Chapter Text
Chapter 4: Coincidence?
Mike
He hadn’t shared a bed with Will in years.
Mike kept repeating to himself that this was just a necessity, an emergency caused by the fever.
Nothing more.
If he let himself think about it any longer than that, he knew he’d spiral, so he shoved the rest of it down, along with everything else he’d been avoiding for months.
Just yesterday, he’d practically panicked at his mom’s suggestion to have a sleepover. Something that had been so common not that long ago. Now it felt terrifying. And yet here he was, lying stiff on his side of the bed, staring into the dark, his heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with being sick.
The talk with Nancy replayed in his head, over and over. He hadn’t slept much earlier, his mind running in circles: all the things he should have said, all the scenarios where he apologized and fixed everything, where they became best friends again without this suffocating awkwardness between them.
Those thoughts, keeping him up, were the only reason Will found him in the kitchen when coming upstairs.
By the time he and Will actually got into bed together, though, his body gave up before his mind could. Sleep dragged him under, heavy and unavoidable. That damn talk, postponed again.
At some point, Mike woke up.
He wasn’t sure what had pulled him out of sleep: the fever, maybe, or the storm outside. Rain hammered against the roof again, louder than before, steady and relentless.
Will it ever stop?
He shivered. The fever was probably lower, but the chill in his bones was worse. He rolled over, seeking warmth instinctively, like a plant seeking the sun.
His movement was stopped by a solid presence.
As his eyes adjusted, the darkness thinned just enough for him to make out Will’s shape. At some point in the night, Will had turned toward him. They were face to face now, close enough that Mike could feel the warmth of Will’s breath against his face.
Too close.
Will looked different like this. Softer. In the faint glow spilling in from the streetlight outside, his face was so calm.
Beautiful.
Mike wanted to move closer - just a little. More than a little actually. He wanted to pull him close until there was no air left between them. He wanted to bury his face in the crook of Will's neck and just... exist there.
Like they were kids again, with not a worry in the world. No Demogorgons, no problems. Before everything became complicated.
But they weren't kids anymore.
There were rules now, invisible lines Mike didn’t fully understand, but was terrified of crossing. If Will woke up like this - if he realized how close they were, how badly Mike wanted to close that last inch of space - it would ruin whatever fragile balance they were standing on.
So Mike did the only thing he knew how to do.
With a quiet, defeated sigh, he turned away, putting his back to Will.
He couldn't sleep looking at him. It was too much.
But the sky had other plans.
A sudden flash of white split the room, followed immediately by thunder so loud the bed seemed to shake.
Behind him, a sharp, broken gasp tore through the silence. It sounded too much like... pain.
“Will?” He rolled over instantly, panicking. “Hey. Will?”
The figure beside him was trembling. Mike reached for his shoulder, gripping him gently. Was it a nightmare? The thunder? The fever? Something worse?
“Will,” he whispered, voice unsteady. “It’s okay. It’s just rain. I’m here.”
Another crack of thunder tore through the air, closer this time.
Suddenly, Will moved forward.
He didn’t seem to fully wake; he just moved, instinctive and desperate, burying his face into Mike’s chest like he knew exactly where to go. His hands fisted into Mike’s shirt, gripping tight, like letting go wasn’t an option.
Then Mike's arms were around Will, pulling him close, holding him there. Shielding him from the noise, the shaking walls, the world outside the room. From everything.
Slowly, the tension drained from Will’s body. His grip loosened. His breathing evened out.
Mike rested his chin on top of Will's head, closing his eyes. He knew he should be worried about boundaries. But right now, with Will there, he felt a sense of peace he hadn't felt in years.
And he let himself fall asleep, again.
***
Will
Will drifted back to consciousness slowly. The first thing he registered was that the shivering had stopped. He was warm. Incredibly warm, actually.
Then, he registered the weight. There was an arm draped heavy across his waist, a steady rhythmic puff of breath against the back of his neck, and a knee pressed firmly between his own legs.
His eyes snapped open.
