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Mike closes the door behind him, leaving Holly and her friends behind. The world grows muffled for a moment as he steps into the kitchen, and then—

“You’re not actually serious, are you?” 

“I’m deadly serious!” Dustin retorts back at Max, who rolls her eyes and takes another bite of her lasagna. Mike cautiously walks over to the table, like if he makes a sound, everyone will suddenly ask if he’s okay – and he doesn’t exactly need the reminder that he’s not.

“Dustin, are we really in the mood? After…” Max trails off, her eyes darting over to where Mike’s sitting, where Mike’s pushing his food around on his plate. He knows she’s looking, but he won’t be. Instead of dooming himself to meeting his friends’ eyes, he lets himself smile slightly and takes a bite. 

Dustin scoffs and waves his fork. “Guys. I understand,” he says, casting a glance around the table. “But what other perfect way to… get onto the next phase of our lives is there?” 

He waits a moment, expecting someone to interrupt and prove him wrong. Mike sure could, but he won’t, and it seems no one else is either. Max tilts her head and eats more, Lucas looks up like he’s about to speak, and Will’s… grinning. Smiling ear to ear, goodness and affection for his friends blooming in his eyes. 

“Right,” Dustin punctuates. “Come on, an actual party. Thrown by Stacy Hargreeve. This is a milestone.”

Lucas snorts. “A milestone for you, maybe.” 

Smirking around her glass, Max sighs, “Yeah, Dustin. Just say you want to see Stacy.”

“I do not –” Dustin splutters, then clears his throat, while both Will and Lucas chuckle at him across the table. “Okay, maybe I do. But – but, no. Y’know what – no, that’s not the point. It’s for us.” He pauses as everyone’s faces fall a little sullen. Then Dustin repeats: “It’s for us.” 

For a second, nobody dares to speak, like their voices are cursed, like the room’s gotten smaller. But the cloud of airy misery is quickly washed away by Max murmuring, “Jesus, Dustin –”

“Okay, sorry, sorry, I mean –” He holds his hands up, just as the others’ smiles flicker back onto their faces. Will’s lights up his eyes once more. “High school is literally over, and we’ve never been to one. This is what high schoolers do: they go to parties.”

Lucas leans back in his chair, grinning. “High schoolers who think they’ve got a shot.”

Snorting, Dustin looks like he’s going to refuse that notion, but almost as quickly as he makes impulse decisions, he leans forward confidently. “Oh, I’ve got a shot. Remember that time when she laughed at my joke? In biology?”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Dustin, you dropped your textbook on your foot.”

“And she laughed,” he insists. “That can’t just mean nothing.” 

A resounding groan echoes through the group. Mike finds himself grinning a little, letting out a soft snort. It warms him – but just as the memory of his sister’s friends begins to fade into the background, it comes back around full circle. The noise washes over him as they return to chatting casually, forks clinking, the low hum of the fridge behind him. 

It’s all so… strange. Life can be like this, he guesses. 

For a while, everything had felt distant as he tried to make sense of it all. Like he’d been underwater again, thrashing and screaming with no one coming to save him. Well, except the one person he can’t bring himself to think too much about, lest the guilt come to finish him off, drown him resolutely. 

Now, he’s back under that water, he thinks. Except this time , no panic or chest is bursting, no countdown on the clock until he succumbs to his fate, no turning back. He stares at his plate as the rest of them talk about drinking, teasing Lucas about the first time he tried a shot and threw up in the kitchen sink. 

Everything’s supposed to move forward eventually. He knew this. He knew this, and yet – he still can’t be convinced he’s an adult when something inside him stopped years ago. Maybe he, or anyone else, will never find out that it stopped years before El even disappeared for good.

A party, though. With music, crowds, and laughter. Normal stuff. It’ll make you feel normal.

How many times has he hoped for that? 

He swallows, forcing down another bite. The idea of the party tightens his chest, and not in the supernatural, end-of-the-world way he’s honestly become quite nostalgic for over the past months. He’s already said goodbye to so much: the innocence, the version of himself that thought the world made a little sense, the version of himself that swore he’d never accept the truth. Going straight from that, that epiphany, into what normal teenagers are supposed to do (Dustin’s words) is… wrong. 

He should be destined to be stuck in that middle space. After all he’s done, all he’s missed – every opportunity, every time he could have fixed everything, every time he could have fixed himself – maybe he deserves that instead of a night where the five of them can live.  

He should go to bed. Let them go without him, let the night pass quietly, let them all thrive and stop worrying about him eventually. He can brave the pitiful smiles they’ll give him. 

Dustin’s voice cuts back in. “So? Are we doing this or what?” 

Mike doesn’t look up, the rush in his ears growing louder. Jesus, when does this stop? Even his false smile is gone, his face likely betraying everything, replaced by something smaller and exhausted. 

“Obviously—yes.” 

The excitable yet soft voice suddenly cuts through the noise, landing straight into Mike’s heart. Will leans forward so fast his chair legs scrape against the floor, his eyes bright, animated in a way Mike keeps noticing lately, something that makes this all bearable. 

It wasn’t immediate, of course, this change. It’s burned, like a candle, down to the end of its wick. And of course, Mike can’t help but notice everything, blinking out of his spiral. Especially now. 

“We should totally go,” Will continues, a toothy, mischievous grin spread across his face, excitement spilling over. “I mean, it–it sounds fun, right?”

Dustin lights up instantly. “Thank you! See? Will gets it.” 

Lucas looks between them and instantly folds. Mike can tell, but he still exhales through his nose, pretending to think it over for half a second. “Alright, fine. But if Dustin embarrasses himself, I’m not intervening.” 

“Wow, so much support.”

“I said fine, didn’t I?” Lucas grins teasingly. “I’m in.”

Max groans, pushing her plate away now that it’s cleaned off. “Unbelievable. You’re all becoming the things you hated the most.” 

This ensues an eruption of groans and complaint noises again, though Will’s smile is still plastered all over his face, stretched so wide his dimples pop out, as rare as they are. Mike finds his own face aching a little, a laugh creeping up his throat. Max throws her hands up, widening her eyes. 

“Woah, okay,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Sorry I hate parties.” 

“You hate boring parties,” Lucas says, nudging her with a glint in his eye. 

Max shoots him a look lined with the same playful nature. “...I hate that this is working, though…” She sighs, slapping her hands lightly on the table. “Whatever, I’ll go.”

Dustin throws his hands up in victory, and Will lets out a little woop! that may as well have been ecstasy. “Yes! That’s four out of five. Democracy wins,” Dustin exclaims. 

And then, inevitably, their eyes all slowly fall onto Mike. 

The energy shifts immediately, sending a small tremor through his body before he rights himself. And God, it’s way too apparent how little he’s spoken for the past ten minutes, despite being so talkative downstairs. It’s nothing, means nothing. But he’s scared. Scared that as soon as he opens his mouth, the truth will come pouring forth. Especially when Lucas’s grin fades just a little. Even Max’s expression turns careful. 

Pity, easily recognisable. He’s seen it on them for the past eighteen months, and he can see it now. 

So naturally, Mike’s eyes fall upon the one person who hasn’t treated him like he could break at any second. Will’s smile falters, concern flickering behind it, but it’s not the same as the others, right? Or – maybe it is the same. The same emotion, the same pity as everyone else’s. It just feels different because Mike doesn’t want to believe Will has the same feelings as everyone else. That Mike himself is different. He wants them to be different, and so imagines it that way. 

He keeps his eyes on the table and lets himself smile slightly. He doesn’t need to look up to know their faces say Poor Mike. We get it. 

The knot in his chest tightens. 

“I—uh,” he stops, fingers curling around his fork. 

The silence stretches of course, expectancy lying there. 

“It’s fine if you don’t feel like it,” Lucas says, keeping his voice casual for him, trying hard not to embarrass Mike in front of the others. Will nods along, his eyebrows scrunching a little. 

Mike swallows, tilting his head. If this is what comes after surviving – a party, normalcy, the knowledge that you had your chance to make your life worth it, but everything was too fucked up at the time – then he can’t stay frozen in time forever. Frozen, pushing around food while everyone else moves on. These people are his family. If anyone’s allowed to ask this of him, it’s them. 

