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"Wheeler," Steve greets, glancing up from the simmering pot in front of him. Mike carefully inspects the bolognese sauce rather than looking at the man.
"Steve," he says. He tries to figure out the best way to ask, and then blurts, "Eddie says you and him are ... like, together. Dating. Or whatever."
"Or whatever," Steve echoes, sounding amused. "Does he, now? You here to confirm it? Yeah, we're together, or dating, or whatever."
"Right."
There's an incredibly awkward silence. Or, well, it's incredibly awkward for Mike. Steve seems to have no such issues, going back to humming and stirring dinner. The older man eventually takes pity on him, though, turning back with a raised eyebrow.
"Was there something else you wanted to ask, Wheeler?" Mike swallows, nodding.
"I, um ..." he pauses, fiddling anxiously with his hands. He's not even sure why he's feeling so nervous. Except, he is. He knows where the bubbling pit of anxiety is coming from. It's the same as when he thinks about spending time alone with Will. The nausea brought on by his confusing feelings about his friend, and the well of disgust left over from years of boys shouldn’t like other boys from every direction. It all whirls together, an ocean in the midst of a terrible storm, threatening to to overwhelm the dinky rowboat keeping him afloat. A great wave of you’re just proving their insults right rears above him, frozen for a moment before it crashes down towards him and—
"Hey, take your time," Steve tells him, snapping Mike out of his thoughts. He shakes his head to dislodge Will and self-hatred from the forefront of his mind. He takes a shuddering breath. Steve’s careful smile is the spinning bulb of a lighthouse, bright against the stormy skies of his head.
"It's ... you ..." God, he's really messing this up. "You dated Nancy," he finally manages to get out. "And now you're ... with Eddie. You liked a girl, but Eddie's a guy."
"That's right," Steve says, kindly. Mike tends to refuse to see what his friends see in Steve through sheer force of will, but he can't ignore the soft look of understanding on the man's face. Steve knows where this conversation is going. He knows and he's letting Mike go at his own pace. Mike is usually an asshole to him, but Steve still cares. Still puts Mike's comfort above anything else. Even though he's never given him a reason to. Realising it almost makes Mike tear up. He clears his throat.
"Eddie called it ... bisexual?" he says in a small voice. Steve snorts good-naturedly.
"Yeah; specifically being in love with your sister and then Eddie Munson, that's bisexuality." Mike flushes, hitting him lightly on the arm. But he feels some of the tension wound through him dissipate, and he manages to return Steve's smile with a smaller but still genuine one if his own. "I like guys and girls, yeah. And that means I'm bisexual."
"And that's ... okay?" Mike barely gets the question out past the lump in his throat. But the expression on Steve's face has morphed back into that soft understanding, and his hand settles gently on Mike's shoulder.
"It's okay," Steve says. And Mike really does start crying. It's stupid to think someone who calls himself 'bisexual', who's dating another man, would say it isn't okay, but somehow the verbal confirmation is what Mike needed. It's okay. He's okay. "There's nothing wrong with you," Steve says, because he knows. He presses Mike's face into his chest, and doesn't seem to care about the wet patch his tears leave.
“I’m okay,” Mike sobs. “I’m okay.”
Steve keeps murmuring soft validation against Mike’s hair until his sobs begin to die down. The older man lifts his hands to rest either side of Mike’s face, gently pulling him away to study him carefully.
“Your shirt’s really wet,” Mike says apologetically, voice scratchy.
“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for coming to me about this, Mike. Not a good feeling to just sit and stew in those thoughts.”
“Thanks for being—” Mike shakes his head, correcting his words. “Thanks for everything, Steve. I don’t— I don’t say that enough. To you. Thanks.”
“You don’t have to say it, I just know.” Steve grins, a false bravado in his tone that Mike thinks he must have picked up from Eddie. “But it’s nice to hear anyway.”
“Ugh, your ego is, like, massive. You should deal with that,” Mike plays along. He laughs along with Steve, and realises the feelings that brought on his tears only a few minutes ago have already been quashed for the time being.
Steve opens his mouth to respond, an imperious tilt to his mouth, when the oven timer goes off. They blink at each other in a moment of shared incomprehension at the foreign trill evading their moment. Steve snorts.
“Dinner’s about to burn.”
Mike gasps, and shoves Steve away from him. “Hurry the fuck up and get it then, idiot!”
Steve laughs, the genuine infectious sort that has Mike grinning behind his hand so that he can keep pretending to be mad at Steve for forgetting the food.
Mike’s friends are loud. He can already hear their footsteps — summoned by the alarm that usually means food — as they stomp through the house together, and Dustin and Lucas’ loud argument. Steve turns to look at him, smile softer.
“Why don’t you duck into the bathroom real quick and clean up,” he suggests. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone eat your food.”
Mike remembers that he’s just been crying, and he must look the part too. He wipes a sleeve across his face and nods. “Yeah, okay.” He turns away, and then stops. Then turns back to him and wraps the surprised man in another hug. “We’re really lucky to have you, Steve.”
“You’re gonna make me cry.” The remark is made teasingly, but Mike can hear the soft note to it. “Man, I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one in this family.”
Mike grins, hiding it in Steve’s shoulder, and then steps back again. “Fine, I’ll take it back then. I don’t wanna make Mom cry.” He turns, dodging the towel Steve flicks in his direction and scurrying off towards the bathroom.
“Little shit, no take-backs!” Steve yells after him.