Chapter Text
The day was dreary. Grayscale. The sky was a dark gray, the occasional lightning strike weaving through the clouds and brightening the sky if only for a moment. There wasn’t a lot to do on a day like this, even in the summer. Except go to Mike's house, of course. Because what else was Will good for?
The boy flung his bike to the curb, desperately wiping his flattened bangs from his eyes in an attempt to see something— anything, and also to not trip over the front step. Mike, who’d seemingly been waiting at the door since he put down his walkie, had the door open before Will could reach for the doorbell.
“Hurry and get in before you catch a cold, silly. Everyone’s already inside.” Mike smiled softly at him, lifting a towel from a table near the door and wrapping Will’s shoulders gently, like he was scared he’d melt away.
“Thanks, Mike.” Will dried his shoes in the mat, making his way to the basement to find the party. Mike followed, not far behind.
“Will!”
Dustin practically tackled him, arms thrown around his middle like he’d been gone for months instead of… what, a day?
Will laughed, breath puffing out of him. “Dude! I saw you yesterday!”
“Yeah, well, it felt longer,” Dustin pulled back with a grin that was way too bright for the weather outside. “Also, you missed the best part of the evening, Lucas tried to explain the rules of basketball to Mike again.”
Lucas groaned from a red beanbag in the corner of the basement. “He genuinely doesn’t fucking listen.”
“I listen,” Mike rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I just don’t care.”
“Fuck you.” Lucas shot back.
Max was sprawled across the couch, legs thrown over El’s own, as one girl flipped through a magazine and the other levitated popcorn towards her mouth without lifting a finger. Max was the first of the pair to glance up at Will, smirking, before tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “Took you long enough, Byers. We were about to send a search party.”
“Don’t even joke, lad.” Mike fake glared at her.
“Ouh, too soon?”
“Sorry guys,” Will laughed out, rubbing the back of his neck. “Storm slowed me down.”
“Yes, it is very wet out.” El piped up, mouth full of popcorn. She smiled despite herself. “I am happy that you are here safely.”
Mike brushed past him, close enough that Will felt the heat of him even through the towel. “I told you he’d make it.” Mike lifted Will’s hand, rubbing his freezing fingers back to life absent-mindedly.
Will’s stomach did that annoying flip it always did when Mike did shit like this.
He shook his head vigorously. He missed his boyfriend. A lot.
He had barely slept a wink the night prior after what he’d overheard in Mike’s dining room. Richie. In Hawkins. He was literally shaking with excitement the entire night, unable to think straight.
It was difficult, well, being without him. They called and sent letters of course, but it wasn’t at all like waking up with the familiar scent of sunscreen and grass right by him, like shared looks and sneaky touches. And well, with Mike being…Mike, and looking exactly like Richie…
It was weird. That’s all. Will was just glad to have Richie back. He wasn’t sure exactly when during the day Richie was arriving, but just the prospect of him being within biking distance for the rest of the summer was enough to keep Will in high spirits.
Dustin clapped his hands, snapping Will from his thoughts. “Okay! Now that the full party is assembled—movie time!”
“What are we watching?” Will asked, dropping his sleepover bag by the stairs.
“The Dark Crystal,” Lucas said.
“FUCK no,” Max countered immediately.
“Yes,” Lucas insisted.
“No,” Max repeated, louder.
Mike sighed dramatically, turning and whispering hushedly into Will’s ear. “We’ve been at this for twenty minutes.”
Will laughed. “So nothing’s changed.”
Max sat up, pointing at Will like he’d just solved a murder. “Exactly! Which is why you get to pick.”
Will blinked. “Me?”
“Yeah,” Dustin said. “You’re the tie-breaker.“
Will snorted. “Okay, fine. Um…” He scanned the stack of VHS tapes on the table. “What about Ghostbusters?”
Finally, something everyone could settle on.
Mike shot him a grateful smile, one that lingered a little too long, warm and soft in a way that made Will’s chest tighten.
God, please don’t right now Micheal.
They all assumed their natural positions, Dustin’s and Lucas on the beanbag meant for one, Max and El sprawled out across the entirety of the couch that could likely fit them all, and Will and Mike closest to the TV, on the floor huddled in the blankets leaned up against the coffee table. Mike grabbed the Ghostbusters VHS, dramatically blowing dust off the top before sliding it into the player. The screen went blue, then stuttered to life, and a hush fell over the party.
