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“Will. Will!” He calls, glancing up at the ceiling as if that’ll help hear Will’s voice better. It renders pointless, though. Nothing. “Babe, are you up?”
It’s a dumb question; Mike is aware. Will likes to sleep in. Still, he can’t help but try.
Mike sighs without exhaustion and lays the frying pan back onto the stove, holding it close to the burner. He’s been awake for all of ten minutes or so and he’s already antsy in the quietness of day. It’s nice. It’s serene. It’s tranquil, that much is true. But it’s lonely.
Mike never liked being alone. He hadn’t realized it until he was, all those years ago. It still feels like a blur that, yet, took forever to pass. It was night after night, sitting in the old blanket fort with the walkie talkie. It was night after night, wondering if Lucas and Dustin and Will finally got over their obsession with Max. It was night after night, realizing that they didn’t. It was night after night, wanting to be with someone. It was night after night, wishing he wasn’t so… codependent.
He hates that word. He hates that word with a passion because he knows that it’s true.
But it isn’t so bad, Will had encouraged through a familiar smile. His wisdom and tenderness baffled Mike, sometimes. It isn’t so bad because people ultimately just… want to love you.
It took all of three entire grueling years to realize that maybe his codependency wasn’t the problem but his sheer stupidity in not figuring out the truth sooner.
Mike peers down at the pan, contemplating if he started cooking too early, reflecting on the fact that he’s here. Living here. With Will. It still seems impossible to him, sometimes, but it’s real. Mike knows it’s real when he hears Will’s soft, “morning,” every day. He knows it’s real when Will squeezes his hand before he leaves for work. He knows it’s real when Will blushes because Mike demands he come back and exchange a proper kiss before leaving. Mike knows it’s all real because Will has always, steadfastly, unchangingly been his unwitting, caring, gentle self.
And Will is patient. Will’s been so patient for so, so long. He’d take the weight of the world for anyone, and he proved that when he overcame Vecna many an adventure ago. After all that, though, Mike saw an intimate patience to Will that he never thought possible. And now that it is, it feels like second nature to witness. Will is patient, still, but for Mike, especially. He’ll get the keys and wait by the door while Mike scrambles to put on his clothes. He’ll request a thousand times for Mike to reach something on the top shelf and ask with no extra heat despite his every right to since Mike forgets to get it the first time. He’ll ask Mike how his day was and listen to him rant on and on with his elbows propped up on the table.
He’ll even bear Mike’s constant, unfounded worrying.
“Will!”
To be fair, it is half past noon, Mike justifies.
Mike sets the pan down for real, this time, wipes his hands on his apron - it’s a housewarming piece that El made for them that Mike actually hates getting dirty, for the most part, but for this concern he’ll make an exception - and then he pads down the hallway.
“Will? Are you-” He pauses at the door, left ajar since Mike got up. Will hasn’t moved at all. Mike lays his head against the doorway. “Will,” he says quietly.
Will’s turned away from him, but Mike can at least see him. His hair’s an adorable mess, he’s wearing one of Mike’s old shirts, and he’s tucked under the covers peacefully. As much as Mike doesn’t want to disturb him, he’s never this unresponsive, so Mike figures he should check in.
Mike quietly moves to the side of the bed, sitting beside Will and gingerly placing a hand over his shoulder. “Hey.”
Will stirs surprisingly easily and rolls over with a gentle groan. Mike scoots forward, his knee barely nudging Will’s side. And now being able to see his face, Mike can’t help but smile.
“Good morning.”
Will looks to be a bit of a mess more than usual, Mike suddenly notices. His nose and cheeks are red, and his hand is warm. Mike’s smile fades. “Hey, are you okay?”
Will opens his eyes in a daze. “Huh?”
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Something instinctual possesses Mike in a matter of seconds. He feels Will’s forehead. Mike’s mouth falls open, guilt flooding his heart. “Will, you’re burning.”
“What?” He mumbles. “No I’m… not.”
“Are you hurt? Does anything hurt?”
Will shakes his head.
Will has always claimed to have high pain tolerance. But high pain tolerance, his ass. Okay, maybe it’s true, but it doesn’t matter. Mike cannot allow Will to feel any sort of pain or discomfort. At all.
