Archive of Our Own ^beta

five.

The fourth day of kindergarten is better than the first, Mike decides.

The first is terrible, a whirlwind of novelty that he does not understand and does not want to understand. Mrs. Newman is a scary woman with gray hair and sharp eyes, and his chair is too big for him, and his new shoes hurt his heels, and he doesn’t know anyone, and doesn’t know why he has to go to kindergarten and why he can’t just stay at home instead.

The second and third days are okay, but on the second day they go to the music room and on the third day they go to the gym and it’s new and different and Mike doesn’t like it one bit. Everything would have been fine if they had just kept it like the first day, but they kept changing it.

On the fourth day, they don’t go anywhere outside their classroom except the lunchroom and the playground, but they did that on the first and the second and the third days, so it’s not so bad anymore.

When the bell rings for recess, he finds the boy he met on the first day waiting for him by the door. His name is Will and he sits on the other side of the class, but he likes to swing and play dinosaurs and draw with chalk on the blacktop. He’s not too good at monkey bars or four square, but that’s okay, because neither is Mike and he doesn’t want to play those games, anyway.

“Hi,” says Will, and he has big eyes and a quiet voice and he always sort of looks like he’s afraid Mike won’t want to play with him. Mike doesn’t understand why, because he’s only been here for four days, but Will is already the best person to play with that he’s ever had. Will doesn’t get upset when he’s too loud like his Mom does and he doesn’t try to make him play hula hoop or hopscotch like Nancy does, so Mike likes having him around.

“Hi. I brought my truck,” Mike says, because it’s important and Will needs to know. He holds it up with both hands so that he can see.

“Oh.” Will stares at it. “I don’t have a truck.”

“That’s okay,” Mike says, turning towards the sandbox. “We can share mine.” Sharing is also important. Mrs. Newman has said so many times already.

“Really?”

“Yes! We’re friends. You have to share with your friends.”

“Friends,” Will repeats, like he almost doesn’t believe it. Mrs. Newman likes to talk about how everyone in this classroom is friends, but the way she says it isn’t very friendly at all. Besides, what Mrs. Newman says doesn’t matter, because everyone in their classroom is not friends. Mike still only knows about three kids’ names, so he doesn’t know how he can be friends with someone if he doesn’t even know their name. It sounds like one of the dumb things adults say to kids that they don’t actually mean, like when his mom says that something is a piece of cake, but there’s not even any cake.

He does know Will’s name, though, and he likes playing with Will, so he and Will are friends.

They switch off building sandcastles to knock over with the truck. Will is pretty good at making them, and Mike is really good at destroying them, and their laughter fills the playground as they demolish one after another. After a few turns, they work together to build a giant castle, maybe the biggest in the whole entire world, but halfway through, the recess bell rings.

“Aw, man,” Mike pouts, crossing his arms and dropping from his knees to sit. “I don’t wanna go in yet.”

“I do,” Will says, knocking the sand off his pants. “Mrs. Newman said we’re going to the art room after recess.”

“What?” Mike turns to face him. “No! I don’t wanna go.”

“You don’t like art?”

“No,” Mike repeats, smacking the sand in frustration. “I don’t wanna go.”

A frown comes into his view as Will bends down next to him. He places a soft hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says, just barely audible above the sound of the recess teacher’s whistle, the final warning for them to get into line. “We have to go, but we can come back and play trucks again tomorrow.”

Mike sniffles, thinks it over, then nods. “Okay,” he says. “But I still don’t wanna go to art.”

“Mrs. Newman says we have to,” Will says, “but you can sit next to me when we go. Okay?”

“Michael! William!” Mrs. Newman sounds mad, and Will flinches, glancing back over his shoulder.

“C’mon.” He reaches a hand out

“Okay,” he says, allowing Will to pull him up, but he can’t quite get rid of his frown.

“I’ll walk with you,” Will says, tugging gently on his hand, and Mike lets himself be guided over to the line, where Mrs. Newman glares and reminds them to line up when the bell first rings. As soon as she leaves, Will leans in and whispers, “It’s okay if she’s mad. We’re still friends.”

“Best friends,” he corrects, because it’s true, and because Will is his only friend, which makes him the best.

“Yeah.” Will nods, a small smile lighting his face. “Best friends.”

And it’s that simple.

six.

The tree is higher than it looks.

Or, rather, the tree is exactly as high as it looks, but Mike was wrong in his guess of how high is too high to jump from.

He sits beneath a shady oak, the world ending as his knee bleeds out, and Will appears beside him, worry etched into lines too deep for a six-year-old’s face.

“Mike,” he says in a soft voice. Sometimes, when Will says things, it sounds like he’s saying a lot of things all at once, even though he’s only using one word. Mike doesn’t know how he does it.

“It’s fine,” Mike sniffles, wiping his tears away impatiently. “It doesn’t hurt.”

He’s obviously a very good liar, because Will believes him. At least, he thinks he believes him. Will doesn’t say he doesn’t believe him. But he’s still staring at him like he’s worried, so Mike can’t quite tell. “My house is closest,” Will says instead, and slips an arm around Mike’s back.

Walking makes the stinging worse, Mike is quick to discover. Each step is another sharp stab in his leg, but he forces his feet to keep moving, unwilling to let his mistake slow him down.

The Byers house is blessedly empty, devoid of his dad’s looming presence or his mom’s smothering worry, and Will sits him down on the sofa with a firm command to stay.

“I’m fine,” Mike insists, as though Will hadn’t just half-carried him the entire way.

“You need a bandaid.”

“It’s okay. It’s stopped bleeding, sort of.”

Will appears with a first aid kit and no response except an unimpressed look. “I have to disin—um, I have to clean it. It’s gonna sting.”

“No!” Mike quickly turns, moving his knee out of Will’s reach. “It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. You’re tough, so you should be able to handle a little sting.”

Mike frowns, because he knows if he won’t let Will sting him, it means he isn’t tough. “Alright, fine.” He shifts again, allowing Will to examine his injury properly.

He dumps the clear liquid onto a cotton ball and dabs it against Mike’s cut without any further discussion. The sharp gasp that comes from Mike is involuntary, but Will doesn’t say anything as he finishes his work. “See? No problem.”

“That hurt,” Mike says, soft yet indignant.

“If you don’t clean it, it gets infected and then you have to cut it off,” says Will, wisdom evident in his sure voice. “I didn’t want you to lose your knee.”

“My mom doesn’t do that.”

“My mommy does.” Will shrugs, placing his equipment carefully back into the kit. “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” Mike lies.

“Does it feel better?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Good.” Will pats just above his knee.

There’s something missing. The sting in his knee has faded into nothing, but something is nagging in the back of his mind.

“You have to kiss it better,” Mike says.

“What?”

“You have to kiss it,” says Mike plainly, “so it gets better.”

“Oh.” Will blinks at him but does not move. Mike doesn’t understand what he’s missing.

“That’s what my mom does,” he explains.

“Yeah, mine too.”

“Okay,” Mike says simply, as though that had settled it.

Will straightens up and places a hand on Mike’s thigh to balance himself. He takes two breaths before finally pressing his lips to the fresh bandage, drawing away as quickly as he’d come in.

“Better?” he asks, sitting back down on the floor.

Mike stands and stretches his leg out, bending and straightening it a few times before planting his foot back down. It’s still a bit tender, but he thinks he’ll live. “Better,” he says with a grin, holding out a hand to help Will back up.

They run out the door, shoulders and hips bumping as they race back towards the woods, and for some strange reason, Mike never manages to forget the feeling of Will’s warm lips against his knee.

seven.

Mike is going to jump this time, he swears it. Two or three more pumps, and he’ll be high enough to make it past the mulch, all the way into the grass. Jacob Klein says he’s made it to the old oak before, but everyone knows Jacob Klein is a big fat liar, anyway.

But he’s going to do it, he really is. He’s almost at the height of his swing. He’s going to jump.

“Hey, queers!”

He misses the peak and comes swooping back down, dragging his feet along the mulch as he skids to a stop. Will, who had been rocking back and forth at the bottom, watching for the monumental jump, stands from his swing with wide eyes, clutching the chain.

Three boys come to stand in front of them, now that Mike is no longer a projectile pendulum. Mike does not recognize them. They look older. They look mean.

“What are you doing on our swings?” the tallest one demands, crossing his arms.

“Swinging,” says Mike, moving to stand with a scowl. “And what do you mean, your swings? They’re not your swings. They’re just swings.”

“What’d you say, queer?” The tall one draws himself up, arms crossed against his chest. “Those are our swings.”

“No, they’re not! You don’t own the park. They’re everyone’s swings.”

“Mike, let’s just go.” Will’s voice is barely a whisper as he grips onto Mike’s shoulder.

“Why?” Mike rounds on him in disbelief. Will shrinks back. “We were swinging. They can wait their turn.”

“And you can get your whiny little face smashed in, if you want.”

“Mikey, come on,” Will insists, tugging at Mike’s sleeve. He doesn’t use that nickname often, because Mike doesn’t usually like nicknames, but he never seems to mind when Will says it.

“Yeah, better listen to your little fairy friend, Mikey.”

Will drops his sleeve like it burned him.

Mike does not know why they’re calling him a fairy, because it is a stupid insult. But Will clearly does not like it and Mike does not like the way he said it, so he shouts, “Don’t call him that!”

“Oh, he’s defending his boyfriend’s honor now!” The blonde one hits the stocky one in the side, a terrible grin spread wide across his face. “What a cute little queer with his cute little fairy.”

“Mike.” Will looks close to tears. “Please.”

“Yeah, Mikey, please.” The echoing laugh that comes from the boys makes Mike’s hair stand on end.

