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Mike is drunk. Will can’t stop thinking about it: the party he’s not at, the shots he’s not taking (literally and metaphorically), the laughter and new inside jokes he won’t be a part of. It makes something hollow and rotten sink to the bottom of his stomach, even though that’s stupid. He’s the one who begged out of the party. He’s the one who faked a stomach bug just so he could curl up in bed and cry and feel sorry for himself, yet again. Pathetic.
But he’s mostly upset that he’s missing drunk Mike. He wants so badly to know what Mike is like when he’s drunk. Is he giddy? Touchier than usual? If so, who with? He and El broke up. Is he looking for a rebound? Who would he pick— some cheerleader, blonde and preppy and untouched by trauma? A theatre girl? A loner? Someone… more like Will? Less? More like El?
Will’s just curious. That’s all. A normal, healthy curiosity about his friend. Concerned, even. Because Mike’s extra vulnerable after the breakup, and some random girl could take advantage of that. Will just wants to look out for him.
Jesus. Who the fuck is he kidding?
Will burrows deeper into his comforter, staring blankly at the wall. The Wheeler’s guest room is pristine and spotless. Untouched, until the Byers got here. He, his mom, Jonathan, and El have been relegated to various extra rooms and couches and blankets on the floor. But at least they have a roof over their heads while Hopper fixes up his cabin. After that, he says, they’ll all live there together. It’s something to look forward to, at least. Something else to think about other than the world ending and the Earth splitting apart.
Will should have just gotten over himself and gone to the party. He wants to be drunk with everyone else. With Mike. He wants to forget his problems and act like the normal teenager he’s never once gotten to be. He wants to laugh too loud and stare at Mike a little too long and bump into various surfaces around Lucas’s house, giggling and tipsy. He wants to be numb.
He wants to drink until he blacks out. He wants to be nothing. He wants to not exist.
Will blinks away the tears that have risen to his eyes, itchy and hot and frustrating. It seems like all he does lately is cry. He hates it.
Maybe he should paint. Maybe he should journal. Maybe he should take a fucking… hot bath with epsom salt. He doesn’t know. Something. Anything.
He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he tugs the blanket up to his chin, squeezes his eyes shut, and continues to feel sorry for himself.
Honestly, on some level, Will thinks he’s allowed to be a little mopey about all this. He’s been through a lot of shit, and Mike Wheeler not liking him back just happens to be at the top of the pile. Somehow, it feels worse than all the genuine, life-threatening trauma he’s been through. It’s ridiculous, obviously, but the failed, smoldering embers of his love life hurt more than anything Vecna has done to him. Clearly, he’s insane.
On another, more relevant level, Will feels guilty as hell. He shouldn’t be feeling this. He shouldn’t be jealous, shouldn’t be upset, shouldn’t be in pain. Shouldn’t be in love.
God, he can barely think those words. They feel fake. It feels like he’s making a big deal of nothing, taking the flutter in his stomach and the catch of his breath and turning into some dramatic unrequited love story. This isn’t a movie. It isn’t a comic. It’s his life. But if what he feels for Mike isn’t love, he doesn’t know what it is. Obsession, maybe. Sickness.
Even though El and Mike have broken up, the fact remains. It’s wrong for Will to feel this way. However much mushy shit Jonathan says to him, it doesn’t count. It’s not true. Jonathan has to say that stuff— he’s his brother. And a good one, too. He’s kind of obligated to stick by Will, all holds barred. He just knows if anyone else found out— if Mike found out— they wouldn’t be half as kind. Half as accepting.
A small, hopeful part of him thinks Mike wouldn’t react badly. That maybe he would be kind and accepting, too. But Will can’t afford to think like that, because it’ll only make it more devastating when he’s inevitably proven wrong. So he locks that part of himself up, along with all his other desires and wishes and shameful thoughts that can never, ever see the light of day. He throws away the key, right alongside the torn-up wooden planks of Castle Byers.
Too bad metaphorical chests aren’t actually all that good at holding stuff in, locked or not. It leaks out sometimes. A lot of the time. Too much, either way. Will doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
There’s a soft knock on his door. “You need anything, honey?”
