Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mike knows what he’s doing is wrong. 

He understands that he really should be focusing on his girlfriend, making sure that she’s having fun at her own birthday party, but all he’s able to think about is how Will is standing across the room, talking to a guy who isn’t him. 

His mind is consumed with variations of: What are they talking about? What can they possibly have in common? Does Will like him? Why is he smiling so much? Is he… blushing? It’s hard to tell from how far he is, but there is a slight twinge of redness spreading across his cheeks. Can that be from the alcohol? Mike hopes that it’s from the alcohol. It has to be. 

“Mike? Are you listening to me?” El sighs, running a hand through the hair she asked Nancy to help curl before everyone got here. She’s beautiful, Mike knows that, but there’s just something that’s… bugging him about her. It’s been brewing in the base of his stomach for a couple of months now, but he knows better than to ever say it out loud or do anything about it. She’s El, after all. She's his girlfriend. “I was asking you if you think we should play a game, or something.”

“A game?” Mike repeats, taking a sip of the alcohol from his red cup, wincing as the bitter liquid coats his throat. He doesn't normally drink, but there's something about tonight that makes him feel like maybe he needs to get drunk. “Like… a drinking game? Beer pong?"

“Not sure,” She shrugs. Mike notices that she's wearing more makeup than usual, and figures that Nancy must have helped her with that, too. “Max mentioned people usually play party games, whatever that means. Things like… spin the bottle, or seven minutes in heaven? I think that’s what it’s called. Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not entirely sure what the other ones she told me about. Just that they're fun to play with a group of people.”

Mike's eyes widen, only slightly. “You know about seven minutes in heaven?”

“I do now.”  She rolls her eyes, though a small smile finds its way on her face. “I'm not entirely clueless, you know."

“I think seven minutes in heaven would be cool,” Mike shrugs, eyes still glued on Will, who is now laughing at something the boy next to him is saying. What’s so funny, anyway? “I haven’t played that game in years, though.”

“I’ll go ask who wants to play,” El nods, leaning over and kissing Mike on his cheek. “You handle the boys, I’ll get Max.”

Mike swallows, the touch still lingering on his cheek. “Sounds good.”

Mike tries not to be annoyed. He needs to be present and positive for El. Instead of paying attention to the birthday girl, he’s shooting daggers with his eyes toward the boy who chooses to sit directly next to Will, in the circle they’d formed to play seven minutes in heaven. Mike looks down at his (now) empty cup, wishing he had more alcohol. Maybe he should fill his cup before they start. 

“Are you okay?” Lucas nudges into Mike’s shoulder, a concerned look on his face. “You look... off.”

“I’m fine,” Mike purses his lips, motioning to his empty cup. “Just want more alcohol.”

“Already, man?” Lucas rolls his eyes, though the concern is evident on his face. “If you get blackout again, I’m telling Karen.”

“You would tell my mom that I got drunk?” Mike asks, eyes still focused on Will. 

“I mean, I don’t have to tell her anything.” Lucas shrugs, a smile appearing on his face. “Would you rather I tell Hopper?”

“Fuck you,” Mike rolls his eyes, really wishing he had another sip of alcohol. 

Mike is forced to tear his gaze away from Will as both El and Max walk back into the room. El smiles at him, and Mike is forced to smile back. She seems genuinely happy, and he knows that only makes it worse. She really loves him. 

“So,” Dustin clears his throat. “To briefly explain the rules for those who don’t know them: whoever spins the bottle has to go into the closet, over there,” He points to one at the end of the hallway, right next to Mike’s room. “For seven minutes with whoever the bottle lands on. You have seven minutes to do whatever you both desire, so long as you remember that we are less than twenty feet away from you, this house isn’t big, and the walls are not thin, so we can hear literally everything you choose to do in there.”

“Please,” Mike mumbles, poking his cheek with his tongue. "I don't want anyone doing weird shit in my closet." He crosses his legs, not missing the blush that appears on El’s cheeks. 

“Who should spin first?” El asks, looking at her friends expectantly. Mike almost suggests that since it's her birthday, she needs to be the one to do the honours, but before he has a chance to speak, Will raises his hand hesitantly. 

“I can,” Will smiles slightly, reaching toward the empty beer bottle in the middle. Mike is unable to make eye contact with his best friend, watching as the glass bottle begins to spin against the wood floor. He finds himself selfishly hoping that the bottle doesn’t land on the boy Will’s been talking to all night. He doesn’t know his name, nor does he want to. Not at all. In fact, he wants absolutely nothing to do with him. Is it possible to kick him out of the party even though he doesn't know who he is? It's his house, so technically, he can do whatever he wants, right?

As if the world enjoys playing cruel jokes on him, the glass bottle points directly at Mike, which makes him realise very quickly that he’s about to be forced to go into a (very small) closet with Will. He pretends like that doesn’t make his pulse quicken.

“Mike and Will,” Dustin claps his hands, looking at both his friends, a big smile on his face. Mike wonders how much he’s had to drink. “You guys are up first!”

El’s smile falters, just barely enough that Mike notices. She quickly replaces her smile with one that’s much bigger and wraps her hand around Mike’s arm. Mike doesn’t have the energy to try to decode what her change in expression means, especially when she’s trying so hard to hide it. “That’s fun! Want me to hold your drink when you go in there?” 

“No need,” Mike shakes his head, tipping his head back as he downs the rest of the alcohol left in the cup. He coughs, not understanding how alcohol could taste that bitter. “I’m already finished with it.”

“Love you,” El smiles, planting another kiss on his cheek. He feels his cheek burn. “I miss you already.”

“Right,” Mike smiles, really wishing that there was more alcohol in his cup and system. "I'll miss you too."

“Is there a reason you’ve been staring at me all night?” Is the first thing Will says when the door shuts behind them. Mike barely has a chance to properly process the fact that he’s alone with Will, in the coat closet, next to his bedroom, with little to no space between them, before he’s forced to come up with an excuse for his staring. 

“No reason,” Mike clears his throat, desperately trying to look away from his best friend. It’s not working; the closet being so small doesn’t give him many other places to look. It’s Mike’s turn to ask a question. “Who’s the guy that you’ve been speaking to? You guys seem close.”

“His name is Chance,” Will shrugs, as though it’s no big deal. It is a big deal, Mike can’t help but think. “I don't know him very well, but he plays basketball with Lucas. He seems nice. I figured he must be nice if El invited him to this party, right?” 

El doesn’t really know Chance, he wants to say. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he hums in agreement, because what else is he supposed to do? “I guess so.”

Will knits his eyebrows together, confused. “That doesn’t sound so convincing. Does she not like him or something?”

Mike swallows. “I think sometimes El can be, you know, wrong about certain things.”

“Wrong?” Will repeats. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, she doesn’t really know the guy, like she’s never personally hung out with him and stuff, at least, not that I know of, and I feel like she would tell me if she hung out with another guy, you know? I think if she does actually get to know him, maybe she wouldn’t like him anymore. Maybe she’d find out that maybe he isn’t so nice.”

Will almost laughs, though he catches himself. “One minute ago, you didn’t even know his name, but now you’re saying you don’t think he’s a nice person?”

“Who knows, really?”

“Are you drunk?” Will studies him, tilting his head slightly. Mike swallows, hoping he doesn’t look as obvious as he feels. “If you don’t know him, and El doesn’t know him, how would you know she wouldn’t like him? Lucas hangs out with him, doesn’t he? I think he probably would’ve told us by now if Chance is like, an asshole or something.”

Mike opens his mouth, but closes it immediately. Wil looks at him, expectantly. “I just—” He exhales, frustrated. “I can tell, you know, that he’s like… bad news. Even if I’ve never really met him before. I’m good at reading people. I consider it one of my many talents.”

“You are?” Will repeats, not convinced. "Are you sure you're not drunk?"

"I'm not drunk." Mike says defensively. 

"Suddenly you're just... good at reading people?"

“Yeah,” Mike says, nodding his head. “I’d like to think so.”

“So,” Will purses his lips, as though contemplating their entire conversation. “Are you telling me that you think I’m bad at reading people? That I have like, bad judgment or something?”

“What? No.” Mike tilts his head back, his head hitting the wooden wall. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Will presses, taking a half step closer without seeming to realise it. There’s barely an inch between them now. Mike’s back brushes against the coats behind him, and he swallows. Why is his heart suddenly beating faster? Why is it suddenly so… hot in the closet?

“I mean, what does it matter if he’s nice to you tonight? You guys barely speak. He could be a totally different person tomorrow, you know. Especially if he is drinking.” Mike knows he sounds ridiculous. He knows that Will knows that he sounds ridiculous, but he can’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. "People act differently when they have alcohol in their system."

“Jesus Christ, Mike.”

“What?” Mike clears his throat awkwardly. 

“Are you jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?” Mike asks, his voice betraying him as it squeaks. “You… you can talk to whoever you want to talk to. It doesn’t matter to me who you’re speaking to.”

“I can?” Will replies, not believing the words coming from Mike’s mouth. 

Mike feels his face heat up. “Why are you asking that like it’s a question?”

“You tell me.” Will takes another step forward. Their hands brush. “You don’t want me to talk to Chance, but why? This doesn't make any sense."

Mike lifts his shoulders. “He’s annoying.” 

“You don’t even know him, Mike." Will sighs, voice exasperated. "You're being ridiculous."

“I don’t have to know him!”

“You’re jealous,” Will crosses his arms, head shaking. “That’s the only explanation. Either that, or you’re just an asshole.”

“Why would I even be jealous?” Mike asks, though it’s obvious the question is pointed toward himself, and ignoring the fact that Will is insinuating that he’s an asahole. He is jealous, and he knows that Will can see right through him. He knows that Will can tell, and that’s why he’s pressing him on it. So what if he’s jealous? Will is his best friend, and seeing him speak to someone else makes his stomach drop and makes his chest hurt. It’s totally normal to feel that way about friends. Especially friends like Will. Best friends. “I have El.”

Will rolls his eyes, as if annoyed he’s bringing up the birthday girl. Mike doesn’t miss the flip of his heart. “I know you’re dating El, Mike. Trust me, you don’t need to remind me.”

Mike stumbles in his response. “Then… Then why would I be jealous?”

“You should ask yourself that question, Mike.” Will sighs, running a hand through his hair. Mike pretends not to notice his bangs that are slightly growing out, almost covering his eyes. He almost reaches out to push them behind his ears so he can see him better. But he can’t. “You’re acting jealous.”

“I swear I’m not.” Mike’s voice falters. He is. He is jealous. He’s jealous, and he knows it’s wrong, but it’s within him. It’s bigger than him. It’s almost like it's bigger than him. 

“So then, if I go on a date with Chance, you wouldn’t care?” Will’s voice is just above a whisper, as though testing the limits of what he can go. “It wouldn’t bother you if, when this is done, I go and tell him that I do want to go out for dinner with him tomorrow night? You wouldn’t care?”

“No,” Mike clears his throat. It does bother him, he wants to say, but he can’t. “It wouldn’t bother me at all.”

“Are you sure?” 

Though it’s dark in the closet, Mike can take in every inch of Will’s delicate features; the way the light still shows off his freckles, the way his cheeks get slightly red every time he drinks alcohol, his eyes that still sparkle despite the lack of light, and the fact that they’re so close to each other. Mike is unable to deny the fact that Will is so… beautiful. It’s a different kind of beauty compared to El, he quickly realises, which makes everything much more complicated.

“Maybe,” Mike isn’t sure if the alcohol he drank before is finally affecting him, but Will looks so good. He’s wearing a flannel— nothing unlike anything he’s ever worn before, but the first four buttons remain undone, and he catches a glimpse of the necklace Mike gave him years ago hanging low on his chest. He still wears it? He’s kept it for so long? “No,” Mike concludes, slowly. “No, I’m not.”

Will, confused, blinks before asking another question. “You’re not… sure?”

Mike’s eyes fall to the floor of the closet. Only then does he notice they’re wearing matching shoes. “No.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’re… jealous?” Will furrows his eyebrows, desperate to understand what his best friend is saying, desperate to understand what he means. “Mike? What are you even saying right now?”

“No,” Mike shakes his head, suddenly feeling self-conscious. A wave of guilt seeps between his collarbones, settling in his chest. His girlfriend is less than twenty feet away from him, separated by nothing more than a closet door. This is literally her birthday party. What is he doing? “I’m… I’m sure.”

The silence between them thickens, and Mike wonders how much time they have left. How come seven minutes feels like a hundred? Is anyone even keeping track of the time? He’s sure Dustin is, at the very least, maybe even El. He’s said too much, he’s sure of it, but there’s no going back now, is there?

“What are you jealous of?” Will’s voice is only a little louder than a whisper, and if Mike weren’t so hyper aware of everything happening between them, he might’ve missed it. 

