Archive of Our Own

Will is awake for hours before he decides to move, watching as the early morning light just peeks through the tiny windows in the Wheeler basement. Only after Jonathan’s voice carries down to him from the kitchen does he gain the courage to make his way up the stairs, peering around the corner to find his brother, Nancy, and Mike getting themselves breakfast. 

“Hey, bud,” Jonathan says as Will emerges from the basement door. “You look like shit.”

Will rubs at his eyes and sends his best little-brother glare back. “Thank you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—I just meant, are you okay?”

He shrugs, joining him and Nancy at the kitchen table. “Just haven’t slept great.”

“Sofa too lumpy?” Nancy asks. “We could probably find you some extra blankets or pillows to put down. It won’t help that much, but still, better than nothing.”

“No, it’s not that. Thank you, though.” He doesn't elaborate, hoping they’ll let the conversation move on, but luck is not on his side. They look at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, and he sighs and continues. “Ever since I’ve been back in Hawkins, I’ve, y’know–” He rubs his hand along the back of his neck.  “It’s made sleeping…difficult.”

Over by the fridge, Mike catches his eye before turning away as quickly as possible.

Will swallows. 

“He’s active again?” Nancy says, leaning in with concern.

He shakes his head to reassure them. “Not like before. It’s nothing we need to worry about. Yet,” he adds, frowning. “It’s just like…trying to sleep with someone whispering right in your ear the entire time. I just can’t relax. It keeps waking me up.”

He can see Mike looking at him from the corner of his vision, but he keeps his gaze focused on Nancy and Jonathan. He hears the sounds of cabinets shutting, the fridge opening and closing again, before Mike takes his cereal bowl and leaves the room, heading back upstairs.

Nancy and Jonathan exchange a look, but otherwise don’t acknowledge it.

“Well, we probably have a fan somewhere we could set up for you,” she tries, sounding gentler than before.  “Maybe white noise would help?”

Will does not think white noise would help. “Maybe. Thanks.”

He gets up to make himself his own bowl of cereal, and pretends not to hear the hushed discussion the two of them begin to have. It doesn’t matter what they say. It won’t make Mike talk to him.

It’s a punishment, and he deserves it.

He should’ve known from the start that lying about the painting was an awful idea, ill-fated from the moment it crossed his mind. It wasn’t even particularly believable, a D&D painting coming from El, who had never played and never cared to, who wasn’t even in the painting. Who would never say anything as mind-blowingly stupid as you’re the heart. 

Even the thought of it causes a flood of shame, washing over him as his skin prickles hot. It didn’t matter that everything else he’d said had been technically true. He’d used El as a veil, and it was cowardly and pathetic, but just because they were his feelings doesn’t mean they weren’t El’s feelings, too.

A year of living with someone will tell you plenty about them, and he’d spent enough time with El to know how much she loves Mike. Every letter, every photo, every mention of him at the dinner table was enough to prove that, and he remembers each one like a knife in his side, a sharp reminder of everything he’d never have. Which he knows. He gets it.

It’s not like he was expecting anything from the painting. He wasn’t stupid enough think Mike would see it and drop everything, run into his arms like the cheesy romance movies Jonathan definitely doesn’t have in a box under his bed. He’d just wanted the friendship they used to have back, the trust in one another, the knowledge that they’d always have each other’s backs. He’d just wanted a call every now and then. He’d just wanted to know that they were still friends. 

He’d just wanted to be important to him again.

And somehow, in his stupid mind, he’d gotten the idea that maybe showing Mike how important he was to him would remind him that, once upon a time, Will was important to him, too. That they used to be best friends. That they still could be, if Mike would just give him something, anything, any hint of affection, and he would revel in it for weeks like a—

Like a loser. Like a pathetic creep of a boy who couldn’t get it through his head that his best friend didn’t want him like that, barely wanted him as a friend to begin with.

It would be better to get it over with. 

Rip the bandaid off, like he’d said. Except he’d been too spineless to actually follow through, giving Mike a handful of half-truths for him to parse through, and now he’d figured it out and decided he wanted nothing to do with him any more. And maybe that would’ve been for the best, maybe it would’ve made it easier in the long run, if it weren’t for the fact that he now, essentially, lives in Mike’s basement.

Hopper’s cabin was only so large, and the two bedrooms already taken by him and El. When it became clear that they’d be staying in Hawkins for a while, different arrangements needed to be made. It only made sense that Jonathan would stay with his girlfriend, and it only made sense that Will would stay with his best friend.

(His mother, on the other hand, was staying with Hopper, a new development Will does his best not to dignify with any acknowledgement whatsoever.)

One morning, Mike had left to visit El at the cabin. When he came back, he and Will were no longer friends.

Will wasn’t even sure exactly what happened. The most obvious answer was that Mike had figured out what he meant, what he really meant, when he’d spilled his heart out in the back of the van. Maybe he was just upset about the painting, that it was from him instead of El, and was angry that he was misled. Maybe he and El had sat together, pointing at his shoddy, mediocre work, and laughing that Will had ever thought—

Maybe nothing happened at all. Maybe Mike had finally decided he was done pretending to care about Will, and simply stopped.

It doesn’t matter. The point is, their friendship always had an expiration date. He just hadn’t thought it would come so soon. 

He takes his bowl to the table and eats his cornflakes in silence.

The end of the world is a lot more boring than Will expected. 

The gate has been opened, and the Upside Down is bleeding into Hawkins, but Vecna is too weak to do anything about it, so nothing really happens. The school and library turn into shelters, and the government officials that have moved in go on search parties for those that are still unaccounted for. Technically, the mayor called for an evacuation, but only the houses that were in the path of the gate are being affected right now, so no one’s in a hurry to go anywhere.

It’s only a matter of time. But for right now, they can use the small headstart they’ve been given to prepare.

Will spends most of his time volunteering at the shelter. Dustin is usually there, and although he’s a lot quieter these days, he at least still talks to him. Mike makes a handful of appearances, but largely ignores the both of them, making sandwiches in silence and avoiding eye contact. 

“What crawled up his ass?” Dustin asks one day after being brushed off.

Will shrugs. Dustin knows better than to press.

Lucas rarely leaves the hospital, and Will visits on occasion, bringing whatever books he can scrounge around the Wheeler house without going into Mike’s room. He sits and listens to him read sometimes, but he doesn’t know whether Lucas really wants him there, or if he’s just intruding on an intimate moment. Every now and then, he tries to start a conversation, but Lucas doesn’t have much to say.

It’s to be expected. Everyone is different these days.

Nancy and Jonathan are working on something with their mom and Hopper. He’s pretty sure El joins them most days, and he thinks Steve Harrington and his maybe-girlfriend from the ice cream place are somehow a part of it, too. No one tells him the details, and he doesn’t have the energy to ask. He’s sure he’ll know as soon as it involves him, and he’s sure it’ll involve him soon enough.

Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler still seem largely unaffected by the whole thing, and, unlike their son, happy to have guests in the house. Well, Mrs. Wheeler does, at least. Mr. Wheeler doesn’t seem to care about anything, at all. Will thinks he’s jealous of that.

“Will, honey,” Mrs. Wheeler says as he sets the table one night. “Once you’re done with that, would you be a dear and let Mike know dinner’s ready? That way I don’t have to yell.”

That’s a normal request. Will pretends he has a normal reaction to it. “Sure, Mrs. Wheeler.”

Which is how he finds himself in front of the bedroom door of his childhood best friend, anxiety crawling down his skin like a thousand tiny insects, pin-pricking him on every step.

He knocks three times, so short and featherlight that he can barely hear them himself.

No answer.

He waits for a reasonable amount of time to pass before trying again, louder this time.

No answer.

He only makes it through two more knocks before he hears an audible groan and an annoyed, “Just come in.”

Will steps into his room, closing the door behind him as silently as possible. Mike sits at his desk and does not turn, does not greet him, does not acknowledge his presence in any way.

“Hi,” he tries. “Dinner’s ready.”

No answer.

He plays with the sleeve of his flannel, buttoning and unbuttoning it over and over as he waits for a response. When it becomes clear enough he isn’t getting one any time soon, he sighs. 

“Are you ever gonna talk to me again?” It sounds whiny. It sounds pitiful. 

“I don’t know,” Mike drawls, staring down at the paper on his desk and refusing to move. “Are you ever going to apologize?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, automatic and ashamed. 

A long moment passes. Will doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. Finally, Mike turns to stand, facing him with the most disparaging look Will’s ever seen. 

“I don’t get it,” he says. “What was the point? El had no idea about the painting. You knew I’d find out eventually.”

“You were upset,” Will says, as though that was an explanation for anything. “I wanted to help you feel better. And the painting thing was stupid, I know, but what I said about El is true. I just thought you’d believe me more if I said that about the painting. I know it was stupid. I’m sorry.”

Mike’s expression does not change, and he begins to pace as he thinks this over. “I just don’t understand why you lied.” 

“I didn’t lie,” he insists. “Not about how she was feeling.”

“Except you did. You said she’d always need me and that—that she loved me and then she dumped me, and told me everything you said was bullshit. So, thanks for that.”

Through the flurry of words, Will only manages to process one part. “She broke up with you?”

“Yes,” he spits. “After telling me that she’d never said any of that shit about me being the heart, or whatever the fuck you were going on about.”

His behavior for the past week finally makes sense, finally clicks, and Will feels like an idiot for not putting it together. Then again, what was he supposed to think? That Couple of the Year suddenly decided to call it quits, right after they professed their love for each other?

The guilt that follows rolls over him in waves, crashing down and crushing him into his own body. All he’d wanted to do was help them, and he’d managed to fuck that up without even trying. It must be a gift of his, really, to destroy every relationship he touches, even if it’s not his own.

