Chapter Text
The house was empty; except for him and Mike, of course. The basement was surprisingly warm, the kind of sticky heat that clung to skin and made everything feel closer than it should. Summer did that. An old movie droned on from the TV, its colors flickering uselessly across the walls, but Will couldn’t bring himself to pay attention. The sound blurred into noise, dialogue rising and falling without meaning.
His mom was at work. So was Mike’s dad. Will wasn’t sure where anyone else was, and for once, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the couch, and the fact that he and Mike were sitting together on it. Close. Too close. Their knees brushed every time one of them shifted, and Will had gone painfully still, afraid that even breathing wrong would give something away.
The feeling in his stomach twisted, sharp and nauseating, like he was bracing for a drop that never came. Part of him almost wished Mike knew– knew what he did to him just by sitting there, by existing like this. At least then the tension would have a name.
The thought barely had time to settle before Mike paused the movie.
The screen froze mid-scene, the sudden silence loud in its own way. Mike turned toward him, eyes bright; the kind of look he only got when he was about to say something reckless or pitch a dumb idea he was already completely set on. Will felt his chest tighten, his lungs full of frozen air.
“Okay,” Mike said, like he’d been working up to it for a while. “You’ve been weird all night.”
Will swallowed. “I haven’t.”
Mike raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He leaned back into the couch, but his shoulder stayed right where it was, solid and warm and sickening against Will’s arm. “You totally have,” he said. “You haven’t even made fun of the movie once.”
Will huffed out a quiet breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Maybe it’s just not that bad.”
Mike smirked. “It’s awful, Will.”
Mike looked at him for a moment, before looking down at his hands over the blanket.
Will had the sinking feeling that whatever Mike was about to suggest, Will would regret agreeing to it.
“Okay,” Mike said slowly, like he was testing the word. “So… do you wanna play a game?”
The knot in Will’s stomach tightened on instinct. “A game?” he repeated
“Yeah,” Mike said, glancing back up at him. His eyes were bright in that familiar way, the way they always got when he was excited about something that was a bad idea. “We’re bored. This movie sucks. I don’t feel like biking anywhere.”
Will shook his head, uneasy. “It’s just us here,” he said. “You can’t really play a game with two people.”
Mike rolled his eyes so hard it was almost theatrical. “Yes, you can. You can play Go Fish with only two people–” he stopped himself. “Not that kind of game.”
Will sinks into the couch further, hoping to save himself from the future shame of whatever Mike wanted him to do.
It doesn’t work.
“Well what kind of game then?”
Mike paused, like he didn’t think Will would actually play along. He shifted on the couch, blanket bunching around his knees, and for a second he just stared at the frozen TV screen like it might give him an out.
“Chicken,” he said finally.
Will blinked. “Chicken?” He frowned, trying to picture it. “Isn’t that the one where you get up on someone’s shoulders and try to knock the other person off?” The image flashed so suddenly and absurdly that a laugh almost escaped him. He caught it halfway, feeling stupid.
Mike shook his head quickly. His pale cheeks flushed, covering his freckles in a faint pink like he was embarrassed, or maybe warm. Will told himself it was probably just the basement lighting. Or the heat.
“No,” Mike said. “Like… the other game.” He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the blanket, not looking at Will now. “The one where you dare each other to do stuff. And you have to keep going until someone backs out.” He swallowed. “Chicken.”
Oh.
Will’s eyes widened before he could stop them. He turned his head toward the paused TV, the frozen faces on-screen suddenly very interesting. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, loud enough that he was half-sure Mike could hear it.
This is a bad idea, he thought. A spectacularly bad idea.
He could already picture it– whatever Mike suggested first, whatever he agreed to without thinking, the way this would absolutely come back to haunt him later. He silently apologized to his future self, the one who would still be replaying this moment months from now at three in the morning.
“Yeah,” Will said, forcing the words out before he could change his mind. He glanced back at Mike, trying for casual and probably failing. “Sure. Why not.”
Mike looked up then, surprise flickering across his face before it settled into something less legible. His hair was due for a cut, and the curls haphazardly fell around his face.
