Chapter Text
“Hi Will.” Mike’s going to go crazy.
How the fuck is here?
Why the fuck is he here?
Will turns straight to Max. “How much has he had?”
Max shrugs. “Too much?”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Will turns back to Mike, his expression one of concern which Mike really doesn’t understand.
He still wants to throw up.
No, he’s really gonna throw up.
In seconds, Mike is turning away, dashing towards the bathroom and shoving his way past the mass of heated bodies. He throws himself into the nearest cubicle, stomach burning as he grips the porcelain for dear life and vomits into the bowel.
He’s sweating, his jumper feeling uncomfortably tight, his head spinning with nausea. Another wave of sickness hits him, the air thick and suffocating with the stench, and he retches again.
He inhales through his nose, exhaling deep and slow, trying to stop anything more from spewing out his mouth.
He doesn’t hear the door, and doesn’t register the footsteps rushing towards him, nor the figure kneeling at his side. Not until that all too familiar voice is in his ear.
“Mike?”
Mike raises his head, finding himself looking straight into Will’s lovely hazel eyes, filled with deep concern.
He wants to- God he wants to…
Just like that, the nausea is back at full force, bile rising in his throat. Mike shakes his head, leaning back over the porcelain, and he’s groaning Will’s name before he can think it through.
“Will.”
“It’s okay.” Will murmurs, his hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. It’s cold, and it sends shivers throughout his entire body. “C’mon, you need to be sick. You’ll feel better once it’s over.”
Mike retches, and he continues for an amount of time he can’t track. He barely registers Wil’s gentle voice in his ear, his hand carefully rubbing circles around his back, but he knows Will is there.
It’s humiliating, and almost makes him feel even sicker, but he doesn’t leave his side for even a second.
This has to be repulsive. It is to him, and granted, it might be because he’s the one who has the bitter taste of bile lingering at the back of his throat, but Will is having to hear it, having to watch it.
Not for any reason other than the fact he refuses to leave his side.
Shame and guilt rise in him, like an all too recognisable tide Mike has found himself trapped under a million times before. It mixes with his already churning stomach, and that awful sickness multiplies ten fold, making him spew his guts up once more.
“It’s okay.” Will murmurs, close to his ear, his hand still moving around his back. “You’re doing great, Mike. It’ll be over soon.”
Mike almost wants to grab Will by the shoulders and shove him as far away from him as possible. His unending kindness is only amplifying the sickening senses of guilt and shame and it’s not helping him to stave off the constant waves of nausea.
And he’s so calm about it. No anger, no disappointment, not even a hint of irritation. He just takes it in stride, knowing exactly what to do.
He gags into the bowel.
Mike lifts his head and releases another pained groan, clawing uselessly at his jumper as he feels it clinging to him, via the sweat that’s drenching his skin. “Off. Too hot.” He mutters.
Will lowers his hands, stilling them at the edges off his jumper. “Arms up.”
Mike raises his arms, letting Will pull his jumper over his head, messing up his curls. Will places it carefully beside him, and gives him a sobering gaze that makes Mike want to collapse then and there.
“You feel any better?”
Mike nods his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, ignoring how he trembles as he does so. “H-how are you so- good with this?”
Will shrugs with a small smile. “Lonnie.” He says. He’d stopped referring to him as ‘Dad’ whenever he rarely came up in conversation, ever since his Mom had married Hopper and he had been given that title. “He used to get sick, too.” Will continues. “I learnt how to help pretty quickly.”
The realisation hits Mike like a fucking Fray train.
He wants to be sick again.
He chokes it back down.
His eyes widen as he looks at Will, at his expression that’s so full of compassion, that doesn’t show any sign of judgement, and he wants to sink beneath the bathroom tiles.
“Fuck-“ He breathes out, leaning back and letting his head bang against the wall. “I’m- I’m sorry. Fuck, Will, I’m so sorry.”
How could he have been so insensitive to not acknowledge that Will’s abusive fucking asshole of a Father had practically lived in drunken states? How could Mike let him see him like this? When he knows all too well what Will’s Father had put him through?
“What for?” Will asks, sitting back on his knees.
Mike shakes his head. “For- for being like this. When I know how… how awful that was for you.”
Will moves a little closer, his hand coming to rest cautiously on his shoulder. “It was awful because he scared me.” He tells him. “You could never scare me.”
Mike looks at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Even like this?”
Will shakes his head in exasperation. “It happens, Mike. It’s not like you’re slamming me against a wall, is it?”
Mike’s mouth falls open.
That was not an image he needed in his head right now.
His hands gripping Will’s shoulders, persistent and punishing as he uses all his force to shove him against the nearest wall. Their heavy breaths in sync, the light in Will’s eyes, ignited by the spark of the fires in his own. His chest heaving, the sharp gasp Will would release as his head collided with the harsh material, drawing Mike’s eyes to his lips, hands sliding around the back of his neck-
Mike chokes out a gasp and slams his eyes shut.
He doesn’t let himself entertain those thoughts. They begin and he shuts them down, shoves them back, blocks them out. But in his current state, they’re breaking through his barricades far too easily, and Mike doesn’t know what he’s going to say, what he’s going to do.
“Mike?” Will’s voice rings in his head, and it’s notoriously unhelpful in getting him to block out that absurd image. “You okay? You need to be sick again?”
Mike swallows, harsh, and shakes his head, opening his eyes.
And immediately wishes he hadn’t.
Because Will is still there, still achingly lovely, and just staring down at him with undying, considerate worry.
“I’m okay.” Mike says, his voice scratching out of his throat. It’s like Will’s presence has zapped all that confident, impulsive energy from his blood and he’s been left with that dizzy, giddy thoughtlessness that’s leading him to think about everything he fights his brain to avoid.
Like the way he can’t stop looking at Will’s lips.
He’s been doing it for years, but he’s good at denying it. He’s good at denying a lot when it comes to Will.
But here, in this moment, he can’t shake the desire.
Desire for what?
“Okay.” Will says with a nod of his head, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Can you stand up?”
Mike nods his head slightly, not wanting to move it too much, for fear of the nausea that was still festering throughout his body.
He stretches his legs before planting both trainers on the floor, and places one hand beside himself, pushing to his feet. He sways a bit, body still flowing with the alcoholic concoctions he had been mindlessly swallowing for hours.
Will unlocks the door, slinging his jumper over his shoulder, leading them out into the bathroom, gritty mirrors, marble sinks, brick walls and the typical grime you’d expect at such a place, lighting a fluorescent blue.
He leans against the sink, and Mike tries to follow, but stumbles after just a few steps, unsteady on his feet.
“Careful.” Will says softly, reaching out to place his hands on his arms to stop him from falling back to the floor. His hands land on Mike’s bare skin, and goosebumps immediately erupt on his body, hair rising at the back of his neck.
Will’s touch has never shot fear into his blood so quickly.
He’s never wanted it more in his life.
He rips his arms away.
Will’s expression cracks, hurt and confusion bleeding into his features. “Sorry-“ He says.
Mike shakes his head as he realises his mistake, chest panging at Will’s expression. He reaches back out, lowering his hands until he’s clasping Will’s in his own, squeezing tight. He lets go after a few moments though - they’re not in his bedroom right now. They’re out in the world, and in the world, he wasn’t allowed to do that.
“No- no-“ He says, and he can hear that he’s slurring now, and rather awfully at that, but he pushes forward. “I’m sorry I just- you- you’re cold.”
The excuse sounds stupid to his own ears.
But Will’s face softens in some semblance of relief. “Well, you’re hot.”
Mike blinks. Does Will actually think that? Or is he just being nice? Mike doesn’t necessarily hate the way he looks, but he has been subjected to a lot of ridicule based on his looks since he was a kid. But Will doesn’t lie, and Will… well he likes boys, so Mike doesn’t understand why he’d say that if he didn’t mean it.
He responds on impulse. “You really think so?”
Will’s mouth tilts down in a confused frown, and his eyebrows rise in question. “What?”
“You think I’m hot?”
Will’s expression cracks, mouth falling open slightly as a slight blush begins painting his cheeks a dusky pink. “I- I meant. Like - temperature wise but- you’re definitely not unattractive, Mike..”
Mike tilts his head. “You’re saying that to be nice, aren’t you?”
Will smiles a little. “No. Friends don’t lie, right?”
Mike’s mouth lifts up at the corners. “So- you think I’m hot?” He repeats.
Will shoves him in the shoulder gently. “I think you’re far from unattractive, okay? I’m not repeating myself.”