“You were talking with him. Flirting, even.” Mike swallows, trying his best to keep his voice levelled. It isn’t working. “With Chance.”

“You’re jealous of me… talking?” Will asks, with an unreadable expression displayed on his face. “How does that make any sense, Mike? How would you know that I'm even flirting?”

“You were definitely flirting with him,” Mike cringes, knowing how juvenile it must sound coming out of his mouth. “You were laughing and looking at him… with those eyes. Those… stupid eyes.”

“Eyes?” Will repeats. "What eyes?"

“You know, um, the ones you make when you think someone is cute.” Mike feels his face flush, embarrassed that he’s even saying any of this. He needs to stop talking before he does something he regrets more than he already has. Is it hot in the closet, or is it just him? “I mean, not that I would know, because you don’t look at me like that—”

“Yes, I do,” Will immediately clears his throat. “All the time.”

Mike feels the closet spin around him. Since when has Will become so… straightforward?

“You… do?” This isn’t part of his plan. This is not part of his plan. 

“I mean, I thought it was obvious.” Will avoids making eye contact with Mike. His voice is softer now, as if he’s also afraid of what might happen when he says what he is really feeling. Mike wonders if it’s possible to explode in his spot. “I just, you know, have to back off because of El.”

Mike doesn’t register what Will’s saying, because his mind is consumed with thoughts of his best friend saying that he thinks he’s cute. His best friend thinks he’s cute and has been looking at him. 

“Because of El?”

“Yes?” Will looks at him like he’s crazy. “She’s your girlfriend, Mike.”

“I know she is,” Mike echoes, his voice barely there. Suddenly, Mike hates the fact that El is his girlfriend. He hates the fact that he’s with El when Will is right here. 

“Then you get it,” Will says, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Mike. “I don’t get to—” He stops, exhales through his nose. “I don’t get to look at you the way I want to. Not really. Not while you’re with her.”

Mike’s heart lurches, and he feels like it may burst out of his chest. “Like you… want to?”

“Mike,” Will lets out a shaky breath, nervousness evident in his tone. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Mike knows exactly what he’s trying to say. He just wants to hear it from Will himself. “Do you… like me?”

“Yeah, I do.” Will finally looks at him then, really looks at him, and there’s no sense of humour in his eyes, no deflection, and Mike doesn’t even think Will is drunk. His eyes are full of honesty, and Mike thinks it’s terrifying. “Probably a little too much.”

The closet feels like it’s closing in again, the air thick and warm between them. What’s he supposed to do? Mike knows the right thing to do is tell Will that he’s dating El, and that’s who he wants to be with. But there’s just something about Will. There is something about the boy standing before him that makes it difficult to do that. 

“Will,” Mike whispers, and he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say with his name, but he takes a step closer to his best friend. Instinctively, he places his hands on Will’s waist, his heart almost stopping at the realisation of how small his waist is. “Will, look at me.”

“What are you doing?” Will stutters, eyes falling to Mike’s hands on his waist. “Why are your hands on me?”

Mike ignores his questions, biting the skin inside his cheek. His cheeks are flaming red, and suddenly – nothing else matters.“Will, I need you to look at me.”

“This…” Will shakes his head, his bangs slightly brushing over his eyes, but he’s looking. “This is a bad idea.” 

“I know,” Mike mutters, hands still gripping onto Will’s waist, as though afraid the moment he lets go, his best friend will disappear along with the touch. He also can’t help but squeeze his grip, causing a light, airy breath to come out of Will’s mouth. “God, I know.”

“You’re dating El.” Will’s voice comes out pained. “Not me. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Mike’s face twists, like the words coming from his best friend physically hurt him. He really wishes he weren’t dating El. “I know.”

“El will be heartbroken,” Will mumbles, though not moving away from the boy standing before him. “She loves you.”

“Probably.” Mike nods his head slowly, biting the inside of his cheek. He knows El loves him – she tells him all the time. It’s hard to acknowledge, but sometimes, he says he loves her too. He isn’t sure how much he means it, though. 

“Do you love her?” The words fall off Will’s tongue, and Mike feels horrible. He knows he doesn’t love her, at least, not in the way she loves him, but how is he supposed to say this out loud? How is he supposed to admit it… to Will?

Does he even love El? 

Mike feels like he may throw up rather than admit, out loud, to Will that he may not love El nearly as much as he loves him. “We don’t need to talk about this, Will, we can just pretend like this conversation never even happened—”

Will kisses him before he even has a chance to finish his sentence. Mike immediately reciprocates, tightening one of his hands at the base of Will’s waist, and the other moving up to cup his cheek. 

As he kisses Will, Mike doesn’t have to think; he just knows: he knows that Will likes to be held, that he wants to close the distance between them as quickly as possible, and that Will is into it as much as he is. 

Both of Will’s hands immediately wrap around Mike’s neck, as though he’s also been waiting for this. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and Mike lets him. 

Very quickly, Mike realises that this is different from El; this is better than her. 

Electricity burns through his veins, as if reminding him that this is what it should feel like. Mike takes a step forward, and Will’s back bumps against the wall of the closet. He wonders if anyone heard the noise. He doesn’t find it in himself to care. Will, to steady himself, pulls Mike even closer and earns a small moan from his mouth as their bodies touch. 

As though brought back to reality, Will immediately pulls away from Mike. Mike misses the feeling of Will’s lips on his, furrowing his eyebrows together at the abrupt separation. 

“Mike…” Will’s head is shaking, as if he just realised what he’s done. He’s looking at Mike, eyes filled with a mixture of worry and fear. “What did we just… What did I…”

“Will,” Mike’s voice is steady, knowing they’ve officially crossed lines they were never supposed to. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay, I promise—”

The door to the closet opens, and both boys immediately separate from each other, taking a big step toward the closet walls, afraid someone may understand what just happened in the closet. Do they notice? Does El notice?

 Mike knows he can’t look at Will, not for the rest of the night. His mind continues to replay their kiss over and over and over. They kissed. They really kissed. There’s no way they can speak about this, not now, and definitely not at El’s birthday party. 

Instead, Mike exits the closet first. He doesn’t look back at Will, who he knows is following shortly behind him. 

“What did you guys talk about?” El asks, smiling as Mike returns to the spot next to her. He smiles back, swallowing. “This game seems so fun, doesn’t it? I can’t wait for my turn!”

“Just a little bit of everything, really.” Mike shrugs, his voice a higher pitch than usual. He hopes that El doesn’t notice. “You know how it is. Best friend stuff.”

“Cool,” El hooks her hand with his, not pushing any further. “Max is right, this game is exciting!”

Mike awkwardly nods his head, not having it in him to look at Will for the rest of the night. 

 *

They need to talk about it. 

Mike is painfully aware that Will has been acting weird around him, and he isn’t the only one who noticed it. But they haven’t had the opportunity and luxury of being alone, so Mike can’t bring it up to his best friend (and yes, it’s driving him absolutely insane).

“Has Will been acting… weird around you, too?” Jonathan asks, filling Nancy’s cup with water, then his own. 

Sitting next to his older sister at the dinner table, the three of them are eating pizza they ordered with the money his mother left before going out for the night. Mike wishes that Will were here, too. When Jonathan mentioned he was coming over to see Nancy and asked if he’d like to tag along, he claimed that he was not feeling well. Mike knows Will enough to know that’s an excuse. 

He’s likely feeling fine; he just doesn’t want to see him. Is it bad for Mike to feel slightly… hurt? 

“Weird?” Mike clears his throat, avoiding eye contact as he takes another bite of his slice of pepperoni. “What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t been talking much,” Jonathan shrugs. “Which, I guess, wouldn’t be totally out of the norm for him, but I feel like something in him shifted.”

“Shifted?” Mike swallows, repeating the word. He doesn’t know what to say, not really. There is no way he can even begin to explain to his own sister, and Will’s older brother, that they made out in the closet during seven minutes in heaven, while Mike is dating El, and he enjoyed it.  

That’s not a conversation they have over shared pizza, and regardless, Mike doesn’t think it’s any of their business, anyway. Maybe he’ll call Will after dinner. See if he’s feeling better. Maybe he would even want to come over later. 

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, leaning back, chair legs scraping softly against the floor. Mike winces at the sound. “He’s constantly drifting off, too. Like he’s somewhere else. He barely even leaves the house or goes to see you lately.”

“Oh, right.” Mike’s chest tightens. How did Jonathan notice that? He takes a quick sip of water to buy himself a second. Can they tell he’s nervous? Is it written all over his face? “He’s probably just… dealing with stuff. Will does that.”

“Did you guys have a fight, or anything?”

“No?” The words come out rushed, and Mike immediately stuffs his mouth full of more pizza. “I mean, what would we even fight about? We’re best friends, aren’t we?”

Nancy doesn’t answer right away. She’s quiet, watching Jonathan refill the pitcher, then she sets her pizza down carefully, like she’s mentally trying to choose her words before speaking. Mike stops himself from wincing, knowing that she usually does that before she’s about to lecture him on something he’s done wrong. 

“It’s not just that he’s quiet,” Nancy states, slowly. “It’s how careful he’s being. Like he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.” She glances at Mike, not accusing, just observant. “Like he’s on edge or something, you know?”

Mike’s fingers curl around his cup. He feels exposed, like the room suddenly got too bright. Act cool, Mike. She doesn’t know anything. She didn’t even go to the party, so how would she know that they made out? That Will… confessed his feelings to him? That Mike enjoys kissing him more than he does his own girlfriend?

“I mean, I didn’t particularly see any difference, but…”

Nancy sighs, shifting in her seat. “Will’s been through more than most of us. I just don’t want him carrying everything alone again.” She sends a soft look toward Jonathan. “Ultimately, we just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Jonathan nods, his expression tight. “I don’t know what it is, but I know he’d speak to you, Mike.”

“You’re his best friend,” Nancy adds, and Mike wants the ground to swallow him whole. “He trusts you more than anyone else.”

Are they doing this on purpose?

“You’re like his brother.” Jonathan purses his lips, though clearly trying not to push the topic too much. Being called Will’s brother makes him feel slightly nauseous. Does he know anything? “Please, can you at least try to see what’s bothering him?”

“I’ll check on him,” Mike says, clearing his throat, the words getting caught in his throat. “I promise.”

*

“So…How are things with you and El?” Nancy asks, pouring milk into her cereal bowl. “She hasn't been coming over often, lately.”

Why does it feel like everyone is interrogating him lately?

“Good,” Mike tenses, using his spoon to pick up the disintegrated bits of cereal roaming around his milk. He hates it when it gets soggy. “We’re fine.”

“That’s it?” She asks, eyebrows raised. “Fine? Isn’t it getting kind of… serious between you two? How long have you guys been together, again?”

“Three years,” Mike replies as though it’s no big deal. Three years isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. He has many more years to go, and hopefully, he will be able to look back at the three years spent with El with fondness. Every time he tries to think about a future with her, his mind becomes clouded with thoughts of a future with him. “At least, it’ll be three years sometime next month.”

“Sometime next month?” Nancy looks at her younger brother sceptically, almost having it in her to laugh. “You don’t know the date of your own anniversary?”

“I do know,” Mike says as he stands up, bringing his spoon to the sink and his lips to the edge of the bowl as he drinks the milk, hoping his older sister would take the hint and leave him alone. Mike doesn’t even like the leftover milk from the cereal bowl; he’s just desperate to avoid speaking to Nancy longer than he needs to. “It’s either the thirteenth or the twenty-second.”

“What?” She doesn’t take the hint, shaking her head. “Those are two wildly different dates.”

“They’re close enough.” Mike places his (now) empty bowl into the kitchen sink, hoping she would understand that he really doesn’t want to talk about El right now. He doesn’t want to talk about their anniversary, especially not to Nancy. 

“I don’t think they’re close at all,” Nancy walks to the sink, giving him a look that Mike knows well enough as disapproval. “Do you have anything special planned for her? Dinner, maybe?”

“Is El your girlfriend, or mine?” Mike snaps, ignoring the confused look that overtakes her face. “Stay out of it.”

“She’s your girlfriend, yet you don’t even know when your anniversary is, Mike. Girls like it when their boyfriends remember basic stuff. You’ve been dating her for almost three years; you guys aren’t kids anymore. She should be a priority for you.”

“Who said she isn’t a priority?” Mike runs a hand through his long hair, trying his best to leave the kitchen before this turns into an argument. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know more than you do, clearly.”

“Stay out of it.” Mike snaps, before exiting the kitchen, his face tinged red. 

*

“I feel like it’ll take hours to clean your room,” El sighs, lying down on Mike’s bed. Staring at the ceiling, she sighs for a second time. “Can’t we organise another day? Let’s watch a movie or something, or cuddle a bit. It’s cold here.”

