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Mike can’t help but think Will is edible.
Okay, now before you call him weird, he doesn’t mean it in an inherently sexual way. It’s just — Will has qualities that Mike would justify makes him delectable.
Like how his fingers curl around a pencil when sketching, or the way his laughter is quiet but delightful in a way that makes Mike want to just bite into his skin. How his bowl cut frames his face and softens his jawline, or the everpresent green in those hazel eyes that Mike might admit he’s a bit obsessed with.
Maybe it would be biased to say he’s obsessed about every aspect of Will.
But can you blame him? After all, someone needs to bite those pretty pink lips, and preferably, he would like it to be him.
Apparently, not everyone agrees with the sentiment Mike has to share about Will during one of the late nights the Party decides to have a sleepover in his basement. Movie marathon was starting to become weekly because Dustin wants an excuse to bother Steve while he’s working, and currently, they’re setting up the scene.
Vecna is gone. In fact, the fear of a looming supernatural threat has been eradicated for two months now, and the toxic air in Hawkins has finally cleared up after what felt like an eternity. No more scares of potential death, and no more scares regarding Will. That’s honestly the biggest relief for Mike.
Of course, it doesn’t mean the nightmares don’t exist, but they’ve died down significantly after Mike had let himself realize that no, there is no possible way to lose Will anymore. Unfortunately, it didn’t let him cop out of taking medication for his freshly diagnosed depression and anxiety, but Mike is taking what he can get. It hasn’t been so bad, so he doesn’t have any big complaints about the situation he’s now having to adjust to.
The only thing really on his mind is Will, but honestly, when is it not?
But, he has to stay on track, which means focusing on movie night.
Lucas is arguing with Dustin over what movie they should watch while Max watches and listens on the one-person sofa, amused. Will and El have gone upstairs to fetch snacks to devour during the movie, but Mike also figures they could be avoiding the argument the two can’t seem to come to a compromise for.
He doesn’t really care what they’re spitting at each other, because obviously his sentiment is more important, “Does anyone else think their partner is… edible?” Mike asks, not really directing the question to anyone specific as he spreads blankets over the couch.
When he looks up, the room has gone silent and is staring at him. Dustin’s eyes are wide, looking slightly mortified, Lucas’ eyebrows are furrowed in blatant confusion, and Max looks like she wants Mike to never open his mouth if those were the words he was going to speak. Mike can’t help the way he immediately flushes.
“Mike, what the hell," Dustin says, flabbergasted and honestly Mike can’t blame him because he’s starting to realize that it sounds really bad out of context.
"No, not like - not like that!" He defends, "Like – have you gotten the urge to just like… bite them.”
Their expressions stay unmoving. Fuck. Mike starts to shift the heels of his feet.
"No," Max looks like she’s scared of what possible danger Will could possibly be in for the future, and Mike feels a bit offended that she’s assuming that Mike is going to somehow cannibalize Will, “In case you haven’t noticed Wheeler, not everyone thinks that their partner is viable for consumption.”
“Yeah dude, that’s depending on the circumstances,” Lucas has only grown more uncomfortable at the implications or it could be the way Max seems like she’s ready to commit murder as she stares at him. Mike thinks it's a fair bargain.
“Lucas, I know that,” Mike can feel himself getting more embarrassed as his skin turns clammy, “It’s not in a sexual way.”
“Well, you’re going to have to explain it to us, because we literally have no idea what you’re talking about, Mike,” Dustin says, exasperated.
Now Mike would like to say that he’s an eloquent writer. His vocabulary makes it easier to add to dramatics, and the stories he writes for D&D campaigns are colorful enough to get the Party invested for whatever lies on their journey. However, Mike cannot say that his spoken word capabilities are on par with his written word, because they are not even close.
And scrambling for an explanation that doesn’t sound too incriminating is difficult when everyone who’s staring at you is expectantly, because now Mike is feeling the pressure as he starts to pick at his nails, "Well – it’s like - you think that you’re partner is – is so amazing, that you want to just… take a bite out of them without necessarily removing their flesh? Because — you feel so much… affection for them and that’s the only way you can express it.”
Shit, he accidentally made it sappy. Will would probably laugh at it, call him a dork, and smile at him because he secretly adores everything that Mike says about him even if he shows distaste at the more sentimental remarks.
But the explanation seems to have the others calming down as their features shift back into their own versions of relief.
Dustin brings a finger over his chin, looking contemplative, “Well… I guess I can kind of understand where you are coming from.”
“That’s still really fucking weird, Wheeler,” Max crosses her arms with blind judgement, “I mean — I don’t think it’s exactly normal to think who you are dating is edible."
Mike feels like his whole worldview is about to crash into an eruption of flames, because Mike may not like Max, but everyone seems to be on the same wavelength of agreement that thinking your partner is edible isn’t normal.
Lucas seems to attempt placing a band-aid over the new wound, “I think Max can be edible sometimes?” Mike doesn’t feel any better at the questioning lit at the end of the sentence.
He groans, “Shit.”
Soon the basement door is opening as Will and El make their way down the staircase, pausing to survey the sight. Lucas with a wobbly smile, Dustin’s face a grimace, Max’s judging stare pointed towards both Mike and Lucas, and Mike’s pale skin tinged red as he starts to bite his nails.
El asks innocently, “Did something happen?” Will meets Mike’s eyes as he tilts his head wonderingly, what happened? Mike can’t keep his gaze as he tears away, and Mike feels like he’s been shoved into a furnace forcibly and is being cooked alive from the inside out. He can sense the hurt that Will has at the action, and now guilt is being seasoned in Mike’s skin.
“Let’s just – get started,” he croaks out as he hurriedly seats himself, and he tries to calm down the heat encompassing him from the awkward realization. No one comments on Mike’s behavior, and Dustin and Lucas finally seem to have settled on some films as they load up the first one into the VHS. Max engages into a conversation with El, who takes a seat on the ground beside her, and Will sits next to Mike’s right, their thighs pressed against each other as the distance between them is nonexistent.
