Archive of Our Own

Once it was all, finally, officially over - 100% gone, all the monsters and mind-control and nightmares destroyed for good - they had to learn how to just, carry on with life. The party graduated from high school and had to decide what to do that didn’t involve killing things and more involved making money. Mike realised he hadn’t really thought about what he wanted, actually wanted to do, since October 1983. Back then all he wanted to be was a Cleradin.

El went travelling and seemingly never stopped. Anytime she checked in she was hitchhiking and backpacking across the Grand Canyon, Route 66, Mexico. She stayed with Kali a lot in Chicago, so Mike trusted that any trouble they got into, they could just as easily get out of. The semi-consistent postcard deliveries let him know she was okay.

Lucas got a basketball scholarship at Indiana State and his on-off relationship with Max has successfully stayed on the ‘on’ side since her escape from Camazotz (Mike was secretly elated upon discovering that Holly names the world around her from her books, just as he did with D&D). She got a job in Cincinnati at a video game company but still drives to see Lucas every weekend.

Dustin has joined Steve and Robin on the Hawkins part-time run. After WSQK’s inevitable collapse it was the drive-in cinema, then the burger joint, then jean folding at the new mall, swept clean of Russians. The last time Mike was down in Hawkins, the three of them were in matching aprons and striped shirts from the new florist’s.

Will mentioned he wanted to go to New York and Mike couldn’t imagine a life where he couldn’t visit Will whenever he pleased, so he applied for English at NYU. They drove up together in a convoy - Mike and all of his family driven by a grumbling Ted followed by Joyce, Hopper and El in a truck towing all of Will’s belongings, followed by Will and Jonathan, who insisted he wanted one last drive with his little brother. They both cried their eyes out the whole way, but hid their tears from their mom every time they pulled over for food.

They weren’t roommates in their freshman year, deciding to give themselves a small chance of making friends outside of each other. But it was weird not talking about world-ending stakes or demogorgons to everyone. ‘I saved your life a few times by sealing rifts between our world and a wormhole to another dimension. Hey, did you know my ex-girlfriend has superpowers?’, he thought in his head constantly as he introduced himself to new classmates. It was hard to find his footing and start to care about ordinary human things like everybody else, but at least he had Will to be the one person in a 500 mile radius who could relate.

“You ever feel like we’ve fallen behind?” He asks Will one day in their building’s common room, the one with the well-stocked vending machines. In typical fashion, they had a plethora of snacks laid between them on the itchy sofa. “Like, we can’t talk about the Upside Down or anything because, well, no one will believe it. So everyone else is talking about, like, their normal senior years, or their summer breaks, or like, house parties and girls and-” He looks up to Will suddenly, “or boys and stuff and I…” He sighs again.

“Mike, it’s all over now. Maybe now is the time to start caring about all that stuff more. How many parties have we ever been to? Have we ever even drank?” Will raises his eyebrows at Mike. “We need to actually start caring about it and doing everything we’ve been wanting to do. I mean, haven’t we spent most of our time in Hawkins wanting to live normal lives? I certainly did.” Will tapers off, rubbing the back of his neck.’

Mike suddenly looks down, guilty. “Not like normal, like, li- you know what I mean, right Will?” He put a hand on Will’s knee, who doesn’t meet his eye, but smiles anyway. “You’re right. We’re young, away from home, maybe we should dive head first into all of these like, firsts. I mean, your Mom was always like, super strict with your curfew.”

Will laughs. “Yeah, and you had to sneak past your Dad asleep to come down and see me in the basement when we stayed there to play games together.”

Mike smiles at the memory. In the 18 months where the Byers had to hunker down with Mike and Co, Mike felt like they were kids together again, before everything went Upside Down. “Maybe we should just try to… leave it all behind. Become adults and stop worrying about all the things we worried about back in Hawkins.” Will smiles at Mike, eyes crinkling at the edges.

‘Well, if Will can move past Hawkins, anyone can’, Mike thinks with a smile, going back to his Fruit Gushers.

—-

It was only in 1991 when Mike started to feel… settled. It was their junior year at NYU. They had an apartment-style dorm off of Third Avenue. It was a no-brainer to move in together, it saved time from walking to and from each other’s dorms when they spent so much time together anyway, all they had to do was meet in the middle in their tiny living room, or take the further four steps to either one of their bedrooms.

He enjoyed his classes. He focused on the creative writing track and dug out some of his old campaign notes. He found it fun, actually fun, to spend hours hunched over his desk, mapping out worlds and plots, adding the tiniest of details to the backstories of characters he had created. It gave him…outlet. Somewhere to store all of his ideas, something that was his and his alone. On the page he was free to do as he wished, with no consequences. He loved doing things with no consequences.

Mike wasn’t the most successful at making new friends at college but, he thinks he liked that. By the time they had left Hawkins his friendship group had greatly expanded, and when they all got together at the Wheeler’s just before Lucas had left for college, Mike realised just how many people much older and younger than him he was close friends with.

There were, surprisingly, a few D&D parties across the campus, advertising for new members on the notice board by the dining hall. Mike turned up for a few but they weren’t really his style. As childish as it was, he couldn’t imagine himself not being the dungeon master. Either in charge of a party, or not at all. Either leading a table, or leaning on one by himself, running out of pen ink at a rapid rate.

When he and Will moved in together, these candle-burning creative sessions became even more special. His first year roommate didn’t like it when Mike played music or made much of a sound at all, but with Will, they played tapes together in their tiny living room. Mike would sit by the couch - not on the couch, by the couch - with his elbows on the coffee table, flicking between writing and doodling in the margins to ‘keep the creative juices flowing’. Will would either be standing by his easel or lying on the sofa with his notebook, depending on his energy levels. They’d work in relative silence, until the track would change to something they both loved, and they’d look at each other and go, oh yeah, and burst into a fit of giggles. Their music tastes were still so similar to each other.

At the start, they found it hard to go to sleep. Walking to classes together, eating shitty diner burgers together, staying up watching rented movies together. When they’d have sleepovers together back in middle school, they’d stay awake all night in the same way, eventually falling asleep together on the blanket-covered floor of Mike’s basement or tangled up in Will’s single bed. It was a struggle to remember that Oh, they had to go to their own separate bedrooms at the end of the day to sleep.

When he wasn’t rewriting campaign notes or watching whatever they found in the Blockbuster Pre-Viewed section that week, Mike was exploring New York. He was putting his Walkman on his belt loop and walking non-stop, wandering through every side street, park he could find. He would sit down on any park bench, surrounded by no one who knew his name, and sit, read, write, take pictures. Then, he’d follow his nose back home. Try and remember what graffiti he had and hadn’t seen, and not get angry if he didn’t go the way he came. He’d take three pictures of whatever he saw so that when he wrote his letters to everyone he’d always have something to include. He thought he’d be stuck in Hawkins for the rest of his life. Now he struggles to find a reason to return.

His new quiet, independent, blissful, creative life away from monsters was going just swell. Then Will got hot.

—-

He’s in Jane Austen, his Wednesday morning class. It isn’t Mike’s favourite class this semester, but it wasn’t a chore either. The professor is a woman with cherry-rimmed glasses and the type of up-do his mom would have. He sits in one of the middle rows of the room, flicking between his notebook and his battered copy of Sense and Sensibility, taking just enough notes he needed to pass his essays.

At the end of the class, he was about to put everything in his bag and run off for lunch when someone came up to him. It was only in his last few paces that he found the other student’s name in his head. Harry, he was in his Sci-Fi Beginnings class last year.

“Hey man, Mike, right?” He says, loose backpack over his shoulder. He’s taller than Mike, annoyingly, with swooshy hair pushed back from his forehead. He’s not insanely popular or anything, so it’s not the most insane thing that he’s talking to Mike, but it’s still…unusual.

Mike zips up his backpack and puts it on, eyes shifty. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“You live with Will Byers, right?”

Mike frowns.“Yeah, he’s my- he’s my best friend.”

“Oh, sick.” Harry looks away, his hands in his pockets. Mike wonders why he suddenly looks so nervous, but he remembers Nancy telling him years ago how protective he can get of Will. Maybe his regular bite was coming back. Harry shuffles in his place. “Do you think he’d um, want to hang out? Sometime?”

“I mean, sure, probably.” Will would probably be down to making new friends, he is the more sociable one out of the pair of them. Normally they’ll make new friends together, at parties or even bars, they both still hang out with the guy that bought them loads of drinks that one time. No idea what that was about. Mike frowns. “Wait, hang out?”

“Like, hang out, hang out.” Harry’s eyebrows raise, looking around them. Everyone else had gone, even their professor had pelted it away to make it to her next class in time. He was nervous. “You get me, man?”

Oh. Mike thinks he gets it now. He’s trying to ask if Will would be interested in him. Like that. “Yeah, I think I get you.” Would Will want to… go out with Harry? Mike’s never really asked him about his type or anything like that. “I think, I think so, yeah. He’d…” Wait, is that shallow? Is he a dick friend for assuming that Will would want to go out with Harry just because he’s a guy? Who seems to be into other guys? “Yeah, I’ll ask him, f-for you.”

Harry looks almost relieved, if not slightly weirded out. “Thanks, man.” He takes a tiny slip of white paper out of his book and hands it to Mike. “Here’s my number. For-for Will.” He smiles small and quick before brushing past Mike, making a beeline for the exit. Mike, still frozen in place, takes the slip of paper and puts it in his jean pocket.

—-

It’s not like Will just became hot. Mike knows this.

He was always a cute kid, with the big eyes and familiar bowl cut. Mike always thought he was cute, from the moment he saw him on that swingset and a tiny voice said, look after him. One particular day, foggy to him now, where Will dragged him to his house after school to show him the newly constructed Castle Byers, and they stayed there for hours chasing each other around. In pictures of them snapped by a smiling Joyce Byers, tiny Will is usually sandwiched under tiny Mike’s arm, smiling from where he’s squished into his side. Mike’s cuteness was usually cut by his general annoying-ness, he’s been told - but Will was quiet and chubby-cheeked, innocent. Which is why it hurt to see him bullied and trod on for years. Which is why it killed to see a body closely resembled to his be pulled out of the lake. Pale and dead.