Will’s stomach hurt.
Mike exhaled through his nose, quick and almost amused, and then he tossed the blanket off his lap. It slid down onto the floor in a soft heap, the sound louder than it should’ve been in the quiet basement. He turned fully toward Will, one knee angling in his direction, suddenly all attention on the other boy.
“Okay,” Mike said. “Cool.”
Will shifted despite himself, the couch creaking under the movement. Without the blanket between them, everything felt exposed; his hands, his knees, the space that was somehow smaller now than it had been a second ago. Mike was closer than before, close enough that Will could see the faint crease between his eyebrows, the way his mouth tilted when he was thinking too hard.
Mike rested his elbow on the back of the couch, leaning in just slightly. “Okay, rules,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything actually dangerous. Like I wouldn’t send you off a building. And if someone backs out, they lose.”
Lose what, Will almost asked, but the question lodged in his throat. He nodded instead.
“Fine,” Will said, voice barely above a whisper. “Rules make sense.”
Mike’s eyes flicked over his face, like he was checking for something. For a second, Will wondered if Mike could tell; if he could see how tightly Will was wound, how his skin felt too small and his lungs too big to fill all the way with air.
“Alright,” Mike said at last. His mouth curved, just barely. “You or me first?”
Will swallowed. “Well, it’s your idea so…”
Mike nodded once, like that settled it. He leaned back against the couch, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he thought, lips pursed in exaggerated concentration. The pause stretched just long enough for Will’s nerves to start creeping back in.
“I dare you,” Mike said finally, dropping his gaze back to Will, “to try and do a handstand.”
For a second, the tension drained clean out of Will’s body. He blinked, almost laughing. That was it? His shoulders loosened, and the tight knot in his chest unwound just a little.
“Mike,” he said, incredulous, “you know I can’t do a handstand.”
Mike’s grin came fast and unapologetic, crooked in a way that made Will’s stomach flip again. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Already gonna lose, man?” Mike said. “We’ve hardly even started.”
Will scoffed, shaking his head, but he was smiling despite himself. “That’s not me quitting,” he said. “That’s you setting me up to fail.”
Mike shrugged, unbothered. “Sounds like an excuse to me, William.”
“Don’t full name-me, asshole!” Will laughed.
Mike grinned at him again.
Will stared at him for a moment, then glanced at the open stretch of basement floor like he was actually considering it. His heart was still racing, but now it felt almost manageable– almost fun.
“Fine,” Will muttered. “But if I break my neck, I’m so haunting you.”
Mike laughed, the sound bright. “Deal.”
And as Will pushed himself off the couch, he had the brief, foolish thought that maybe this game wouldn’t ruin him after all.
Will moved out onto the basement floor, eyeing one of the low wooden beams like it might offer mercy. He planted his hands, kicked one leg up, then the other, using the beam for balance in a way that probably disqualified it from being a real handstand.
For a glorious two seconds, he was actually upside down.
Then his arms buckled, his legs tipped, and he came down with an ungraceful thud that rattled straight through his bones.
Will lay there for half a beat before bursting out laughing, breathless and a little stunned.
Mike was already laughing too, loud and unrestrained, doubled over on the couch like he’d just witnessed the funniest thing on earth. “Man, I knew you’d fall,” he said. “That was fucking sweet.”
“Oh, shut up,” Will said, still laughing as he rolled onto his side. He pushed himself upright and reached out, shoving Mike lightly in the knee.
Mike barely budged, just grinned wider. “Totally worth it.”
He stood then and offered Will a hand. Will hesitated for half a second, long enough to notice, before taking it. Mike pulled him up easily, their hands lingering a fraction longer than necessary before Mike let go. It made Will’s skin burn.
“Alright,” Mike said, eyes bright again, that same dangerous spark back in them. “Your turn.”
Will looked around at the basement floor, nodding slowly.
Will shifted his weight, a little steadier now, the last of his laughter still buzzing in his chest. He tilted his head, pretending to think hard about it.
“Alright,” he said. “I dare you to do your best animal impression.”
Mike blinked. “That’s it?”