Mike doesn’t look at El, too busy rummaging through piles of books he’s shoved into the corner over the last year. “I can’t procrastinate cleaning my room anymore, El, my mom keeps threatening to kick me out if I don’t get it done.”

“Kick you out?” El’s eyes widen, looking at her boyfriend with confusion. “Do you think she would really do that?”

“Probably not, but.” Mike grimaces. “I’m really not in the mood to take the risk today.”

El nods her head in agreement, knowing that Mike’s mother often makes these types of threats toward him. “I mean, worst case, you can come live with us in Hopper’s cabin. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Hopper?” Mike looks at El, eyebrows raised. “You want me to move in with the guy who hates me?”

“He doesn’t hate you,” El rolls her eyes. “He’s just… protective of me. There’s a difference.”

“I’ll pass,” Mike groans, picking up another book. 

“I don’t think it would be too bad,” El shrugs, now lying down on her stomach. “It would be nice to live together, you know.” 

Mike pauses, turning toward her. “Together?”

“Yeah,” El smiles, sitting up on Mike’s bed. “We would get to spend more time together. Have breakfast together every morning, dinner every night…” Her voice trails off, and she lets out an awkward laugh like she's suddenly feeling super self-conscious. “Forget it, Mike. It’s kind of stupid now that I’m saying it out loud, isn't it?”

“It’s not stupid,” Mike shakes his head, giving El a small smile. He only smiles because he knows she needs it. Truthfully, the thought of living with El makes his head hurt. Still, he pushes through, because he has to. “I think that could be nice.”

“What’s in here?” El hums, swinging her legs off of the bed and sitting on the floor next to Mike. Mike reaches for the box, hoping, really hoping, that El isn’t going to go through it. But of course, she does. Picking up the stacks of papers, she makes her way through the pile of drawings Will has made for him throughout their many years of friendship. “Oh, wow. Who… who made these?”

“Will,” Mike replies, trying to keep his voice as relaxed as possible. He’s not sure it works. He looks at El to gauge her reaction to seeing them, but she diligently looks through every single one. In turn, it forces him to look through them all again. Mike cringes at the fact that every single drawing, sketch and painting is of him. What is El thinking right now? Does she think this is weird? He isn’t sure if the red tinge on his face is due to the drawings or embarrassment. “He’s super good, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is.” El swallows, eyebrows pushed together as she flips through each paper on the stack. El knows that Will likes to draw; everyone in their friend group does, but he doesn’t think that she knows how much he likes to draw Mike. To be completely honest, it’s one of his favourite things: he loves getting new drawings from Will, he loves being told to sit still while they’re in the basement, or if Mike is wearing a shirt that Will likes, he always wants to draw it. It’s just so… Will. “Are these all… drawings of you?”

“Yes,” Mike can’t help but smile, picking up one of the sketches. Will is the most talented person he knows, and he’s sure that it’s okay to keep all of his drawings, sketches and paintings because he’s his best friend, right? El would understand, wouldn’t she? They’re friends, too, and she would also want to support Will and his art, right? “He doesn’t even need me to be next to him as a reference anymore. Isn't that, um, cool?”

El continues to flip through the rest of the papers, an unreadable expression etched on her face.

 “I’ve never realised that he notices all of your… details, Mike. Like… how your hands are a bit big. Your expressions. Your bone structure - especially your cheekbones, and the way you lean forward when you're in the middle of a conversation…" She flips through some more of the drawings. "He’s got them all, perfectly. How come you’ve never shown me any of these before?” 

“He’s my best friend.” Mike clears his throat, suddenly unable to make eye contact with El. “Of course, he notices things. Wouldn’t it be weird if he didn’t? What kind of best friend would that make him? I also haven't shown you because they're his drawings that he's made for me. I can ask him if it's okay to share any of his new ones, if you'd like." He isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince her or himself. 

"I'd like that." She smiles a little, nodding her head slowly. "Do you think if I asked him to make one of us, he would?"

"Totally," Mike's heart aches. "I mean, yeah, I'm sure he would if you were to, um, ask him?"

"I'll do that, then." El replies excitedly. "If he ends up doing it, I will put it right next to my bed, in a pretty frame."

"Next to your bed?"

"Of course," El continues. “Will is super talented. He really got every single detail in these things. I guess I'm able to see them because I notice those things, too.”

“You do?” Mike replies, throat dry. Why does this feel so… wrong? She’s his girlfriend. Of course, she’s supposed to notice these kinds of things. She needs to, doesn’t she? But then… Why is Will noticing them, too, if they're not even dating? 

“Of course I do, Mike.” She nudges into him. The touch makes Mike feel nothing. “I notice everything about you. I love you, Mike.” 

“Oh,” Mike carefully takes the pile from El’s hands, a little more rushed than necessary, and slides them back into the box before she has time to examine them more. His hands feel clumsy, guilty. He needs to say it back, doesn’t he? Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do? “I love you, um, too, El.”

“For always?” She asks, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

Mike thinks he might throw up. “For Always.”

*

“Are we seriously going to watch another shitty horror movie?” Dustin groans from the floor, tilting his head back so it’s leaning against the couch. “There’s only so much of this I can take, you know.”

“Can we do one more?” Lucas asks, nodding his head, arm still around Max. “I don’t want to go home, yet. Erica has friends over, and to be honest, I really don’t want to deal with them.” 

Mike doesn’t mind spending his night watching horror movies. He doesn’t find them to be particularly scary, but it does give him an excuse to be closer to Will, so maybe watching them is a good idea. With El on his left and Will on his right, Mike lifts the blanket all three of them are sharing up to his neck. He mentally thanks himself for choosing the one that’s longer than the rest.

“I’m good to watch another,” Will nods his head, biting the inside of his cheek. Mike wonders why he looks so… nervous. Is it because of him? “It’s only what? Like eight-thirty?”

“Yeah,” Max agrees, looking down at her watch. “Dustin, let’s just watch one more. Unless you know, you’re scared, which I guess would make sense for you.”

“Scared?” Dustin scoffed, insulted by the insinuation of his friend. Shaking his head, he continues speaking: “I never said I’m scared of a stupid horror movie!”

“What other reason wouldn’t you want to watch it, then?” Max teases, smiling at the fact that she’s able to get under Dustin’s skin easily. “And don’t say it’s because of the plot holes or the shitty budget. Those make these movies actually entertaining to watch.”

“You’re so annoying,” Dustin groans, turning toward his other friends. “Fine, we’ll watch another, but I get to choose which one,” Dustin huffs, heading toward the stack of films on the table.

“You’re just going to choose the least scary one!”

“I am not scared!”

Mike doesn’t know when it happens, he really doesn’t. But there he is, during the movie, with his hands in Will’s. They’ve held hands before, but never under the covers. This time, it’s more secretive. It’s more guarded. Like they’re afraid someone might find out. Which, for the record, he is afraid of his girlfriend, who is less than one foot away from him, finding out.

Why does the simple action of handholding with Will make him feel more than his entire relationship with his own girlfriend?

It has to be real, because Mike can feel his heart thudding way too loud for something that’s supposed not to be happening. Something that’s a secret. Something that’s their secret. 

Under the blanket, Will’s thumb starts tracing the smallest circle on the back of Mike’s hand. It’s absent-minded, like he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Mike’s breath catches anyway. How is it possible that the smallest of touches makes his world flip on its head?

El gasps sharply as a jumpscare appears on the screen, and bolts sideways, straight into Mike’s chest.

Mike barely has time to react before his arm comes up automatically, one wrapping around El’s shoulders as she presses her face into his hoodie. His heart is pounding now, too, loud enough that he wonders if she can hear it. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, instinctively. “You’re okay.”

El exhales, a shaky little laugh escaping her. “That was… scarier than I thought it would be. Dustin might have a real reason to be scared of these.”

Earning a groan from the other side of the room, Dustin yells: “I’m not scared!”

Mike smiles, but even as he does, he becomes acutely aware of something else: his other hand is still under the blanket, still laced with Will’s.

He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t want to. 

El sits up too, the blanket sliding down. The air feels cooler without it. Will’s hand slips away at the same time, like it was never there at all. He pulls back, tucking his hands into his sleeves, cheeks a little pink.

Mike shifts, trying to ignore the way his hand now feels empty, like something’s been taken from it. He misses the warmth immediately. 

*

They’re sitting on Will’s bed with notebooks spread out between them, pencils untouched for far too long. 

It’s a bit awkward, the way that Mike is sitting way too close to Will, close enough that their knees brush occasionally, though none of them choose to bring it up. 

Their dynamic has shifted, very obviously. Mike takes any (and every) opportunity to get closer to Will, and Will accepts the closeness with open arms. They don’t question anything, and they still haven't talked about what happened at El's birthday party. Maybe it’s better that way; avoiding any difficult conversations; if they don’t acknowledge it, they won’t risk anything… bigger growing from it. 

Besides, winter break is around the corner, and they have way too many exams to think about anything else. Unfortunately for Mike, any and all attempts to focus on doing any form of school work are proving to be an incredibly difficult task. He’s trying to focus, he really is. He forces himself to read the question again, to write literally anything down so Will doesn’t notice that all he’s been doing for the past hour, instead of his algebra, is stare at him. 

In Mike's defence, it’s hard not to stare, especially when Will opened the door, and Mike realised that he’d gotten a haircut earlier that morning. Mike can’t lie, he really can’t, because it looks so… good. It brings out the delicateness of his features, making him look even softer somehow, framing his face in a way that makes Mike’s chest feel tight. God, he’s beautiful. 

As if that isn’t enough, Will also decided it would be a good idea to wear his glasses. The thin frames sit perfectly on his nose, catching the light every time he moves. Is he doing this on purpose? He has to be doing this on purpose. 

“Are you okay?” Will asks, voice low. He shifts on the bed, as though he’s trying to dissect why his best friend is acting so… off. 

“Yeah,” Mike replies, voice slightly higher-pitched than normal. “Why… Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been staring at me for like, the past twenty minutes.” Will mumbles, gaze dropping to the comforter of the bed beneath them. “Do I have something on my face?” 

Much to Mike’s horror, Will noticed the fact that he is unable to take his eyes off of him. Great, he thinks. Quickly shaking his head, Mike looks up at the ceiling instead of the boy sitting before him. 

“No, you don’t have anything on your face. It’s just… well, you look, um, good today.” Mike barely gets the words to leave his mouth. “I like your glasses.”

Will looks up from his notebook, a quick look of surprise covering his face, and pushes the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You… do?” His eyebrows knit together slightly, like he’s not sure if Mike is joking. Mike almost has half a mind to assure him that he’s the furthest thing from joking. In fact, he’s never been more serious about something in his entire life. 

“Yeah,” Mike replies immediately, head shaking. It’s the truth, one hundred percent the absolute truth. The urge to kiss him again, right now, right here on Will’s bed, hits him all at once. “I really do.” 

With the small space between them, he manages to shift closer to Will, who becomes suddenly aware of the fact that Mike seems really into his glasses, his gaze constantly flickering back toward them. 

“Should I wear them more often?” Will asks, voice casual, but his fingers fidget with the edge of the paper. Mike can tell that he’s nervous. Does Mike make him nervous? Because Will makes him nervous, and Will wearing glasses makes him even more nervous. "You seem to be a really big fan of them."

“Only when you’re around me,” Mike replies quickly, scratching the back of his neck. Is that okay to say? Why would Will want to only wear them around him? He needs them to see, doesn't he? He should be able to wear them everywhere. Is he overstepping? “I mean… that’s also like, your decision, because you know, they’re your glasses, so really you can wear them whenever you want to. I shouldn’t really have a say in that, should I?”

“Only you?”  A small, teasing smile spreads across Will’s face, ignoring Mike's rambling. Mike tries to ignore the heat creeping up his cheekbones. “Not even… Chance?”

Mike clears his throat, trying to focus on anything other than Will. Mike quickly learns that it's incredibly difficult, “Especially not him.”

Will swallows. “What would you do if I… did?”

“Did what?” The words barely leave Mike’s throat, scratching the skin. 

“Wear them,” Will shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “In front of Chance.”

“I…” Mike blinks rapidly, unsure of what he even wants to say. He would be jealous, namely, that much he knows. So, he settles on the following: “Come here.” 

Will doesn’t hesitate.

Their lips meet instantly, like they’ve both been waiting for the right excuse to kiss each other for a second time. Mike’s hand comes up to Will’s arm without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. He uses his other hand to push all of their school work off of the bed, not caring for the sound it makes when it hits the wooden floor. The door is locked, anyway.

Will breaks away from the kiss for a second, looking down at their stuff, reaching to take off his glasses, but Mike places a hand on his wrist before he’s able to. 