Will’s voice is so low now. Mike remembers going through puberty side by side with him. Will’s awkward, in-between moments seemed to last longer than the rest of theirs’. For a few of their teenage years Will had always felt more…not grown-in yet, limbs all gangly and awkward, fashion no different to when he was seven. His voice cracked frequently, to the rest of the gang’s amusement, even though Mike found it endearing. He always seemed more unsure of himself. It could probably be pinned down to the masses of childhood trauma built up inside, or the years-long internal battle and suppression of his sexuality. Yeah, looking back, that was probably it.

When it came to the final battles of Hawkins, the blood and sweat and days without proper sleep took a toll on everyone. Mike felt dirty for days, even after all the showers and wound disinfecting. Everyone felt so gross and looked quite gross too, but Mike just couldn’t take his eyes off of Will. He was in pain and hurting, he’d been injured, and Mike usually hates seeing him in pain, but there was just something about the way his hair was rugged and matted with blood. The way his eyes were bloodshot. The way scars wrapped around his neck…

By the time they finally finished high school, Mike would say that Will was attractive, undoubtedly. And he wasn’t the only one who thought that, he turned down multiple girls who asked him out to Prom. They all laughed about it together, teasing him in Mike’s basement until he turned red and begged them to stop. Prom was a slightly awkward ordeal - they agreed to just go as a large group of friends, but of course Lucas and Max stuck to each other all night, dancing and kissing and laughing in the middle of the gym hall when they should have been hovering at the sides bored with the rest of their friends. Freshly broken up Mike and El insisted that everything was okay, they were fine, but Mike felt sick the whole night, between watching El looking much happier twirling around in her dress and Will in his suit, turning away asks for dances from girls in perms. He didn’t know what to do with the attention and awkwardly murmured a ‘thank you’ to each girl before sending them on their way, leaving Dustin clutching his stomach with laughter.

In college, now fully in charge of his own style and free from hand-me-downs, he became more…effortlessly stylish, in Mike’s eyes. Every day he saw Will at breakfast wearing something he’d just thrown on, and yet it looked so good. He kept stealing band t-shirts from Mike who groaned and complained, but secretly admired how every one somehow looked so much better on Will.

He wishes little Will could see how far he had come. He was bigger, definitely, growing into his shoulders and ears and… well, he was handsome. He was undeniably handsome. It’s just now, everyone seems to see it. It’s not just for Mike to know.

—-

They’re playing on their NES (Thanks, Vecna Government hush money) when Mike asks “Hey Will, do you know Harry Banks?”.They’re both sitting on the floor with their backs resting on the sofa rather than actually sitting on the sofa, their hips seconds from touching each other. A cacophony of snacks are on the tiny coffee table in front of them.

Will doesn’t look to his side to answer Will, keeping a steady focus on Mortal Kombat. “What colour is his hair?”

Mike scrunches his nose. “Brown, I think?”

Will hums shortly. “Oh yeah, I know him.”

“He came up to me today and he asked me…uh…” Mike pauses. He almost doesn’t want to tell Will at all. “I think he was trying to say he likes you? Like, he was trying to ask you out?” Mike cringes his face up.

In his mind’s eye Will is grossed out, refusing any attention or advances. That’s how Mike has seen him for most of his life, only understanding why Will was so repulsed and awkward around the girls who asked him out was because he…didn’t like girls. With a boy, would it be the same? Or would Mike be forced to witness Will go on dates, gush over someone like Mike did to him for years? The idea makes him understand why Will was so angry when all his attention turned to El. Picturing Will in a relationship makes him…well, he can’t quite pinpoint that one yet.

Will takes a moment to beat Mike’s Scorpion (He groans, this is the fifth match in a row he’s lost) and puts the controller down as the fatality plays out. “Really?” He turns to look at Mike. His hair is kind of…swooshy today, all falling to one side, some getting into his left eye. A tiny voice inside Mike commands him to reach out and push it away. He resists.

“I think so man, he asked if I would think you’d want to hang out with him? But he was trying to give me…y’know,” Mike moves his hands, stressing. “Signals.”

Will only squints in reply. “Signals?”

“I can’t explain it, Will! He gave me his number to give to you! Here, look.”

Mike digs into his back pocket and pulls out the slip of white paper. It was pristinely folded when it was first given to him, but now it’s crumpled and worn already. Will takes it from his fingers and unravels it. He looks at the sequence of numbers as if studying them, his attention completely turned away from Mike and the pending game screen in front of them.

Mike watches him nervously from the other side of the couch. “So… you think you’ll go out with him?”

Will hums. “I mean, he’s cute, but…” He sighs, leaning back into his cushion. “I don’t know, he’s not really…not really my type.”

“What is your type?” Mike asks. “Shit, is it really crappy that I’ve never asked what your type is? I always assumed it was just…guys.” He keeps digging his own grave further and further down, but Will only laughs at him.

“I don’t really have a type, I think.” Will shrugs. “I mean, I’ve dated around, but….” He leans back on the sofa, pondering. “I don’t know.”

Mike’s head snaps to him. “Dated around?”

Will tips his head to one side and squints. “C’mon, you’ve seen it. All those guys from freshman year? When I kinda went crazy realising I wasn’t the only gay guy ever? I’m not like… a virgin with a bowl cut anymore.”

Mike chokes on a piece of spit. He thinks back to their first year in New York and…no, he doesn’t really remember that. He was too in his head about Hawkins, about El (who apparently wasn’t very hung up on him back), about writing and his dad and the subway and deadlines and survival. Will stuck by his side through all of this, the two of them navigating college together but, maybe Mike just didn’t pay enough attention to Will. Will, who a few years before saved countless lives and went through insane trauma, whose eyes rolled to the back of his head and hypnotised Mike as he snapped the legs of demogorgons with his mind. Will, who wore his hair out of his eyes and got his ears pierced a few weeks after they moved into their dorms, clutching Mike’s arms then laughing at the comparative lack of pain. Maybe Mike just didn’t want to see other sides of Will. Will going out on dates, Will kissing other guys, Will in bed with other guys. But now that he’s thinking about all that, he can’t stop.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I just-” Mike shakes his head. “I’m scared I don’t like, ask you about your love life enough or, we only talk about mine because…I don’t know. You can still talk to me about anything, like when we were kids.”

“Yeah, I know.” Will leans his head on Mike’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Mike does everything he can to relax his body and not tense up in reaction, especially when he feels Will sigh in comfort. He’s like a cat you don’t want to scare away. “You think I should go out with him?” He asks Mike, their knees overlapping.

“No.” Mike responded quickly. “He copied my notes last year when he thought I wasn’t looking in like, every class.”

Will laughs. He laughs hard on Mike’s shoulder and Mike wonders if it hurt Will this bad any time he talked about El. Well, he knows it did back then. But for now, he buries the unnamed feeling further down his chest and just watches as Will’s eyes crinkle.

—-

Sometimes they do study together, but they have to force themselves to go to the library to actually stay focused. On days like today, when everytime they look at each other they somehow fall into a fit of giggles, they have to go to the silent section.

Mike pushes his glasses up his brow as he writes, his pinky finger covered in a large black smudge of ink. Mike hates wearing his glasses in public. He feels too much like his dad, thin frames and a low brow. That’s why he only wears them when he absolutely needs to, which turns out to be any time he’s reading or writing. He makes sure that his hair is extra curly and messy when he does so, so that he hopefully doesn’t resemble Mr Wheeler at all.

Will is hard at work opposite him. He has a large art history textbook in front of him with his notepad tucked under his right forearm, scribbling away scrawled notes. The study room they’re in is mainly empty, you can hear any footsteps taken on the wooden floor echo all around you. He’s copying notes from a large textbook, underlining and circling as he goes, while occasionally adding scribbled post-its to a different textbook. Mike’s single notebook pales in comparison.

There’s a girl sitting at the other end of their table, studying by herself. Mike can only see her out of the corner of his eye. Black hair with a razor straight fringe, down past her shoulders. Circular glasses are pushed up to her face as she jots in her own journal. He doesn’t look her way often, only to distract himself from his own drab writing or Will in front of him, tongue sticking out of the corner of his lips in focus. But when he does catch a glance her way, she always seems to be looking back at him. Well, not him, just slightly to his left. At Will.

“Will.” Mike tries his hand at ventriloquism, whispering at Will without moving his mouth. Will doesn’t respond or notice him, so he kicks him gently under the desk. Will’s attention is jolted away from his books and towards Mike, and he throws him a frown. As subtly as he possibly can, Mike nods to his side, gesturing for Will to look at the girl.

Will turns his head to the side slightly to look at the girl, who is now fully facing him. She smiles at him and waves, her hand curling to show her painted blue nails. Will looks taken aback slightly, he had no idea she was catching glances at him this whole time. Mike watches with baited breath as his cheeks turn pink, pink, before bringing up a shy hand and waving back with a coy smile. He turns back to Mike slowly, mouth slightly agape. Mike looks back at him with wide eyes.

He tries to go back to his work. He tries to, really, but his brain can’t focus on anything but the air around him. The air where more glances may be being shared that he doesn’t know about. That Will is smiling at. It’s awful. Was this how Will felt all those years ago, piggy-in-the-middle when him and El kept whispering and laughing at each other? He wishes he could take it all back now.

Out of the corner of his eyes a few minutes later, Mike vaguely sees her get up and pack away her things. An imaginary weight on his chest is lifted, but he sees her walk behind Will to leave, stopping for a second. His head shoots up, and Mike sees her slide a torn slip of paper next to Will’s notebook. Will sees this and goes to look up at her, but she’s already shuffling away.

Will picks it up, and his eyes jump wide. “It’s her number,” He whispers to Mike, flipping it around to show him. There, in curved writing, is the girl’s phone number. With a heart at the end. A heart! Will breaks into laughter, trying his best to stay quiet but he can’t hide his hiccuping giggles.