“I’m sorry,” Will says, blinking back his stupid tears.

“Sorry for what? For lying? For making me look like an idiot? For ruining my relationship? You said all of these amazing things, you made me think she really—” But he can’t finish, voice cracking as he looks to the side.

“You were upset,” he says again, more desperate this time. 

“So you lied?”

“I thought it was true. El loves you. She does. I-I shouldn’t have lied about the painting. I’m sorry. But you were upset. And I thought it’d mean more coming from her.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean anything, because apparently it wasn’t true at all.”

“Mike, El loves you. And you love her. You said it. I don’t understand. You love each other. Why would anything I say change that?”

He freezes, half-turned from him and staring at some distant point on the wall with his arms crossed. “She doesn’t believe me.”

“What?”

“She said if I only loved her because of a lie, then she doesn’t believe me. Because friends don’t lie,” he bites, leaning in with malice. 

He’s always known how to strike the hardest blows.

Will bows his head, accepts the lashing, knows he deserves every part of it. They stand together in stilted, furious silence, hot shame creeping down his spine in crawling tendrils. How could he have expected this to work? He’d known the lie would come back to bite him eventually, but he hadn’t thought it would also hurt two of the most important people in the world to him. It didn’t make any sense. They were in love, with or without his interference. He was just giving Mike the encouragement he needed, just trying to convince him to say what he already—

He looks up at him, eyebrows drawn together. “Do you not love her?”

Mike shrinks back. “What?”

He hadn’t meant to say it. He wouldn’t have, if he’d stopped to think about it for half a second. But it’s too late to take it back, and he can’t breathe until he knows the answer, and he looks at him resolutely and says, “Do you only love her because of what I said?”

Something darkens on Mike’s face, twisting it into a shape Will’s never seen. “Get out.”

It’s not a no.

He turns to leave, but hesitates, hand on the doorknob and sorrow in his voice. “I’m sorry,” he tries again.

“Out.”

He doesn’t yell, but the message is clear enough. Will shuts the door quietly behind him, and hopes Mike can’t hear his chest crack in two.

He goes to the bathroom to compose himself, blinking away tears and splashing water on his splotchy cheeks. When he joins the dinner table, no one spares him a second glance, and he spreads his napkin across his lap meticulously.

“Is Mike on his way down?” Mrs. Wheeler asks, passing him the green beans.

Will gives her a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t think he’s hungry.”

Will makes his way to the cabin, the air muggy and alive with the sounds of spring. There’s something so distinctly Hawkins about it, so prevalent in all his childhood memories, that he didn’t know he missed it until he had it back. 

He’s not sure exactly when he became so invested in a relationship that doesn’t include him. Somewhere in between rain-soaked bike rides and desert van trips, he’d taken on the responsibility of keeping his crush and his girlfriend from breaking up, which made about as much sense as anything else that happened in his life. Maybe it was the fumes radiating off of Argyle that went straight to his head, and he’s still trying to shake off the contact high. Maybe it’s a side effect of his possession, and being back in Hawkins is only exacerbating it. Maybe he’s just pathetic. Who’s to say, really. 

He raps the safety knock against the door, and a few moments later, hears the lock click from the other side.

“Hey,” he says, stepping inside. 

“Hi.” El sits cross-legged on the sofa, where she has a pile of laundry half-folded. There’s only a handful of things, though he recognizes one of the shirts as his own that had gone missing from his closet months ago. He frowns up at her. She pretends not to notice.

“You broke up with him.”

El looks at him, unblinking. If she’s surprised that Will is here, discussing her relationship, she doesn’t show it. “You lied,” she replies, voice even. 

“Why?” he insists.

“He lied, because you lied.”

“What?”

Her gaze on him does not waver. “Why would you lie?” Instead of the anger he was expecting, she sounds mildly curious.

“El, he was upset,” he says, joining her on the other side of the sofa. “And he was worried about you, really worried. And he kept going on about how he was afraid you wouldn’t need him anymore, and I was just trying to make him feel better, and tell him that wasn’t true.”

“I do not need him,” she says, looking affronted.

“I—what?”

“I do not need him,” she repeats, slower, as though he didn’t hear. “There is more to life than boys.”

“Yeah, okay, but…” he trails off, confused. “You love him.”

“Yes,” she agrees.

“And he loves you. So, what’s the issue?”

She huffs, seeming frustrated, and glances to the side. “You do not understand.”

“No, I really don’t,” he says. “I’m trying to help.”

“By lying.” It isn’t a question.

“I was trying to help! El, I swear, I wasn’t trying to hurt you two. I was just trying to help Mike say what he needed to say.”

“Needed to,” she repeats, lips pursed.

“Yes, he needed to tell you he loves you, because he does.”

“He did not love me until you lied.”

It strikes Will that he’s never known anyone as stubborn as her. “That’s not true. He didn’t lie. Just because he was scared to say it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

“Will.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “This is not your problem to fix.”

“But…it’s my fault for lying. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…to mess everything up. He just needed a push.”

Her hand falls to her lap, and her eyes follow. She thinks this over for a moment, frowning. “You do not need to push.”

“El, please, I’m sorry. You need to talk to him. What I said doesn’t change his feelings for you.”

She smiles at him, warm and sad. “I know.”

“Okay, so, tell him that. Tell him you still love him. He’ll understand. He always does. You just need to talk to him.”

“Will.”

She isn’t getting it. The heat of the cabin seems to rise around him, and his breathing quickens. She isn’t going to fix this.

“El, please, you need to talk to him. Don’t ruin this over some stupid lie that I told. That’s not Mike’s fault. Please, El—”

“Will.” She looks at him for a long moment. There’s a strange kindness in her eyes, one he does not deserve. “You did not cause this problem. You do not need to fix it.”

“But I did. I lied.”

“Yes.”

“So it’s my fault.”

“No.”

“El!”

“Why are you here?” she redirects, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. “Did he tell you to come?”

He can’t help laughing at that. “He hasn’t said a word to me since you two broke up. He blames me for it.”

“He is wrong,” she says, her frown growing, and she leans in towards him. “He is being mean?”

“Well, I guess, but I mean—it’s my fault for lying.”

She falls back to process this information, the crease on her forehead growing with concern. “He should not be mean.”

“It’s not—it’s not his fault,” he protests, but it’s weak, and he slumps back against the sofa. All of this is so confusing, and frustrating, and he has no idea what El is trying to say to him. “Will you explain it to me?” he asks.

“I already explained to him. It is not your fault.”

“Then why’s he mad at me?”

She takes a long time to consider this question, twisting her hands together. Will thinks it must be terribly frustrating, to have so much to say and not have the words to say it.

“He says he is in love because of the painting, and the words. But those are your painting and your words, not mine.”

“But, El, I’m telling you, he loves you. I confused him with my lie, I know, but he still loves you.”

“But he could not say it before,” she says, looking down again and trying to hide her frown. He reaches and takes her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “And it did not work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love is supposed to work. It makes me stronger. But it did not work. And Max—” El’s voice cracks and she cuts off, unable to finish the sentence. Will squeezes her hand. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to comfort her. He doesn’t know how to fix everything he’s broken. He lets the silence stretch.

“Henry is very strong,” she says after a moment, “and has gotten even stronger. He is much older. I have to be ready. He is very angry.”

Will knows that very well.

“You’ll be okay,” he says, happy to focus on a new topic. “You’ve kicked his ass twice now. And we have time to prepare. We’ll be ready.”

She smiles at him, but it’s perfunctory, and she tucks her chin back down. 

“Is that why you broke up? You were worried you might—?” He can’t say it, can’t bring the words to light.

“No,” she says automatically. And then, softer, “I don’t know.”

“Oh, El.” He takes her other hand in his, holding them both in his lap. “We’re not going to let that happen. You know that, right? Whatever you need, we’ll be right here. We’re going to beat him, together.”

She squeezes back. “I know.” 

The rest of the afternoon fades past them as they finish the laundry and watch Growing Pains together, stretched lazily on opposite sides of the couch. It had only been a few days, but Will had not realized how much he missed living with her. And it’s nice to know that he hadn’t destroyed all of his friendships.

When the sun starts to fade below the trees, he stands to leave, and she walks him to the door. Before he steps onto the porch, he is wrapped in a tight hug, pulling him down to her. 

“I love you,” she whispers to him.

He collapses in her arms. “I love you, too.”

“Will! Will, wake up!” something shouts at him, ripping him away from the burning car. The forest around him begins to dissolve, and the broken body hanging in the air fades out slowly after. “Are you okay?”

The Wheeler basement comes into focus, blurred at the edges and broken. He sits up, breath coming in searing gasps, and catches Mike’s wrists in a vice grip. Everything spins, and he tries to center on anything that feels real. The sharp glint of the overhead light. The heavy weight of Mike’s hands on his shoulders. The bright sting in the side of his ribs. 

“Are you okay?” Mike asks again. 

He heaves several more breaths. Finally, he manages a stilted, jerky nod, releasing his wrists and wrapping his arms around himself.

Mike’s hands fall from his shoulders, hanging limp by his sides. His face changes as he slumps backwards, his worry melting into the same cold indifference of the past few weeks.

“You were yelling,” he says, eyeing Will with disdain. “You woke up Holly. It really freaked her out.”

“Sorry, I—” He winces, refusing to look up at him. Incredible. He could now add sleep to the list of things he couldn’t do without fucking up. “Sorry.”

Mike’s expression softens the smallest bit as he stares at him. It’s possible he looks too pathetic to hate. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

Will sighs, trying to force his heart to beat at a normal rate. If he were younger, he might feel special, honored that he gets to be the one that everyone turns to for information. If he were younger, naïver, happier, he might turn it into a game. A covert operative, coming back to give his mission report. Like a super-spy, something echoes in the back of his mind. He tries so hard to ignore it. 

