mmorgaaane



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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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    04 Feb 2026

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    “Looks like I bit you.” Will tilts his head to get a better look. All Mike can do is stare at him. His fluffy hair at the front, clumped pieces at the back where he’d slid his fingers in a mere few minutes before. His pretty green eyes that look hazel or even brown in this light, the dark circles he gets when he drinks framing them like intricate paintings. A satisfied, bloody smile.

    Mike isn’t satisfied. He swallows thickly, choking down the words 'don’t you want more?'

    Or: Will dresses as a vampire for a college halloween party, but Mike thinks his costume isn’t bloody enough. Will lets him fix it. Mike goes into a crisis.

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    28 Jan 2026