Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler had always been fascinated by the gothic shit - of course he had. He loved to read, story-tell and play dungeon master to his friends. All typical outlets for one invested in supernatural occurrences.
Sure, Frankenstein was popular, popular for a reason! Big monsters with severed limbs and gaping bloody wounds sewn shut were cool and all, but for Mike, it was always vampires.
Not the cartoony kind, the ruthless kind. That mercilessly tore innocent beings to shreds, sunk their teeth deep into the creases of human flesh and permanently mangled the skin beyond recognition. Mike really liked vampires.
The thing about Will, though not nearly as passionate, he shared the interest. He and Mike had dressed as vampires for numerous halloween parties, when their hips had met, lips had brushed and they’d played it off as cosplay. The phenomenon almost had a different meaning for Will, a symbol of something he could never have, Mike.
So in the summer of ‘89, when Mike’s button up shirt hung loosely undone around his shoulders, under the glare of a full moon and sweat dripped steadily down his forehead, illuminating his features, the only choice Will had was to swallow the lump in his throat, and push aside the heat growing in his stomach as Mike danced under a nearby street light.
As Mike stumbled up and down the pavement, he continued to hum an inaudible tune to himself - likely from the party. His head swayed gently from side to side, his curls occasionally meeting his eyes as his head fell forward in a drunken slump, accompanied by a light groan.
“Mike, what are you singing?” Will finally asked, still slowly pacing forward whilst waiting for Mike to return to his side. His hands scrunched tightly in his pockets, lightly kicking a stone beneath his feet, almost to distract himself from being led somewhere he shouldn’t, to prevent his hands finding their way over Mike’s body.
“A song…” He whispered, his drunken head now rested against the lamp post. His eyes floated about Will’s form, his teeth chewing at his lower lip. He studied Will, the way his jeans clung to his legs, or the way his shirt wrapped around his body - too tight to leave anything much to the imagination. Fuck he was hot.
“Will…come back…” He groaned as his head pounded, as his chest felt hotter and heavier with each breath. It was unclear however whether that was the effect of Will, or the large volume of alcohol he had consumed earlier that evening. Regardless, Mike was just about ready to keel over.
Will was standing closer to him now, and thank god, because as Mike stepped forward, his foot missed the curb entirely and he toppled into Will’s arms. Will’s expression immediately shifted from one of confusion, to pure concern.
“Woah, hey are you okay?” Will said, one hand somehow winding up in Mike’s hair as the other held him up. Mike’s head was propped against Will’s shoulder and it was there he felt a brief shake. Will wasn’t entirely sure what changed so drastically in the last 5 minutes for Mike to go limp in his arms, but unlike him, Mike Wheeler couldn’t handle his alcohol.
The walk back to their apartment hadn’t been pleasant. Will could hardly support Mike’s weight, not to mention Mike had nearly thrown up on himself several times (and had eventually hauled up his guts in the front gardens of their building - because that’s certainly going to go down well with the grounds team) but at least he was safe now, curled up in the sheets of Will’s bed after insisting it was just for one night.
In actuality, Will didn’t mind, not at all, but Mike didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know that it took every ounce of his might not to jump at the oppurtunity. They would share a bed again, like they were kids - before things were complicated, before Will Byers had fallen in love with his best friend - his best friend that, to rub salt in the wound, he knew wasn’t and would never be like him.
So, when Will settled in bed beside him, he had to pretend he wasn’t morbidly flustered by the way Mike’s body was pressed against his. They were two grown boys sharing a single bed - there was hardly any room to be had.
Mike’s breathing was discreet, close enough to silence that if you hadn’t spent years hyper fixated on the matter, you might’ve thought he’d died right there (though that wouldn’t be foreseeable, Mike didn’t have alcohol poisoning, probably.)
“Will…” Mike grumbled against the pillow, his eyes briefly fluttering open as his index finger traced Will’s jawline.
He’s drunk Will, he’s delirious. At least, Will tried to tell himself that. But even though Mike had blacked out entirely, and it was wrong to observe pleasure in Mike’s (self inflicted) suffering, this was the closest Will had ever been to everything he’s ever wanted. All the kisses and lingering touches he’s ever desired. Every morning, afternoon and evening with the love of his life, Mike Wheeler. Will could never have what he wanted, never mind how badly he craved it.
“Mike…” Will repeated back, his breath hitching in his throat as he spoke. Keep it together Will.
“Would you still love me if I was…mhm…a ghost..?”
“Love you if you were a…Mike, what the hell are you talking about?” Will exclaimed, shifting his position to be steadied against the headboard instead of tucked neatly beside Mike, which would be too much on a normal day, let alone when Mike Wheeler had just accused Will Byers of being in love with him.
Though in Will’s desperate retreat for space in the already over cramped bed, Mike simply took the chance to move himself into Will’s lap, his arms winding around Will’s waist and before Will could protest, Mike slurred out yet another half formed sentence.
“Your still cute…but…mhm…answer my question…”
“Mike, I don’t-”
“Okay…what about…would you still love me if I was a vampire..? Come on Will…you know I…we love them…”
And as if written into some fucked up prophecy, Mike Wheeler, was a vampire by morning.