“Keep them on.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, quietly. His eyes trace every part of Mike’s face, as if worried he may forget what he looks like if he looks away for more than a second. Mike quickly realises just how much he loves it when he stares at him. 

“Please.” Mike nods enthusiastically, eyes not leaving Will’s. “You’re… really pretty.”

Will lets out a quiet breath against Mike’s mouth, leaning in just a little more. Their lips meet for a second time that day. The boys move in unison, now lying down on Will’s bed. 

Mike leaves a trail of kisses down Will’s jaw, to his neck, and it takes everything in his being to not want more. Will tilts his head instinctively, breath hitching when Mike’s lips brush the sensitive skin of his neck. He wants all of Will. How is it possible for him to feel this way, so viscerally?

“Mike,” Will whispers, swallowing. 

“Hm?”

“What… What are we doing here?” Will asks, voice breaking, suddenly pulling away from Mike. 

“What do you mean?” Mike looks down, then back at Will. “We’re making out.”

“No,” Will shakes his head. “I know that, but… I’ve been thinking and stuff, and am I just… am I just your secret?”

Mike turns his head toward his best friend, immediately sitting up on the bed. “No, Will, of course not."

“Then what am I?” Will’s eyes rapidly fill with tears. “Because I’m sure as hell not your boyfriend, but… but we keep doing this. Just… we just keep kissing, and touching, and then the moment El is around you suddenly remember that she’s your girlfriend and want nothing to do with me.”

“I want you to be my boyfriend,” Mike’s voice breaks. “I really do. It’s just… What am I supposed to do? I’ve been with El for years, she… she talks about marriage sometimes—”

“Marriage?” The words fall from Will’s mouth, drowning in hurt. “You… you guys are going to get married?”

“No! I don’t want to marry her, Will.” It’s Mike's turn to cry. “I can’t marry her. I have no plans of marrying her.”

“Does she know that?”

“Give me one month, okay?” Mike asks, desperation lacing his voice. He doesn’t even know why he’s suggesting a month, but all he knows he needs more time. “One month, and I’ll figure everything out. Please.”

“What? Another month of you… hiding me? Of me having to listen to El… gush over you and have to pretend like I’m not also seeing you? This... this is way too complicated, Mike.” 

“I’m not trying to make things complicated—”

“But you are,” Will snaps, then immediately softens, as if he regrets it. He pulls his glasses off, rubbing his eyes. “Look, Mike… This entire thing is a lot, if you can’t tell.”

Mike understands that it may feel complicated, but Will needs to understand that he’s sure that he wants to make this work. “I promise I won’t–”

“I feel dumb,” Will says suddenly, voice thin. “Do you have any idea how stupid this makes me feel? Sitting here, listening to you talk about her, about the possibility of marriage, and I’m supposed to just… what? Be patient? Be understanding that I’m just the… person you’re cheating on her with?” His laugh is sharp, though devoid of any real humour. “I’m starting to feel like I’m just the person you sneak off to when you get sick of El. Do you even like me?”

“Of course, I like you,” Mike’s chest tightens painfully. “Will, you're super important to me. You’re…. that’s not what I’m trying to say, at all—”

“Well, Mike, that’s exactly what it feels like,” Will cuts in, finally looking at him. His eyes are red, glassy, and desperate. Mike wants to reach out to him, tell him that no, he’s not just a person he wants to sneak off to. “I don’t want to be a secret. I don’t want to be the person you come to when you’re confused or lonely. I want to be the one you call first. The one you sit next to without worrying who’s watching. I want to be able to hold your hand, I want to be able to kiss you in public, I want you. All of you. I don’t care if this makes me selfish, but I don’t want you to be with El.”

Mike stands up from Will’s bed, hands hovering uselessly at his sides. He wants to reach out and grab Will’s hand. “You are that person to me.”

Will almost has it in him to laugh. “Am I?”

Mike shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. “That’s not fair, you know I would be with you if things were easier. Of course I would.”

Will scoffs. “I know it’s not fair. That’s the problem. None of this is fair. Not to her, and not to me.” He presses a hand to his chest like it physically hurts. “I don’t want to be the other one, Mike. I can’t be.”

Mike’s throat tightens. “You’re not.”

“But I am,” Will says softly. “Right now? That’s exactly what I am. We have to… hide the fact that we spend time alone, we kiss when we’re not supposed to… what else would you call me?”

The words land heavily between them.

“Will…”

Will drags in a breath, as though it hurts. “You keep saying you don’t mean to hurt me, but you are,” he says quietly. “And I know you don’t want to hurt her either. So where does that leave me, Mike?”

Mike opens his mouth, but immediately closes it. What can he even say to make Will feel better? He knows that what he’s doing is hurting them both, and he wants to take every ounce of pain away from Will. How can he do that if he’s still with El? El’s face flashes in his head, the sound of her laugh, the way she trusts him so completely, and then Will, standing right in front of him, eyes wrecked and shining, like he’s bracing for another round of pain. What is he supposed to do? How can he make this better?

“I feel like I’m doing something wrong just by wanting you,” Will continues, voice shaking. “Like I’m the problem. If… If I were able to control myself and stop being so… so selfish, we wouldn’t be in this situation. This... this is all my fault, isn't it?”

“That’s not true,” Mike blurts, too fast. “God, Will, that’s so not true. You’re not… Why would you be selfish?”

“I literally want someone who is taken, Mike. Someone who isn’t single, someone who has been in a relationship for almost three years. Isn’t that the literal definition of being selfish?” Will continues, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what to do,” Mike says, voice breaking apart. “I don’t know how to avoid hurting El. I care about her, and I—” He chokes, eyes burning. “And I care about you so much it’s ruining me.”

Will laughs softly, miserably. “That’s not an answer.”

Mike doesn’t let Will speak anymore. 

He closes the distance in a rush, hands coming up to Will’s shirt, fingers gripping tight as he presses their mouths together. It’s sudden and desperate, all pent-up fear and confusion poured into one reckless motion.

He wants Will. He wants Will so, so badly. 

Will makes a soft, surprised sound against his lips, but kisses him back like he always does. 

*

“I think those two are really hitting it off,” Lucas nods, motioning to Will and Chance, who just happened to also be invited to this party. Is this some form of sick joke? Is the universe punishing Mike? Why the hell is Chance here?

“He looks miserable,” Mike huffs, trying his best to avoid staring at Will for too long. It’s no use, he thinks. He’s staring, and it’s obvious that he hates Chance. 

“If by miserable you mean, entranced or something.” Dustin adds, still looking at the pair. “Then yeah, he looks miserable.”

“He’s probably just being polite,” Mike mutters, though it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. “You know how he is. Doesn’t like hurting feelings and stuff. They'll probably stop talking soon.”

El shifts closer beside him, her arm brushing against his and placing her hand in his palm. He doesn’t hold onto it. 

“Mike?” El says softly, glancing between him and the other side of the room. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” He answers too fast, then clears his throat. He looks down at his lap, realising that he didn't reciprocate the touch from his girlfriend, so he immediately curls his hand around hers. “Yeah. I’m getting a headache, I think. The music is a bit too loud.” 

She studies him for a second longer, “You sure that’s not from the three glasses of alcohol you’ve had already?” She sighs, giving him a disapproving look. “I told you not to drink too much tonight.”

“It might be from that,” Mike says, again, voice unconvincing, his eyes still focusing on Will from across the room. He’s not drunk, he knows that he’s totally sober — but the comment from El makes him want to roll his eyes. “I’m fine, though. Thanks for asking."

Chance says something, leaning in way too close to Will for Mike’s liking, and Will laughs, he actually laughs, head tipping back a little. Then he gives Chance a light shove to the shoulder, playful, like it’s automatic. Chance grins and bumps back into him, clearly encouraged. What are they even doing? Why are they… flirting? Why is Will flirting with him when Mike is right there?

“They’re definitely hitting it off.” Lucas nods his head, leaning back on the oversized couch. “They’re kind of cute together. I think it would be a good match, especially because Chance talks about him a lot during practice.”

Mike feels sick. This time, he is completely positive that the feeling in his stomach is not from the alcohol. “He does?”

Lucas shrugs, completely casual about it, as though it’s no big deal. As if it doesn’t matter.  “Yeah. He says Will’s funny, smart and super talented in art and stuff.” Lucas continues, “You know, exactly his type.”

His type?

“I’m happy for him,” El smiles, hand moving from Mike’s palm to hook around his arm. “He deserves to have someone. He looks happy, don’t you think?”

“He does,” Mike swallows, eyes finally pulling away from Will and Chance, and forcing himself to look at the floor instead. He just wants to go home. “Doesn’t he?”

“I personally think they look super cute together,” El tugs on Mike’s sleeve, a wide smile on her face. “What do you think, Mike? Should we try to do some matchmaking?”

“That would be fun,” Lucas crosses his arms. “Maybe Chance can convince Will to finally come see one of the playoff games this month.”

Matchmaking? He would rather get run over by a car than watch Will be with anyone else. He would also rather get run over by a car than see Will in the stands of a basketball game, cheering for someone he barely knows. 

“That would be so fun!” El laughs, shaking her head vicariously. “I can even help him pick out an outfit. He always says he has nothing to wear, but I’ve seen his closet! I think there’s some super cute stuff in there to work with.”

“I think I’m going to go get another drink,” Mike blurts, already standing up. His friends look at him quizzically, all probably thinking and wondering the same thing: why is he acting so weird? Mike doesn’t have time to unpack how frazzled he likely looks. He also doesn’t even want more alcohol; the room feels incredibly suffocating. 

“Another one?” El’s hand slips from his arm, her laughter quickly replaced by a look of worry. “Mike—”

“I’ll be right back,” he says, not meeting her eyes. He doesn’t wait for an answer, and he really hopes she doesn’t follow him out of the room. 

Lucky for him, she doesn’t. 

Mike doesn’t even go into the kitchen, knowing that he just needs to be alone. He doesn’t care about the alcohol – he doesn’t even want to get another drink. Walking down the hallway, he internally groans as he tries to find the door to the bathroom. The majority of the doors that he tries are locked, and he really doesn’t want to find out why. How many doors can a house have? Mike groans at yet another door being locked. Where the hell is the bathroom? 

He’s never been here before, the party being one of Lucas’ teammates to celebrate the end of the season. He just wants to find a bathroom, or at least somewhere where he’s able to be alone for a bit. 

A few seconds later, the door down the hall opens. Quickly, he realises where the bathroom is, and watches as Will steps out of it, alone. His expression drops when he sees Mike. 

“Oh,” Will says, clearing his throat. “Mike, hey.”

“I saw you with Chance again,” Mike blurts out before he can stop himself. Mike internally groans, knowing he should’ve at the very least said hi first. Way to make everything look so obvious, Mike. Why can’t you ever just be normal about anything, ever? 

Will looks back toward the party, then at Mike again. He looks slightly confused, and Mike doesn’t blame him for the way he just asked him. “Yeah. He’s… nice.”

“Seems like it,” Mike mutters. Swallowing, he tries to ignore how good Will looks. Wearing a sweater, the sleeves are slightly too long for his arms. His hair is neatly styled, and Mike notices that he is not wearing his glasses tonight. A small sense of satisfaction spreads throughout his chest.

Will studies him for a second, expression sharpening. “You sound annoyed.”

“I’m not,” Mike lies. “I’m just—” He trails off, frustration buzzing under his skin. “Everyone keeps saying you two look good together.”

“Right,” Will nods his head slowly. “You’ve made it very clear to me that you’re jealous of him. We've had this, um, conversation before.”

“Jealous? Can you blame me?” Mike repeats. He knows that he is jealous, and Mike has made his disdain for the boy known on multiple occasions, so there isn’t really much use in denying it anymore. “You guys looked like you wanted to… be a couple tonight, though. This is different from the last time I saw you both together. It was like... more domestic, if that makes sense.” Mike’s throat is dry, and he feels like he’s rambling way too much – Will doesn’t need to know that he watches every single one of their interactions to make sure Chance doesn’t do anything that upsets him, he doesn’t need to know that Mike (secretly, or not so secretly) wishes for his downfall. 

“And that bothers you?” Will asks gently. Will exhales slowly, like he already knows the answer. Mike doesn’t answer, gaze falling to the floor beneath him. Will clears his throat, speaking once again. Yes, he thinks. It bothers him more than he’d ever like to admit out loud. “Mike.”

“Of course it bothers me, Will. I don’t get why you’re even here with him,” Mike shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, trying desperately to avoid looking at the shorter boy in the eyes. Why is eye contact so… hard with Will? “I mean… You didn’t even want to come to this party. You’ve said it before, haven’t you? That parties like… this aren’t your vibe.”