Mike stares back at him incredulously. “Are you gonna call her?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Will shakes his head, “Of course not.” But he keeps looking down at the paper in his hands, pen and paper forgotten. His cheeks have gone slightly pink.

Mike looks him up and down. “Then why are you blushing?”

Will’s head shoots up to look at him. “I’m not,” He whispers back through gritted teeth, positively red. Mike stifles his own laugh with his hand. “It’s still nice to get attention, Mike.” Will sighs, shaking his head.

The girl is long gone from the library, but Mike’s attention still drifts back to the door, in case she comes back around the corner. Was she expecting Will to call her? Ask her out on a date? He barely even saw her. Not that she knows that he’d never call her back. She was pretty, yeah, she had cool style, Mike would say. But Will wouldn’t like her. Will wouldn’t call her back.

Will pulls him back to reality with a laugh, a close eye on his furrowed eyebrows. “Do you want this instead? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“Shut up, dude.”

—-

This whole past week, Will hasn’t shut up about this guy. Carlton. Even his name sounds stupid.

Him and Will have like…a thing. Mike isn’t sure what it is. Will keeps bringing him up any opportunity he gets. Me and Carlton tried out that new dive bar near his place. Me and Carlton went to the movies. Carlton’s from Florida and Florida’s like sooooo cool. Mike’s reaching his limit.

Carlton’s frat is throwing a party because, well, just because they can. Will’s invited and was told he could bring someone along, so Mike gears up. They meet in their tiny living room before walking over. Will looks amazing, of course. Has he done something different with his hair? It’s falling down in front of his eyes a bit more prominently, teasing his eyebrows messily. He’s wearing a leather jacket over one of Mike’s band t-shirts, with black jeans that Mike was trying his best not to stare at.

“I mean, I probably won’t drink too much.” Mike tells him on the subway. It’s pretty crowded so they’re both stood up. Will is leaning on one of the metal poles, Mike is holding onto it above Will’s head, leaning into Will’s space. They bounce up and down together with the train’s movements. “I have to finish that essay tomorrow, so I’ll leave early in the morning.”

“You sure?” Will looks up at him. They have to talk loudly to hear each other over the sounds of the rails screeching but they’re used to being in their own little world anyway. “I don’t want you to have a bad time.”

“I’ll be fine, Will.” He looks down at Wi- holy shit, is he wearing eyeliner? Yeah, Will has lined his eyes slightly with a black, kohl-like eyeliner. Mike struggles to form any more words, any sounds, as he tightens his hold on the subway pole. Will’s wearing eyeliner. Will’s wearing Mike’s t-shirt and eyeliner.

Before Mike can do anything stupid, not that he could get any words out to do anything anyway, their stop arrives. He follows Will up and out of the station. Taxis honk as they always do, the lights of New York shine bright in the dark as they always do, nothing is distracting Mike from Will’s lithe figure leading him through the city.

The party is in one of the penthouses of Lafayette, so they get the elevator up together. Lucas was in a fraternity back in Indiana and told Mike and Will of these famed frat parties - where he’d jump into pools from the old balcony houses and wake up on the front lawn the next day, still drunk. His face conveyed something like pity when they broke to him that Greek life in New York is a lot more tame and apartment based.

They don’t need to knock on the door when they reach the top floor, it’s already open and bustling. The place is full to the walls, they have to squeeze through to the kitchen to pour each other drinks into red solo cups. Mike braves it and tries some of the mystery pink punch. He quickly regrets it.

Mike can’t tell what room the booming music is coming from, it seems to be coming from all around them. The larger-than-life apartment is lit purely by oddly-placed lamps, balanced on top of the fridge and stacks of books. Looking around as he takes tiny sips of his sour drink, Will pouring out shots for them both by his side, he feels surrounded by people much cooler than him, with spiky hairstyles and piercings seemingly everywhere. He swears he sees two girls kissing by the bathroom. Toto, they’re not in Hawkins anymore.

“Will!” A voice enters from behind. Chance stumbles over to them, drawing Will into a hug. “You made it!” He pulls back, beaming down at him. Will’s cheeks are dusted pink. He turns back to look at Mike. He has a quiff and already looks drunk. “This must be…Mike?”

Mike stifles away an eye roll, poorly. “Yeah, Mike. Hey.”

Chance’s eyes barely stay on him, his attention is immediately drawn back to Will, his arm already wrapped around his lower back. “You get here okay?” His voice is sickly sweet, his face too close to Will’s. Mike can see right through him.

“Yeah, we did.” Will’s smiling, showing off his soft fangs. Mike’s pink drink is somehow already making him feel sick. Will is sandwiched between Chance’s hip and the kitchen counter. His eyes hone in on Chance’s hand on Will’s waist, how his fingers are tight around the leather jacket. Mike’s own fingers tighten around his plastic cup.

“Bea wanted to show you this movie, she’s in one of the living rooms.” Chance points to behind them, where this Bea is presumably somewhere behind the gaggle of dancing people. Also, what the hell, one of the living rooms?

“Mike, do you wanna come?” Will asks in a soft voice. Mike can see the distaste in Chance’s nose scrunch as he asks but, Will is only looking at him.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m good, you guys go.”

“You sure?” Will tips his head to the side, like a confused puppy. He has no idea what he’s doing to Mike, how his black-lined eyes imprint themselves inside Mike’s brain, driving him crazy.

“I’m sure, Will.” Mike smiles, waving them off. Will barely has time to smile back before Chance has dragged him around the corner, out of sight and into the crowd.

Mike watches him go, then takes his shot, feeling the cold of the tequila in his chest. Will had already had his without him.

—-

Mike thinks that the pink drink is making his vision pink. He wouldn’t be surprised if he went to the bathroom and saw himself in the mirror with bright pink skin, the amount he’s drunk. The glow of the artsy lamps and candles follow Mike’s line of sight no matter where he looks. It’s a blur.

He sways from room to room, getting pulled into conversations he doesn’t really want to be a part of. He nods along with whatever anyone’s saying, looking down at the floor and tapping his fingers together. In his peripheral, in every single room he stumbles into, there is Will. He’s always caught up comfortably in a group of people, head thrown back in laughter. Carlton is usually tight by his side, arm still wrapped around Will’s lower back. They’re having fun. Will’s forgotten about Mike, clearly.

Mike doesn’t want to leave, though. Not without Will. He’d rather wait around for him to eventually get tired so they could go home together. That’s usually how it goes, Will’s social battery suddenly wears thin and with a whisper, he’d ask Mike if they could leave whatever bar they’re at. Mike would never have an issue with leaving early despite Will’s guilty pleas, they’d get fries and diet cokes and ramble to each other all the way back.

He’d much rather wait for that than travel home by himself, go to sleep, and not have Will be there in the morning. To have him spend the night with someone else.

But now, Mike is the one yearning to head out into the cold outside. As he lays back on a plush sofa, a couple making out to the left of him against the arm, he stares off into space, waiting for respite. Waiting for Will.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been zoned out when he comes back to, it can’t have been long. The room is still crowded and loud, and as people move about him, he spots them. On the wall opposite where he is slumped. Will is facing Mike, but he’s not looking at him, he’s looking up at Carlton, laughing again. God, what could be so funny?

Mike hones in on the slight smudge of makeup, still pristine around Will’s eyes. His leather jacket is hanging slightly loose off of his shoulders.

He has one hand on Carlton’s upper arm, tugging him close to keep talking to him. Carlton’s only slightly taller than Will, but he’s positioned himself to tower over Will, invading his space where Will is leaning against the wall. He says something to Will, and Mike sees Will tilt his head, confused and not hearing what he said. Mike can see the back of Carlton’s cheek curl up in a smirk, then he leans down to whisper something in Will’s ear.

Carlton’s stupid hand comes down and tightens on Will’s waist. His lips brush against Will’s ear as he mutters and Will laughs, teeth on display and leaning into Carlton’s touch. He suddenly shifts his gaze from Carlton’s neck to Mike, parallel to him across the room. His smile fades. He locks eyes with Mike through the haze, locking eyes with him while Carlton remains oblivious, still whispering and smiling into Will’s ear, edging ever so closer

His eyes…the way he’s staring back at Mike… Mike’s only seen his eyes like that once before, and it hits him like a kick to the gut. That night at the MAC-Z, after Will used his mind to break the bones of three demogorgons. When his pupils rolled back down to their natural places and he stared at Mike with hunger, exhaustion, power. And Mike was trapped in his gaze, helpless.

Mike shoots up, nausea and dizziness be damned. He speeds out of the living room, out of the penthouse, wherever his feet will take him. He bursts out into the main hallway, his chest tight. There’s an open window at the far end so he stumbles towards it, gasping out of it and onto the main street below.

He faintly hears rapid footsteps following his path. He puts his head down against the window pane.

“Mike!” Will puts a hand on his shoulder, bringing Mike up to face him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, ‘m fine.” Mike shakes his head, but he still feels bile faintly rising still.

“Are you sure? You’ve been looking at me weird all night.” Will has one hand on his shoulder to keep Mike upright. His other hand is just below his neck, his eyes searching all over Mike’s face to check his condition. It’s not good. “W-what was that? Are you feeling okay?”

“I just-” Mike can barely breathe. Will’s hands are the only thing keeping him upright. “ I didn’t like the way he was touching you.” He can barely make out the words, breaking off from Will’s gaze.

Will frowns, confused. Then, angry. “What, is it a crime that someone’s attracted to me?” The wind from the open window whips Will’s hair around. “I know you’ve said you’re cool with it but, is it because they’re guys? Or just because it’s me?”

“No, no, it’s…” Mike’s eyes trace Will’s jaw. It’s changed so much since they were kids. His whole body is screaming at him, begging him to touch it, hold it and pull it closer. Run his thumb over it and never let go.

“Why don’t you let me touch you like that?” It comes out as a pained whisper. His voice cracks at the edges as Mike looks down at him with almost sorrow. He doesn’t realise what he’s said until it’s out there, and now it’s never going back in. His pathetic best friend is dying to get his hands all over Will, however he’s allowed to. And he doesn’t really know why.