For a second, confusion paralyzed him. Then, the memory of the storm - the thunder, the terror, the way he had practically thrown himself at Mike - came crashing back. He froze, his heart slamming against his ribs so hard he was terrified it would wake the boy sleeping behind him.
Oh.
They were entangled. There was no other word for it.
Mike was curled around him, holding him with a possessive tightness that surprised him. It wasn't the innocent clinginess of childhood sleepovers. This felt... different?
Will was terrified.
He felt like he had tricked Mike into this. In the sober light of day, without the excuse of the storm or the fever, Mike wouldn't see this as comfort. He’d probably see it asweird. He’d push him away, disgust written all over his face.
But oh, how comfortable it was. How peaceful. How warm. It was something he hadn't even dared to imagine in his fantasies. It wasn't the same thing as when they were little.
He realized with a jolt that he was trembling. From excitement? Fear? Both?
I have to go. Again. He needed to vanish before he made things worse.
Holding his breath, Will began the agonizing process of extracting himself. He lifted Mike’s arm by millimeters, his muscles trembling with the effort to be gentle. Mike murmured something into the pillow but didn't wake. Will slid out from under the covers, the cold air of the room hitting him like a physical slap.
I’m sorry.. Will thought, looking back at the bed one last time. Though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. For leaving? Or for staying too long?
Walking down the stairs, his mind was a mess.
The good news: he felt less like he was dying, physically.
The bad news: every time his mind flashed back to the feeling of Mike’s arm around him, his stomach twisted in knots. A swarm of butterflies trying desperately to escape.
Other boys doesn't feel like this about their friends.
As Will reached the bottom of the stairs, trying to be invisible, he almost bumped into Mrs. Wheeler. She was walking briskly toward the kitchen, a basket of laundry in her hip.
"Will?" She stopped, surprised. Her eyes softened immediately when she saw him. "Honey, were you checking on Mike? How are you two feeling?"
He felt caught. "Uhm, better I-I think. I was just... I was going back to sleep," he lied quickly. "In the basement."
Karen walked over to the counter and picked up a small orange bottle. "Here, take these again before you go down." She handed him the pills and a glass of water, watching him swallow them with maternal scrutiny. "And don't forget to speak with your mom later, I told her you're staying home from school for the fever. She was worried."
"Sure," Will mumbled, handing the glass back. "Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler."
Karen looked at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression in her eyes. It wasn't judgment, exactly. Curiosity? Pity? "You’re a good friend, Will," she said finally, turning back to the laundry.
The words felt like a knife twisting in his gut. A good friend.
"Yeah," he whispered.
He retreated to the basement door, feeling her eyes on his back until he turned the corner.
The basement was quiet. Stagnant. Jonathan was still nowhere to be seen. Will collapsed onto the couch and pulled the old, scratchy blanket up to his chin.
But as he closed his eyes, trying to force sleep to come back, he couldn't stop shivering. The warmth of Mike’s bed, the weight of Mike’s arm, felt like a phantom limb - something that was gone, but that he could still feel in every nerve ending.
He knew he would never forget that feeling.
"A good friend", right.
Then, a darker thought crept in. Would El be hurt knowing what he felt? He was supposed to be her brother. Would she look at Will with betrayal?
Guilt, heavy and suffocating, settled over him, crushing the butterflies.
What am I thinking?. He buried his face in the scratchy wool. I’m ruining everything.
Mike’s voice from that rainy day, summers ago, echoed in his mind, cruel and sharp: "It's not my fault you don't like girls."
Will squeezed his eyes shut, a tear leaking out.
Oh, Mike. It’s exactly your fault.
***
Mike
When Mike woke up again, the first thing he noticed was the space beside him. It was vast. Empty.
He blinked against the gray light of the early afternoon, confused. His fingers brushed the cool, wrinkled sheet, confirming it.
Gone. Will was gone.
Mike sat up, rubbing his face, the old, familiar weight of disappointment settling in his stomach like a stone.