Lucas and Max look careful, poised to accept whatever he says. Dustin looks openly hopeful, which honestly just makes Mike feel worse. But Will –

Will watches him like he always has. He knows exactly how heavy this feels, doesn’t he? Thank god he’s not also asking Mike to be normal, or fixed for a night, or be okay – he’s only asking him to not disappear. A glimmer of recognition lingers in his eyes like a ghost, and maybe, like an apparition, it’s always been there. At least since the moment he’d said those words in the basement. 

I believe. He gets it. Right? Gets that this can’t… that the two of them can’t…

Mike shakes himself. But he can’t shake the feeling that the look is reading something that he’s always been weak for. The quiet understanding, the lack of demand that still somehow asks for everything. 

Exhaling, Mike silently scolds himself for being extremely dramatic about this whole thing. He’s had his dramatic moment tonight. Now it’s time for his weak one. 

“...Okay,” he says, resolute. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Instantly, the air seems to brighten. It’s only natural when Will’s face lights up too, relief blooming so genuine and fast it hurts to see. Dustin whoops, Lucas grins, Max nods. She knew he would come around. But the only thing Mike sees, the only thing that keeps his smile in place, is the fact he’s stepping forward towards… something. 

Something.

__________________________

By the time they get there, the house is already vibrating, lights pouring from the windows like rainbow prismatic spray. God, I’m way too much of a nerd to be here. Unfortunately for him, the only person who seems to mirror his uncertainty is Max of all people, who shoves her hands in her pockets before being dragged along by Lucas and Will – both lit up by sunny grins. 

Mike won’t turn back, though. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he thought. 

…

“I’m telling you, it’s scientifically impossible for it to taste that terrible,” Dustin says.

Lucas snorts. “You say that about every drink.” 

The party’s… pretty busy. Others might call it a good thing, but Mike would rather not give it any credit. Music thumps through the walls in uneven waves, bass rattling the floor beneath Mike’s shoes, which – okay, may not technically be true. But frustration rippling through his skin has always made him a tad hyperbolic. Luckily, that inward scowl feeling is familiar. Not one of these new feelings he can’t make sense of yet. The same old disgust at all these fakers. 

Fakers, yeah. He said it. ‘Cause, they can’t possibly like this, can they? Not when it smells like cheap beer, sweat, soda, and whatever else Mike is invariably trying way too hard not to think about right now. Among other thoughts.  

The lights are too low to see anything beyond outlines, washing everything in shifting colours from a few cheap lamps someone’s taped red and blue cellophane over. But Will is washed in purple light, his eyes crinkled as his energy stays constantly electric. Voices overlap, sure – lots of laughing, shouting, singing along to a song he can’t recognise – but Will’s rings out as he agrees with something Max shouts into his ear. 

It’s… a lot. 

Mike hovers near the edge of the living room at first, shoulders tense, trying not to flinch every time someone bumps into him. Just breathe, he tells himself, although that isn’t exactly easy when a goddamn fog machine is coughing out steam. But still, he should loosen up. This is the next step, right? 

Sigh. He can say he’s only acting this way because he’s better than parties or something, but he knows. 

This time, he’s done finding an alternate explanation. Especially when Will looks like that. 

At first, it’s almost encouraging. Inspiring, even, to watch him grin so freely, looking so weightless and alive that every time Mike glances over, Will seems lit in slow motion, perfectly dotted with light and freedom that it’s dangerous. One moment, Will’s this beacon, bright and irresistibly magnetic. The next, his gaze passes over Mike. Like always, Mike is struck by lightning, but he takes the fall. And then all he’s sure about in this world, for once in his life, is that he wants to—

“Mike. Mike!” 

Dustin waves a hand in front of his face. Damn you. Mike’s eyes are torn away from where Will has gone back to laughing with Max, bobbing to Good Life by Inner City. He blinks at Dustin and Lucas, who both have that look. The one he really doesn’t want to think too hard about right now. 

Oh yeah, they were having a conversation. 

Dustin sighs, “Can you – pay attention? How am I meant to rank this shit when Lucas is biased?” He draws out the last word, gesturing dramatically. 

“Right,” Mike says noncommittally, before trying his best to throw himself into the conversation. 

…

Eventually, after a few minutes, he’s rambling again, and Will on the dance floor – his hair, his future that Mike knows he deserves more than him – is almost forgotten as he lets himself laugh. Almost. 

“Okay, that’s it –” Lucas cuts off both Mike and Dustin bickering over their cups getting switched in the hubbub, and takes both of theirs off their hands before walking away into the kitchen doorway. “Getting new ones!”

“Son of a bitch, you’re no help – come on!” Dustin follows closely behind, weaving through the bodies. 

Mike rolls his eyes, scowls, and immediately begins to follow his friends, but the crowd stops him, forming a wall of moving bodies that he suddenly doesn’t have the energy to push through. 

And again, there are way too many sounds. God, he just wants this to stop, he just wants –

Something familiar. 

It’s all so foreign, so unlike him, so unlike everyone he knows to be here. He doesn’t do this. They don’t… god. They don’t understand. Mike’s eyes drift around, searching for something that does, something familiar, and solid and good amid everything wrong in this room. 

For a second, it feels like fucking everybody in the class of ‘89 is wearing Will’s damn purple T-shirt. But soon enough, he spots the real thing over near the folding table that’s been turned into a drinks station, red plastic cups scattered. Max is there too, leaning back against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable with a shot glass in her hand. 

A shot glass. Interesting. He wonders if Will has one too. 

Mike decides to push through this crowd, seeing as it’s far more worth it than going to listen to what Lucas and Dustin are bickering about. Upon approaching, his pulse beats in time to the music, just as it picks up pace and switches – Groove is in the Heart by Deee-Lite.

Almost in a flash, the dull numbness in Mike’s veins flares into something entirely different. Something that makes him want to move. Makes him want to act. It’s… a rush, that’s for sure.

“C’mon, Will,” Max can be heard saying, as Mike tries his best to walk over coolly – super cool, as if he wasn’t literally losing his breath over that stupid necklace. Ever since he bought it for Will’s last birthday, he loses his mind every time he imagines tugging on it or something. God – what was he thinking, honestly? 

“It’s not a big deal,” Max continues.

When Will laughs nervously, shaking his head and grinning anyway, Mike stops. He wonders if they can see him, or if he’s just some background character. 

“I dunno, Max. I’ve never –”

She tosses the shot back before he finishes, not even flinching. “See? Still alive.” 

Mike only raises his eyebrows, though he guesses it makes sense for her to be that tolerant. Will doing this, however, raises his concerns a little. After all, Will has expressed to him multiple times, in many ways, that he thinks he’d never be able to try alcohol, much less enjoy it. The smell reminds him too much of his father, reminds him too much of those days shut in his room as a kid, and Mike can’t help but acknowledge the protective flare in his chest. 

However, as Will watches her, he doesn’t look worried in the slightest. Maybe he winces in that scrunched up, grimace-y way of his, but not scared. Equal parts impressed and curious. “That doesn’t help your case.”

His voice, a little low and grumbly, can barely be heard over the music, but it’s enough to get Mike attempting a weird little… saunter over there. Jesus, he’s pathetic. But there’s no time, no time to think about that, not when he’s close now and Max has seen him. It’s not like he can slip away again once Will sets his eyes upon him and pins him to the spot with the relief in his gaze. 

“Oh, hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Mike replies, voice a little louder than he means it to be, just to be heard over the music. Will turns around, following Max’s gaze, and – yep – there’s the relief. Spreading across his face like dawn. 

“Mike!” Will exclaims in a larger-than-life tone, as if he’s already had a few. But he’s probably only relieved to see another face. No matter who it is. “Please save me.”

Save me. “I –”

“Nah, he’s here to talk some sense into you,” Max says, raising an eyebrow and earning a scoff from Will that melts into another smile. He shakes his head at her, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Is he now? Wow,” Will murmurs, turning fully to face Mike. His arms fold over his chest, shoulders widening a little as he does. He raises one eyebrow, and if Mike had the time, he’d stay right here. Stuck in this limbo of not speaking, relishing in the attention, the eyes on him. He’d be set for life. 

