Chapter Text
Will wakes up warm. Which is surprising- he’s been unshakably cold for effectively over a year -and it takes him a moment to figure out what’s changed. Mike’s arms are still around his chest, face pressed into his back. His breathing is slow and steady, trickling down Will’s spine with every exhale, and their legs are tangled together. Will rubs his eyes hard, stares at nothing in particular, and panics.
What the fuck is he even supposed to do in this situation?? He can’t see the alarm clock from here, and he’s never been good at gauging time by sunlight, so he doesn’t know how long he has to sit here until Mike wakes up. His heart rate is getting faster and faster, fingers picking at his own cuticles and the edges of his sleeves and anything else he can reach, legs heavy and numb so he couldn’t get away even if he tried. God, this is so obvious, what was he even thinking? This was such a stupid idea.
Then Mike is stirring, and Will’s entire body freezes. But Mike doesn’t yell at him, doesn’t scorn him and tell him to get out. He just shifts, readjusts, then hugs him tighter, nuzzling into his shoulder and humming contentedly. Will gulps.
“Good morning,” he whispers.
Mike just hums again. He squeezes him around the middle once.
Will is about 90% sure that Mike is awake, but that’s not really enough to run on, so he just glares at Mike’s closet door like it’s personally offended him.
He’s stuck there for what feels like hours, but is, realistically, probably only minutes. And despite waiting for it with bated breath, Mike’s alarm still sends Will jumping out of his skin- and Mike groaning into Will’s shirt. Will takes the opportunity to slip out of Mike’s hold and stumble onto his partially-numb feet.
Mike groans again, into his pillow this time, turning onto his stomach and throwing out half-worded complaints about the earliness of the hour.
“It’s the same time every morning, Mike,” Will reminds him, to distract from his trembling heart. Mike just flips him off, sighs, then rolls sideways to set his feet on the floor.
He heaves himself to standing, then cracks his neck in both directions, rolls his shoulders, and laces his fingers together to force his palms out in front of him. He sighs again, rubs his eyes, then shakes his head like an etch-a-sketch, eyes popping briefly as his hair flings out to the sides. Will lingers by the door and watches through his peripheral.
“Do you want the bathroom first?” Will offers politely.
“Mm. Yeah, thanks,” Mike responds, gravelly. He takes a step, pausing by Will’s unused sleeping bag to mess it up with his foot so it looks like it was slept in, then brushes past him and through the door.
Will almost asks why it needs to look that way. Almost.
- - -
The ride to school is windy, throwing Mike’s hair into wild, frizzy shapes that Will has a hard time not laughing at.
Aside from that, though, their day is normal. Mike is acting completely normal. The private grins he gives Will, the glances he throws over his shoulder every hour or so, even the two times that Will catches him staring- those are normal. For Mike, anyway. Every time he catches Mike’s eyes, Will just smiles, gives him a little wave, and resigns himself to a lifetime of crushed hopes and unreturned affections.
He knows the last two nights didn’t mean anything special to Mike. He would have said something if they had. Still, he can't help but feel emboldened- not like he’ll ever get what he craves so desperately (because it’s not just men that he wants, it’s Mike) but emboldened to believe that maybe he’s allowed to have this, if nothing else. These unspoken nights of gentle touch and quiet intimacy, Mike’s nose pressed to his skin and Mike’s hands ever reaching for him.
When they get home, after their normal, normal day at school, they go through a normal, normal routine of homework, dinner, more homework, radioing Lucas cursorily, reading and trading comics before bed- and then, well, bed.
Mike climbs in first, but this time, Will is right behind him, hesitation gone as he slides his legs under Mike’s comforter.
“Turn over?” Will asks immediately.
Mike blinks at him, hands braced on the mattress and mouth going flat and wide like Kermit the Frog.
“What?” Will smiles. “It’s your turn.”
“...Okay,” Mike replies, very faintly. He tucks his knees up and turns over.
Will scoots up and fits himself behind his friend, wrapping one arm up under him and the other over his waist to hang loosely near his hip. With the way his knees are bent under Mike’s, he’s effectively holding his whole body, and it’s… surprisingly easy. Natural. Will sets his forehead against the back of his neck and extends his hand over Mike’s heart.