Mike would be enjoying the added body heat if he wasn’t already sweltering, and he can understand why Will would be worriedly looking at him as Mike bounces his leg.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, only meant for the two of them to hear and Mike thinks that Will is perfectly edible with how his eyes narrow miniscule and his hands curl in his lap as he tries not to reach out.
It is kind of weird. Would Will think it’s weird?
Mike instead picks at his black nail polish, “Yeah, I’m okay,” he tries to give a reassuring smile, and Will seems to buy it as he smiles back, small.
“Alright! It’s movie marathon night!” Dustin cheers as he raises his arms into the air, celebratory as the screen starts to display the opening sequence. He quickly dives to take the open right side arm of the coach, smug when he faces Lucas.
Lucas sighs, begrudgingly sitting in between Will and Dustin, and everyone turns their attention to face the screen. Max just chooses to play with El’s hair seeing as how she can’t exactly see what they’re about to watch, but Mike knows she’s listening.
The night is good regardless, and later into the runtime, Mike threads his fingers with Will’s underneath the blankets.
Will’s pink cheeks make him delectable.
———
Mike may have forgotten that the Party doesn’t exactly know Will and him are dating.
It’s not like Mike hasn’t mentioned that he’s in a relationship — in fact — he brings up the fact on so many occasions that the others are practically exhausted from how much he raves about it.
It’s more like he hasn’t told them that he’s specifically with Will.
Which is the excuse he’s going with when Will accidentally mentions that he’s with someone and the ungodly screeches are suddenly ripped out of their throats while they are in the middle of a public diner. Because Will wasn’t supposed to mention that he was going out with someone in case the nosy idiots wanted to start investigating all of the relationships that Will currently has with girls.
So, no, Max doesn’t know that they’re dating or Dustin, or Lucas, or even El. Though, it’s debatable whether she’s figured it out after their breakup that Mike was very much in love with Will.
It’s not like he’s at fault for this mishap occurring at all — Will and him had already agreed for them to be relatively secretive, and they’ve succeeded fairly well. No one seems to have a clue who Mike’s mystery person is, let alone that it’s a boy, and the two were comfortable with the status.
However, six weeks of private endeavors might go down the drain when Dustin shouts, "You’re dating someone, Will?"
A somewhat pained look comes over Will’s features as he shrinks, and everyone realizes that maybe they shouldn’t be so loud in a public space. They immediately quiet down, instead opting to whisper-shout at each other as if the subject of the matter isn’t sitting beside them. Will only sighs.
Mike places a hand over his thigh, comforting. He can feel Will relax underneath his fingertips.
El is the first one to properly address him after their vocal surprise, “I’m happy for you, Will,” her smile is genuine when she gives it, and Will returns it, warm.
Mike feels warm at the sight. He also really wants to bite Will and clearly some thoughts are more appropriate than others.
“Thanks El,” Will’s sincerity is shining in his words.
The other two idiots finally stop talking and give their attention to Will, which Mike personally thinks that he should always be the case. Though, Will would probably protest to such an idea seeing as how he’s more inclined to blending into the background.
“Sorry man, it’s just – this is the first we’ve heard of any sort of girlfriend, like, ever," Dustin’s eyebrows seem to have permanently stayed raised since the delivery of the news, and Mike can’t help but roll his eyes because Will still doesn’t have any girl problems.
He has Mike problems. Mike kind of likes that thought in some odd, possessive way.
God, Will makes Mike weird. He’s not complaining about it.
Will ends up sheepishly smiling at the remark, reddening, and wow, Will really is the prettiest person in the world with how he’s biting his lip nervously. Holy shit, is thinking Will should be consumed by his own hands really so bad?
“Is it someone we know?” Lucas asks, excitement in his tone as he slowly slides closer to Will’s blushing frame over the table, "Will, this is a huge milestone.”
Max lightly slaps the guy on the arm which Mike unintentionally snickers at, "Lucas."
Now Lucas has the gall to be sheepishly smiling, “Sorry Will, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s fine, Lucas. I know,” Will looks like he wants to be anywhere but here and Mike wants to take him under his arm and hold him till his lips turn upwards into something genuine.
“Dude, it’s just — all the girls in Hawkins are all over you,” he crosses his arms with legitimate surprise on his face.
“That’s not true,” Will only seems to get more bashful, and Mike feels an angry claw rake across the insides of his gut.
He’s not jealous, don’t even suggest that. And even if he was, the one who appears at Will’s bedside daily aren’t those girls anyway. It’s Mike, so they can suck it.
Dustin pipes in, “It totally is! All the girls want you for your mysterious allure,” his hands wave around in emphasis, and Will’s cheeks are only getting redder.
Okay, so what if he’s jealous? He knows he sounds and feels like an idiot, he’s well aware of that, but what’s implied wasn’t going to make him happy. So sue him for being petty and jealous of himself — Mike isn’t particularly keen on sharing with imaginary others.
"Guys," the smile Will gives is closer to a grimace.
Mike finally decides to intervene at the sight because that is a nervous tic declaring intervention, "Okay, let’s not pry into Will’s supposed relationship," and maybe accidental distaste leaks into his words at the end because everyone is assuming that Will is with a girl.
Will’s eyes look into his and Mike automatically flowerpicks the green inside his irises as if ingrained as the default response, and now Will is smirking. It’s not an obvious one, but Mike is well-aware that Will could hear the jealousy in his voice and he’s taking a bit of joy from it. A heat curls in his stomach, and Mike really just wants to kiss him more than anything else right now.
Sadly, he’s still in public with his rowdy friends who are all too nosy for their own good, "C’mon, having two secretive relationships in the Party is no fun,” Dustin complains, “And we are allowed to celebrate the accomplishments our friends achieve.”
“I never said you couldn’t!" Mike exclaims, and well, maybe his pitch was on the high end of the spectrum but he can’t help his defensive nature, “I just meant that maybe… Will doesn’t want to talk about stuff like that,” he mumbles out.
