in love with you for years, I just never-, I just never thought you felt the same way.” Mike smiles; it creeps up from the side of his mouth until it illuminates his whole face.

“You love me?”

“I’m in love with you.” Will clarifies.

“Me too,” Admits Mike, quietly, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth.

And the fog in Will’s brain dissipates completely. All the one-to-one moments shared – the late-night movies under blankets, the long walks, the hand holding, the milkshakes at the diner.

Will had been so busy waiting on an avalanche, he hadn't noticed he was ten foot deep under snow. They've been dating.

Mike breaks into Will’s reverie, “I got all giddy about a week ago, going to sleep thinking of you as my boyfriend. And you honestly didn't know?”

“Do now.” Will grins. “I do now.” He repeats, then he reaches out and takes Mike’s face in his hands. “Kiss me again?” He asks. This time when Mike’s lips meet his, the last rift in Will heals completely; curse broken.

Boyfriend. Yeah, he can live with that.