“Nothing new. He’s still not doing anything. But he’s getting stronger. Recovering. I don’t know how much time we have left before—” He stops, frowning. Vecna’s main concern right now was recovery, and they knew that he drew power from consuming others. While he didn’t know for certain what his plan was, Will knew it was only a matter of time before he became an immediate threat. 

Mike seems to know exactly what he means without him explaining. “We’ll let the others know when they wake up. Are you going back to sleep? It’s 6:30.”

“Probably not.”

“Do…” He hesitates, glancing to the side. “Do you want to make breakfast?”

Maybe it’s an olive branch. Maybe Mike is just hungry, and would be eviscerated if his mom discovered he‘d made food for himself and not his guest. Either way, it’s better than sitting by himself and doing calming breathing techniques in the basement. “Sure. Yeah.”

Mike stands, extending a hand down to help Will up. He considers not taking it, but he thinks that would make things even more uncomfortable. 

A shiver runs through Mike as he pulls him up. “You’re freezing.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, too tired to explain it probably had something to do with Vecna, or the dream, or that he was just cursed from being possessed and was destined to walk around with ice-cold extremities until the end of time. He doesn’t feel like getting into it.

“I’m not—” He frowns at him. “You should bring a blanket with you.”

“It’s fine, seriously.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Mike has pulled the fuzziest blanket from his pile and wrapped it around Will’s shoulders like a cape. “C’mon.”

There’s a certain tone he’s come to recognize when Mike gets protective, soft and comforting and so gentle it makes Will want to scream. It’s notably absent from his voice as they busy themselves around the kitchen, collecting ingredients for a quick breakfast, but it’s also a lot kinder than it’s been the past few days. 

Mike shoos him to go sit at the table while he cooks the eggs, and he doesn’t know whether to feel hurt over it or not. He tries not to feel anything about it, at all. It doesn’t work.

A cup of coffee appears in front of him, snapping him from his thoughts. By the time he looks up, Mike is already back at the stove. “Drink that,” he says over his shoulder. “You need to warm up.”

He takes a small sip, and with a pang, realizes Mike had made it exactly as he’d liked it when he still lived in Hawkins. Now, a year later, he preferred it with less cream and sugar, but Mike wouldn’t know that. Of course he wouldn’t.

He thinks it’s the best coffee he’s ever had.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment.

“No problem.”

It would be stupid to cry, so he doesn’t.

Neither of them say much as they eat. Will offers to wash the dishes, and Mike disappears upstairs as he does. The blanket falls from his shoulders as he stands to clean, and a chill runs down his back. 

The hours slip by as he showers and dresses, and he finds little things to help with around the house until Nancy offers to drive them to the school around ten. 

The two of them spend the day helping different stations, and it becomes clear soon enough that Mike intends on going right back to ignoring him. He never expected anything else, and he tells himself that enough times that he begins to believe it.

Nancy and Jonathan swing by to pick them up after dark, but only drop them back at the Wheeler house, not getting out themselves.

“If Mom asks,” Nancy says to Mike, “tell her…I don’t know. Tell her something. We’ll be back later tonight.”

“She’s not gonna believe me,” Mike says, sighing.

“She will if you’re not stupid about it.”

“Well, give me a better lie than ‘something’. Where are you guys going, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go to your room and pretend you’re asleep, so she doesn’t bother you.” She rolls her window up before he can object, and pulls out of the driveway.

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, kicking at a pebble.

If they were friends, Will would make a comment here, something to commiserate with him, or maybe crack a joke to lighten the mood. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut, and they make their way inside.

Past the door, he sheds his jacket and kicks off his shoes, nestling them neatly away in the coat closet. Exhausted from a long day, he heads right towards the basement, ready to collapse. 

“You should sleep in my room tonight.”

Will pauses. He turns back towards Mike, who isn’t looking at him, his hand stopped on the railing upstairs. For a moment, Will isn’t sure if he’s even talking to him, but there’s no one else around.

“We can move the sofa cushions up, so it’s not terrible,” Mike continues, still staring blankly towards the wall. His voice sounds scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in a while. “So I can stop you if you’re screaming again.”

He hesitates, contemplating this new form of torture so graciously being offered to him. In truth, it sounded horrendously uncomfortable. While the basement was dingy and damp, it was also secluded, and gave him more privacy than he would have dared ask for as a guest in someone else’s home. And sure, if he and Mike were on good terms, best friends like before, it wouldn't even be a second thought. But the idea of spending the night on his floor in silence, afraid that any noise or sudden movement might shatter the peace and upset Mike, fills him with a sense of dread. Nothing about it seemed like a good choice.

But—

But there it was again, the stupid flicker of hope in his chest that turned into a burning blaze whenever Mike so much as smiled at him, or said his name. It had been unusually quiet for the past few weeks, but now it glowed a strong amber, beating in time with his heart. Mike was reaching out, offering kindness, and even if it was the bare minimum, it was still something. It was a chance. 

He stares at Mike, who casts him one hesitant glance before turning back to the wall, and sighs.

At the end of the day, it’s Mike. He can’t say no to Mike.

“Okay.”

They gather up the cushions and blankets from downstairs and carry them up to Mike’s room, spreading them out into a makeshift bed on his floor. He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change, and when he comes back, Mike is already in bed with the lights off.

Will does his best to arrange himself without making any noise, curling up on the cushions and snuggling in. The room is darker than he remembers from the last time he slept in here, at least over a year ago at this point. They had rearranged a lot since that time, exchanging his bunk beds for a queen and tossing some of the older furniture. More than anything, Will misses the plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars that had hung on his ceiling, illuminating the room in a soft green. The two of them had put them up together one afternoon shortly after they watched Star Wars for the first time, and now their absence stung, small pinpricks darting along his skin. He tries to ignore the darkness, willing sleep to come.

Out of nowhere, Mike stands from his bed, crossing the room in a few quick steps. He stops by his wall, bending down to an outlet, and clicks his nightlight on, a soft glow casting across the room. He gets back into bed without saying anything.

Mike doesn’t sleep with a nightlight anymore, hasn’t for years, but he’d kept that one plugged in. Will allows himself one brief moment of comfort from it, the comers of his mouth just tugging upwards.

“Goodnight, Mike,” he chances, barely loud enough to hear.

There’s a long, unsettling pause, and then, finally, “‘Night, Will.”

The flame in his chest burns a little bit brighter. 

“Will!” 

Max’s body hovers in front of him, twisted at horrible angles. Blood drips from her eyes, spilling down her cheeks and tangling in her hair, a terrible clash of reds. “Will, come on, wake up!”

The maroon in his vision fades out into the midnight blue of Mike’s bedroom, and he gasps as he comes to, instinctively flailing at the arms around him.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Will. It’s just me.”

It’s just Mike. Mike, who hasn’t spoken to him in a week. Mike, whose life he had destroyed. Mike, who hates him. It’s just Mike.

There’s no air left in the room. 

“Okay, okay, c’mon.” Mike’s hands find him again, wrapping delicately around his wrists. “Jesus, you’re freezing.”

He feels his body stand, though he doesn’t know how it’s capable of moving. Mike guides him to the mattress, supporting him until he’s laid down, and adjusts the pillow under his head.

“C’mon, under the covers, okay? We’re gonna get you warm.”

Mike climbs in next to him and takes his hands in his own, pulling them to the center of the space between them. He massages them with slow, articulate motions, doing his best to get Will’s blood flowing. A few minutes pass with little change, so Mike brings both their hands up to his mouth and cups his around Will’s before blowing hot air into them.

Color rises in his cheeks with the rush of warmth, and he blinks up at him, feeling lightheaded. He flexes his fingers a few times, pulling them just out of his grip. Mike watches him with careful concern. 

“Thank you,” Will mutters. Everything aches.

“You’re still shivering,” Mike replies, brow furrowed.

“It’s okay.”

He stares at him, almost as though he’s angry, before shaking his head. “No. Come here.”

Before he can question what’s happening, Will finds himself flush against Mike’s body, legs tangled with his and head tucked underneath his chin. He freezes, breath caught halfway in his throat, shocked as Mike’s hands make their way around his waist. 

It should feel uncomfortable. They’ve barely spoken to each other in months. Their friendship had already been in tatters by the time he left for California, ragged and flayed and barely holding on. There should be something holding them back, making them second guess themselves. It should feel weird. It shouldn’t feel like this. 

But it’s incredible. It's the safest he’s felt in years, and he melts into the touch, desperate for the relief that pours over him as he does. Mike is so warm, and hugging him feels like standing in the glow of the fireplace, comforting and dangerous all at once. There’s no embarrassment in his movements when he wraps his arms around Mike, because Mike is the one pressing him this close, as if he was determined to remove any of the space between them.

He runs his fingers through Will’s hair, nails sliding across his scalp and sending shivers down his back. He wonders if he ever did this for El, and hates himself for it. Is this how you treated her? he thinks. Is this how you took care of her? Is this how you loved her?

Will would take it, if she wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter if it’s misplaced, or if Mike doesn’t really mean it. He doesn’t care, not now, not in this moment. He hadn’t realized how starved he’d been, how achingly he’d longed for someone to touch him with gentle intentions. It’s like he can breathe again after being pulled from underwater, not even knowing he was drowning. He’s safe. He’s finally safe.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since his nightmare. He doesn’t know if he’s fallen asleep and woken back up. He doesn’t know if Mike is still awake. But he takes a deep breath, voice crackling from disuse, and says, “I thought you were mad at me.”

There’s a long silence, but Mike’s breathing stilts. Finally, he says, “I am.”

Will swallows. He doesn’t know what else he expected. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t cry. 

“I just…” His hand is still in Will’s hair, and he runs it through again. “I don’t understand.”