Will’s eyes flash. “I mean, I didn’t want to be alone all night. It’s nice to talk to someone. Chance is nice.”

“Our friends are here,” Mike replies. “Lucas, Max and Dustin.” He purposefully leaves out El’s name. “You wouldn’t be alone. You have them to talk to all night. I don’t know where Chance fits into any of this, to be honest. ”

 “What? So I can sit with them and watch you and El be all lovey dovey all night?” Will shakes his head, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Lovey-dovey?” Mike repeats, confusion overtaking his face. “When are we ever lovey-dovey? What does that even mean?” 

“Literally all the time, Mike,” Will mumbles, taking in a deep breath. “Lovey-dovey.” 

Mike doesn’t think, and he quickly realises that that's the source of many problems he’s faced recently.

One second, Will is standing there, looking like he’s ready to go back to Chance, and the next Mike’s fingers curl tight around Will’s wrist like he’s afraid his best friend will leave if he loosens his grip even a little.

“Mike, what are you doing—” 

Mike cuts him off by tugging him backwards, the bathroom door already behind them. He twists the knob, pulls Will inside, and shuts it fast, the click of the lock sounding way too loud in the sudden quiet.

Will stumbles a step, turning on him immediately as his back is pressed against the sink. Mike can’t help but place his hands on the small of Will’s waist in an attempt to steady the boy in front of him. “What are you doing?” He hisses, panic sharp in his voice. Mike isn’t entirely sure he knows what he’s doing, but he knows that he wants to be alone with Will. “Are you insane? She’s right out there.”

“I know,” Mike whispers back, breathing hard, like the action of pulling Will into the bathroom makes it harder to breathe. The bathroom is small, cramped, smelling faintly of a mixture of alcohol and cheap cologne. There’s barely space to stand without brushing shoulders. “I just— I needed a second. With you.”

“Did anyone see us go in here?” Will asks, swallowing, his top lip between his front teeth. He's nervous, Mike can tell, and it’s taking every ounce of self-restraint not to leap forward and kiss him. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“You don’t think so?”

“People know we’re close,” Mike winces at the word choice, despite trying to rationalise the way he’s acting. “It isn’t weird if… best friends go into the bathroom together. Max and El do it all the time.”

“They’re girls, Mike.” Will tilts his head back in annoyance. “It’s different. And they’re not… You know?”

“Not… what?” Mike asks, blinking slowly. 

Will widens his eyes, tilting his head forward slightly. “Doing what we’re doing.”

“Do you like Chance?” Mike says, the words tumbling from his mouth, completely disregarding the comment made by Will.

“What?” Will shakes his head. “What are you even saying right now? Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not drunk. Why do you keep asking me that?” Mike clears his throat, though not moving away from Will. Their bodies are close, and Mike is immediately hit with the scent of Will’s cologne. Did he try to smell good for Chance? “Do you want to date Chance?” 

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” Will stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Your girlfriend is in the other room, and you’re worried about whether or not I want to date him?”

“I’m just asking,” Mike says, defensive despite himself. He reaches toward Will’s forehead, moving the strands of hair out of his line of vision. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Will exhales sharply, swallowing and once again, avoiding eye contact. “No,” he says. “No, Mike. I don’t want to date Chance.”

Relief hits Mike so fast it’s almost dizzying, followed immediately by guilt. “Okay,” He mutters, mainly to himself. Will doesn’t want to date Chance. That’s a good thing. A great thing.  “That’s… That’s good.”

“That doesn’t make this situation any better,” Will adds quickly, eyes narrowing. “We’re still in the bathroom, alone, at someone’s house that we both don't know.”

“Those are small details,” Mike lifts his hand. Still dizzied at the fact that Will doesn’t like Chance. “We don’t need to worry about those.”

“I don’t think they’re that small.” Will replies, eyes trailing to Mike’s lips, to which he notices right away. “What if someone saw us come in here? What if… El saw us? This can be a big problem.”

Mike doesn’t want to think about that, shaking his head. He tries to ignore the fact that Will is so close to him – and his eyelashes are just so long. “We’d have to agree to disagree, then.”

A small laugh escapes his throat. “You’re insufferable.”

“Am I?” Mike swallows, voice smaller than a whisper. Mike doesn’t miss the light pink tinge spreading across his cheeks. As if on cue, Mike’s eyes trail down to Will’s lips, trying not to distract himself. “Insufferable enough that you wouldn’t want to kiss me right now?”

Will lets out a soft sigh. “I wouldn’t go that far…”

“Then what are you waiting for?” A smirk finds its way onto his face, and for a split second, he wonders where he’s gotten the nerve to act this way. Will also seems surprised at the words coming out of his mouth, but he doesn’t question it – instantly placing both of his hands on Mike’s cheeks, and kissing him. 

*

“I think I’m going to sleep at Max’s tonight,” El smiles, turning toward Mike. She and Max have grown closer over the past couple of months, and he doesn’t mind at all – it’s allowed him to have more free time. By free time, he means more time to spend with Will, which is ideal for him. Mike likes to think that it’s a win-win situation for both of them, really. “So, you won’t need to drive me home.” 

“Oh,” Mike nods slowly, trying his best to avoid sending a glance in Will’s direction. He already planned to drive Will home, but this makes things… simpler. Makes things easier. A small ball of excitement unfolds in his stomach, but he tries his best to remain as nonchalant as possible. “That’s cool. Sounds, um, fun. How are you going to get to Max’s?”

“I’ll drive them,” Lucas lifts the hand that isn’t wrapped around Max’s shoulders. “I was already going to drive Max home; it wouldn’t make sense to make you drive El there, too.”

“Right,” Mike nods his head slowly. “Thanks.”

“El, you’re willingly going to go to Max’s house while Lucas is there?” Dustin asks, eyebrows raised. “You’re so strong. Those two are all over each other.”

“Shut up, Dustin.” Max rolls her eyes. “Lucas is just going to be dropping us off, because you know, that’s what good boyfriends do. But, I guess you wouldn’t know because you’re like… perpetually single or something.”

Mike tries to ignore the sharpness in Max’s comment, and he wonders if what she’s saying isn’t solely directed toward Dustin. Swallowing, he shifts his attention back to Dustin. 

“I am not perpetually single!” Dustin scoffs, placing a hand over his chest to feign insult at the words of his friend. “I literally have Suzie! She’s my girlfriend!”

Mike lets a small laugh out at the mention of Suzie. Dustin speaks about her often enough to know more about her than he’d like to, despite never meeting her in person. 

“Where is she now?” Max crosses her arms, earning a laugh from El, who is sitting on the other side of her. “Right, not here.”

“Because she literally lives in Salt Lake City!” 

“That’s convenient,” Max teases, and Dustin lets out a groan. “Is she even real?”

“Will!” Dustin turns his head, finger pointing at Will, who is sitting on the other side of the room, busy sketching something in the small notebook he carries with him everywhere. The same notebook Mike got him for Christmas last year. “Will knows Suzie! He’s spoken to her on my walkie-talkie before!” 

Mike immediately looks toward Will, eyebrows furrowing at the idea of him speaking to Suzie. How come he’s never mentioned that to him before? Why hasn’t Will told him that he spoke to Suzie on Dustin’s walkie-talkie? Best friends are supposed to tell each other these things, aren't they?

“You’ve met the famous Suzie?” El asks Will, laughter still tailing her voice. “Tell us, Will, is she real, or a figment of Dustin’s imagination?”

“What the hell?” Dustin takes off the hat from his head, his curly hair falling over his face. “She is so not a figment of my imagination!”

“Oh,” Will lifts his head, lightly nodding as if he isn’t completely paying attention to the conversation (or, rather, debate) his friends are having. He’s distracted, and Mike doesn’t miss the fact that his hand covers the paper he’s been drawing on. Mike wonders what Will is spending his time drawing, and selfishly, he hopes it’s a picture of him. He looks down at the sweater he’s wearing, a mixture of blues, greens and purples, and wonders if Will thinks it’s pretty enough to sketch. El said it’s one of her favourites, but Mike is curious if it’s one of Will’s, too. “I mean, yeah, I did, but it was only for a couple of minutes–”

“Details, details.” Dustin cuts Will off. “That doesn’t matter, because he can attest to the fact that Suzie is real. She’s real, she’s my girlfriend, and it doesn’t matter if she lives here, in Hawkins, or in Salt Lake City. You can all suck it.” 

“Gross,” Lucas grimaces, lifting his foot and using it to lightly kick Dustin. “Would Suzie approve of you speaking to your lovely friends this way?”

Dustin doesn’t answer, simply grabbing the closest couch pillow to him and throwing it in Lucas’ direction.

The night passes quickly enough, with Mike constantly checking his watch to see if it’s time to leave yet, and resisting the urge to ask about the drawing. 

*

The inside of the car is too quiet.

Mike turns the radio on out of habit, then immediately turns it back down when the music feels too loud for the space between them. The dashboard clock glows a soft blue, the time reading 1:31 in the morning. When did it get that late? Has it been too long for Mike to bring up the sketch Will was working on earlier in the night? Mike can't. help but think that if Will wants him to see the drawing, he would have shown it to him by now - especially because they're finally alone.

Will sits in the passenger seat, seatbelt on (and yes, Mike made sure it is on properly before he even left the driveway), with his hands folded tightly in his lap. He’s staring out the window, watching the streetlights blur past, his face reflected faintly in the glass. Mike keeps glancing over at him, then back at the road, like looking for too long might make him swerve off the road. With how good Will looks tonight, he just might.

“You didn’t have to drive me home,” Will says eventually, voice even. “Dustin offered to take me.”

Mike tightens his grip on the steering wheel, lifting his shoulders slightly. It doesn’t matter to him that Dustin offered to drive Will home, because the answer should be obvious to the boy sitting beside him – Mike is always going to drive him home. Especially when El won’t be with them. 

“It’s on my way,” Mike replies, casually. "Why wouldn't I drive you?"

That’s a lie. They both know it is, but none of them mentions it. In fact, it’ll likely take Mike at least twenty extra minutes to get to Will’s house, but he doesn’t mind. He never does. 

“Okay,” Will nods slowly, as though digesting the words that have just been said to him. “Thank you, Mike.”

“Yeah, of course.” Mike smiles to himself. “You’re welcome.” 

Silence settles again between the pair. The car hums beneath them, and Mike regrets turning the music off. 

Should he try to start a conversation? Is Will too tired to speak? If he’s too tired, he doesn’t want to bother him – maybe he can even get some sleep as he continues to drive. Mike’s mind wanders off to how… pretty Will looks when he’s asleep. Maybe he should (selfishly) let him doze off for a bit. Just until Mike drives him home, though. But if he does fall asleep, would it be okay for him to wake Will up? Or would it be better if he lets him sleep for a bit? Mike doesn’t mind waiting; he stashes a couple of comic books in the back seat and can pass some time while he gets some rest. He's totally okay with sleeping in his car for the night, if Will is comfortable. 

Finally, Mike concludes: if Will happens to fall asleep on the drive home, he won’t wake him. That would be the right thing to do, he thinks.

They reach yet another red light, and Mike tries his best to control his knee, which is bouncing nervously to himself. How come every single traffic light turns red on the drive to Will’s house? Will still hasn’t said a word since getting into Mike’s car, and it makes Mike worry. Is he okay? Did he say something wrong? His hand shifts on the console, inching closer to Will’s without quite touching. Is it weird if he wants to hold his hand? Because he really wants to hold his hand. 

Finally, they reach Will's house. 

“Um, we’re here.” Mike's voice comes out shakier than he intends it to. "This is your house."

He earns a soft chuckle from the boy beside him. “I think I know what my own house looks like, Mike.” Mike wonders how many times it’s humanely possible to blush in twenty minutes, another red tinge covering his skin. 

“Right,” Mike furrows his eyebrows together, hands tightening on the steering wheel once again. “Of course you do.”

Mike doesn’t know what to say or do. Should he hug him goodnight? Kiss him? Will anyone see them if they do any of those two things? Does he even care?

“Do… Do you want to come inside?” Will asks, voice hesitant, hand on the handle of the car door. Mike feels a warmth spread across his chest. He feels relieved that Will wants him to come in. “I mean, you know, cause it’s late, and driving home when you’re tired isn’t the best thing to do… Besides, my mom is at Hoppers’ house for the night, and Jonathan is probably at yours. So we’ll be alone…” Will trails off, and Mike thinks his heart may be beating a bit too fast.

“Yeah, um, sure.” Mike instantly turns the key in his car, killing the ignition, as if worried Will would change his mind in the ten seconds since he’s asked him. He tries to ignore the red tinge reaching the tip of his ears at the insinuation that they’ll be alone, in Will’s house. He loves being alone with him.