“Goodnight, Mike,” he says.
“Goodnight,” Mike returns, a little hoarse.
Mike’s heartrate slows by degrees under Will’s palm, until it’s fallen to somewhere more reasonable. Will is in love with this moment- Mike is warm, between his hands and in his arms, with his hair gradually tangling itself with Will’s and their knees slotted together like nesting dolls. It’s cozy, and Will feels something swelling in his chest again, although this time, it doesn’t hurt so much. It’s more bubbly than sharp, more padded than empty. Mike is asleep, and Will is enraptured, beaming like an idiot with his chin tucked to his chest.
He noses against Mike’s neck, as the swelling feeling in his chest grows too big to contain and starts to hurt again. He presses his cheekbone to the curve of his shoulder before dropping kisses in a vertical line, one on each of the vertebrae poking out above his collar.
He knows he shouldn’t, that he’s giving himself away, but God, he wants. He wants so badly it constricts his throat and takes up permanent residence in his ribcage, ramming itself against his lungs; a constant reminder of his enormous love for Mike Wheeler. It’s such a pure thing, untainted and strong, but it’s wrong, it’s different, and so it hurts.
Will is going to teach himself to be satisfied with whatever he can get- stolen affection in the dead of night, and “I love you”s spoken only in his head, never aloud.
He leaves a second chaste kiss against the very last bump in his neck, the one mostly hidden by his hair, then nuzzles into Mike’s curls. Mike grabs his hand and squeezes it comfortingly.
Will stops breathing.
He thought that Mike was asleep.
“Sorry,” he says, far too loud in the silence. He wrenches himself away and stands quickly. “Sorry, I’m- I’m sorry, I need to- to go-”
“Will!” Mike calls after him, just shy of yelling at such a late hour. Will runs as fast as he can without tripping in the dark, out the bedroom door and down the stairs and all the way outside.
The pavement of the back stoop is abrasive and icy against his bare feet. He knows he’s ruining the hems of his favorite pants, but he can’t bring himself to care. He sits on the top step. The cold seeps in again, from the ground and air alike. It soothes the panic growing solid in his throat, by way of numbing him entirely, systematically deadening his nerve endings to everything, wiping away the sense memories of the sleepy softness he’s grown so fond of. It’s- it’s over, he’s never going to have that again. The thought rolls around in his head, a jagged marble of repetition.
Mike opens and closes the back door with a creeeak in both directions, and sits next to him, leaving a few inches between them like he can’t bear to touch him outside the context of sleep.
“I’m fine,” says Will, in a voice that sounds broken even to his own ears. Cracked and crumbling, as his salty tears wear down the mortar that holds him together.
Mike hunches into himself, wordless for the time being.
“I know it’s not… easy,” Mike begins eventually, uncharacteristically soft-spoken. He’s shaking, and when he speaks again he’s crying too. “I know, ok? I get it.”
There’s a long silence, both of them facing directly forward. It doesn’t seem like Mike has anything else to say. Will tilts his head to the stars, so he can see something above the smudges gathering in his eyelids. There’s no moon tonight, only pinpricks of light shining from thousands of lifetimes away.
Finally, Mike speaks again, so hushed Will can hardly hear him in the unnatural stillness of suburbia. “It’s scary, right?”
“Yeah,” Will agrees quietly, sniffling.
“It’s- it’s scary, and unfamiliar, and you don’t know what you’re supposed to do about it, or, or who to talk to, and-” he’s getting worked up now, talking like he’s describing a new campaign- like Will is something he cares about. “God, I don’t know how to do this.”
Will laughs wetly, startled into it. “Me neither,” he replies.
Mike swallows hard, then looks up from the coarse textures of the cement to meet his gaze. He’s sad, and cautious, eyes red-rimmed and tear tracks shining ugly on his face, but his lips twitch upwards as he sees Will. “Maybe we can just… be ok?”
He sounds disbelieving in his own suggestion, yet hopeful all the same, shaken and frail but pushing through. Will breaks down again. He sobs, the noise ripped from his throat without conscious thought, loud and hiccuping in the night. This moment feels strangely private, despite the fact that anyone could hear them if they chose to listen. Will feels like maybe he could say anything he wanted right now, and it would be alright.