“I thought I was helping. I really, really did, Mike, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Okay,” Mike whispers, pulling Will’s head back to rest against his chest. “Okay. Let’s go back to sleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” His breath ghosts across the top of his head, and Will cries silently into Mike’s shirt until he falls asleep. 

Morning light breaks through the window, and they don’t talk about it. 

Mike is gone by the time Will wakes up, and he tries not to let that sting as he gathers himself and gets dressed. The day quickly fades into one like the others before, with Mike barely sparing him a glance as they assist around the shelter. Which is…fine. He’s still angry, like he said. And now, in the daylight, probably ashamed of the fact that they’d spent the entire night cuddling. 

When evening falls and they return home, Will is already planning how to best get the cushions from Mike’s room and move them back to the basement. He’s about to, really, when Mike says, “C’mon,” and leads him up the stairs. And Will follows, because he always does.

He knows he needs to get this over with, to destroy whatever remnants of friendship they still clung to in ridiculous delusion. He’d said it, he’d told him, he knew he needed to rip the bandaid so he wouldn’t be left hanging, hoping for something that would never come. It’s a thousand times worse in practice, the pitiful way he waits for any scrap of attention Mike occasionally deigns to throw his way while their middle-school friendship evaporates around them. 

But at the end of the day, it’s Mike, and he can’t say no to Mike.

The next week passes in similar nights, Will falling asleep on Mike’s floor and waking to an invitation into his arms. The one time he isn’t plagued by nightmares and he wakes up well-rested on sagging sofa cushions, he’s almost disappointed, and he swallows down the hatred that bubbles up inside of him.

“Have you tried fighting back?” Mike says to him one day, appearing behind him as he assembles sandwiches in the school cafeteria. Will visibly jumps. Mike pretends not to notice. “Or taking control, like…like what Dustin was talking about a while back. Lucid dreaming?”

Will can’t remember the last time Mike spoke to him in public, let alone multiple sentences. He blinks at him, confusion visible on his face, and Mike’s expression falls.  

“I was just thinking about it,” he continues. “Do you know when you’re in it?”

Will breathes, composing himself. This is a normal conversation that normal people have, and he can be normal about it. “It’s not a dream like that. It’s not really a dream at all, I don’t think. They’re more like memories,” he says, drumming his fingers along the table. “He draws strength from consuming, right? So I think he’s reliving the moments, trying to…I don’t know, get everything out of it? Maybe he gets small amounts of strength from rewatching them. I'm not sure. But it doesn’t feel like a dream. I just see it because I’m sleeping. Like his mind takes over for a little while mine rests.”

Mike nods, listening with rapt attention. It’s almost uncomfortable to have his full gaze on him like that, like staring directly into the sun. “Right. Kinda like the now-memories?”

“Uh, sort of. Except they’re not happening now, they happened in the past. Like, um…memories.”

Mike smiles despite himself, biting down a chuckle, but makes the mistake of catching Will’s eye. The second he does, they both burst into laughter, clutching onto the table to keep themselves upright. They’d never been able to keep composure around each other, always making the other laugh at the most inopportune moments. 

It’s like something in his chest pops with their laughter, dissipating the tension hanging between them. He allows himself to hang on to the warmth of Mike’s grin for one long moment before he sighs and remembers where the conversation was going.

“Besides, I don’t know if he knows I can see,” Will continues. “If I mess with it too much, it might alert him to the connection. Which is the last thing I want.”

The smile trickles down from his face, and Mike looks serious again. “Right. We don’t want him sending you visions on purpose.”

“Exactly.”

“Hm,” Mike hums, thinking this over. “Alright, then. Guess you’re sleeping with me until this whole thing is over.” With that, he turns and goes back to his station.

If Mike’s behavior since they got back to Hawkins was any indicator, Will would’ve believed that to be a sarcastic comment, perhaps a dig at all the sleep that he was sacrificing. But he’d sounded upbeat about it, almost jovial, like he was pleased with this development. He remembers a younger Mike staring out his living room window at the quickly accumulating snow and turning to face him with an elated grin. Now you have to sleep over!

He tries not to get his hopes up. But it’s a nice thought, the idea that Mike still wants him around.

“Why don’t you just sleep up here?” he says that night, turned towards his dresser as he searches for a sleep shirt. 

Will looks up from where he’d begun to assemble his makeshift bed. A moment passes, too long to be natural, but Mike does not elaborate. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, then I don’t have to get out of bed.”

“You’re never gonna get a full night's sleep with me here,” he says, playing with an invisible string on the cushion below him. “You sure you still want me here? I can go back downstairs.”

“I’m sure,” Mike responds, clipped and swift. He still doesn’t look at him.

It’s far from the most welcoming invitation he’s received, but he’s woken up in Mike’s bed every day for a week now. He might as well fall asleep in it. 

He slides in between the sheets, taking care to stay as close to the edge as possible. They click off the lights, leaving the nightlight on, and wish each other goodnight.

Despite being a thousand times more comfortable than haphazard couch cushions that slid around every time he moved, Will can’t seem to relax, eyes wide open in the soft light. It’s not as though he and Mike had never shared a bed before; this week aside, they’d still had countless sleepovers growing up, and spent plenty of nights next to each other. This one shouldn’t be any different.

And it’s not. It’s not any different, not in reality. He may have concocted some alternate universe in his head where Mike inviting him into his bed meant something more, but here, in the real world, it’s an empty gesture, devoid of any ulterior motive. He tells himself this until he has it memorized.

Still, it takes him a long time to finally fall into a fitful sleep.

When he comes to that night, the last dregs of the nightmare fading out, Mike has already wrapped him in a bear hug, fingers in his hair and reassurances whispered in his ear. 

“Shh,” he murmurs, catching Will’s wrist as it flails. “It’s just me. You’re okay.”

Will stops struggling, the routine of having Mike there already helping him regain his senses. “S-sorry,” he chokes out.

“It’s okay,” Mike says. He holds his arms open again, and Will dives back into them without thinking, curling his own hands around his back. 

It’s almost embarrassing how immediate the comfort is, and he relaxes against him. He can still hear his heart beating in his ears, and he takes several steady breaths, reminding himself where he is. Enveloped in the blankets and darkness, surrounded by the familiar scent of Mike’s sheets, he’s safe. He has to remember that he’s safe.

After a few minutes pass, and the adrenaline from the dream begins to dissipate, the guilt of ruining Mike’s sleep yet again starts to creep up on him. Ashamed, he tries to extract himself from Mike’s arms so that he could at least spend the rest of the night peacefully.

But every time he tries to pull back, Mike adjusts with him, giving him space to move but not actually letting him out of his arms. Will huffs.

“You’re not comfortable?” Mike asks. 

“No, I’m—I’m making sure you’re comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” he says, confused. “I was good until you kept moving.”

“Sorry, I just figured, um—you’d probably like sleeping on your own.”

The crease in his forehead grows. “I’m okay. Did you want to sleep on your own?”

“No, I just—” He sighs again, giving up and collapsing back against Mike. “Never mind.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, readjusting them to a less awkward position.  

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “I’m just sorry I keep waking you up.”

Mike’s fingers, which had been drawing a long, slow line up his spine, stutter to a stop. “You don’t have to apologize for everything, you know.”

Like he hasn't heard that one a thousand times. “But you’re mad at me,” he whispers. 

He scoffs, sounding offended. “Not for having nightmares! God, Will,” he huffs, pulling him roughly back against his chest and hooking his chin over the top of Will’s head. 

Silence yawns between them, uncomfortable and stiff. Lying here feels like trespassing, and Will does his best to make himself smaller, forgettable. He’s had years of practice trying to turn himself invisible, avoiding fathers and bullies and supernatural entities alike. Maybe tonight is the night it finally works.

Then, through the darkness, he hears Mike’s voice, strained and plaintive. “I wish I could just hate you.”

The words stab through him like ice, trickling through his body and chilling him to the core. Why was he surprised? He already knew how Mike felt, how angry he was with him. It was his fault for getting his hopes up, thinking that the little bit of kindness he’d shown him meant anything. None of it fixed the fact that he’d ruined his best friend’s relationship. Mike should hate him. He deserves it.

“But you make it so hard,” he continues, and each word sounds as though they’ve been ripped from him. “I can’t stay mad at you.”

Something quiet settles in him.

“You don’t hate me?” Will asks, low enough that he could choose to ignore it, if he wanted to.

He lets out a long, weathered sigh. “Of course not.”

They fall asleep tangled together.

The sky is bright and cheery as they make their way to the hospital, a stark contrast to the noxious clouds billowing from the gate in the distance. Their bike ride is otherwise peaceful, and Will keeps his gaze averted from the horizon, focusing on street signs and sidewalks despite having the way memorized. 

He’s been avoiding coming here. The last time he’d seen Max was in a dream, and the dream had not been pleasant. He also hadn't expected Mike to come, but when he mentioned his plans for the day, he’d volunteered to join. While not exactly disappointed, he can't say he’s thrilled to have him along, either. Mike is now talking to him in public, occasionally, under certain circumstances that Will can’t quite figure out all the parameters for, and navigating that instead of being able to have a relaxing afternoon with Lucas is not Will’s first choice. But it seems rude to tell him he can’t come, so he keeps his mouth shut and packs a bag of books to bring with him.

When they arrive, they find Lucas and El already in the room, halfway through a discussion about the hospital food they were eating. The bright white of the room is unsettling, and the strong, sterile scent of chemicals goes right to his head. He keeps his eyes focused on his friends, avoiding looking at the bed. 

“Hey, guys,” Lucas says as they enter, a warm smile lighting his face. It’s the happiest Will’s seen him look in a while, which causes his own grin to double. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Yeah, we wanted to see how you’re doing,” Will says, dropping his backpack near Lucas’s chair. “I brought some more books.”