“How about we ask the man himself?” Now the entire Party had proceeded to stare at Will as he crumbled at the pressure, not meeting any of their eyes.
“I… don’t really want to talk about it,” There, Will’s final word towards the whole topic that should hopefully never be brought up again for the jeopardy of their relationship. Mike glares at his prying friends to drop the subject. Max scoffs as she rolls her eyes, Lucas and Dustin make the choice to mope, and El still looks at Will as if trying to read his mind even though they’re all aware that it isn't in her arsenal.
Will turns to face Mike, who’s hunching over because what’s more romantic than getting back problems so you’re both eye level? He wants to press his lips against the moles embedded in Will’s skin, card his fingers through those brown strands, and just indulge in him as a feast. Maybe this is what it’s like to love someone so deeply, because God, Mike doesn’t think that there could ever be someone else who holds his thoughts in such a chokehold it leaves him breathless.
Would Will let him eat his body, his heart, his being? Mike wants the answer to be yes so badly.
But maybe not in a musty diner while hanging out with their loudmouthing friends, “Hey, don’t worry about it,” Mike reassures, quiet.
“Am I that easy to predict?” Will frowns.
“Only when it comes to apologies,” Mike smiles cheekily, earning a light shove.
"Y’know what — I don’t regret joining in the chain of comments about how annoying the people you are seeing can be,” Will huffs out, cheeks slightly puffed. He’s so pretty.
A switch flicks for dramatics as Mike places a hand over his heart, "Oh William, how you wound me with those words of yours.”
“Don’t William me, Michael," he snarks, and there’s a teasing lit that makes Mike feel fuzzy.
He then proceeds to reel through a montage of memories for every time his mother or Ted had used his full name, and he can’t help but wince, “Okay then, no William if no Michael. You might accidentally turn into my mom if you keep going.”
“If I were a lower person — like Dustin — I’d be commenting on how hot your mom is,” Will laughs at the disgust that is blatant on Mike’s face, because ew, he does not need to be thinking about his own mother in that context, “— but you’re lucky that it’s me.”
“Aww, am I your favorite Wheeler?" He gives a sly smile that he already predicted would make Will turn pinker in that constantly addicting way, and the number of thoughts about Will’s edibility start to skyrocket. He can’t meet Mike’s eyes as hooks his bottom lip between his bunny teeth that Mike finds endearing, and no, Mike will never be able to stop viewing him as the most beautiful person to ever exist.
“With how it’s going right now, I think Holly is taking that spot,” and Will fucking giggles.
Mike is obsessed, irrevocably obsessed with the boy in front of him, it’s driving him crazy.
“She’s turning into a menace Will, I know you don’t mean that,” He takes Will’s hand in his own underneath the table, fiddling with his deft fingers. It’s smaller than his, another thing Mike is fixated on when it comes to Will.
“Haven’t you already been told that you should be saying nicer things about your sisters?” Will is looking into his eyes again, and Mike can see the small shiver that runs across his skin from how intense Mike’s gaze is. The other’s fingers curl into his own, holding onto Mike, solid.
“Yeah,” Mike can’t help the way he turns soft, shifting into the tone of voice only reserved for Will’s ears, and he smiles dopily and way too obvious. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees El with the corner of her lip raised, knowing.
She doesn’t look mad though, Mike’s leg starts to bounce out of glee, and he doesn’t really mind that she’s figured it out because El’s a smart girl, perceiving more than what meets the eye on an intrinsic level.
Will has a bashful smile on his face, and it’s Mike’s fault, and Mike loves it, “You should take the advice, Wheeler.”
Mike kind of wants to devour Will with how warm he feels.
———
If you told Mike in advance what was about to happen, he probably would forget to prevent it.
Actually, he probably couldn’t even prevent it if he tried. The series of events that had occurred were happening too fast for the pace Mike comprehended things. So, let’s rewind a bit before the actual disaster was summoned onto Mike’s platter — maybe then he’ll be able to fully process the words that were just uttered into existence that could potentially kill Mike from heatstroke.
The Party is regrouping in Mike’s basement after spending their time and tokens at the arcade, sitting at the tabletop they usually narrate campaigns at. Will and Dustin are talking about Junior Dance plans which honestly sounds more like a ploy to get Will to reveal who he’s been seeing, and El is expressing her love for this new drama on TV to Lucas, who asks questions about the plot every now and then.
And the remaining two stand at the base of the stairwell, fighting like cats.
Now, classically, Mike and Max have never been the closest of friends. A possible reason for this could be the now mutual antagonism that Mike had regretfully established during the beginning of their friendship. So bickering was basically the only language they used in any conversation with each other.
Their arguments aren’t deep, it’s mostly Max who makes the jabs that Mike has to retort. This is what they live with, and that’s fine.
However, this eventually bites Mike in the ass, painfully.
“Just admit you’re a sore loser, Wheeler!” Max shouts, looking seconds away beating the shit out of him with her walking stick.
"What, no!” Mike isn’t going to cave into the fact he lost miserably to Max in Dig Dug, he isn’t, “You’re getting a bit full of yourself now.”
Astonishment flits Max’s features, "Me? I’m the one full of myself? I beat you fair and square — in fact — I’m the handicapped one, so just accept it."
Mike scoffs, “So you get to go easy on your boyfriend then, huh?”
“Why are you bringing Lucas into this?” She rolls her eyes, and Mike recognizes she’s exasperated with him.
“Because you’re giving him special privileges, am I wrong?” He knows that Max plays at her full capabilities on the arcade machines and especially against Lucas because she loves to show off that she still can hold the Dig Dug top score even though she’s blind, but he can’t help but rile her up because it’s just what they do — it’s how they communicate.
Apparently, this was a big mistake.
“Well at least I don’t have some kind of cannibalism kink for my partner!”
