Chapter Text
Mike woke up earlier than usual that morning, the sun filtering through the thin curtains of the shared room.
He stretched in the narrow bed, spotting his crooked glasses on the nightstand beside him. On the other side of the room, Will was still asleep, wrapped in the sheets like a cocoon, his thick, layered brown hair falling softly over his forehead. Mike paused for a moment, just watching.
Those magnificent eyes, now closed, his calm breathing... It was ridiculous how protective, obsessed, he really felt. But he disguised it. He always disguised it.
He stood up slowly, picking up Will's bag that was lying on the floor near the table. He carefully arranged it, stuffing in the sketchbooks and pencils Will would use in class. Then he went to the makeshift kitchen – a small stove and a refrigerator that barely held enough food for two. He prepared a simple breakfast: toast, scrambled eggs for himself, and soy pâté for Will. Black coffee for him, with plant-based milk for Will, just the way he liked it.
It wasn't anything special, but Mike loved doing it. He loved the feeling of being useful, of being the only one who knew exactly how Will preferred things. It was kind of strange, he knew. He thought about it sometimes, when the dorm room got dark and quiet, and his mind wandered to places he tried to ignore.
"Will, wake up. We're going to be late," Mike murmured, gently shaking his shoulder.
Will grumbled, turning over in bed with a sleepy smile.
"Hmm... Five minutes...", he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.
Mike chuckled softly, but obeyed – of course he obeyed, obviously.
He sat on the edge of Will's bed, waiting, while the smell of coffee filled the air.
When they finally left the apartment, Mike drove the old car he'd bought with leftover allowance money and some odd jobs at a coffee shop. Will sat in the passenger seat, bag on his lap, but Mike grabbed it as soon as they parked on campus.
"Let me carry it," he said casually, throwing it over his shoulder along with his own backpack.
Will smiled, one of those graceful smiles that made Mike's stomach churn.
"Thank you, Mike. You're the best," Will replied, and Mike felt a warmth rise up his neck.
It was just a simple compliment, but for him, it meant everything. He enjoyed being Will's personal butler, and being paid to watch movies on Saturdays, cuddled up on the couch.
The college campus was a complete hive of students, and as soon as they stepped into the main building, stares followed.
Not to Mike – he was just the tall, skinny nerd with glasses, slicked black hair, and an awkward posture.
No, all eyes were on Will. Boys smiled broadly, girls winked in admiration.
Will Byers was popular without trying: somewhat shy, but with a sweetness that melted anyone's heart. He waved back, exchanging quick "hi's," and Mike felt jealousy burning in his chest like acid, rushing straight to his bile and churning his organs.
Why are they all paying attention to him? He's my friend. Mine.
They parted ways in the main hallway.
"See you at break?" Mike asked, reluctantly handing Will his bag.
"Sure. Don't forget to grab me a coffee if you pass by the cafeteria," Will asked, winking innocently.
Mike nodded. He would do anything.
Mike's class passed in a blur of discussions about American literature – Hemingway, Fitzgerald, blah blah blah.
He was barely paying attention, doodling in his notebook while thinking about Will. About how he was probably drawing something amazing in art class, but soon his thoughts drifted to the boys in his class.
Why the hell were there athletic guys studying art? What kind of nonsense is that? Mike bit his lip in anger just thinking about those strong, muscular arms brushing against Will's ethereal arm.
"He's not a virgin anymore ," that unbearable voice that had been haunting Michael Wheeler for months whispered, and the jealousy tightened its grip, this time rising sharply to his throat.
Will went out with guys, that's the truth – parties, kisses, who knows what else. Mike drove him to those houses, waiting in the car like an idiot, imagining the worst.
I wasn't angry at Will, never. He deserved all of that and much more. His anger was directed at the others, those tasteless jerks who thought they could touch what was... his?
The bell rang, and Mike ran to the cafeteria, grabbing two coffees – one with almond milk for Will, just like earlier.
He found him in the outer courtyard, sitting on a bench under the trees that were beginning to lose their leaves. Will was laughing at something, the sun shining on his choppy hair that framed his face like a perfect painting.
And there, next to him, was one of those idiots: a boy named Alex, from Will's class (WHY ARE THERE ATHLETES STUDYING ART???????!?!!?!!?) and the basketball team, tall, buff, blond hair, with a confident smile that made Mike want to punch something.