“Alright, let’s go,” he concedes, but only because Will insisted. They scurry towards the street, stopping just between the sidewalk and the park gate. Mike’s insides are burning. Will is a wilted flower beside him.

“Those guys suck. Who do they think they are? They don’t own the park. Those aren’t their swings. We use those swings all the time!” He kicks at a rock but misses. It seems fitting. “And why would they call you a fairy, anyway? What does that have to do with anything? I don’t think they know what a fairy is.”

“That’s not what they’re talking about.”

Mike whips around to face Will. “What?”

“They’re not talking about, like, fairytale fairies. It means something else.” Will hovers over the next sentence, but it never makes it past his lips, and he buries it with a frown.

“Well?” Mike asks, bouncing his leg. “What does it mean?”

“It means…” He does not want to say it, but Mike does not give him an out. There’s a strange feeling in his chest, a flickering flame of burning curiosity. He needs to know. “It means queer.”

That word he’s heard before, but only a few times and only by older kids. It’s never been directed at him until now, and he’s never really known what it meant. He thought about asking his mom one time, but it tasted funny in his mouth and he never worked up the nerve. “What does queer mean?”

“It means…it means…I don’t know.” Will fidgets with his fingers before dropping his shoulder. “It’s just what my dad says.” The message is clear enough: it means not good.

There’s something in Will’s voice that Mike does not have a word for, and there’s something that makes him think Will knows exactly what queer means, he just doesn’t want to tell him. Mike doesn’t know why, but he’s overcome with the urge to hug him. Before he can, Will stuffs his hands in his pocket and starts to walk, slow enough that Mike knows he’s meant to follow.

The moment’s passed, but Mike thinks he needs to say something to make it right. “Well, I’d rather be a fairy than a—a butthead.”

Will stops, turning to face Mike like he doesn’t believe him. A slow smile just barely touches the corners of his mouth. “Really?”

“Yeah, those guys were huge buttheads,” Mike says, and Will has to stop himself from snorting. They lose themselves to laughter for a few moments, and when they come back down, Will looks like himself again.

“You mean it?” says Will, and somehow Mike knows he’s asking more than one thing.

He answers clearly. “Of course.”

They walk home together, shoulder to shoulder, broad grins and bright laughs reflecting the seashell sunset. Mike’s heart is light. Will never calls him Mikey again.

eight.

Mike has seen Will cry before, when he scraped his elbow the first time they tried roller skating and when they had their first sleepover and Will woke up in the middle of the night because of his nightmare. But somehow, it’s a thousand times worse to see the aftermath, swollen eyes and tear-tracked cheeks in Mike’s doorway. He has no idea what’s wrong, but he wraps his arms around Will and holds him tighter than he ever has.

“He’s gone,” Will whispers, voice shaky and soft.

Mike does not need to ask who.

Mike’s dad isn’t the best dad in the world, a conclusion he came to a long time ago. He’s barely around, and when he is, he’s not really there. He reads the newspaper at breakfast every morning, silent and serious, only really talking to tell him and Nancy to quiet down when they’re being too loud. When he was younger, his dad used to take him in the backyard to try and teach him to throw a football, but they both quickly realized that Mike was exceptionally lacking in any physical talents; it’s been a while since he’s tried anything like that again.

But as boring and plain as his dad is, he’s nothing like Will’s dad.

Parents aren’t supposed to be…like that. Parents aren’t supposed to get angry like that, except when you do something really bad, like when you hit your sister so hard she starts to bleed, or when you’re playing around with the gun in the shed, because it’s not a toy. But Will’s dad always looks like he just got finished yelling and is ready to start yelling again at any time. He does yell. He yells really loud, usually at Will’s mom, but sometimes at Jonathan and sometimes at Will, even when he and Mike are playing. Whenever Mike’s mom is angry at him, she always waits until all his friends go home before punishing him, but Will’s dad will start shouting as soon as he realizes Will didn’t put all the clean dishes away.

He doesn’t want to say it, but a small part of him thinks it’s good that he left. Mike doesn’t like the way he yells.

Will is struggling to talk, stumbling deep breaths and choked words. “It’s-it’s for good this time. He’s gone. He packed up all his stuff and he’s just—he’s gone.”

“Will, I’m so sorry,” he hears himself say, but it tastes like ash in his mouth. What good are his sorries? What does it matter? He needs to say something else, something better, something to fix this.

But there are no words for someone whose heart has been wretched from their body and their entire home pulled from its roots. There is nothing to be said that will fill the gaping hole that Will’s father has left in his chest. Mike can’t fix this, and it burns at him from the inside out. All he wants is for Will to be okay, and he can’t give that to him, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to.

He doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

nine.

“It’s not fair!” Mike shouts at the lake, chucking another rock at it. It plunks down with a disappointing little plop. “I don’t want another sibling, and I especially don’t want another sister.”

“I’m sorry,” Will says in a tiny voice from the tree he’s leaning against. A flat stone sits in his hand, and he turns it over and over, sliding it around his palm.

Mike shoots him a look over his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize.”

“Well,” he says, giving a light little shrug, “I’m still sorry you’re upset.”

With a huff, Mike tosses his last rock into the water and turns to sit on a nearby log, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just—I mean, there’s already me and Nancy! We don’t need any more kids. They already like Nancy better, anyway, so they’ll probably like the new one even more.”

“No, they won’t.”

“They might!”

Will sighs and pushes off the tree, walking towards the lake and turning the stone over in his palm again. He tosses it at the lake, and it skips once, twice, before plinking down into the water. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Easy to say when you’re not the least favorite Wheeler kid,” Mike grumbles.

“Well,” says Will, coming back over to sink down next to him, “if it makes you feel any better, you’ll still be my favorite Wheeler.”

He says is so simply, so easily that it takes Mike a moment to realize the weight of his words. They sit in silence as the sun sinks lower behind the trees, Will looking out at the lake, Mike looking at Will. He bumps his knee into Mike’s, catching his eye and shooting him a soft little smile.

The late spring air blows across their skin, and for a brief, brilliant moment, Mike thinks things will always be okay if he has Will by his side.

ten.

“You always take it too far, Dustin,” Mike snaps, opening and shutting kitchen cupboards like a whirlwind as he collects the rest of the ingredients. The steam from the stove swirls around his face, wafting over his already reddened cheeks. From the living room, the radio, staticky from the weather, croons warm Christmas carols to fill the otherwise icy kitchen.

“Mike, I’m fine,” Will insists through chattering teeth, which is about as far from fine as Mike’s ever seen.

“You’re shivering like crazy.”

“We were playing in the snow!” Will groans. He tries to throw his hands up in frustration, but the blanket that Mike wrapped around his shoulders only lets him get so far. “Of course I’m cold.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t need to shove a pile of it down your shirt.” Dustin has the nerve to look affronted. Mike shoots him a nasty look.

“It’s okay, Mike, really. It’s just snow.”

“Just snow causes hypothermia. You could have died.” Milk splashes out of the pot as he stirs, perhaps with too much vigor.

“We were five feet from your house. I wouldn’t have died.”

“Whatever!” Mike snaps, hands gripping his ladle too tight. “It’s still dangerous.”

“Will, man, I’m really sorry—” Dustin tries, but Will shakes his head.

“It’s really okay, Dustin, it’s not a big deal.”

“Your lips are blue, Will,” he huffs, shoving a mug into his hands. “Here, drink this.”

Will can’t seem to find a way to argue with that, but he takes a moment to readjust his blanket before extracting his hands to take the mug. His breath ripples out over the hot chocolate as he tries to cool it down. “Thank you,” he remembers after a beat.

Mike responds by pouring out two more mugs and handing one of them to Lucas, who rolls his eyes but thanks him anyway.

He leans back against the counter and sips from his own mug, the room an uncomfortable level of quiet, broken only by the faint music from the radio.

You will get a sentimental feeling when you hear

Voices singing, “Let’s be jolly—

Deck the halls with boughs of holly!”

It becomes apparent soon enough the Mike has no plans on pouring a mug for Dustin anytime soon. He catches Lucas and Dustin’s eye contact-only conversation, complete with another eye roll from Lucas, before Dustin clears his throat and straightens.

“Can I have some?” he asks, tentative but determined.

Mike does not glance up from his own mug. “Not until you apologize.”

“I just did!” Dustin says, the same time Will groans, “Mike!”

“Alright, fine,” he grumbles, pouring the last of the hot chocolate into a mug and handing it to him.

“Thanks.”

They spend the next few minutes in silence, broken only when Will mumbles a belated compliment on the cocoa. It’s uncomfortable, and he’s knows it’s his fault, but it’s also Dustin’s for being an idiot, so he doesn’t care. The songs go from one carol to the next. No one can think anything to say.

There’s a familiar chime from the living room that means the nine o’clock news is starting, prompting them all to turn and glance at the clock.

“Alright, I’m supposed to be home now,” Lucas says, jumping up from his chair.

“Yeah, I should go, too.” Dustin pushes off from the wall and heads towards the door, shrugging his coat back over his shoulders.

Will peeks out the window of the front door, frowning. “I’m gonna call my mom to come get me. I don’t wanna push my bike back through all of this.”

Once Lucas and Dustin bundle back up and head out, Will starts towards the kitchen phone, and Mike is struck with an idea.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing lightly at his elbow as he passes. “Just ask if you can sleep over. She probably shouldn’t drive in the snow, anyway.”

“It’s fine, Mike. She won’t mind.”

“Yeah, but you’re already here. And then you don’t have to go out in the cold and neither does she. C’mon. We can watch Star Wars?”

Will thinks it over for a half-second before nodding, a small grin on his face. “Alright. Lemme call her.”

eleven.

A funnel cake and a cup of ice water appear on the picnic table, quickly followed by Will sliding into the seat across from him. Mike grabs the water with a shaking hand, taking a slow sip.