There’s a lot of things he needs. He can’t articulate any of them. Can’t even say: I’d like a hug. I’d like to be held. I’d like someone to just be here and tell me that everything will be okay.
Because if he said that, to anyone, they’d ask him what’s wrong, and he can’t—
Will clears his throat, trying to rid his voice of tears. “No thank you, Mrs. Wheeler,” he calls. “I’m alright.”
He sounds it, too. Steady and sure. Adult. He’s proud of himself. He’s really getting this lying thing down.
“Okay! Good night, Will,” she chirps.
“Good night,” he returns, then waits for the sound of footsteps to fade. Once they do, he slumps back in bed, heart thudding in his chest. At least he can fool someone.
For a brief moment, he considers going down into the Wheeler’s basement and cracking open a bottle of wine. Just to take the edge off. But he rejects that idea almost immediately, because 1) his mom is sleeping down there, 2) drinking alone is depressing, 3) wine is gross, as he knows from sneaking some while he was home alone, and 4) his mom is sleeping down there. And he probably shouldn’t steal from the Wheelers. It’s embarrassing how long it takes him to think of that one.
So. Sobriety it is. Just a nice, sober night, all alone, waiting for Mike to get back. If he gets back. Maybe he’ll be… otherwise occupied.
Will groans and flips over, pressing his face angrily into his pillow. Stupid Will. Stupid brain. Stupid jealousy.
He’ll just sleep. He’ll just sleep, and he will not dream, and if he does he’ll forget about it. It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine.
He doesn’t know which he’s more afraid of: the bad dreams, or the good ones.
Will stares at the ceiling. Counts sheep. Then, when that doesn’t work, he plans out D&D campaigns in his brain. Elaborate, scrawling plots that include all of the original party members. He thinks up side quests and main storylines and sweeping, heroic victories. It gives him a little zip of adrenaline as he gets more into it, which is kind of the opposite of his goal, but he’s too far into it now to stop, imagining the party sitting around their table in the Wheeler’s basement. Imagining the light in Mike’s eyes, a light he hasn’t seen in far too long. Everyone happy, everyone safe. Everyone together.
It’s only midway through a heavily romantic side quest involving Will the Wise and Mike’s paladin that Will wonders what the actual fuck he’s doing. Cut it out, he tells himself sternly. Stop being creepy. Go to sleep.
And he thinks he might, actually— his eyelids are drooping and his chest is feeling pleasantly warm— when the window rattles. Instantly, he’s wide awake, fear coursing through his veins and grabbing at his throat. A panicked list of all the creatures the noise could have come from scrolls through his mind: Demogorgon. Demodog. Hell-bat. Vecna.
Idiot, he thinks, scrabbling at the nightstand for his flashlight. It’s probably just a tree branch.
But the noise comes again, a clear jostling and insistent prying at the window ledge. Something’s trying to get in.
Pulse pounding in his ears, Will hefts the flashlight in his hand, turns it on, and shines it at the glass.
“Mike?”
Mike pushes the window up, clumsy and uncoordinated, and half-climbs, half-falls inside the room. Despite his absolute terror from only seconds earlier, Will pushes his blanket off and rushes over to Mike’s side, helping him stand. “Asshole,” he says. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Mike blinks at him with wide, dark eyes. “Will!” he says happily, tone loose and slurred. “You’re here.”
Something warms in Will’s chest at the enthusiastic greeting. It’s the nicest Mike’s been to him since… well. Since before California.
“Yeah,” Will says, guiding Mike over to sit on the bed. “I’m here. You, um— did you accidentally come in through here instead of your bedroom?” He chuckles weakly. “So close. Only one window off.”
Mike doesn’t answer. He tugs at Will’s sleeve until Will’s sitting next to him on the mattress, then leans firmly into his side, pressing his face into his shoulder. “Missed you,” he slurs into the fabric of Will’s shirt.
Will’s face floods with heat. He swallows hard, looking up at the ceiling for a moment to try and gather himself. “Missed you too,” he says unsteadily. Mike nuzzles into his shoulder, and Will lets out a shaky breath.