"Hey, Will? I saw your latest drawing at the exhibition. Man, you're incredibly talented," Alex said, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing against Will's "accidentally." Will blushed slightly, shy as always, but smiled back.
"Oh, thanks, Lex. It was just a quick sketch. And you, how was the game this weekend?"
Mike stopped a few feet away, cups of warm coffee in his hands. His stomach churned for the thousandth time that day . Why does he have to be so stupidly sweet to everyone?
Alex laughed, touching Will's shoulder—a casual touch, but to Mike it was like a declaration of war. He imagined pushing the guy away, saying that Will was his, that no one else understood the nights Will woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares. No one else cleaned up his mess, cooked for him, carried his things. No one knew his favorite popsicle flavor. No one bothered to watch his favorite movies with him. Nobody knows that he became vegan after becoming attached to a cute cow, and later found out that it had been slaughtered. Nobody knows that Will bit pens and sucks his middle finger to calm down. Nobody knows all of his favorite songs. No one else served him like Mike did.
Finally, he approached.
"Hey, Will. I brought your coffee." He handed over the cup, ignoring Alex as much as possible.
"Oh, Mike! Perfect, thank you. You're an angel," said Will, taking the coffee and taking a sip, his green eyes shining with gratitude.
Alex raised an eyebrow, looking Mike up and down as if he were invisible.
"Hey, Wheeler. Still hanging around all the time with Byers, huh?"
Mike clenched his teeth, forcing a smile.
"We're childhood friends, right?" And I do everything for him. What do you do, besides drool over him and drag him to your filthy bed?
Will didn't notice the tension, or pretended not to, chatting animatedly about the upcoming campus party, which was today. Alex had invited Will, and Mike felt jealousy simmering in his core.
He would be stuck at home alone while Will hung out with those guys.
But if Will asked him to drive him... he would.
The break ended too quickly, and as they walked back to class, Mike put his hand on Will's hip to guide him through the crowd of students.
Will was getting ready to go out. Again. A party on campus, organized by one of those ridiculous guys who orbited him like hungry satellites.
He had casually mentioned during afternoon tea, between bites of a sandwich Mike had prepared,
"Hey, there's a party tonight at Alex's house. I'll drop by."
Mike had nodded, his stomach churning again, but without saying anything.
Now, there was Will, in front of the mirror glued to the closet door, adjusting the tight shirt that accentuated his silhouette. The fabric molded to his body in a way that made Mike swallow hard, imagining things he shouldn't – not as a friend, at least.
"Do you think this shirt looks good? I bought it at a punk thrift store, I like this band," Will said, turning to Mike with a shy smile, his green eyes shining under the yellowish light of the lamp.
He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it slightly to add volume, and Mike felt a familiar warmth rise through his body.
Does he know how irresistible he looks like this? He thought, but responded with a casual nod.
"You look great. You always look good in everything," Mike murmured, his voice huskier than he intended.
Will chuckled softly, a sound that echoed in Mike's chest.
"Thank you, Mike. You're always so kind." He grabbed a light jacket from the hanger and threw it over his shoulders, then slipped on his worn sneakers—the same ones he wore in Hawkins; he said the dirt made them more conceptual.
Mike watched everything, cataloging every detail: the way Will bit his lower lip when concentrating, the way his exposed nape seemed so vulnerable, inviting.
When Will finished, he grabbed his keys and wallet, but Mike was already standing, extending his hand.
"Let me take you." It wasn't an offer, it was a statement.
Will blinked, surprised for a second, but then smiled again, handing over the bag without question.
"Okay. But hey, Mike... don't you want to come along this time? It'll be fun, there are people from your Literature class there. Alex said." The question came in a light, almost hopeful tone, and Will tilted his head, those green eyes fixed on Mike's.
For a moment, Mike imagined saying yes – going to the party, standing by Will's side, shooing away those jerks with a possessive look.
But no. He always denied it. Parties meant seeing Will being courted, flirted with, maybe even kissed by someone else. They meant sharing what was only his.
"No, thanks. I have to study," Mike lied, forcing a smile. "Besides, you know I'm not into parties. Go ahead and have fun." The words came out mechanically, but inside, a premonition gnawed at him.