“I’m happy that we finally have some alone time,” Mike mumbles, walking first into Will’s room. Will doesn’t reply right away, simply following the taller boy into his own room, which, over the years, Mike has quickly grown familiar with. “You know, with everyone else always around, it kind of feels…”

“Suffocating?” Will finishes his sentence, and Mike nods his head. How does Will always know exactly how he’s feeling? 

“Yeah,” Mike swallows, throat bobbing. “Exactly. Suffocating.”

“Even when you’re with El?” His voice is quiet, it’s almost accusatory, but Mike chooses to ignore the undertones. 

Mike blinks. “What does El have to do with any of this?”

“Are you kidding me, Mike?” Will shakes his head, staring at him in disbelief. “El has everything to do with this.”

Mike cringes, knowing that the way he phrased his question makes it seem like he doesn’t constantly think about the implications of El being around in the first place. “I mean, of course she does, but—”

“But what?” Will shakes his head. 

“She’s not here, Will.” Mike takes a step toward Will, engulfing him in a hug and tightening his grip. “I’m here. I’m here with you. Only you.”

That seems to be a good enough answer for his best friend, or maybe it’s because it’s practically two in the morning, who suddenly doesn’t feel the need to pursue the conversation any longer. 

Mike isn’t sure if the feeling in the base of his stomach is butterflies or guilt.

*

Is it wrong of Mike to admit that he’s happy El is home, sick? He’s a terrible boyfriend; he knows he is. He should be there, comforting her and making sure she’s okay. Maybe even bring her some chicken noodle soup, her favourite. 

Instead, he’s hovering over Will, leaving trails of kisses down the skin of his neck. 

Mike hates that he’s enjoying this. Hates that the guilt is already being drowned out by the warmth of Will pressed against him. And he hates that, even knowing it’s wrong, he can’t bring himself to stop. He doesn’t want to stop. He can’t stop. He won’t stop. Maybe he doesn’t really hate that he’s enjoying this, after all.

“Mike,” Will breathes, head tilting back out of instinct. He loves it when Will says his name; he loves it when Will is with him. 

“Hm?” Mike replies, too focused on reaching Will’s sweet spot, to which he immediately does, and his best friend sucks in a sharp breath. 

“You need to be careful,” He finally manages to pull the words out from his throat.  “You can’t leave any marks.” 

“I’m not going to,” Mike replies, casually, though the sting in his heart is very apparent. He wants to leave marks, hickeys, all over Will’s skin, but he knows he can’t. He can’t, because he has a girlfriend waiting for him at home. It’s in moments like these that he wishes he had mastered the art of makeup cover-ups, but he thinks it would be a little questionable if he suddenly asks Nancy how to use concealer. “I promise.”

Will hums in response, before flipping Mike over, the movement quick and sharp, like he’s trying to break a spell. He straddles him for half a second too long, hands pressed flat against Mike’s chest, and then he freezes.

“What are you thinking about?” Will’s voice is low, eyes meeting Mike’s. How can Will read him so easily? Still straddling him, Will places his hand underneath Mike’s chin, pushing his head up. Mike’s breath got caught in his throat. “Tell me, please.”

Mike tries to focus, he really does, but staring at Will makes him feel dizzy. “Just, you know, if this were simple,” Choosing each word like he’s afraid it might break something, “I would choose you. I want to choose you.”

The room goes very still.

Will’s breath stutters. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it,” Mike nods. “I mean it more than I’ve meant anything in my entire life, and that’s what’s scary about it. I want to choose you.”

Will’s eyes shine, but his jaw tightens. “Wanting isn’t the same as choosing,” he says. “If you chose me, you wouldn’t be here, in my room, making out with me while you still have a girlfriend.”

“I know,” Mike swallows. “I promise that I’m working on it.”

“How?”

“Huh?” Mike replies, slightly dazed at the fact that Will is straddling him. It’s difficult to think of literally anything else when he is sitting on top of him. Is he dreaming?

“How are you working on it?”

“I, um—” Mike swallows, eyebrows furrowing in an attempt to give Will an answer. An answer that he deserves. He knows that he probably should have thought of something before saying that he’s working on it, but once again, it’s proving to be very hard to focus on anything right now. 

“See?” Will shakes his head, very evidently carrying a look of hurt on his face. He pushes himself off of Mike’s lap, and is immediately met with Mike’s arm wrapping around his stomach, trying to keep him close. “I knew it. You don’t even have a plan, do you—”

“I’m going to break up with El.” The words flow out of Mike’s mouth before he even has a chance to think about them. 

Will stops, surprised that those words are coming out of Mike’s mouth. “What?” Mike’s arms are still wrapped around his stomach, though Will doesn’t seem to mind.

He can’t take it back now.

“I’m going to break up with her,” Mike repeats, clearing his throat. He doesn’t break eye contact, and the words feel so… freeing. He is going to break up with El. He needs to break up with her. “Soon.”

“Soon…?” Will stares at him, eyes wide, like he’s trying to decide whether he heard that correctly or if he’d just imagined the entire thing. He adjusts himself so he’s straddling Mike again, and Mike swallows at the movement. Will doesn’t seem to notice (or care), just looking in his eyes to make sure he’s hearing him correctly. “What… What made you change your mind?”

Mike doesn’t answer right away. His chest feels too tight, like every breath he takes requires a conscious effort to make sure he doesn’t forget to breathe. His heart is beating faster than it ever has, and he knows that he needs to be honest with Will. With himself. 

“You.”

“Me?” Will repeats, voice getting caught in his throat. 

“Yes, you.” Mike nods, a little frantically, like he’s afraid Will won’t believe him. “I… I’m not happy with El. I don’t know if I’ve ever been, to be honest. You… you’re different.”

“I’m… different?” Will’s expression softens, but there’s still something guarded in his eyes. He shifts closer without really meaning to, his legs still wrapped around Mike's torso. “Do I make you happy?” 

“Yes, Will.” Tears finally flow from Mike’s eyes, head nodding quickly, so that there is no misunderstanding between them. He pulls him into a hug, pulling Will down slightly so he can rest his head on Will’s shoulder, despite the shorter boy still sitting on top of him. He tightens his grip, not wanting to let him go. “You really do.”

*

“Would you ever want to have a family of your own?” Will asks, voice trailing slightly by the end of his question. 

Both boys are lying down in Mike’s backyard, the tall blades of grass making it difficult for Mike to see how perfectly the sunset lights up his face. It’s calm, and Mike feels at ease in Will’s presence. 

Mike blinks, thinking about it. “Like… kids?” 

Will shrugs, gaze now looking up to the sky. “Yeah, I guess.”

Mike turns his head, squinting against the last glow of the sun. “I don’t know,” He admits after a long pause. “I mean… sometimes I think about it. But it feels… weird. Scary, I guess.”

Will hums softly, a sound that isn’t quite a laugh but isn’t exactly serious either. Mike finds it comforting. “Scary in what way?”

“Responsibility-wise, I guess. And… I guess I just don’t know if I’d be good at it.” Mike’s voice drops, softer now, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Like, I don't know if I'd be a good parent, you know? Sometimes I take care of Holly, and that’s a lot. I can’t imagine how I would be able to deal with a baby. I mean, it’s not that Holly is difficult to deal with, because she’s like… almost ten, so I guess taking care of a child whose younger would be a different story, wouldn’t it?” Mike cringes. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? You can tell me to shut up if I'm speaking too much, you know.”

Will turns his head slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at him. A small smile is on his face. “You? Not a good parent?” His voice is gentle, teasing, but there’s a sense of conviction in it, too. “Mike, you’re one of the most dependable people I know. You would be a great dad. Besides, taking of Holly is different. She’s your younger sister, not your child.”

Mike doesn't process anything else Will says, because his mind is filled with the fact that Will thinks he would be a great dad. Is this real life?

Mike swallows, not caring that the blades of grass are tickling the red skin of his cheeks, trying his best to stop the line of tears that is threatening his vision. He would like a family of his own, he really would. The thought of having a family with anyone other than Will makes his stomach hurt. He doesn’t want to have one with anyone else. 

“I’m not sure I totally believe that.” Mike lets out a small chuckle. “My mom makes Nancy watch over Holly now. All because once, while my mom was getting groceries, I left the front door open and Holly left to go to her friend's house a block away. Only a block, by the way. She was totally fine, and she even came back before dark. I tried to explain that to my dad, even, which I guess was my own mistake, because he refuses to listen to anything I say, literally ever–” 

“Mike,” Will’s voice is soft, interrupting another instance of Mike rambling. His face heats up with embarrassment, and he looks down at the grass, pulling on a dandelion. Great, he thinks. How come he never knows when to stop talking?  “I promise you, you will.”

“What, um, what about you?” Mike’s voice cracks, trying to get the attention off of him. “Would you want… a family? Kids?”

Will goes quiet then, letting the words hang in the warm air between them. After a moment, he murmurs, “I’d want a family, I think. But I… I’d want it with the right person. It has to be with the right person.”

Mike’s throat dries. “The right person?”

Please let the right person be him. Please, let the right person be Mike Wheeler.  

“Yeah,” Will replies calmly. Mike wants more. Mike needs more. 

“Do you know the person already?” So, he settles with asking the question, the words itching his throat, begging to be let out. “That you would, um, want to have a family with?”

“I…” Will turns his head, a small smile on his face. “I think I do.” Mike tries to calm down the tornado swirling through his brain at the thought of Will wanting a family with him. 

The heat in his face switches from embarrassment to shyness. He’s definitely blushing, now. 

“Who is he?” Mike blurts out.

“You’re assuming it would be a boy?” Will asks, teasing. Mike blinks, swallowing as all the colour drains from his face. 

“Oh, right.” Mike lets out an awkward laugh. “Why did I, um, assume that it would be a boy? I mean, I just thought, you know, that maybe you’re into boys, but maybe I am totally misreading everything.”

Will bursts out into laughter, nodding his head. “It would be a boy, Mike. Don’t worry. And… and you definitely know the person I would want to do that with. Trust me.”

“I knew that.” Mike reaches over and pushes Will in the chest, eyes widening as his touch barely moves Will from his place in the grass. “I totally knew that.”

“Right,” Will smiles. “I’m sure you did.”

“Just out of, um, curiosity,” Mike wonders if the feeling in his chest is as close as he would ever feel to fireworks within the confines of his body. Control yourself, Mike. “How many kids would you want?” 

“I think one, maybe two. I really like having a brother.” Will smiles, their hands now brushing against the grass. “I would want my future child to have at least one sibling.”

“I agree. I think two is the perfect amount of kids to have.” Mike smiles softly before a small laugh escapes his throat. “I think Steve told my sister that he wants six.” 

“Six kids?” Will lets out a laugh, a real one, and Mike thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “At least Nancy has Jonathan now. I highly doubt he wants six kids.”

Mike’s smile is wide. “Right?” Mike exhales, barely audible. “I think six is a bit much.”

Will chuckles, and it’s soft, almost shy. “A bit?”

Mike smiles faintly. And for a moment, with the sky stretching endlessly above them and the grass brushing against their arms, it feels like maybe, just maybe, Mike can have his happy ending after all. 

*

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Mike has a feeling he will probably go into the new year being incredibly annoyed. Frustration pecks at his skin as El drags him to the basement while all of his friends stay upstairs.   

Mike drops onto the couch without thinking, the cushions sagging beneath him, and runs a hand through his curly hair. He should get a haircut soon, he thinks. His curls end right above his eyes, and it’s beginning to get annoying, constantly having to move them out of the way. 

“Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong? Or maybe you're in a bad mood tonight.” El asks, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her voice is quiet, but that almost makes it worse. Why doesn’t she ever get… angry at him? Why does she always stay so… level-headed? “Something must be bothering you, because whenever you’re near me, you won’t look at me. You haven’t even held my hand tonight, Mike. It’s like we’re not even dating.”

“I haven’t been acting weird.” Mike shakes his head, trying to level his voice. All of their friends are upstairs, Will is upstairs, and the last thing he needs is for any of them to hear them get into any form of argument. “Plus, everyone else is here. We don’t need to be holding hands all the time.” Mike’s voice scratches his throat. Is that mean of him to say? “That doesn’t mean I like you any less. We’re at a party, El. I can’t be around you all the time.”

“I’m not saying you need to be holding me all the time, Mike.” With slight sarcasm lacing her voice, El steps closer toward Mike, frowning. “But do you even want to be here with me? Do I need to remind you that this is your party? I shouldn’t have to tell you these things over and over and over again. Do you even want to be here… with me?” 

“Yes,” Mike says, too fast. Clearing his throat, he adjusts his voice so that it sounds calmer.  “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I want to be here with you?”

