Chapter Text
Mike navigates the subway more easily than he'd expected. It's crowded, like everywhere else in New York, but Mike quickly learns that as long as you mind your own business and stay out of people's way, they'll do the same in return. It's kind of amazing.
He gets off the train at the stop Jonathan wrote down, the one nearest to Washington Square Park. The closer he gets to where he knows Will is waiting, the more explosive he feels. Butterflies don't come close to describing it.
The autumn air is warming quickly as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds. Mike shrugs off his denim jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his dark blue t-shirt. He flexes his arms a bit, examining the bit of muscle there.
He's started going to the gym a couple times a week since starting college, just to have something to do. And maybe because in the back of his mind, he's always been picturing this day; showing up on Will's doorstep with his heart in his hands and a question he probably didn't have the right to ask on his lips. Maybe in all this time that had passed, he's been readying himself for will. Trying to better himself. Mike isn't sure if Will might like him better with a little more arm strength, or with the new lightly-defined muscles on his abdomen that he's been working on, but surely they couldn't hurt, right?
Mike enters the park and follows the wide, tree-lined sidewalk towards the hub, where a massive concrete fountain sits. Benches ring around it in a circle, full of chattering business people in college-age kids who are all dressed far more interestingly than Mike. He's glad he went back to wearing his black Converse everyday. They feel a little more alternative and cool, or at least he likes to think so.
He senses Will before he spots him. Can feel the world start to tilt on its axis a bit and become something new, the way it always does when Will is close by. Will's sat on a bench right across from Mike, on the other side of the fountain, far enough away that he doesn't see Mike yet. Mike seizes the moment to do his favorite activity: watch Will.
His hair is a little longer than it had been when Mike saw him last, like he hasn't had a haircut since moving to the city. It's messier, too, in a way that makes him look extra soft and... well cuddly, for lack of a better word.
He has half a sandwich in one hand and a pencil in the other, sketchbook open in his lap. He's wearing a dark green shirt that Mike's never seen him in before, which makes his chest hurt a little bit. He misses when he knew every single thing about Will, down to the same dozen shirts he'd rotate wearing.
This is where it starts, he tells himself. Getting to know Will like that again. Getting Will back where he belongs, by Mike’s side.
He runs one more nervous hand through his hair, smoothing it back off his forehead. Takes one step, then another, and another, following the curve of the path around the fountain. Will doesn’t look up, intent on his work. The sunlight glints golden off his hair.
Mike feels a strong pull the closer he gets to Will, like a planet being pulled back into orbit. He comes to stop in front of Will, eyes caught on the beat-up white Converse he’s wearing. They match, he thinks happily.
He can’t stand to wait a second longer. “Hey,” he says, voice coming out far more wrecked than he’d meant for it to.
Will’s head shoots up, a startled look quickly melting into confusion. But he’s smiling.
“Mike? Oh my god, what are you doing here?” He’s up immediately, shoving his sketchbook over onto the empty bench space and laying his sandwich down on one of the blank pages. His arms are around Mike before Mike can think to respond, so he doesn’t; he banishes thoughts of a busy California airport and stupid flip-flops from his mind and hugs Will back tightly.
“What’re you doing here?” Will asks in disbelief as he pulls away.
Mike has to force himself to let go. He clenches his hands at his side, trying to keep the feel of Will’s warmth in his palms. His tongue feels heavy and sluggish in his mouth, the way it always does when he has something difficult to say. Like his body and mind can’t agree on the action of speaking.
“I… I just had to see you,” he starts. “I needed to get out of Indiana for a bit, and I came to see you.”
The words flow easier as a warm smile spreads across Will’s face, wrinkling the skin around his eyes. Mike knows in that moment he’ll do whatever it takes for Will to look at him like that every day for the rest of his life.
“How’d you know I was here?” Will asks.
“Oh, I went to your apartment and Jonathan told me you’d be here. Gave me directions. I had your address from the…” Mike’s mouth goes dry as he remembers all the unanswered letters Will had sent him. The torn Polaroid of Will burning a hole in his jeans pocket.
“The letter?” Will prompts.
Mike nods. They’re already talking about the letter, now’s as good a time as any to tell Will about the dozens he’s written in return but never sent. About the “Love, Mike” that ends each of them. “Yeah, from the letter. Look, Will, I–”
“Will!”
Will looks up over Mike’s shoulder and waves excitedly. “Hey! Over here!”
Mike feels the moment shift, blood freezing in his body as he turns and looks in the direction Will’s waving.
An unbecoming guy is jogging towards them, messenger bag slapping his leg obnoxiously. He’s wearing an obnoxious t-shirt, one of those jokey ones that has a tuxedo printed onto the front, and a pair of baggy jeans that drag the concrete as he approaches them. He has messy dark hair that Mike begrudgingly recognizes isn’t dissimilar to his own.
Fucking Carlton.
He breezes right past Mike, bumping his shoulder in his fervor to wrap a scrawny arm around Will in an awkward side hug. Mike thinks of Will’s warmth seeping into Carlton’s skin instead, through that stupid shirt, and decides he wants to throw up.
I hugged him better, Mike thinks to himself stubbornly.
“Hey! How was class?” Will’s smiling at Carlton now, dimples and all. Carlton breaks the hug but keeps a hand on Will’s arm.
“Great! I aced that last project I was telling you about, and–”
Mike clears his throat, shifting in place until Carlton’s eyes fall on him.