Is he going to make out with someone today? Is he going to let anyone touch him? Mike hated thinking about it, but he couldn't stop. He would drive Will there, wait in the car if needed, and then pick him up – because that's what he did. He served. And he loved every second of submission.
They went down the stairs of the old building, Mike opened the car door for Will, as always. During the short drive to Alex's house, the radio played "Melt" by Siouxsie and The Banshees, Will's current favorite song.
He rambled on about art class, about a new drawing project, and Mike listened, nodding, his hands gripping the steering wheel. Each laugh from Will was a reward, each sideways glance, a delicious torture.
They arrived too quickly. The house pulsed with loud music, colorful lights spilling through the windows, and laughter echoing in the street. Mike parked, the engine still purring, and turned to Will. "Call me when you want to come back. I'll come pick you up."
Will hesitated at the car door, hand on the handle.
"Are you sure you don't want to come in? Just for a little while?" His eyes searched Mike's, and for a second, something sparked there.
"I am. Go ahead, have fun." Mike smiled, but his fists were clenched in his lap.
Will nodded, getting out of the car with a
"Thanks, Mike. You're the best friend in the world."
And then he left, walking towards the front door of the house, where Alex was already waiting for him with a smile.
He felt a strange anxiety knowing that by the end of the night Will would be all his again.
It was almost three in the morning when the phone rang, cutting through the silence of the dorm room.
Mike blinked, disoriented, his body aching from being bent over the worn-out sofa for so long. He had fallen asleep there, waiting. The book had slipped to the floor, its pages crumpled, and the TV hissed softly with some old black and white film.
His heart raced in his chest as he picked up the phone, knowing exactly who it was.
"Hello?" he murmured, his voice hoarse with sleep.
"Mike... Hey, it's Will." The voice on the other end was drawn out, as if each syllable required an effort. Will was trying to sound normal – reasonable, even – but the alcohol betrayed him, his words slurred, his laughter muffled in the background, his tone excessively animated.
"Can... can you come pick me up? I'm ready to go."
Mike straightened up instantly, his sleep evaporating like smoke. "Sure. I'm coming out now."
He didn't ask how the party was, or who Will had spent the night with. He didn't need to. He grabbed his car keys, put on a jacket over his old t-shirt, and left.
Mike listened to The Cure tape the entire way there.
When he arrived, he spotted the solitary figure sitting on the sidewalk, under the dim light of a lamppost.
Will, with his head down, arms resting on his knees, looked small and vulnerable amidst the chaos of the party that still pulsed behind him.
Mike parked and got out of the car, the cold air hitting his face.
"Hey, Will.. Let's go." He approached, crouching beside him. Will looked up, his green eyes cloudy, a drunken grin spreading across his face.
"Mike...Hi." The words came out weakly, and when Will tried to stand, his legs gave way.
Mike acted on instinct: he put an arm around Will's waist, feeling the warm skin beneath the thin shirt, and threw Will's arm over his shoulder.
His weight was familiar, comforting, as if Mike were made to carry him. Will laughed, stumbling slightly, his body leaning entirely on Mike as they stumbled to the car.
"Sorry... Mike. I'm a little... dizzy."
"A little?" Mike murmured, opening the passenger door and helping Will to his seat. He smelled of alcohol, smoke, and something sweet—someone else's cologne? Jealousy tightened its grip, but Mike ignored it, closing the door carefully before returning to the driver's side.
With the car's interior light on, Mike could see better as he drove down the street. He glanced sideways at Will, who was leaning back in his seat, his eyes half-closed.
His eyes were red, slightly swollen, as if... "Will, have you been crying?" Mike asked, his voice low and worried.
Will laughed again, a gurgling, drunken sound, shaking his head. "No, silly. It's just... weed. A few puffs. Nothing serious." He blinked slowly, tilting his head to the side, his hair falling over his forehead in a way that made Mike want to reach out and fix it.
Mike frowned, slowing down on an empty street just to get a good look.
Will's pupils were dilated – huge, almost swallowing up the green iris that Mike loved so much. The realization hit him like a punch; it wasn't just alcohol and weed.
"Will... you used cocaine too, didn't you?" Mike's voice came out firm, but not angry, never angry with him.