“Ok,” he croaks, watery. He smiles, one of those smiles that people give when they can hardly breathe for the sobbing, but he smiles all the same. “Ok. Yeah, we’ll… we’ll be ok.”
Mike opens his mouth, then closes it again. He reaches towards Will with trembling fingers, but stops halfway, and sets them on the edge of the step instead. He looks down at his own hand. “I…” he starts, and doesn’t try to finish.
“Yeah,” Will admits, “me too.” He’s not sure if Mike was going to say I’m gay or I’m sorry or I’m in love with you or I can’t do this without you, but it doesn’t matter, because his response is the same to all of them. He puts his hand down next to Mike’s so their fingers overlap. Mike twitches slightly, letting them twine together atop the cold, grainy cement, damp with nighttime air and all the things they haven’t said.
Will closes his eyes to pinch out a few more tears. “Let’s go back inside,” he murmurs.
The door complains again, opening with resistance, then shutting and leaving them in complete darkness except for the faint, glowing numbers on the microwave, all the way in the other room. The refrigerator hums insistently next to it.
“Will?” Mike checks faintly. Will can’t even see him in this light, only a vague shadow noticeable when he moves.
“Yeah?” Will replies anyway.
Mike makes a wounded noise, rushing towards him and sweeping him into a hug. Will catches him and lets Mike bury his head in his shoulder, clinging to him just as tightly. His breath catches as he presses his face into Mike’s hair, just like he did earlier, only now he can feel what seems like the entire range of human emotion in every cell in his body, expanding and blending together until it’s one big wave of overwhelm.
Mike hugs him one last time before pulling away slowly. He slides his calluses down Will’s arm until he finds his hand, clasping it and tugging. “C’mon,” he whispers, pulling Will towards the stairs.
The carpet makes muffled sounds under the feet, and Mike’s plywood door welcomes them home. They fall into bed like they’ve done it a thousand times before, or three. They face each other this time, pushing their foreheads together and staring into each other’s irises from two inches away. It’s a bit of a fisheye view, and Will grins goofily, shutting his eyes for a moment and giggling softly.
“What?” Mike asks, bewildered.
“Nothing,” Will sighs, even though his lungs ache from the recent strain of crying and his feet sting as they adjust to the creeping warmth, “just happy.”
“Oh my god,” Mike mutters, grabbing the side of his face and bonking their foreheads together.
Will just grins through the stiff, tear-streaked exhaustion again and holds Mike’s wrist. Mike’s hand shifts, gentle, so he’s cradling Will by the cheek. He huffs a deep breath out and closes his tired eyes.
“Goodnight,” Will says, “for real this time.”
Mike snickers. “Goodnight,” he repeats, “for real this time.”
- - -
When Will wakes up, Mike is combing a hand through his hair- which means that he had woken up first, a rarity in and of itself. Or maybe Will had slept more than usual.
Mike is cupping the curve of his skull and the back of his neck, weaving fingers through his hair; Will is curled up on his side, tucked under Mike’s chin, his breathing bouncing off Mike’s sternum.
“Good morning,” Mike murmurs, muted enough to avoid waking him if he wasn’t already. Will sits up and pulls away, eyes bleary. He fixes his gaze on Mike’s face. Mike looks- Mike looks beautiful, between the pale morning light and Will’s state of half-wakefulness, and before he knows what he’s doing, Will tips forward and kisses him.
It’s only a chaste press of lips, but it’s everything, for now- and then it’s over. Will sits upright again. Mike is blushing. Will opens his mouth to say something- apologize, maybe.
“Breakfast!!” Holly calls up the stairs.
They both stare at the door, like Holly can see them through it, then back at each other. Mike raises his eyebrows slightly; Will lifts his shoulders an inch and glances towards the door again.
Without another word, they usher themselves downstairs.
“How did you sleep, boys?” Karen asks, ferrying dishes from the kitchen to the table.
“Fine,” Mike responds nervously. Will nods along.