Instead, he glances at the table. At the bottles he doesn’t recognise, the way the liquid catches the light. He thinks about all the things people say about drinking. About forgetting, about taking the edge off. About inhibitions loosening, about how you’re supposed to replace an ache with an inability to filter anything. Maybe it should scare him. Maybe he shouldn’t be meeting Will’s eyes right now. 

He doesn’t know why the urge hits him so suddenly. 

Or he does, but won’t admit that it’s not the lights, or even the night-long tightness in his chest. 

“Uh,” Mike says, then clears his throat. He reaches for a shot glass, fingers shaking just a little. Max audibly reacts, and when Mike looks back to Will, he finds him blinking, eyebrows raised. A surprise Mike can’t quite read. “I mean… maybe it’s not that big of a deal.”

Max’s grin widens. “Nice.” She hands Will Mike’s shot glass from his hands, who sighs but takes it with a smirk. Mike takes this as his cue to grab another one on the table. 

They both turn to each other, an unspoken question there. Shared uncertainty only lasts until the corners of Will’s mouth quirk up at the ridiculousness of it all, something that Mike can’t help but mirror. 

“Just –” Mike adds, softer now, his mouth scrunching to the side. “We don’t have to think about it too much, right? Won’t kill us.” 

Will nods, chewing on his lip, his eyes glinting with mischief rather than party lights. 

And – well – it doesn’t look too much like Will needs much more persuasion. But the purple hue, the music, the bodies moving around them, it all makes Mike want to say it. So he does, only hesitating long enough to wonder if his voice is a little shaky. 

“I’d do it if you will,” Mike murmurs, catching the instant glimmer of surprise flashing across Will’s face. 

“Oh-kay,” Max drawls, breaking the spell. Shit-head. Mike wants to groan – she never makes her comments easy to ignore. 

That does it. 

Will’s resolve crumbles immediately, like it’d only been a facade anyway. His smile breaks wide and bright, held barely in check, like if he let it go fully, he’d smile so large it’d hurt. The sun practically punches through the clouds. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little breathless, surprised by himself. “Yeah, let’s do it.” 

Max’s eyes light up with mischief. “Oh, but we’re absolutely not doing this without witnesses,” she says, already stepping back, gearing up to bolt. “I’m getting the others.” 

“No, you’re – wait –” Mike starts, panic flaring. As much as he knows his friends wouldn’t judge him, they underestimate the power of his crippling ability to believe everyone perceives him as a loser. A loser who will definitely throw up all over this table, or worse, Will’s lovely purple T-shirt, if he takes as many shots as he knows Dustin is going to ask him to do. 

But Max is already gone. Mike and Will stare at each other for half a second, horror dawning in sync. 

“Okay, we have to be fast,” Will says urgently. 

“Fast,” Mike repeats breathily, nodding way too hard. 

The music changes to Blue Monday by New Order.

They scramble clumsily, bottles clinking as Mike grabs the nearest one (while spilling another), hands sweating as he sloshes something amber and flavoured into the two shot glasses, probably filling them far too full. Will steadies the table with one hand, then immediately squints his eyes and laughs nervously. 

“Is that – Is that too much?” 

“I don’t know,” Mike stage-whispers back. “I’ve literally never done this.” 

Will chuckles, but then his breath hitches as Mike picks his glass up and brings it toward his lips in an act fuelled by adrenaline. “Isn’t there supposed to be a chaser?!” Will suddenly hisses, eyes wide. 

Mike looks around wildly. “What’s a chaser? Is it – like – milk? No, that sounds wrong.” 

Wrinkling his nose, Will shakes his head. “Definitely not milk.” 

They freeze as someone brushes past them, laughing, and Mike nearly drops his glass, tensing like a wild animal. The liquid spills a little. Will tuts under his breath before reaching out and steadying Mike’s hand with the glass in it, purposefully clenching his fingers tighter for him, like Mike can’t do it himself. 

“Okay,” Will says, grabbing his own shot and holding it up. “You ready?”

Mike blinks, his hand warm and thrumming like someone’s infused it with light. He swallows, heart pounding. The music swells, the room spins a little already. He meets Will’s eyes and they nod. 

Will manages to knock his shot back first. Mike only brings it to his lips, then pauses, watching as Will tips his head back, exposing his throat as he swallows all of it. 

Jesus. Mike had debated sipping it at first, but after witnessing that, he really, really needs something to take the edge off. So, in a desperate fervour, he does the exact same, following Will’s lead. 

Oh, god.

His throat burns instantly. He swallowed fire by accident. His eyes water on reflex, face twisting as he coughs up a storm, the taste sharp and bitter and – everyone in the world has to be pretending to enjoy this. They have to be. His stomach flips, protesting loudly. 

Beside him, Will makes a strangled noise that sounds like a yelp trapped inside a hiccup. He slams the empty glass down, face contorting before he shakes his hands out and bobs in place, as if to fling the disgust out of his limbs. “No – oh my god, absolutely not –”

Maybe he’d meant to act cool, planned to laugh it off with a shrug and an effortless joke, but second Mike really looks at Will, sees that same scrunched nose and dorky misbelief mirrored back at him – 

He wheezes, bending forward as the laughter tears out of his chest, which has waited there all night. He blinks hard, one hand braced on the table, the same hand Will had squeezed around his glass. Without thinking, he flexes his fingers, the echo of the touch lingering. 

“How can people like that –” Mike manages, breathless when the laughter ebbs.

“I dunno.” 

They suck in air at the same time, blinking furiously as their eyes water, faces twisted in matching mock-horror. The music thunders around them, lights bleeding purple and red across Will’s face, catching in the soft curl of his hair, the bright flush in his cheeks. Mike’s throat still burns, bile from the liquor rising just enough to tighten his chest. But it’s drowned out by something fizzy, reckless, alive. 

Will shakes himself once, coughs again, then looks up at Mike. The corner of his mouth quirks, just barely, trying to hold it together. A snort then escapes him, sudden and guarded.

That’s all it takes. Mike loses it. Laughter bursts out of him, loud and ugly and imperfect, shaking his shoulders until his eyes sting more than the alcohol did. Will follows instantly, laughing so hard he has to grab the edge of the table, forehead dropping forward like gravity’s caught up to him.

The world narrows to this: shared laughter. 

It’s not like things have been weird between them or anything since everything ended. Will has laughed with him plenty, come over to help Holly paint, watched a few movies or two – but man, this never gets old. Burning throats and the way Will’s eyes crease when he smiles this hard will never get old. Mike could relish in it, like a cat bathing in the sun, for hours. 

Then Max comes charging back in. 

She gasps. “You assholes,” she says, laughing in offence. 

That sends Will’s laughter tipping fully into hysterics. He stumbles towards Max, nearly tripping in the process, making a breathless, uncontrollable sound that only makes Mike laugh harder in response. His insides feel like they’re almost… melting away. It’s infectious, he guesses, this ease. This glowy, chest-warmth. Like something long-dormant was switched back on. 

At the thought that life hasn't felt like this since… longer than he wants to admit, an ache blooms in him – an urge to grapple hold of this moment, this image of Will clinging to Max’s arm and hiding his face as he giggles. 

Then, great, Lucas and Dustin pile in next, their voices overlapping as Mike barely listens, staring down at the drinks table and feeling some strange, unearthly nostalgia over the lingering sting of the liquor. 

“Again,” Dustin demands immediately. “You have to do it again.”

Will straightens, standing his ground, smiling but shaking his head as his hands lift in surrender. “No way, that was – no, I’m done.” He laughs softly, then his eyes flick to Mike, checking in with him. His mouth quirks in quiet wonder. 

Nobody speaks except Max, her gaze locking onto him. “What about you, then?” 

Opening his mouth, Mike knows he should say no, he really should. The gazes on him probably read as pitiful right now. His throat still burns, his head is light, and everything’s lagging a little. Every sensible thought about when he has to go home and what he should be doing is somewhere very far away. 

And of course, he looks at Will. They watch each other for only a second. Pride swells in Mike’s chest. He grins. 