Will tries to sit up, and Mike all but pushes him back down.
“No. Stay here. I’ll get you the Tylenol, and then promise me you’ll eat.”
He rubs his eyes. “But I’m not hungry.”
“One bite,” Mike urges. “Please.”
They both know that Will may have high pain tolerance, but they also both know that his stomach and medicine do not like to cooperate. This fact irks Mike to no end because he knows that the stupid vines and all their destroying sentience that infected him are to blame. At least they’re gone now, and at least the chance of that being the problem right now is low since Will is warm and not cold, but those vines have never left Mike’s mind. Will assured him it’s okay, but it isn’t okay. It isn’t fair. Will doesn’t deserve this.
Mike snaps out of it when Will squeezes his hand.
Will’s eyes glimmer sincerely in the light. “I’ll try,” he agrees softly.
Mike’s grateful heart melts all over again, and he kisses his forehead before scrambling out of bed.
So he did have reason to worry, this time. Mike smiles to himself, accomplished. He quickly lets go of the pride, however, concern easily taking its place. Will hasn’t gotten sick in a while, and they were on a healthy streak for a while there. What could it be this time? Could it be worse than anything they’ve ever faced? It can’t be; it can’t be- but-
Mike shakes his head.
No. It can’t be. Mike’s sure. It can’t be, because the curse is gone for good. Mike can’t help but worry, though, every single time Will gets sick. What is there to love about seeing your lover sick? The obvious hurt? The weak breath? The tired eyes? The fear of everything coming crashing down again in some sick nightmare? Mike sighs. The last component has never happened, at least. And at the very least, Mike has to admit, he loves taking care of Will. Who wouldn’t love taking care of Will?
Mike grabs the Tylenol from the bathroom cupboard and heads back to the bedroom, and he’s caught off guard when they meet at the threshold.
“Hey, hey, hey, no, stay in bed. You’re sick.”
Will shakes his head meekly. “I want to walk around a little.”
“Oh.” Mike swallows, thinking. “Headache?”
He nods. Mike looks at his lips - a very bad habit that loves to strike at seemingly the most inappropriate of times - but he resists because Will’s obviously running a fever.
“Well, then, okay. Wait. Water. I’ll get you some water.”
“I can do it,” he mumbles tiredly.
“No!”
Mike beats him to the fridge, heart aching at the way Will moves so sluggishly, and subsequently panics as Will notices the egg frying.
“Wait, don’t touch that; here.”
Will looks him up and down gratefully, a smile creeping onto his lips. Mike would do anything to stop himself from embarrassingly mirroring Will’s smile every single time he does, but alas, Mike can’t do a thing.
“You could have burned the house down again,” Will says, gravelly into the glass as he turns down the heat of the stove.
Mike takes a deep breath, again, without any exhaustion. “I did not burn the house down that time.”
He shrugs, combatant. “You started a fire.”
“You’re a… fire,” Mike says lamely, and it makes Will giggle.
And despite the obvious layer of malaise over his eyes, Will looks happy, and that’s enough to light up Mike’s entire soul. So maybe Will is a fire, he guffaws internally. Maybe he’s the kind of fire that warms and protects and guides and assures. Mike takes the cup from his hands and lays it on the countertop. Will huffs.
“I’m not useless, y’know.”
Mike’s face plummets. “Useless? Did- did I make you feel useless, Will- I-? I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he chuckles, and Mike nearly combusts at the sound, “like-“
“You’re not useless, y’know. You never were. And you never will be.”
“-useless weight because I’m sick,” he tries, giggling. “I don’t want to just… do nothing all day. Let me help you.”
Mike turns back to the stove and gives his lover precisely nothing to do and zero leeway to help. “No.”
Usually, he’d happily accept the help since Will actually knows what the hell he’s doing in the kitchen more than half the time. But not today. Mike wouldn’t dare. Not when it’s just a simple, late breakfast. And not when Will’s so clearly drained by whatever’s got him right now. Still, he wonders what Will’s going to do to press back like he always does-
Mike nearly flinches as warm arms wrap around his waist.
Oh, okay. So he’s literally gonna press against his back. Okay. Jesus.
