Chapter Text
Max’s knock hits the door like a thunderclap, and both Mike and Will freeze.
They’re caught somewhere between panic, intoxication, and something far heavier than either of them is ready to name. Mike’s chest hammers wildly. Will’s stomach twists with that familiar mix of nerves and anticipation—the kind that makes the rest of the world feel distant, unreal.
“Will, we need to go,” Max calls through the door. “I guess Wheeler can hitchhike or something. I am not dealing with a tired, impatient Steve all night.”
Neither of them moves.
Their eyes meet, and in that brief moment, they see it in each other—the same flustered confusion, the same breathless uncertainty. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, clinging to the room like molasses. Neither of them wants to be the one to break it.
Will finally manages, “W—we’re coming,” his voice cracking like fragile glass. He breaks the bubble after all.
He stands, brushes his hands over his thighs, and walks past—well past—Mike, leaving him sitting there with parted lips and a thousand unanswered questions. Mike follows a moment later, feet unsteady, heart still racing.
Will opens the door just enough to slip out, clearly hoping Max will head downstairs without pressing them.
She relaxes immediately, relief flashing across her face. “Finally! I thought you were gonna lock yourselves in here all ni—”
Her eyes flick to Mike.
There’s a single beat—one heartbeat—before she stills completely, sensing something she can’t quite name but can absolutely see.
“Wh—why the f—”
Will cuts her off with a look, silent and pleading: not now, pleasepleaseplease.
Max exhales slowly. Against all odds, she lets it go.
“Tomorrow, Byers,” she says quietly. “You’re telling me everything.”
If looks could kill, Michael Wheeler would be dead on the floor.
They descend the stairs together, weaving through drunken chaos—half strangers, half friends. Laughter and shouting echo from the living room, but Mike and Will barely hear it. Their awareness is locked on each other: shared glances, accidental brushes of elbows, the constant hum of being too close.
Outside, Max grabs Jane’s hand and drags her toward Steve’s car, pulling Dustin and Lucas along with them. Mike and Will hardly react, stuck in a haze of seriously?
Then Robin, already in the driver’s seat, catches their eyes and smirks knowingly.
Mike flushes deeply as he slumps into the backseat.
Of all people to be stuck in a car with right now, he thinks.
The ride home is slow, heavy with leftover warmth and exhaustion. Robin rambles about teenage parties and social expectations, but the words blur together. Mike and Will steal glances across the seat, each one lingering just a second too long.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
By the time they reach the Wheeler house, the world feels distant.
The kitchen glows warmly. Max and Jane perch on the counter—Max sipping water, trying to sober up, Jane peppering her with questions about what being drunk actually feels like.
Max’s eyes dart to Will, and within seconds she’s pulling him aside, settling them both on the staircase.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “What was that in the bathroom?”
Will’s jaw tightens. He looks away. “Nothing.”
She reaches out, fingers brushing his arm—gentle, grounding. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just… know I care about you. I’m not mad. I just don’t get what you see in him. He’s kind of a prick.”
That earns a soft laugh from both of them.
Will exhales, shoulders sagging. “Thanks, Max.”
She smiles and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Will. Tomorrow.”
Jane sidles up to Mike, who’s leaning against the counter, half-exhausted and completely overwhelmed.
“I always knew,” she says softly.
Mike stiffens. “K—knew what?”
She smiles—warm, knowing. “The things you do not say. You forget I can be in your head.”
She taps his temple playfully. Mike lets out a slow breath. Somehow, she already understands. They share a quiet smile.
He loves her more than he could ever explain.
He’s lucky to have her.
The girls leave together, heading for the basement, cups abandoned in the sink.
Mike retreats to his room, collapsing onto his bed. His thoughts spin endlessly.
Minutes pass.
He stands, drifting toward the guest room door. His hand hovers over the knob.
His chest tightens.
He turns away.
Tomorrow, he decides.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Will lies awake, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep refuses to come.
Then, something switches in him. His childhood best friend turned crush turned sisters-boyfriend turned sisters-ex-boyfriend-and-also-love-of-his-life just almost kissed him tonight..
He can’t ignore that.
With a quiet groan, Will gets up, wincing at the cold carpet beneath his feet, and makes his way to Mike’s room.
He stands there, debating, before turning away—
The door opens.
Mike stands there, just as uncertain. Just as vulnerable.
“Please,” Mike whispers, gently catching Will’s arm. “Just… talk to me.”
Will exhales and lets himself be pulled inside.
When he entered, he lets himself scan the walls, the posters, the photos, when he sees it.
The painting.
Will’s painting. For Mike.
Hung right next to his desk. No, framed right next to his desk.
“Is that—“
“Your painting?” Mike nervously chews his lip “Yeah… it’s— I like looking at it”
Will doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he settles on silence.
