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“Just saying, if you’re taking another hit, you should share it with me,” Mike says, and Will slowly tilts his head, drinking in every word. “It just makes sense. Like, mathematically.”
Will’s reddened eyes narrow, bewildered. “Mathematically?”
“If there’s two hits left, we’d each only get one,” Mike explains. “But if we shotgunned, we’d both get two.” God, this is the best idea he’s had in ages. He should’ve stolen Will’s weed, like, months ago. “That’s like, bang for your buck. This is simple math, Will Byers. Keep up.”
In which it’s well past midnight in New York, Will can’t sleep, and Mike feels like they barely know each other anymore.
So, they get a little high. Mike is very normal about all of it.
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03 Feb 2026