They were barely even ten minutes into the movie before Will felt a hand ghost his own until the blankets. Will shuddered, pretending not to notice. Could’ve been a mistake.
No. Not with the way Mike has been acting since they got back. Not with the way Mike acted at camp. Will knew that all too well.
Will felt the warm presence of a hand on his own again, but this time it did not shy away. The hand, that, to nobodies surprise, belonged to Micheal Wheeler, caressed Will’s, small movements, barely-there strokes of his thumb against the side of Will’s hand, like he was testing the shape of it, asking a question without words.
Will’s breath hitched. Not loud enough for any of the rest of the party to hear, just enough that Mike must have felt it, because his fingers paused for a heartbeat, then laced deliberately between Will’s.
Will stared straight ahead at the TV, but the movie had dissolved into meaningless noise. The proton packs, the jokes, the neon glow—none of it registered. All he could feel was the warmth of Mike’s palm pressed to his, the way Mike’s knee leaned just slightly into his thigh, the steady rhythm of Mike’s breathing beside him.
He risked a glance.
Mike wasn’t watching the movie either. He was watching him.
Oh Jesus.
Just then, a scream from the movie paired with a burst of thunder from the storm blasted through the room, and El jolted so hard she telepathically flung the entire bowl of popcorn across the room.
“Shit!” El hissed, “I am sorry, everybody.”
Will took this opportunity with open arms, flinging himself up from where he sat under the blanket. “Don’t worry about it El. I got it.”
Will crossed the basement to grab the bowl, feeling Mike’s gaze burn into his back the whole way.
The basement door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet of the Wheeler house hit him like a wave. Just the hum of the fridge and the soft patter of rain easing off outside. He set the empty bowl on the counter and braced both hands on the cool laminate, bowing his head.
What the actual fuck was that?
Mike had been pulling weird shit since they got back from camp, yes, but nothing this…forward. Will braced himself on the counter, his head reeling. He liked Richie. He dare say he loved Richie. And Richie loved him back. The real way. The way that made him feel seen and safe, wanted. The way that made him feel like he wasn’t a burden or some afterthought or way to pass time.
But Mike. Well. Mike was Mike.
Will meant what he said in the forest that day, when he chased Mike down until they were so battered and breathless the pair wouldn’t dare go on. Nobody would ever replace what Mike was to him. But nobody had to. Because Richie was not ‘replacement Mike’, he was just Richie. He was new, and he was perfect. But Mike was the ghost of a first love. A bruise that never fully faded. And now, after everything at camp… the jealousy, the tension, Mike was suddenly touching him like he meant it. Looking at him like he goddamn meant it.
And of course there was the resemblance. Richie and Mike looked so stupidly, unfairly similar.
But they were not the same. Will had to remember that. Richie loved him out loud. And Mike loved him in silence.
Will squeezed his eyes shut, chest tight. He wasn’t supposed to feel this confused. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all. He grabbed the popcorn kernels and dumped them into the bowl, trying to focus on the mundane rhythm of it—scoop, pour, shake. The microwave beeped. Will opened it, letting the buttery steam hit his face.
“Hey, Will.”
Will jumped, almost spilling his hard work onto the tiled kitchen floor.
Nancy stood in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, hair pulled into a messy bun. Her eyes widened at Will’s reaction, flinching herself with the intensity of it.
“Shit, sorry,” she said, stepping into the kitchen. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” Will said quickly, forcing a laugh. “Just…” he lifted the bowl. “popcorn.”
Nancy leaned against the counter beside him, he all knowing eyes scanning his expression. “You doing alright?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You look like you’re thinking really hard,” she said gently. “And also like you might pass out.”
He let out a breathy laugh. “Just tired.”
Nancy didn’t push. She really never did. Instead, she glanced toward the living room windows, where a soft, warm glow was spilling across the carpet.
“Oh,” she murmured. “Look.”
Will followed her gaze.
The rain had stopped. The clouds had cracked open, and warm, rich golden sunlight poured through the windows, turning the whole house soft and glowing as it cascaded through the room and danced on the walls.