“They charge two dollars for a water bottle here, can you believe that?” asks Will, resting his chin on his hand. “It’s ridiculous. So I tried just asking for a cup of water, but they wouldn’t give it to me unless I bought something. So I spent four dollars on a funnel cake, instead. I realize that probably wasn’t the best decision I could have made, but now we have funnel cake, so I also kinda think it was the best decision I could’ve made.”

“Thanks,” Mike says, “but I can’t eat anything right now.”

Will frowns at him with careful concern. “Just breathe. It’ll pass.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know why you got on,” he continues. “You don’t like rollercoasters.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike says. “But there’s four of us.”

Will furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head. “So?”

“So if I didn’t go, someone would’ve had to ride alone.”

“So?”

“So,” he drawls, shooting him a look, “I didn’t want you to have to ride alone, Will.”

Will ducks his head, his cheeks blooming a quick pink. “Thanks, but you really shouldn’t make yourself sick because of me.”

“I know,” he groans, resting his head on the table. “Don’t eat all that, by the way. Once I stop wanting to throw up, I’m having some.”

Will laughs, pushing it towards the center, and Mike reminds himself to pay him for half of it later. The sounds of the fair surround him, chattering kids and bright, cheery music, the dull thud of balls against midway game floors, the sizzle of the fryer and the clatter of the ice machine in the snack stand next to them. Multicolor lights blink in alternating patterns along the rides, vivid yellows and reds and blues glowing against each other, filling the air with an indescribable sheen. It shines against Will’s face, his eyes wide with wonder as he gazes out over the fairgrounds, and Mike can’t really stop himself from staring for just a moment. Will is so happy here. It’s nice to see.

Dustin and Lucas had left them to try to win themselves a goldfish from the ping pong toss booth, and Mike almost wants to ask why Will didn’t go and join them. He could be having fun, winning cheap prizes and enjoying the last hour of the night before the rides shut down. It doesn’t make sense for him to waste his time over Mike’s mistake; he should be off with the others, not fussing over him.

He almost asks. The words make their way to the tip of his tongue, but he stops them short, because he already knows the answer.

Of course Will is here. They take care of each other. It’s what they do.

Will pulls off another piece of funnel cake, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied grin. Once he swallows, he licks his sticky-sweet fingers clean, but still manages to get powdered sugar on the corner of his lip and across his nose. Mike wonders, for the smallest half-second, how easy it would be for him to reach out and swipe it off. Something about the idea gives him a gut-twisting thrill, somehow even scarier than the rollercoaster.

Will catches his gaze and meets it with a grin. “Ferris wheel?”

twelve.

He doesn’t mean to hold his hand out like that, not really. It’s just instinct, a natural need to comfort, to be close, to make things better.

Will hadn’t cried the whole time, watching him get kenneled, loading him into the truck, taking him away. Chester had been his faithful companion for years, a steady constant at Will’s side, sweet and loving and desperate for any form of affection. He had loved Will so much, more than anyone else. Mike had heard Joyce joke a million times how Lonnie had paid for him, but Chester was Will’s dog.

It doesn’t mean anything, not really. When his grandpa died, Mike’s grandma was a rock at the funeral, straight-backed and dry-eyed with all of the Wheeler dignity. But as they lowered his casket to the ground, she slipped her hand through Mike’s and gripped it as though the world was ending. He knows she’ll never say it, but he also knows exactly how important is was that he was there for her in that moment, that silent show of affection to help keep her grounded. It’s only natural that he’d do the same for his friend in a moment of crisis.

It started a little less than a month ago, when the hospital finally released Will, and he had bounded home with unbridled excitement. “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed again,” he’d told Mike the night before, “and to see Chester.”

But Chester—sweet, loving Chester who would lay his head in Will’s lap whenever they watched a movie and would lick his hands whenever he was feeling sad—had snarled the second Will walked in the door, hackles up and teeth bared, until Will was safely shut in his room.

“It’s probably just your scent, honey,” Joyce had tried, a frown etched onto her face. “You just smell like the hospital still.”

“But that’s not it,” Will had said in a soft voice to Mike, a few days later after he had scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin was raw and there was no trace of hospital left, and Chester still couldn’t be in the same room without becoming violent. “It’s because of the Demogorgon. It’s because it got me. He knows I’m not the same.”

They decided it was best to find him a new family, after the third time he had tried to attack Will. He was a perfect dog in every other way. Someone out there would give him a great home, and he would be just as loving and loyal as he’d been for the Byers.

And so Will watches them pack up his best friend, and put him in the back of a truck, and drive off, never to see him again, and he doesn’t cry once.

And Mike doesn’t mean to do it, but they’re sitting side by side in a living room that feels like an empty chasm without Chester’s wagging tail and panting breaths, and the silence is eating away at him. He holds his hand out, palm up, and he waits. It takes Will a moment to notice it, and he doesn’t react right away, but before Mike has the chance to change his mind, he slowly slides his hand against his and locks their fingers together.

And it doesn’t mean anything, not really. It’s just a small show of support, and little bit of comfort for a friend. And it doesn’t mean anything when Will leans against his side, exhausted and upset and hurt, having had his innocence and his safety and now his dog torn viciously from his hands, and tilts his head onto Mike’s shoulder. And it doesn’t mean anything that Mike stays as steady as possible and lets him take all the comfort he needs, even though it sort of feels like his heart is going to pound right through his chest.

thirteen.

It takes Mike a while to realize why he woke up in the middle of the night. Something is wrong, he can feel it, but he can’t place exactly what it is, and it settles around him, persistent and needling.

Lucas is beside him, solid and silent, while Dustin is on the other side of the basement, his snores echoing across the room. The rest of the house is a peaceful quiet. Everything is okay.

He shifts just a little, stretching his legs out, when he realizes that Will is no longer in the sleeping bag lying at his feet. He sits upright, all of a sudden alert, and listens harder.

The light to the basement bathroom is off, which means Will is more than likely somewhere else. Mike shimmies out of his sleeping bag and heads up the stairs, skipping the third and fifth ones, because they squeak.

Will is not in the kitchen, which ruins Mike’s first theory of him just grabbing a glass of water. The ground floor bathroom and living room also prove to be empty, and it’s then that a slow trickle of dread begins to creep down his spine. Could something have happened? There’s no way anything from the Upside Down could have gotten to him, not here, not with everyone else right beside him. They hadn’t had an incident since Will came back and El disappeared. It couldn’t have happened. Mike would never have let that happen.

He’s near the front door when he hears the barely-there sobs tumbling down the stairs. Mike follows them up to the bathroom he shares with Nancy, and he hesitates before knocking on the door.

There’s a quick choking sound before it’s silent, and soon after, the door knob turns and reveals Will, who stands straight and stone-faced in front of him.

“Hey,” says Mike.

“Hi,” says Will, tamping the tears out of his voice. “Sorry I woke you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Oh.” Will does not seem to know what to say to that. “Okay.”

“But I wouldn’t have cared if you did. It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay,” says Will again. He brushes impatiently at his eyes before squaring his shoulders. “I think I’m gonna call Jonathan to pick me up.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” says Will, as though there weren’t still wet tracks down his face. A strong, sterile smell of mint and alcohol wafts from him, and Mike’s mouthwash sits on top of the counter instead of in the cabinet, where he usually kept it.

Something’s not right. Mike stares at him. “Will.”

“It’s stupid.” Mike shrugs. Will heaves a heavy sigh. “It was too dark. I couldn’t sleep.”

There’s been something different about Will, something just a little bit wrong, a little bit off, ever since he came back. Most days he’s okay, but every so often Mike catches a glimpse of a shadow over him, darkening his days and dragging him down. Sometimes, Mike wonders if a part of Will never made it back from the Upside Down. Sometimes, he wonders if a part of the Upside Down made it back with Will.

He’s not sure which is worse.

Whatever the reasoning, it’s evident that Will does not want to talk about it, and Mike does not want to push. “Do you want to sleep in my room? I can turn on the nightlight.”

“I can just call Jonathan. He can pick me up.”

“You don’t have to wake him up. C’mon. I’ll stay with you.” He wraps an arm around Will’s shoulder, guiding him to his room, which seems sort of silly, because of course Will knows where his room is. But having his arm around him makes Mike feel better, somehow, and he thinks it might make Will feel better, too.

“You think we’d still fit in the same bed?” asks Mike, peering around his childhood bedroom. Something about it makes him feel smaller than he’s felt in years.

Will’s laugh is soft, weighed down just a little by his raspiness. “Hardly, string bean,” he says, poking at Mike’s side.

“Bet we could.” Mike tugs him towards the mattress. “C’mon.”

Will allows himself to be walked toward the bed, but stops just short of getting on it. “That’s okay. I can just sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The floor is awful and we both know it.”

“Yeah, but it’s your bed. I don’t wanna—”

“You’re not. I’m inviting you. Come on.”

“Mike, you really don’t have—I can just call Jonathan.”

“Do you want to go home?” Mike asks, trying to sound sincere. “Because if you really want to, you can. But I really want you to stay, and I really want you to sleep good, and my bed is way better than the floor.” Will blinks at him, and Mike watches his shoulder drop and his head loll the slightest bit—sure signs of a waning resolve. “C’mon. My mom’s making french toast for breakfast, so please stay. She’ll be devastated if you’re not here to eat it.”

“Okay, okay,” Will says, and Mike grins at him. “But really, I can just sleep on the floor, since—”

“Stop being ridiculous, Will. If you don’t want to share the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No!” If Will didn’t look uncomfortable before, he did now. “It’s your bed, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.”

“Well, you’re my guest, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.”

“Mike.”

“Will.” Their stare-off lasts only a minute before Mike says, “Just get over here.”