Stupid he thought bitterly. You're so stupid, Wheeler.
Of course Will had left. The storm, the closeness... it was probably just a fever dream to him.
Mike dragged himself out of bed. His head felt clearer, the fever mostly gone, leaving behind only a dull exhaustion. He pulled on a fresh sweater and headed downstairs, barely knowing what hour it was, the fever days bleeding into one another.
The house was quiet. He found his mom in the kitchen, wiping down the counters.
"Oh!" She turned as he entered. "Look who's finally awake. Feeling better?"
"Fine," Mike grumbled, scanning the room. "Where's... is Will around?"
Karen’s expression softened. "He's downstairs. He skipped lunch, said he was still tired. I didn't want to wake him."
"Right." Mike crossed his arms, staring at the floor.
"He came checking for you this morning, you know," she said, a small smile on her lips. "Such a sweet boy. You could learn something from him."
"Mom!"
"I'm serious," she added casually, rinsing a rag. "Even the other night. The first you were sick. He came upstairs to check on you, brought you a cup of tea."
Mike froze. "What?" he asked, his voice tight.
"The tea," Karen repeated, completely oblivious to the panic rising in his chest. "Will brought a cup up to you. Did it help?"
The blood drained from Mike’s face. It wasn't a dream. Will had been there. Will had sat on his floor, holding his hand while he slept, because Mike had asked him to, thinking it wasn' real.
Oh.
Running a hand over his face, he tried to breathe deeply.
Will... still cared?
"I... yes. Sure," Mike stammered, backing away toward the hall. "I'm going down."
"Oh! Okay, honey," he heard her call out as he opened the basement door.
The air was cooler down here. Mike reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped.
Will was asleep on the couch, curled into a tight ball under that awful, scratchy wool blanket, looking uncomfortable and small. Mike felt a pang of regret. Will had left the warmth of the double bed for this.
Just to what? Give Mike more "space"? To avoid waking him up?
Or... to avoid making things awkward?
But was it awkward? Or was it only awkward for Mike? They were just sick, and... well, close friends. Right?
Mike took a quiet step forward, unsure of what to do. He didn't want to wake him up, but they really needed to talk. Why was it always so difficult?
Suddenly, a crackle of static shattered the silence.
KRSSHHH.
He jumped, his heart skipping a beat. It was the Walkie-talkie on the table, loud and jarring in the quiet basement.
"Mike? Will? Do you copy? Over."
Lucas.
Grabbing the walkie-talkie, Mike desperately tried to lower the volume, but the damage was done. On the couch, Will jolted awake. He sat up wildly, eyes wide, looking around in panic as if the Demogorgon itself had just burst through the wall.
"Lucas!" Mike hissed into the device, turning the volume knob down. "Jesus, keep it down! Over."
Will blinked, rubbing his eyes, looking disoriented. "Mike?" his voice was rough with sleep. "What... what time is it?"
"It's... afternoon," He held up the walkie. "It's Lucas."
KRSSHHH.
"Sorry, man," Lucas’s voice came through, tinny but cheerful. "Just checking in. Are you guys alive? Over."
Mike pressed the button, sighing. "We're fine, Lucas. Just... recovering. Over."
"Good. Because we are bored and worried" A pause, then Dustin’s voice muffled in the background, yelling something. Lucas came back. "Anyway, we're coming over. We figured since you guys are sick, we could skip the arcade and just hang out at your place. Over."
Mike looked at Will. He was sitting on the edge of the couch now, running a hand through his messy hair. He looked exhausted, but when he met Mike's gaze, he gave a tiny nod.
"Yeah," Mike said into the walkie, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief at the company, disappointment that his chance to talk to Will alone was gone. Again. "Yeah, see you later. Over."
"Roger that! Out."
The static cut off. Silence returned to the basement, but it felt different now. Charged.
"So," Mike said, clearing his throat and putting the walkie down. "They're coming."
"Mhm" Will whispered, pulling the blanket off his legs. He refused to meet Mike's eyes. "I should... I should probably go wash my face. Before they get here."