“I’ll do it,” he says, his voice steadier than his body, sure, but… man, does it feel good when they erupt around them. Dustin whoops and Lucas cheers, grabbing onto Max for support in his anticipation. Max smirks triumphantly, acting like she’s about to rub her hands together in glee, just as someone slides another shot glass into Mike’s hand. Will.

His fingers linger for a second, a trace of heat left behind. Mike doesn’t break eye contact with Will as he lifts the glass to his lips. But before he drinks anything, he says quietly, hoping nobody hears, “This is a terrible idea.”

Will smiles, eyes shining, and he hears. “Probably.”

Mike downs the shot. Fire flares in his throat again – sharp as teeth – but it doesn’t knock the air out of him this time. He coughs, sure, but he also laughs through it, head buzzing as his friends roar their approval around him. A flare of indignance sparks in his chest, a certain mischief he hasn’t felt since earlier, back in the campaign. Man, he never thought he’d feel that way outside of his personal escape. 

He grins toothily, unabashed and unguarded. 

When he looks back up, Will is still there – Max’s arm around him, sure – but still looking and watching him like that. The same way. With a certain expectancy, daring him to go even further. Unsteadily, Mike’s brain chooses this perfect time to realise that he’s definitely tipsy now, heart picking up against his ribs. He swallows, far too aware of his fingers still tingling from Will’s touch. 

Mike’s grin softly falters. The chaos swirls around them, but the importance of this moment is not lost, not really. 

Will’s mischief also shifts, just a fraction. For a moment, it’s like he can really pretend that he’s happy, loved, admired, or something else he’s wanted, something else kept locked behind a cage he thinks maybe tonight, tonight, he’s only just escaped. 

That look, Mike knows what it says. He can read Will’s expression fully. 

You don’t have to prove anything, y’know. 

Mike snorts and rolls his eyes at him. It’s a little hard, with the edges of his vision being blurry. Yeah, yeah. I know.

Then Will tilts his head slightly, lips quirking up again, letting Mike off the hook without making a thing of it. What if he understands? Understands exactly how close Mike came to tipping over some invisible edge, and how good it is that he didn’t. 

Shoulders relax. Warmth blooms. The lights flicker back and forth into hues of blue and green, blending into a teal that Mike thoroughly enjoys when it pairs so well with Will’s shirt and – whoa. Okay, this is… this feels nice. Something unnamed, something usually rushed down and squashed, is now just there. Inside him. 

For the first time, Mike doesn’t want to pretend it isn’t. 

__________________________

Yep, this is amazing.

That’s the only word that fits, even if the room tilts like a boat on rough water every time he turns his head to talk to someone else. A cheap beer was shoved into his hand at some point, maybe by one of his friends or a different delinquent, and he’d accepted it because, why not? Everyone else was doing it. Will had laughed and said something… he can’t really remember. 

Oh – right, it had been: “You don’t have to drink it all. You’re going to be a mess, Mike.” 

Of course, he had said Mike’s name in that soft, breathy, sort-of exasperated way that makes it sound like a pet name. So Mike had taken it as a personal challenge to push for more of that later. Honestly, sometimes that face Will makes when he’s annoyed at Mike, ready to insult him lightly, gets his heart pumping faster than he’d like to admit. 

“Maybe I wanna be a mess, hm?” he’d retorted, widening his eyes at Will, probably pulling a face he’d never make sober, and chugged it all. 

He doesn’t recall what expression Will had made, but he does remember blushing at his giggle, a sound so intoxicating it might as well have replaced the drinks entirely. 

There had been another shot, and another, passed to him amid engagement from the others, and then – it blurs together after that. 

“You’re druuuunk,” Lucas calls hushedly, as if it’s a secret and not something literally everyone can see. Also, it’s the fifth time he’s said it. 

“Mm –” Mike swallows the last of his fruit punch, swaying slightly despite his indignation. “I’m having a good time.” 

Dustin snorts. “That’s what drunk people say. Also, you didn’t deny it.”

I’m having a good time. 

Whoa, wait. He replays the words in his head, searching for the usual uncertainty that he should be getting anxious about by now. But it doesn’t exist. He wasn’t lying when he said it. Not at all. He told the truth about having a good time somewhere, somewhere that isn’t his basement.

Mike pouts at Dustin a little, scowling but ultimately he can’t hold a chuckle back. He loses his balance and throws his hands out, grappling onto something warm and solid. When he looks, he sees it’s Will’s arm steadying him. Will doesn’t pull away or anything, but he adjusts, his eye roll easy and practised by now. Has he been doing this all night? Ah well. Mike shrugs physically, as if he’d been speaking his thoughts aloud.

Vaguely, Mike realises, he kind of has. Been doing this all night, he means. Leaning into Will like this. 

Control yourself there, Wheeler. A stern voice in his head plays, a familiar one. It doesn’t make him as inclined to jump out of a window as it usually does, however. 

…

They’re standing near the hallway when Will says something under his breath. It’s a dry little gossipy comment, the kind Mike has noticed Will throwing around far more lately than he used to. Then, and then, Will does that thing. That cute, adorable, endearing thing where he backtracks and apologises – because he’s nice. Will’s nice and kind and good like that, and he can’t say one bad thing about anybody, even if it’s about the most snotty, popular, annoying girl in their grade. 

And the thought of that, of that irrefutable fact, is extremely funny to a drunk Mike Wheeler. 

He snorts, spits out a little bit of his drink, and then laughs fully, bending forward, clutching at Will’s shoulder and shirt to keep himself upright.

“Oh my god,” Will says, wiping at his shirt, laughing too now. “What was so funny? It wasn’t that funny, Mike.” 

“Yes it was,” Mike wheezes, still giggling for way too long after the moment. “You’re so – mm, you’re hilarious sometimes.” 

It doesn’t dawn on Mike that he said that. Or, maybe it does, but he doesn’t mind. It feels good to call Will hilarious, to tell him what he thinks, especially when it makes the boy duck his head, cheeks pink in the light of the kitchen, smiling in that way that makes Mike’s chest pleasantly loose. He might as well be putty in Will’s hands now, loving it fully, and all while completely forgetting that Max is right beside them, nursing a massive eye-roll. 

…

“Mike,” Will says softly, turning his head to stare behind him as they try to move through the house, amusement in his eyes. His gaze flickers down to where Mike’s hand rests. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Mike says immediately, his head lighter than he thinks it’s ever been. “Just – don’t lose you.” 

Will frowns a little, finding it hard to make sense of the words, before snorting and turning around, letting them both wander through the house like this – room to room, music everywhere, people everywhere. It’s only then that Mike realises why Will felt the need to check in on him in the first place. 

He’s hanging onto Will again. 

It’s a frequent occurrence tonight. Sometimes it’s his wrist, sometimes it’s his sleeve. This time, without thinking about it (because thinking has taken a one-way trip out the window), Mike has his two fingers hooked into Will’s belt loop as the crowd gets thicker. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

It takes a second for Will to slow his steps, matching Mike’s uneven ones. Mike’s hand is gently removed from the loop when Will steps back and places a hand on the small of his back. Mike almost doesn’t register the possessive touch – his mind is slow, far too used to playing off touches like this as something he’s imagined – but the pressure is there, it’s steady, and it’s patient. 

Mike knows, distantly, that he’s being clingy. That maybe Will feels forced to look after him when he’s being this ridiculous. This would mortify sober Mike if he knew. But drunk Mike does not give a single shit. Drunk Mike – oh, he revels.  

Drunk Mike just knows what he’s always known: Will is real and solid and safe. And walking with him through this atmosphere, trying to find their friends again, feels better than anything has in a long time. 

If this is what being drunk is like, Mike thinks hazily, still dopily smiling to himself, he kind of gets why people like it. 

…

Mike isn’t sure when, with the whole night being blurred into one singular moment and all, but Will eventually stops leaning against the wall near the bathroom to say, “I’m gonna get some air, okay?” 

Immediately, Mike’s attention is piqued, and he opens his mouth eagerly. “Wait, I’ll –” The words I’ll come with you die on his tongue as Will gives Max a small smile and pushes away from the group, slipping into the crowd, now invisible. Mike’s instinct, blurry and intoxicated, is to follow the guy straight away. He’ll just have to barge into everybody again! That’s fine, that’s totally –

“Nope.”

