Chapter Text
one
The first time it happens, Will classifies it as a little accident.
He and Mike are walking the long, treacherous trek back to their shared dorm after a frat party that involved a little too much barely-legal drinking; they’re freshmen, having only been at college for a couple months, and they’re still getting used to how different everything is outside of Hawkins, at campus, in a different city altogether.
Mike is piss drunk, Will is just a tiny bit tipsy, which is what makes the trip feel eternal and slippery. Their arms are tangled together and they lean on each other for support, in order to keep themselves on their feet at all. The night is cold and it’s honestly earlier than what they both expected, but that might just be because Will’s buzzed brain still had enough logic in it to recognize that it was time for them to leave if they didn’t want to end up in the worst shape possible for the rest of the weekend.
“Straighten up a little, would you?” Will mumbles, nudging Mike’s side with his elbow. Mike only chuckles and hums in response, making no move to carry some of his own weight. Will huffs out a breath, halfway between amused and annoyed. “Mike, we’re gonna fall over.”
“So be it,” Mike shrugs, the gesture too big; Will almost trips over his own feet and Mike starts laughing like that’s somehow the funniest shit he’s ever seen. Will glares at him, pushing him off him for the pleasure of watching him stumble. “Oh, fuck—”
“Get it together, Mike,” Will covers his mouth with a hand, trying to keep down his giggles. Okay, he might me more than a little tipsy, but it’s honestly hard to tell. Tonight’s the first time he’s drank this much, and he still has no particular fondness for beer or alcohol, but Mike has turned out to be the kind of drinking buddy that turns Will into the shadow of a social drinker. “You’re going to have the worst hangover ever.”
It seems rather convenient that Will feels more at ease around Mike, no matter the setting, but Mike is his best friend. It’s only logical that he’d pry Will out of his shell, just a tiny bit, just enough to let go for one night and enjoy himself like he isn’t dragging around truckload of trauma at all times. Mike’s fake-offended laugh rings across the space between them, pure with joy, his eyes dancing with the light of the lamp posts around them. The paleness of his skin this late at night, paired with the cold, brings out his freckles in a way that makes Will’s fingers itch to trace them.
His breath catches at the sight, but only for a second. He’s gotten better at that, throughout the years; not shutting down whenever Mike as much as look at him with that wide, affectionate smile, those fond eyes. Right now, the look is a little sloppier than usual due to the alcohol, but Mike makes it look ethereal instead of pathetic somehow.
“C’mon, Byers,” Mike says, voice low in his throat, almost speaking through his teeth. His tone drips with warmth as he approaches Will, entering his personal space, and he wraps an arm around his shoulders, the way he did so much when they were younger, and now again with increased frequency. Will tries not to think about the period of time where this type of affection seemed to vanish from his life, allowing the contact to happen now and returning it by wrapping an arm around Mike’s middle. “Don’t be so mean. I’ll have you to take care of me anyways, won’t I?”
Will snorts, shaking his head. “What am I, your personal nurse?”
“If you wanted to be,” Mike says, his tone a little too nonchalant for Will to not blush. Noticing this, Mike drops his head on top of Will’s, putting his towering inches over him to good use and effectively eliminating any semblance of personal space between them. “Aw, see? You’re totally hooked on the idea. You’re gonna love it. I’m a great patient.”
“You got such a big head when you’re drunk.” Is all that Will bothers saying, shaking his head. Mike whines and pouts and shakes his shoulders with his arm to get him to fight back properly, to engage a little more in the teasing, but Will knows his limits better than anyone. If he keeps going, Mike is going to make him spontaneously combust.
Seeing their dorm building approaching, Will hums. “You got your keys, right?”
Mike takes a second to process the question, and doesn’t even pat his pockets. “Can’t remember.”
“Mike,” Will snorts again, rolling his eyes, ignoring the way Mike starts hysterically laughing his ass off again. God, for someone so grumpy and antsy on a daily basis, Mike turns into a fucking goofball as soon as he touches a single drop of alcohol. Will’s not complaining. “You’re so lucky you have me, otherwise your ass would be sleeping on a bench tonight.”
“I am lucky, yeah,” Mike mumbles in agreement, eyes sparkling with laughter. His breath is hot against Will’s cheek, as they’re still pressed together closer than appropriate. But it’s nice. Will rarely gets physical attention like this, ever since they left Hawkins, and he never realized how spoiled he was with his mom’s and Jonathan’s hugs until now, since only Mike ever gets close to cuddly with him these days.