"Will, wait-" Mike started, taking a step forward. He wanted to say at least something.
But footsteps thundered on the porch overhead, followed by the distant sound of the doorbell ringing. Dustin and Lucas. They were early. Of course. Will rushed toward the stairs.
Mike stood alone in the middle of the basement, watching him go.
"Later," Mike muttered to himself, in the empty room. "Yeah. Later."
***
Will
Lucas and Dustin had arrived like a tornado, filling the stagnant air with shouting, the rustling of snack bags, and a heated debate about whether the new X-Men issue was derivative or revolutionary.
Will sat on the floor, leaning back against the sofa, knees pulled up to his chest. Mike was sitting next to him, close enough that Will could smell the faint scent of soap that clung to him. The other two had abandoned their seats and were standing in front of them, re-enacting a fight scene with exaggerated sound effects. Mike and Will watched, laughing, feeling for a moment like everything was back to normal.
Then, a sharp Achoo! from Will cut through the laughter, catching everyone's attention.
Dustin jumped back dramatically, shielding his face. "Whoa! Keep the plague over there, Byers!"
Lucas laughed, and then all of them joined in.
Will managed a weak smile, wanting to wipe his nose, but before he could reach for the tissue box on the table, one appeared in his vision. Mike was holding it out. "Thanks," Will mumbled, taking it.
He expected Mike to turn back to the show. Instead, Mike leaned in. Without asking, without hesitation, he moved closer to Will's face.
Will swallowed hard.
Mike lifted a hand and, gently, placed it against his forehead. Right there. In front of everyone. As if this terrifying gentleness was completely normal.
Will glanced nervously at Lucas and Dustin, but they were again too busy arguing about Wolverine’s claws to notice. Mike didn't look at them. His eyes were locked on Will’s face, intense. Concentrated.
"Hot," Mike murmured. He said it almost in a whisper, a low vibration that traveled straight down Will's spine and made his legs feel like jelly.
Then, just as quickly, Mike pulled his hand away. Will felt instantly cold. Emptied out. He wished he could grab that hand and hold it there forever.
"No way! Wolverine definitely doesn't move like that!" Mike called out to the others, his voice suddenly normal, shifting gears effortlessly.
But he didn't join them, he didn't move away from Will.
Suddenly Mike shifted, stretching his legs out. He let out a long sigh, resting his head back against the sofa, his arm dropping loosely to his side.
His hand landed on the carpet. In the narrow space between them.
The side of Mike’s hand brushed against his. Just a feather-light touch. Their pinkies grazing against each other.
Don't make it weird,Will screamed internally. Act normal. It's not on purpose.
He couldn't move.
He waited for Mike to notice and pull back. To inch away and reclaim the personal space he had wanted so badly for all those months. Or at least, Will thought he had wanted it. But Mike didn't move. His hand stayed there.
Slowly, Will turned his head. His gaze fell on Mike’s face, and his heart stopped. Mike wasn't watching Dustin and Lucas. He was looking at him.
He felt a thump in his stomach, violent and heavy. Another coincidence. Right?
Will stopped breathing. The noise of Dustin and Lucas faded into background static. The only thing that existed in the world was that tiny point of contact and Mike's dark eyes. Under the cover of the noise, hidden in the shadow of the couch where the others couldn't see, Will pressed back. Just a fraction of a millimeter.
They stared at each other, the air between them crackling with things unsaid.
"Hey!" Lucas’s voice cut through the air like a whip. He coughed loudly, waving a hand. "Seriously, are you guys contagious? Should we be wearing masks?"
The spell broke. Will snatched his hand back quickly, looking down at his knees, terrified, guilty.
"Oh c'mon!" Mike shot back, though his voice sounded a little breathless. The group laughed, a jagged, uneven sound.
Will forced a smile, but inside, he felt like he was crumbling. How? Will wondered, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs to calm himself.
How am I supposed to survive like this? Does he really not know?