Will hesitated for a second, then nodded, his drunken grin returning. "Just a little... To liven things up. It was... fun."
He shifted in his seat, as if that were the end of the conversation.
Mike sighed, reaching out to place his hand on Will's leg.
"Bab-.. I mean, dude, you know this is dangerous. Mixing everything up like this... What if something happened? I worry, Will. You're... important to me."
The words came out in a soft, non-judgmental sermon. Mike squeezed his thigh lightly, feeling the relaxed muscle beneath the jeans.
Inside, his mind was spinning: anger at those who left him like this, jealousy of those who had shared those moments, and that familiar feeling that inflated his ego; that of being the only one who rescued him, the one who cared.
He needs me. Only me.
Will murmured something incoherent, his head tilting to the side as the car drove on. "Sorry, Mike... You're always so nice. You always take care of me." The tone was sleepy, grateful, and Mike felt the heat rise, mixed with worry.
They arrived at the building shortly after, the car stopping in its usual spot. Mike turned off the engine, looking at Will, who could barely keep his eyes open, his head slumped against the window, his body limp like a rag doll.
Mike carefully opened the passenger door, slipping one arm under his legs and the other behind his back.
"Come here," he murmured, lifting him effortlessly into his arms – Will was light, he always had been, and Mike loved that.
He loved the feeling of carrying him, of being the support he needed.
Will sighed against Mike's neck, his arms loosely around his shoulders.
"Mike... you're so strong...", he whispered, his voice slow and sweet, his breath warm with alcohol and something like tobacco.
Mike felt a shiver run down his spine as he climbed the stairs of the old building, Will's weight pressed against his chest. Each step was delicious torture. His body so close, the thighs Mike loved to secretly gaze at brushing against his waist, his hair tickling his chin.
He's mine now. Only mine.
They arrived at the apartment. Mike pushed the door open with his foot, turning on the dim light of the lamp beside Will's bed.
The room was as always: messy with drawings scattered across the table, clothes on the floor, the familiar smell of paint and coffee. He gently laid Will down on his bed, the one closest to the window, adjusting the pillows to make him comfortable. Will stirred, his eyes half-closed, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
"Take off my shoes, please..." he asked, his voice whiny, slowly stretching out one leg.
Mike obeyed instantly, kneeling beside the bed. He carefully untied his sneakers with his fingers, sliding them off and placing them on the floor.
His eyes traveled up Will's legs, lingering for a second on his tight jeans, the way his shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing a patch of skin on his stomach. Damn. He swallowed hard, feeling the familiar warmth building up beneath his belly.
"Anything else?" Mike asked, his voice low, trying to sound casual. Will chuckled softly, turning his face in the pillow.
"Mikeee... turn on the air conditioning? It's fucking hot in here." He gestured vaguely to the unit on the wall, his fingers limp.
Mike stood up, turning the air conditioning to the coolest setting, the low hum filling the room. Then he went back to his side of the bed.
"My throat is sooooo dry... I need some water," Will continued, reaching out to touch Mike's arm, his still-wide, still-red green eyes fixed on him with a feigned innocence that fooled no one.
Mike went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, filled it with ice water, and returned, holding it for Will to drink slowly. He swallowed in small sips, a trickle running down the corner of his mouth, and Mike wiped it away with his thumb without thinking, the touch lingering a second longer than it should have.
"Better?", he asked, sitting on the edge of Will's bed for a moment, his hand still on his leg.
"Yes... you're perfect, Mike. You always do everything I ask." Will smiled, his eyes slowly closing.
"Now... just cover me up, okay? I'm sleepy."
Mike pulled the thin sheet over him, adjusting it carefully, his fingers accidentally brushing against Will's waist.
The room was dark now, only the faint light from the street coming through the window. He got up and walked to his bed.
Mike sat down, his heart pounding, and pulled the blanket over the hips, crossing his legs as if he had nothing to hide.
But he had. A lot .
Will, even though half asleep, slowly turned his head toward him.
An exaggerated giggle escaped his lips.
"I knew."
Mike froze, his face burning.
"What?"
Will raised an eyebrow, his eyes glistening with malice despite his condition. He propped himself up on his elbow, the sheet slipping slightly from his shoulder.
"That you'd get hard just from doing what I tell you to do."