Well, that’s one question answered. Drunk Mike is clingy. “How was the party?” Will murmurs, desperate for some sort of distraction from the solid warmth at his side, the press of Mike’s lips to his pajama shirt.
“Boring. Wished you were there,” Mike says immediately.
God. That’s— what the fuck is going on? Mike hasn’t been this sweet with him in years. It makes him ache all over, thinking of nights at Castle Byers and D&D campaigns in the Wheeler basement.
“Sorry,” Will whispers. “I just— I wasn’t really up to it.”
Mike sighs gustily, then flops backwards onto the bed, feet dangling off the edge. Will’s paralyzed, shoulder buzzing where Mike touched it. “Neither was I,” Mike mumbles, swinging his feet a little. It’s cute as fuck, which is another thought that Will sends straight to the lock-box in his brain. Nope. None of that, thanks.
Will hums in sympathy, still watching the back-and-forth motion of Mike’s black Converse. His laces are untied. Will wonders if he walked the whole way back from Lucas’s with untied laces. Dumbass.
“El?” he asks hesitantly. If there’s any reason Mike wasn’t in the mood for the gang’s Yay-we-didn’t-die party, his breakup would be chief on the list. Probably right after the literal end of the world.
Mike shakes his head, curls splaying out across the sheets. “Not really,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate.
Will steels himself to make conversation. He can do this. He can be a completely normal friend that is not at all invested in Mike’s love life, other than the normal, friendly amount. So, though there’s nothing he wants to discuss less, he says, “Were there any cute girls at the party?”
Mike frowns at the ceiling. “Why do you care? Didn’t think you were… into that sort of thing.”
Will freezes. Outside, a car whizzes by, music blasting, definitely at least 30 over the speed limit. Loud laughter follows the sound. It feels almost mocking. Like those random teenagers know exactly what’s going on right now in Mike Wheeler’s guest bedroom. Like they saw Will through the window, and even that split-second glance was enough to tell how absolutely terrified he is. And to a lot of people, there’s nothing funnier than a terrified queer.
After a minute, Mike seems to register the silence. He struggles to sit up, pushing himself onto his elbows. “I didn’t mean anything bad!” he says, sounding almost hurt. “Did I say something wrong? I’m— I’m sorry, Will. I keep fucking up.”
Will’s hands are shaking. He folds them together, looking straight ahead. “No, you’re fine,” he says slowly, feeling almost robotically detached. “You’re right. I’m not really into… that sort of thing.”
There’s a long, horrifying pause. Will considers jumping out the window.
“Cool,” Mike says, and flops back down.
Cool? Is he— did he—
Cool? Cool. That’s Mike’s reaction to Will coming out. Cool. It doesn’t feel like a word anymore.
Will isn’t sure Mike understands. Or if he does, maybe the alcohol is just muddying his brain. Blocking out all his sensible reactions. “Cool,” Will parrots numbly. “But. Anyway. I actually meant, like… for you.”
“What?”
“Cute girls,” Will clarifies. Is this hell? He feels like he’s in hell. Maybe he never actually escaped the Upside Down. Maybe this whole conversation is just Vecna fucking with him. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Will looks behind him to watch Mike’s reaction, steadying himself with one hand. Mike tilts his head to meet his gaze, and his nose wrinkles playfully. “Nah,” he says. “No girls.”
The way he says it, it’s almost like an inside joke. A secret between the two of them. Will flushes and turns back around, leaving his hand braced behind him. “Oh,” he says, though to his embarrassment, it sounds more like a squeak. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Mike says, then yawns. “Tired,” he mumbles quietly, sounding half-asleep already.
“You didn’t want to sleep at Lucas’s?” Will asks absently, back to studying the view outside the window. The whole world is tinged red from the Upside Down. He guesses this is the new normal, until they figure it out. Until they stop Vecna, for real this time.
“No,” Mike says, nudging Will’s outstretched hand with his own. “Wanted to get back to you.”