“What?” Will’s nose scrunches up. He looks confused. “I would.” He brings one of his hands up to Mike’s chin, tipping it down to meet his eyes even more intensely. “You can.” He whispers.

His hands feel so warm on Mike at every point of contact and he’s looking at Mike with such intensity he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how he’s still breathing. He can faintly make out the sounds of the city far below them, in a different world to here. His gaze drops down to Will’s lips. He thinks optimistically that Will might not notice.

He does. The emotion that glosses over Will’s face in response is unreadable to Mike.

Almost immediately, he puts some distance between them, his hand slipping from Mike’s neck. He steps back a few paces and his voice returns to his regular volume. “Let’s go home, Mike.

Mike feels too drunk to catch up with him, but he tries his best to follow him to the elevator down without screaming in frustration.

—-

They trundle back to the elevator and back down to the streets of the city, seemingly more distance between them than ever before. Mike follows Will around in a drunken stupor, feeling pathetic. Will calls them a taxi, then holds the door open for Mike. Mike keeps looking at him in desperate search of eye contact, but nothing is returned. It hurts his chest. Will crawls in after him and shuts the door. Mike’s head lulls against his own shoulder.

He can barely keep his eyes open when they finally reach their apartment. Will murmurs at him to get into bed, he’ll bring him a glass of water. Mike is too drunk to refute, even though all he wants to do is follow Will around every step he goes.

Mike is clumsily climbing into bed when Will walks in, water in hand. Will puts the water on the desk by his bed before he sits by Mike’s side on top of the thick comforter, laying his hand on top of Mike’s stomach lightly. Mike is way too tired to make any sense of it.Will looks at him softly, but his eyebrows are furrowed. Mike can tell he’s thinking hard, but he doesn’t know what. It’s killing him, not knowing what’s going on in Will’s head. He’s usually so good at doing that.

“I’m sorry for being all- all drunk and embarrassing." Mike pipes up, desperate for Will to say anything.

“You’ve seen me in worse states, Mike. It’s okay, really.” Will smiles down at him, but he still looks conflicted. He taps him once on the stomach before standing back up with a sigh. “Well, goodnight.”

Mike groans into the pillow. “No,” He whines, not conscious enough to be embarrassed. Yet. “Stay with me, please. I don’t.. I don’t want you to go. I’m scared that I’ve annoyed you.” The words keep spilling out and Mike buries himself further into the bed, writhing around.

“You don’t annoy me, Mike.” Will chuckles lightly, but Mike can’t see his face. “Let me just get changed, okay?”

“M’kay.” Mike muffles back. He closes his eyes and puts a hand on his chest, begging it to calm down.

By the time Will returns, Mike is asleep. He’s scooched up towards the wall to make space for him but he still takes up more than half the bed. He has an arm stretched out above his head and his mouth is tipped open, his snores soft. He only snores when he’s drunk, he insists, but Will would argue against this.

Will sighs. He turns off the light and feels his way to the bed, close enough for his hip to be aligned with Mike’s, just about touching. He doesn’t fall asleep easily, not with his neck craned to his side to look up at Mike. Tracing the curve of his nose up and down for hours.

—-

Max calls their apartment a few nights later, informing the pair of them that she’ll be in town the next day for some cool important conference, so she’s inviting them out for dinner on her company card. Will has some after-hours life drawing class he signed up for weeks ago to go to, but he sends Mike along with a promise to give Max a big hug just from him.

She’s waiting at a table when Mike gets there, her hair is longer and her lips are painted red. Mike is always stunned by how mature and stable she looks these days, especially compared to the rest of them. He hugs her awkwardly (“What’s up with that?” “From Will.” “Oh, of course.”) before he takes off his coat, and a waiter quickly snatches it out of his hands to hang it up. Weird.

The restaurant is pretty fancy, very New York. A lit candle sits between them on the table as they order drinks. They’re surrounded by businessmen unwinding in suits and ties, laughing into their glasses of red wine. With her coat off Mike can see Max’s seek dress - cut off at the shoulders, black and figure-hugging. She still has her name badge on from the day, but she’s drawn a line through the ‘ine’ of ‘Maxine’. It’s so grown up, Mike doesn’t really know how to handle it. So he talks. And talks and talks and talks,

“And now it's like…awkward. I don’t know.” By the time he’s recounted the party and the…odd feelings that followed, they’ve already cleared their starters. “It’s not like we’re not talking or anything, but… I feel like we’re skirting around it. Making a big deal of it.”

“And this is after you begged him to touch you and treat you like he does his boyfriends?” Max is leaning back in her seat, an eyebrow raised.

“Carlton isn’t his boyfriend.” Mike shakes his head profusely.

“That’s not my point, Michael. That does sound like a big deal to me.”

Mike’s spent the past few weeks convincing himself that he’s just in his own head, and he’ll be damned if he lets Max of all people win this argument. His own weird, complicated, new-but-not-new feelings about Will are just that - feelings. Drunk him saying things he didn’t mean. Will pandering to him. Nothing more than that.

“Just admit to him and yourself that you’re jealous.” Max continues as Mike folds his arms. “Drunk you helped by telling him you want his pretty hands all over your pretty face,” Mike splutters, but Max won’t let herself be interrupted, “But you need to do more than that. I mean, Will’s hot, people are gonna keep flirting with him if you don’t, you know…” She gestures with her hands.”

He looks back at her, unimpressed. “No, I don’t know.”

“Snap him up! Claim him!” She exasperates, startling the waiter coming over to them with their plates of pasta. “Before someone else does for real.”

“W-What? It’s-it’s not like-”

“Yes it is.” She cuts him off. “You want him to talk to you the most, and only let you touch him. You were overprotective of him back then too, giving us these scary back off eyes if we dared like, touch him on the shoulder without checking with you first.”

Mike won’t deny that. When Will seemingly came back from the dead, he barely kept him out of his sight, latching to his side and sleeping in the tiny chair in Hawkins Lab when Will was forced to be a spy.Even after all that, when Will had powers of his own, he still was the person who touched Will the most, a hand on the shoulder or hip whenever the opportunity presented itself. But that was just, general protection, right? A best friend trying to protect his best friend from all the monsters surrounding him.

“You want to date Will, don’t you.” She frames it as a statement, not a question. Mike hates that she thinks she’s got him all figured out.

“No. No, no, it’s not like th- I’m not…you know…”

“Not what?” Max challenges.

Mike sighs, ignoring the impending sense of doom he feels in his chest.. “You know.”

Max leans forward and has a bite of her pasta. “Look, you should just talk to him. Maybe he’ll help you figure it out.”

Mike nods, agrees with her, then vows silently to himself that he will not follow her advice. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” She nods. “Then tell me all about it. I love seeing Lucas all the time but, I miss you guys too. I miss all of you.”

Mike smiles at her. It’s true, it’s been a while since they’ve all been together. Hopefully everyone will be in town around Christmas and they can get together but, that’ll probably be the only time for a while too. Mike misses being home, all his friends available at a moment’s notice. He could reach anyone on his walkie talkie then bike to meet them. It was great. It was scary and dangerous but it was so, so great. He didn’t realise how much he’d miss it until he left it all behind.

But New York is amazing too. Getting tipsy with his friends is great. Writing while sitting in Central Park is great. Dollar slice pizza and the subway and living a wall away from Will is just so so great.

Mike laughs as Max spills some tomato sauce on her impeccable dress. Drinks a little more wine. Relaxes.

—-

Will got a new tape machine. Instead of placing it in his bedroom he’s placed it permanently on the table of their living room, so they can listen to it together. Mike’s own tape collection is very small and mainly inherited from Nancy, so he usually trusts whatever Will decides to place into it. Tonight, it’s Will’s Nevermind tape.

In Bloom starts, and Will headbangs from where he’s standing in their tiny kitchen. Mike is lying on his back on the sofa, reading his copy of Big Sur. It’s already fallen down on his face a few times, but that hasn’t stopped him.

Will comes into the living room to dance, still holding the wooden spoon that he was scrubbing clean. He’s wearing another one of Mike’s band tees (He’s trying to kill him, Mike swears) over a long sleeved black top. His hair goes all over the place and into his eyes as he holds the spoon like a microphone, lip-synching into it. He has never, never, looked more attractive to Mike, and he has to take deep breaths from behind his book.

Terrifyingly, Will gets closer, stepping between Mike and the tiny coffee table. He drags Mike up, barely giving him the chance to dog ear his page, before pulling him into the small bit of open floor space he has, dancing wildly. He holds onto Mike’s wrists, forcing him to move with him, laughing.

Mike has a sudden vivid vision of kissing Will as hard as he can, his hands holding him by that jawline. Will’s own hands would tangle in Mike’s hair, pulling him in, and they’d kiss and kiss and pull each other closer and never stop. He holds back from this, obviously.

With a short bit of reluctance, he joins in with Will’s movements, jumping and dancing along to the music. Will continues to lip sync along to Cobain, eventually letting go of Mike’s arms to bounce higher and shred at some air guitar, while Mike steps back and laughs, watches him as dances. Mike is entranced, by this beautiful, carefree Will, dancing to the cool rock music that he likes. That he loves, the amount of times this tape plays through their apartment in just the past week.

The song finishes and the next one starts.They breathlessly stop dancing, but are still standing close to each other. Their chests are in tandem in their deep breaths and regrettably, Mike thinks now would be a good time to, y’know, talk - it’s just a bit odd with the heavy guitar still playing.

“We’re like, okay, right?” Mike starts, before Will can walk away. “After the other night?”

Will frowns. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Mike itches the back of his neck. “I don’t know, I was touching you and I was all… needy and weird. I made us leave early, when all your friends were there.”

“You were just drunk and sad and needy, it’s okay. You’re my best friend, not them, I was okay to leave, really.” Will cracks a small smile for just a moment, Mike sees, then goes back to his concerned frown. Maybe he is making too big a deal of this, maybe he’s just opened a can of worms that he’ll never get back in, and Will’s just entertaining his stutters and jumbled feelings. Maybe he did go too far, asking to touch him. Touch him like how his boys touch him.