Mike sits beside him. Their shoulders brush. Electricity crackles between them.
“I’m sorry,” Mike says. “For tonight. For everything.”
Will swallows. “You just— you’ve hurt me, a lot” he admits quietly. “and I don’t know how to stop feeling it.”
“I’m trying,” Mike whispers. “I just… don’t know how to say things right.”
“I guess I’m just— I don’t know, better at like, showing it? Better at actions than words, I think.”
Mike reaches for him, tentatively cupping his face. Will leans into the touch, trembling slightly, eyes fluttering shut. Years of repression, years of pretending these feelings didn’t exist, crash over them in a single moment. It’s everything they’ve wanted and feared at the same time.
As Mike draws closer, Will tries to find any reason to break away, to break away from this. But fuck it, they’re drunk, and Will deserves to live a little. He said it himself, that’s what got them into this mess in the first place.
And before Will can say something, he’s immediately thrown off of his train of thought.
It’s Mike who does it. Kisses him.
He leans over and bridges the gap, slowly and cautiously. Their lips meet—slowly at first, hesitant, testing.
Their lips dance together like that for a few moments before Mike ends it abruptly, sputtering words out helplessly.
“Oh my g— Shit, Will I’m so sor— I should’ve asked, I— I’m so sorry—“
Will doesn’t give him the chance to finish whatever pointless apology he’s trying to spit out, because he’s kissing him again, and even while they’re drunk, nervous and tired like this, it feels like nothing has ever made so much sense until this moment. Even with the clashing of teeth, the breathless laughing and the shaky hands reaching out to grab hair and shoulders, this feels so… normal.
And it could be the alcohol—probably isn’t—but as Mike fully melts into the contact, he starts to wonder why he’d ever tried to ignore this.
They pull away, chests heaving and foreheads pressed together. They just stare at each other like that while a couple beats pass.
“I hate your hair”
It’s almost inaudible, what Will says
“What?”
“I really hate your hair like this. It makes you look like your… dad.” Will says breathlessly, teasing despite the storm between them.
Mike stiffens
“Oh— I”
“Here” Will says calmly, before taking a hand and ruffling it through Mike’s hair. “There, that’s your hair. That’s you, not Ted. I don’t wanna kiss Ted” He giggles
Mike looks at him like he hung the stars.
He kisses Will again, deeper this time—years of unspoken feelings pouring into it.
Without a second thought, he closes that gap between them again, his hands tracing Will’s jaw and turning his body around so he’s directly facing him this time.
Then, something switches. It’s clumsy, it’s urgent. Every second of stolen glances, every pang of jealousy, every night spent wondering is unleashed in this kiss. Will’s hands find Mike’s arms—Mike clings to him like he might vanish.
Every brush of hands, every touch, every lingering closeness says more than words ever could.
They collapse onto the bed, limbs tangling accidentally, laughing, whispering, It’s messy, chaotic, and utterly perfect.
Mike’s hands trace Will’s face, his arms, and then his waist.
Shit, he really is as buff as he looks Mike thinks
Will responds instinctively, his body arching toward Mike's touch, the flush on his cheeks deepening to a fiery red that spreads down his neck. His own hands—still fisted in Mike's shirt—begin to explore, slipping under the fabric to map the taut muscles of his back. Mike's skin prickles at the contact, every nerve ending alive with the electric buzz of desire.
He captures Will's mouth again, this time slower, deeper, their tongues tangling that tastes of salt and something sweeter, like the relief of finally giving in. Will's breath hitches, and he lets out a soft noise vibrating against Mike's lips—and it's that sound that just ends Michael Wheeler then and there.
Will pulls away, breathless, half-lidded and flushed.
“We— we’re drunk, I doubt— this isn’t a good idea right now” He speaks slowly, cautiously.
“Yeah, I know” Mike mutters against his lips before bringing them together again, urgent and needing.
Will’s fingers tangle in Mike’s hair as he pulls him closer, his tongue tracing every inch of Mike’s mouth before delving deeper still. It’s passionate yet tender—it speaks volumes about their connection without needing words.
Mike’s hands roam over Will’s clothed back and chest with an urgency born from years of longing finally being fulfilled. He can feel every curve and ridge through Will’s shirt—smooth fabric stretched taut over taut muscles—and it sends shivers down his spine.
And it’s nice. Mike can’t believe this didn’t happen sooner.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
They continue on for what feels like either a couple seconds or forever—when Will pulls away and tells Mike that they should probably sleep. And as badly as Mike wants to argue against it, he’s pretty tired.
They lay on Mike’s bed together, under the covers and comfortably so. Mike throws an arm over Will, who has his back turned to him. They fall asleep like that—close, warm, safe.
He’s not sure when either of them drift off, he just knows that this is a feeling he wants to get used to.
Peace. Contentment.
Maybe—
Yeah.
Love.