The entire room goes silent, and it’s deafening. Mike can feel his own heart rate quicken, and he’s about to pass out from the nausea in his stomach. And yeah, even looking back on it, Mike can’t find a way to stop whatever the hell that sentence was.
What the fuck. “What the fuck."
The amount of embarrassment is enough to make a guy fully combust into flames as Mike tenses, and Max at least has the decency to look a bit ashamed at how she worded the phrase. When he looks at the unfortunate bystanders, all have their mouths agape, and the glance he dared to sneak at Will showed that a steady pink was becoming visible on his cheeks.
Oh god, Mike wants to die. Let him incinerate in hell, please.
"That’s – That’s not what I—” He literally can’t scramble his brain for a defense, because that was so out of left fucking field, holy shit, “I already told you it wasn’t sexual! It’s a – It’s fucking – overload of like – the senses thing! I don’t actually want to – to eat them as like a turn-on."
Everyone is staring at him. Mike is this close to tearing his hair out of his scalp.
He feels like he’s grasping onto straws desperately as he tries to clarify what Max was talking about, “It’s a whole — cuteness overload situation, not a - a kink. It’s the same thing as wanting to just squeeze something you find cute, except with like – biting, you want to bite the thing you find cute – or like – edible, which happens to be my partner—” and Jesus, he needs to stop spluttering.
So he halts. And he’s breathing heavily, because that was all in one frantic breath.
Mike pointedly avoided anyone’s gaze.
“Sorry,” Max apologizes, awkward, “That wording made it sound worse than it was.”
Maybe the one thing he could say was worth every penny was having Max Mayfield give him an apology. At least this whole experience wouldn’t have been for nothing but public humiliation.
“I get it,” and El’s voice is startling because wait, someone actually understands?
“Really?” It’s quiet, because Mike is in disbelief that another person could have the same urges.
El nods, “I want to bite stuffed animals because they are very cute,” a look of puzzlement then settles over her face, “I thought everybody did too.”
Now everyone’s attention is focused on her, except their expressions are blank which is a bit unfair seeing as how they looked at Mike completely appalled. He swears there is a lack of equality to the treatment he receives when it comes to saying weird shit.
“Well, not everyone does El,” Max tries to tiptoe around how the topic at hand isn’t exactly a normal neurological response, and hell if Mike lets her get away with saying what she did about his own brain.
“I guess that makes us the odd ones out,” Mike smiles, trying to tamper down the heat, “Us against them, like always.”
El’s expression is pure joy, and Mike couldn’t be happier that she’s his best friend. Mutual breakups are actually the greatest thing in the world is what he decides right then and there, because who wouldn't want to stay good friends with people you care about even after losing romantic interest that could’ve possibly never been there at all?
On a more serious note, Mike truly is grateful that El is still in his life, and the truth is finally able to arise after years of lies to one another regarding their entire relationship. She’s still incredible, and someday, she’ll be able to find someone who would be willing to describe her with all the positive adjectives in the English dictionary.
And that wasn’t Mike, and that’s okay.
“What is this rise in the urge to bite things?” Dustin exclaims, perplexed. It’s a bit ironic how much of an idiot he can be when he’s considered to be one of the smartest in the group. Though, maybe it comes from his roots of being a conspiracy theorist.
Oh, and look at that, the tension has diffused.
“It’s literally just us, Dustin,” Mike deadpans.
“Look, I’m not risking catching whatever you two have. I need my Susie to stay in one piece after we meet face to face,” The man turns his head away like a pretentious prick.
“It’s not like I’m going to maul them, Jesus Dustin," Now Mike has a right to be offended at the lack of consideration that he had been assumed to have. Will is treated well in Mike’s own unprofessional opinion, and he would never intentionally remove the skin he loves so much.
Lucas props up an awkward thumbs up that Mike kind of wants to shove in his face, “At least it isn’t just you anymore?”
“Why did you say it like a question?” El’s confusion is amicable.
“Lucas just —” Mike scrunches up his nose, “stop."
“Dude, I’m trying my best, alright?” Lucas sulks, “I don’t know how to support this - this eating thing, but you guys are pretty weird anyway without it.”
Max quietly sniggers, “Lucas, that is hilarious," and suddenly it grows into a laugh that is definitely taking the piss out of him.
Lucas just looks hurt now at her making fun of his attempt at support, "Max," it comes out fond and gooey, and Mike kind of wants to shout and tell them they’re pretty gross, but he can’t blame them for being so loving.
El is still majorly vexed, and Mike tries his best to give a comforting smile in a way to tell her not to worry about it. She smiles back understandingly, subtly nodding in Will’s direction, and now Mike is forced to finally look at Will for the first time since that entirely painful exchange.
Will’s face is carefully schooled into nonchalance, but Mike can see how he’s slightly tensing when the other’s eyes land on his figure. He carefully maneuvers his lanky frame to the left side of Will’s seat, picking at his fingers.
“The couch?” Mike asks, offering the two a small veil of privacy. The answering nod could easily be interpreted as a twitch with how faint it was.
Will slowly slides out of his chair and makes the first steps towards the couch with Mike tailing not too far behind, and they both sink into the navy blue cushions. Neither of them really seem to have the desire to speak first.
He knows that he’s stalling. He knows that acknowledging the whole biting thing is probably important in terms of his feelings. That doesn’t mean that it’s any less distressing to bring up to Will, his best friend, the person who’s at the forefront of this urge.
But Mike he bites the bullet, laughing nervously before speaking, “Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, I – I know it’s weird, the others have made that pretty clear.” It’s insecure, anxiety-ridden, because Mike values Will’s opinion above all else, above any of the remarks his friends make in their mollified manners.
“It’s not weird, just…” Will tilts his head back, shoulders slumping, and Mike can’t help tracing the other’s throat with his eyes and think he wants to nip at all of his ticklish spots which he immediately has to reprimand himself for because that’s literally the whole point of this conversation, “it kinda caught me off guard.”