Mike laughs. “Well- you don’t either. Look unattractive, I mean.”
Understatement of the god damn century. But, Will was being honest with him, and through the haze in his head that wasn’t allowing him to think things through, Mike had decided he owed him the same courtesy.
Will laughs. “You don’t have to say something nice back, Mike, it’s okay.”
Mike shakes his head, frowning, because he wasn’t even trying to be nice, and telling Will he wasn’t unattractive was frankly insulting when he considered all the ways he was beautiful.
“No.” He insists. “I’m not doing that. You’re-“
Perfect.
Jesus, he can’t say that.
“Mike, it’s okay.” Will says softly, but he turns his face away. “You don’t exactly look at me long enough to describe how I’m not unattractive. It’s fine.”
Mike pouts, almost offended by that statement. “Will, I look at you all the time.”
Will’s face snaps back to his so fast, Mike hears his neck crack. “What?” He looks a little shell shocked, like he can’t believe those words came out of Mike’s mouth. Mike’s a little perplexed by that - hasn’t Will seen him looking?
Mike swallows as he tries to find the words to explain, still rather intoxicated, taking him longer than it usually would to string the words together in a sentence he could comprehend.
“I- I like your face.” He says, then grimaces because that was an awful way to put it. “I mean- things about it. Specific things.” He elaborates.
Will raises his eyebrows at him, as if asking him to continue, and Mike breathes out slowly as he feels his face burning, but he abides. “I like the shape of it.” He says quietly. “Your jawline is soft. And you get dimples when you smile.” Mike looks away from him as he speaks, feeling a bit like an oyster being stripped of their hidden possession. He doesn’t let himself think about Will like this too long, and he definitely doesn’t speak about it- it’s dangerous. But he hasn’t the strength, nor the sobriety, to stop the words from spilling out.
“I like how I can tell what you’re thinking
when it changes. It shifts. Your eyebrows move, or your mouth does, and when you’re confused you kinda scrunch your nose up a bit.”
Will is silent, so Mike takes in a second breath and keeps going, flush now spreading down to his neck. “I like your eyes.” He whispers, facing him again. “I suppose they do help with telling your thoughts but I can normally tell that from your face. How you’re feeling?” He bites his tongue, but it doesn’t stop the words escaping. “That’s always in your eyes.”
Again, Will keeps quiet, not uttering a single word. Mike isn’t even sure he’s breathing. But the silence is heavy and it’s weighing down on his chest, so he keeps talking.
“Did you know they change colour?”
“Hm?” Will finally acknowledges, his facial expression usual, almost indifferent, but his eyes look far away, deep in thought about something.
“Your eyes.” Mike says. “They change colour.”
“They do? To what?”
“Green.” Mike replies. “In the sunlight.”
“I never knew that.”
Mike shrugs and smiles back. “I’m sure you notice things about me that I don’t.”
“Of course I do.” He answers.
“Like what?” Mike asks.
Will pauses for a moment. “Like how you zone out when you’re thinking. But thinking really hard. Or… how you pace when you’re stressed, or I guess you just don’t really know what to do with how you’re feeling?”
Will breaks away from his gaze for a moment, releasing a slow breath, similar to the way Mike had. “You don’t like touching people, and you don’t like people touching you.”
Mike’s heart pounds into his throat.
Even in his drunken condition, he can hear the the words neither of them can say.
Except when it’s you.
“Wow.” He says quietly. “So you really are magic, sorcerer.”
Will huffs a laugh and turns to him with a smile. “That would make you magic too, storyteller.”
No. Mike wants to say. That isn’t right. He’s the storyteller, at best, he’s the knight, the protector, the leader.
And Will is the sorcerer, the wizard, the one with powers that heal and the selfless heart that does exactly that.
“No.” Mike shakes his head, petulant. “No, just you.”
Will tilts his head. “Just me?”
Mike’s voice is soft, barely audible. “You’re magic.”
Will looks at him with that same soft, confused expression, like he’s got all the pieces to complete the puzzle, but just can’t imagine how the last one fits into place. Like the picture in his head can’t possibly be right.
Mike has seen it before, the scrutinising pressure of his gaze, but he can’t recall its meaning.
It takes a long time for Will’s features to shift out of it. Or at least to Mike it’s a long time, because during it, he’s just staring at him, eyes raking over his face like he’s trying to figure something out. Mike wants to answer him, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking.
After that undefined amount of time, Will gives a small shake of his head, and his features become resolute, like he’s come to an internal decision he can’t argue with.
“Okay, you’ve had too much to drink.” Will says. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”
Mike frowns, surprised at the abrupt switch in Will’s demeanour. He doesn’t seem angry, but Mike isn’t in the right state of mind to figure out what he does seem like. “Wait- did I upset you?”
“No.” Will reassures him. “I’m not upset. I just- y’know. I can’t really be in places like this for too long.”
Mike tilts his head. “Huh? Why not?”
Will raises his eyebrows and for the second time that night, realisation gives him a sharp and stinging slap to the face.
“Oh.” He breathes out, wanting to bang his brain against the wall for being such an idiot.
“I’m sorry, yeah- yeah let’s go.” Mike says, and Will nods as both of them make their way back out to the bar. His head immediately screams in protest at the racket that seems to pound into his temples from a million different sources and it renders any ability he has left to think clearly useless.
“Max!” Will calls out, making sure Mike is following close behind him.
Max steps away from the dance floor, breathless and still grinning, singing to the Madonna song that was currently sounding throughout the bar.
“Hey, Byers!” She grins. “Is he okay?”
“He will be.” Will answers. “I’m gonna take him home. Do you need me to take you back?”
“Back? No I’m having fun!”
Will smiles. “I know, but it won’t be that fun if you can’t get home later on.”
Max waves a hand through the air. “Relax. Lucas is getting me.”
“Soon?”
“Soonish?”
Will laughs with a fond shake of his head. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Wheeler’s the one that can’t handle his alcohol.” She teases.
“Maybe that’s because you kept shoving them into my hands.” Mike retorts.
“I said you wouldn’t keep up, and you tried to prove me wrong.” Max tells him, all snark.
Mike grins. “Yeah, yeah. Next time I’ll have you beat.”
“Next time, you’re both being supervised.” Will warns them both.
Max and Mike share a laugh, and after a slightly awkward pause, Mike pulls her into a hug.
He may still feel righteously sick, but he’s thankful that she took him out, helped him forget, just for a bit. She really was an amazing friend. Not just to him, but to the rest of the party. Especially to El.
Mike feels the sudden need to express his gratitude for that.
“Thanks, Max.” He murmurs into her hair.
Max’s arms wrap around his waist, and she holds him tight but not restrictive. “What for?”
“For making her happy.” Mike admits, and though it makes his heart clench painfully inside his chest, he’s glad he says it. For that short, precious summer when they had split, Max made El happier than he ever could. Probably ever did.
“You made her happy, too.” Max replies after a moment.
Mike doesn’t know how true that is, but he appreciates it all the same, and gives her one last squeeze before he pulls back with a smile.
“You ready to go?” Will asks.
Mike nods his head.
“Max, get Lucas to call me when you’re home, okay?”
Max grins. “Yes, Mom.”
Will shakes his head in exasperation, though he’s still smiling, and pulls her into a warm embrace. Max hugs him back tight, and waves them off as Will pulls away and walks towards the exit, Mike following close behind him as they make their way through the crowd.
“Hey, Will!” A familiar voice calls out from behind them, and Robin comes over, followed by Steve, her hair now out of its messy ponytail and curling at her shoulders.
“Robin?” Will exclaims, turning around and enveloping her in a hug immediately. “What are you doing here?”
“Hanging out with Harrington. You’ve gotta rescue me, Will.” Robin groans dramatically, gripping to his shoulders like the last piece of floating debris from a sunken ship.
Will laughs. “Hi Steve.”
Steve gives him a wave and tuts at Robin’s remark.
“She loves me really.”
“Tolerates.” Robin corrects. “What are you doing here?”
Will bites his lip, looking toward Mike, who currently feels a very strange urge to take Robin by the shoulders and shove her hands away from Will. Why is she grabbing him like that? She knows Will… doesn’t like girls doesn’t she?
“I’m just bringing Mike home.” Will tells her.
“Ah.” Steve grins. “He go a bit too hard on the tequila?”
“I thought you were gonna slow down, Wheeler?”
“I did.” Mike says a bit too sharp. “And that’s not my name.”
Robin blinks, and Steve raises his brows at him. Will looks utterly confused, and.. oh god, is he angry?
Will turns back to Robin. “Where’s Vickie?”