“Oh! You’re with someone. Who’s this?” Carlton smiles, looking passably polite, but Mike can see the way it pulls tight at the corners of his mouth; he’s annoyed too. Good, Mike thinks.
“Carl, this is Mike. From back home. He’s here on a surprise visit.”
Mike scowled at the nickname, but softened at the use of the word “home”. Home, Hawkins, where they’d grown up fighting monsters side by side. Home, which was a blur of sun-soaked childhood days before everything went to shit, trading sticky popsicles back and forth so they didn’t have to settle on one flavor. Home, where Will could always be found in Mike’s bedroom, or in Mike’s basement, drawings in hand for Mike and a pretty smile on his face.
Will is smiling now, but it’s all wrong, because it’s not directed at him.
“Oh! The famous Mike!” Carlton punches Mike’s shoulder in the kind of gesture Mike’s seen jocks use to greet each other but would never use himself. He lowers his eyebrows and glares at Carlton until he backs up an inch, other hand finally falling from Will’s arm.
“Famous Mike?” Mike lets his face pull back into a grin and turns to Will. “You talk about me often?”
Will's cheeks flush, gaze dropping to his shoes. "Maybe," he mumbles.
"Only all the time!" Carlton says. "I swear, if he didn't constantly talk about how straight you are too, I'd be worried you're some kind of competition."
It's lame but clearly a joke, so Mike fakes a laugh, but he can't help squinting at this annoying guy again. If only he knew. Mike isn't just competition, he's at the top of the fucking leaderboard. And he's in this until every other player is wiped clean off the board.
"I need to get back to class," Will cuts in. He sits back down on the bench and starts packing his stuff up hastily. He knocks his sketchbook onto the ground, and Mike's kneeling down to pick it up before Will can start to bend over.
"Here, let me!" He shoots out a hand, holding it on Will's knee to keep him in place.
"No, Mike, I can get it, I-"
Mike pauses when he sees the sketch Will had been working on. It's from the perspective of Mike's bedroom window, looking in on a quiet scene of Mike and Will sitting together on the rug. It’s younger versions of them, middle school, maybe, both of them laying side by side on their stomachs and reading the same comic books. X-Men, one of their favorites. Mike had always used his allowance to buy the newest issue and then read it with Will, since he never had the money for his own.
Will’s drawn Mike cuter than he deserves, hair curling across his forehead and eyes lit up with laughter as Will points something out to him. They look carefree, happy in the effortless way Mike can still remember from back then.
He looks up and Will’s eyes are already on his. Bright green and hesitant, searching for Mike’s reaction to what he’d just seen. Begging him not to say anything about it here and now, in front of Carlton.
Mike flips the sketchbook closed and hands it to Will carefully, like it’s something precious because it is. Will’s art has always been sacred to him, even more so when it’s art of them. Mike doesn’t have to hear the “thank you” to see it in Will’s shy stare.
“Can we hang out later?” Mike asks brazenly. He’s not bothered that Will has to go back to class, he doesn’t want to interrupt his life here. And that gives him more time to really think about what he needs to say to Will. He wants it to be perfect, or at least as close as it can be, because Will deserves that.
“Will and I have plans tonight, actually.” Carlton beams, nauseatingly proud of himself. “I’m taking him on our first real date. We have a reservation.” He says this like it’s the pinnacle of romance and not the bare ass minimum. Mike’s mind swirls with everything he’d do for his and Will’s first official date, from showing up with a bouquet of his favorite flowers (sunflowers), to opening the car door for him. Or escorting him on the subway. Whatever.
“You can do that another night, right?” Mike smiles at Will, slow and sweet. He ignores Carlton. “I was hoping you could show me some of your favorite places around the city.”
Will looks more than pleased by the idea. “Of course!” he turns to Carlton and puts a placating hand on his arm. “Can we just do another night? You understand, don’t you? I had no idea Mike was coming here, and I haven’t seen him in a few months. We need to catch up.” He smiles sweetly, in a way Mike only ever wants to see directed at himself, but he guesses he can put up with it this time if it means he has Will all to himself tonight.
Carlton looks ready to argue some more. Mike glares at him until he puts his hands up in surrender.
“Fine, whatever. Can I at least walk you to class?”
“Sure,” Will agrees, sliding his sketchbook into a yellow tote bag and hiking it up on his shoulder.
I’d carry that for him, Mike thinks to himself. I’ll carry everything for him forever.
“Where can I meet you after?” Mike urges, not wanting to let Will out of his sight until he knows exactly when and where he’ll see him again.
“Here.” Will pulls a pen out of his bag and holds his hand out.
Mike stares at it for a moment, eyes catching on the pretty yellow nail polish.
“Mike,” Will chastises, smile in his voice. “Give me your hand.”
Mike swallows and puts his hand in Will’s. He flips it over and scrawls an address across Mike’s palm. Electricity races from the point of contact where their hands meet, and Mike wants to lose himself in it. He’s already touched Will more today than he has in the past year, and he now understands why he held himself back from it for so many years, letting himself repel away from Will like a magnet with the wrong charge. It feels too good. Something he can’t ignore or come back from.
“There,” Will grins, dropping his hand and capping the pen. “That’s where Robin works. You can go visit her while I’m busy. I’ll come by when I’m done, and we can hang out. Cool?”
He’s so pretty in the sunlight. All golden curves and moles and eyes that always remind Mike of springtime.
Mike closes his palm, trying to keep the feeling of Will there as long as he can. He’ll see him again tonight. And if things go well, see him every day for the rest of their lives. He grins.
“Cool.”