“The way you’re acting doesn’t show that.” El sighs deeply, turning around so her back is facing Mike. “Like seriously, Mike. Max never has to ask Lucas to show any kind of affection to her. He just... does it. You used to do these things so naturally! Now… Now it’s like it’s so hard for you to even be near me.”

“I don’t think you need to bring Max or Lucas into this, El.” Mike tilts back his head, shutting his eyes. “I show you affection all the time! I… I hold your hands, I kiss you–”

“In private,” El reiterates, an edge to her tone. It’s obvious to Mike that she’s getting more upset with each thing that he says, but he isn’t sure what to say. “Yeah, you hold my hand, and you kiss me sometimes, but that’s only when nobody else is around us.”

“That’s not true.” Mike shakes his head, a scoff escaping his lips before he’s able to stop himself. “I’m always sitting down next to you whenever we go anywhere. You’re literally always next to me.”

El is playing with the fabric of her yellow sweater, tongue poking the inside of her cheek as a way to calm her rising anger. Mike likes the colour yellow, but seeing it on El makes him shift in his place. It just looks… wrong. “When was the last time you even kissed my cheek in front of our friends?”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to kiss you in front of them, El.” Annoyance creeps up his throat. What is she even saying right now? “I don’t only do these things in private. That’s ridiculous.”

“Then explain it to me, Mike.” El shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. “Explain why it feels like you’re suddenly… checked out or something?”

“Checked out?” Mike rubs his face, trying his best to avoid any frustration bubbling over (which, admittedly, is super close to happening). Mike’s leg begins to shake, anxiety creeping up his chest. He doesn’t want to have this conversation now, in his basement, while all of his friends are upstairs laughing. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t want to talk to El at all – but he doesn’t have that luxury, not right now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, El. I’m just as present as I always am. Nothing has changed." After a couple seconds of silence, he licks his lips before speaking again. "Can we please just go upstairs, now?”

“No, we can’t just… go upstairs and ignore this like I've been doing for the past two months, Mike! Can you focus for more than one minute at a time? Can you focus on me? I want you to be honest with me,” El's voice begins to shake. Is she about to cry? “I want to know that I matter to you. Lately, I don’t know, I get the feeling that maybe I’m not such a… priority for you anymore. That… that you don’t even like me.”

“Don’t say that.” Mike rubs his eyes, trying his best to avoid sighing. Still sitting on the couch, he looks up at his girlfriend. “You are a priority for me, El. You’ve always been a priority for me. Always.”

“I love you, Mike. I really do.” She reaches for him, hands warm against his arms. “I… I can see a real future for us, you know? A family, even.” She sits down on the couch beside him and leans in slowly, kissing Mike softly on the lips. He kisses her back because he has to, and he places his arms around her because that's what he's supposed to do. The word family is like an arrow to the heart, a direct hit. A family. He doesn’t envision a family with El. He doesn’t want one with her. “I love you so much, and I don’t want anything getting in the way of any of this. Of us.”

For half a second, Mike lets himself pretend everything is okay. That he wants to be with El. That it’s easier with her. Maybe the longer this goes on, the easier it will be to pretend. Maybe if another three years pass by, this will begin to feel like second nature. His mother loves her, his friends love her, and he’s sure that eventually, he can love her, too. What more could a boy want?

But everyone loves Will, too. His mother loves him, and both of his sisters do, as well. 

Mike loves him. 

Shouldn’t that count for something?

But, unfortunately for him, his mouth moves before his brain can catch up.

“I love you too, Will.”

The silence that follows the words leaving his throat is deafening. 

Terrifying, even.

El pulls back from Mike slowly, like she’s not processing what has just been said by her own boyfriend. Her face drains of any colour, eyes wide and quickly turning glassy. Mike knows he’s fucked up royally, and if the immediate heat rising to his face and chest is as obvious as it feels, he isn’t being subtle about it, either. 

“What did you just say?” El asks, voice shaking. Mike doesn’t reply for a handful of seconds, trying to think of something, anything that would explain the slip-up he’s just had, but El doesn’t wait for Mike to come up with any excuse, standing up from the couch. “I just asked you something, Michael. What did you just say?” 

Mike’s heart drops straight through the floor. There’s no way he just said Will’s name. This has to be a sick joke. He’s going to wake up from this nightmare any second and be in the comfort of his own bed. Right?

Wrong.

“El, I said El.” 

“No… You didn’t. You called me Will,” She says, louder now, her voice angry. The word echoes off the basement walls, and Mike wishes for nothing more than the ground to swallow him whole; it would be less painful than what he’s just done. “After I tell you that I love you, you call me… Will?”

Mike feels sick.

“It was an accident,” Mike says desperately, reaching toward her, but she takes an immediate step back. He fucked up, God, he fucked up badly. “I swear, it just… slipped. I meant to say your name. Why would I even want to say his name? El, come on—”

El steps back, shaking her head. “You don’t accidentally say someone else’s name when you tell them you love them.” Tears finally begin to flow, and Mike feels his entire world shift. She must know, doesn’t she? “Are you seriously thinking about other people when your girlfriend tells you she loves you?”

“No! El, it doesn’t mean anything. Why would it mean anything?” Mike says, even as the lie tastes bitter against his tongue. “He’s just… he’s my best friend. I love you, El. Stop looking too much into it. He’s my best friend. We’re friends. Just friends.”

“So am I.” El’s initial hurt turns into anger. “Did you forget that we’re supposed to be best friends too, Mike? Now… Now you don’t even look at me, and you say someone else’s name. Am… Am I just the girl you’re supposed to love? God, have you ever even loved me?”

Mike feels his entire world, which he’s been trying to keep crafted perfectly, fall around him.

“That’s not fair,” Mike says, voice cracking. He needs to fix this, fast. “You know I care about you. You know I do. That hasn’t changed, and that won’t ever change.”

“Care?” El laughs once, sharp and broken as it echoes in the empty basement. “Caring about me isn’t the same as loving me. It’s been three years, Mike. Three years of being together.” She wipes at her eyes angrily, refusing to let the tears fall past her cheeks. “I knew something was off. God, I should’ve listened to my gut. You’re… you’re standoffish. You don’t even want to spend time with me anymore. Who has to beg their boyfriend to hang out with them?”

“Who said I don’t want to spend time with you anymore?” Mike tries his best to stop from raising his voice, once again reaching for her, but she looks at him like he’s… contagious. “We hang out all the time. El, come on, come here–”

“Don’t,” She warns, her voice sharp. “Don’t touch me.”

“El, please, I’m sorry,” Mike says, trying his best to recover from whatever just happened. He’s fucked up. He’s fucked up so badly that he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. “It just slipped! I promise I love you. I only love you.”

“For once in your goddamn life, Mike.” El shakes her head, tears flowing from her eyes. “Stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Something is off, something,” El replies quietly, though her tone is venomous. Mike suddenly feels lightheaded. “And on New Year’s Eve, of all nights, you decide to do this to me? Do you want me to end this year heartbroken? Do you want me to be miserable?”

Mike quickly walks towards her, but she’s already making her way to the stairs, back up to the living room, where everyone is. God, this can’t be any worse for him, can it? His mind immediately drifts over to Will, who is also upstairs. He almost has half a mind to tell El to leave Will out of it, but he knows better than to mention his name again.

“Obviously, I don’t want you to be miserable, El. Come on, El, please, don’t leave, don’t go upstairs, we can talk about this—”

“I’m going upstairs,” She interrupts, her voice cold. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the year in this basement pretending like this didn’t happen, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk to you.” She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, not looking back. “You should figure out who you actually want to say it to before saying ‘I love you’ again. Don’t speak to me tonight.”

Then she’s gone.

He knows he should follow her. He knows that he should run after her, tell her that no, she’s wrong, and he loves her, but something is tugging at the base of his stomach telling him to leave her be. To let her cool off. That would look worse, wouldn’t it? Letting her be upset at the New Year’s party in his own house? What would Will think?

Mike barely makes it halfway up the basement stairs before he hears it.

The front door slams. Mike winces at the sound reverberating through the house. If none of them noticed El’s anger, they surely noticed it at that moment. He stays frozen on the stairs, knowing that the moment he goes up there, he will definitely be bombarded with questions he doesn’t want to answer. 

He's fucked, isn't he?

“El?” Lucas calls from the living room. 

Mike really doesn’t want to go upstairs. He doesn’t want to tell them that they argued, and he doesn’t want to cause drama at a party he’d arranged for the new year. By the time Mike reaches the top step and opens the door, the damage is already done.

And then they all turn to him.

Mike freezes.

Max’s arms are crossed, eyes narrowed and staring directly at him. Does she know anything? Has El told her any of it? Do all of them know he’s been seeing Will at the same time as El? Do they all hate him? Do they all hate Will? Nancy, who is leaning against the kitchen door, looks like she wants to say something, but doesn’t know where to start.

Did El say anything on her way out? Is that why they’re all staring at him? Is that why the only sound echoing in the living room is the faint background music— the Clash, maybe? Mike doesn’t even have the chance to truly unpack what he’s dealing with, eyes drifting toward Will. 

Will doesn’t look at Mike at all.

He’s standing near the TV, too busy looking at the floor and gripping a red solo cup a little too hard, so that a small part of Mike is worried he may create holes in the plastic.

 He knows. Of course, he knows. Will is smart, and Mike is sure that he will connect the dots, knowing that El wouldn’t run like that unless something is really wrong. Did he say anything to them? Does everyone know? Did she say something to the group as she went outside? Does everyone hate him now?

“What did you say to her?” Max asks, blunt and sharp. Of course, Max noticed, Mike thinks. 

Mike’s throat tightens. What can he even say in this moment to avoid looking like a total asshole? 

“I didn’t… I mean…” He stops, because no version of this sounds okay, and there is no way he’s about to tell his friends anything that just happened. What is he supposed to say? ‘Hey guys, the reason why El is so mad is because when she, my girlfriend of almost three years, told me she loved me, I said Will’s name instead. Nice talk, let's get back to partying!’ “She’s upset.”

“No shit,” Max crosses her arms, clearly unimpressed by the lack of context given to her by Mike. Her demeanour is cold, and unforgiving. He doesn’t blame her for being angry – Mike doesn’t want to know what El looked like when she went upstairs. “What did you say to her?”

Mike knows his face is red, and he wonders if it’s possible that what happened is written all over his forehead in big, bold lettering:‘Mike is in love with Will Byers. Mike also cheated on El with Will. Mike is still cheating on El, as we speak.’ 

“Um, well—”

“She was crying,” Dustin interrupts, confused. “You guys were only down there for like ten minutes. What could have possibly happened during that time?”

“It must’ve been pretty bad,” Lucas adds, nodding his head. “I’ve never seen her act like that. What did you guys fight about?” 

“Nothing.” Mike knows better than to say anything, and he knows better than to look over at Will. Act natural, Mike. They don’t need to know any details about it. Mike’s gaze flickers toward Will, who is still not looking at him. “Nothing happened.”

“Are you sure?” Lucas furrows his eyebrows. “That didn’t look like it was nothing.”

“I agree,” Max clears her throat. “What the hell did you do, Wheeler?”

Why is everyone getting involved?

“You should go after her, man.” Dustin clears his throat. “Bring her her jacket or something. It’s cold outside. I don’t think she grabbed it on her way out.”

All of the voices are beginning to give Mike a headache. He doesn’t want to go after El. In fact, what he really wants to do is go and speak to Will, but he can’t. 

“Drop it,” Mike shakes his head, clenching his jaw. When none of his friends pushes the topic anymore, not even Will, Mike clears his throat, taking that as a sign to excuse himself from the living room. “I’m going to get a drink.”

Nobody stops him. 

*

The back porch is cold, the kind of cold that forces itself through Mike’s bones and settles there. He didn’t bother grabbing his coat on the way out, desperate for air, needing it immediately. He regrets the decision now, both the tips of his fingers and the tip of his nose becoming numb. He knows he deserves it, sitting out in the cold and letting the harshness of the winter consume him. Instead of going back inside, where all of his friends are having fun, he’s sitting on the steps, elbows on his knees, staring out into his backyard. 

What is he supposed to do?

It’s winter now, and the grass is covered by a layer of snow. He’s instantly brought back to the memories of Will and him lying on the grass, talking about the potential of a family. Though they never explicitly mentioned raising a family together, Mike allows himself the dream of assuming that it was implied. His eyes fill with tears, and he takes another swig of his drink to avoid thinking about it too much, wincing at the shitty taste. You can’t cry, Mike, he forces himself to think. You already look like a mess; crying doesn’t help. Get your shit together.