The party parting to different ways of the country hurts, as much as they stay in touch. It will never stop hurting, he reckons, but at least Will has Mike, and Mike has Will.
“You’re not gonna say you’re lucky to have me, too?” Mike asks when Will never replies, seeing as he’s busy opening their dorm with his own keys for them to get inside, his movement limited by Mike’s clinginess. There’s another shake to his shoulders. “Will. Come on.”
He feigns ignorance, guiding them inside and closing up behind him before heading them towards the elevator. Their room is on the second floor, which has never sounded further away than in this exact second. “What is it? You need the bathroom?”
Mike laughs, too loud now that they’re inside, and Will shushes him. Mike successfully reduces his laugh to giggles, shaking his head, but at least does Will the favor of pressing the button to their floor by himself. “Asshole. You know what I asked you.”
“Hm, sorry, I’m too drunk,” Will shrugs, to which Mike pushes him playfully, the same way Will did earlier, only to immediately disrupt his personal space again to go back to hugging. Honestly, Mike isn’t even stumbling that much anymore, he doesn’t need this—but who’s Will to complain? “You’re going to have to work harder than this for a compliment, Michael.”
“We’re pulling the full-names out, seriously? This is how you wanna play this?” Mike asks, voice layered with mock-offense that makes Will laugh, throwing his head back. The elevator stops on their floor, and thankfully, their room is the first on the left, so it barely takes a few steps before they’re in front of their door and Will has to maneuver the keys awkwardly again. “Okay, William, what if I told you that you’re the best friend ever—”
“That doesn’t count, you always say that,” Will rolls his eyes, making Mike groan in amused frustration again. They step inside, and Will turns on the lights as he kicks the door shut behind them. Mike squints, and so does Will, so for several seconds they just stand there groaning under the fluorescent light. Finally, as Will starts moving Mike to drop him off at his bed, itching to change into his pajamas, he says: “Try a little harder, you know you got it in you—”
Will turns his head towards Mike, ready to throw him a smirk, but his amusement dies as he realizes just how closes their faces are. Their noses brush, since Mike was already facing him, hunched over to make up for his height and leaning his weight on Will. His grin is huge, as it often is when he’s this drunk, but his lips are stretched so wide, his dark eyes lit up with so much happiness; it’s the same look from earlier but the closeness makes Will feel it at full force, like he’s still a pathetic twelve-year-old overwhelmed by a crush.
He supposes some things don’t really change.
“Mike—” He starts, a little more serious, and definitely breathless. Mike raises a single eyebrow, glancing down, not moving a single inch even though Will is confident that Mike must have practically felt him talking against his lips, since they’re sharing the same air. Will gestures at his bed. “We should sleep, right?”
He doesn’t know why he phrases it as a question, but Mike doesn’t seem to mind. “Sure.”
Next thing he knows, Mike reaches out with an arm and turns the lights off—it’s a small dorm room, and Mike is all limbs; Will doesn’t envy him simply because it makes things like these downright comical—only to then unexpectedly push Will onto his bed, following right behind barely a blink later.
Will ends up hitting his head against the wall, though not too hard, the air punched from his lungs as Mike lands all over him, instantly turning into dead weight. He wheezes, slapping his hand over Mike’s back. “Michael.”
“William,” Mike retorts, voice full of mirth. Will wiggles, blushing as he feels his whole body rubbing against Mike’s, only for Mike to press his face against Will’s neck and whine like a child. “Stop moving, you’re such a wiggly pillow—”
“Mike, I want my own bed!” Will protests, still wiggling; Mike only concedes enough to allow Will to kick off his shoes, which he also does, and then Mike forcefully pushes him further back in order to fit both their frames properly over the bed. It’s cramped, and Mike’s breath on his neck tickles, and Will loves it. He needs to get out. “Mike, I’m serious. We don’t fit. We’re gonna break the bed.”
“Ask me out for coffee first, jeez,” Mike snorts, making Will sputter, his face heating to a point where Will feels he could fry an egg on it. Mike snickers as Will remains shocked in silence, then leans his elbows on the bed, right next to Will’s head. He’s now caged in, as Mike brings himself upwards to make eye contact. “Will. It’s okay. Let’s just sleep.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Will shakes his head, and he wants to smile, but the tipsiness is fading. He’s too aware of how pressed together they are, how nice it feels to be this close to Mike after—well.