Karen gives them a strange look, but doesn’t have time to investigate as Nancy and Jonathan join them. The room fills quickly with chaos and chatter, and Will is able to avoid Mike’s eyes for the rest of the morning.
- - -
The ride to school is tense and lovely at the same time. A few highschoolers shout and gossip on foot along the sidewalks, handlebar-mounted bells ring as other bikers pass them, and cars drive by at a sedate 15mph, one after the other in a steady trickle towards the school.
“So,” Mike tries as they pull up to the bike rack. He doesn’t get the chance to continue before Dustin catches up with them.
“Hey guys! Lucas is running late today, he said to go on without him. And I have got to tell Mrs. Stenson about that late assignment, because it was totally not my fault, so let's get going before I run out of time.”
He takes off without waiting for a response, letting Mike and Will follow after him. “Man, what is up with you guys today?” he says, as they lag behind in silence. “Seriously, what crawled up your asses and died? Did Mrs. Wheeler’s meatloaf finally get to you?”
“Hey, my mom’s cooking is great,” Mike defends.
“And nothing is up, Dustin, we’re fine,” Will finishes for him. “It’s just been a slow morning.”
Dustin flips around to walk backwards confidently and raises his eyebrows. “Alright, damn. No need to gang up on me.”
- - -
The day is almost normal after that- real normal, not the denial-fueled low-grade earthquake that had been their dynamic the previous day. Will is thrilled and exhausted at the same time, so it balances out to somewhere regular-ish. The hours fall one after another, class after class, collecting new assignments to do like a video game quest board, only shittier, and Will catches Mike staring at him twice, just during lunch. After school, Will is antsy to get home (and do what, exactly, he’s not sure) but Mike had promised everyone last week that he would run a full session of DnD today, what with their party being seven members strong and rarely all free on the same day.
They gather in the old Hellfire room in the high school, waiting for Erica to arrive. The club can’t be called ‘Hellfire’ anymore, in fact it’s not technically a real club- the principal wouldn’t approve of it, after the reputation that Eddie made for himself. But Jeff and Doug have both graduated, and with all his old friends gone, Gareth has stopped showing up, so it’s effectively just a new place for the original Party to meet up, with the additions of Max and Erica (and El, although she’s just there for the company).
Will nearly forgets about this morning as he gets lost in the campaign.
- - -
Will holds on to that feeling of almost-normal all the way through the evening, riding home in silence and dodging Mike’s gaze at the dinner table.
It’s a manageable atmosphere of ignoreable tension, right up until they head to Mike’s room, and the door shuts behind them with an underwhelming click. It’s nerve-wracking in its flimsiness, and Will looks at it blankly before finally turning to Mike. Mike is already watching him.
“We should-” Will begins bravely.
“You had some homework, right?”
The “talk” that he didn’t say falls right off his tongue; he nods quickly. “Yep, yeah, let’s do that.”
Mike digs through his backpack and hands Will the good pencil, the one with an eraser, before Will has the chance to ask. They sit cross-legged on the carpet that Will is far too familiar with and spread their supplies around them like miniature shields from each other.
An hour passes, two, the minutes crawling by like they hadn’t at school. Will simultaneously tries to focus on Algebra while sneaking glances at Mike every thirty seconds. Mike is doing the same thing with his reading- they keep catching each other and turning hastily back to their papers, going deeper and deeper shades of flushed every time.
It’s such a different kind of longing, fear and despair replaced with simple nervousness, and it takes Will unawares. He’s not sure how to live like this, after so many years of beating himself into a subtler shape.
Finally, Mike closes his book. “We should, um. Sleep, probably.”
Will glances over at the clock, which reads 08:16 in glaring red. “Yeah, sure.”
They brush their teeth in awkward silence, sharing toothpaste, standing shoulder to shoulder and averting their eyes in opposite directions. Will fights a smile and spits in the white sink. Mike follows close on his heels. Will is giddy, of all things, heart fluttering in his chest and mouth attempting to curl upwards at any given moment.
They settle under the covers at this ridiculously early hour, facing each other with the blanket tucked up to their chins, limbs arranged carefully to be just shy of touching. Their noses are barely inches away from gently booping between the pillows.