Is Will… is Will even awake right now? He raises his free hand and pinches the skin of his neck, just in case. The room stays the same, dark and quiet and vaguely scarlet. Mike Wheeler is still touching his hand.
“That’s—” Will has no response to that. He flounders, breath speeding up. One of the thoughts escapes from his lock-box. “Cute.”
Oh, Jesus. Dial it back. Come on, Will.
He forces a dry laugh. “Real cute, man. What, you want to hold hands, too?”
Will has never once called Mike man in his life. And judging by the face Mike pulls, he knows that, too.
Fingers tangle around his own, long and callused. “What if I do?” Mike says, challenging. There’s a teasing glint in his eyes, like he’s having fun, like he isn’t currently ruining Will’s life via drunken hand-holding.
It hits him all at once. Mike’s expression, his tone of voice, his touchiness. He’s flirting. Hard.
Will’s the rebound.
Holy fuck. Mike’s putting the moves on him.
Will— he can’t do this. He’s confused, he’s upset, he’s even a little angry. Is Mike fucking with him? Does he know how Will feels? Does he think he’s easy?
He’s not wrong. But still.
Will stands, yanking his hand away like he’s been burned. He paces forward a few steps, shaking out his hands and taking some sharp, panicked breaths.
Behind him, the covers rustle as Mike sits up. “Will?”
He sounds lost. Confused. Hurt, a little.
Will’s eyes are stinging. He’s angry at that, too. If he could just hold it together for once in his life, he’d really appreciate it.
“You’re drunk, Mike,” Will says thickly, hating the obvious distress in his voice. “You should go to sleep.”
“Will, what’s wrong?” Mike presses, sounding a little panicked himself now. “Did I do something? Say something?”
Will shakes his head, not looking back. His chest heaves as he struggles to control his breathing. “You didn’t do anything, Mike,” he lies. “You, um. You should just go sleep it off.”
In the silence, Will sniffles. Presses his palms to his eyes.
Mike stumbles out of bed and takes a wobbly step towards Will. There’s a hesitant, feather-light touch at his waist. “Will. Is this okay?”
No. Yes.
Will nods, and Mike’s arms come tightly to wrap around him. Mike lines himself up along Will’s back, pressing his forehead to the nape of his neck, and holds him. “I’ve got you,” he mumbles. “You’re okay.”
A tiny sob escapes Will’s throat, and he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle it. Mike’s hands lace together around his waist, and he rocks them back and forth a little. It’s decidedly past the boundaries of a friendly hug, and Mike shows no signs of letting go any time soon. Will is losing his mind. He’s— he’s. Well.
“Sorry,” he says quietly.
Mike shakes his head against Will’s neck, hair tickling his bare skin. “Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. “It’s okay to not… be okay.”
Despite everything, Will smiles. “So wise,” he teases.
“No, you,” Mike says back, dead serious. Will takes another deep breath. It doesn’t do anything to soothe his nerves.
Mike is drunk, he reminds himself. He’ll forget all this in the morning, and even if he doesn’t, he’ll definitely pretend to. It’ll have to do. All Will needs to do is get him to bed, and then he’ll be safe. Free to lay in the guest bed and have a silent panic attack and get absolutely no sleep for the rest of the night, analyzing every word out of Mike’s mouth and every slight brush of his hands.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says gently. “Can you walk?”
“Hey— no,” Mike protests.
Will frowns. “You can’t walk?”
Half-baked romantic fantasies aside, Will has to admit that he’s not capable of carrying Mike. He doesn’t have the kind of arm power for that.
“No,” Mike says again, and Will thinks that’s it until he continues: “Don’t change the subject. You’re upset.”
It’s surprisingly insightful— and well-spoken— for drunk Mike. For sober Mike, even. Fear strikes the dead center of Will’s chest. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just got weird for a minute. It’s… just forget about it.” He tugs on Mike’s arm, trying to dislodge it from his waist. “Come on, let’s—”
“Will.”
Will stumbles out of Mike’s grip, turning to sit on the windowsill. He braces his hands on his knees, hunching over and breathing hard. In, two, three. Out, two, three.
Mike puts a tentative hand on Will’s back, and before he can think better of it, Will shrugs him off. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snaps.