Max pulls him back from his dreamy glide towards the crowd. 

“Hey –!” he starts in a whiny tone. 

She plants herself directly in front of him, blurry and wavy. Hm, maybe he needs glasses. She has her arms crossed, he thinks, eyebrows already raised like she’s been waiting for this moment. “Did you steal my drink?” 

“What?” Mike blinks at her, the hallway tilting a little to the left, so he tilts his head to compensate. “No. I – why would I –”

“Because,” Max says flatly, “you would. I set it down, and you’ve been taking or accepting literally everything handed to you tonight.” 

He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t really have a defence. After all, he kind of thinks he might have actually done that. And he may have just stood here in silence for a full ten seconds, because Max groans even more tiredly than usual.

“Jesus, your tolerance is terrible,” she mutters. 

Mike’s about to shrug and agree, because it’s actually funny at this point, it might even be an advantage, but then she says, “Maybe you should go home.”

Wait – no. “I am not –” He sways, then catches himself on the wall. “I am not home enough to go drunk.” 

Max snorts. “Mike, you laughed for thirty seconds because Will said ‘nice lamp.’”

“But it was a nice lamp,” Mike insists, feeling a scowl creep up on his face in defence of Will. Is she calling Will’s jokes unfunny or something? 

“I’m not saying he’s unfunny,” she says, squinting at him. “And you’re talking about me in the third person.”

He squints back. She must be a mind reader. Oh God, this is terrible. Imagine Max being a mind reader! The whole world, his whole world, would fall apart, and she’d have ample material to tease him with, as if she didn’t already have enough. But that’s not fair, since most of his thoughts right now concern Will anyway. Or at least they should, because –

“He’s gone, though, Will’s gone,” Mike blurts. “Where – where did Will go? I was just with him.” He peers over the crowd, the image of Will weaving through bodies flashes up, blurry and already fading. To be honest, every memory is fading as quickly as it arrives. Beyond the music bumping in his ears, Max sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“God,” she mutters, an eyebrow lifting like she’s debating whether to say something. She has that look a lot, honestly. “You can give him some space, can’t you?” 

“So?” Mike says, genuinely confused. “He’s my –” He gestures vaguely, Max’s words settling in slowly. Instead of frustrating him, making him want to scowl and deflect, he takes them, and they burn behind his eyes. “Will,” he finishes, sighing dreamily. 

“Do you think he’s with someone else? Or – like…” He trails off, chewing on his lip, making a small noise at the back of his throat as he swallows.

She squints at him again, and for a moment, he could mistake her gaze for pity, the same careful, apologetic look his friends have worn for the past year and a half. He could roll his eyes and shrug it off. He’s drunk, and who gives a shit about what Max Mayfield thinks right now? 

But it is true. Will needs space from him. They’re not how they used to be, not really, not despite every hangout ever since Vecna. Not despite every laugh Will shares with him. 

Mike’s eyes blur too fast, so he blinks rapidly, clearing his vision – only revealing Max staring at him, analytical. He startles, face flushing red. Immediately, he tries wiping the expression away, batting her hand from his arm. 

“Jeez – can you please stop psychoanalysing me? I just wanna find him.” 

For a red-faced moment, Max just looks at him, seeing past the guard he can’t raise when he’s like this. Then her expression softens, just a touch. 

“He’s probably in the garden,” she sighs, nodding towards the back door. “Getting air sounds like he’s outside to me, so.” 

Mike’s face brightens instantly. “Oh.” 

Out of nowhere, she hands him a cup. He peers into it, closing one eye to squint. There looks to be nothing in there but some clear, shiny liquid. Maybe it’s a potion, a potion that gives him the ability to talk to Will without making him feel like he needs space. A potion that lets him stop needing –

“Water. Drink the water,” Max shouts.

Oh, right. Whatever.

He nods, sipping a bit. He then immediately forgets as he turns and starts walking swiftly towards the door. He sets the cup back down on the kitchen counter as he goes, reaching for the door handle just as Max calls out, “Asshole, you didn’t even –” 

Then he’s outside, away from every distraction, the lights, the pressure – into the sound of the crickets and the quieter buzz of smokers and stragglers scattered across the patio and lawn. 

His heart thuds. Objective is: find Will. Always the objective. 

The music dulls into a muffled thump behind him, the night wide and open in comparison to the prison of Stacy Hargreeve’s stupid house. The backyard is strung with uneven fairy lights and a banner that once congratulated everyone on graduating, now scribbled with graffiti. The glow catches on patches of grass and the backs of people clustered in small groups, laughing, passing things back and forth. 

Mike squints, scanning. “Will?” he calls, making his way from the porch into the yard, voice louder than he intends. A couple of people glance over. He winces at himself, but tries again anyway. “Will!” 

The steps are very annoying and hard to go down without tripping up at least twice, but he makes it onto the lawn, swaying as he crosses it. His shoes are damp with dew, heart thumping. 

His chest floods with relief as his eyes, vision lagging, land on a familiar figure at the very edge of the garden, near the trees. 

Will is half in shadow, leaning back against a tree, holding the night at arm’s length. His hair, soft as ever despite the party’s sweatiness, catches the faint light as he tilts his head up, breathing slow and steady. Mike barely registers anything beyond the fact that it’s Will, so his face breaks into a grin so wide it hurts. 

“There you are!” he says, pointing unnecessarily as he closes the distance, nearly tripping over a tree root on the way. 

As soon as Will looks up, he rolls his eyes, lips twitching despite himself. “Oh god,” he says, voice raspy with affection. “You followed me.”

“Yep,” Mike says, popping the p at the end of the word. He stops in front of him, wondering for only a heartbeat if he’s too close. He sways, just a little, hands hovering in case he just straight-up falls onto Will’s body. Despite stopping, Mike still somehow pitches forward, making Will raise his hands and press lightly on his shoulders, righting him. Mike doesn’t do anything, letting himself lean against the touch instead of actually standing back up.

Will snorts softly. “You’re so drunk.”

Mike beams at him, the touch lingering before falling away and leaving a mark. “You’re just jealous because I’m actually having fun.” 

Will makes a mock-offended noise, furrowing his brows but still smiling gorgeously. “I’m having fun. You can barely stand, look at you.” 

As if checking whether Will’s correct, Mike looks down at himself. All he sees is the ground spinning a little. He giggles at it like it’s playing a trick on him. “Rude,” he mumbles, stepping closer anyway – close enough that Will instinctively straightens, maybe bracing in case Mike tips over. Which he won’t, by the way. “‘M standing perfect.” 

At that, Will lets out another giggle. 

Damn it. Mike wishes he’d started counting how many times he’d made Will laugh tonight earlier. Maybe he can estimate it later, save that information for when he needs to feel better about himself, when he messes up again and needs proof that they’re… good. So good. 

Hm. Mike leans in a bit, lowering his voice dramatically to a whisper like he’s sharing a secret. “You okay?” 

Will’s expression flickers from teasing to surprise, then into gratitude, which he tries to hide as he drops his gaze. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Just needed a minute, y’know.” 

Mike nods rapidly yet solemnly, like this is extremely important information. Unfortunately, that only makes his head lighter. Dizziness rolls over him in a wave, and he reaches out automatically, properly losing his footing this time – 

Will catches his arm without hesitation, warm fingers against bare skin. 

“Whoa, whoa – okay. God. See?” Will says gently. “Barely.” 

If he were home, if he weren’t here – perhaps in his basement with the others – he’d blush at his own antics and shrug it off. But here, he laughs, wondering if everyone else in the world has really disappeared, or if it’s just his imagination. His head tips forward until his forehead presses into Will’s shoulder. 

“Good thing you’re here then.”

Will’s hand drops from his arm slowly, fingertips brushing the skin and making it itch. Silence settles long enough that Mike feels the dizziness ease, softening into clarity. What did he just say?

Quickly, he raises his head and stammers, “And – and this tree! Stable enough.” He reaches out and plants his palm against it, stretching his arm out so he can lean from it, a smirk aimed at Will’s deeply unimpressed face. 

“Mhm,” Will hums, his lips pressed together – maybe even chewing on one of them – as his eyes rake down Mike’s torso. What is he… “Hey, why don’t you just… there you go.” 