Will shrugged, trying, and failing, to seem innocent. “What, scared?”
Mike made a face at him, exaggerated and offended, before leaning back on his heels. “Okay, hold on.” He stared off into the middle distance like this was a serious decision. “I gotta pick the right one.”
Will snorted, a giggle slipping out before he could stop it. He clapped a hand over his mouth, watching Mike pace a short circle on the basement floor, muttering under his breath.
“Alright,” Mike said finally, squaring his shoulders and putting his hands out like a brace. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m already laughing,” Will said, nearly breathless.
Mike ignored him. He puffed out his chest, cocked his head to the side so he wasn’t looking at Will, and made a few squawking sounds. He then quickly shuffled back to the couch, face noticeably reddening.
Will sat there for a second, motionless, before he lost it.
He doubled over, laughter spilling out of him, hands on his knees as he tried to breathe. “Oh my god,” he snorted. “That’s not even a bird, that’s just– you were just yelling.”
Mike cracked almost immediately, laughing too, shoulders shaking. “Parrots are hard, okay?”
“That was not a parrot,” Will said, still grinning. “That was, like, a dying seagull or something.”
Mike wiped at his eyes, still smiling as he looked at Will. “Again, totally worth it.”
Will felt his body warm again. “Your turn.”
Mike tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. His face was still flushed, pink high on his cheeks, his mouth pulled into a line of intense concentration that felt wildly overdramatic for what they were doing.
After a beat, Mike turned back to him. His expression was suddenly serious, too serious, like he was about to deliver a pep talk before a championship game. “Okay,” he said. “How far are you willing to go to win?”
Will blinked, smile still playing on his lips.
For a second, it felt less like a dare and more like a challenge. Or a test. The thought made his stomach dip, but the way Mike said it; earnest and ridiculous and still a little breathless from laughing, soothed him a bit.
Endearing, Will thought. Definitely endearing.
He leaned in without fully realizing he was doing it, close enough now to see the faint spattering of freckles across the bridge of Mike’s nose, close enough that he could nearly feel Mike's breath on his face. He was still riding the tail end of laughter, warmth buzzing under his skin.
“So far.” Will whispered, even though they were the only ones that could’ve heard it.
Mike’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile.
Mike leaned back again, expression becoming unreadable again. Silence stretched over the room, and suddenly, Will is uncomfortable again.
Mike looks at Will’s face, and his gaze travels down to his shirt before flicking back up to his eyes. He grins like he’s just won. “I’ll race you to my mailbox and back. If I win, you have to take your shirt off.” He pauses, and Will feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. “And if you win, I’ll do whatever you want for three minutes.” Mike holds up three fingers as if Will didn’t understand what he was saying.
And maybe he didn’t.
Will stared at Mike, his brain lagging a half-second behind the words, like they’d arrived in the wrong order. Race. Mailbox. Shirt. Whatever you want. Three minutes.
The basement felt suddenly too small, the air thick and unmoving. His mouth opened, then closed again. He forced a laugh that came out thin and off-kilter.
“That’s–” He swallowed. “That’s a really stupid bet.”
Mike grinned wider. “Why, ‘cause you know I’ll win?”
For a split second, Will’s entire mind was full of “I hate you, Mike Wheeler.”
It’s a lie.
Mike's eyes stayed locked on Will’s, steady and unreadable.
Will’s heart was pounding now, loud enough to drown out the hum of the TV. He told himself it was ridiculous. It was just Mike being Mike; competitive, dramatic, always taking things one step too far.
Will dragged a hand through his hair. “You know you’re faster than me.”
“Not by that much,” Mike shrugged. “That’s the game.”
He glanced toward the basement stairs, then back at Mike, who was still holding up three fingers like the number itself mattered.
“And you’ll seriously do anything I want?” Will asked. “Even if I asked you to like, eat raw eggs or something?”
Mike hesitated, just barely. Then he nodded. “Yeah. For three whole minutes.”
Will blew out a breath, feeling the weight of his own decision settle in. He had no idea what he’d even ask for if he won. That almost made it worse.