Mike should have gotten used to this feeling, the warmness in his chest and the swirling brightness on his face, but he hasn’t. He hasn’t, forever longing codependency in the shape of a Will-sized heart mocks him. Like, seriously, it’s been a year. He should be used to this. Then again, Mike usually likes to hug Will like this, not the other way around. So perhaps this is special. Perhaps this is new. Perhaps Will is precious.
A profoundly large grin rests on Mike’s jaw, unfettered affection dancing across souls as Will noticeably settles against him.
“Mike,” Will’s voice brushes his ear.
“Y-yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
Mike laughs in disbelief because he should be asking Will if he’s okay. “Yeah. Yeah, Will, I’m fine.”
“You need to relax,” he mumbles into his shoulder.
He scoffs, placing a hand over Will’s. “What are you talking about? I am relaxed.”
“Your shoulders are tense.”
“That’s not true.”
“Are you… uncomfortable? Because I’ll stop-“
“No,” Mike blurts out, squeezing his hand. “I’m not,” his voice softens automatically, “I’m not.”
Will gives him the most tired but adorable grin, then lays his head back down on his shoulder. “So… I can stay?”
Mike lets out a laugh through his nose, shifting his hand to the side of his lover’s head, brushing through impossibly soft chestnut hair and imbibing in the full feeling.
Can he stay. Can he stay? Mike confirmed this the moment they moved in together; what a dumb question.
“Y’know what, I remembered,” he says, trying but knowingly failing to hide the endearment in his voice, “you should be in bed.”
Will sighs, thinking up his next comeback like he always smartly does. He’s so annoying, Mike lies to himself. Annoyingly cute, he corrects. “Weren’t you calling for me to get up, earlier?”
“That was before I knew you were ill.”
“So it turns out I am,” he concedes. “Which means you’re totally gonna stay calm if I go back to bed without you.”
Mike can hear Will smirking into his shoulder from a mile away. Mike rolls his eyes fondly. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’m not relaxed.”
Mike turns the stove off with a narrow click, loud as usual but breaking nothing in the air between them. They slowly turn to each other. Their gazes meet.
Will has smiled a lot over the past few years, more than Mike would ever beautifully yet painfully love to notice. And the words taste like gall worse than any sickness at even the thought, but Will has been so used to crying for so much of his life. Mike has seen it. Caused it. Oh, how that tears him clean apart, but he’s caused it. He knows he has. He’s seen Will’s heart break before his eyes all those rainy days ago.
He isn’t perfect. Neither of them are, although, Will is as close as it gets. But anyway- Mike is trying. He’s trying to never hurt that heart he knows and adores all too much, ever again.
Without looking away, Will takes the Tylenol off the counter. Like a hawk, Mike clasps his hand around it, too.
Despite everything that his high school self would do and not do, reflect and deflect, ignore and excruciate, his eyes are set on Will for the rest of his life, now. And so he’s working on himself, as extreme as the both of them will handle it. Mike wants to see tears of joy, cries of laughter, sobs of gleefulness. And he’ll take it one day at a time, one act at a time, one word at a time.
Will blushes warmly under ambient noontime sun, peering down at their connected hands and then back up.
Will is smiling.
Will is happy.
Will is so, so lovely, no matter how sick he looks or obviously feels.
Even if he didn’t know it at the time, Mike has always believed that, ever since he turned 13. Ever since they both did. Ever since he knocked on Will’s bedroom door and saw the fear in his eyes and Mike’s name on his lips. Ever since he affably called Will a super spy and never let him be afraid of himself. Ever since he shyly waved hello, it’s me, your friend, in the midst of all of their doubt in the dreaded day after admission in the Hawkins lab.
It sounds stupid. It sounds so stupid because Will was hurting all that time, but something in the hurt made Mike realize that love had to hurt sometimes, and that was okay. That was… more than okay, actually. It was necessary. It was necessary for their love to grow stronger.
And by the end of it, the hurt didn’t have to linger so much.
“So… yeah. You’re right.” Mike’s cheeks burn from the thought of the man he loves, right in front of him. “Maybe I’m worried about you.”
Impossibly, Will beams. Mike is nearly thrown off guard by his expression, but he doesn’t relent. Their eyes lock, and both their stubborn grasps hold the bottle tight, caught in the most stupid battle of strength of their entire lives.