Steve laughs. “I’ve ran interference, Byers. Can’t have Robin forget her first love after all.”
Will laughs. “What? Tammy?”
Mike feels like he’s just suffered an electric shock.
It’s that name, that fucking name from the day that’s been plaguing his head for the last two years.
Mike can almost feel his heart accelerate the way it did that day as he awaited what Will was going to say, as he remembered the way tears clouded his vision when he said those dreaded words, words that he spat out with malice in his worst dreams, even to this day.
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!
Will’s eyes, those awfully lovely spheres of sweet hazel searing into his own, like he was trying to rebrand the memory with something that didn’t make them both feel like a predator was pawing into their lungs with pain.
I don’t like girls.
Mike recalls the way his body had jolted, the way his mind had taken him down an endless spiral, every memory he had with Will shattering to fragments in the twister of confusion his mind had created. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never piece them back together the same, could never connect it all back into something that made sense.
It wasn’t at all helped by what Will had said next.
I had this crush on someone. Even though I know - I know they’re not like me…
His eyes.
His eyes had been a far greater force than any physical weight on his body could have been, keeping him in a chokehold as he had held his gaze.
Mike had learned how to figure out Will’s mind barely a month after they first met. He looked for his tells, he read his face, learning every crease, every expression, he watched his body movements, and learnt how he spoke when Will had started talking about a year into their friendship.
So, Mike knew what he was saying. Knew by the tilt of his lips, and the fear in his eyes, and the quiver in his voice, and the trembling of his clasped hands - he knew what Will was really saying.
But the conclusion was just - just not possible. He couldn’t have been communicating what Mike thought he was.
And then Will’s eyes turned on Robin, and Mike felt cold when he spoke.
But then I realised, he’s just my Tammy..
Mike feels an uncomfortable, familiar heat prickling across his skin.
So Robin knew what it meant?
Does she know?
The way he looks at you.
What the fuck was she playing at?
“Shut up, I was fifteen. Cut me some slack!” Robin exclaims, bringing Mike back into the room, and subsequently, back to his pounding headache.
“I was talking about me, obviously.” Steve grins.
Will scoffs. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“I’m trying to keep my drinks down Steve, not chuck them up like Wheeler over here.”
Mike scowls. “Jesus, can you shut the hell up?”
Robin frowns at him, as does Will, and Steve’s mouth becomes a thin, angry line. “Calm the hell down, Wheeler. It’s not our fault you can’t handle your drink.”
“I’m handling it fine.” Mike retorts.
Will’s eyes remain on him for a few more seconds before he turns back to Robin. “Um - we better get going.”
Robin nods her head. “Get him to drink some water?”
Mike’s blood boils even hotter, because who is she to tell Will what to do? And about him nonetheless. “Leave off. I’m not a fucking child.”
“Hey?” Steve snaps. “Watch your mouth!”
Mike rolls his eyes. “What are you, my Mother?”
“Hey, stop?” Will says it to him quietly, but Mike’s head is pounding and he’s too hot and everything’s too bright and Robin just needs to leave Will alone.
She frowns, placing a hand on Steve’s arm, who was clearly about to give another angry retort. “Jesus Christ, you’re an awful drunk, Wheeler.”
Who asked for her opinion anyway?
“Buckley, just fuck off would you?!”
“Mike.”
Will’s voice is stern, only slightly raised, a hint of shock in his tone.
Mike faces him with his skin still burning, more than ready to light that old familiar flame. Fight, shout, scream, something.
“What?” He spits the word out.
Will’s face remains entirely unshaken, almost passive, but his voice is set in stone. “Outside. Now.”
Mike scoffs, still fueled by the fiery sparks of anger, and turns on his heel as he shoves his way past everyone in the bar and pushes the door open to go outside.
——
He doesn’t linger at the smoking area, instead turning the corner and leaning back against the brick wall. He releases a breath, the chilly air cooling his skin as it lays icy kisses on the back of his neck as he tries to simmer the fuck down.
It’s proving futile.
He’s able to breathe for a minute or so before he feels Will’s presence beside him - he doesn’t need to look, he knows it’s him.
Will doesn’t speak for a little bit, seeming to wait for Mike to say something. But he doesn’t know what to say, and to be honest even if he did, he wouldn’t trust himself to speak.
“What happened in there?” Will asks finally, his voice careful, a balance between gentle and firm.
Mike leans back against the wall and closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. “I - she just - got to me, okay?”
“Do you think that’s okay?” Will replies.
It’s a clever tactic that he’s learnt with Mike, not to outright tell him he’s done something wrong, or else he gets defensive, but instead, to make Mike question his actions, to consider if his reaction was warranted by the scale of the situation.
More often than not, Mike finds himself trapped under the crushing weight of Will’s unshakeable conscience.
Mike bites his tongue.
“Why did she get to you, Mike?”
Mike scrubs his hands down his face, trying to push his headache back past his temples. “Can we just drop it? Why do you care so much about her anyway?”
Will studies him for a few moments, before he releases an almost tired sigh and reaches inside the pocket of his jeans, withdrawing a little cardboard box and a lighter.
Mike blinks.
Will takes out one of the little white cylinders, all lined up in a neat row, and sticks one between his teeth, raising an eyebrow at Mike, like he’s daring him to question it.
“Will, are you - you’re smoking?” Mike asks, against his better judgment.
Will cups his hand around the end, and clicks the lighter, setting the cigarette aflame as he brings it to the edge. He doesn’t reply with anything but a nod as he begins to inhale.
“Since when?” Mike presses.
Will shrugs casually as he pulls the cigarette from between his teeth with two fingers, tapping it so some of the ash crumbles to the pavement beneath them. His chest rises and falls in a rhythm as he exhales the smoke, and it dissipates in the chilly night air as they both stand in silence.
Mike’s eyes follow the movements, and his fingers twitch as he stands motionless, though he’s a little breathless, which makes zero sense to him because he’s not moving anywhere - he’s just standing. Just watching.
“Trade?” He asks.
Mike is far too drunk to even remotely comprehend what that means.
“Huh?”
Will’s lips tilt upwards a little. “I’m saying, you answer me, I’ll answer you. Sound fair?”
Mike supposes that is fair, and he is curious. Perhaps a little too curious, but he always has been when it comes to Will. Mike has always loved to learn about things, and he’s interested in the mechanics of any sort of concept - why does that work? How does it happen? What does it mean? All typical questions he’d ask himself when playing a new video game, or reading a new comic, or studying something new at school.
He’s been told by his teachers in college that this is the mind of a writer - a constant desire to understand why?
And Mike is the same with people, he wants to know what they like, and why they like it, how it became important to them and all the ways they perceive the world around them. With his friends, it was easy, he knows his friends like the back of his hand - their favourite books, favourite movies, characters, music, and all the reasons why and the exact times it became significant to them, likely because they had more or less figured these things out together.
But, as always seems to be the case with Will, it was different.
Mike’s curiosity of Will has always run a little deeper than anyone else - he didn’t just want to learn his favourite character from the comic, or his favourite plot in the movie, or his favourite fight move in the video game. He wanted to know little things, simple things, like what’s his favourite colour? How does he prefer to draw? What’s his favourite dream?
He thinks it also stems from his undying need to be protective over Will, and a lot of it he learnt to make sure he’d be safe and comfortable - his dislike of loud noises, the nightmares he had, and the music that specifically helped calm him, were the first things he’d placed importance in knowing, and then the rest had all just fell into place, until he knew Will better than anyone in the world.
So he admits, he’s curious about this new development, but it means he also has to explain his own outburst, and how does he explain that hearing the name that’s been the source of the problems plaguing his mind for the last two years had just made him snap?
Mike presses his head back against the wall and folds his arms across his chest as Will brings the cigarette back to his lips, patiently awaiting his answer.
“Fair.” He says. Will nods his head, and Mike averts his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You said - about Tammy.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Will pause as he brings the cigarette back up to his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods his head, so Mike continues.
“I just- never really understood what you meant when you… told us about her. And Robin said something to me about you earlier and I just thought maybe she knows what it means and was- I don’t know. Making fun of me or something-“
Will shakes his head. “You know she’s not like that.” He says, and Mike reluctantly nods his head because Will is right, Robin has never been a cruel person. “What did she say about me?”
Mike digs his nails into his arms, the bitter December air of the night helping to clear his head a little, though his body still feels light and his brain still feels fuzzy. “She said- something like, she’ll never be me?”
Will’s lips quirk up as he exhales more smoke. “She’ll never be you?”