After Henry, they only managed to start patching things up between them around sophomore year, when his family finally moved back to Hawkins following its destruction, and a proper story for Hopper’s return was crafted. Will doesn’t like thinking about that road trip, those endless hours, the emptiness of the view out of his window. The painting. The lies he told and then had to confront. What Vecna did.
It took a lot to get back to this point in their friendship, and sometimes it still feels fragile, despite Mike’s constant reassurance through the years that they’re fine. Better than ever, even.
Will just… he doesn’t want to mess it up again. “We still got our jackets on. And our jeans. Your sheets are gonna smell like shit tomorrow.”
“I can deal with those consequences,” Mike shrugs, and leans down closer, their noses brushing again. Will swallows, blinks fast, and thanks whoever is listening out there that his blush must not be distinguishable in the dark. A sigh against his lips, Mike pressing their foreheads together, and then: “Just relax, Will. It’s okay. It’s just me.”
Will wishes he could tell him that he is everything, so that isn’t a reassuring comment, but that would probably make things more awkward. Not that Mike seems to feel how tense Will is, or if he does, he thinks it’s just because Will wants to be in his own bed and nothing more.
Mike knows he’s gay, though. Shouldn’t he be aware of what he’s doing? Will doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Their friendship has always been physical, but this is, well. Will doesn’t know how to feel about this predicament anymore, and through the darkness he can see that stubborn curl to the corner of Mike’s lips that tells him there’s no way in hell that Mike will let him get out of this one. So…
“Okay,” Will nods, shivering slightly at how it causes their noses to nuzzle. Mike nods back, doing it again, and Will has to force himself to relax, to hide any other feelings that no one else needs to know about behind a wall, practically forcing his brain into it. He takes a shaky, deep breath. “Okay, fine. You win tonight. But if you fall off the bed, that’s on you.”
“I won’t fall,” Mike mumbles, sleepiness already lacing his words, slurring them together even more than the alcohol did. If possible, he leans further down. Their lips brush when Mike speaks. “G’night, Will.”
He tries to open his mouth to say goodnight back, or maybe to get Mike to scoot over into a less compromising position, but he’s stopped by the insistent pressure of lips against his, freezing him solid. Mike lingers, three, four, five, six—seven whole seconds, and then his head drops to the side, his body scooting down just a little on the bed in order to bury his face against Will’s neck again.
Well. Shit.
Will only falls asleep after what feels like hours of panicking but were probably, in actuality, just a few minutes, trying to process what just happened but finding his brain empty. When he wakes, the morning sun is burning through the window onto their faces, and Mike’s cursing as he stands to close the curtains, stumbling all the way. When he turns back to the bed, he sees Will blinking bleary, wide eyes up at him and visibly suppresses a grin.
“Scoot over,” he grumbles, voice dry, and for a second Will can’t do anything other than sigh like a lovesick idiot. It’s a second too late for Mike, because he grumbles more words Will doesn’t catch under his breath and then physically pushes Will towards the wall to lay beside him, arm over Will’s middle. A second of silence passes, then Mike sighs, only to whine: “Fuck, my head hurts.”
Will can’t help it: he breaks down laughing, much to Mike’s offense.
He decides to forget about the kiss. Mike is an idiot who probably can’t distinguish up and down from left and right in this moment, much less so last night when he was drunk.
God, Will is in love with a disaster.
two
Things go along rather smoothly after that. Mike never addresses the kiss and Will would rather die than remind him he planted one on him while inebriated. It’s fine, honestly; Will’s gotten so used to brushing off Mike’s affection that it’s entirely too easy to just… not get hung up on a little impulse gesture, a little accident.
Maybe he should be freaking out more. Maybe he should be thinking about it for weeks on end, fantasizing, having panic attacks about it or just worrying, in general, that Mike somehow thinks that it’s okay to kiss his gay best friend simply because he’s gay and they’re both dudes. If that last thought is the case, well, then, he’s not looking forwards to giving Mike a lesson on how this whole thing works, so either way avoiding it is for the best, for now. That’d be really, really awkward. And it’s not like Will minded.
It was just—well, that’s the thing, he doesn’t know what it was. He knows what it wasn’t: romantic. No way in hell. Will refuses to go down that slippery slope, no thanks. He isn’t into self-delusion, though sometimes he wishes he was. Life is probably a ton more fun like that, but unfortunately, Will was born realistically pessimistic, to the point of self-sabotage. He’s okay with it.