He gently takes Mike’s arm again, guiding them down together so they’re both sitting at the base of the tree, their backs against the thick trunk. So caring. Mm, he’s so safe. 

Mike bumps the back of his head onto the bark, then instinctively turns it to his left. Slow as possible, mindful of his susceptibility to dizzy spells. Will isn’t looking at him. He stares upward instead, where the leaves part to reveal the night sky, stars scattered thinly across it, his lips parted just so, expression soft. 

Gorgeous. Mike doesn’t follow his gaze. He’s fine right where he is. 

There’s a quiet voice at the back of his mind, ever-present. If he were sober, maybe it’d tell him to stop focusing so heavily on the lines of Will’s profile, to stop breathing so hard in case Will feels it on his cheek, to move away and go back inside. 

Now – it only whispers, I love you. 

Mike closes his eyes. God, this is nice. He hums softly, then breathes in and out. A familiar scent floods his nose, intensified by the closeness. Will’s cologne, the dew-damp grass that might be soaking into his clothes, the tang of smoke, and –

His eyes fly open. “Have you been smoking out here?” he asks. 

Will chokes. He splutters, coughing into his fist, shoulders hunching as he turns sharply to Mike, skin flushed and warm in the moonlight. “What – no –” he manages, voice squeaking in a way that Mike barely hears anymore. “No, I haven’t been –”

Squinting, the innate desire to make Will Byers blush just a little harder, to make that flustered grin pop out, overtakes him. His drunk brain may be slow, but he’s still bound to be observant when it comes to Will. 

“It’s so obvious, oh my god! Can you stop denying it every time –”

“I do not.” 

“You do, you do,” Mike says, lifting his eyebrows exaggeratedly before reaching out to poke Will lightly in the side. Will shivers, wriggles where he sits, and lets out a chuckle, shaking his head with a grin of disbelief. But there’s mischief written all over him. 

“Right now,” Mike says, his intoxication requiring no warm-up as he leans in and sniffs long and deeply, making Will frown at him still with that what the hell are you doing smirk still on his face. “You smell like it.”

For a second, Will’s face freezes. His jaw goes slack, mouth curved up into a toothy, open-mouthed grin, the kind of expression Mike wants to make him wear forever. His eyes sparkle before he gives in and groans, dragging a hand down his face. 

“You – oh my god, okay. Okay, maybe.” 

Mike giggles like a kid who’s won a prize. Nobody knows how long he’s been trying to get Will to admit he’s been stealing cigarettes from his mom. Months of quiet convincing, little conversations, small worries tucked inside Mike’s head – it’s been tedious. Maybe even guilt-ridden. He can’t ignore that almost every time he suspects it, it’s only because there’s a grief-like energy in the air. The first time was when Will moved out of the Wheeler house and into El’s old room. 

Mike breathes slowly, soothing out of the anxiety. He guesses all he needed was a few shots (or rather, a lot of them) to loosen his filter, slash get rid of it entirely. But honestly, he should have been doing this the entire time – sober and all. 

“But it’s not like – often. It’s not a thing,” Will says, holding his hands up and pushing his lips out. 

Cute. Mike hums thoughtfully before poking him again, gentler this time, so Will barely reacts. “A ‘sometimes’ thing.” 

“A very sometimes thing,” Will insists, mimicking Mike’s slurred intonation, one Mike hadn’t even realised he had. Then he sighs, his voice dropping. 

“I barely – I barely do it. I hate it, really. Reminds me of…” Will looks away, shuddering before pulling his legs up, knees near his chest, arms wrapping around them. When he smiles, it’s small and doesn’t reach his eyes. Mike aches with the sudden urge to wrap his arms around him, pulling him tight to his chest.

The night feels quieter, the crickets shushing themselves like an audience, the world holding its breath. Mike isn’t completely clueless, he swears. Even like this, even when he’d rather tease and tease Will until his face goes daylily-pink, he knows there’s a bigger reason they’re out here. His heart squeezes as he shifts closer, bumping their hips together. 

“Is that why you came out here? To – smoke?” he asks softly. 

Will considers it, then shakes his head. “No. No, it’s not all about that.” 

Mike wills his intoxicated brain to help him out here, to give him the exact answer. To tell him what he’s supposed to do without him having to just give in, lay his head against Will’s and pull him close in the chilly summer air. There’s no ignoring what happened earlier today, with the campaign and everything. No ignoring that this phase of their lives, high school, exasperating as it was, meant so much. No ignoring that Mike… that he… that he plays a part in Will’s pain tonight. That he might play a part in the overwhelming knowledge that someone special isn’t here for the special-est night ever. 

He sighs. Maybe he would’ve let Will stay out here, let him silently tell Mike to go, but he won’t. 

He whispers, “Max said… to give you some space. Did – did you need some from me?” 

Will frowns. “She said that?” 

Mike nods. 

“Mike, I… I was just overwhelmed by the party. The house party, I mean.” His voice softens, turning a little croaky as he nudges Mike’s shoulder. “I haven’t been to one before, you know that.”

The touch blooms warmth down Mike’s chilled arm, but the initial smile fades slowly as conflicting images of Will – dancing, laughing, making the funniest jokes Mike’s ever heard – flash through his mind. The crease between his brow deepens.

“But you were having fun,” he says quietly. “You were laughing. You looked like you were… okay.” The words sound wrong and accusatory the moment they leave his mouth. A misunderstanding – a word he’s never thought to associate with what he does to Will. 

Will presses his mouth into a thin line. He doesn’t look away, something tightening in his expression, closing his heart off. He doesn’t say anything, and probably won’t if Mike doesn’t intervene. 

There’s nothing to lose, Mike decides, letting his lack of filter lead the way. At least trusting his instinct – his Will-instinct – especially when there’s nobody around. Nobody to interrupt. 

He keeps his tone light. “C’mon,” he says, nudging Will with his shoulder, a crooked, dopey smile returning. “I know there’s… that everything’s sort of…” 

Will exhales through his nose, shaking his head as he stares down at his lap. “Mike.” 

There’s an edge to it now. Small, but unmistakable. 

Uncertainty creeps into Mike’s limbs, but the alcohol lets him shrug it off. “What? I’m just saying –” 

“Can you not?” Will breathes out, only a little snappy, but enough that it lands hard on Mike’s chest. He wishes it were just the alcohol talking, but something stings behind his eyes immediately. Beside him, Will’s shoulders tense, his jaw setting. “I told you why.” 

The words cut through Mike’s fogged-up mind. The grin slips right off his face. “Oh,” he says, soft and small. He swallows. “I’m sorry. Didn’t wanna – I don’t wanna push you, Will. I just… I feel… it too.” 

Fragile air hangs between them, likely to shatter if Mike isn’t more careful. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything, perhaps he shouldn’t have come out here in the first place. But… the truth is, he’d rather fight with Will than not talk to him at all. He’d rather make Will feel something than nothing. Maybe he should feel guilty for that. 

Will sighs, then actually shifts closer rather than further away. “I mean, things are good,” he continues, voice quieter. Mike relaxes a little. “Like – really good. School was okay, and that’s over now, so I guess we can do what we want. Art’s good. Life’s good. You –” He stops himself, exhales, rubs his hand through his hair. “Everything’s getting better.”

Mike’s chest loosens, lightens, and an alcohol-infused part of his brain longs to reach out. To steady something inside Will. 

Almost angry with himself, Will shakes his head. “And yeah, I… I want things to be comforting. Safe. Happy. Like you said in your campaign, where everything makes sense and nothing hurts for a while, and –”

His voice trails off, like he doesn’t even know where he was even going with it all. But Mike thinks he does, or at least, he feels like he does. 

Will shifts, blinking, then shakes his head again. “Sorry, I – I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Mike feels the familiar, constant urge to correct him, to claim no, no you have every reason to snap at me, Will. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”

His gaze drifts back over to Mike, searching and uncertain. The fairy lights catch in his eyes, stealing Mike’s breath for a moment, making them look darker somehow – deeper, like there’s a whole other night going on behind them. Sure, Mike could stay here and wax poetic about Will’s eyes in his head, about the tragedy of their watery gaze and all that. But the alcohol is… making him brave. Clumsy, yes, but brave enough not to care. Brave enough not to hide behind useless filters. 