“Yeah like-“ Mike struggles to find the words. “To you. As in- she’ll never be who I am. To you.”
Mike dares a glance at Will then, and his expression is strange, a number of emotions all at once, confusion definitely, a new sort of relaxed, which Mike puts down to the cigarette, but also a hint of… worry?
He takes another deep inhale, tapping some more ash off to the side, and when he replies, he keeps from looking at him directly, instead staring straight ahead. “She’s right.” He says, voice quiet. “I couldn’t replace you.”
Mike’s chest glows with something warm, something sweet, and his instinct is to tramp down on it like sparks from a fire, but in this moment, he’s not scared of the burn that may come with it, just scared of the cold that would come without it. “You mean that?”
Will laughs a little. “Of course I mean it.”
No matter how many times I’ve hurt you?
The words are on the tip of his tongue, sticking to the roof of his mouth, his own shame the adhesive that keeps them there. He’s hurt Will so many times, too many times, and he always just lets him come rushing back whenever it suits him. Mike knows that isn’t fair, he knows Will deserves better than that, better then him - even if Will has decided that this time Mike had to move first, he didn’t tell him not to move at all. He was just waiting, always waiting for him.
Mike looks away from him again.”I don’t - I don’t think that’s fair.”
Will frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean- you should…” The words hurt, like they’ve resisted being tugged from his mouth, but he says them anyway, because Will has to know it isn’t fair, has to know that he has other options then to just wait for Mike. “ You should find better than me, Will.”
This time, he feels Will’s eyes on him, a sincere caress that makes him feel more than a physical touch could at that precise moment, and something Robin said hours before comes to his mind.
The way he looks at you.
Mike’s face burns, but he doesn’t have the chance to think it over, think about what that look in his eyes means, because Will is stepping closer, smoke spilling from his lips as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and lets it rest between two fingers at his side. He stands in front of Mike, and he has no choice but to meet his gaze - and the only way Mike can describe his eyes is searching, searching for something Mike doesn’t know how to give him.
It’s still beautiful to see him like this. So close.
Yet, they still feel so far apart.
“Mike.” Will says, voice oh so soft. “There isn’t better then you. Not for me. Robin isn’t my best friend. That’s you. You took that role in my life before I even knew what a best friend was. And you’re the one who showed me what it means.”
Will pauses for a moment, and Mike tries to remember how to breathe. Because Will is so close, and his words are so kind, and Mike doesn’t feel like he deserves them. Best friends don’t do what Mike has done, but Will’s undying faith in him, in his own ability to be a good person, is clearer than ever, and its melting every wall he’s placed around his heart in seconds. Mike’s entire body feels too hot, and he doesn’t trust himself to move a muscle, nor let a sound past his lips, so he just waits for Will to keep going.
“Everything that happened when we were younger? With the upside down and the mind flayer?” Will takes a quick glance around them, but it’s quiet, and they’re alone. He cautiously reaches out with his other hand, his finger tips just barely grazing the backs of Mike’s knuckles.
Mike swallows, hard.
“I wouldn’t have survived that if it wasn’t for you. You’re the one who refused to believe I was gone. You’re the one who watched me get possessed and still didn’t leave my side.” Will smiles then, something so true, and so tender that Mike feels as though it breaks something in him. “You saved me. You’ve always saved me.“
Hot, harsh tears begin to sting at Mike’s eyes and he wants nothing more than to collapse right then and there and just beg Will to keep saying the things he so desperately wants to believe. But he forces himself to stay upright, and shakes his head. “You’re wrong, Will.” He chokes out. “I didn’t save you. You’re the one that went through all that and survived it. You didn’t need me.”
“No.” Will says, quiet but strong, his fingers wrapping around his knuckles. “You’re wrong, Mike.”
Mike’s chest is caving in, and he’s so afraid of the answer.
But he can’t stop himself from asking, his voice cracked with unshed tears. “Even when I keep hurting you?”
Will’s smile is something sad then, and it hurts his heart. “You mean when we fight?”
“No.” Mike shakes his head. “Well yes- that too, but like, when we don’t talk? You’re angry but you always forgive me and just - why, Will? I don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it.”
Something like pain glimmers in Will’s eyes. “You think I don’t deserve you?”
“You deserve better.”
“There isn’t better, Mike. Don’t you get it?” Will’s squeezing his hand so hard it hurts but Mike would rather sever his arm then have Will pull away right now. He wants him close, he needs it. “No matter how many times you hurt me, how many times we fight, how many times we stop talking, I’ll never find anyone who understands me how you do. I’ll never-“ Will swallows, like he’s trying to force the words down, but they come back up too quick for him to catch them. “I’ll never need anyone the way I need you.”
A raw, broken gasp rips from out of Mike’s throat and he screws his eyes shut in a last desperate attempt to keep the tears at bay. “You still need me?” He manages in a whisper.
Will moves barely a centimetre closer, their foreheads almost touching. “I never stopped needing you. I just- I didn’t think you needed- or wanted me…”
And he had him feel like that. When the exact opposite was true. Mike doesn’t deserve him, he really doesn’t deserve him. “No- no, Will you’re wrong. I did need you.” His voice comes out hoarse, and he’s shaking. “I don’t - I don’t wanna hurt you anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Will meets his eyes, and they’re coated in crystal tears Mike wants to cup in his palms to take the pain away from them. “Then- then why?” Will asks, like he’s begging. “Why did we stop talking?”
Because I needed you too much.
Mike thinks.
Because it terrified me.
Mike shakes his head, because he knows that’s an answer he can’t give, an answer he can’t explain, and Will deserves better, has always deserved more, but he doesn’t want it, even though Mike is sure it’s out there. He just wants him, and for now, maybe he can believe it.
“It won’t happen again.” He promises, allowing a small smile to dance across his face. “Crazy together, right?”
Will laughs, and his heart hurts a little less. “Yeah, crazy together.”
Will raises his arm, pulling Mike into his body in an iron clad grip, and Mike falls into him, helpless to deny the affection that pours out of Will so effortlessly. He rests his head on his shoulder, breath coming out in deep, shuddering gasps.
It’s the break in Will’s voice, that tells Mike he’s holding back tears too, that splits his heart in half. It cracks the dam wide open, and Mike can’t hold back the tears anymore. They spill hot and fast down his cheeks, and Will says nothing, just holds him together as his entire body is being pulled apart at the seams by his own tsunami of feeling.
He’s been so terrified of this, of having this closeness with Will again, but now that it’s back, he thinks it’d kill him to ever let it go.
——
Mike doesn’t know how long they stay there, time is still fuzzy to him, mind scrambled from his night of self destruction, but eventually, they pull apart from each other, alerted by the bell of the door they exited.
He feels cold without Will’s warm embrace, and the abrupt, awful shock back to reality makes him shiver. They couldn’t do that, not here - not anywhere, really.
“C’mon.” Will says quietly after he clears his throat a bit. “Let’s get you home.”
The car ride back was quiet, Mike resting his head against the seat, and sipping from the bottle of water Will insisted he have, while Will sat beside him with his eyes fixed on the road. The radio was on low, nothing but static to Mike, honestly. His head feels a little less painful, and his stomach is no longer aching to churn up its contents, but there’s still a grogginess to his overall bodily functions, and that floaty, careless sensation remains ever present.
It hits him as he steals glances at Will that he’s never actually seen him drive before. His fingers tap on the steering wheel, and the brown leather seats appear to have small shreds in them, Mike suspects from Will gripping it a little too hard when he panics. He has a way of scanning the road ahead, not like normal, like he’s analysing every little detail, which makes sense for Will; he’s always been observant where others are ignorant.
It’s another piece of Will he’s missed out on, another layer he wants to know everything about. But, tonight has been a lot of questions and revelations, and though Mike is curious he doesn’t want to push too far. It’s still fragile, this sense of calm reconcile, and he doesn’t want to do anything that could jeopardise it.
He feels a little lighter, like a mass of weight has been lifted off his shoulders and relieved his aching body, and he’s pretty sure it’s to do with his conversation with Will. Of course, he hasn’t explained everything, and there was probably a lot left unsaid from both the boys, but for now, the air isn’t filled with those words, and their minds aren’t questioning what they’re holding back. It seemed tonight, this could be enough.
When Will pulls up outside his house, Mike is officially exhausted, somewhere in between being awake and being in that soft, unguarded haze before sleep settles in. Will turns to him with a smile and gently nudges his shoulder. “Hey, we’re here.”
Mike groans and settles further into the seat. “Don’t wanna-“
Will laughs. “C’mon, Mike. You can go to bed as soon as we’re inside. I promise.”