“You don’t think it’s weird?” Mike unintentionally seeps awe into his voice, but he can’t bring himself to scold how pathetic and so unbearably pitiful he is, because thank god Will doesn’t want to throw him to the curb for being as strange as he is.
“Of course I don’t think it’s weird, it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to judge you,” Hazel meets dark brown and Mike wants to melt at the earnesty dancing with those green-rimmed irises, ”I’m not exactly the most normal person either.”
“Do tell then,” Bony fingers inch closer to deft ones, not quite touching, but a spark is still lit, “Tell me something weird about yourself.”
Will turns contemplative, pink staining his skin and of course Mike’s mind defaults to the usual spiel about his beauty that could never be competed with, but then Will’s pinky presses against his, electricity going awry, “I like to eat raw pasta. The bowtie kind.”
The snort that Mike accidentally allows to escape has him dissolving into a full body laugh that rocks his body forward as he clutches his stomach with his left hand, and wow, he is so done for this boy, “The - the bowtie kind?"
He can’t stop laughing, and Will joins in, chortling amusement because admittedly, it’s hilarious, “I don’t remember what they’re called!” He playfully bumps their shoulders together, and Mike is pushing his side against Will’s as he giggles into his shoulder, because fuck, Will’s so adorable and so stupid on some rare occasions.
“It’s Farfalle, Will, Farfalle," he manages to get out as he’s failing to steady his breathing from that laughing fest.
“Do you really expect me to memorize Farfalle as the name?” The affronted expression that Will carries has Mike struggling to heave in breaths of air again, “You can’t tell me that bowtie pasta isn’t easier to remember.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t," God, Mike’s cheeks are hurting painfully from smiling too much, and it’s delightful, “You eat it raw?"
“I like the crunch,” he mumbles out, embarrassed. Mike wants to press his lips against the flush on Will’s cheeks, soak in the warmth that he carries. I love you plays out like a mantra in his head, a record stuck on loop that Mike is addicted to listening too.
“Also, why do you remember the name of what it’s called?” Will calls out as his eyes narrow as if searching though Mike’s as if they would give him the answer he’s seeking.
Mike only ends up smiling crookedly in response, “I may have had a point in my life where it was a must to remember every type of pasta name so I could correct people on what the proper names were.”
“So you researched this to be a smart ass?” Will says in mock incredulity, the corner of his lip upturned and smug.
Mike huffs, reddening, "Okay, no — that’s not — it was just an impulse!”
The other just laughs lightheartedly, and now Mike’s insides are turning gooey and warm and all of those mushy descriptors he would probably throw towards Max and Lucas as insults. Will just looks so edible.
“Look, I have no problems about you educating yourself to become a smartass. I promise,” and yeah, Will is definitely having a joyous time teasing Mike about this from the expression he’s holding, a smirk as clear as day painted on his features.
“I get it, alright? Now stop, it’s embarrassing enough as is,” Mike pouts, before reducing into giggles that Will mimics, because the both of them are honestly ridiculous.
But Mike doesn’t really mind, not when Will has allowed him to stare with how appetizingly he presents himself.
———
The Wheeler’s doorbell rings — once, twice — and Mike scrambles out of the living room to swing the door open.
“Hey,” he pants, and maybe he should take up Lucas’ advice to start working out because as the days go by, his stamina only worsens. It’s inconvenient — especially when it comes to matters such as letting in the sight of Will Byers carrying several plastic bags in his arms and smiling mischievously.
“Hey. Did you run a full marathon to get here or…?” The crisp afternoon air carries a summer breeze that brushes against Will’s recycled band tee that probably used to be Jonathan’s property, and blue denim jeans sag over his ankles. Sunlight rays always seem to have the tendency to hit Will’s face at the perfect angle, a beam highlighting the dusted freckles that Mike pokes at and counts, to which he usually loses that same count.
Maybe there is another reason why he’s out of breath.
“Shut up,” Mike rolls his eyes, opening the door wider to leave enough room for Will to step inside as he kicks off his Saucony sneakers.
“You ready?” Will tilts his head inquisitively as Mike refixes the shoes against the rack.
Dustin’s seventeenth birthday was fast approaching which led everyone to have the grand idea of surprising him with what could quite possibly be the most terrible birthday party ever organized.
Not to say that they didn’t have a plan — more so that the assigned roles weren’t the most conventional depending on the person. Lucas and Max were supposed to be the ones initiating the surprise (as if that well last time when they did a similar surprise after Dustin’s return to Hawkins which ended in pepper spray to someone’s face), El decorated the space, which was the infamous Wheeler basement, while Mike and Will baked the lucky cake.
Which, might not be so lucky once they see the finished product since neither of them are particularly good cooks, let alone bakers.
The only real reason they have for this tragedy in the making is that they collectively thought the idea of expanding their expertise would be helpful for their college years.
No, you don’t have to tell him — he already knows this is a terrible idea.
However, he gets to spend some alone time with Will, and that triumphs the future misendeavours that could possibly give the birthday boy liver poisoning. Though, he finds it humorous at how excited the other had gotten at the idea, considering that he is the worst cook that Mike knows. The recalling of multiple stacks of burnt pancakes still haunts his lack of appetite.
“Let’s completely fuck this cake up,” Mike nods, getting up from the ground as Will grins.
Will hops to the kitchen like a rabbit, and he can’t stop bouncing in place once he puts down their goods onto the countertop. Mike kinda wishes that Will could be the dessert they would devour, sweet and lemony, but if he’s completely honest — the sharing is caring policy cannot be followed when it comes to Will, not with Mike’s tendencies to hoard things he loves.
“You seem overeager,” He says, smiling as he takes the ingredients out of their bags, and Will with jittery hands assists.
“Sorry, I’m just really happy right now,” Will knocks their shoulders together affectionately.
Mike’s curiosity perks up, “Any particular reason for why?”