Will slides between the sheets, hovering as close to the edge of the bed as possible. Mike fixes the covers, pulling them up around Will’s shoulders. As he drops the blanket down, he grabs Will’s wrist and tugs, moving him closer to the center. “Don’t fall,” he teases, smiling at him.

Will rolls his eyes but grins back, scrunching his nose up and he smiles. “Thanks. ‘Night, Mike.”

He lets his eyes fall closed and settles into the bed, and Mike is left staring, dumbfounded. After a few moments, he forces himself to move to the edge of the bed, his back pressed against the wall. He remains there for a few moments, trying to process exactly what just happened.

The thing is, Will is cute. He’s always been cute, and he’s done cute things, and Mike has always known that Will is a cute boy. Mike’s mom fawns over him, and he knows Nancy has a soft spot for him, even if she won’t admit it. He’s even caught Sarah Grady staring during gym a couple times, and not in the oh-it’s-that-weird-zombie-boy way, but in an oh-he’s-kinda-cute way. Because Will is cute, and that’s never been a problem before, because Mike has never thought about kissing a cute boy before.

It came over him suddenly, the urge to swoop down and press his lips to his. It would have been so easy, too, as simple as it had been with El, short and quick and painless. Something about Will lying there, quiet and peaceful, cheeks still rosy from his tears, makes Mike’s stomach twist. It would be so easy.

But why?

Why was the thought of kissing Will so invasively appealing? Why can he not get the idea out of his head? Over and over, the image plays in his mind—hand on his cheek, tilt his chin up, lean down, kiss him. It would be so easy. He thinks Will would let him.

Mike swallows and forces himself to stop thinking about it and how easy it would be and forces himself to stop wondering why. Will is safe and trusting and asleep in his bed and Mike was a freak for thinking of him like that. He refuses to let it happen again. He won’t.

“Goodnight, Will,” he whispers back, entirely too late.

Sleep takes a long time to find him.

fourteen.

The comforting crunch of fallen leaves follows his footsteps as he paces down the familiar path. Though the once well-worn trail is barely visible in the autumn colors, Mike knows the way to Castle Byers like an old favorite song on the radio; he can sing every line even though he hasn’t heard it in years. Still, he can’t help the strange feeling that clings to his shoulders as he steps into view of the old hangout. So much has changed since he was last here, one afternoon before Will had ever gone missing, before he knew the Upside Down existed, before he met Jane, before everything. It feels wrong—treasonous—to step foot in here now, no longer the innocent child of summers past, when he and Will and Dustin and Lucas would dream up wild adventures and heroic tales of bravery and romance and glory.

They’d lived the stories. Somehow, it hadn’t worked out quite like they’d imagined.

Will looks too big sitting inside the tiny makeshift fort, cross legged and hunched over his sketchbook. “Hey,” Mike tries.

“Hey,” Will says without concern, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable energy that Mike can’t shake. “Figured it was you. You walk like an elephant.”

Mike gives him a flat look. “Thanks.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Jonathan said you’d be back here.”

Will hums an acknowledgement as Mike joins him on the ground. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. What are you doing?”

“Drawing. What are you doing?”

“Watching you draw.”

Will leaves through a small stack of papers near him before shoving one towards Mike. “That’s the one I was telling you about, from the last campaign.”

It’s a fairly simple drawing, at least by Will’s standards, though he’s colored it with the new colored pencils his mom got him. It’s more muted, more realistic than some of his older works, devoid of the imaginative but unrealistic splashes of color most of his previous drawings had. Two characters more than familiar to Mike, a cleric and a paladin, were standing over a slain Beholder, dirty and battle-worn but victorious. He traces his fingers over it in gentle strokes.

“So, why are you really here?” Will asks, bringing Mike back to reality.

A huff of air leaves Mike’s mouth. Leave it to Will to see right through him. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want to be alone right now.”

Will puts his pencil down, looking at him with worried eyes. “Did something happen?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Mike falls silent as Will stares at him, ever-patient eyes watching him without judgement. Eventually, he inhales roughly and says, “Jane and I broke up.”

For a long moment, Will wears the most neutral expression possible. It soon shifts into a sympathetic frown. “Oh. Mike, I’m really—”

“Don’t be. It was a mutual thing. I don’t know.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Yes. No.” He heaves a hopeless sigh and shrugs, leaning back on his hands. “I really don’t know.”

“Okay,” Will says simply, placing his colored pencils back into their case. “Do you want to go get ice cream and talk about anything else?”

Mike raises an eyebrow, amusement coloring his confusion. “That’s so specific, Will. Is that your secret breakup cure?” It’s a strange thought, imagining Will having a breakup. It would mean Will had a girlfriend at some point. For some reason he can’t quite place, Mike doesn’t like that idea, so he stops thinking about it.

“No,” he says, quick and uncertain, a sure sign of his nerves. “But when I got back from, uh, from the Upside Down, or after everything last year, you know, I wish more people would’ve talked to me about random stuff. Just anything to keep my mind off of it. Like, I think everyone just assumed that what happened to me was so bad that I couldn’t handle talking about anything else, but that’s all I wanted.” He sighs, closing his notebook. “I mean, I know it’s not the same, like, at all, but I just figured you’re kinda feeling the same way. Sorry. It was probably dumb.”

Mike hadn’t been able to figure out why his feet had carried him to Will’s house first, not entirely. He could’ve gone to Lucas, whose cool logic and relationship experience would’ve been the most helpful in wrapping his head around everything. He could’ve gone to Dustin, who would’ve made him laugh in an instant, put a bright spin on an otherwise dreary day. He could’ve gone home, found Nancy or his mom, let them comfort him and simply settle in all the difficult emotions, allow them to wash over him and consume him until they peter out.

But Will’s suggestion is somehow so much better, yet so simple and easy. He understands why he’s here; Will gets it.

He’s staring at Mike with anxious eyes, his hands gripping his notebook too tight. It nestles somewhere in his heart, the way that Will can understand him so throughly and yet still be scared of his reaction, still be nervous that Mike would somehow be upset. A warm smile touches his lips.

“No, it sounds great,” he says, dusting his hands off on his knees and standing. “Ice cream, though?”

“You love ice cream,” Will says with a too-casual shift of his shoulder, tucking the rest of his art supplies away. “And that’s a well-known breakup cure. Obviously.”

He reaches down to help Will up, and tries not to think too long about the warmth of his palm. “Obviously.”

fifteen.

“Hi,” Will says, plopping down onto the basement sofa.

“Hi?” says Mike, looking up from his homework in confusion. A few months ago, there would’ve been nothing weird about Will coming over unannounced. In fact, Will coming over would have just been expected, a normal part of everyday life, and they’d sit and chat lazily while finishing up their schoolwork. But this was the first time he’d seen him outside of school in weeks; Will had all but disappeared from their lives, barely showing up for lunch and making up weak, pink-faced excuses to why he couldn’t hang out after school. “What’s up?”

Will struggles for a moment. He looks like he’s trying to remember how to form words. “I shouldn’t be here,” he finally manages.

“Okay,” Mike says slowly. “What?”

“I don’t know. I thought this was a good idea, but it’s not. I should go.” He shoots his words out in a hurry, as though he can’t get rid of them fast enough, and throws his backpack over his shoulder.

“Woah, slow down.” Mike moves to block his exit, grabbing Will’s wrist and holding it as gently as he would a bouquet. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t—I made a mistake coming here. I’m just gonna leave. Sorry for bothering you.”

“You don’t need to leave, Will, hey. Come on. Are you alright?”

“No,” he says, voice thick with suppressed tears. “That’s why I have to—let go, I have to leave.”

“Will, hey.” He releases his wrist but doesn’t move from in front of the stairs. “Please talk to me. It’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s okay. Let me help.” His hands hover over Will’s shoulders, tentative and unsure, but he lowers them softly, and Will doesn’t stop him.

“I can’t.”

“Just—you’re okay here. Okay? You’re okay.” Mike walks with slow, deliberate steps, and Will allows himself to be sat back on the sofa. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“That’s the problem,” he says, brushing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I think I want to talk about it.”

“Okay, then,” Mike says, sliding down next to him, “let’s talk.”

“But I can’t—”

“Is someone threatening you?” The possibility strikes Mike as soon as he says it, and just the thought sets him off, a furious burn in his chest. After everything Will had been through, he wasn’t going to just sit by and let someone try to hurt him. “Are you in danger? Is that why you can’t—?”

“What?” Will looks so startled by this that he momentarily loses his fear. “No, Mike, I’m not being threatened.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

A long pause is his answer, and Will inhales deeply, tucking his legs into a ball and wrapping his hands around his knees. Then, in the smallest mumble, buried in the folds of his jeans, “That you’ll hate me.”

“What?” He doesn’t mean to roll his eyes, he really doesn’t, but he can’t help it. “Will, seriously? You really think—?”

“I know what you’re gonna say, okay?” Will cuts him off, matching him in vigor if not volume. “And the answer is still yes, I really do think you might hate me. ‘Cause I’ve been lying to everyone and I think I—I made a mistake and you’re gonna hate me, and everyone’s gonna hate me and I’m—I just, I don’t want you to hate me, okay? So I can’t tell you.” He punctuates his sentence by curling back into himself, resting his chin on his knees.

“Okay. But you just told me all of that, so now I’m supposed to just pretend I don’t remember any of it?”

“Yes,” he mutters in a clipped voice, “that’d be great, thank you.”

“Will,” he groans, “come on! You’re being ridiculous.”

“That’s what you think, but I’m not! I’m being more than reasonable. You just don’t get it.”

Mike frowns, because he’s sure he would get it if Will would just explain what was going on. “How ‘bout this? You tell me, and no matter what happens, I promise I’m not going to get angry. Promise. And I won’t tell the others if you don’t want me to. But please let me help you. Please? I can’t just go back to living my life when I know you’re this upset over something.”