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner. Mike felt the air leave his lungs, the blanket suddenly seeming useless, his erection throbbing obviously beneath the fabric.
Will knew. Shit , he knew. And the worst – or the best – part was that he didn't seem surprised. Just... pleased.
"I knew it," Will repeated, his voice low and drawling, but now with a different tone. More... sharp.
He leaned more comfortably on his elbow, the sheet slipping a little further from his shoulder, revealing his pale collarbone and the soft curve of his neck.
"I knew you'd be like this. All... excited. Just from carrying me. From taking off my shoes. From giving me water like an obedient puppy."
Mike opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His head was spinning, a whirlwind of panic and desire that left him dizzy.
Damn it, Will. Don't do this. Not now. Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck, slowly trickling down his spine. He felt his erection throbbing under the blanket, a traitor, too obvious. He wanted to disappear. He wanted Will to stop looking. He wanted Will to... continue...?
Will laughed again, that giddy laugh that echoed through the air. He shifted in bed, turning to face Mike, his slender body contorting in a way that seemed intentional.
"I could fix this, you know? Right now." His voice dropped, hoarse, almost a whisper.
"I could drag myself over there. Take off this blanket. Put my mouth on you and make you feel... so good. So much better than anything you've ever done or imagined alone at night, thinking about me."
Mike sweated harder. His hands trembled in his lap, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing holding him in place.
Is he serious? No, he's high. Drunk. Cocaine. Marijuana. All mixed together.
His mind was a mess: flashes of Will on his knees, those sweet lips around him, those green eyes looking up while he... No. Stop. He doesn't know what he's saying.
"Will... you... you're... fucking drunk," Mike stammered, his voice faltering, the words stumbling over each other. Now he was the one who seemed drunk.
Mike tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't obey.
"No... don't say that. You don't... you don't know. I... I can't... you're out of your mind, man. Tomorrow you'll... you'll regret it and..."
Will snorted, an impatient sound, almost a growl.
"Regret? Mike, please. I know what I want. I always have."
He crawled a little closer to the edge of the bed, his hand lazily extending in the air, as if he wanted to touch the air between them.
"I see how you look at me. How you do everything. Carry my bag. Take me everywhere. Wait for me like a loyal dog. You want this. You want me to control you . You want me to use you. And I... I could make you cum so deliciously that you would forget your own name."
Each word was like a punch to Mike. He felt the heat rising to his face, the sweat now soaking his shirt.
His head was spinning so much that the room seemed to tilt.
Mike tried to formulate something coherent, anything that would put him back on track – the track of a responsible friend, not the pervert who fantasized about this every night.
"Will, listen... you're... you're very out of sorts. The drugs, the alcohol... this isn't you talking. I... I'm not going to... I'm not going to take advantage of you like that. I respect you. You are... you're Will. My Will. No... not like this... Uh... Tomorrow you're going to wake up and..."
But Will didn't let him finish. He cursed softly, a "damn it, Mike" muttered in frustration, turning his face in the pillow with a grumble.
"Always the goody-two-shoes... always... treating me like I'm made of glass... Maybe I could tell you to do things for me. Tell you to take my clothes off slowly... touch me wherever I want... make you fuck me until I can't speak anymore."
" The words came out jumbled, slower and slower, mixed with sighs.
" I'm fine. I want to. Come here, you idiot... I'll suck you off right now if you want. Or you can eat me out. Anything. Just... stop pretending. .. I want... I want to see you fall apart... I want you at my feet... I want..." And then, amidst one of a thousand murmurs, Will stopped. His body relaxed completely, his breathing becoming heavy and rhythmic. He fainted, leaving him there, limp and quiet again, his face buried in the pillow, his tousled, messy hair lying on top of him.
Mike released the breath he didn't even know he was holding. The relief was so intense that he almost laughed nervously.
Thank God . He lay down slowly on his bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin, his body still trembling. His cock was still hard, throbbing with frustration, but he ignored it.
He wasn't going to touch himself now. Not with Will there, so close.
He stared at the ceiling for several minutes, his mind stuck on it all. On Will's words.
On the way he'd said "I could make you cum ." On that mischievous smile. Mike's heart was still pounding, the sweat slowly drying on his skin. But relief won. For now. He closed his eyes, exhausted, and sleep pulled him down.