Mike groans again, but abides, stretching his arms above his head, and turning his head to the side to remove the crick from his neck with a small sigh.
Will clears his throat, and Mike turns to look at him. “What?”
“Um- nothing.” He answers, looking away. “Do you mind if I smoke, quick? I’ll just be a minute.”
Mike shakes his head with a small frown. “I’m not leaving you out here on your own.”
Will scoffs, shoving him lightly. “I don’t need protecting, Mike.”
“I know- I just-“
Mike screws his eyes shut for a moment, his breath punching out of him like it was forced from his lungs. He doesn’t view him as this helpless, scared boy that needs saving, much less from him, but leaving Will alone wasn’t something he was willing to do - not again.
“I need some air anyway.” Mike settles on. “Please?”
Will’s eyes linger on him for a moment longer, before he releases a sigh and opens the car door. “You coming?”
Mike smiles and exits the car himself, a simple ford in the shade of bright yellow, and follows Will up the path to his house, both of them coming to stand under the shelter, next to where his parent’s car is parked.
Mike leans back against the wall as Will adjusts himself by lighting another cigarette. Mike’s eyes catch on it once more, and he feels a little short for breath as he watches the orange tip glow in the darkness, examining Will as his brows furrow in concentration while he inhales, before melting into something mellow as he pulls it from his mouth and blows out a lungful of smoke towards the stars.
He hopes he doesn’t sound as out of place as he feels, aiming for a casual tone when he asks. “Hey, can I try one?”
Will raises his eyebrow at him, and Mike feels oddly relieved when he doesn’t need to read into Will’s expression to understand it - just simple surprise. “What?”
Mike shrugs, offering him a small smile. “One won’t kill me?”
A different kind of smile stretches across Will’s face - it’s still him, still sincere, and not at all judgemental, but there’s something else in his expression, a kind of confidence, almost smugness that Mike has never seen before.
For the second time that night, his knees threaten to give way beneath him.
“Do you know how to do it?”
Mike shakes his head, his voice scratching out of his throat. “Teach me?”
Will’s smile widens, and he chuckles a bit before he reaches back into his pocket to withdraw the box, pulling out one of the neat little cylinders, and handing it to Mike.
He takes it between two fingers, but doesn’t move, feeling uncertain about what the hell he’s supposed to do with it now he’s holding it. Does he light it first? Or put it between his teeth before he lights it? Is he holding it right? How long should he inhale for?
Mike spends a few minutes lost in his head with such questions until Will nods towards his hand, which is hanging uselessly at his side. “Do you need a practical demonstration, Mike?”
Mike smiles sheepishly. “Maybe?”
Will smiles back, something mischievous dancing in his eyes, and Mike suddenly can’t draw in a single breath. The expression on Will’s face, daring, confident, sure of himself - he’s never seen his best friend like this, and Mike is utterly powerless to be anything but mesmerised.
Will steps closer to him, wrapping his fingers around Mike’s slim wrist and easily plucking the cigarette between his fingers.
Mike doesn’t move an inch, wouldn’t even be able to try.
Meeting his eyes, Will brings the cigarette to his lips, and lets it rest there for a moment or two, still smiling. “Maybe.” He says, hushed in the dark. “You should get a taste of it first.”
Mike is about to ask him what the fuck he means by that, but he’s rendered speechless when Will takes his hand again, this time, guiding it upwards until he can easily slip the lighter into the palm of his hand. Mike tilts his head, rather reminiscent of a confused puppy, but Will just continues to smile that frustrating, gleaming grin. “When I breathe out, you breathe in, m’kay?” He says, before placing the cigarette back between his lips.
That’s when Mike comes to the embarrassingly obvious conclusion that he’s meant to light it, but when he presses the edge of it to the little cylinder, Will shakes his head before he can. Once again, Mike looks at him confused, and Will answers by raising his own hands, cupping them around Mike’s, keeping the lighter encased between them.
Mike holds his breath, afraid of what even the slightest movement would do, so he lets his lungs ache and his chest tighten as Will gives a tiny nod of his head. His hands feel shaky, and his movements are unsure, inexperienced. Though he knows Will isn’t going to judge, this small glimpse at a confident, assured side of his best friend is making his head spin with a dizziness so different from the alcohol, and in his presence, Mike feels so uncertain in something that seems like second nature to Will.
He doesn’t want to do something wrong, he’s afraid of what that would look like to this version of Will. Mike has never needed to work hard to impress him, especially when they were younger. Will has always sort of looked up to him, admired him, like he knew all the answers and trusted Mike’s natural instinct to take the lead and was all too happy to follow. Now, the roles are reversed, with Will holding the cards and the knowledge Mike longs for as he patiently waits for his guidance. Mike doesn’t know how to be anything but a leader, but he knows in this moment, he’d follow Will through fire.
Without breaking from his gaze, Mike presses his thumb down, clicking the lighter into action, that bright orange flame, tinged with purple, setting ablaze between them. Will keeps his hands in place, to ensure it doesn’t go out, and Mike holds it steady as it burns the end of the cigarette, watching as Will inhales deep, and slow, his eyes remaining wide open this time, locked on his own.
He pulls the cigarette slowly from his mouth with two fingers, and breathes the smoke even deeper into his lungs. Will holds it in his chest for what Mike thinks is a little too long, but his thinking isn’t clear, because Will’s other hand is hovering at the side of his neck, inching closer towards his face. Mike’s breath remains trapped, and Will’s eyes shoot down in one rapid movement, as he presses the pads of his fingers against the side of Mike’s neck, his thumb just slightly grazing his bottom lip.
Mike doesn’t know what Will is doing, but he doesn’t care at the moment - he’s here, he’s close, and he’s too lost in the warmth to try and deny their proximity. Will studies his face for a moment, before he drags the pad of his thumb down, gently prying Mike’s lips apart. Mike’s breath stutters out of him, every nerve ending alight with sparks.
He breathes out, slow, lips in a small oval shape, and the smoke dances between them, swirling through the air that barely holds the space between the two boys. Will exhales deeply now, smoke pressing against Mike’s lips as he pulls him slightly forward, using the hand he still has resting at the of his neck. Mike remembers his words from before, obeying in an instant as he breathes in the smoke, letting it settle in his lungs, the ghost of the ashy taste lingering on his tongue and sliding down his throat, right alongside his heartbeat.
Will smiles. “Want your own?”
Mike nods his head, not even entirely sure if he does, but he seems to have lost any sense of “no” in his vocabulary.
Will’s hand remains at his neck, and he’s pulling him even closer, making Mike release a sharp gasp as the tips of their noses brush slightly together. Will flicks some of the ash off to the side without even looking, like he’s done it a hundred times before, which Mike vaguely registers, he probably has. After a moment, in which his gaze doesn’t shift, he raises the still burning cigarette to his mouth, and takes a quick drag, blowing out smoke as he uses his thump to separate Mike’s lips again.
Mike doesn’t even think about doing anything else. Every instinct in his body is telling him to obey Will’s silent requests without question. So, he parts his lips and waits. Will tilts his head ever so slightly, his palm against the side of Mike’s neck keeping his face steady as he brings the cigarette towards his lips. Mike registers like an electric shock, that his nails are chipped in black nail polish. His eyes catch on them, a small gasp being pulled from his throat, forgetting the burning tip of the little cylinder that’s hovering close to his face.
“Are you gonna take it?” Will asks.
Mike blinks, biting his lip, and his heart accelerates to almost a mile a minute when Will’s eyes instantly catch on the movement. Yet again, that sense of nervous uncertainty plays in his mind.
What if he does it wrong?
Will’s eyes find his, and he seems to sense his worry. “I can do it for you?”
Words completely evade him still, so Mike nods his head in agreement.
He parts his lips a little further, and Will expertly twists the cigarette between his fingers. He seems a little unsure himself, not for him, no, Mike can tell, can read him easily in this moment. He’s unsure for Mike, about why Mike wants this, and why he isn’t protesting their closeness right now. Honestly? Mike gets why he’s questioning it, because he is too. He questions everything when it comes to Will, even more so since that one fucking night he’s never been able to shake. He can’t explain it to himself, and certainly not to Will, but that ache that’s steadily been growing in his chest for the last two years has seemed to crack into a fully open cavern. His desire to be close is currently an unstoppable force, and it’s far stronger than his fear. He wants it. Fuck, he needs it.