For some reason, Will decides to get shy, which Mike isn’t going to complain about since it’s cute, but it’s not that embarrassing is it? He covers the back of the other’s hand, staring at their hand sizes as he wraps his fingers around Will’s currently occupied hand that’s holding the flour bag. Just barely out of his peripheral vision, the tips of Will’s ears turn pink, and Mike will always marvel how he encompasses the entirety of the other’s backhand as he gently caresses the calluses on his fingers that he’s gained from the odd way he hold his paintbrush when he illustrates mystical pieces, otherworldly yet homely.
Will answers, eyes locked on how Mike is tracing circles on his palm, “Dustin’s birthday is coming up and we get to bake his cake, which, we probably shouldn’t be trusted with,” his attention is directed on Mike’s eyes now, so very warm, “— and we finally have some alone time together.”
“You honestly have no idea how grateful I am that my parents are out and I don’t have to babysit Holly,” Mike sighs, limbs loosened in relief. Aside from that, they’ve been spending the majority of their freetime with their friends.
Don’t get him wrong, the Party holds a special place in Mike’s heart, but Will holds a very special place, so he thinks he understands what Will’s trying to convey at the prospect of them finally just being together. He’s been aching for the same want of spending one-on-one time with Will for a while, freely able to admire the beauty that is the boy in front of him, hold him without the fear of letting go because of judgemental onlookers.
And maybe, at last, Mike will be able to eat him — whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. Just because he’s thought about it, doesn’t mean he’s figured out the logistics.
Will snickers at the motion, “You are so dramatic sometimes. And I know you miss Nancy.”
“Well that’s currently untrue because I couldn’t be happier that she’s off to college since I’m actually able to spend time with you without the next person in this house interrupting,” Mike raises his head upwards, pointedly looking away from Will’s direction for full effect of playing denial, which, he may have already had prior experience with during his prepubescent teenage years.
“Still proving my other point,” Will hides the smile he gives when Mike displays flabbergast on his features, and oh, he really just wants to bite Will right now with the pink his skin is wearing.
However, they should probably start the baking process because that shit will take all afternoon and leave no leftovers if they continue the pace they are at guaranteed.
Will appears to be on the same page as he aligns their groceries into rows, “Alright no more distractions, let's separate the ingredients now. Can you get the recipe book for me?”
Jokes on him, Mike would do anything asked of him from this boy. So yes, he does fetch the book, sliding it across to Will as he brings a finger to his mouth, tongue peeking out briefly for a lick before he starts to flit through the pages. Will gives a hard poke on the paper when he lands on their recipe and his mouth curls up in satisfaction. It’s attractive, Mike thinks, completely unbiased.
Not the thing to be focusing on right now though. He leans over Will, reading the heading Grandma’s Chocolate Cake, since Dustin seems to have this unresolved vendetta towards vanilla for being too bland of a flavor. He should be grateful for the fact he’s even receiving a cake in the first place after this, because Mike is confident a catastrophe is about to be orchestrated in his kitchen and served.
Will runs along the list of ingredients, “I think I’ve separated them into the wet and dry ingredients,” he turns his head to the side to look at Mike, “Could you get whatever kitchen utensils you have?”
“Course,” Mike replies before scurrying off to his drawers, pulling the and grabbing whatever utensils looked like they could assist with the task at hand. He also grabs some bowls for good measure, silently counting the numbers he has to work and gauges their sizes.
When he places them on the island, Will gives a smile, bright, “Thanks.”
Mike basks in the heat that he receives from the sight, “No problem. You need anything else?”
The other scans the countertop, “I think we’re set for now.”
Mike returns back to his side, and they don’t need to say a word to each other when they start to work, wordless understanding between the two. Of course, there is the occasional ask for someone to hand over something, but it’s calm as they both take their glances towards the recipe directions. It all feels so nice, and Mike can’t help but think of how he’d like to spend his life with Will, doing mundane things like quietly sitting on their couch together reading separate novels, spending their meals three times a day with each other, and baking in a shared apartment where the decor is personable to one another.
Domestic. He thinks he’d enjoy living a domestic life with Will. Scratch that, he just wants to be with Will in any way he would allow which Mike is hoping includes forever.
And he’s young, definitely doesn’t have the greatest common sense known to man, and certainly doesn’t know what he wants to do in the future, but if that future comes with the package deal of Will Byers, Mike can’t find himself to mind too much.
He loves Will. God, he loves Will, and now the words are lodging in his throat, begging to be spoken in the air as he’s whisking the melted chocolate.
Mike, of course, gives in, “I love you.”
The out of the blue yet familiar statement makes Will’s eyes widen and reddening as he whips his head towards Mike. His lips are pursed and parted open in shock, and Mike can only grin as he puts down the bowl he’s holding. He wants to devour him, take Will’s body heat for his own, make him a part of himself.
Physically bound to each other for an eternity is Mike’s real wish underneath the desire. And he’s not that surprised to hear it, because it’s always been like that hasn’t it? For Will to be one with him, with no possible way of losing one another.
The dough beneath Will’s palms sticks as he retracts his hands to place them flat down beside it, biting his bottom lip with a hint of those awfully cute bunny teeth showing, “I – I love you too?”
Mike just giggles, pouring flour onto the dough so Will doesn’t have to deal with the adherence on his beautiful hands, and an idea pops into his head that’s definitely going to ruin the sentimental mood he’s established. Will just looks confused as they maintain eye contact as a devious grin stretches the schemer’s face, and Mike digs his hand into the bag before throwing a handful at the other’s clothes, white powder sticking to his shirt.
A second passes by as Will looks down before he jerks his head back up, pissed, “Oh, you are not getting away with this.”
He dives in for his own handful of flour and tosses it onto Mike's face, and oh it’s on now, as they both just chuck flour, laughing freely as the condition of the kitchen progressively worsens from the white coating the furniture and appliances.
Will’s shielding his face with his forearms before going back in on the attack to which Mike egregiously fails to dodge as he spits out the powder in his mouth, "Ack, that tastes disgusting.”
A powdered hand covers Will’s mouth as he chuckles, “You deserved that.”