“So, I wasn’t like, a jealous dick? Or anything?”

Will laughs.“I mean, I’d be jealous if you dragged me to a party then spent all night all over some girl. I’m the dick, if anything.”

Mike swallows at the word girl. He used to think about girls, in their first year in New York. When he felt like he was falling behind and needed to gain independence in some way, he’d look around campus in his classes for a girl to have a crush on, or a girl to ask out. She never arrived. Since Will has started going on more dates and having more ‘things’ with different guys, his mind has only been on what Will has been doing. It’s all he can think about.

“What if it was some guy?” He feels like he can’t breathe. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly at their feet, parallel, the tips of their socks nearly touching. “That I was with, like…like you?”

Will goes silent, but Mike doesn’t dare look up at him to see what his face is doing.

Will brings a hand up to Mike’s cheek, bringing his face up to look at him. His eyes are warm, kind. Forgiving. “Then I’d be jealous of him too.” He whispers, smiling at Mike. His thumbs idly brushes back and forth across Mike’s chin as if he’s made of porcelain. Mike feels himself breaking under his gaze.

He smiles back in response, weakly, but his eyes betray him and line themselves with water. At this, Will crumbles and brings him into his arms.

“Oh, no, Mike, don’t cry.” He wraps his arms around Mike’s shoulders, bringing his head into the crook of Will’s neck. He rubs his arms over Mike’s upper back and - God, he’s still holding that wet wooden spoon. It digs into Mike’s back uncomfortably but he doesn’t have the idea to tell Will this. His head is starting to get fuzzy from the held back tears.

Hands continue to rub him gently. “I know it’s tough, it’s okay.” His voice is impossibly soft, tickling Mike’s ear. Mike’s arms wrap around Will’s lower back, linking them together everywhere where possible, and he’s never felt more comfy. More safe. Will keeps muttering to him, Mike thinks. He’s not entirely sure. He’s buried himself so far into Will’s embrace that he can’t differentiate his own tiny sobs to Will’s calming murmurs, his own heartbeat from Will’s. He had no idea this was weighing so hard on his own shoulders.

Mike pulls away slightly, but their arms still stay around each other. He can see Will’s mind moving at a thousand miles a minute, his eyes slightly pink to match Mike’s. But above anything, he’s radiating care. Love. It kills Mike to see him like this, crying over little old him.

“I knew you wouldn’t care, I knew you’d be fine but it’s-” Mike cuts himself off to breathe, and Will looks at him, encouraging. “It’s still a lot.” He hiccups, laughing but somehow a few more tears fall down.

“I know, Mike. I know it’s hard.” Will wipes a tear away from Mike’s cheek. “But you did it.” He smiles, teeth showing.

Mike’s mind goes back to that day at WSQK. When Will, in front of Mike, his family, practically half the town of Hawkins, laid his heart bare. Confessed that he liked boys, that he was different. Anyone in that room could have gone ballistic, could have shunned Will and ran for the hills. But he did it anyway, to defeat the monster. And he was so fucking brave. And Mike just…froze. Like an idiot.

“It’s like, completely over with Carlton, by the way.” Will breaks him out of it when he sees his staring. “Not that much was happening in the first place.”

Mike crumbles again with a sigh. He falls back onto his shoulder, and Will pulls him in. “Good.” Mike sniffles into his shoulder. “I didn’t like him.” Will laughs wetly at that.

When Mike’s nose clears up, he’ll laugh that he came out while ‘Come As You Are’ was playing. For now, he just buries himself further into Will’s neck.

—-

They slipped back into normality pretty quickly. After Mike spontaneously came out on a Thursday night, then again on the phone to Nancy in a garbled tearful mess of I don’t know exactly what I am but I know I’m different and I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you I didn’t tell you, the world keeps spinning. He keeps going to classes and trying not to fall asleep. El keeps sending postcards of scenic mountains, Will keeps turning heads on campus. Mike is still trying to get used to that, he doesn’t know why it irks him so much.

Twin Peaks reruns are on, and pizza is on their tiny table. They’re both a few glasses of wine deep - Will is trying to switch from beer to wine to be more ‘classy’, Mike said he’d join him but he’s scared of how quickly the tipsiness kicked in. They’re side by side, thighs touching where Will’s legs were stretched out in front of them.

“Do you think they know that things like this are real?” Will pipes out of nowhere, twiddling his feet.

“Real?” Mike looks at him.

Will shrugs. “Like, different dimensions. Dreams being real. Supernatural, spooky shit.” He wiggles his fingers on spooky. Maybe they are both as tipsy as each other. Will’s wearing one of Mike’s hoodies, insisting that because they’re bigger on him, they’re comfier.

“We had like, weird flesh creatures. There weren’t any like, ghosts or backwards people.” Mike doesn’t really understand Twin Peaks fully. But he enjoys it, and Will seems to actually get it, so it’s become a thing.

“Still. Spooky shit.” Will shakes his head.

Mike leans forward to put his glass back on the table, and when he leans back Will has gravitated more into his space. He nearly bumps into him, and struggles to find a comfortable position, while not bothering Will, who is incredibly invested in the screen.

He tentatively places an arm around Will’s back so that it’s not trapped between them. Maybe this won’t be weird. Right? Cuddling with your also-not-straight best friend? Mike gathers the courage to place his arm on Will’s back, over his own hoodie. Will hums at this and snuggles in closer to him, pressing his face into Mike’s side. He seems comfy, tucked into the small space and an arm over Mike’s stomach. Mike hopes Will can’t feel how fast his heart is beating.

He seemingly doesn’t. “Dale’s really hot, right?” Will sighs.

Mike snorts. “Really hot.”

—-

As far as Will has come, November is still tough.

He doesn’t say anything, but Mike can tell that he feels off. Overthinking every little sensation and symptom as the return of his connection to Vecna. The more frequent nightmares and sleepless nights. Their phone bill goes up as he calls Joyce even more frequently - and Hopper by extension, who reassures in his own gruff way that the Upside Down is gone for good.

Mike insisted on sleeping on Will’s floor, like how he did back in Hawkins. He has a sleeping bag stuffed under his bed so he dusts it off and rolls it out on Will’s floor. Will watches from his bed, one night after his own screaming and shivering kept him up, and Mike found him on their sofa first thing in the morning, dark circles under his eyes.

“Mike, I’ll be okay, honestly.” Will shakes his head, watching Mike lay down pillows and an extra blanket for himself.

“I don’t want you waking up in the night and having to struggle around to find me in my room. This way, I can hear you straight away if you’re panicked and help you just like that.”

He doesn’t even mention the idea to share Will, or even Mike’s, small double bed, as he remembers how Will would feel when people would touch him when he was going through flashbacks. Just one unplanned tap to his arm or stroke to his hair would send him into shrieks, backing into the corner of the room. You could only help him from a distance.

Mike saw it one year and never wanted to see it again. He didn’t come into class one morning in their Senior year - sending dark knowing looks between him, Dustin, Lucas and Max in their biology class. Mike snuck away during lunch and cycled down to the cabin where the Byers and Hoppers now lived together, and slipped in through the open front door. Through the slit in the bedroom door, he could see Will sat up in bed, sweating and panting in his sleep. A concerned Joyce sat by his side helpless. She warily brought a hand to Will’s forehead to caress him, but the touch sent Will to the wall with a scream, backing away and shrieking with panic. Joyce cried and shouted in response, terrified, unable to do anything but watch her son relive those days - and wonder if every year will be like this. Mike’s hand cramped where it grips onto the wooden doorframe.

Will told him a few weeks later, his voice mousy, that it felt like Vecna trying to turn him around to face him. When the mindflayer entered his body and those horrific weeks that followed, Will said that his body didn’t feel like his. He said it felt like all of the creatures of the Upside Down were living in him and crawling all around his body. Mike still remembers his young, helpless eyes. It was then that he swore to himself that he would help Will however he could.

A nightmare came that first night that Mike slept on Will’s floor. Mike could tell before anything that Will struggled to fall asleep. For about an hour or so after they decided to finally turn the lights off and go to sleep, Mike could hear him shuffling non-stop from above him, unable to settle or stay still. A few hours later, Mike is slowly awoken by a strange sound, like scratching on the walls. As he becomes more conscious, he realises that it’s Will’s feet sprinting against his bedsheet rapidly.

Mike darts up. He dashes to Will’s bedside,where Will is sat upright, his hands propped up behind him as he moves his legs manicly, as if he’s running away. Mike’s not sure if he’s fully woken up, if he’s still dreaming and terrified or awake and trying to escape the pain that followed him to the real world.

“No, no, no.” He mutters, his face tight with stress. Will’s eyes are scrunched up and he looks so young. Mike is stricken.

“Will, Will, I’m here.” He pleads, making sure to keep his distance. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re not there. You’re here, with me, you’re safe.” God, it’s so hard when all he wants to do is hold Will, reach out and hold him and smooth all of the pain out of him. The most he can do is talk to him, though it’s more shouting currently.

He crawls up onto Will’s bed, but keeps his distance. “I’m here Will, I’m here. It’s Mike.” He does his best to stay calm, keep his voice stable. “We’re in New York.” He tries not to overthink. “We’re not in Hawkins, we’re not in the Upside Down.” He tries to put himself aside. “It’s Mike, you’re okay, you’re okay. It’s only me and you.”

But Will doesn’t stop. He keeps shaking, keeps whimpering. His hands are red where he clasps at the bedsheets. Mike’s not sure if Will can hear him over the yelps coming from himself. In a desperate move, he crawls up onto the bed, leaning into Will’s space so his face is right next to his, but still not touching. He brings his voice down to almost a whisper, praying he can do anything to bring Will back down.

“C’mon Will, you’re okay. Breathe in and out slowly, Will.” Mike pleads. “In… out… in… out… in… I’m right here, Will… and out.” He continues, trying his best to slow down his own breathing in the process. He closes his eyes, “In…out…”, and opens them again, eyes darting across Will’s face. His hands twitch at his side, desperate to reach out and cup Will’s cheek.