Another thing that kiss wasn’t like, though, is Will’s previous fantasies about it. When he allowed himself to daydream that maybe, perhaps, possibly, Mike could return his feelings someday out of some miracle, especially when they were younger, he’d pictured… well, maybe it’s silly, but Mike being Mike, Will always thought that he’d make some grand dramatic gesture out of it when they first kissed. Maybe he’d confess beforehand and tell Will everything he’s always secretly wanted to hear and knows he never will.
All in all, the actual kiss was kinda awful, if Will’s being honest. It tasted of alcohol and he was stiff as a board for all seven seconds it lasted, and it wasn’t at all helped by the fact that the way his stomach was churning with nerves and shock afterwards wasn’t mixing well with all the drinks he had earlier that night. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe Mike Wheeler, his best friend he’s been in love with for so long that he doesn’t even remember when the feelings started, is an awful kisser, and an idiot with not a single thought between his ears. So, this is fine.
They continue being roommates and absolutely nothing about their dynamic changes. They still go out every Friday night after class to the cinema, sharing a bowl of popcorn and sneaking their own drinks and snacks into the theater. They still meet up every Wednesday during their matching free periods to visit the library in campus and share a jar of coffee as they study together in silence. They still share a bed from time to time, through Mike’s beckoning, when the heater in their room decides to be stubborn and Will—secretly, but Mike always notices—can’t handle the cold.
Sometimes, Will lets himself pretend that this isn’t platonic. But the guilt that comes five seconds after he indulges in that fantasy against Mike’s consent is too great, so it’s only that. A fleeting thought. It’ll make his chest hurt, but then he’ll turn to Mike, who’ll be looking at him with crinkled eyes and that huge, dorky smile he saves for only him, and the pain will subside. He can live like this, with this little piece of Mike, gladly so. It’s more than enough.
Tonight, a Friday, they’ve stopped by a cheap, greasy dinner they visit from time to time when they need to escape campus for a little bit, in order to get some burgers after the movie they were watching let out. Mike insists on take-out rather than staying in the establishment, and when questioned about that, he simply busies himself with the menu that they both already have memorized and shrugs.
“’Dunno,” he grins, looking up at Will through his lashes. He’s disgustingly hunched over the table in order to keep their faces at the same level, which Will rolls his eyes at. Mike’s smile turns wider. “I guess… I just wanted to keep you all for myself tonight.”
Will’s mouth drops open, face heating concerningly fast, and he stutters for a second: “I—uh, I—we see each other every day, Mike. I have to deal with your dirty socks—actually, no, I’ve had to deal with your dirty socks every day ever since we met.”
Another shrug, and this time Mike’s smile has a smugness to it that has Will extremely puzzled. “Not the same. Oh—our order’s ready, let’s go, I’m starving.”
Jesus Christ.
Will decides that Mike is just in a really good mood. The movie theater didn’t have any new releases this week, so they watched IT again, for what must be the dozenth time. It doesn’t really match up with the start of the Christmas cheer around them, as Thanksgivings closes in and November closes out—this time without multidimensional entities haunting them, except for in a few of Will’s nightmares; the anniversary effect really does hurt still—but Will enjoys the routine all the same, and their conversations around the movie itself even more so.
They still don’t know how to feel about it; Mike isn’t the biggest fan of the book, and Will has to admit he likes some of Stephen King’s other work better, though he enjoyed the text just fine. Watching this adaptation leaves them both hung up at odd points every time they rewatch it, switching sides and opinions like it’s a particularly unsatisfying tennis match.
They speak of it the whole walk back, and even all the way up their dorm room and as they eat. They’re sitting on the floor now, next to each other, elbows brushing. Mike’s gesturing as he talks, just an unlucky flick of his wrist away from sending his burger flying.
“At least the first half is scary,” he’s saying, to which Will snorts a little, almost choking on a sip of his Coke. Mike narrows his eyes at him. “Oh, don’t even say it—”
“It’s really not that scary, Michael,” Will shrugs, saying it, watching as Mike lets out an offended huff and rolls his eyes. Will laughs, licking sauce off his lips. “Seriously, I just don’t think it’s that scary, it’s pretty standard—”
“Your standards are ridiculously high!” Mike protests, and Will just rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his burger, swallowing around a laugh as Mike continues: “Like, listen, the suspense is good! The clown is disturbing, don’t deny it! I’m not the only one who thinks it’s scary, ask literally anyone, and I do not find your opinion as a horror snob valid—”
“A horror snob, you mean someone that doesn’t think clowns are scary, Michael?”