So, he doesn’t protest it when the pads of Will’s fingers press gently against his cheek, doesn’t deny the way heat rushes to them immediately after. He doesn’t force his heart to return to its regular speed, and he doesn’t pretend his breath isn’t shaking when Will leans forward with the cigarette between two fingers, placing it between Mike’s lips.
“Inhale.” He whispers.
Mike obeys, because he’d be a fool to do anything else. He presses his lips back together, now curled around the little cylinder, and breathes in deeply just as he had when he was inhaling the smoke from Will’s. It’s different, stronger, and his initial instinct is to cough up the awful taste - but his hands aren’t the ones in control. Will is holding the cigarette, and Mike can’t move, not when Will’s eyes persist to pin him in place. So, he forces the smoke to settle in his lungs, letting the ash sink into his taste buds.
It burns. It burns like nothing he’s ever felt before. At some point, it’s almost too much, the scorch that’s seeping beneath his skin and the flames making up every space between his lungs. It can’t have been any more than fifteen seconds, twenty at a push, that Will held it in place, but Mike swears minutes pass with his eyes burning straight through him.
When Will pulls it from his mouth, his hand only shifts back a few inches or so, and Mike doesn’t exhale, though everything in his body is screaming to let the smoke pass through his lips. He doesn’t let it, and it hurts, but he’s waiting for Will’s signal, and moments later, he gives it, his voice no more than a hushed whisper.
“Breathe out.”
Mike complies immediately, parting his lips and letting the smoke spill out between them. Will smiles, like he’s impressed, and something warm and fluttery passes through Mike’s chest that has nothing to do with the smoke. His cheeks feel hot, and he has the strangest urge to keep that expression on Will’s face. That sweet, honest sort of admiration, the way he used to look at him when he came up with a new idea for a campaign, or chose the right colour for his drawing.
Without thinking too much about it, Mike raises his hand, which had been previously hanging at his side, and carefully takes the cigarette from Will’s fingers, holding it between his own. Will raises his eyebrows, dropping his hand, and Mike brings it to his mouth, but doesn’t use it.
“Are you waiting for permission?” Will asks, amused.
“Um- Yeah.”
Mike didn’t even realise he still had the ability to speak, and he’s a little shocked at the admission he’s let past his lips. Will looks surprised, but he doesn’t question it, which Mike is grateful for, because he can’t explain the lack of a logical thought process at the moment. But the way Will is taking the lead here, showing him something new, teaching Mike something he’s learned without him… well, it would feel wrong for Mike to take the lead on it now.
Will keeps his eyes on him. “Inhale.”
Mike does, holding the cigarette tight between his fingers, and placing it between his lips, breathing it in. Like before, he doesn’t move, stays completely still as he lets the fire burn in his lungs and the ash consume his mouth, sliding behind his teeth, coating his tastebuds. The second time round, it’s a little sickening, in an addicting sort of way. He’s starting to understand the appeal, the flames, the smoke, the taste. It’s like swallowing fire, and knowing he shouldn’t, but wanting more, wanting the burn of it.
After another ten seconds, Will smiles. “You’re good at that.”
Mike doesn’t want to release the cigarette from his lips yet, so he raises his eyebrows in question.
“Holding it.” Will explains with a slight tilt of his head. “You’re doing so well.”
Mike almost chokes on his lungful of smoke, an entirely different flush creeping up his neck. Okay, so that can go in the file of things he doesn’t think about when it comes to Will-
But he can’t deny his reaction, a sharp gasp sounding in his chest as his eyes widen. Will looks almost… smug? Like he knew his words would evoke some kind of reaction in him. Mike doesn’t know what to do with that information, but he’s quickly losing the ability to think about anything because Will looking at him like that is dangerous in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.
“Breathe out.”
Grateful for something else to focus on, Mike abides without hesitation. He pulls the little cylinder from his mouth, and exhales smoke as he did before, letting it swirl out into cold night air, floating up towards the stars. Will’s face seems to shift just slightly, like he’s trying to hide his true expression, and Mike notes a dusky pink beginning to paint his cheeks.
He frowns a little. “Are you cold?”
Will looks confused. “No?”
“Your face is red.”
Finally, after what feels like a millennia, Will’s gaze tears from his own. “It’s not.”
“It is-“
“It isn’t.
“Will-“
Mike cuts himself off as approaching headlights alert them both to a car pulling up to his house. Mike takes a step back from Will, his heart pounding.
He doesn’t worry for long though, as the car pulls up and Nancy steps out of it, joined by Jonathan.
”Mike?” She asks as she walks up the driveway. “What are you doing out-“ She stops herself as she notices the cigarette, which he’s still holding. “Are you smoking?
“Uh-“ Mike looks away from her. “Yeah?”
“Will, you’re not smoking with him?” Jonathan asks.
Both Mike and Will look at each other, bashful in the eyes of their siblings.
“They’re - they’re mine, Jonathan.” Will says quietly.
“What?” Jonathan exclaims. “Since when do you smoke?”
Will shrugs. “College. Please don’t tell Mom and Dad?”
Jonathan shakes his head a little. “Dad would kill you.”
“And Mom would kill you.” Nancy directs at Mike.
“So don’t tell them?” Mike says, swinging his gaze between the two.
Nancy huffs.
“Please, Nancy?”
She eyes him with suspicion. “Mike, are you drunk?”
Mike blinks. “How did you-“
Nancy looks at him with something between anger and worry. “Did something happen?”
“No! Jesus Christ - I’m fine.”
“We were about to go inside.” Will offers. “He’s had some water, and I’ll make sure he sleeps.”
Nancy clicks her tongue, but relents.”Okay just - don’t be out too long.”
“Will, you haven’t been drinking, have you?” Jonathan asks.
Will shakes his head. “I’m fine. Seriously.”
“Okay but if you’re not-“
“You’ll be the first to know.”
Nancy and Jonathan both look a little worried still, but ultimately seem to mutually agree that they can’t scold the boys on much else. So, they bid each other good night, and Mike and Will stay outside, passing the cigarette between them in silence, sharing small, but honest smiles.
“Do you wanna head up?” Will asks once they step inside. “I’m gonna get you some more water.”
Mike nods his head, though he doesn’t really feel like he needs more water, he doesn’t want to argue with him. He releases a groan as he sits down on his bed, pushing his hands through his short curls as he tries to stop his heart from pounding straight out of his chest.
It wasn’t safe for him to be around Will like this, he couldn’t trust his words, his actions, had none of the inhibitions he usually did when he was around him. He does feel a little less out of it now, able to form coherent thoughts, and not act on such drunken impulses, but the feeling hasn’t left him completely, and whatever was happening outside had seemed to bring the very blood in his body to boiling point.
But even so, even with him knowing he couldn’t trust the movements of his own body, he can’t bring himself to put back that distance between them. His dream had left him shaken, terrified, cautious, and all those feelings were still present, but none of them were quite as strong as the heartbreak he felt at Will’s cracked expression earlier that night as he asked why they’d stopped talking. He couldn’t let that happen again, and right now, he doesn’t have the capacity to really think through what that means. All he knows is the desire he has to have Will back, to return to how they used to be, is stronger than anything else.
When Will comes back, he takes his time puttering around his room, placing the glass on the nightstand, shrugging off his jean jacket and folding it neatly, before he opens his closet. “Do you want to change into pyjamas?” He asks.
Mike shakes his head.
”You should at least change out of your jeans.” Will recommends.
With a huff, Mike stands up, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down his legs, kicking them off somewhere to the left of him. “Happy?”
Will is quiet for a moment. “Um - are you comfortable?”
”Yeah.”
Will nods his head and turns away. “Good.”
Something desperate pulls at him, gnawing, baring its teeth in his chest.
Why is he so far away?
“Will…” It’s quiet, pushed past his lips in a plea. “You’re too far away.”
There’s a pause for just a second, before he hears Will exhale, padding across the carpet as he comes to stand in front of him. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Mike smiles, his hands moving of their own accord, like they know exactly what’s been at the back of his mind for months, and they refuse to deny any longer. He can’t see Will, can only make out the subtle outline of him in the darkness of his room, so his fingers dance across his ribcage before they settle on his waist. He’s just not close enough.
Will’s entire body stills, and Mike leans back to look up at his face.
Big mistake.
Will’s expression is unreadable in the dark, but his eyes glisten dangerously bright, drawing him in. He meets Mike’s gaze, unwavering, like he felt the second his eyes moved and fought to meet them the same moment, like he already felt him looking. Their eyes remain locked on each other, and Will doesn’t move away. Mike’s fingers move of their own accord, tracing patterns over his shirt, pressing them into his skin.
“Is this okay?”