“Okay,” he says, mulling things over with a deeply troubled expression. “Maybe. Give me a minute.”

Mike settles back into the sofa, lacing his fingers together and trying to hold himself still. He has no idea what on earth is going on, but he’s ready to finally figure out why his best friend hasn’t been much of a friend for the past two months, so he can be patient for the next few minutes.

It felt dumb to miss someone’s friendship, especially since he and Will were technically still friends, they just didn’t see each other as much. Still, going from hanging out every day to barely saying hi to each other once a week wasn’t the same, and it certainly wasn’t fun. Some biting memory tugs at the back of his mind, and he allows a brief moment to wonder if this is how Will felt when he and Jane started dating.

“You know how I haven’t been around that much lately?” Will starts all of a sudden, having finally worked up the nerve to speak. “It’s because—it’s because I was seeing someone.”

“Oh.” Oh.

Oh.

They stare at each other for a long moment. It seems to have taken all of Will’s resolve to admit that much, because he does not elaborate.

“Okay, well,” Mike coaxes. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It was a secret.”

“Okay,” he drawls, “but why?”

“We had to sneak around all the time, that’s why I haven’t hung out with you guys that much,” Will says, very clearly ignoring Mike’s question. Mike decides not to fight it, because this is the most he’s heard Will talk in months, and it hurts—actually, physically hurts in his chest—how much he missed him. “Like, the only time we really got to see each other was after school, before our parents got home, so I couldn’t ride home with you guys anymore. And then, when my mom would work late night weekends—it’s like, we couldn’t be together at school, so we had to take every chance we could get, you know? So, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately. I miss you guys. I just got wrapped up in it.”

“Will, I still don’t understand. Why did everything have to be a secret? Who are we talking about here? Do I know who it is?”

“I can’t tell you.” If nothing else, his voice is firm. “We agreed it’d be a secret. Plus, it doesn’t matter, anyway, because we broke up. Today. That’s why I’m”—he gestures vaguely to himself—“like this.”

“Will, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s probably for the best. We were only together for two months, so it’s not like—I mean, I didn’t care that much, I just—” His voice cracks, and he tilts his head back, as though trying to force his tears not to fall. Mike’s heart breaks.

“It’s okay, Will. You’re allowed to be upset. Just because it was a short relationship doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Shit, we only knew Jane for a week before she went missing.”

“No, that’s justified,” he says, waving an impatient hand. “Jane’s great. Anyway, it’s stupid, because it’s for the best. We never went on dates or anything and we could never actually be a real couple and I was sick of sneaking around and I was sick of not seeing you guys and I was so sick of hearing about his stupid dad and how he’d kill us if we ever got caught and—”

“His?”

He doesn’t mean to say it, but it slips out in his surprise. Will blinks, realizing his mistake, and stares, open-mouthed and petrified.

“You’re gay.”

Mike’s not an artist by any stretch of the imagination, but he thinks in this moment that Will would be a perfect model for someone practicing expressions, specifically fear. He’s almost motionless, except his eyes darting across the room, looking for an escape route.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Mike continues, desperate to keep him here but at a complete loss on what to say. “That we weren’t gonna be your friend anymore if we found out you were gay?”

“I should go,” he finally manages, pushing up from the sofa and grabbing for his backpack.

“No, Will.” He has to be quick, moving to block his exit. With slow, careful movements, he places his hands on Will’s shoulders. “Relax, okay?”

Will waits with wide eyes, apprehension written all over his face. He’s half-balanced on his toes, like a bird about to take flight, ready to flee at any moment. But he’s quiet for the moment, waiting, needing to know what Mike will say.

Words are a friend of Mike’s, a source of power he draws from constantly. He might not have a paladin’s healing ability and he might not be able to move things with his mind like Jane, but he knows the way that a simple sentence can make someone’s day or ruin it, the way they can bring about a smile or tears. He knows the way that Dustin's jokes can light up a whole room and the way Max’s biting sarcasm can make someone crumple in defeat. He knows the way that Will will relax when the right words leave his mouth, the way his shoulder will drop and a sigh will pass his lips and a grateful grin will find his face.

The right words don’t find him, but he doesn’t need them. He holds his arms open and Will falls into them without hesitation, burying his face in Mike’s shoulder. Mike doesn’t let his grip waiver for even a moment.

After a few minutes, Mike finally breaks the silence.

“Do you want me to beat him up?”

Will’s surprise comes in the form of a snort, an unsure smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he drops from the hug. “Mike,” he says, soft, anxious, and in one word, Mike can hear all the stress that Will’s been carrying for months—years, probably—all his fear and anger and confusion and exhaustion. He thinks his heart breaks, just a little, to know how much pain his best friend was in and to have done nothing to help. “Absolutely not.”

“Why? If he hurt you, then he deserves—”

“No, Mike, that’s a terrible idea.”

“C’mon, Will, just let me—”

“No, just—”

“Just let me talk to him, then—”

“No, stop. Look, I’ll tell you, okay?” Mike raises an eyebrow, feeling only a little miffed that Will had figured out that he was just fishing for the name of this mysterious boy. “You just can’t tell anyone. I mean it. Not even the rest of the Party. Okay?”

“Promise.”

“It’s Greg Sawyer.”

“The linebacker?”

Whatever reaction Will was expecting, it was clearly not that. He tilts his head, frowning. “You know what a linebacker is?”

“No, but I know he is one, because he never shuts up about it.”

“It’s for the JV team.” Will’s protest is weak, hovering somewhere between defensive and sheepish.

“That’s worse.”

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t fight him. He’d kick your ass.”

“Thanks. I’m just trying to be supportive.”

“I’m trying to be supportive of you not dying.”

Mike chuckles, only a little offended. Greg was well over six feet and had more muscles in his pinky than Mike did in his entire body. He looks down at Will, whose jitters have all but subsided, leaving the glowing, happy boy Mike calls his best friend.

God, he missed him.

And he wants to keep him for as long as he can, so he smiles and prompts, “Greg Sawyer, huh?

Will flushes, looking both bashful and rather pleased with himself. He gives a light little shrug, tucking his smile into his collar.

“Well, whatever. You can do better than him, anyway.”

“Mike.” He’s about as red as he can he, caused half by happiness and half by Mike trying to embarrass him just a little. He’s somewhat taut with a manic sort of energy, bouncing on his toes, and he launches forward to wrap Mike in another hug.

Mike allows himself to wallow in it for a brief moment, wrapping him up and pulling him flush against his body. He rests his chin on the top Will’s head and lets the warm feeling wash over him, the flood of happiness that he has his best friend back.

But he’s still Mike, and he can’t just let the moment go by without ruining it a little, so he leans back just a bit and asks, “So you really thought I was gonna—?”

“Shut up,” he snaps into Mike’s shirt, muffled and with no vitriol. Mike smiles, slow and warm, and pulls him impossibly closer.

And maybe they’ll talk about it—actually talk about it—but right now that’s not what he needs. Will just wants reassurance that they’re okay, that Mike and the rest of the Party aren’t going to abandon him just because he likes boys.

Besides, Will likes boys, and Mike’s having a hard time thinking about anything else.

sixteen.

The toilet seat is cool and comforting against his face, although there’s an acrid smell in the air, and the entire room is tilted off its axis, spinning at an impossible rate.

“Mom, he’s fine, I promise. He just needs to sleep it off.” That’s Will’s voice, Mike can tell, but it sounds far away. Will was definitely in here with him at some point. He misses that. He wants Will to come back.

“Will, sweetheart, I think you should let me—”

“No, Mom. He’s okay. He’s done puking. I’m gonna get him to bed.”

“You need to make sure he drinks enough water. Give him a glass tonight, and plenty tomorrow. How much did he have to drink?”

“Too much.” Mike laughs against the toilet seat at that, the low huff reverberating across the water. He definitely drank too much.

“And how much did you have to drink?”

“Barely anything. Three beers, Mom. And Max drove. She wasn’t drinking at all, I swear.”

“Okay.” A short pause, and then, “Okay. We’re gonna talk about this more in the morning, but all I care about is that you’re safe. Are you sure you don’t want help?”

“No, Mom. I got it.”

The next thing Mike knows, he is being pulled from the toilet to stand in front of the sink. A toothbrush is thrust into his hand, already wet and with toothpaste. He goes about brushing instinctually, and every so often he feels Will’s small hands pressing into his side and pushing him upright. He doesn’t quite know how he keeps ending up bent over, but he’s glad Will is here. He’s always glad Will is here.

Mike blinks and he is in Will’s room, and the thought of curling up and going to sleep suddenly sounds fantastic. He launches himself onto Will’s bed, spreading across almost the whole thing.

“You think we’d still fit?” Mike asks the pillow he’s laying face down in. The pillow does not answer.

“Definitely not,” Will replies instead, fisting the back of Mike’s shirt and pulling. “Sit up. You need to change.”

Mike obliges, turning and lifting himself up. When clothes do not immediately appear in front of him, he flops back onto the bed, staring contentedly at the ceiling.

“Get up, asshole,” says Will, tossing a clean tee at his face. Mike squints. He does not recognize it, so he’s pretty sure it’s not his, but it smells like Will, so he likes it. He tosses off his current shirt and slips the new one on, laying himself back down. “I don’t think I have pants that fit you. Jonathan might have left some, though, so we can check his room.”

“Okay!” chirps Mike, eyes closed but grinning. He loves hearing Will talk. “I’m just gonna stay here, though, ‘cause I’m just gonna sleep in my boxers.”

“Not in here, you’re not. C’mon. Get up,” says Will, holding out a hand for him.