“I get it,” Mike says simply. 

Will blinks. He doesn’t look surprised. “You do.” 

It’s not much of a question, more of an acknowledgement, one that Mike takes in his stride. “Yeah!” he exclaims, nodding, piecing it together even as he speaks. He’s never spoken this out loud before. It’s been too long since they’ve been like this: two planets orbiting each other, pulling close, seeking each other out and letting everything in their heads spill freely. Mike grasps onto the moment, in case his sober self won’t later. 

“I think… sometimes it feels like we never really got closure. That’s what I was trying to do earlier today. I guess. But y’know, still.” Will tilts his head, his eyes softening. “On any of it, we – it’s like we just…” Mike makes a vague gesture with his hands, fingers splaying. “We moved on. Got over it. And everyone expects that to be enough.”

Will’s breath catches, just slightly. He looks away, eyes widening at the ground. 

“There are still so many questions,” Mike continues, “So many things that just… didn’t get answered. Stuff we’re not supposed to talk about anymore, either.” 

Will nods slowly, gaze darting gradually to his hands. For a moment, he just stares at them, turning them over before his fingers twist together, knuckles pale in the low light. 

And Mike knows. 

Even like this, he remembers the days after El, after Vecna – how time passed in a smeared, unreal manner, how they’d all been there but not really present. A hurricane of thoughts had churned in his head back then, something he barely wants to revisit right now. It reminds him how good it is now. Reminds him of Hopper’s words, before the guilt inevitably starts spiralling again. 

What really gets him, looking back, is how no one talked about what Will had been able to do, what he’d been connected to, what he’d finally escaped from, but also what he’d lost. By the time Mike began to wonder how Will was actually handling it all, by the time he realised Will’s relief might just be a mask, it felt too late. Will was happy, smiling. He didn’t need Mike digging things up, asking how he really felt about losing his powers. 

It’s not like Mike hadn’t tried, though. Little comments, reminders of how much Will had done for everyone. He couldn’t help himself. Will would always roll his eyes in that way that said that’s enough. And sober Mike would stop there. 

Drunk Mike will not. 

“You know,” he starts, too casually, like he’s talking about the weather. “I still think you could be a sorcerer, by the way.”

Will looks up, eyebrows lifting. “Mike.”

Mike just nods, reaffirming it with a grin, even as Will sighs and gives a small nod back, his gaze dropping to his hands again. Those fingers look like they’re aching to be touched, at least to Mike. His own fingers twitch, alcohol burning warmly in his stomach, urging him to do it. Do it. 

He wants to reach out and stop Will from self-soothing, from quietly retreating into himself like this, thumb rubbing over his pinkie. He could do that himself. 

“I’m serious,” Mike says, softer now but no less certain. Where his thoughts would usually be thin and hard to grasp, the alcohol makes them rounder, fuller, pressing outward whether he likes it or not. “I still believe it.” 

Will huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes, though there’s no heat behind it. “You always say this.”

“I’m serious this time. It’s true.” 

“Mike, I know you like… the coolness of it all,” Will starts explaining, making Mike scowl. That notion isn’t right at all. “But the only reason I had… powers, or whatever you want to call them, was because of Vecna. Yeah, I found them, but he did that to me. It wasn’t something I had on my own.”

Frowning, Mike feels the heat welling in his chest grow tenfold. He shifts closer unconsciously, lowering his voice. “I don’t think that’s right. They’re innate, remember?” 

Will looks up then, snorting and tilting his head with an unimpressed look that somehow still makes butterflies erupt in Mike’s belly. He kind of wants to smooth out the crease between Will’s brow with his thumb – or something else. He deserves that, that kindness and care right now, more than anything. What he doesn’t deserve is to keep believing, after all this time, that what he did didn’t literally change the chemistry in Mike’s brain. Didn’t save people’s lives. And that wasn’t just his powers doing that. It was all him. 

“I mean it!” Mike continues, his voice a little whiny, making Will giggle despite himself. “Vecna didn’t give you anything, screw that. He just –” Mike gestures helplessly, lagging a little as he searches for the shape of it. “He latched onto what was already there.” 

Will parts his lips, like he’s about to follow up and ask what – what was already there, Mike? What exactly is so special about me? It makes Mike’s heart beat harder, but all Will actually says is: “That’s not how it works.” Doubt threads through his murmur. 

“Then why didn’t it happen to anyone else?” Mike presses, shrugging as his voice grows low and conspiratorial, the way it used to go when they solved things together. “There were the other kids. And none of them could do what you did.” 

Will opens his mouth, probably armed with a perfect retort, something logical and airtight, to argue against what Mike’s implying. But Mike won’t have it. No matter how much evidence is stacked against him, he believes this through and through. 

“You felt him,” Mike says, not even sure anymore if his words are actually being fueled by alcohol. They’re earnest, intense. “You pushed back, and that’s not him, okay? That’s all you.” 

The backyard seems to hold its breath. The lights sway gently overhead, laughter muffled and distant from the other side of the yard, leaves whispering in the breeze. The world pulses from Mike’s vision, and he realises now he’s never really experienced sobering up before. 

Will’s hands stop fidgeting. After a long, suspended moment, he says, so quietly it almost gets lost in the night, “You helped.”

Mike blinks, trying to read between the lines – only because the words sound so much more meaningful than they actually are. 

He snorts breathily, rolling his eyes and brushing off the weight of it. The moment they shared in the field before getting the kids from the military is one of those memories – the ones that stick out from around that time. He did something. He helped. He was right about Will being magical then. He’s always known it. 

To be honest, sober Mike would probably want to crawl into the dirt just thinking about it. How stupid he’d been, walking away and fixating on the touch and the small push Will had given him instead of doing something about it. Drunk Mike, though, feels the warmth of it spread through his body instead, right where Will had touched him, bold and unashamed.

“Yeah, well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as a faint blush creeps up. “I was right! I told you so.” 

Will doesn’t laugh. He goes very still. Weird, this isn’t how they are.

“Hey,” Mike says softly, only realising now that his fingers have settled on the side of Will’s thigh, for some reason. “What’s wrong? Did you not like what I said? I thought –”

“No, no, I did, I did,” Will says, inhaling deeply. The breath lifts his chest before escaping slowly and controlled. When he looks back, he smiles carefully. “It wasn’t just when you were rambling about D&D and stuff, Mike.”

Mike’s brow furrows. 

“When I saw you… there. From the Demo’s perspective. You were gonna –” Will’s voice breaks, and Mike’s fingers twitch where they rest on the fabric of Will’s jeans. There’s no conscious thought process, but he gently rubs back and forth. “I thought of you,” Will whispers, breath catching slightly. 

Me?

“Of us. When… um, when we first met, and you asked me to be your friend. I thought of that and… you know. It happened."

Mike’s eyebrows lift. Me. I did it. “Oh.” 

Will glances and seems to realise all at once how much he just revealed. 

“I mean –” he rushes in, words tripping over each other as he pulls back just a fraction, afraid he’s leaned too far forward. It only makes the light refract over his hair again, glowing more openly now – a halo. “It wasn’t just you, I mean, Robin too. She really helped me. Talked to me about how I kept trying to solve things with other – other people. It was all just… me, though. I always looked at myself through everyone else’s eyes.” He lets out a shaky laugh, darts his eyes to Mike nervously. “Which sounds bad, but she meant it in a good way. Anyways, um…”

Mike doesn’t dare interrupt; he barely breathes. 

“I think I just –” Will continues, gaze dropping again, voice quieter. “I thought back to a time when I didn't feel ashamed. When I didn’t feel wrong for just being… myself.” He smiles, like he can’t help it. “You… we, uh… it was a good time.” His voice cracks, and the night feels extremely still. 

Mike’s chest aches horrendously. 

Because in an instant, he remembers that time too – back when friendship had been fearless but simple, when wanting Will’s company didn’t come with second-guessing or the quiet, self-policing urge. He’d never once thought about whether he should be smaller, whether he was too different for… wanting. Being himself around Will, being next to him and his friend, had been enough. No guilt. No knowing that his promises had ended a life. Tears blur his vision. What he would give. 