“Fine,” he said, before he could talk himself out of it. “But no cheating.”
Mike laughed, already standing, already grabbing his shoes. “Please. You’re the one who should be worried.”
As they headed for the stairs, Will’s stomach flipped hard, the adrenaline buzzing under his skin.
They took the stairs two at a time, shoes barely half-on by the time they burst out the back door. The night air hit Will all at once; cooler than the basement, and sharp in his lungs. He barely had time to brace before Mike took off.
“Hey!” Will shouted to no avail.
Mike was fast. He always had been. Long strides, reckless confidence, like he trusted his body to know where it was going before his brain caught up. Will chased the flash of him down the driveway, gravel skidding under his feet, his breath coming hard and loud in his ears.
The mailbox loomed closer than Will wanted it to.
Mike reached it first. Will watched him slap a hand against the metal with a sharp clang, already twisting on his heel, curls flying as he pivoted and sprinted back toward the house without missing a beat.
Will pushed harder, unwilling to let Mike win without a fight.
For a second, he thought he might actually catch him. The distance closed, Mike’s beat up shoes pounding the pavement just a step ahead of his own. Will could see the line of Mike’s shoulders, the way his button down shirt clung darkly at the back, the way he glanced over his shoulder like he knew Will was right there.
The house rushed up at them too fast.
Mike hit the door first, hand slapping against it as he skidded to a stop, breath coming quick and uneven. Will stumbled in a heartbeat later, chest heaving, momentum carrying him almost straight into Mike’s back before he caught himself.
Moonlight poured over them, casting shadows on the front door of the Wheeler home.
Mike turned, flushed and grinning, eyes bright and a little wild. He bent forward, hands on his knees for half a second, then straightened again like he couldn’t help himself.
“Looks like I won,” he said, breathless, wearing a shit-eating grin that made Will’s stomach flutter.
Will dragged in a lungful of air, staring at him, heart hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with the run.
Yeah, he thought bleakly.
He definitely did.
Mike shifted, his breathing slowly evening out. He straightened, rolling his shoulders once like he was settling into himself, and looked at Will with an expectant tilt of his head.
“So,” he said smugly. “My prize?”
Will’s face felt like it was on fire.
“Inside,” he whisper-shouted, reaching out and pushing Mike through the half-open door before he could overthink it. Mike laughed under his breath but went willingly, stumbling a little as they crossed the threshold. Shoes were kicked off in a messy pile, and then they were moving again, back down into the basement like gravity was pulling them there
The air felt thicker now. Or maybe that was just Will.
His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he was half-convinced Mike could hear it. When they reached the bottom, Mike stopped and turned, waiting.
“Well?” Mike asked.
Will shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of his hands, of where to put them. He glanced anywhere but Mike’s face– the couch, the TV, the shadowed corner by the beam, before finally looking back up. Mike wasn’t smirking now. He was just watching him, open and patient in a way that somehow made this harder. If only you knew.
Will swallowed.
He reached down and grabbed the worn hem of his hand-me-down T-shirt, fingers curling tight in the fabric. It was stupid, he thought distantly, how much meaning that simple motion suddenly had. His hands hesitated for a fraction of a second, like his body was giving him one last chance to back out.
“Why do you want me to take my shirt off, anyway?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
Mike’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He looked away quickly. “I– uh– just wanted to see if you would do it, to be honest.”
Will’s grip on the shirt tightened. Right.
He tugged the shirt up an inch, then another, the warm basement air brushing his skin. His hands shook just enough to notice.
Mike’s eyes flicked down, then back up again, sharp and intent, like he was making a point of watching Will’s face more than anything else.
Will exhaled, slow and unsteady.
“There,” he whispered, throwing the shirt onto the couch before he could think.
Mike nodded. He didn’t say anything right away. The silence stretched, thick and unfamiliar, broken only by the low hum of the TV and the uneven sound of Will’s breathing as he tried to steady it.
Will crossed his arms, suddenly self conscious. His skin still felt warm where the shirt had been, every nerve suddenly awake.
“Okay,” Mike said quietly, clearing his throat. “You… you don’t lose, by the way.”