“Pretty,” Will whispered.
“Yeah. What a quick turn around, huh?”
Just then, a sharp knock echoed from the front door.
Nancy sighed. “Will, can you get that? My hands are full.” She lifted the dish towel she’d been folding.
“Sure,” Will said, wiping his palms on his jeans.
He crossed the living room, the golden light catching in his hair, warming his skin. The knock came again, three quick raps, impatient, and vaguely familiar.
Will pulled open the door.
And there he was.
Richie Tozier, drenched from the storm, curls plastered to his forehead, glasses fogged, grinning and panting like he’d just sprinted across town.
“Hey, bowl cut,” Richie breathed, “Miss me?”
Will’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
The light folded over his boyfriend’s lanky frame, illuminating him from the back like he was nothing less than heavenly. The source of his light. Of all things good and right with the world. God, Will didn’t know he could miss anyone— or anything, as much as he missed his beautiful, beautiful boyfriend. He felt tears prick his eyes and well up in his throat.
Richie’s laugh tumbled out like thick like molasses. He dropped his bags at the front step and spread his arms.
“C’mere, crybaby.”
Will flew towards him, grabbing the collar of his stupid Hawaiian button up and smashing his lips onto Richie’s own. Richie stumbled back, a muffled, startled sound bubbling out of him. Will pulled back only a moment.
Richie laughed hysterically. “Oh my god, William! I meant a hug.”
“Quiet.”
Will's lips slammed back onto his, this time nearly sending him flying back into the soaked lawn behind them. Richie quickly melted into the kiss, lowering his arms before wrapping them tightly around the shorter boy, pressing him impossibly closer into himself, dampening his freshly dried T-Shirt with his own.
Richie’s lips moved against Will’s like he had all the time in the world, like he’d been waiting for this exact second, like he was memorizing the shape of Will’s mouth all over again. Will melted right back into him, hands fisting in the damp fabric of Richie’s shirt.
Richie’s thumbs brushed Will’s cheeks, wiping away tears he hadn’t even realized were still falling. Will kissed him harder, tasting rain on the taller boy’s lips and popcorn butter on his own, intermingled with the familiar sweetness of Richie’s breath. Richie sighed into his mouth, a soft, shaky sound that made Will’s knees buckle.
They swayed together in the doorway, bathed in golden light, the storm-wet world behind Richie and the warm Wheeler house behind Will. Richie kissed him like he was home. Will kissed him like he’d been starving. He lowkey had, if we’re being for real.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Richie whispered, “God, I missed you, Will. Like… stupid amounts. Like unhealthy, desperately codependent amounts.”
Will laughed, breathless. “I missed you too.”
Richie grinned, brushing a strand of hair from Will’s forehead. “I could tell.”
Will snorted, leaning in for another kiss before he froze as a small voice sounded behind him.
“Will? Are you alright? The others are asking about the popped-corn and you—”
Will whipped around.
El stood at the top of the stairs, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, staring at Richie in utter disbelief before looking back behind her, undoubtedly trying to figure out why Micheal Wheeler had seemingly multiplied. As if one wasn’t enough. Will quickly snapped out of his lovesick daze and realized that there were other people on this earth besides him and Richie. A quick glance to Nancy confirmed she had already excited the kitchen, hopefully before the spit swapping had begun. He turned his attention back to the painfully confused El, who was still staring at Richie like he had two heads.
Richie blinked, then smiled. “Uh. Nope.” He raised his hands, debunking her thoughts preemptively. “Wrong lanky dude.”
El looked between them— Richie, Will, Richie again— her eyebrows knitting together in deep, deep confusion. This is what Will gets for not gossiping to El enough.
“El, I’ll be right down. You missed a lot. And the popcorn's right there— bring it down?”
“Okaaaay..?” El hesitantly lifted the bowl, glancing over her shoulder again before descending back down the stairs.
Richie looked onwards as she left. “Who was—“
Will hushed him. “You have a lot of Hawkins lore to catch up on and we aren’t doing it in Mike’s doorway.”
“Right.”
With that, Richie lifted his bags inside, discarding them at the door, before following Will into the basement.