What he would give to go back.

Something clicks inside him – maybe it did long ago, and he’s only just hearing it retroactively. It’s this whole night, the laughter, the drinks. He hasn’t stopped himself from reaching for Will once. Not now, either, when he moves his hand from his leg to Will’s arm. He hasn’t stopped himself from holding on, smiling too wide, laughing too loud, existing. 

The best night of his life. Maybe he could chalk it up to the alcohol, to the weightless intoxication, but the magnet in his chest has brought him here, to where Will is. Where Will’s right beside him, letting him be unashamed, happy. Doing what he’s always done. 

Mike swallows, throat throbbing, fingers warm against Will’s skin. 

Maybe it is really the alcohol humming warmly in Mike’s veins, taking him over and under. Or maybe it’s the sudden, blinding clarity of it all – that finality feeling. He’s always known deep down where to stand, who to fall beside, and he can stop fighting it. He can relieve himself and… let go. Fly home. Whatever it is that makes him do it, he leans in anyway. 

He leans close enough that the space between their noses is charged, fragile, a held breath. Mike studies Will’s lips unashamed, which part a little, revealing his front teeth underneath.  

Will inhales, a soft hitch that Mike feels more than hears. He doesn’t pull away, and Mike doesn’t expect him to. But he doesn’t lean in either, only stays open and waiting. Mike’s grateful for the opening, letting his voice come out low and reverent. 

“If I were a sorcerer,” he says, sincerely, “like you… I think I’d do that too. Think of –” He swallows and looks up into Will’s eyes, at the golden sheen lying across his pupils. Fingers slowly crawl down Will’s arm. “I’d think of us. To unlock powers.”

For a heartbeat, the world is complete and silent. Then Will giggles. 

It’s soft at first, surprised, bubbling up into a quiet chuckle that breaks the tension clean in half. His cheeks flush warm pink, eyes crinkling but staying close enough to dazedly cross a little. Mike wants to pull back for a moment, but he only tilts his head, exercising restraint and refusing to feel embarrassed right now. He meant it. He just wishes he could read the moment. 

Did he mess it up?

Will’s laughter fades, leaving behind a fond smile and a gentle shake of his head. He really gazes now, looks at Mike like he’s endlessly confusing, tiring, and perfect all at once. 

“You’re such a dork,” Will says softly. 

Mike huffs, relieved. “Hey.”

Cutting off any lingering thoughts, Will’s voice shifts to a more vulnerable tone, his low rumble vibrating through Mike’s face. “I just –” He hesitates, gaze drooping lower, then lifting again to meet Mike’s. He lets out a small laugh, his eyes wet. “I wish I knew… how to quit you.” 

Mike’s resolve finally tips over. The buzzing in his chest swells until it’s painful – it’s been looking for a way out all night. He was already acutely aware of how close they are, but now his foggy mind reveals it all at once – how their legs aren’t just brushing but properly pressed together, how Will’s breath ghosts hot across his lips, how warm his hand feels –

Mike blinks down. 

Their fingers are laced together. 

Seeing it makes him feel it too. Will’s thumb rests against the side of Mike’s hand like it always belonged there, like it’s been there for a while, and neither of them bothered to say anything when it happened. The thumb rubs back and forth. His heart stutters, then steadies, then pours out of him. 

He swallows. 

“I don’t want to quit you,” Mike says quietly. “Never.”

Will breathes out slowly. 

The moment stretches, elastic and humming, for only a second longer before Mike takes action and leans in. He doesn’t rush himself, even if the blood screaming through his body longs for him to grab Will by the collar. He just follows something that’s completely inevitable. The distance between them vanishes, and his lips brush Will’s. Tentatively. 

For half a second, Will freezes, crickets chirping as surprise flashes through him. Then he exhales, a shaky little sound, and pushes forward, connecting them fully, melting their mouths together. 

Their fingers tighten around each other’s before disconnecting in heady synchronisation, tangling in each other’s hair at the backs of their heads. Mike’s hand is noticeably shakier than Will’s, and he barely has time to process that this is happening – holy shit, he is kissing Will. His best friend, the gentlest, kindest, the best person he knows, exists. All his drunk brain can manage to think is oh my god, oh my god, oh my god – 

And then the kiss deepens. Still gentle, still careful, Will presses desperately, and Mike follows his lead, moving their mouths in tandem, breathing heavily through his nose, whining a little when Will accidentally nips gently at his bottom lip – if it even was an accident. Holy shit.

Will pulls back, just a fraction, their foreheads touching. A wide, disbelieving grin breaks across his face. When Mike looks up, he sees those beautiful eyes, bright and shining. 

Mike blinks, stunned out of his mind. “Whoa,” he sighs, dreamy.

Breathless and delighted, Will laughs, the sound bubbling easily out of him as his smile widens even more. He stays close, maintaining a tight grip on Mike’s curls, like he has no intention of leaving. No intention of ceasing their contact. 

That mere fact makes Mike let out a quiet laugh of his own, dizzy from anything but alcohol at this point. His chest is light, full, electric. Wow. Wow, wow. Wow. This – this is better than being drunk, better than the noise, the lights, the chaos of the party inside. Better than everything else tonight. And not just tonight, not just this week, this year. This decade.

Better than anything.

“Man,” Mike breathes out, shaking his head as his hands come up to rest on Will’s jaw, thumbs stroking softly at his cheekbones. “I should’ve been doing this the whole time, huh?”

Just because he can, Mike leans in and kisses those soft lips again, another breathy laugh slipping out of them with it. 

“Yeah,” Will mumbles before pulling back with a mischievous grin and a glint in his eye. His voice is rough, dangerously attractive. “Yeah, you should’ve.” 

Mike’s face heats beyond comparison. “Um – uh, sorry, I mean –”

Softly, breath still uneven, Will snorts and then murmurs purposefully over Mike’s lips, like he’s torturing him, “Shut up.” 

Mike keens quietly, because it’s the fondest, most forgiving shut up he’s ever heard.

The next kiss isn’t tentative at all – warmth and eagerness and the freedom of it all spreads across Mike’s face, recklessness fuelling the hand that presses at the back of Will’s neck, pulling him somehow even closer. When Will licks daintily against his lips and then into his mouth, Mike lets out a quiet, surprised sound that melts into a low groan. For a moment, he wants to say something, something about how good this is, how much he’s wanted this, how much he wants him, but all thought dissolves as it grows messier, breathier, threaded with laughter they don’t bother to swallow. 

Mike’s hands slide down from Will’s neck instinctively, finding the necklace at his collarbone. The one he bought him last March. The one that’s been frustrating him ever since. He tugs at it lightly, anchoring himself there, proving to himself that this is all real as he runs his tongue across the roof of Will’s mouth. A soft noise is coaxed out in response, Will grinning into the kiss as he reaches up and runs his fingers through the top of Mike’s hair. A fond revenge, almost messing up every neat strand that’s left, letting it all fall across his forehead. 

Worth it. 

When they pull away, Mike’s eyes stay closed, chest heaving as he rests his forehead against the top of Will’s head. “Will,” he sighs, his voice softening as adrenaline gives way to something achingly sincere. Especially when Will makes a sound and presses a gentle kiss to the sensitive skin at Mike’s neck. Mike feels the desire in it; the patience paid off. 

The wait that’s finally over. 

That’s when he says it: “I – hey. I’m sorry.” 

Will stills slightly, eyes flicking up to meet his in a question. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner, Will,” Mike continues, his voice a little slurred, maybe broken, his thumb brushing over Will’s jawbone. “I was… I am kind of an idiot. A major idiot, oh my god. I’m just glad I got drunk and – and lost my filter.” 

Silence follows, brief but charged. 

Then Will smiles, gentle and knowing, like this isn’t news at all. “I know,” he says, a touch of teasing in his tone. “I know. But I don’t think you needed the alcohol. Just… some time. Y’know?”

Mike smiles shakily, then rolls his eyes at the flattery. The truth of it. The understanding. I love you. I love you, I love you. There’s no doubt in his mind as Will leans in again, matching his needs, meeting him in the laughter. The sound overlaps and dissolves into another easy, certain kiss. It’s exactly where they’re supposed to be.