“Nice.” He hoists the bag onto his lap and begins sorting through them. “I’ve got a couple you can take back with you. We’ve gotten through a lot this week.”

El leaves her chair by the window to wrap him in a warm hug, then turns to Mike, who hesitates before giving her an awkward, strained one. Will looks away.

He joins El in the chair next to hers, while Mike leans against the wall, and they take turns catching each other up on anything new. No one has a lot to report, though Lucas mentions overhearing nurses whispering about a few different injuries that seemed Upside Down related.

When Mike and Lucas begin discussing the book he’d finished recently, one that Will hadn’t read, El taps him on the shoulder. 

“He is being nice?” she whispers, leaning in conspiratorially.

Will shrugs. “Nicer.”

This answer seems to satisfy her, and she smiles, leaning back in her chair as they listen to the deep dissection of a character arc in a novel he’s never heard of. He’s only half-listening, missing a good chunk of context for their critiques, but he watches Mike’s face light up as they delve into the story. It reminds him of a younger, more carefree Mike, who would talk for hours on end about whatever series or movie had captured his interest that week. Something about that makes his chest feel hollow.

“I’m getting something from the vending machine,” Mike announces once the discussion has petered out, trying and failing to sound casual. “Anyone want anything?”

“I’m good,” Lucas says, while Will and El shake their heads. “Thanks, though.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” he says, looking at El.

She glances up at him, mouth twisted in a confused frown. “I do not want anything.”

“Come with me,” he repeats. “Please.”

She gives him an odd look, but stands and leaves with him. Once the door swings shut behind them, Lucas turns to Will. “What’s that all about?”

“No idea,” Will says, though he’s sure he has an idea.

“I thought they broke up.”

“They did.”

“Do you know why? No one’s really told me.”

This is not a conversation he has any interest in having. “Um, a lot of reasons, I think. I know El’s worried about what’s coming. I think that’s part of it.”

“I think we’re all worried about that,” Lucas says, staring out the window. “Well, whatever. I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon enough. They always do.” He chuckles to himself. “I mean, there’s a good chance they’re getting back together right now.”

Will’s laugh does not sound real even to his own ears. “Yeah, probably.”

Nearly twenty minutes pass before the door opens again, and El reenters alone. She crosses the room to Lucas, handing him a packet of Skittles, and returns to her seat next to Will. She slumps into it, adjusting her hood when it falls, and then gives the Reese’s Pieces she’s holding to him.

“Mike says,” she starts, her voice stretched thin. Will looks to her and realizes, with a start, that she’s been crying. “Mike says he will see you back home.”

“Is everything okay?” he asks, sitting up.

She nods, eyes watery and pink. “Everything is okay.”

He glances over to Lucas for help, who looks just as lost as he does. “Do you want to talk about it?” he tries.

“Everything is okay,” she repeats, shaking her head.

“El—” But he stops when she leans her head onto his shoulder, sighing. They settle back in the chairs, and he looks to Lucas, wide-eyed. He gets the hint and pulls out the book he’s been working on, and they spend the rest of the afternoon listening as he reads. Will takes El’s hand in his, closes his eyes, and tries to give her the little strength he has left. 

When he returns to the Wheeler’s that evening, Mike is secluded in his room, sitting at his desk and staring down at a letter written on the same stationary he’s seen on El’s desk back home. He doesn’t acknowledge him when he enters the room, and Will, uncomfortably, gathers his pajamas to go change.

“I’ll, um—I’ll sleep downstairs, if you want,” he offers, twisting his shirt in his hands.

“What?” Mike asks, sounding annoyed but not turning around.

“If you want to be alone,” he explains, “I can leave. I don’t mind.”

“What? No,” he snaps, as though Will could not have possibly said anything more ridiculous. “Just sleep here. Stop making it a big deal.”

“Um, okay,” Will says, looking down. “Sure.”

He’s hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion, grabbing him and dragging him down. He’s missed so many hours of sleep in the past few weeks, chased by a monster only gaining ground, a race he comes closer to losing each night. And on top of all of that, he’s had to deal with the ever-changing moods of one Mike Wheeler, who is nothing if not consistent in his instability.

Will is tired. And sad, and hurt, and sick of playing a guessing game every day of whether or not his best friend wants to acknowledge his existence. Every part of him aches, desperate for a relief that never seems to come, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He climbs under the covers and collapses.

Moonlight drips through the open window and spills onto the bed, illuminating Mike’s room in a silver glow. Will blinks through his early-morning memories, trying to focus. He’s not gasping awake, fighting off the remnants of a nightmare, like he has been for days, which is almost more frustrating. Annoyed that he’s losing what precious little sleep he already gets, he rolls over, trying to get comfortable again.

There’s a swift, shuddering gasp next to him, and he turns to find himself looking at Mike’s back, curled under the sheets. He watches for a moment, unsure if he’d imagined it, but as his vision clears, he sees Mike’s shoulders just barely shaking next to him.

He’s crying. He can hear it, now that he knows what to listen for, and each barely-there sob sends a pang straight to Will’s chest. 

A part of him wants to ignore him. He’s clearly trying to be silent, and, selfishly, horribly, for one half-second, he thinks that Mike deserves it. The amount of times he’s cried because of him in the last few weeks alone surely outweighs one night. Besides, it’s not like he’s spared a second thought for Will in the past year, maintaining near radio silence since he’d moved. He could deal with this one himself. He probably wanted to. 

But.

But despite his anger at Will, Mike hadn’t left him to handle the nightmares alone. Even after he’d betrayed him, broken his trust, he still hadn’t abandoned him, giving up precious late night hours just to help him feel better. It wouldn’t be fair. He has to at least try. 

He reaches out across the darkness, placing one hand on Mike’s shoulder. There’s a stifling choke, and then he stops crying, still as a statue on the other side of the bed. Will tugs gently, but he refuses to turn around, stubborn as always. Doubt fills him for a second, flooding through him as fast as a river, and he considers turning back over and trying to go back to sleep.

But this is Mike. He knows Mike. He slides up behind him, tentative but determined, and rests his chest against his back, wrapping his arms around either side of his waist. Immediately, Mike collapses, no longer taut with tension, and his sobs begin anew, wracking through his body. 

He’s in uncharted territory now, unsure of his next steps. Mike has always been dramatic, quick to anger and prone to outbursts of emotion. But rarely did he cry in front of others, too embarrassed to be that vulnerable where others could see. It’s not the first time Will’s seen him cry, but they’ve never been in a situation this intimate, curled around and clinging to each other. He searches for Mike’s hands with his own, threading their fingers together and pulling them close. 

Will isn’t sure how long they lie there for, but he doesn’t let his grip waiver until Mike starts to sit up, pulling himself away. He leans over the edge of the bed, wiping his eyes with a tissue and taking a long drink from the water he has on his nightstand.

“Sorry,” he says, sniffling, voice hoarse and monotone. He lays back down, facing Will this time and keeping a respectable distance, doing his best to look composed.

He shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have woken you.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, reaching out and dragging Mike closer. Once again, he crumbles as soon as he’s in his arms, tucking his head against Will’s shoulder.

“It’s not.” He sounds so broken. He sounds like a memory, so hazy that he sometimes isn’t sure it’s real, faded and crinkled at the edges. He sounds like the desperation of a scared little kid, begging for his best friend back. He sounds like I just walked up to you and I asked—

He pulls Mike up to his chest, a mirror of the last few nights, and runs his fingers down his spine. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not crying anymore, but his breath is labored, coming in hot gasps of air across Will’s neck. 

“I don’t understand, Will. You made it sound so nice. You made me believe that someone could love me like that.” Will closes his eyes, struck again with the blow of knowing he caused this, he was responsible, he took his best friend’s happiness in his hands and destroyed it. All of Mike’s anger, all of his frustration of the last weeks was a cover for this, this sad, fractured boy with a broken heart. “Maybe you thought you were helping, but all you did was make it hurt more when I realized it wasn’t true. All it did was hurt.”

He would take it from him, if he could. He would reach inside of him and pull it out, carry it on his shoulders, bear the burden of all of his sadness if it meant he could take it from him.

He can’t do that, but he can still help.

“It’s not a lie,” Will says, voice low. “Please, please listen. It’s not a lie. I lied about El saying it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

The truth dangles in front of him, taunting and terrifying. How many times can he do this? How many times can he break himself for Mike, over and over, shatter his heart into a thousand little pieces to keep his whole? 

Then again, how many things has Mike sacrificed for him? How many nights did he stay up, holding Will in his arms until he could sleep? How many days did he spend looking for him, tearing apart two separate universes to bring him home? 

It’s not a math equation. It’s not about making things equal, and it doesn’t matter. He can do this for him. It doesn’t matter if it will destroy him in the end. If the truth means helping Mike, even for a moment, he can do it.

“I wasn’t lying about you leading our party, or keeping us all together,” he starts, voice shaky but determined. “Every time one of us was hurt, or bullied, you always knew the right thing to say. You always knew how to make it better. You are the kindest, most loyal, best friend I could ask for, and you always made m—us feel better for being different. Made us proud of who we are.”

It’s still a coward’s move, to use Dustin and Lucas as another shield, another way to hide from what he really means. But Mike is staring at him with rapt attention, lips parted and eyes boring into him, and for a moment, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world.

“Maybe El didn’t say it. It doesn’t mean it’s not true. It doesn’t mean you’re not loved. You are—” He’s veering dangerously close to the edge, just inches from a step he can’t take back. “You are the most incredible person I know. And I—I’ll always need you. And I’m sorry that’s—not what you want, but…but I—”

He’s cut off by lips crushing into his, two hands cupping his face, holding him steady. The force of it nearly knocks him backwards, and he braces himself with his palms flat against Mike’s chest. 