He can only glare half-heartedly in return and goes back for more ammo but Will grips the bag at the same time he does, and they both tug at the thing until it inevitably rips open, spilling onto the tile floor which Mike is going to have to painstakingly clean up. But that’s not on his mind as he immediately sinks to the floor, scooping and dumping it into Will’s brown hair that’s in the awkward stages of growing out as the other tries to wack his arms away.
They can’t stop laughing, and Mike is pretty sure that this is the hottest he’s been in a while, body warm from their giggling and physical exertion. He places his hands on Will’s face with struggle until the shorter realizes that he’s not shoving more flour on his face and just places his own hands over Mike’s. The skin that Will has is soft, Mike thinks as he smudges the powder when he strokes his thumb on the other’s cheek, and Will just looks up at him with his eyes dilating.
Endearment is ever present when he smiles, and Mike is probably reflecting the same amount as he smiles back.
“Hi,” Their faces are inches apart and Will’s eyes crinkle from laughter, and Mike feels the corners of his mouth quirk up.
“Hi,” Will echos, and he’s pressing his lips together in his best attempt to stifle his chortles.
Mike leans down to press his forehead to Will’s, and Will nuzzles against him, bumping their noses together, and they stay connected, breathing the other in. He can’t get enough of this; Will really is like a drug at this point, and poor Mike is addicted in more ways than one. His gaze drifts down, towards those pink lips, and God, he really wants to kiss him right now.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, a bit giddy.
“Yeah,” Will sounds breathless, as if he’s breathing out the word instead of outright speaking.
So Mike kisses him. Because — well — he can.
And Will kisses back, pressing insistently against him as he grabs bony shoulders before they appear at the base of Mike’s neck, slowly bunching up curls as he fists his hair. It’s wonderful, and Mike lets one his own hands stray to Will’s waist as the other rests on his neck, pulling them together so they slot against each other, perfectly fitting puzzle pieces completing a picture. Only a beat passes when they separate for air, before both greedily drink the other in once again.
Mike lightly squeezes Will’s waist, leaving the other panting open-mouthed to which Mike takes the opportunity to plunge his tongue in, exploring the well-known cavern as a small whine is let out and the grip on his hair tightens. He pushes Will against the counter, the hand on his waist moving to resting on the edge as he pulls away and oh my God, Will is so disheveled from their flour fight and making out.
His hair is mussed up with flecks of white contrasting the darker brown, eyes slightly hazy with those absolutely delicious lips of his kiss-swollen, and he’s so fucking red.
Affection is bursting in his body as he trembles, and Mike just takes a moment to admire the sight in front of him. He thinks about how their twelve years of history together culminated just for the purity of their love, and how he would gladly face another supernatural threat if it means keeping Will here, in his kitchen which is a total fucking mess. They deserve this — he deserves this, and Will deserves this after all of the bullshit he had to endure from Mike’s denial and fear of change for their relationship.
Mike adores this boy, he really does, and he can’t get enough of the glorious taste of canned frosting and chocolate from their recipe as he surges back in, and he’s so hungry.
The noises that Will makes aren’t helping his case as he props himself onto the countertop, and has Mike tilting his head upwards as the hand on the edge spreads Will’s legs apart so he can stand between the space. Will just huffs before prying Mike’s mouth open, and Mike recedes his lead to Will with a groan, as the other takes the time to leave electricity coursing through his veins. It’s bubbling, deep in his stomach with such an overpowering heat that Mike feels spreading across his bones, burning.
But then the sound of a bowl clanging against the island brings Mike’s awareness back to him. They are supposed to be baking a cake and not making out because Dustin’s birthday isn’t a birthday if there is no cake to stick candles in and blow a wish.
Shit — Mike regretfully pulls away, and Will whines again, chasing after him and Mike has to bow his head down, shutting his eyes forcefully as to steady his breathing.
“The bowl, Will. Did you spill anything?” Will blinks, a few couple times before he’s back to his usual level of alert that he's gained from a week spent in the Upside Down. His head moves around wildly, stopping once he’s landed his sights on the chocolate bowl, spilled.
"Fuck," he curses before he pushes Mike to tell him to get out of his space, and Mike obliges, watching as Will quickly props the bowl up so that their mixture isn’t covering the counter in melted cocoa.
Mike merely laughs, not very apologetic, “It’s not that big of a deal; I mean, not all of it spilled on the counter.”
Will turns around, bummed, “This whole kitchen is going to be so annoying to clean up.”
Mike presses his nose against the other’s chest, and Will wraps his arms around him, “Don’t complain about the alone time we have now, Byers.”
“I’m not. I’m more worried about the fact that Mrs. Wheeler might have the unfortunate opportunity of walking into her kitchen completely covered in flour,” he rubs his fingers on Mike’s arm, moving in the motion of up and down slowly and treasuring.
Right, he also has that to worry about. Future Mike might be dumped into a lot of shit if Present Mike doesn’t get his act together.
“Goddamnit,” Mike is going to be scrubbing like his life depends on it.
“We can try to clean up once I put the dough in the fridge to set?” Will offers like an actual angel. There’s a giant possibility that he is grace incarnated who was always meant to outshine Mike’s clumsiness and disorganization.
He likes how complimentary that makes the two.
Mike nods eagerly in response, and dislodges himself from Will’s embrace so he can wrap the dough up and dig into his fridge for a place to room in. On the other hand, he heads to rummage through his cabinets for anything that can possibly help with tidying up. Mike spares a glance at Will to see his jeans have flour padded on from when he lifted himself onto the countertop and Mike can’t hide the snort he gives the sight.
Will closes the fridge door and faces Mike, clueless, “What?”
“Sorry, you just have flour sticking to your butt,” now the giggles that Mike is letting out increase in volume as Will just stares at him, unimpressed at his childish humor.
“You are so immature,” Will grumbles as tries to wipe off the powder on his jeans.