“Oh,” Mike says softly, withdrawing his hand. He looks like he might cry, eyes shiny and dark, and Will immediately regrets… everything. The whole night. “I’m so sorry,” Mike continues, though he doesn’t look quite sure of what he’s apologizing for.
“Don’t be—” Will cuts off in frustration, then tries again. “I just. I just need to know. Are you…” He looks away, face burning, eyes burning, everything burning, hot and cold all at once. “Are you fucking with me?” he chokes. “Did someone tell you? Did you figure it out?”
Mike’s mouth falls open, just slightly. He stares at Will, eyebrows pinched in bewildered worry. “Figure what out?” he says frantically. Then, more quietly, “I’m too drunk for this.”
Will’s mouth twists down. “But not too drunk to hold my hand, right? To hug me? To… tell me nice things and say you miss me and…” he trails off, words swallowed by a short sob.
“I— Will,” Mike says again. “What? I don’t… Are you mad that I’m being nice to you?”
“It’s more than nice, Mike,” Will says snippily. As soon as the words are out, he winces, and doesn’t meet Mike’s eye. If he didn’t know before, he does now.
“Oh,” Mike whispers, with horrible understanding. After a second, he sits down heavily on the ground next to Will and leans his head back against the wall, right by Will’s knee. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Will says, jiggling his leg incessantly. He’s never been more terrified in his life, and that’s saying something. “I mean… I don’t know if you really understood earlier, when I said I… wasn’t into that sort of thing.”
“Girls,” Mike says quietly. “You’re not into girls. I know.”
“Right,” Will says, voice strangled at the confirmation. “Yeah.”
Mike frowns, tilting his head up to look at Will. “Are you into… me?”
Will looks away sharply, and hears Mike’s breath catch. “Mike, I can’t—”
“Okay,” Mike says, tone gentle. “That’s okay.”
Without meaning to, Will whips around. “It is?” he demands.
Mike’s brow furrows. “I mean… yeah?”
Will eyes the dilation of Mike’s pupils. The flush to his skin. “You’re drunk,” he mutters, partly as a reminder to himself.
“It’s okay when I’m not drunk, too,” Mike says softly.
Will squeezes his eyes shut. “Stop,” he whispers.
“Okay,” Mike agrees immediately. Then, after a second: “Stop what?”
“Being so sweet. Not hating me.”
Mike’s hand shoots out to land on Will’s knee, halting his anxious movement. He looks directly into his eyes, expression fierce. “I could never.”
Will stares at Mike’s hand on his knee. Mike stares at Will’s staring.
“Great,” Will says. “Um, could you…” he gestures at the hand.
“Right. Sorry,” Mike says, and removes his hand. He seemingly doesn’t know what to do with it after that, flapping it around in the air before settling it on his lap, folding his hands together like he’s trying to prevent them from going anywhere else.
Will lets out a long breath. “What’s the chance you won’t remember any of this in the morning?”
Mike rubs at his hand with his thumb, looking nervous. “I’m not that drunk.” He looks back up. “Do you want me to not remember this in the morning?”
There’s a half-hearted offer in the question. Will thinks about it: the knowledge between them, heavy and unspoken. He shudders. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Why?”
Will throws his hands out incredulously. They’re going in circles. He wants to punch Mike. He wants to kiss him. He wants to run out of the house, out of Hawkins, change his name, and never speak to anyone ever again. This is so annoying. “What do you mean why?”
“I just mean—” Mike looks annoyed, too, for a brief second. “Why does this have to be a bad thing?”
Will’s heart stops.
“What?”
“It’s not a bad thing, Will,” Mike insists. He looks more sober than he has all night. Deadly. “I like that you like me.”
“What,” Will says blankly, brain full of white noise. He doesn’t. He doesn’t understand. This can’t possibly be real.
Mike blushes at the tips of his ears, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, it might be— it’s still early. But I think, I mean.” He looks up. “Me too?”
Will works through each word of that baffling string of what could be generously called sentences, and arrives at one conclusion. “No.”
“No?” Mike repeats.