“What? Why?” Mike doesn’t want to move. If he goes into Jonathan’s room, he won’t get to snuggle with Will, and nothing in the world sounds better than wrapping him up in his arms and holding him through the night. It’s not something they’ve ever done, but he figures it’s just like a hug. A long hug. Will likes hugs, so there shouldn’t be a issue. “We can both still fit.”

“We absolutely cannot. Jonathan’s bed is bigger. You can sleep there.”

“Look, c’mere.” He spreads his arms wide. “We’ll fit if you come snuggle.”

Will does not look impressed, and he does not move. “Mike, let’s go. Jonathan’s room.”

“I don’t think you understand how much I cannot do that.” He’s not trying to be stubborn, he’s just really not sure he can stand up at this point. Even the thought of moving makes his head ache.

“Alright, fine,” says Will. “You sleep here. I’m going to Jonathan’s room.”

“No!” Mike tries to sit up, but ends up sort of half flopped over. He decides to give Will a very angry look. “That’s no fun. It’s a sleepover. We gotta sleep together.”

“Well, I’m sleeping in Jonathan’s room, so you better come with me.”

Wordlessly, Mike flings his arms out, and Will catches them in his own, pulling with all his might. He somehow manages to fall upwards into Will’s chest, where he is rearranged and propped up onto his shoulder instead.

He is half-thrown and half-falls onto Jonathan’s bed, where he closes his eyes as soon as he touches the mattress. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything more comfortable in his life.

“Under the covers, c’mon,” Will says as he shifts his limbs around. Mike does his best to help, but his arms and legs aren’t responding very well to his brain. “There you go.”

Will goes to flick off the light, and then turns to the door. “Where are you going?” Mike asks almost as soon as his hand touches the handle.

“To bed,” Will replies bluntly.

“What? You said you were sleeping in here!”

“No, you’re sleeping in here.”

“Hey,” Mike drawls, sitting up with a growing frown. He couldn’t be sure, but he gets the feeling that Will tricked him somehow. “This is illeg—this is entrapment.”

Will bursts into shocked laughter, grinning down at him. “Go to sleep, you drunk asshole.”

“Stop calling me an asshole, asshole.”

“Stop acting like an asshole, then. Asshole.”

“You promised you’d sleep with me.”

“I really didn’t.”

“Will,” he groans, stretching one arm out to try to pull him back to bed. He’s only about seven feet short.

“You’re so needy when you’re drunk,” Will says, but he’s smiling when he says it, and he lets go of the doorknob.

“I just wanna be your friend.”

Will laughs dryly, but he looks happy again, which Mike likes, because he always wants Will to be happy. “I’ll be your friend if you never drink Jose Cuervo again.”

“Deal.” Mike grins, opening his arms. “Come be my friend.”

Will makes his way back towards the bed, but as soon as he’s within reach, Mike grabs his wrist and tugs him the rest of the way, wrapping him in a bear hug as he collapses onto the bed.

“Jeeze, what’s gotten into you?” Will laughs, squirming his way out of Mike’s death grip.

The answer comes to him immediately, but it takes him several moments to stop snickering so he can whisper, “Jose Cuervo.”

They burst into howls of laughter, Will frantically shushing the two of them with muffled protests of “My mom’s sleeping!” through his own giggles. Mike reaches out as they settle down, pulling Will back against his chest. Will shuffles around for a moment before finally making himself comfortable, resting his head near Mike’s shoulder, though not quite as close as Mike wants him.

“Good night, Mike,” he says softly, warmly, and nestles into the crook of Mike’s arm.

“’Night, Will,” he whispers back.

He can’t help himself as he closes his eyes and allows his imagination to wonder. It’s not something he permits himself to think about often, but he’s tired and drunk and he can’t stop himself from indulging in the fantasy of being like this all the time, whenever he wants. Somewhere in his mind there’s a world where he finds the courage to tell Will what he’s been thinking, what he’s really thinking, and in that world Will is still his best friend, still looks at him with adoration instead of disgust, and maybe even feels the same way. There’s a world where the bullies don’t exist, where liking boys isn’t akin to a death sentence, where he could walk around Hawkins and hold Will’s hand without fear. There’s a world where it’s okay that he likes girls and boys, and he’s not some freak accident that can’t decide whether or not he’s gay, where he knows his mom will still love him and all his friends will still like him and everyone would just understand.

Will would understand. He likes boys, he would get it, right? Mike knows it’s gross and wrong and greedy to like both, but maybe, just maybe, Will might actually understand. He wants to tell him. He wants to tell him. Should he tell him? Will would get it. He should tell Will. He’s gonna tell Will.

Or maybe not. He’s not quite ready yet, but he wants to tell him something, at least.

“Hey, Will, are you awake?”

“No,” comes Will’s short reply against his shoulder.

“Oh. Sorry.” Huh. That’s disappointing. Mike loves to talk to Will, so he wishes Will was still awake. “You know what I’d tell you if you were still awake?”

“What?”

“Just that you’re my best friend. And you’re the best. And I love you.”

Will’s lips quirk upward for just a moment, though he still doesn’t open his eyes. It’s adorable. “Love you too, Mike.”

“You’re so cute, you know that?” Something tells him he shouldn’t say that, but he really feels like he needs to. Will is cute. He needs to know how cute he is.

He snorts, the hot air rushing out over Mike’s arm. “Thank you. Good night.”

That’s not right. Will isn’t getting it. “I’m serious,” he insists.

“Go to sleep, Mike,” he mutters through a yawn.

“Okay, I mean it, though. You’re, like, the cutest person in the world.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Seriously. You’re so cute I could kiss you.”

The air stills as Will sits up suddenly, retreating to the other side of the bed in a blink. “That’s not funny,” he says, sharp and out of breath, as he kicks the covers off and stands.

“What? I wasn’t—”

“Go to sleep, Mike,” says Will, so quickly that Mike almost misses the quaver in his voice.

“Wait, I’m—” he starts, but Will has left the room and shut the door firmly behind him before Mike can figure out what exactly he wants to say.

The room is freezing without Will by his side, but Mike sits upright in the bed, trying to piece together what went wrong. He knows that voice is Will’s about-to-cry voice, and it shoots through his heart and chills him to the bone. Mike doesn’t understand. He was being nice, he was giving Will a compliment, why is he going to cry? Will’s his best friend, he loves Will, he doesn’t want Will crying, especially because of something he said. He thinks he should apologize, but he doesn’t even know where to start. He thinks maybe he should just kiss him.

But the sharp click of the door echoes in his ears, and Mike might be drunk, but he can take a hint. Will doesn’t want his compliment, and he doesn’t want to talk about it, and he definitely doesn’t want a kiss.

The alcohol and his exhaustion pull him back down to the bed, and he burrows under the covers, ignoring how empty everything feels without Will there. He tells himself to remember to apologize to him in the morning, when they’re both feeling better. Tiredness aches at the back of his eyes, and it’s not long until he drifts into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, he wakes up to a truly horrific headache and only fleeting memories of the night before. He joins Will and Joyce at the table, where he finds a hearty plate of bacon and eggs, but he reaches instead for the glass of water.  He pounds down two more cups before he even attempts to touch his food, and he spends the whole time trying to remember what happened. But Will keeps shooting him odd looks, and there’s a weird feeling in his stomach that makes him think he’s better off not knowing, anyway. He gives Will a tentative smile, and Will nearly drops his fork.

He decides not to ask.

seventeen.

White noise burns his ears, ringing a terrific, bright hum as he pulls Will behind him, pushing other students out of the way. Daniel Kim shoulder-checks him, shooting them a dirty glance as he straightens himself up, but Mike does not slow his pace even slightly.

Rachel Reich has to jump out of the way as they shove through the heavy doors, sharp sun and chilly spring air hitting them in a rush. The parking lot isn’t far, but they don’t lose speed, dodging the few stragglers that were milling in after leaving campus for lunch. If they weren’t staring at the two boys running for their lives, they were definitely staring at the absolute mess on Will’s face.

The car doors slam, but Mike doesn’t have the time to rest, turning the ignition and throwing the car into gear. He speeds out of the parking lot until the school is out of sight, and, once he feels reasonably safe, turns onto a side road and pulls over. Every breath is white-hot pain in his chest. An errant part of his mind considers if he needs to work out more. He brushes the thought away as soon as it comes.

He shifts a bit, pulling a half empty water bottle from the backseat, and gives it a quick sniff to make sure it’s water and not any number of alcohols. After confirming it’s safe, he takes a small swig and hands the rest to Will. “You alright?” he asks between labored breaths.

Will has blood pouring down his cheek. Mike is suddenly reminded that he is an idiot.

“Had better days,” Will chokes out, taking the bottle with shaking hands. “Thank you. Sorry if I get blood on the seat. Or the floor. Or anywhere.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he says, fully knowing that Will will worry about it. “Let’s get out of here. Your mom’s at work, right?”

He nods in response, meaning the Byers’ house is their best bet for a quiet reprieve. Max’s driving would’ve gotten them there in under ten minutes, but Mike values his life, so it’ll take them a little bit longer.

“So, you wanna tell me what happened?” he asks, staring the familiar drive to Will’s. “Besides Brian punching you, because I worked that one out for myself.”

“I don’t know.” Will sighs. “He was being a piece of shit, like usual.”

“And he just punched you? Why?”

“No, he punched back.”

“You…punched him?” Mike raises an inquisitive eyebrow, but doesn’t trust himself to take his eyes off the road.

“First. Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a piece of shit, and I was sick of it.”

“Are you...okay?”

“Well, I was just in a fight with someone twice my size, so no.”

Mike laughs, though he doesn’t really find it funny. “Yeah, I know you’re not fine physically. We’re getting to that. I just mean…” He huffs, trying to figure out how to explain himself. “Look, not that I’m not glad you’re standing up for yourself, but, I mean…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will cuts in, tone bitter. “I’m a fucking wimp that usually just takes the beatings. I know.”