“What?” Will asked, arms falling back to his sides.
“I mean,” Mike said, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks still flushed. “You, uh, didn’t chicken out. You did it.”
Something in Will’s chest loosened at that. Just a little.
“Well yeah, that’s the point of the game.”
Mike shifted his weight, then took a hesitant step closer.
Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the basement for the both of them.
He took Mike in without meaning to. The pale curve of his cheek, the faint scatter of freckles across his nose, the way his hair fell into his eyes like it never stayed where it was supposed to.
“It’s my turn now, right?” Will asked quickly, the words tumbling out too fast. He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of his bare arms, his chest, the way he felt too visible under Mike’s attention.
Mike blinked, like the question pulled him back from somewhere else. “Yeah,” he said. His voice was steady, but his fingers flexed at his sides, like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “Your turn.”
Will should’ve gone for something easy. Something dumb. A bad impression, another race, anything that would put some distance back between them. Something sick sunk deep in his stomach.
The easy, joking answer stayed stuck somewhere behind his ribs, useless. Instead, he turned and all but plopped back onto the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight.
The basement air felt cooler than it had a minute ago. Or maybe that was just him, suddenly hyperaware of his bare skin, of the way the air brushed over his arms and collarbone now that nothing was in the way. He shifted, resisting the urge to reach for the shirt he’d tossed aside. No sense in backing out now.
Mike followed a second later, sitting down beside him.
His knee brushed Will’s, then stilled. He kept his eyes firmly on Will’s face, like he was making a deliberate effort not to look anywhere else, and that somehow made Will’s chest tighten more than if he had.
Will picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion, then forced himself to stop. He took a breath, felt it catch, then pushed the words out before he could second-guess them.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “My dare.”
Mike nodded once. “Alright.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“What’s your biggest fear?” Will asked.
The TV hummed softly in the background, frozen image flickering blue light across the walls.
Mike almost laughed. He sounded nervous. “That’s hardly a dare–”
Will interrupted him, “And neither is taking my shirt off, so I guess we’re even.”
Mike shut his mouth.
The grin faded from his face, replaced by something quieter and harder to read. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers once like he was grounding himself, then leaned back into the couch cushions with a slow exhale.
“Okay,” he said finally. “That's– yeah– totally fair.”
Mike glanced sideways at him, eyes flicking over Will’s face.
Will held his gaze, pulse ticking loud in his ears.
Mike looked away again, jaw tightening.
The TV continued its low, useless hum. The blue light flickered across Mike’s profile, catching on the curve of his cheek, the crease between his brows. He stared straight ahead, shoulders tense, like he was bracing for something that hadn’t happened yet.
“Probably aliens.”
Will blinked at him for a second. “Seriously? Aliens?”
Mike nodded, earnestly. “Yeah, like, if they made it to earth they probably got some crazy tech.” His hands motioned uselessly. “Like in that one book Lucas read for a class last year. People wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Will looked ahead again at the TV.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that tracks.”
Mike let out a small, relieved laugh. “See? Totally reasonable.”
Will huffed quietly, shaking his head. “Only you would be afraid of aliens.”
“Hey,” Mike said, bumping his bare shoulder lightly. “You asked.” He shifted back against the couch cushions.
“Alright,” he said abruptly. “Your turn.”
Mike glanced at him, surprised. “That’s it?”
“Well yeah, neither of us have chickened out yet, so…”
Mike studied his face for a second before looking back at the screen. “Okay, yeah.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, already thinking.
For a beat, the basement went quiet again.
The TV hummed. The blue light flickered. Will could hear his own breathing, a little too loud in his ears.
Mike shifted beside him. “So,” he said, casual in tone but not quite in posture. “Do you wanna… do something this time, or answer a question?”
Will shrugged. “I don’t know, Mike. Doesn’t really matter to me.”
Mike nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer. He bit down on his lower lip, thinking, then released it. His hands came up, rubbing once over his shorts, palms dragging like he needed somewhere to put the nervous energy. Will noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Okay,” Mike said. “Wanna make the game harder?”