Will’s gaze burns into his with a newfound intensity, like he’s just registering who, exactly, is touching him. Mike tries to decipher his expression, which is usually easy as breathing, but he can’t read him like this. Why can’t he read him like this?
“What are you doing?” Will asks.
Mike swallows.
“Touching you.” His hands still for a moment.“Want me to stop?”
“No it’s- you’re okay.” Will replies, though his voice comes out a little breathless. “Why are you touching me, Mike?”
Mike bites his lip, pressing with a little more force into Will’s waist, his hip bones hard underneath the pads of his thumbs. “I missed it.”
Will smiles. “You mean, since we moved?”
Mike huffs a laugh. “Not really. I never stopped.”
He starts back up with his movements, making Will smile in question, like he doesn’t understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. Mike supposes he doesn’t, because he doesn’t either really. “You’re not close enough.” Mike murmurs.
He means it. He’s never close enough.
“Mike.” Will sighs in exasperation. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” He raises one of his hands, placing it firmly on Mike’s shoulder.
Mike shakes his head, wrapping his hand around Will’s wrist and bringing it upwards so it lays against his head, tangled in his midnight curls. “Here. Please.” Because yes, that’s better, that’s closer.
Will pauses for a moment, before he starts brushing his fingers through his hair, weaving them through the dark strands. Mike sighs in content, bringing his hand back to Will’s waist and resting his head against him, falling to just below his chest, which he’s almost able to reach because he’s taller. Well, usually taller.
“What’s gotten into you, Michael?” Will asks, not with anger, but curiosity,
Mike freezes.
Okay, that was apparently a thing. A thing that suddenly made him feel way too hot and way too aware of all the ways they’re touching. Mike releases a breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “I just-“ He huffs in frustration, before his mouth decides to just be blunt for him. “ I missed this.”
“You said that.” Will smiles. “And you know I did too.”
“I’m sorry.”
Will doesn’t respond with anything but a shaky, shallow breath, and Mike leans back a little so that he can look up at his face, watching Will take his words in, silently praying he believes them.
“You’re touching me.” He states.
“Yeah.” Will agrees.
“Why?” Mike asks.
Will’s fingers still in his hair once more, evidently not expecting that. Mike doesn’t know what made him ask it, but the ache in his chest is too strong to ignore, and everything he’s been pushing down to the recesses of his mind for the last two years is rising to the surface. He doesn’t have the ability to force them away right now, not with the alcohol still flowing through his blood stream, not when Will is so close, and so warm, and not when he’s looking at him like this.
“Because I’ve wanted to for years.”
Mike almost chokes on thin air.
Years?
“What?”
Will shakes his head, stepping back a bit. “I mean- don’t worry about it-“
“No- hey-”
Mike doesn’t know what comes over him, but his impulse takes over completely, and he’s using his hands on Will’s waist to pull him back, making Will loose his balance. He falls flat on his back with a small gasp, and with Mike’s hands still on his waist, he falls with him, suddenly pinning Will with his body.
Their eyes meet.
Will is breathing a little shallow, and though Mike is closer now, impossibly close, he can still barely see him, the glint in his eyes the only truly visible thing that stands out amongst the pitch black. His chest heaves in short panting breaths, the air in the room suddenly thinning as he tries to take it in. For several long moments, they’re just looking at each other, bodies pressed together in ways that makes Mike want far more than he should, far more than he’s allowed to. He waits a moment, cautious, but curiosity gets the best of him.
”What did you mean, Will?”
He shakes his head, a slight movement that’s almost imperceptible.
”Tell me.” Mike presses.
Will’s breath stutters out of him, and Mike feels like he’s losing his god damn mind.
Though Mike can’t make out the features of his face, his mind tells him Will looks pretty like this.
With his eyes wide and glistening, and his breathing shallow as his own, pressed chest to chest, arms laying at his side and hair slightly tousled from the sudden movement Mike had made, he’s certain Will can’t look anything but beautiful. Time seems to slow to a stop, the seconds passing insignificant as they both keep their eyes on the other.
After what feels like a painfully long time to him, Will answers. “I can’t.”
Mike blinks. “Why?”
“Because you won’t like the answer.”
He doesn’t know how to answer that.
Maybe Will just needed some encouragement.
Mike’s thumbs still rest at Will’s hipbones, and he pushes down, gentle, yet firm at the same time, and the tiniest of gasps pushes past Will’s lips, his eyes sliding shut. Mike grins, pressing fingers in harder, moving them in patterns now, and Will chokes out something between a laugh and a gasp.
”Tell me.” He persists.
“Oh my god - no.” Will laughs breathlessly.
Mike just grins and continues with his attack, relentless, shifting his hands up and down his ribcage, watching Will collapse into a fit of giggles. His fingers grow restless, and he’s pushing them into his body from all different angles, placing special attention in the places he knows Will is especially ticklish, grinning as Will continues to erupt into laughter.
Then, in a slightly bolder movement, he trails his hands down, sliding his fingers beneath Will’s shirt, and digging his fingers into his bare skin, feeling the harsh pressure of his hipbones beneath the pads of his fingers. Will gasps, more from just laughter, like he wasn’t expecting the touch, and Mike stops as the air in the room seems to shift, thicken around them.
“I- sorry.” He says quietly. “Is that okay?”
Will breathes out, achingly slow, and Mike feels every moment of his body where he’s pressed against it.
He nods his head.
Mike shakes his. “Don’t do that. Tell me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Will laughs a little. “They’re on my waist, Mike. It’s fine.”
For some reason, Mike takes that as a challenge.
Like he’s in a trance, his hands move even further, mapping out Will’s skin with his fingertips, his palms moving up and over his hips, coming to rest at his stomach, right above the waistband of his jeans. He brushes his thumbs in circular motions over his soft skin, testing the waters. Beneath his hands, he feels Will take a in a deep, shaky breath. Mike can almost feel his lungs working to breathe, like they’re fighting a natural instinct. Moving a little further, Mike releases a short breath of his own, one he hadn’t even realised he’s been holding, but in the quiet of the room, it’s all too loud, too noticeable. Will’s body moves like they’re in sync with the ministrations his hands are making, and though Mike is technically the one in control here, he feels that dizzy sense of powerlessness rush back into his mind. Because he knows if Will asked for something in this moment, he’d obey without a second thought.
“What about this?” He breathes out.
Again, Will just nods his head.
Mike stops.
”Oh my-“ Will huffs out, almost like he’s frustrated. “Yes - it’s fine. You can - keep going.”
He shouldn’t.
He should move away.
But he doesn’t.
There’s an invisible force surrounding him, enclosing him inside the cage of his own yearning. Every urge he’s had over the past two years is rapidly rising to the surface of his mind, and Mike knows he shouldn’t listen to them, should shove back, should fight it. But the walls he’s so carefully constructed are crumbling around him, and he’s finding himself almost trapped within them.
Outside of this room, this space, Mike can find ways to distract himself, to deny his desire. But within these walls, he can’t bring himself to fight it anymore. The closer he gets to Will, the harder it is to contain, and right now, he’s so close he feels like he’s next to an open flame. His entire body is burning from it, like he’s aching for more. Without the rational side of his brain to input here, it’s not safe to listen. Mike knows that, knows that the impulse of his own movements shouldn’t take control here.
It’s a risk, to let his hands roam, let his lips whisper, let his body shift to a position such as the one they’re in now. It’s threatening everything he’s spent so much time blocking out of his mind. And if Will could just find it in his frustratingly selfless heart to still be mad at him, it would be so much easier. To just fuel the fire, to let Will rip into him with his teeth, to bite back just as harsh, and have some kind of release for all this insatiable yearning. But he knows that’s not what he really wants. What he really wants is something much more agonising. So, he continues, his hands gliding over Will’s warm skin like they were made to do just that, like he already knows the path he wants them to take.
”Mike.” Will whispers.
”Mm?”
”You can take it off.”
Mike halts instantly, like a deer caught in headlights.
Surely he heard that wrong? He blames the alcohol.
“What?”
Will looks away from him. “If you want to. It’ll be easier.”
Mike doesn’t move. He’s pretty sure his limbs have disconnected from all the physical signals of his brain.
When Will turns his head back, his hands are moving, no longer just by his sides. It takes Mike a painfully long time to realise it though, because again, his brain is fucking short circuiting. Will meets his eyes again, now with that same sense of certainty he had outside that Mike finds himself so helplessly enraptured by. His fingers shift, dancing, graceful in a way that makes Mike want to interlock them with his own.