“That’s not what I was saying.”

“Right.”

“I just mean you don’t usually go looking for a fight.”

“I wasn’t looking for a fight,” he snaps. “He started it. I just was sick of listening to him.”

Mike grips the steering wheel tighter, forcing his next words to be controlled. “Are you just going to twist everything I say?”

Will sighs, deflating against the seat. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“In a bad mood?”

“What gave it away?” he asks, a rueful smile on his lips, and they share a short, humorless laugh.

The silence is far from comfortable, and Mike can’t stand it, so he punches the radio. He flips through the stations, looking for anything good, but all their regular ones seem to be on commercial. They listen for a little to three different ads for car dealerships in Bloomington before Mike decides to give it another shot.

“If I ask again, are you just gonna keep avoiding the question?”

Will takes a moment before answering. “Maybe.”

“Why’d you punch him?”

“He kept—” Will heaves a deep breath. “He just kept calling me a queer.”

“No offense, Will, but, uh.” Mike knows he’s treading into dangerous territory, but he doesn’t know how to stop himself. “Y’know, people, uh, people do that a lot.”

He gives him a flat look. “Yeah.”

“It just—it’s never bothered you this much before.”

“Yes, it has. I’ve just never done anything about it before.”

He sighs. “Will.”

“What?” he spits, hard and venomous, all of a sudden becoming the dangerous Will that appeared so rarely, the one that left Brian Bernard on his knees by the lockers.

Mike picks his next words with caution, and says them with as much gentleness. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Immediately, Will’s shoulders sag, giving him the air of a wilted flower. “Can we just drop it? Please? I can’t—”

“Hey.” He reaches from the steering wheel to briefly cover Will’s hand of the center armrest. “It’s okay. Okay?” Mike squeezes.

A long, breathless moment passes, and Will squeezes back. “Okay.”

They pull up to Will’s house, jumping out in silence, and make their way into the living room. Will collapses on the sofa, curling up at once, but taking care to lie on the side of his face that isn’t covered in semi-dried blood.

Mike still remembers where the first aid kit is, grabbing it from the bathroom without delay. Will sits up as he returns, and he sinks down next to him, finally getting a chance to look at what happened.

All things considered, the damage isn’t too bad. There’s one bump on his forehead that doesn’t seem terrible, but it’s bleeding enough that it needs to be bandaged. The cut on his cheek is already purpling, swollen and hot, and there’s a split on his top lip, but besides that, Will seems to be mostly intact. That fact doesn’t stop Mike from feeling sick at the sight. It’s not right. Will isn’t supposed to be in pain like this. Not now, not ever. Not again.

He dumps the alcohol onto a cotton ball and touches it to the largest cut, wrapping his left hand around Will’s other cheek when he flinches from the sting. “Relax,” he murmurs, almost absentminded, as he cleans the wound. “I got you.”

“I know,” he whispers back.

Mike gets to work, dabbing lightly at the cut on his forehead, when he realizes that Will is fighting back tears. He pulls back, brows crossed, and asks, “Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”

Will barks a high-pitched, strangled sort of chuckle. “God,” he groans, leaning his head back so he can’t meet Mike’s eyes.

Mike waits.

Finally, after a minute, he says, “It was about you.”

“What?”

“Brian,” Will says, straightening back up, eyes even redder than before. “He was calling me queer, but he kept talking about you, too. And he—he kept—” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “He was saying all this stuff about you, a-about us, and I just—I didn’t want to tell you because I thought if you knew, you wouldn’t want people to see us together anymore. But you should know. So you can avoid me in public. Or everywhere, I guess, if that’s what you—” His voice breaks, and his lips quiver, and Mike can’t take it anymore.

“Will. I’m not gonna stop being your friend because Brian fucking Bernard has his head so far up his own ass—”

“I know.” Will’s voice is barely a breath. “But it’s probably not just him. I mean, other people probably think it. They might just not say it, I don’t know.”

“This is not the first time someone has called me gay, Will.”

“I know, just—”

“And I don’t care, Will. Who cares? Who gives a fuck what they think?”

“You should!” he insists, brushing an errant tear away impatiently. “They wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t for me.”

“So?”

“So, things would be a lot easier for you if I wasn’t around. I’m just saying I can stay away from you so other people don’t think you’re—don’t think we’re—” He takes a deep breath the racks through his whole body. “I’ll stay away from you at school, so people leave you alone.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“What?” Mike asks, now more confused than ever. “Because—”

But what is he supposed to say when Will won’t get it? Will doesn’t see himself the way Mike sees him, no matter what he tries. How is he supposed to make Will understand how important he is to him? How can he explain that sometimes he looks at Will and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, so full and quick that it’s painful? How can he explain that sometimes there’s a burning anger inside of him, so fierce it feels like he’s going to combust, but all Will has to do is smile at him and the fire is doused and all his edges soften until he’s a human being again? How can he explain his longing that doesn’t seem to stop growing, that rises and rises until he thinks he might burst if he doesn’t get to kiss Will at least once? Will makes him feel so much, all the time, that being around him is almost dangerous, a test of human limits—how many emotions can one boy experience before his head explodes?

And yet, somehow, Will makes him quiet. Soft. Gentle. All Will has to do is brush against his shoulder, touch a light hand to his wrist, tell him in an easy voice that everything will be okay, and suddenly everything is.

Why do I want you around? Because you’re my best friend. Because you’re the world to me. Because I think I’ve had a crush on you my entire life and it took me until now to figure it out.

Because there’s so many reasons that he doesn’t even know where to start.

“Will. Do you really think, after everything, I’m just gonna stop being your friend? Really?”

“I—”

“Fuck that. That’s bullshit! Why the fuck would that stop me from being friends with you?”

“I just thought—”

“I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about any of it. Fuck Brian Bernard. Fuck all of them! Everyone in this bullshit town can fuck off. You’re my best friend, not them. I care about what you think, not them. Got it?”

Will is staring at him with wide eyes, silent tears pouring down his face. He nods, determined. “Got it.”

“Good,” he says, settling back into the sofa and grabbing Will’s face to continue patching him up. “I can’t clean this cut if you keep crying.”

It earns him a wet, choked little laugh, and Will brushes his cheeks off, allowing Mike to get back to bandaging him. The silence is warmer, comfortable, and Will sinks back a bit into the sofa, finally looking relaxed—or as close to relaxed as Will ever gets.

“This brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Mike asks after a little, rummaging through the first aid kit to find the vaseline.

“To what?”

“Just when we were little. You were always cleaning me up whenever I got hurt.”

Will grins at the thought. “You were maybe the clumsiest kid in the world. You couldn’t walk a straight line without getting scraped up.”

“Well, lucky I had you, then.”

“You always used to make me kiss it, so it’d get better.”

His face flushes quickly at that. “I was just testing you to see if you’d actually cleaned my wounds properly,” he says in an airy tone. “If you weren’t willing to put your mouth on it, you probably didn’t do a good enough job.”

“Right. That’s what was going on in your little baby brain.”

“I was just trying not to lose any limbs.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What,” he says, trying not to smile, “you’re saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying you barely washed your hands when you were little. You weren’t sanitary enough to care about how clean your wounds were.”

“I was also six, and didn’t know what the word sanitary meant.”

Will’s grin is bright, his eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter, and it makes Mike’s stomach flip. “Still,” he says, “you cared a lot about those kisses.”

“If you don’t kiss it, it doesn’t get better,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes as obnoxiously as he can.

“Right.”

He’s grabbed by the wild impulse, so sudden that he doesn’t even have a moment to question it. “Here,” he says, smile drawing at his lips, and he launches forward, grabs Will’s face between his hands, and plants a sloppy, disgusting kiss to the cut on his forehead.

“Ugh, Mike!” Will shoves him off without grace, his nose wrinkled as he wipes the slobber off his face with the side of his hand. After giving it a shake, he decides to smear it on Mike’s shirt as payback instead, diving towards him to exact revenge.

Mike lets out a loud laugh, delighted that Will is being playful instead of wallowing in the mood he’s been in. He deserves it. He’s had a rough day. But that doesn’t mean Mike’s about to just let him win.

He grabs at Will’s wrists, stopping him short of reaching his shirt, and pulls him back just enough. Mike knows he’s by no means a powerhouse, or even remotely muscular, but he does still have a few inches on Will. Undeterred, Will rips his hands out of Mike’s grip and attacks again, aiming lower and a little further from his reach. Mike slides back on the couch, just barely avoiding the swipe of Will’s hand. But Will doesn’t stop, clambering forward to try again, and Mike snags his wrists one more time, so he bends his hands at a strange angle to wipe the nearly dry spit onto his sleeve.

Mike shoot him a flat look. “Nice.”

Will gives him a look of his own, raising an eyebrow. “If you didn’t want your spit all over your shirt, you shouldn’t have put it on my face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“Next time? No next time, don’t drool on my face a—”

Mike grabs at him again, softer this time, and leans in slowly, pressing gentle lips to Will’s cheek. Will doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, eyes locked into Mike’s. They’re so close. Mike’s eyes fall to the last injury on his face.

They’re so close.

They sit there, foreheads nearly together, Mike’s hand on Will’s face. “One more,” Mike manages, his breath a ghost against the final cut. Will’s mouth.

Will answers with a shiver.

The moment their lips touch is quiet. There are no fireworks or sunbursts or humongous revelations of true love. The ground does not shake and the seas do not part and the world does not spin off its axis. It is simpler than that, and somehow so much more.