Their eyes meet, and stay there, wide, innocent, and jittery.
“Did you actually get any work done?” Will finally asks in a stage whisper.
“No,” Mike replies, mildly relieved, “I read the same paragraph about fourteen times.”
Will laughs softly. “I think I did, like… two equations.”
They stare at each other for another minute. Excitement is growing under Will’s ribs, squirming through the middle of his abdomen like sparks falling from a holiday sparkler in sharp, discombobulated trails.
Mike uncurls his hands, black-coffee-gaze surrounding Will like a spotlight. “Will you kiss me again?”
“Thank fuck,” Will mumbles, mostly to himself, already moving. “Yeah, um- right now?”
“Sure, yes, yeah.” Mike sits up quickly. Will bends his knees and sits on his heels, only marginally slower, then leans over, reaching for his face.
Will can’t decide if he should watch Mike’s eyes or stare at his lips, so his gaze flickers between them both, trying to do everything all at once as his breath stops and starts again. “I’m just gonna…”
“Yeah,” Mike repeats, quieter. He, at least, is fixated definitively on Will’s lips. Will sets aside some space in the back of his head to marvel at the rush that gives him, then leans the rest of the way in.
Will kisses him softly, a little shaky, wholly unsure of how to do this. He’s never tried before, but he finds that it’s mostly intuitive- he hopes Mike thinks he’s doing ok, too.
Mike is hardly responding, moving his lips in minute waves and staying where he is, but when Will pulls away his eyes stay closed for an extra few seconds. He looks- lost, sort of.
“Why’d you stop?” Mike murmurs, lashes fluttering open.
Will doesn’t even respond, too busy diving in to kiss him again. He’s holding Mike by the jaw, and it lets him tilt Mike’s face slightly to fit against him. They start moving with fervor, lips slotting together and sliding apart. Mike frames his hands around the back of Will’s skull, just like he had this morning, except this time he’s using them to pull him closer, hold him tight, and their elbows are bumping, getting in each other’s way, as Mike opens his mouth. Will follows quickly, and their kisses turn slick and hot, gliding together in a way that makes Will’s head spin.
The comedown is a slow one, beginning when Will’s hands go gradually slack and fall to Mike’s shoulders, and then Mike turns his head until their lips are more brushing than locking. His fingers run through the back of Will’s hair instead of clutching at it desperately.
Will chuckles once. Then Mike does too. Before they know it, they’re giggling in each other’s faces instead of kissing. Will presses a kiss into Mike’s cheek, his nose, his forehead, his eyebrow, anywhere he can reach with Mike giggling louder and louder and holding him gently by the neck. He’s smiling almost too hard for it to work, and he has to stop before he starts pressing his teeth to Mike’s skin accidentally.
Will buries his face in Mike’s shoulder. “I can’t believe this is real,” he mumbles.
“Definitely real,” Mike assures him, running a hand up and down his back.
Will scoffs joyously, tipping his head back again. “No, I don’t think Vecna could replicate you. I’d notice.”
“Aw, what, am I too handsome?” Mike teases.
“No, just too annoying.”
Mike gives a shout of laughter. “Wow, rude!”
Will smiles wide, until his cheeks hurt from the stretch and then a bit more. Mike pouts at him, visibly fighting a grin of his own.
Will just shrugs. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”
“That’s cheesy,” Mike accuses, lying down and tugging Will with him. “But yeah, me too.”
Will resettles his head on Mike’s chest, one arm across Mike’s stomach for a lazy hug. Mike slings his wrists around Will’s shoulders and drops a kiss onto the top of his head. Will can hear Mike’s heart, thumping steadily in his ear, assuring him that his… Mike- because what is Mike, to him? He isn’t just a friend, he isn’t only his boyfriend, if they decide on that, he’s… he’s everything. So, it’s assuring him that his Mike is safe and sound, right there next to him, radiating warmth and comfort into Will’s body and cradling Will’s soul with his own. It’s easy, to be there, and Will’s eyes prickle at the thought that they’ve gotten back what they once had, only so much better.
“Goodnight, Will,” Mike says quietly into the dark.
“Goodnight, Mike.”