“You are the one who jumped onto the counter to get a different angle to kiss me at,” Mike revels in the pink flush that overtakes Will’s olive skin, and he smiles playfully because it’s just slightly amusing to see Will get embarrassed over the things they do.
“Don’t start kissing me while we are literally creating a birthday surprise for Dustin then,” Will retorts.
“Hey! You didn’t say no when I asked,” he pauses his search for rags to give Will a look of indignation to which Will gives his own snort at, “— and don’t lie, I know you enjoyed it. A good ol’ break doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Will shrugs, as if the making out wasn’t an enjoyable experience, “That was more like a distraction.”
“That you took the bait for,” Mike pulls out his white towels, allowing them to rest on the counter as he crosses his arms at Will, “I didn’t make you kiss me y’know.”
“No, but you did throw flour at me of your own accord,” and well, maybe Will has him there. Admittedly, that was his fault and entirely of his own conscious mind, but he has to admit it was a bit funny.
“Just get a rag,” Mike changes topic, which has Will giggling victoriously as he walks over to pick one up from beside Mike.
He has half a mind to just press pecks against Will’s face, showering him in all of his affection instead of scrubbing his kitchen counters spotless. But the threat of an old-fashioned scolding from his mom has him wiping down all the surfaces he can reach. Though, Mike has never been a person with self-restraint, let alone patience.
So while Will is wiping down the sink basin edge, Mike just admires the sun-kissed appearance that he bathes in, painting him as a holy figure he’s sure the scriptures worship in their words, and Mike would be completely willing to write slam poetry about this boy. The gleam of green is vibrant within the hazel, a content smile rests on Will’s face, and he’s illuminated. He’s the epitome of the sun, he is sunlight, bright and beaming, and Mike doesn’t care if he burns his wings flying too close.
His towel is left lonesome as he takes a standing behind Will, wrapping his arms around his middle and inhales the smell of citrus and pinewood, and Will just laughs as Mike presses his face farther into the crook of his neck.
“Do you need something Mike?” Will rests his freehand on top of Mike’s clasped ones, craning his head to see him.
Mike gives some intelligible muffled noise, and he doesn’t really want to talk right now. Will nudges him with his elbow against the other’s side, and he spins around in Mike’s embrace to which Mike immediately buries himself into the warmth that the junction between his neck and shoulder meet holds.
“You’re warm,” it comes out slurred, and Mike thinks it’s perfectly plausible for him to be drunk of the heat Will emanates.
Will thankfully doesn’t make a comment on how it’s summer and chasing after his warmth doesn’t make any sense when he can step outside in the heatstroke inducing weather, and instead says, “Okay Mike.”
They stay like that for a moment. It’s pleasant.
And shit, Mike really wants to bite Will.
He knows that this hurdle has been passed and after being best friends for so long that they have practically spilled all of their secrets to each other, but embarrassment still leaks into Mike’s cheeks when he asks, “Can I bite you?”
When he takes a peek at Will’s face, the other’s cheeks seem to be tinted the same shade as his. A little nervous too, when he answers, “Yeah. Yeah sure.”
Mike smiles way too fucking wide at the permission granted, and he nips Will’s throat like he’s been longing to for a pitiable amount, and the accidental shakes that run through Will’s body as he tries not to laugh urge him further to place more against his skin.
Will only continues to worsen as he actively begins to tremble with the occasional hiccup, leading him to slam a hand over his mouth. He’s definitely aware of what Mike is trying to do now, biting all of his ticklish spots to make him burst those joyous sounds that Mike prays to hear at least once a day. Unluckily for him, Mike is stubborn.
Since there technically aren’t any defined rules to the game they’re playing now, Mike uses his hands to attack Will’s sides, and Will is helpless against to defend himself as he clamps his arms down, squishing Mike’s fingers.
“That’s so cheating!” and Will is laughing, heartfilled and radiant.
Mike is awed, God, he is constantly awed by him. In everything he does — artistic endeavors, selfless nature, and that natural love he seems to offer to him of all people — it just leaves Mike wonderstruck.
“There aren’t any rules Byers!” Mike continues his onslaught, and Will is so beautiful.
“Cheater, cheater, cheater!" Will squirms, trying to wrestle out of Mike’s hold in hopes of having breathing room, but he can’t get enough strength to even remove Mike’s bony hands as he’s gasping for air.
Mike finally spares sympathy when Will starts to tap out, and Mike just devours the sight of red in the other’s face with his eyes, and gives him a moment to breathe. This is his, all his.
“My ribs hurt like hell," Will manages to wring out through his gasping breaths, and Mike can only laugh.
“You’re so ticklish,” he pokes Will’s ribcage teasingly, and gets a slap in return.
Will just pouts, all adorable, "Stop, no more.”
“Okay,” Mike gives up easily, to which he’s met with skepticism. It was the right assumption to make as Mike begins to pepper kisses all over Will’s face — his eyelids that fluttered shut, the bump on his nose bridge, the moles littered across. Will sighs as Mike proceeds to be the most overbearing romantic the world had the displeasure creating.
Between each kiss, he sprinkles in compliments and loving words that Will rolls his eyes at with a sickening fondness.
“You’re so beautiful —"
"My pretty boy—”
“All mine, you’re it for me—”
A tiny obnoxious lit is layered underneath the phrases, and Will just chuckles, “You are so stupid, oh my God.”
Mike chortles as he presses a kiss against Will’s jaw with a slight linger before he pulls away to stare into Will’s eyes, sparkling with happiness, “Well, when you signed up to be my boyfriend, there was a ‘no returns’ policy – didn’t you see it?”
“No, I didn’t,” Will’s fingers press against Mike’s, and he tangles the two of them together into a hold, “I might have been a bit stupid on that front.”
“Well, if you’re stupid, and I’m stupid, we might as well be stupid together,” Mike squeezes their intertwined hands, and Will laughs, airy and so warm.
“Stupid together,” and he’s grinning, wide.
Mike wouldn’t have it any other way.