Mike still can’t believe he’s standing here. That the both of them are standing here without a care in the world, alive. Surviving. Thriving, even. Mike is always thriving when he looks at Will.
And no matter how scared he got on the playground, no matter how much he stifled his voice in every moving car, no matter how much he plain suffered, all of that is gone, all of Will is thriving, too, when he looks back at Mike.
It almost doesn’t make sense. How could Mike ever deserve this? How could he ever deserve to feel this kind of love?
Because everyone deserves to be loved, Will simpered over his gun-wielding shoulder, half-dried blood running down his face in the haunting dark and cold of the Upside Down. Mike turned to him, unbeknownst to himself, completely smitten. He wasn’t even flayed; how could he have been so blind his own affection? To Will’s?
That’s… my friend. Mike.
His fingers give in, and he winces, still with an unfailing smirk, as Will finally steals the bottle.
To add insult to injury, Will quips, “tell me something I don’t know.”
Besotted codependency and all the guilt that comes with it jeers at him once again. Mike would put a burner to its head if he could. So what if he’s codependent? So what? he retorts. He has Will. Will has him. And they’re not alone in this world. They’re not. They have their friends. They have their families. They have life ahead of them and no more fear. Never again. Not even fear of a simple cold; Mike will make sure of it.
Will laughs nasally at Mike’s void reaction. Mike has never felt so lucky in his entire life.
“God, I want to kiss you,” he caves subconsciously.
Will lets him.
So Mike kisses him gently and clings to his sleeves of faded morning rest, imbibing in his every empty and fake fireback, melting into his mutual embrace, ignoring the entire Will’s-sick-and-likely-contagious-so-they-should-most-definitely-not-kiss situation they’re in.
The sun seems to brighten every second they’re connected. They barely part. Will stares. Mike breathes.
“I love you,” Mike whispers.
Will brings his hand up to his face bashfully, sniffling under something like a crimson storm despite the perfect daylight. Mike will never get used to embarrassing Will. Flustering him, to put it more kindly. Will hates being embarrassed, firsthand or secondhand, but he always claims to be fine when Mike causes it. Mike takes pride in that. Too much pride. He does it almost every day. Will has yet to stop him, though, for some reason. Maybe a tiny discrepancy like that just can’t be explained. Or maybe the cheesy answer is, reliantly, love.
Will slowly takes a pill, and Mike takes the opportunity to plate the eggs.
Faithfully, Mike glances at him. “Hey.”
Will does, too.
“Tell me when you start feeling better, alright?”
Will nods with a satisfied smile.
Mike barely tears his gaze away as he strides over to the fridge again, plate in hand, expertly removing the glass bottle on the second shelf that they both dedicate to one thing. Mike proudly wields the plate and newly acquired syrup, ready to spend the rest of the day with his lover. “Back to bed.”
Will sighs, voice a bit of an adorably flustered wreck on top of being weak - and obliges. “Okay.”
They amicably knock shoulders, side by side, the entire way back, barely stopping to fit through the threshold.
“Do you need a flat surface or something to put this on? I can get-“
“No, Mike, I’m fine,” he says through a sniffle.
“Are you sure?”
“Mike.”
“Because this is hot, y’know, and you could get hurt if it’s just… sitting there. Like, the blanket’s not gonna-“
“Michael.”
He stops. “Yeah?”
Will takes the plate from him, and their hands slide together. Mike looks at his lips. Will copies him. Before Mike knows it, he’s leaning in again, and-
“I need a fork.”
Mike pauses midair, exhales, and soon, they’re both giggling like idiots.
“You’re so dumb,” Mike utterly lies, his voice a cordial whisper.
“I love you, too.”
Will tucks a curl of Mike’s hair behind his ear, and Mike takes all but a century to go red and savor it before getting up and retrieving the utensil, sparing only a moment away from Will’s side.
Sometimes, Mike fully notices when he’s dependent. For the most part, though, he couldn’t care less. Not when he’s with Will. Never when he’s Will, caring for him. Over-caring for him. For the rest of their lives.
The sunlight warms over them, as they do each other, for the rest of the day.