Will, slowly but surely, breathes with him. His eyes are still screwed shut, but his legs have slowed down so that only his feet are rubbing gently against the bed, almost in a self-soothing way. His chest is moving a lot less violently, and his heartbreaking whimpers have stopped.

It feels like it takes forever, but Will’s movements cease.

“Will?” Mike whispers, but there’s no response. He’s calmed down enough to stop moving, but exhausted himself out so that he’s fallen back asleep, sitting up against the headboard.

Mike goes back to his own makeshift bed on the floor, trying not to fall asleep lest he takes his eyes off of Will’s sleeping form.

—-

It happens again in the coming nights.

Mike stays sleeping on the floor, his neck doesn’t thank him for it but he doesn’t complain. Whenever Will wakes up sheepish, apologising for his thrashing that he can only half remember himself, Mike shakes his head. Don’t apologise for something you can’t control. I will always help you.

But the lack of sleep is getting to him. He’s nodded off a few times in the back of lecture halls and has seriously upped his caffeine intake to the point where it’s worrying even himself, but he insists that he’s fine any time Will guiltily points out his more pronounced eyebags. It’s worth it completely, to see Will feel better during the waking hours and keeping his shakes to a minimum.

They don’t happen every night. Whenever Mike wakes up without the memory of coaxing Will back to sleep, there is a pang of panic in his chest that he slept through and left Will helpless. He’ll go into the kitchen and Will is there, with two cups of coffee waiting for them.‘I feel okay today.’ He’ll say to Mike, and they’ll both smile. But they both know that nothing about this is linear.

Six days after the anniversary of Will’s disappearance, he wakes himself up with a scream.

Mike is awake and by his side in seconds, his hands gripping the navy bedsheets. Will is bolted upright and gripping onto himself desperately. His hands scrape across his own chest frantically as if reaching for something to pull him up and out but they keep slipping. His eyes are open, so Mike thinks that he’s awake but as usual, he seems unable to hear Mike’s pleas over his own hoarse voice. There is not a lot of coherence to his yelps, just sounds, high pitched and cracking at the edges. It reminds Mike too much of the sounds he made in that shed in his backyard in Hawkins, when he was tied up to a chair and someone else was inside of him, controlling him.

Tears stream down Will’s face as Mike tries his usual methods. “Will, I’m here, I’m here. It’s Mike, I’m Mike, it’s-it’s,” A sob gets stuck in his throat. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay, Will. Will.”

With his fumbling hands, Will grabs onto Mike’s shoulders. Mike’s eyes go wide. He tries to pull away, but Will only tugs him in stronger, until they are chest to chest. Will’s voice is still hoarse and shouting as he drags Mike completely into his space. He hooks his head over Mike’s shoulder and pushes his head down, enough that it muffles his voice and Mike can feel every little shake and shudder rippling through his body.

Mike tries his best to keep his own arms pinned to his side. He does, really. But Will’s insistence at getting as close to him as possible, holding onto him as if it’s the only thing keeping him alive, breaks something fragile in him. Gently, slowly, as if not to startle, he brings his hands round to hold Will’s lower back. Will sobs weakly at the touch, snuggling further into the nook of Mike’s neck. Mike can feel the warm tears from Will’s cheeks transferring onto him. They’re so close it kills him. Will feels so small in his arms, wriggling around in Mike’s arms to get somehow even closer to him, escaping whatever’s chasing him in his mind. Mike just keeps rubbing his back and whispering into his ear, hoping the rasp in his own voice isn’t noticed.

Mike doesn’t know how much time passes until Will goes silent, but he does know that he responds well to Mike’s hand rubbing up and down his back slowly. He takes a deep breath, so deep Mike’s chest moves with him too. He keeps sniffling and shuffling, but the shaking and grabbing of his hands have stopped. They just hold onto Mike’s worn t-shirt weakly, but not letting go.

“Mike.” Will’s voice is so soft, Mike can barely hear him.

“Will?” He pulls back slightly, but Will’s arms are still tight around his torso. He brings a hesitant hand up to Will’s cheek, holding him in place. “Are you okay? Is- is this okay?” He looks down at the space between them, or the lack thereof.

“It’s okay.” Will breathes back at him. His eyes look so, so tired. “I don’t know why I did it but, it helped calm me down.”

“I wasn’t sure if touch helped you.” Mike whispers. In the darkness of the room he can see the shine of drying tears all over Will’s face. “I thought it didn’t because it wasn’t in your control or something, I don’t know.”

“Your touch helps.” Will replies, meekly. “It-it made me feel warm. It was like… good pressure. Does that make any sense?” His hands are still attached to Mike’s t-shirt, his arms secured around Mike’s neck. Mike can’t remember the last time they were this close for this long. He feels selfish for wanting to stay in this moment, holding onto a broken Will, nursing him back to sanity. The fact that his touch helps.

Mike isn’t sure how to respond. He chooses, like an idiot, not to. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Can you stay here? With me?” Will looks to the side of them, back to his pillows. He’s asking Mike to come and stay in bed with him. Mike takes the biggest deep breath of his life. “I think it’ll help me…fall back asleep.” He keeps his eyes at the top of his bed, at the ruched sheets, not daring to meet Mike in the eyes.

Mike nods, not letting himself think. Will needs this. “Okay, Will. Scooch up.”

Will lets out a tiny laugh out at this, barely catchable, but Mike holds onto it like a lifeline. Will lets go of Mike to lie back down in bed, moving up against the wall to make room for Mike. Hesitantly, Mike crawls under the blanket with Will, propping himself up on his elbow and watching as Will shuffles around to get comfortable. They’re on opposite sides of the bed from when Mike can last remember sharing a bed with Will, but the main thing he took from that episode was the hangover that came with it, and the faint memory of Will’s lips unbelievably close to his own. It’s hard not to think about that now with Will’s lithe body so close to his own, but he tries his best.

He lies down on his back, hoping he’s left enough room for Will. While staring up at the ceiling he can practically feel Will’s hesitance, and he bites the bullet. He lifts his arm, and gestures silently for Will to come under it, not daring to look to his side.. With a shaky breath, Will takes it, moving forward to lie on Mike’s shoulder and put an arm over Mike’s chest. Mike brings his arm back down to circle around Will’s back, securing him in his space.

Relief and unbelievable, beautiful warmth flood his body in every point where Will is in contact with it. He fits so perfectly into the crook of Mike’s arm, he wonders how on earth they haven’t slept like this together before. He keeps moving his arm absentmindedly up and down Will’s back, who snuggles in closer. Savouring the butterflies as much as possible.

—-

The painting Mike received from Will in that horrible pizza van somewhere out of Utah is hung up on Mike’s bedroom wall at home, in Hawkins. He brought it with him to New York and hung it up in his freshman dorm, but he didn’t like a stranger being able to see it. It felt too personal. He brought it back at the end of the year and hung it back up by his childhood bed. Somewhere more permanent. He finds himself staring at it every time he’s back in his room. Just standing in the middle of his bedroom, hands on hips.

They’ve come home for Christmas, the two of them. Thanksgiving was a rushed affair between assignment deadlines and Mike’s new internship at a newspaper. They saved the actual date for celebrations, in the form of microwaved mac and cheese and sitting in front of the TV together, but for the rest of the holiday, they were both busy.

They decided to drive back to Hawkins together the night before Christmas, then drive back up together on the Second, enough time to nurse whatever hangovers they gain from New Year’s. Steve has invited them to a house party seeing as everyone is back in town so Mike expects the worst. It was about an eleven hour drive, but there’s never really any awkward silences when it comes to him and Will. They set off from their apartment stupidly early to get to Hawkins at around ten at night, with just enough energy left to scarf down some casserole Mrs Wheeler had saved for them.

Will is staying at the cabin, obviously. Mike has to remind himself that it’s technically the Byers’ home too, even though he’ll only ever picture that in his mind as the single-story by the woods, where they chased each other around Castle Byers and fought off monsters.After the wedding Joyce and Hopper seemed to really settle down there, and Hopper even seemed to take a liking to Mike, but he’s still scared to fully let his guard down around him, despite Joyce saying he’s free to come round any time.

With a rare moment to himself, Mike just takes in his room. The blue walls and striped single bedsheets. The closet, reconstructed after his dad’s run-in with a Demogorgon, which he refuses to ever acknowledge. And on the wall, in pristine condition, him, drawn as a knight, no, a cleradin. Fighting off a three-headed dragon and protecting his friends. It always awes him to see himself depicted like that, brave and fearless. He stares at it and feels a million miles away from when he was a teenager, pinning it up with a smile.

Obviously it was El who had asked for it to be done. Presumably she described what she remembered from D&D or sketched out the dragon she had in mind. But it was Will who painted it, who decided the stances of his friends and how his hair, longer then, should have flowed behind him in battle. He’s always had the thought in the back of his head that if he were ever to get a tattoo it would be that. A red heart on a shield, a golden crown adorning it.

He could stare at it for hours without moving. He’s constantly finding new things he hasn’t spotted before on it - like an extra horn on Dustin’s helmet, or a tree smudged by a fingerprint in the background. He imagines Will leaving that fingerprint with the Lenora sun pouring through the window, bowl cut growing out. Mike finds all these new details and stays up all night studying the painting, but he still hasn’t found an answer as to why his chest feels tight when he looks too closely at it.

—-

The moonlight reflects brightly off of Lover’s Lake.

That’s the first thing Mike notices when he rounds the corner, how bright the moonlight is tonight. His mom had kept him behind at dinner to ask after everything in New York, so he knew that Will would be waiting for him.

By the water bank, Will is lying on his back, his coat protecting him from getting dirty. His eyes are closed, but they open as he

“Sorry!” Mike drops his bike next to Will’s and runs over to him. “Sorry, my mom kept asking about classes and you and I couldn’t escape-”

“It’s fine, Mike,” Will laughs, sitting up. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“Oh, shut up.” Mike sits down next to him, laying down his own jacket. They’re facing the lake, listening as the water trickles slowly. Mike thinks about the hidden, closed gate somewhere at the bottom of it, sewn up like a surgery scar.