El is serious in her word, not speaking to Mike for the entire night so far. Despite the handful of times he’s tried to approach her, she’s brushed him off or completely ignored him. His friends have been very annoying about it, constantly trying to get the reason for their argument (if you can even call it that) out of him. Max even told him to give her the space she needs. He’s given up on trying to fix this for the night, knowing that he doesn’t want to make this infinitely worse than it already is. Can he even make things worse? 

He places the half-filled drink next to his foot, quickly losing interest in the alcohol. He’s not even sure why he brought it out with him. He shouldn’t be drinking, not when he’s as upset as he is. But, against his better judgment, he reaches for it again, finishing what is left in the cup. Maybe getting drunk would be a good thing, Mike thinks. If he’s drunk, he will be able to calm down the fear growing in his chest that El is in the living room, telling everyone, including Will, what he’s done. 

He knows he can’t really go back to the party, despite it being in his own house. How pathetic is he? He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He’s so stupid, isn’t he? How can he go inside and face El? How can he face anyone without being bombarded with questions as to why he made his girlfriend cry on New Year's Eve? 

Girlfriend. 

The porch door creaks open behind him, and Mike stiffens. If it’s El, he doesn’t know what to say. An apology would be a good idea, for starters. Maybe he should start there, try to beg for forgiveness. A heaviness finds itself on his shoulders, weighing him down, and he wonders if he even wants to make up with El. Does he want to beg for forgiveness?

But the person who comes outside isn’t his girlfriend.  

Will steps out slowly, like he’s afraid of scaring him. He, unlike Mike, is smart enough to be wearing his jacket, hands shoved deep into the pockets, eyes red in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. Has he been crying?

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The muffled sound of the party drifts through the door before Will pulls it shut behind him, sealing them off from everyone else, and selfishly, Mike doesn’t want to be the one who speaks first. 

“What happened?” Will asks, finally, voice lightly breaking. Straight to the point, Mike thinks, but he’s also grateful for skipping over any of the awkward conversations about El. How does Will always know what to say?

“You shouldn’t be out here, Will.” Mike doesn’t look up, biting the inside of his cheek. “You should be inside, having fun with everyone else.”

“I wanted to come see you.” He replies simply, voice careful. He looks at Mike, shifting his weight onto his opposite leg. “Here, take these.” Will reaches inside the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a pair of gloves. “You’re probably freezing. Why didn’t you take your jacket outside with you? Or, at least, a sweater? You’re going to get sick if you stay out here too long.”

“I deserve it, probably.” Mike sighs, looking straight ahead. “Frostbite would probably be less painful than this shit.”

“Is this about your fight with El, earlier?”

“How’d you guess?” Mike asks, his voice coming off way more sarcastic than he’d intended it to. “Sorry,” He instantly sighs, placing his head in his hands. “It’s been a long night. I kind of want everyone to go home.”

“I can tell.”

Mike looks at Will. “What do you mean?”

Will swallows. “I mean, El ran out of the house crying and angry. And then you came up looking like that.” He gestures vaguely, and Mike isn’t sure whether or not he should take that as an insult, or not. At the same time, he doesn’t blame Will for being concerned about him – he’s sure he looks like a mess. “I’m not stupid, Mike. Tell me what happened in the basement.”

Mike lets out a shaky breath, stomach turning. Why is he so nervous? “I know you’re not stupid. I never said you are.”

Will hesitates, then sits down a few steps away—not close enough to touch, but not far enough to pretend. Mike wants to reach over and bring him closer, but he knows better. They’re not alone, and everyone already is mad at Mike. He doesn’t want to make anything worse than it already is for him, for Will.

“What did you say to her?”

The question lands heavily on Mike’s chest, seeped in guilt. His fingers instinctively pick up the empty drink he placed next to him earlier, mentally cursing the fact that there isn’t any more alcohol left. How can he even begin to explain what happened in the basement to Will? 

"Why do you assume it was me who did anything?" Mike mumbles, picking up some snow with his bare hands. Instantly regretting it as the cold spreads through his fingers, he drops it to the ground and wipes his hand on his pants.

"Seriously?" Will looks at Mike, eyebrows raised. "Come on, Mike."

“I fucked up,” is what Mike settles on. His voice sounds wrecked even to his own ears. Just say it, he thinks. There’s no use in hiding it now. He needs to know. He should know. Rip off the bandaid, Mike. 

“How did you… fuck up?” Will’s voice is tentative, like he doesn’t want to say anything that would upset Mike more than he already is.

“She said she loved me.”

Will’s shoulders tense. Mike can tell that he already knows where this is going; he just needs to hear it in his own words. 

“And?” Will prompts quietly, and Mike can tell he’s trying his best to mask the pain he’s feeling. “How is that any different from usual?”

Mike closes his eyes. How does he even begin explaining this? “I said it back,” He whispers. “But I..." He breaks off, jaw tightening. “When I told her that I love her, too, I said the wrong name.”

Will sucks in a sharp breath and stands up abruptly, pacing. It's a nervous habit, Mike knows. Mike contemplates jumping into the snow. 

“You said my name,” His voice falters, as though he can’t believe it. “You… you really said my name?”

Mike nods, staring at the ground. His cheeks are warm, and he feels embarrassment take over his entire being. “I didn’t mean to. It just… came out.”

Will lets out a laugh that sounds more like a choke. He drags a hand through his hair, eyes shining now. “God,” he mutters. “Of course it did.” 

“I never wanted her to find out like that,” Mike says quickly. “Or at all. I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“But you did,” Will says, turning back to him. “And now she knows. She has to know. Does she hate me? Does she hate you? Did she say she’s going to tell everyone? Is she going to tell my mom?”

Mike finally looks up at him. “I didn’t tell her anything about you,” he says. “I swear. I had a whole… plan, you know? Like I told you. I want to break up with her, I do, but just… not at the New Year’s party. I didn’t even mention anything more about you, so I doubt she knows about anything that’s going on.”

Will’s expression crumples just a little. “You didn’t have to,” he replies. “I’m sure she realises what’s going on, Mike, she’s smart. She’s going to piece everything together, even if you didn't tell her directly. She’s going to know, and she’s going to hate me, and she’s going to hate you even more.”

“She would never hate you, Will.” Mike exhales, watching the frost create a small cloud from his mouth. He doesn’t deny the fact that maybe El will hate him, but she doesn’t have a reason to hate Will. She shouldn’t hate Will. She can’t. 

“Are you serious?” Will asks, exasperation taking over his voice. “Why wouldn’t she hate my guts? You… you literally told her you love me instead of her! Who makes those mistakes, Mike? She’s going to know! She probably is going to tell Hopper, who will tell my mom, or… or worse, Jonathan.”

“Will…” Mike stands up from the steps, quickly looking inside before clearing his throat. Will is going to spiral. He sure looks like he’s about to spiral. Mike wants to reach out to him, hold him, tell him that everything is going to be okay, but he knows he can’t. “Will, please listen to me—”

“Everyone is going to hate me! Everyone is going to hate you! Why did we even do this? When… when Max, or… or Lucas or Dustin find out about this, they’ll never forgive me, us, and we’re going to lose all of our friends, and have nobody left—”

“Will,” Mike interjects, voice sharp but soft at the same time. He feels the words clawing up his throat, desperate to leave his lips. Desperate to be known. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay?” Will shakes his head. His voice is still low enough to avoid people inside the house listening to their conversation outside, but loud enough for Mike to hear every single syllable. “Enlighten me, Mike, how everything is just going to be okay, and not completely blow up in our faces the minute anyone finds out about this?” His voice lowers even more, "About us."

“Because I love you.” 

Will falters for a second, because up until that moment, Mike has never said the words to him explicitly. He loves Will. He really does love Will. He wants Will to know that, no matter what, he loves him. 

“What? Mike—”

“I love you. Not El.” Mike repeats, knowing that saying it just once is not enough. There aren’t enough words in the English language to truly tell Will how he feels, but considering the cold of the winter night and the fact that they are on his backyard porch, he knows that he’s running out of time before they need to go back inside. Standing up, he turns toward Will. He just needs to say it. “You, Will Byers. I love you. I love being with you, I love spending time with you, I hate the fact that we have to hide all the time, and yes, I know that’s all my fault, and I’m to blame for literally all of this, but I want to be with you. I want to be with you for real. I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long to literally piece any of this together, but you're the one I want to be with, Will. I want to be the one you build a family with, I want to be the one you raise children with. I… I don’t know if I’ll be a good enough dad when the time comes, but I know you will be there to help me, if you want to be. I just… I love you so, so much.”

“I…” Tears cloud Will’s vision, unable to understand and process everything being thrown in his direction. Mike knows he probably looks ridiculous, his face red from the cold, words falling out of his mouth faster than his brain is capable of keeping up with. “Do… do you really mean that?”

Mike nods, tears welling in his eyes and sniffling. This time, he knows it isn’t from the cold weather. “Yes, Will.”

“I love you, too, Mike. ” Will replies naturally, lifting his hand to wipe the tears falling from his eyes. He takes a small step toward Mike, the space between them feeling like a football field. “God, I really wish I could kiss you right now.”

Mike swallows, lips pursed together. He wishes they could kiss, too. He wishes he could reach over and hold him, but they’re in public, and El is at the party. His heart is beating rapidly, as if it cannot comprehend Will loving him, too. 

Will really loves him. 

Mike’s voice breaks. “I wish I could kiss you, too.”

Mike has never been so sure of anything or anyone in his entire life. 

*

Will is by the wall, staring at the floor. He hasn’t said anything to Mike since their conversation on the porch of his backyard, as though waiting for the other nail to drop. He knows that Will is likely waiting for El to confront him and Mike about the fact that they've been seeing each other while they were in a committed relationship, but Mike can’t help but look at Will and constantly replay the same four words over and over and over again: I love you, too.

Unfortunately for them, El has been avoiding both Mike and Will as the night progresses, and he can tell it’s bothering Will more than he’d like to admit out loud. It’s bothering Mike, too, that’s for sure, but is he even in a position to say anything about it? Is he even allowed to complain? What if she's already told everyone? What if she's already told Max, who consequently tells Lucas, who tells Dustin, who tells Suzie, who somehow tells Nancy?

As much as Mike wants to continue dwelling on the endless possibilities of 'what ifs', the countdown until the new year starts, blasting through the speakers of his television.

“Ten!”

Everyone cheers. Mike can hear Max laugh, holding onto Lucas’ arm. People grab hands, and someone pops the confetti shaker too early. El is still not talking to him, not even looking at him, in the corner, laughing and speaking to some friends from school. Is she telling everyone?

Mike’s heart starts pounding.

Nine.

He shouldn’t do this. He knows that. He knows how much damage he’s done just by speaking without thinking, how much he’s hurt El. 

Eight.

But the sight of Will, alone, by the kitchen, eight seconds before the new year, makes something in him shift. For the first time since their conversation outside, Will glances up, and their eyes meet.

There’s no surprise in Will’s expression, like he’s already braced for whatever is about to happen to them next. Maybe Will thinks he’s going to go over to El. He should go over to El, even if she’s mad at him. She’s his girlfriend. It would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it? To make sure he can kiss his girlfriend when the countdown ends? To celebrate the New Year?

But what about Will? He loves him. Why can’t he kiss him at midnight?

Seven.

Mike moves before he can stop himself or change his mind.

He crosses the room quickly, weaving through friends who are too focused on the countdown to notice his presence in the room. He's thankful for it, really.

Except, he’s not moving toward El. 

Will stiffens when Mike stops in front of him.

“What are you—” Will starts, voice low and urgent.

Six.

Mike doesn’t answer. His hands are shaking. His chest feels like it’s splitting open, his heart travelling up his throat. 

Five.

“I can’t keep pretending,” Mike says, barely audible over the noise of the music and his friends yelling the numbers of the countdown. His voice breaks anyway. “I can’t.”

Will’s breath catches, but Mike knows he feels it too. He has to. “Mike… people are watching. El is watching. We can’t do this here.”

Four.

“I know,” Mike says. “I know. But I need you to know it wasn’t a mistake. None of it was. I meant every single word I said to you outside, Will. I need you to know that I choose you. I really, really choose you."

“We’re in public.” Will’s voice is barely above a whisper. He quickly looks around the room, face turning a light shade of pink. “Mike, everyone can see us.”

Three.

“I don’t care.”

Will looks terrified now. Not because he doesn’t want it—but because he does. Because he knows what this means. He knows what Mike is about to do. 

Two.

Mike hesitates for half a second, giving Will time to tell him again that what they’re about to do isn’t a good idea, that they need to be rational, and think about this for more than five seconds.

But, he doesn’t.

One.

As the room erupts into cheers, Mike leans in and presses a quick, trembling kiss to Will’s lips. It’s brief, over almost before it starts, but it’s real. Intentional. Unmistakable.

It’s so very, them.