He doesn’t. He watches as Will pulls his shirt up just a few inches, and when he searches for Mike’s approval, he sits back on his knees, with a nod of affirmation. Will gives him a tiny nod back, and in one swift, elegant movement, he pulls his shirt over his head, and suddenly, Will fucking Byers is shirtless in his bed.
Mike’s mouth, tongue, throat, become the Sahara desert in a matter of milliseconds.
He must be thirsty.
Very. Fucking. Thirsty.
Will chucks his shirt somewhere to the side of them, and lays back as he releases a short breath, letting his arms rest back at his sides. Mike stares, with his mouth slightly open. He can barely see him, but the scar from that tortured day the mind flayer left his body catches his eye, a flicker of light purple scarred skin within the dark.
Mike wants to press his lips there.
Instead, he keeps his hands hovering stupidly above Will’s body, almost too aware of the realness of this moment.
”Mike?” Will says, his voice soft and cautious in the quiet. “Are you okay?”
Mike nods his head as his words resonate in his head as if they were said in slow motion.
“You don’t have to.” Will assures. “But if you want to, you can.”
Mike breathes in deep, hoping the extra oxygen flooding to his brain might actually force it to work again, because currently, it feels like a pointless organ to him. As he breathes out, he forces himself to relax. It was just Will, after all, his best friend - he has no reason to freak out.
“I want to.” He whispers, and the admission feels like confessing to a deep rooted sin. “But - why are you letting me?”
Seconds later, Will’s fingertips brush the skin at the back of his wrists, a silent reassurance. “Because I trust you.”
The words burrow straight into his heart. “And - you’re sure it’s okay?”
He nods his head slightly. “I’m sure.”
Mike’s teeth clamp down on his tongue as he tries to grasp the concept of what’s about to happen. If his mind wasn’t quite as clouded, he may question further on why Will was letting him do this, on why he seemed almost as eager as he was. He might consider that this was yet another wall Will had effortlessly knocked down with nothing but his soft skin and gentle voice.
But Mike is a weak person. Especially now, without the ability to think with rhyme or reason, and that terrible voice of doubt that always creeps in is completely silent.
There’s nothing stopping him.
His movements slow, he places his hand back on Will’s waist, a short breath escaping his lips as he feels his warm skin.
”Can you um-“ He clears his throat. “Can you just move them - my hands, wherever you want them?”
Moments later, Will’s fingers trail down, sliding around his wrists until he has his palm enclosed around it. Mike can feel his pulse thrumming. “Like before.” He breathes, pulling Mike’s hand gently from his waist and placing it at his stomach.
Mike nods his head, and then he does the impossible, and lets his hands roam the expanse of Will’s body.
His skin is soft, which he knew already, and it’s not something that’s ever shocked him, because though Will is the bravest person he’s ever met, he’s also the softest. In the way that he takes the time to teach his little sister how to draw, in the way that whenever he gets nougat, he saves it for Dustin, and he helps Max curl her hair, and he always buys Lucas a can of the original coke when it’s a hot day. It’s sweet, kind, considerate - undeniably Will, soft in all the ways that are sincere, that are real.
So, the skin beneath his hands being soft as silk, it’s not a surprise.
Mike feels his breath hitch in his throat as he lets his hands wonder, fingertips swaying from side to side, tracing shapes he didn’t know he wanted to make. But his hands seem to know better than his mind, tracing Will’s body as though it’s a page and his hands would perform the craft of story. The more that time passes, the bolder he gets, letting his palms shift all the way up to his chest before they move back down, pressing down on his body. just a little. Will releases small sighs and gasps that feel like electric wires shocking every molecule of his brain.
”Does it hurt?” He asks, when his hands smooth over the mark at his side.
”Not at all.” Will replies.
Ten seconds pass. Or it could have been twenty. Maybe it was minutes. Minutes of Mike running his hands over every expanse of exposed skin he could reach, as though his very touch would leave a permanent print.
“Will?” He whispers.
“Mhm?” Will hums in reply, barely audible.
“Can you touch me again?”
A deep, shuddering breath escapes Wil’s lips, and Mike’s heart feels all too close to exploding.
He doesn’t give a verbal response, nor does he move for some time. Mike can’t say how much time exactly, because it’s become a mere concept from the moment Will had ended up beneath him. He’s lost any sense of rationality, but he can’t be expected to be rational right now. Because he’s closer to Will then he has been in two years, and hell would freeze over before he let anything pull them apart again. Including himself.
Will raises his arms, his movements slow. At first, Mike thinks he’s going to say no, going to come to his senses, and push him away, pretend none of this had happened, and tell him to get some sleep.
Then, Will speaks.
“Where do you want me to touch you?”
Mike swallows. “Anywhere.”
Everywhere.
Will moves his hands upwards, almost shaky, and rests both hands atop his head, carefully beginning to thread his fingers through Mike’s short, dark curls again. Mike’s chest swells with something warm, and wanting, and he moves his hands upwards a little, running his hands up and down Will’s side in soft, cautious movements. Will sighs in content, and he buries his fingers deeper, the palms of his hands brushing against the back of his neck. Mike makes a sound that’s almost a whimper, and it should embarrass him, but it feels too good for him to care like he usually would.
Will stops, his voice laced with worry. “Sorry.” He whispers. “Did I hurt you?”
No.” Mike shakes his head, leaning instinctually into his chest. “It - feels good.”
Will’s breathing shifts in the quiet, quicker, slightly heavier. Mike registers it, wondering if it actually is heavier, or if he just notices it more when he’s this close. Is that the way he sounds, too? He doesn’t speak for at least a minute, and when he does, it’s almost fragile.
”Do you want me to-“
“Yes.” Mike whispers back. “If it’s okay. Please?”
Will nods his head, a smile in his voice now. “It’s okay.” With that, he starts back up again, and Mike immediately melts into it, like he was craving it. Will’s fingers are soft, sifting through his curls with gentle tugs, massaging his head with the un calloused palms of his hands. His touch is something he knows, even though apart from last night, it’s been a while since he’s felt it. But he doesn’t know this kind, this unguarded, simple care in it, touch to touch. Mike’s head falls forward, resting against Will’s chest, and he can feel his heart beating a mile a millisecond.
“Your hearts racing.”
Will stills his movements for a fraction of a second before he starts up again.
“Yours is too.”
Mike just hums in agreement.
“Are you okay?”
The question seems to almost upset him. “Yeah.”
Mike raises his head. “I can stop?”
“Don’t.” Will says, immediate. “Please?”
Mike smiles, a little giddy. “Do you like it?”
Will huffs a laugh, fingers shifting through his hair. “Yeah, Mike. I like it.”
Mike switches up his movements a little upon hearing that, one of his hands drawing slow, deliberate circles over his stomach, the other trailing delicately up and down his ribcage, occasionally pressing them into his hips. “Me too.”
It’s quiet, nothing but the sounds of their shared breathing filling the space between them.
Mike glances upwards in an attempt to meet his eyes. He still manages to find them in the dark, can still see the glint within those all too lovely oval pools of hazel. He wishes he could see all of Will, could know how he looks like this and commit to every part of his memory. It’s yet another piece of him, a new way to look at him, as if his eyes have been altered with a new version of his best friend. There’s so much he knows about Will, but also so much that he doesn’t, that he’s missed out. And he longs to know all of it - every piece of him.
“You should sleep.” Will whispers to him.
the same desperate pull tugs at his chest. “Will you stay?” He asks, like it’s his lifeline.
A moment passes, a moment that lasts a lifetime to Mike.
Can we stay like this?
He only feels like he can breathe again when Will answers.
“Of course.”
They stay like that as the quiet closes in around them. Will continues to twist his fingers through his hair, his fingers occasionally brushing the back of his neck, and Mike makes small, subtle sounds against his chest as he does so. He continues with his own ministrations, pressing his palms into his waist, and moving his hands up and down every so often, trailing them upwards to chest level, before gradually bringing them back down to let them rest back at his waist. Mike listens to Will’s heart, not knowing if it settles, or increases the rate of his own. But he knows he’s missed hearing it. He’s missed everything about this, about him. He doesn’t know how long they stay there, but he wishes it could’ve been longer. Forever, maybe.
Mike’s eyelids begin to feel heavy, his body weighted with exhaustion. Eventually, the soothing sensation of Will’s gentle touch, and the peaceful lul of his heartbeat become the only things his head considers worth recognition. His mind sinks into the feeling, knowing his body and brain can relax around the familiar presence. When Mike finally lets sleep take him, his dreams are tranquil, his body still in Will’s embrace.