Coming home always feels chaotic, everyone rushing to see each other before going their separate ways. It’s only in moments like this that Mike is reminded of how small a town Hawkins is. If it wasn’t for, well, everything, it would have always remained that way - same small town gossip, small town attitudes. Nothing to do but bike around and sneak out to the lake to drink or hook up or, in Mike’s usual case, stare longingly at your childhood best friend that you keep thinking about kissing.

“I bumped into Troy Walsh at the grocery store earlier, with Mom.” Will breaks the silence, turning his head to look over at Mike.

“What?” Mike shoots up, resting his weight on his elbows. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised he hasn’t moved away.” Will shrugs.

Mike isn’t surprised either, not one bit. Troy faded into the background of the rest of the traumas that followed Will’s disappearance, never making any friends other than his posse of fellow bullies. What shocks him is that he approached Will. That he had the gall after everything.

He frowns. “How was he to you? Was it bad?”

“No, surprisingly.” Will shakes his head. “He actually said sorry. For like, everything, for being horrible to us all in middle school.”

“Shit.” Mike’s eyes widen.

“I’m not sure if he was actually sorry, though.” Will’s foot taps against the grass. “He was acting…I don’t know.”

“Does he look much different?”

“Very.” Will laughs. He smiles and looks away to the water. Mike doesn’t like this. “He like, asked to hang out. With me, sometime soon.”

Mike studies Will’s expression. “Hang out like…hang out?”

“I think so.” Will laughs incredulously. Mike’s face stays stoic. “He seemed interested in me, yeah. It was so weird.”

“Who would’ve thought?” Mike tries his absolute best to act casual, but all he’s thinking about is Troy at Will’s memorial calling him horrible things, things that apparently apply to him too. He quietly chuckles, however, at the following memory of El making him piss his pants. “So, are you going to?”

“Fuck no.” Will shakes his head. “He was horrible to you guys, and to me. Besides, I could barely get a word in sideways, I didn’t have the chance to tell him I’m not in Hawkins anymore. And sure as hell never moving back.”

“Good.” Mike falls back down onto his jacket, maybe a bit too hard. Sue him. “He better not be at Steve’s.”

Will lies back down next to him. “I’ll give you permission to kick him to the curb if he is.”

“Deal.” Mike beams.

—-

Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington has come out of retirement to host the New Year’s party. He’s been doing well since the party' s graduation, boringly sober, but he insisted on using his stupidly massive house to host when he heard everyone would be back in town. Even El is around somewhere, her hair curly and just above her shoulders again. She looks like a completely different person.

Mike decided to take this one as a ‘chill one’, he wouldn’t want to waste the night getting blackout drunk and forgetting seeing his friends for the first time in forever. He sipped on his drink where he leant on the kitchen island, looking around the rest of the room. The place is packed out, Mike only really recognises half of the people in the room. Nancy is here, she drove him here and said that she’d drive him back at the end of the night. But judging by her current state, four drinks in and dancing with her hands around Robin’s hips, Mike doubts that those plans will end in fruition.

Lucas and Dustin are either side of him, having a conversation over his head. Lucas has Max’s jacket over his shoulder from where she dumped it on him immediately upon entry, making a beeline for El as soon as she saw her. He doesn’t seem phased by it though, letting the leather tickle his cheek when he brings his solo cup up to his mouth.

From across the room, El keeps giving Dustin looks that Mike can’t fully read, Dustin smiling shyly back at her. But Mike’s trying not to focus on that. He’s trying not to focus on anything too hard, but that’s difficult when Will is wearing eyeliner again and that painting on his wall is only a few miles away.

Steve comes up to them, tipsy. “Always in the corner of the room, you boys.” He drawls, sunglasses low on his nose. It’s so dark in here even without them. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka, I think.” Dustin grimaces. “I don’t like it.”

“Then why drink it, idiot!” He laughs, pulling a face at Dustin, Mike and Lucas individually waiting for a response, but he doesn’t get any.

“Who even are some of these people anyway?” Lucas looks at Steve with a frown, face unimpressed.

“Friends from work, friends from town, anyone who heard that the hottest New Year’s party was here.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows. He nudges Dustin’s shoulder, who continues to look down into his cup glumly.

Mike feels like he’s thirteen again, raising his eyebrows at his older sister’s showy boyfriend. He’s hit with this feeling again as the crowd seems to part and on the other side of the room, is Will. Will, leaning next to the front door with his shoulder rubbing against Steve’s white walls, red cup in hand. He’s wearing light blue jeans with Mike’s belt wrapped around the hips. Months ago he’d asked to borrow it for a night out with classmates and Mike never dared to ask for them back. The thought of his belt sat in Will’s dresser, his belt around Will’s hips, made something lurch in his chest. He doesn’t know exactly what that means, but he likes how it feels.

He’s also wearing a leather jacket, but Mike skips over that to the stranger’s hand resting on it, toying with the hem of the sleeve. It’s a guy, a tall guy, towering over Will. He has ashy blond hair that lies shaggy below his eyebrows. Will is looking up at him with a grin, teeth gleaming in the dim lights of the room. He shifts his weight to one leg so he can subtly shift closer into this stranger’s space. Something bubbles in Mike’s chest again, but this time it feels more like bile.

“Hey, who’s that over there?” He asks Steve as nonchalantly as physically possible, pointing towards the wall.

“Oh, him?” Steve drops his sunglasses down with a single flick from his pointer finger to look at them. “I don’t know him too well, I think he works at Scoops Ahoy? Seems like a cool dude.”

“Seems a bit cosy with Will.” Dustin shrugs. Mike thinks that Dustin is looking at him from the side, but he’s not going to look back at him for anything.

Lucas nods solemnly. “Good for him.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy trailing his eyes up and down this bozo who's practically worming his arm into Will’s jacket. His drink gets close to spilling when he sees Will’s head get thrown back in laughter, his lips rapidly saying something

Dustin tuts his tongue loudly, pulling Mike’s attention away. “Oh come on man, try and be more subtle about it.”

Mike turns to him, eyes wide. “What?”

“You’re practically staring holes into him, I’m surprised he doesn’t feel a chill.” Lucas pipes up from his side. He laughs at himself, but no one else joins in. Especially not Mike.

“It’s okay to admit you’re jealous, dude. It’s healthy.” Mike just knows Dustin’s dying to go on a long, self-righteous monologue about the girls he’s met with MIT and his supposedly undefeated game. He went to college and came back as the king of relationships, it seems. Mike can only defend himself for so long in that court, his only reviews on relationships came from El, and apparently he wasn’t very good at that.

Mike’s neck snaps towards him before he can go any further. “I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?”

“He seems nice for him. Maybe he’s asking if he can be Will’s midnight kiss.” Lucas elbows Dustin, who laughs and shakes his head.

The bile feeling is back, it threatens to come up out of his throat. “I’m gonna get another drink. Does anyone else want another drink?” He moves abruptly, pushing back a lightly amused Steve back towards the kitchen.

—-

It’s eight minutes to Midnight, nearly 1992, and Mike’s breathing is panicked.

Do they know? Do Dustin and Lucas, fucking Steve Harrington too, know about him? That he likes guys? That he wants Will, so desperately that apparently everyone can see it all over his face? God, how many people in this stupidly large house know?

He's in the backyard, facing the pool. There’s someone else here that Mike doesn’t know in the shadows near him smoking. He’s tempted to ask for one, even though he’s never smoked in his life. It just seems like the right thing to do right now. Instead he just breathes in the cold air and watches it come back out through his nose. In and out and In and out. Until the thought of Will laughing at the ice cream guy’s stupid jokes is eroded out as much as possible. After a few moments more of these heavy breaths, as well as screwing his eyes shut so hard he sees bright dots, he awkwardly nods ‘goodbye’ to his fellow backyard dweller before heading back inside.

The party somehow feels so much more rowdy than before. The music is booming and everyone has somewhere to be, bumping past everyone with such urgency you would’ve thought that the apocalypse came back to town. But no, it’s just that everyone is in the same place and everyone is so happy. Everyone, it seems, but Mike.

It’s three minutes to Midnight, and Mike’s eyes finally lock on Will. He’s still with the guy, and they’re still in each other’s personal bubbles. Mike channels his anger into analyzing the look of ice-cream boy. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt (what the fuck) over a white t-shirt tucked into some stupid baggy blue jeans. Mike pins their closeness on how crowded the room has gotten all of a sudden. The whole house of people seems to be smushed together ready for the new year to come rushing through the doors.

Something in his gut gnaws at him to run towards Will with a dangerous tug, but Mike resists the movement. He wants to grab Will out of the reach of ice-cream boy and pull him back to him, back to his friends. In this overcrowded room, his neck hurts from keeping his gaze on Will whenever physically possible. He needs him closer.

An image flashes in Mike’s mind - kissing Will as the clock strikes twelve. Running up to him and grabbing his arm, turning him away from anyone’s attention. Pulling him in, arms wrapped around his lower back and picking him off from the floor. Will’s hands in his hair, over his shoulders, anywhere at all would be perfect. He wonders if his smile tastes as good as it looks. Kissing him into the new year, messy and excited. Kissing him, in front of their friends, their sibling’s friends, all of Hawkins. That’s when the daydream gets scary.

He shouldn’t be thinking like this. He shouldn’t drag Will away from someone when he’s just having fun, just because he's, like, jealous, or something. He has no right to. He’s his friend, that’s it.

He’s not yours. He doesn’t belong to you. Back off.

All of a sudden it’s thirty seconds to Midnight, and Mike gets pulled into a huddle circle. His friends surround him, varying levels of drunk. Nancy is somewhere to his head in the sea of everyone, her head thrown back in an excited countdown. El is opposite him under Max’s arm, swaying along to her wild jumping. He can't make out anything properly amongst all the heads that surround him, the blurred faces of all of his friends. As much as the thought of Hawkins has the ability to send a shiver down his spine, he has missed it here so much it aches.