There’s no counting the amount of times he’s imagined this. The idea of kissing Mike has been floating around his mind for about as long as he’s known what kissing was, kindergarten daydreams that never really left him. Somehow, it’s a million times more than anything he could have dreamt, every nerve lighting up in brilliant flashes. He should be confused by this, would be, if he had any time to think, but Mike is everywhere, surrounding him, overwhelming him, his hair and hands and clothes and sheets filling every one of his senses. He gasps a breath and meets Mike’s lips recapturing his own, eager and aching.

He wonders, briefly, if this is a dream, the prelude to a nightmare concocted by Vecna. Perhaps it’s only a matter of time before Mike transforms into something horrifying, dragging him into another night of terror. But as soon as the thought crosses his mind, it’s kissed away. Mike’s lips are insistent against his, desperate in a way he would never allow himself to imagine. He couldn't possibly have invented this, not even in the furthest reaches of his mind. Even in the happiest of his fantasies, Mike had never wanted him like this. 

Mike pulls away, but not far, hovering just inches from his face. He drags his thumb across Will’s chin, agonizingly slow, just barely tugging the skin near the corner of his lip along with it. His eyes stay trained on the movement of his hand, until he chances one glance up to meet Will’s gaze, gauging his reaction, before flitting back down.

He leans in slower this time, and Will meets him halfway. 

It’s not an accident. There’s no pretense to hide behind, no way for them to pretend every movement isn’t deliberate, purposeful, wanted. 

Something about it is softer, and he takes his time, slowly parting Will’s lips with his own, tracing his tongue like he wants to memorize every part of him. Will is trying so hard to keep up, not particularly certain of his movements, tentative and unsure, afraid he might shatter whatever this moment is. It feels fragile, slippery as glass and just as likely to break if he makes the wrong move. But every time he wavers, he’s drawn back in, reassurances pressed into his lips, his cheeks, his neck.

Underneath it all, there’s a tenderness to everything, permeating even the smallest brushes of his hands. It’s gentle. It’s Mike. He’s not hesitant, but he’s careful, as though reading every sign to make sure Will wants this just as much as he does.

And Will wants. He’s wanted for so long that he’s forgotten what it was like to be without it, the furious, yearning ache for affection. And now, surrounded by it, all he wants is more, greedy and insatiable, desperate to have and to return it in full. He doesn’t know why Mike is kissing him. He doesn’t care why Mike is kissing him. He needs him to know. 

I love you. 

He didn’t say it. He wouldn’t have, and he knows it, even if he hadn’t been interrupted. He barely allowed the thought to take full form, even in the darkest recesses of his mind. It was something he shoved aside, shied away from, and though he knew it, he refused to give it a body to inhabit, afraid that acknowledging it would bring it further to life.

But now he puts it into everything he does, wondering if it’s enough for Mike to know, if it’s enough to fix what he’s broken. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He tries to tell him. He pulls him closer, hands sliding up into his hair, so he can hold him still, so he can punctuate every kiss with it. He can’t say it, but he can tell him, he can show him, he can prove he wasn’t lying.

Maybe it works. He isn’t sure. He doesn’t know what causes Mike to stop, to pull back, but one moment he’s kissing him and the next he’s hanging just over top of him, lips pink and slick and kissed raw. His eyes, gazing down at him in a daze, seem to blink back into focus, and he extracts his arms and legs from around Will as he realizes what he’s done. He swallows, turns to lie on his side, and whispers, “Sorry.”

He does not sound very sorry.

Will is cold where his hands were, his absence a longing that floods his whole body. He wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to beg for an explanation, wants to grab his shoulders and turn him back around and press him into the mattress until they can’t breathe.

Will does none of those things. He rolls over and stares at the wall until morning light.

The evacuation is mandatory. 

Monsters have begun to make their way through the gate, and the government has ordered everyone to head to the shelters, where they will be shuttled out whenever the roads are safe. The roads are rarely safe.

Karen and Ted take Holly in the morning. There’s a screaming match between them, Nancy and Mike that lasts for nearly three hours, arguments swirling in circles and voices growing hoarse. After thousands of tears and half-explanations, they each pack a small bag and leave, the door slamming shut behind them. Will hides in the basement and pretends it doesn’t remind him of anything else. 

They spend the day preparing the house, boarding windows and stockpiling whatever supplies they can find. Hopper calls briefly over the walkie to give them quick instructions and tell them to keep radio silence until tomorrow, when they’ll all reconvene and discuss the plan.

Will clings to Jonathan’s side, admittedly terrified of being alone with Mike. He can’t tell if he’s imagining the feeling of his lips still being swollen, kissed until they were bruised. He wonders if Jonathan can tell. He wonders if Nancy can tell. He wonders if Mike will tell Nancy—probably not. But still. He feels marred, tainted, like everyone could look at him and see what he’d done, and see how much he’d enjoyed it.

When they’ve finished their preparations for the day, Nancy suggests a movie to help them all calm down. He plops himself next to his brother before she has the chance to, earning him a number of weird looks, but he doesn’t care.

Because Mike knows. Mike knows. Mike figured out what he was trying to tell him that day in the back of the van, had sorted through the lies and almost-truths and realized exactly who Will was talking about, realized what that means, realized what that makes Will. Mike knows and he—

And he kissed him. Mike knew what Will was, how he felt, and he’d kissed him.

It doesn’t feel real. If he thought about it too much, he could probably convince himself it wasn’t. He’d imagined the end of the painting scenario a thousand times, hundreds of iterations of Mike rejecting him, telling him to fuck off, hugging him and telling him they’d always be best friends. Cold indifference or warm acceptance, it didn’t matter—none of them had ended with Mike kissing him.

Mike likes El. Loves her, in theory. Will has never doubted that for a second. He’s seen the way he looks at her, he knows what it means—and sure, maybe he’d caught Mike looking at him like that once or twice, but that was all coincidental. Circumstance. He knows it means nothing. 

And if that means nothing, then the kiss—well. It wouldn’t make sense for it to mean anything. It couldn’t. There had to be an explanation for it, some reason he would do that, some reason he would look at him like that, some reason he would kiss him like that. 

Maybe it had to do with El. It probably did. It always seemed to, with him. She no longer wanted him, and now Mike is looking for affection from any source he could find, even if it meant his best friend. Maybe it didn’t matter if he felt the same, and maybe he didn’t care about Will’s feelings either way. If he needed someone to boost his ego, Will is the most obvious choice.

If that was the case, then…okay. Will couldn’t say it was ideal, but maybe it was fair. Was he not doing the same, using Mike for his own emotional support every single night? If all Mike needs is someone to kiss, someone to tell him he’s loved, Will could do that. He could do it easily. Did he really need anything else in return?  

Yes, something quiet in him whispers. Because he knows doing this will snap his heart pieces, over and over, the second Mike gets bored of him again. He can’t take going from best friends to strangers every other day, never knowing what he actually means to him. He can’t keep putting him first while he’s barely an afterthought in Mike’s life. 

But it’s Mike. And if Mike asks—

Well.

Besides, he’s not sure any of it will matter in a few days. They’re not likely to live that long.

Once the movie ends, they gather themselves and head upstairs, leaving Will and Mike alone in the bedroom. They say nothing as they get ready to sleep, air heavy with tension while they climb into bed. Barely a word had passed between them since their kiss, each dodging glances and any chance of being alone together, and now there were a thousand things hanging between them, and neither were brave enough to do anything about it.

Will wishes he had gone upstairs during the movie, feigning weariness, so he could pretend to be asleep by the time Mike came up. But all day, there had been an ache behind his eyes, constant and disquieting, and he did not want to be alone with his thoughts, even for a moment. He knows the nightmare is just beyond his vision, and he knows what awaits as soon as he shuts his eyes. 

“Are you ready for this?” Mike asks quietly, pulling the covers up around them both and pulling Will out of his head. 

This being the war that was coming. This being the end of everything they knew. This being the fact that they might not even survive tomorrow. 

“No,” he says back. He doesn’t mean for it to sound so small.

“Me either.” Mike lies down on his side, facing the center of the bed. 

Neither of them say anything else, and Will settles into his side of the bed, preparing himself for a long night. Vecna had been active all day, controlling the monsters and assembling them for his plans, and it took all of Will’s power to block it from his mind. He considers bringing up the kiss. Talking about that seems less scary.

A few minutes pass, quiet except for the faint hum of the nightlight in the corner. He chances a glance over his shoulder and finds Mike, still wide awake and gazing at him. In the golden glow of his bedroom, he looks older than he ever has. He gives Will a weak smile, who returns it, and then holds his arms open in invitation.

If he had any shred of dignity, he would say no, roll over and go to sleep, ignore his hammering heart and convince himself to stop walking headfirst into torturous situations. But Will, selfish creature that he is, never seems to be able to deny himself this small pleasure, and he burrows himself into Mike, twisting their legs together.

They don’t speak as they fall asleep.

When he screams himself awake, he finds himself tangled in Mike’s arms, face hot as it’s engulfed in two large hands and peppered with kisses. Mike whispers soft words into his ears, gentle reassurances that suffocate him, and he struggles out of his grasp, sitting up. 

He pants, one hand on his chest, and Mike rises next to him, placing one tentative hand on his shoulder. Will leans into the touch, letting it ground him, as he tries to separate the memories from reality. After several minutes, he tilts his head on Mike, who wraps his arm around him in support. 

“It’s getting worse.” Mike says it almost like a question, but they both know it’s not.

“Yes,” he confirms. 

The boards on the window prevent the moonlight from slipping into the room. Will finds himself missing this small comfort now more than anything. 

Mike lays them both back down, landing on his back and pulling Will on top of his chest. A few moments pass before Mike takes a guess at what’s on Will’s mind. A hypothesis. 