“I don’t like how you’re using my full name like it’s gonna make your argument valid,” Mike clicks his tongue, shaking his head, but his smile is so, so wide, and his eyes keep running all over Will’s face. He even puts his food down. “Don’t you think the whole exchange with Georgie is disturbing? At least admit that!”
Will rolls his eyes as he swallows another bite of food. “Mike, we’ve faced down worse things. You do remember the Mind Flayer, right? And Henry Creel? He looked like a raising. Seems scarier than a clown to me.”
“We’re not talking about real life here, Will, come on, that isn’t fair,” Mike insists, and goes as far as to grab Will’s wrist, pulling him into his space with the way he shakes it to drive his point home. “It’s about ruining and perverting an image from our childhood, William—!”
“Oh, so when you do that it’s okay?”
“—we’re gonna have to watch that whole fucking thing again, I swear to god,” Mike declares, letting out one of the most unnecessarily dramatic sighs that Will’s heard in quite a while, squeezing Will’s wrist in his hand and ignoring his laughter. “And this time when we watch it, I want you to suspend your disbelief, Will, come on, you even like the book, you’re halfway there, I didn’t even…”
Mike drifts off, glancing down at Will’s mouth. It makes Will all-too-aware of how close they’re sitting; he can make out the speckles of golden brown in Mike’s eyes, as well as the tinniest of freckles over his nose that are usually only visible under the sun. He swallows, since Mike is being a little too—well. He’s all up in his space and he isn’t being subtle about his staring, and Will is used to it, alright, but this is quite blatant, even for Mike.
He parts his lips, steeling himself to ask what’s happening because confusion is settling in fast, but before he can even finish doing that, Mike leans in and closes the space between them, planting a firm kiss against his lips. Will freezes, eyes wide, staring at Mike’s closed eyelids, the way his lashes brush his cheeks.
Will lets out a tiny, panicked sound, and for some reason he can’t grasp Mike just leans even more of his body into his space, moves his lips just-so in a way that sends shivers up and down his spine, opening them, his tongue brushing against the corner of Will’s mouth—
And just like that, it’s over.
Will blinks as Mike sits back, looking not even a little flushed and smiling just like he was during their argument, his eyes affectionate as Will just stares at him in shock. Mike licks his lips, and Will just barely resists screaming in panic.
“Sorry, you had a little mustard stain,” Mike provides, and grabs what’s left of his burger with his free hand, since his other one is still wrapped around Will’s wrist. In fact, his thumb is rubbing back and forth against his skin in a manner that is simultaneously nerve-wrecking, familiar and soothing. “But as I was saying, we’re gonna go again next week, and I want you in the mood, Byers, you hear me? No excuses, forget about real life, you have to open your mind—”
Will is honestly barely listening, just nodding along and laughing when he thinks it appropriate. What the fuck just happened? He—huh? Is he dreaming? Has Mike been drinking and he somehow hasn’t noticed? What the actual fuck? Will shakes his head, feeling a headache building behind his eyes, finishing his food mostly in silence and allowing Mike to carry the rest of their nightly conversation.
He must notice that he’s completely lost, because after they pick up their trash and get ready for bed, Mike grabs his wrist and pulls him in again, a concerned frown pulling down his lips. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Will says, even though he’s obviously not fine. He feels like his lips are burning where Mike kissed him, and he isn’t sure whether he’s upset or happy or, or what. “Just a little tired.”
Mike knows he’s lying. But he doesn’t push, his eyes shifting to the side for a second with what looks like guilt. What? “Let’s go to bed, then. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”
Will nods with a sigh, takes half a step back to break away and drop himself into his bed—but Mike pulls and wordlessly guides him into his bed, shooting Will an almost bashful smile. “Do you mind? I’m a little cold.”
Well, that’s some bullshit. The heater is working just fine tonight. But Will thinks back to Mike’s face just now, and realizes he’s probably trying to offer comfort without digging in too deep in regards to what’s bothering him. It’s stupidly thoughtful of Mike, as per usual, and it’s enough to make Will decide that he’s not gonna agonize over this kiss. Yet.
“It’s cool,” Will mumbles, climbing into bed with him, letting Mike draw the sheets over them both. He doesn’t question the way Mike pulls him in, because this part is normal. It’s familiar, as much as it makes Will wants to scream.
Then again, everything about Mike lately makes him want to scream.
Holy shit.