Will comes running over to them with a wide smile, out of nowhere. There’s no Hawaiian shirt in sight, thank God. With exclamatory shouts, a space is made for him in their make-shift circle of people. Lucas shouts something down his ear while dragging him in and Will laughs in response, full teeth on display. Everything makes sense again.

The clock strikes twelve. The house is loud, almost too loud, as cups are raised in the air and everyone shrieks “Happy New Year!” at the top of their lungs. Everything around him closes in in a joyously dark way, Mike doesn’t know who he’s hugging or whose face he’s shouting at. The whole party goes around hugging each other, kissing cheeks, screaming drunken “I love you, man!”s into whoever will stay still long enough to hear it.

Mike wrangles himself out of his sister’s grip to bump into Will, face flushed and tucked under someone’s arm, God knows whose. He meets Mike’s eyes and laughs, Mike can’t hear the sound but he plays it in his mind anyway. Will bounds over, cheeks pink, and reaches up to hug Mike.

“Happy New Year, Mike.” It’s muffled, but Mike can still hear Will from where he says it into his shoulder, his arms wrapped around them. Mike brings his own arms round to hold onto Will’s back and pull him closer, whispering the same thing into his ear. Deep in the circle he holds onto Will tight, and prays it isn’t the first and only time he gets to have him this close this year.

—-

The next day, Mike is much more hungover than planned.

A pair of Nancy’s sunglasses lay low on the brow of his nose as he drives, the Interstate 78 stretching in front of him. They didn’t want a few days of easy travel, so they set off only a few hours after coming back from Steve’s house that morning with the hopes they’ll get to New York before midnight. The journey has been mostly silent, swapping seats to drive every few hours with one particularly ravenous pancake stop.

Will isn’t in much of a better state. He got a sweater out of his bag to rest between his shoulder and the window in the attempt to get some extra sleep early on, but his groans and constant shifting suggest to Mike that he struggled. He’s been asleep for the better part of an hour, but Mike will wake him up soon. Will would kill him if he missed the view driving into New York.

There’s a crick in Mike’s neck from where he keeps turning to the right to look at Will in the passenger seat. He feels selfish for keeping his eyes so fixed on Will this whole trip. He’s been surrounded by his whole family and he feels like all he does is look at Will, waiting for him to look back.

He nudges Will’s shoulder as he pulls away from the toll, gently rubbing over his jacket with his thumb. Will wakes up with a confused hum, then opens his eyes fully with a sleepy smile. Will always likes watching the views out of Lincoln Tunnel whenever they drive back into the city. He told Mike once that he never wants to take living in New York for granted, so every time they drive back together (which is every time) Will watches the view coming into the city, neck craning to look up to the tops of skyscrapers.

Mike keeps one hand on the wheel as he looks at Will, rubbing at his eyes while leaning on the window, looking out at all the lights. His hands curl up in the sweater in his lap. Mike thinks back to them side by side on the swings in Hawkins. He thinks back to the pizza van, staring down at the painting in his hands.

He needs to talk to him anyway, to make sure that Will doesn’t fall asleep again by the time they get to the apartment. But he physically can’t hold it back any longer anyway.

“Hey, do you remember, um, that painting?” He turns his head back to the road, Manhattan stretching out in front of him. “The one you gave to me in the van, when we were searching for El in Nevada?”

He hears Will shuffle in his seat. “Yeah, why?”

“Should we hang it up in our apartment?” Does he sound nonchalant? He’s trying his absolute best to sound nonchalant. “I didn’t bring it with me, it’s on my wall but…I was thinking about it.”

“Sure. That’d be nice.” Will nods.

“How did El even ask you to paint it?” Mike starts. “You said it was, like, a commission, but like… how did she tell you what to draw? Why didn’t she put herself in as like, I don’t know, a mage or something?”

“Are you serious, Mike?” Will turns his body to look at him. “El didn’t commission it. She knew about it but, it was all me. You didn’t know that?”

Mike’s hands flex unconsciously on the wheel. “What? No, I didn’t know. What do you mean?”

Will sighs. He sounds exhausted more than anything. “We were focused on El, and you didn’t need me and my feelings distracting you. It gave you like, strength, and it helped us bring El back in the end.”

“Your feelings?” Mike frowns.

“I liked you.” Will shrugs. He doesn’t notice Mike’s heart stopping. “But I was dealing with being closeted and awkward and…you were with El. And you were straight. It would have just made things weird and complicated.”

“You liked me?”

“Did you really think El had any interest in Dungeons and Dragons?” Will laughs, voice getting louder as he wakes up more. “She would never ask me about anything to do with it, you know she thinks it’s stupid.”

Mike thinks his head is going to overheat. “You liked me?” He interrupts, eyebrows furrowed.

Will nods, miniscule. His eyes are wide, and he’s stopped giggling. Mike feels horrible, but he can’t let this go. Not when the entire world is sitting beside him.

“You meant what you said? In the van, in the pizza kitchen…those were your feelings? No-not El?”

“Yeah.” Will has shrunken into his seat now. “There was no right way to tell you afterwards, there was no time.”

“When did you stop? Liking me?” They’re only a few minutes out from their apartment, and his body’s been begging for rest all day but Mike can’t think of anything he wants less now. He feels like everything has changed. He’s recounting everything he’s ever felt. Back in Hawkins, Will liked him?

Will goes silent next to him. He’s leaning an arm against the window, looking out. “Let’s just get home, Mike.”

Mike sighs and goes to speak, but gives up. The rest of the drive is short, and it kills him knowing he’s the one who put that frown on Will’s face, the one who upset him for pushing it too far. They both need some proper sleep. He drags his attention away from Will and to the road again.

—-

Mike unlocks their front door and lets Will enter first. Will walks past him straight to the kitchen, dumping his bag on the floor to pour a glass of water. Electricity spikes all around Mike’s body, watching Will’s every move. Even still slightly hungover still and exhausted, Will still looks so unbelievably beautiful.

It bubbles out of his throat. He tries to stop it, but he can’t. “Am I too late?”

Will sighs, putting his glass down to lean on the kitchen counter. “Too la- what do you mean?”

“Too late.” Mike puts his own bag down. “All these other guys interested in you here, all these people that’ve asked you out, and you’ve never said yes, why? You’re gorgeous, Will. You could have any of them.” He walks towards him, further into the yellow glow of the kitchen.

Will’s eyes are blown. He shifts his weight to one hip, staring up at Mike with an emotion Mike can’t quite read yet. “Mike. What are you saying?”

“When did you stop liking me, Will? Did I miss my chance? Fuck, I should’ve seen it all earlier.” He runs his hands through his hair, almost pacing around.

Will isn’t saying anything, and that’s what scares Mike more. Will is the one with the confidence, the one to calm him down and bring back his grip on reality. Mike’s mind is running a million miles an hour and so is his mouth, and if Will doesn’t know how to help, then Mike’s really fucked.

Mike strides up to Will, putting a hand on his shoulders. With no resistance in his body, Will’s back hits the counter, glass of water forgotten. His other hand grips the counter by Will’s hip, searching for something, anything, to ground him.

Now up close, Mike can see Will’s face in detail. It’s pained, confused, flustered.

Will barely breathes when he speaks. “What are you-”

“Can I kiss you? Can I?”

“W-why?”

Shit, the adrenaline is failing Mike here. He doesn’t know what to do next. “Because…I want to.”

Will gapes at him. “You want to?”

“Because I think I love you.” Will’s breath gets caught in his throat. “No, I love you. I do. And I’ve been jealous and stupid and so so blind and all I want is to kiss you right now.” All of his feelings are swirling around his chest so intensely, Mike feels like he might throw up. “Do you not like me anymore? Am I-”

“Kiss me Mike, please.” Will interrupts, almost a whisper.

Mike doesn’t hesitate. No more of that.

With the hand on Will’s shoulder he leans down and slots his lips over Will’s.

Will responds instantly. He kisses back with the same passion as Mike, sighing as his hands come up to hold the sides of Mike’s head, holding him and dragging him closer. Mike almost sobs, pecks and smooches soon turning into a hungry attack, sucking on Will’s lower lip and tugging at his mouth for more and more and more.

“I love you.” Kiss “I love you.” Kiss “I’ve always loved you.” Will groans in between them every time their lips separate.

“Fuck, Will.” Mike almost growls at the sound of Will’s broken voice, let alone what he’s saying.

It’s one thing to be having the best kiss of your life, but it’s a whole other thing to realise that it’s the man you love who's kissing you. Mike can’t believe that it’s Will’s hand on his jaw, Will’s lips letting in, Will’s breathy moans he’s hearing.

A plate clatters behind them somewhere as Mike breaks the kiss, despite his whole body screaming at him not to, to kiss down Will’s throat. Will’s neck tips to the side with ease, hands grasping onto Mike’s back for balance as Mike sucks and kisses.

With a moan, Mike reaches down to Will’s thighs (holy shit), pulls them up (holy shit) and lifts Will onto the counter, placing him there so he can bring Will up to his height, giving him a better vantage point to lick that point of his neck that seems to be driving Will mad.

Will almost subconsciously wraps his legs around Mike’s lower back, and Mike thinks he blacks out for a few seconds. When he comes to, his hands are gripping Will’s waist as he kisses him into oblivion.

They’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday, there’s probably dried vodka somewhere on his t-shirt where he got bumped into last night but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters when Will’s hands are grabbing at the back of his neck and running through his hair and his heart is beating scarily fast.

They break apart a lifetime later, heavy breaths hitting each other’s faces. Mike’s arms are bound around Will’s lower back, one hand halfway up his shirt. Will has one hand tied up in Mike’s hair, the other, tugging his collar.

“You love me.” Mike pants, licking his lips. He can barely feel them anymore.

“I love you.” Will’s lips are puffy and red. “You’re not too late, never.” He shakes his head with a smile, eyes sparkling.

He bites his bottom lip, and what is Mike to do other than let his eyes roll into the back of his head and go back to kissing him

They’ll talk about this properly in the morning. They’ll get some sleep in the morning, at some point. For now, Mike keeps kissing Will's neck and dragging out as many sounds as he can, confident that there is definitely no one else Will is thinking of right now. And it feels good.