It’s safety and warmth and comfort, a well-worn blanket on a winter’s night, a candle in the darkness. It’s the feeling of everything sliding into place, the last piece of the puzzle fitting perfectly, a destiny twelve years in the making. It’s patient and perfect. It’s just how things are supposed to be.

Will’s hand moves against his neck, and he brings himself closer, half-sitting across his lap in what must be an instinctual reaction. They part for just a moment as Mike settles back to catch his weight, but they stay close, foreheads touching and chests rising in and out of sync.

“Mike,” he breathes, and it’s a question and an answer all in one, a soft need for explanation and a silent plea not to stop. Mike knows, he knows, he knows exactly what Will means. He finally understands, he finally gets it, he knows. Will does not move any further, and he doesn’t open his eyes, and Mike replies by recapturing his lips in his own.

He’s not ready to talk just yet.

There’s a hunger he can’t tamp down, not anymore, not now that he’s had a taste. Will is soft and sweet and solid, pliant in his momentary stillness, hands curling themselves into Mike’s chest. And then, he pushes up, forward, into Mike, matching him in passion and power. He’s here, present, pulling Mike closer to him, fingers wound tight in the folds of his shirt. Mike’s hands want to wander, but he forces them to settle on his waist, deliberate and weighted. Will is everywhere, the soft scent of his soap and stale cigarettes, the heat of his thighs around his waist, the lingering, metallic taste of his kisses that make Mike chase his mouth, desperate for more. Will is everywhere, everything, the only thought he can form and the only air he can breathe. He takes one hand and tugs it through his hair, firm but not rough, and relishes in the shudder that racks through Will’s body, that brings him closer and closer. Will is everywhere and everything is Will, Will, Will.

He could get lost in this.

He could see himself falling down this rabbit hole and never even trying to get back up, allowing himself to drown in the simple pleasure of kissing Will. He could do this forever, lost and never found, a willing prisoner of his own desires. He could die now and be happy, except that would mean he wouldn’t get to kiss Will again.

The sharp ring of the kitchen telephone jolts them apart, hearts pounding and limbs shaking. They sit on opposite sides of the sofa, frozen, and the phone goes off a second time, then a third.

Will pushes up to go answer, and Mike is left alone on the couch, sitting in stupor.

He hears Will speaking from the other room, but it sounds far away, almost like it’s coming through the radio. He can’t think, not really. He can’t think of anything but the way Will’s lips felt on his, because he kissed Will. He kissed Will. Jesus Christ, he kissed Will. He kissed a boy—he kissed Will—and his heart is definitely going to explode and he’s definitely going to die right here in the Byers’ living room and he doesn’t care one bit as long as he gets to kiss him again.

“So, I’m suspended,” Will says, voice high and tight as he walks back into the room. “Three days.”

“That was the school?”

“No, my mom. They called her at work. She said she kept arguing with them because she didn’t believe that I punched someone.”

“Well,” Mike starts, trying to sound cheery, “at least you’re not predictable.”

“Yeah, I’m grounded, too.” Will plants himself back on the sofa, as far from Mike as possible, gaze firmly focused on the wall. His face is a burning red, and he twists his hands in his lap. “Probably a lot longer than three days.”

The silence hangs in the air.

There’s a lot to talk about.

Mike scoots forward on the couch, struggling for something to say. “Will—”

He turns to stare at him, like he can’t quite tell if this is a dream, like he was half expecting a unicorn or a Demogorgon to pop out at any moment. Tense, wary, unsure. Mike wants him back where they were just a few minutes ago, open and free. Mike wants him back against him. Mike wants him.

There’s a lot to talk about, but Mike can think of a lot of better things to be doing with their mouths.

This time, when he leans in to kiss him, Will meets him halfway.

eighteen.

College certainly is something, Mike decides.

The dorms of Stanford University are small, to say the least. A little over 100 square feet is hardly enough space for one person, let alone two. He’d been shoved into Stern Hall, a dorm with nearly all freshman residents and community bathrooms, which he is sure will lead to some sort of foot fungus or STD or incurable cancer or maybe all three. He’s just waiting for the day when he ends up in the student health center with purple toenails and they tell him they’ll have to amputate, all because he forgot his shower shoes one night.

The steady whir of his portable heater drones from the corner of his room, pumping blessedly warm air through the tiny room. Technically, he’s not allowed to have it, as it is a blatant fire hazard. But the central heating in the building is horrendous and, as November creeps to an end, does little to stave off the bitter chill of winter. He’s become way too accustomed to the climate here, because winter weather in California is nothing compared to the winter weather of Indiana, but he still finds himself shivering on his walks to class, even when it’s 50 degrees. Still, it’s arguably better than the summer he had moved in; while the building’s heat is bad, it doesn’t have air conditioning at all. The three fans he’d placed around his dorm had just barely managed to bring the room to a livable, if not comfortable, temperature.

Classes aren’t awful, for the most part, as he is still in the first semester of freshman year, but his Introduction to Electrical and Computer Engineering class, which probably had a much easier abbreviation that he couldn’t remember, was proving to be difficult. He frequently finds himself up until two or three in the morning, slaving over projects and cramming for exams. It really wasn’t boding well for the rest of his computer engineering degree.

His eyes itch as he rereads the same paragraph for the fourth time, once again retaining nothing from it.

“Mike,” calls a soft voice from across the very small room. “Come to bed.”

And then there was Will.

“I need to finish this.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

To be fair, it isn’t due tomorrow. It’s just the rough draft, which he plans on taking to office hours tomorrow and then the writing center the next day. He could probably scrape together enough to show the TAs after his chem lecture in the morning. And the thought of sliding into bed and into his boyfriend’s arms did sound terrifically appealing at the moment.

With a sigh, he flicks off the desk lamp and finds his way to his bed by the glow of the nightlight. Having changed into his pajamas almost as soon as he got back from class that day, he goes straight to the covers and slips under, wrapping Will in his arms along the way.

“You stress yourself out too much,” Will murmurs, head tucked into Mike’s chest. “You have to relax.”

“I’m just trying to survive college so I can get a good job. How else am I gonna afford a beach house for us when we’re older?”

Will pulls back, giving him a weird look. “Neither of us want a beach house, and you know it.”

Mike mirrors his expression, but he doesn’t quite manage to replicate it without smiling halfway through. “I don’t want a beach house to actually live in a beach house. I want a beach house so I can say I have a beach house. So when we go to our twenty year reunion and one of those assholes who still lives in Hawkins and has three kids but never married and doesn’t work is like, ‘Hey, queers, whatcha been up to?’ we can say, ‘Oh, just flew in from our beach house. It’s very luxurious and expensive and you should be very jealous that you don’t have a beach house.’”

Will buries his laugh into Mike’s shoulder. “Mike, we’re not going to any high school reunions, and you know that, too.”

“Fine, but I wanna buy you a beach house just to spoil you.”

Will hums as he considers it. “How ‘bout a mountain house, instead? Less sand and less tourists.”

“Yeah, but a lot more walking,” Mike counters. “My thighs hurt just thinking about getting up to a mountain house.”

“That’s a good point,” says Will in a light tone, “but I’ve heard they have this new invention that might help us out. They’re calling them cars, you ever heard of one?”

“Nope. Sounds stupid,” he says, causing Will to scoff and roll his eyes. “But when you’re a famous artist making millions, you can spoil me by buying me one of those.”

“Deal. And I’ll settle for just owning an apartment in San Francisco instead of renting.”

“Sounds lofty, but I like your thinking. I’m in.”

“Really?” Will blinks, putting on an innocent face. “You’d do that for me?”

It’s a joke, Mike knows, but he tucks a strand of Will’s hair back and whispers, “I’d do anything for you.”

“Mike,” he says, a quick flush rising to his cheeks. Mike grins, because a flustered Will in an adorable Will. “You can’t just drop sappy lines like that out of nowhere.”

“Sure I can. I’m your boyfriend. That’s my job.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Your job is to kiss me,” Will says, face set in a stubborn frown. It’s so endearing that Mike’s stomach flips. “And reach things off the top shelf.”

“And say disgustingly cute things.”

“Nope, that’s not part of the description.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I kinda feel like it is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Huh,” says Mike in an airy voice, settling back into the pillow. “Guess I just go above and beyond, then.”

Will lets out a low laugh, planting a quick kiss just above his collarbone. “You should try going to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

A soft sigh echoes out from Will, hot air ghosting across Mike’s neck. “I don’t even want to respond to that, because I know whatever comes next is going to be so sickening—”

“I don’t want to miss a single second with you.”

“Michael Wheeler, I swear—”

But whatever Will is going to say is lost when he pushes Mike onto the bed and crushes their lips together, climbing on top of him as he goes. His hands tug their way through Mike’s hair, a rough and passionate movement, laden with so much affection that Mike’s chest starts to flutter.

“Ow,” he gasps as a sharp set of teeth tears at his bottom lip. “Jeeze, Will. I thought we were trying to go to sleep.”

“Well, you can’t just say stuff like that and expect me to not react to it,” says Will, stroking an apologetic hand against Mike’s neck. “It’s so sweet that I have to kiss you, but so corny that I have to be mad about it.”

“First of all, I love you.” Mike runs a finger along his lips, frowning. “Second of all, I think you drew blood.”

“Sorry. You alright?” Will asks, replacing Mike’s finger with his own as he gets closer to look.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He gives the cut a light prod. “That doesn’t hurt?”

It does, but he doesn’t want to tell Will that. “Just a little,” he whispers instead.

“Here, hold still.” Will shifts, bringing their foreheads together, and strokes his fingers along the back of Mike’s neck. And suddenly everything is in place, everything is right, everything is how it’s meant to be. He lets his eyes fall shut, letting the heat radiating off Will ground him, keep him present, and he knows this is it. This is everything. This is right. This is home.

Will grins against his mouth. “I’ll kiss it better.”