“You can’t— you don’t like me like that.”
Mike frowns. “Says who?”
“Says me,” Will yells, much too loudly. They both freeze for a second, waiting for any responding noises around the house.
Once they’re sure they’re in the clear, Mike stands. He glares at Will. “Will. Listen to me,” he whisper-shouts, expression livid.
Will gulps.
“I fucking like you. Okay? And— and I was so annoying about it for so long, and even El noticed. And yeah, I was a jerk to you, and to everyone, kind of, so I don’t know why you’d like me back. But you do, for some reason, because I guess you have really shitty taste, and you could definitely do better, but. I don’t want you to!” He cuts off, breathing heavily, looking right into Will’s eyes and upending the entire room.
“I want you to choose me,” Mike says.
Fuck Vecna. Fuck the Upside Down. This is how the world ends— with a pretty, drunk boy begging Will to choose him.
“I do,” Will says, stupidly. Like a marriage vow or something.
He cringes at himself. “I mean, I have. I am. Choosing you, that is.” After a second of silence, he puts his head in his hands. “Can we start over?” he mutters. “Like, just go back outside and crawl through the window again. We’ll do another take.”
Mike laughs, fond and relieved, and takes a few steps forward. He takes Will’s hands in his own, pulling them away from his face, and just. Looks at him. “Hi.”
Will is on fire. He’s melting. “Hi,” he mumbles, embarrassed as hell.
“You’re really cute,” Mike says.
“You’re killing me,” Will replies. He’s definitely fire-engine red right now. “I’m dead.”
“That’s a shame,” Mike says, voice slowly slipping into his flirty tone from earlier. “I don’t really want to kiss a dead guy.”
Will chokes on his own spit. He turns, if possible, even redder. “Mike, oh my god.”
Mike reddens a little too, some of his confidence slipping. “Can I?” he whispers.
“Can you…” Will says, hardly daring to believe.
“Kiss you.”
Will reminds himself to breathe. He isn’t trying to actually die. Not before Mike kisses him. “I don’t know how,” he admits.
Mike inches closer, eyes trained on his face. “I’ll show you,” he says lowly.
“Fuck,” Will breathes out, heart pounding. “Okay.”
He doesn’t know what to expect. He’s never kissed a single person in his life.
But Mike’s gentle with him, a hand on his jaw and a press of lips against his own. He’s familiar. He tastes like cheap vodka and chips and smoke, a little bit, which has Will wondering.
But then Mike deepens the kiss, running his tongue against Will’s bottom lip, and he loses the ability to form any coherent sentences at all. He gasps into the kiss, and Mike takes advantage to lick into his mouth, running his tongue against Will’s teeth like he’s trying to memorize their shape. And all the while, he’s thumbing softly against Will’s jawline, holding him in place. Holding him together.
Mike makes good on his promise to show Will the mechanics, making a series of confident advances that Will tentatively copies. When they pull away for air, they’re both breathing heavily against each other’s lips, and Will finds himself blinking at his hand, looped around Mike’s neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When did that happen?
“I’m dreaming,” he says. “This isn’t real.”
Mike raises an eyebrow. “That didn’t feel real to you? I’ll just have to do a better job.” He leans in, kissing Will softly. Chaste. He leans his forehead against Will’s. “I like you so much,” he admits.
“I like you more,” Will murmurs, then barks a short laugh. “God, you have no idea.”
Mike tucks a kiss behind his ear. “Tell me, then.”
Will flushes. “Maybe later.”
“I hope you know I’m holding you to that,” Mike says.
Will eyes the bed. “We should probably sleep.” When he looks back at Mike, he’s following his gaze, eyeing the bed consideringly. “Separately, I mean!” Will yelps. “You should sleep. In your bed. And I’ll— this one. Yeah.”
Mike peers at him, brushing his bangs off his forehead. “Is that what you want?” he asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.
Will huffs. “I miss sober Mike. He’s a lot more oblivious.”
Mike’s eyes turn sad. “No,” he mutters. “He’s just a lot more scared.”
“I’m scared too,” Will says.