“You think he’s going to come after you again.” This, too, is not a question.

“Yes.”

“We’re not gonna let him, okay?” Mike says immediately, tightening his grip around him. “We’re gonna stop him. He’s not going to hurt you again. We won’t let him.”

Will cannot bring himself to think about any of that right now. “Okay,” he says, monotone.

“You don’t believe me?” Mike asks. He almost sounds hurt.

“I believe you’ll try,” Will says. It feels like it uses all of his strength. “You always have. Everyone…has gone out of their way to protect me. I just don’t know if there’s anything we can actually do.”

“Don’t say that, Will. Please don’t say that.” Mike sounds panicked, his intensity buzzing through him and into Will. “You can’t just give up like that. Whatever it is we have to do, we’re gonna do it. You’re gonna be okay. You can’t give up.”

“I’m not…giving up.” He stares up at him, brow furrowed. “Mike, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I—” But he doesn’t finish, and sucks in a rattling breath, before swooping in and catching Will’s lips in his own.

It takes a moment for Will to reorient, but as soon as he does, he presses back, twisting his hands in the front of Mike’s shirt. Each of their movements is careful, aching, just ghosting over the idea of more. 

Something about this brings him back to life. There’s something so human, so distinctly real about it that it seems to grab him from Vecna and drag him out of reach. He lets one hand slide around to Mike’s neck, twisting in the hairs there and pulling him closer, earning him a breathy gasp. 

There's a rush of cool air, and suddenly Mike is several inches away. His eyes are locked on Will’s when he pulls back, lips pink and face flushed. He stares for a moment, almost dazed, before he blinks and the same realization seems to hit him. “Sorry,” he whispers, pulling back, and goes to turn away.

Will is a patient person, but not enough for that to work as an answer two nights in a row. Reaching out, he grabs his wrist before he’s able to escape.

“Sorry for what?” he asks, sounding a hundred times bolder than he actually feels. 

Mike looks shocked that he responded at all. “Never mind.”

A burst of frustration shoots through him, and he scowls, not releasing his grip. It’s a rejection and a dismissal all at once, and it doesn’t feel fair, considering the way he had just been pressed against him. 

His heart rages like a storm in his chest, furious and unforgiving, and he feels like he’s going to drown in the rains if this goes on any longer. He sets his mouth in a stubborn line and tries again.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Mike slumps back against the pillows, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Will, please,” he groans, sounding pained.

Will does not say anything, eyes locked onto his as he waits for an answer.

“I just thought—” Mike tries, but stops, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Something sparks in his fingertips, a current that shoots through and shatters him. He needs to know. He needs to know what Mike is thinking. He gathers all of his courage, usually buried so deep and used so rarely he forgets he has it at all, and asks again. “Why did you kiss me?”

Mike turns his head and meets his gaze. “Why did you let me?”

They stare at each other for a long, weighted moment. Will desperately wants him to say something, anything else, to answer the simple question, to make his heart stop pounding.

Neither of them say anything. Will lets himself fall onto his back and stares up at the starless ceiling.

“That’s not fair,” Will whispers, turning his head towards the pillow. “You don’t just get to—to use me because you’re lonely, or scared, or whatever. It’s not fair.”

“I’m not—” He stops, sighing. He hovers over the next sentence, just barely letting it slip through, before he tucks it neatly back away and shuts his mouth. A few more moments pass before he finally says, “I’m sorry.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t keep doing this back and forth with you. You can’t just run back to me every time you realize you can’t have her.”

Mike’s gaze reaches him through the dark, palpable even though he does not turn to see. 

“That’s not—that’s not it.”

“Then what, Mike? What is it?”

There’s a rustling, and he half sits up, leaning on his elbow towards him. Will chances a glance towards him, and it makes Mike’s breath hitch. “It’s not her, it’s you. It’s—I run back to you because you’re you.” He almost sounds angry, spitting out the words like poison. After a moment, he sinks back into the pillow, covering his eyes with his arm. “And I can’t stay away from you, no matter how hard I try.”

He swallows, staring at Mike in some mixture of wonder and terror.

“Why do you want to stay away from me?” he whispers, not trusting his own voice.

“Because you’re you,” he says, insistent, like that explains everything. “You…you are the kindest and most selfless person I know. And you’re always so willing to put everyone in front of yourself, and sacrifice your own happiness for everyone else. For me.”

He sits up suddenly, leaning towards the center of the bed. Slowly, tentatively, Will rises to meet him. “And you made me a beautiful painting, and felt like you had to lie about it, because you thought I wouldn’t care if it came from you. And, I don’t know, Will, I’m so afraid of being around you because you make me feel like—like I’m about to explode, like there’s so much inside of me I’m going to burst, and I never know what I’m going to say or do around you. And it’s terrifying.”

Will stares, breaths coming heavy and quick as he tries to reconcile these words with everything he knows. Mike leans his weight on his hands, slouching forward, looking like every word has been torn from him unwillingly. But he meets Will gaze, determined.

“I’ve missed you so much.” His voice is barely a ghost. “I miss you when you’re right next to me. And I—I don’t want to lose you again. I’m sorry.”

They’re so close. Will’s eyes brim, but he blinks the tears back, trying to focus. “Why did you kiss me?” he asks again.

Mike looks at him for a long moment. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

But he doesn’t answer, inching forward, staring at him so intently Will thinks he might lose his mind. “Why did you make the painting?”

He stares back. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“I missed you. And I wanted you back.” The air between them is still, charged with something Will doesn’t know how to name. They’re so close. “I meant every word I said in the van. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Will is ready when Mike comes swooping down, catching his lips in his own and wrapping his arm around his waist. His other hand comes up to splay across his neck, cupping his face, and he pulls him closer and closer. Every touch of his burns, every place his fingers dig in igniting Will into flames, a furious blaze that warms him from the inside. In the dark chill of the night, as the end marches slowly closer, it casts everything in a golden glow, and he knows. He’s safe.

There’s something hungry in him, now, something that he finally allows out of its cage. He presses up, pushing himself further into him, desperate to remove any of the space between them. His fingers run up into Mike’s hair, tangling themselves in the dark locks, and it earns him a sharp, breathy gasp, ghosting hot across his cheek. 

In one quick motion, Mike takes his wrists and pins them next to Will’s head. He hovers over him for a moment, foreheads nearly touching, and gazes at him with pupils blown wide and eyes heavy-lidded. With slow, careful precision, he releases Will’s wrists and lets his hands slide upwards, lacing their fingers together at the top. Will lets out a long, heavy breath, electricity spreading from where their hands meet to his core, and Mike once again presses him back down into the mattress. 

Wind howls around the house, and Mike kisses him until he forgets to worry about what tomorrow brings. 

It doesn’t last.

“Will, wait!” Mike says, just short of yelling as he follows him into the bedroom. “You cannot be serious. You are not thinking of going back down there.”

They had chosen the Wheeler household as the base of operations, being larger and more centrally located than most of their other options. Everyone had met up in the morning, taking the increasingly perilous journey across town, to discuss the plan. 

Will does not look at him as he begins to gather his things, scattered few and far between Mike’s items. “I’m not thinking about it. I’m doing it.”

The plan, which, of course, involved Will purposefully stepping foot back into his own personal hell.

“Will, you’re being crazy! You can’t go back there! You’ll die!”

His heart is working overtime, thumping like a jackrabbit against his ribs. He tosses a sock into his backpack. “I already survived a week there when I was twelve, by myself.”

“Barely!”

He heaves an exhausted sigh. “I’ll have Hopper and El with me, and we’ll be prepared this time.”

“This is crazy, Will!” He’s pacing back and forth, arm flailing wildly as he rants. “You can’t even sleep through the night without me, and you’re going to run off into the Upside Down?”

Will knows that. He knows all of that, and he knows what this means, and he’s trying to keep calm, but Mike is not helping. 

“I have the connection to Vecna,” he says, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I’m the only one who can find him, and I can help stop him.”

“Your connection to him is only going to get stronger once you’re down there. You know that, right?” Mike shoots back. “You think the dreams are bad now, what do you think is going to happen once he’s able to control what you’re feeling all the time? He’s going to figure it out, and he’s going to use it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, willing Mike to, for once, stop talking. “I know.”

“Okay, so, you know this is a bad plan, then! You won’t be able to sleep, Will. Do you know what happens to the body after 48 hours of no sleep? You’re going to be useless!”

Will’s head snaps up, and he glares, the words striking him across the heart. “I am not useless.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that,” Mike is quick to correct, anger dropping from his tone. “I just meant, like, the science behind it. Your nightmares are getting worse, and if I’m not there, how are you going to get any sleep?”

“You’re not the only one that can help me through a nightmare, Mike. El and Hopper will be there. I’ll be okay.”

Something about this seems to hurt Mike, and he looks away, almost petulant. “I—alright. If you say so.”

The silence hangs between them, and he can tell Mike’s waiting for him to say something else. “What?” he huffs, bending down to pick up a shirt.

“You’re the one that said—” he starts, but cuts himself off. “Never mind.”

“What, Mike?” He turns as he rises, coming face to face with Mike, who is standing much closer than he realized.

“Please don’t leave,” he whispers. “Please. It’s dangerous.”

Will takes a shaky breath. It’s so difficult to focus with him here, so present and so close. He rubs his lips together. “I know.”

“So don’t go! We’ll figure out another way for you to help, but you can’t just put yourself in danger.”

“So, I should just let someone else put themselves in danger for me?”

“No,” says Mike, “we should think of a plan that doesn’t involve you potentially dying.” 

“Until he’s dead, every plan is going to involve me potentially dying.”

