Work Text:
Mike Wheeler had a leather jacket. And he liked to wear it.
As the months of 1985 had pushed on and the weather had gotten colder, Mike’s fashion sense – if it could even be called that – had begun to morph into a tragic blend of his former style of throwing on whatever his mom, Aunts, or Nana had bought him ( always from the Gap) and the “punk nonsense” (as Ted had put it) the eccentric Dungeon Master of Hellfire had going on.
So Mike had begged his parents to buy him a leather jacket.
Max called it cool, but there was a perpetual air of sarcasm around her which made Mike doubt the truth of her supposed compliment. Dustin had laughed, which wasn’t too bad.
But then that style came back in the fall of ‘86, and it made Will laugh too.
Apparently, the near end of the world wasn’t enough to stop the imperturbable force of the Board of Education; so, come said Fall, despite the anxiety of Vecna laying suspiciously low, planning his strike back, the Party had to return to school. And when they met up at the bike racks like old times on that first day of sophomore year, Mike was sporting his leather jacket; which Will found absolutely hilarious for some reason.
“No, no, it looks good on you,” he laughed, ruffling Mike’s hair (he got swatted at for that), “I just think it would look better on me,” he added with a flirtatious smirk.
“You already have a jacket on!” Lucas came to Mike’s defence, patting Will on the should of his Lenora Hills track team letterman, “and besides, dude,” putting his other hand on Mike’s shoulder, “it really bring out your pessimistic demeanour,” he concluded, his smile far too genuine for having just insulted his best friend.
“I’ll wear your jacket,” El piped up, already tying her flannel (which was probably once Will’s too) around her waist.
Will replied with a smile, declaring, “perfect,” as he shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over his sister's shoulders. Then he held out his hands to Mike.
“C’mon, you know you love me,” he instigated, grabbing at the air.
“And I regret it every day,” Mike mumbled, rolling his eyes as he took off his leather jacket before throwing it in his boyfriend’s face.
“And what if I get cold, now.” He crossed his arms like an angry dad, looking at his friends like he was scolding his children.
“It’s summer,” Dustin said, shaking his head as a silent way of adding, “you’re all idiots” to his comment.
“No, no, the twig’s got a point–”
“Fuck off, Mayfield.”
El untied her flannel, “you can wear this,” offering it to Mike. He begrudgingly accepted it.
Begrudgingly at first, at least.
By the end of the day he was set on not giving it back. So he didn’t. It was a little big, warm but not hot, and smelt like the Byers’ house, though with a bit more hairspray.
“Nice look, little Byers.” Robin was the first to comment on the outfit swap when they met up with all their older friends after school. (High school may go on, but college could be put off in favour of saving the world.)
Will shook the hand Mike was holding under the table. “This is mine now,” he said with a shrug and a smug grin. Mike groaned and dropped his head on the table.
Whilst the party watched their exchange with interest, waiting for Mike’s next move, El looked at Will expectantly. After a moment of rearranging Mike’s hair so it wouldn’t fall into his ice cream, he caught her eye.
“No,” he said resolutely. But the look she gave him after made him cave. (Will was not a weak person, though he couldn’t help always appeasing his sister.) “Fine, we can share it.”
She gave him a thumbs up, not smiling; she was glaring at him, indicating that she would not be very cooperative in the “sharing” department.
By the end of the day, Mike and Will were left alone in Will’s room – “to study” he had said (they did really need to study) – with a paper weight propping the door open three inches. (Hopper had come up to ask if Mike was staying over (which he was, and he knew that, but he still hoped by asking that the bane of his existence as a father would take the hint and actually spend one night at his own home) and found the door completely shut; and even after opening it (without knocking, which was retrospectively regarded as a Bad Decision) to find them literally sat across from each other on the floor doing homework, he still found a paperweight to place on the ground (whilst maintaining eye contact with Mike) to be sure the door remained at least a little open.)
Now, however, Mike was cuddled up in Will’s arms on the bed, still wearing “El’s” flannel when he asked, “was this yours?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t fit me anymore – although sometimes she still steals my stuff right out of the laundry basket,” he answered with a laugh that Mike felt more than heard.
“Oh,” he then said, disappointment evident in his tone, “do you want it back?”
“Oh?” Will mimicked, rubbing his hands up and down Mike’s arms, “so you’d only keep it if it actually belonged to your ex-girlfriend?”
“Shut up, that’s not what I was saying.”
A beat, then Will said, “you were gonna ask to swap it to get your leather jacket back,” which earned him an elbow in the ribs.
Resigned, “it does look better on you anyway,” Mike grumbled, turning over to nuzzle his head into Will’s neck, “like, you look hot or something.”
“Or something?”
“I’m trying to compliment you – you know I don’t know what I’m talking about.” His words were muffled by Will’s shoulder. “Just shut up already, jeez.”
Will wanted to say more to spite him, but held his tongue. Instead, he started peppering kisses into Mike’s hair, just as Mike began fisting his shirt with the hand that was resting on his chest – a sign that, Will knew, meant he was drifting off.
“Be honest–”
“No.”
“How much have you been sleeping?”
“I haven’t.”
“Okay,” Will said with a sigh, holding just a little tighter. He brought a hand up to run his fingers through Mike's hair, “just get some rest; I’m here.”
Mike Wheeler had a leather jacket. And he liked to wear it.
But now his boyfriend wore it to school almost every day; and he liked it even better that way.