“Yeah?”
Will lets out a tiny laugh, leaning into Mike’s hand. “Fuck. I’m terrified.”
“Crazy together,” Mike murmurs, after a considering beat.
Will almost cries. He doesn’t know how he’s not crying. He’s spent, like, six months out of the past year crying and now, on the most emotional day of his life, his eyes are dry. His pulse is racing, though. He thought telling Mike would be the scariest thing he’s ever done. And it was, but this— getting what he wants— is almost scarier. Because he doesn’t know what’s after this. He never once imagined that he’d make it past this point.
“Crazy together,” Will agrees, because he can’t think of a more fitting phrase right now.
Mike reaches down to twine their fingers together. He’s so sweet, so effortlessly romantic, that Will feels like leaning backwards and free falling out the window. “Do you think we could share that bed together, too?” Mike asks, nosing along Will’s cheek. “Only if you want.”
“Maybe,” Will says shyly. He opens his legs a little, and Mike slots smoothly between them, splaying out a hand onto Will’s stomach, over his shirt. Will’s face heats. “But I don’t know if I’m ready for—”
“Just to sleep,” Mike assures him, blushing. “I don’t think I’m ready for that, either.”
“Okay,” Will says, wondering how they’re going to get from the windowsill to the bed with minimal awkwardness.
The answer, as it turns out, is by Mike helping Will down from the ledge and immediately hooking an arm around his waist, throwing him onto the bed.
“Mike!” Will squeals, laughing into the blanket. “Idiot.”
“You’re so mean to me,” Mike says, sounding delighted as he crawls up the bed. “Say something else.”
Will grins. “Why, you getting off on it?”
They both go still as they process that.
Mike bursts out laughing. “Will! Jesus, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Will wants to respond to that, wants to make a lame, cheap joke in response, but he stays quiet. He’s already tested the limits more than enough, toed the line and gotten rewarded for it. He’s giddy, covering his heated face with his palms. “I didn’t either,” he giggles, deliriously happy and terrified and thrilled, all at once. “Shut up.”
“Never,” Mike says, and cuddles close to Will. He rests his head on his chest and slings a leg over Will’s.
There’s a peaceful beat of silence.
“Take your fucking shoes off.”
Mike whines into Will’s shirt. “I can’t reach.”
“Oh my god.” Will rolls his eyes. “You big baby. I’ll do it for you.”
So he does, carefully moving Mike’s head off his chest and sitting up, reaching down and sliding off his unlaced shoes. Underneath, Mike’s got little heart-patterned socks on, and they’re so cute that Will wants to scream. Wants, bizarrely, to kiss Mike’s foot, right over each of the hearts. In a not-weird way.
Jesus. It’s a good thing El’s the mind reader, and not Mike. Will would have died of humiliation, like… years ago. He wouldn’t have lived to get taken by the Upside Down, that’s for sure.
But he’s glad he’s lived to experience this. The dark, cool and sweet, even with the angry red haze outside and the world coming apart at the seams. Mike Wheeler pressed up against his body like neither of them belong anywhere else. Like they have always been like this, always been together.
Will lays back down, sneaking a kiss to the top of Mike’s head because he can do that now. It’s insane.
“Will this be weird in the morning?” he asks nervously.
Mike shakes his head against Will’s shoulder. “Nope. And if it is, you can slap me.”
Will snorts. “You’re so dramatic.”
Mike kisses his shoulder. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
“Oh my god,” Will whispers.
“I’m dramatic,” Mike says. “Sure.”
Will hits him in the chest. Lightly.
But soon enough, Mike’s breathing evens out, sleepy and still a little drunk, and Will just thinks. Processes.
Vecna’s coming for him. He’s coming for both of them. But they’ve made it this far, and they’ve made it together. So if they die, they’ll do that together, too.
Even if the world ends tomorrow, they’ve still had tonight. And it’s more than Will ever imagined he would have.
He closes his eyes and drifts into unconsciousness, safe and warm and curled around the boy he loves.
For once, he doesn’t dream. For once, he’s okay.
Tonight, he’s not alone. And that’s more than enough.