He narrows his eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Will, please, can we just—” Mike reaches out, grabbing onto Will’s wrist and holding it. For a moment, he looks like he’s about to lace their fingers together, but stops, thinking better of it. “This is dangerous. And I don’t—I don’t want to lose you again.”

The words are an echo of last night, and it’s so overwhelming, it’s so much, that he can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t have Mike stand this close to him. He can’t do this.

“I’ll be fine.” It doesn’t sound very convincing, but it’s all he can muster.

“But—” Mike sputters, having trouble forming this thought. “But you’re—you’re leaving again. You said you wouldn’t leave.”

Will swallows, another rush of guilt crashing down over him. “I didn’t—that’s not what I said.”

“Yes it is! You said you didn’t want to lose me, either. But you’re leaving!”

“Mike, we are all going to die if we don’t do something about this. This isn’t about me wanting to leave!”

“But you are!” His protest is weaker than before, shoulders slumping. Something about him looks small. “First El, then Mom and Dad, and now you.”

It shouldn’t hurt when he says her name. He knows. He knows how they feel about each other, he knows how much he adores her, he knows how broken up he’s been about their split. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. He knows that Mike had found the girl of his dreams, and that it certainly wasn’t him. He’s always known he would never be able to compare.

“Look, we’ll figure something out, but please—”

Will jerks his hand back to him, his frustration towards the situation starting to bubble over. “Why? You decided that you actually care about me today?”

“I…” He seems truly confused now, as though he could not fathom a single reason Will might doubt the strength of their friendship. “I care about you every day.”

“You haven’t been able to look at me for the past two days.”

Mike’s jaw drops at this, looking outraged. “You wouldn’t look at me!”

“How would you even know? It’s not like you were trying to talk to me.”

“You didn’t talk to me, either.”

“Because you get mad every time I do!” He realizes how loud his voice is, and wonders if the rest of the house is listening. They probably are. He lowers his volume, but continues with just as much intensity. “You’re upset when I talk to you, you’re upset when I don’t. What do you want, Mike?”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he explodes, chest heaving. “I don’t know. I know I don’t want you to die. But I—I’ve been confused, okay?”

“Okay, then stop getting upset every time I can’t read your mind. I don’t know what you want.”

Mike looks pained, and exhausted, and exactly like how Will has felt for months. He pushes his fingers through his hair in frustration before dropping them to his sides.

“I want you to be careful,” he says, voice dropping to the quiet tone he recognizes as just for him. “And I want you to be safe. And I want you—”

It sounds like he’s going to say something else, but instead he steps forward, cups his hand around Will’s cheek, tilts his chin up, and kisses him.

It’s long, and slow, and deeper than the others, like he’s searching for something in Will. He takes his time, careful and contemplative, overturning every stone to find what he’s looking for.

Will does not lose himself in the kiss. He wants to. He wants to close his eyes and pretend that this is it, this is all he needs. He just wants to kiss Mike and forget about everything else, the rest of his responsibilities, the impending danger they’re facing. Instead, each of his movements is calculated, deliberate, and he knows what he’s doing when he slides his hands up Mike’s neck and tangles them in his hair. He knows what he’s doing when he pulls him closer, down, removing what little space there is between them.

He knows what he’s doing. He knows Mike better than he knows himself, inside and out, as familiar as his favorite song. He knows the melody of his sighs, knows the drumbeat of his heart, knows the tempo of his movements when he pushes Mike back against the wall, hands braced by his sides and caging him in. He knows, he knows, he knows how it’s all meant to go, knows each breath, each gasp, each flicker of motion. He knows this. He knows Mike.

And he knows exactly how much it will hurt when this ends. 

When they part, Mike keeps his forehead on Will’s, their chests heaving in and out of sync. His hands slide from his back down to his waist, and it’s—it’s everything he’s wanted for so long, everything he thought he could never have, but it’s wrong, and it’s twisted, and it’s nothing like he’d imagined. None of that stops him from wanting it. 

He gives himself one more moment to bask in the warmth before he does what he knows he needs to do.

“So what does this mean, then?” he asks, pulling his head back. 

“I don’t know,” Mike says, looking down and shuffling his feet. “What…do you want it to mean?”

Will knows what he expects. They’ve always been able to do this, as long as he can remember, to know each other's thoughts by the blink of an eye or twist of the lip. Mike won’t do it, unwilling to put himself out there any further than he already has, and he leaves the decision in Will’s hands. Maybe he’s scared, afraid of another rejection and too nervous to say what he’s thinking. Maybe he really is just desperate for attention, and is seeking it from the most plentiful source.

It doesn’t matter. It’s Mike. He knows what Mike expects. And for once, Will can’t bring himself to care. 

“I can’t—I can’t do this with you right now,” he says, stepping away. “There is going to be a war against everything that has been trying to kill me since I was twelve. You barely talk to me for weeks, and then you kiss me, and now you’re asking—what? What are you asking?”

“Okay. Fine.” He pulls his hands back, shoving them in his pockets. “You can just say no.”

“No to what? You didn’t ask me anything.”

“Will.” There’s a whine to his words, and he almost sounds like a child. “Come on. I told you…how I feel.”

“And haven’t talked to me since.”

“I’m just—it’s confusing! I don’t know!” He tugs his fingers roughly through his hair again. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know it’s confusing. All I’ve been is confused for weeks.”

“I needed…time to figure it out. I didn’t understand what was going on after you lied.”

Something in him snaps. Weeks of backlash for this one stupid mistake, over and over, feeling like he’d destroyed the lives of everyone around him has worn his patience thin, and he meets Mike’s eyes with a chill in his gaze. 

“Yeah, I lied. I was too afraid to tell you what I was feeling, because you clearly didn’t care about my feelings, and were too busy trying to figure out how to say three words to your girlfriend of, what, a year and a half?”

Mike looks stricken, clearly not expecting the attack. “I—Will.”

He doesn’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter, because he’s about to go into the Upside Down again, and probably die, or get possessed, or tortured, or whatever else Vecna decides to do to him. It doesn’t matter, because none of it will make a difference as soon as he—

He can’t do this right now. He needs to end it, for both of them.

“Let me ask you something,” he says, voice stretched thin. “If El walked in here right now and said she wanted to get back together, what would you say?”

His silence pounds in Will’s ears, and Mike looks away, the truth written on his face. Will grits his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm, forcing his heart not to beat out of his chest. He knew this answer. He’s always known this answer. 

“Then why are we even talking about this?” Will asks. 

Mike doesn’t respond. He’s always known this answer.

He takes a steadying breath, straightening his shoulders. He’s always known this answer. It feels exactly the same as it did in the van, as it did in the pizza kitchen, as it did when he waited by the mailbox for a letter that would never come. It doesn’t hurt any more now than it did then. But—

But it would’ve been easier if he never knew what it was like. It would’ve been easier to never have a taste of what love could be, to never know what it felt like to fall asleep in Mike’s arms, warmer and safer than he’s ever been. It would’ve been easier to never know what it felt like to be kissed, to be desired like that. 

It would’ve been easier, really, if he’d never known Mike. 

He throws his last shirt into his backpack and zips it up, tossing it over his shoulder and heading for the door. 

“Will, wait!” He reaches out, latching onto Will’s wrist again, and Will—

Will is still himself. He still stops, hand on the doorknob.

“Come on. That’s not fair,” Mike says, squeezing his hand. “We just broke up. I’m—I’m confused.”

Something about this strikes him harder than everything else he’s said. He looks directly at him, brow set, when he says, “You didn’t seem that confused last night.”

Mike’s expression falls, mouth landing in a stiff line. He drops Will’s wrist and sends him a frigid glare.

Will meets it with his own. “You can’t just replace her with me.”

“I know that!” He throws his arms up, exasperated. “I—I told you.”

“But you only care about me when she’s not around. And the second she changes her mind, you’ll go running right back to her.”

“That’s not true!” His voice rises in indignation.

Will scoffs, matching him. “You just said it!” 

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Yeah, you never say anything!”

“Okay, what? This is ridiculous! You’re being ridiculous!”

“No, what’s ridiculous is you knowing how I feel and just—using that—”

“I told you that wasn’t true.” Mike huffs, but the anger slowly slips out of him, his shoulders falling. “I’m not—I wasn’t using you. I want—”

He reaches out, hands sliding around his neck and resting under his chin. For a second, he’s grounded, held steady by the warmth of his gaze. He wants, so badly, to freeze this moment, to live in this bedroom with Mike for an eternity, to never have to face what’s beyond the door.

“I’m scared, okay?” Mike says, each word as sharp as a knife. “I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t do this again. I can’t watch you leave again.”

Heavy footsteps make their way up the stairs, rhythmic thumps interrupting their thoughts. Will tries to turn towards the door, but is held in place by the hands around his neck.

“Please stay with me.” Mike’s voice is so low, desperate and quick and so intimate it makes Will’s heart break. “I’m sorry I’ve been a mess. And I’m sorry I was mean and I’m sorry I didn’t call enough and I’m sorry I was too scared to tell you how I felt, but please, Will—”

There's a sharp rap upon the door, followed by Hopper’s gruff voice. “Will?” he calls. “C’mon. We gotta get a move on, kiddo.”

“Will,” Mike whispers, “Please.”

His heart quickens, pounding a pattern through his ribs, and he realizes their borrowed time is up. He tilts his head down, letting his forehead meet Mike’s, and he squeezes his eyes shut and pretends he doesn’t know what happens next. 

Another knock. “Will?”

“I’m coming,” Will answers.

He steps back, and Mike lets his hands drop, falling to hang by his sides. Mike stares at him, red-ringed eyes filled with the hurt of his betrayal, and he can only bear to hold his gaze for a moment. He turns, untangling himself from everything that keeps him tethered to this room, dreams and nightmares alike, and takes a shaky, steadying breath. 

He doesn’t look back as he walks out the door.