Archive of Our Own ^beta

As Mike watches the shivers crawling up Will’s back, he realizes that there is a chance that Will really, really doesn’t want to leave.

Mike turns the keys in the ignition, feeling the engine under him sputter out to a slow, uneventful death. As the car cools down, Mike’s eyes keep traveling back to the drawn out hug between Will and Mrs. Byers. The way they both complete each other, tightly wrapped in an unbreachable cocoon. There are loud tears that slip down Mrs. Byers’ cheeks and Mike can only imagine what Will must be like.

No. No, he doesn’t want to think about that.

Mike lets his hands drop from the steering wheel. He knows he shouldn’t be watching. This is a private moment between family, between two people who have had nothing but each other since Jonathan left; but Mike can’t look away. He watches Mrs. Byers’ arms tighten around Will’s middle because that’s how high she can reach and Will shakes. Again.

It’s a stark contrast to how Mike’s goodbyes had gone. Holly — the world’s most sufferable teenager — had given him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, before the door to her room of pinks and blues had shut itself on Mike’s face. It’s not unlike what Mike had expected. They were never quite that close, even after Nancy left because Mike’s mind was always involved in something, far, far away.

His mother also reacted as expected. Fussing over his luggage, pushing some more money into his palm and picking at his clothes again and again and again until Mike had to beg her to let him go. (She didn’t hug him once, not once and that twisted somewhere deep inside Mike). His father shook his hand once, then turned the volume up on the television.

Ever since he was eight years old, Mike has wanted to leave Hawkins behind. It’s not big enough for him, he used to tell Will. Don’t you think so? We’re so much better than this, Mike would tell Will, pressed into his side.

Yeah. Sure. Will would say and Mike would completely drop it.

It’s why, when he’d asked Will to come to New York with him, it had surprised Mike when Will had said yes.

And, now as Mike watches Will cry into his mother’s shoulder that he thinks that maybe Will hasn’t quite thought this through. Will starts to move and Mike quickly looks away, hands flying to the steering wheel and he fiddles with the radio. Music floods through the speakers beside him and Will fills the empty passenger seat, arms folded over his chest and cheeks red.

“Should we?” Mike asks, as Will pulls the hood of his jacket over his head and leans back into the seat, almost like he’s melding into it.

The question Mike is asking is different from the one he intends, but Will understands. He always does. Mrs. Byers gives Mike a small wave as he turns the keys in the ignition, jumpstarting the engine and the car comes back to life. He gives her the strongest smile he can muster before he turns back to Will, who hasn’t said a word the entire time.

“Yeah.” Will quietly answers, like there’s something clogging his throat.

Mike doesn’t push it. He presses down on the pedal and watches in the rearview mirror as Mrs. Byers becomes smaller and smaller, until she disappears in a roll of dust.

It gets better once they’ve left Indiana. They switch for a while and Will drives while Mike naps. He flits in and out of consciousness as his head keeps hitting the window hard. Will keeps the radio turned down, eyes focused on the road sprawled out before them as the first promises of sunrise start showing.

Splices of lemon chiffon light spill in through the windows. Mike reaches for Will’s hand on the gearstick. He startles but the tension in Will’s shoulders seeps out as fast as it comes.

It takes them sixteen hours to make it to New York and it’s midnight by the time they reach their destination. Will chews on watermelon bubblegum the entire time and offers Mike a stick when he sees Mike’s hands trembling. Mike takes it, tucks his hands away into the gaps of his jacket.

Will knocks on the door, three soft raps and he leans into Mike’s side like he’s trying not to collapse. He smells like faded fruit and crisp exhaustion at the corners. Somewhere between the folds of their coats, Mike finds Will’s hand and he squeezes.

Will’s breath hitches. The door opens, a flood of golden light.

“Hey.” Nancy says, and she smiles at them, soft face lifted in the light and something smells good. Really, really good. Like tomato soup good. “Come on in.”

She moves to the side, revealing Jonathan, who stands there frozen like he isn’t quite sure how to react. His dark hair falls over his forehead, but there’s no mistaking the soft fondness coming alight in his gaze as it falls over Will.

Mike tilts his head sideways, the corner of his vision catching on Will’s face. This is the most alive he’s looked their entire journey. Will lets the bag in his hand fall, an incomprehensible noise dying in the back of his throat as he leaps over the luggage to tackle Jonathan into a hug.

Nancy and Mike both look away. Nancy’s face has come alight with a soft smile, the kind that’s always reserved for Holly or Barbara but never Mike. As if she jumps on his train of thought, she meets Mike’s eyes before she takes his hand and gives him a halfway hug. That’s the only thing that the two of them might have in common.

She helps him bring the luggage into the living room. It gets stashed into a corner beneath Nancy’s sheer curtains while Mike and Will devour the meatloaf Nancy has made. There’s also tomato soup. Cut lettuce and dressing. Mike wants to sob into his food, but he’s never going to give Nancy that kind of pleasure.

“When the hell did you learn how to cook?” Mike nonchalantly asks Nancy. She gives him a smile before she chucks a crouton at him.

Will narrowly dodges the crouton as he turns his attention to Jonathan. “Did you help at all?” Will asks, with a knowing smile as he carves into the third slice of meatloaf.

“I cut the lettuce.” Jonathan replies, to which Mike sarcastically applauds.

“Wow. I can’t believe no one’s given you a Michelin star yet.” Mike says. Jonathan sharply laughs and there’s a curve in his cheek where it sinks in. Nancy’s eyes grow hazy. Mike looks away.

Thank goodness that Nancy and Jonathan’s apartment had two bedrooms because he’s not sure he could survive another second of those two making heart eyes at each other. He tells Will as much as he closes the door of their room with a soft click.

The curtains to the room have been left open, letting pearly white moonlight stream in, only to disappear when Will turns the tubelight on. Mike collapses face first onto the bed with its flowery bedsheet. He feels like there are a million layers of grime stuck to him and the desire to jump into the shower and take a nap simultaneously pull him in two opposite directions.

“I know.” Will enunciates, shaking his head as he rifles through his luggage to find something fresh to wear. “I wasn’t expecting… all that.”

“They’re disgusting.” Mike whines. The last thing on this planet he wants to see is his sister romancing his best friend’s brother. Will doesn’t seem to agree with his sentiments.

“You’re disgusting.” Will says, kicking Mike’s shin. “Get the fuck off the bed, Jesus.”

“This is killing me. I’m going to die.” Mike mutters as he pulls on a pillow to stuff it under his cheek. Will towers over him, wearing an expression something akin to one his mom always wore around him. Mike’s heart leaps.

“Shower first.”

Will throws clothes at him and that’s when Mike realizes Will was looking for clothes for him.

Mike pushes himself off the mattress. “Fine. But if I fall asleep and die in there, who’s gonna come get me?”

Will rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “I’ll drag your body out of there, don’t you worry.”

“Okay, but I’ll be naked.”

“I’ve seen you naked before.”

“It’s not the same. I’ve changed.”

“Oh, really?” Will asks, lips pulled into a thin line. “What about you has changed exactly?”

“Are you trying to say I have a small dick?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Will says, shrugging. “It’s just you trying to compensate for your insecurities.”

Mike holds the clothes to his chest. “Look at you, finally using your college degree for something.”

Will smiles. “Get in the shower before I beat your ass.”

Mike does as commanded. The hot water washes away the invisible layers of grime on his skin. Nancy’s soap is fragrant and it only leaves soft skin in his wake. Outside, he can hear the television running and something falling onto the floor with a soft thud. Mike quickly brushes his teeth, feeling the soft bed outside call his name.

Mike turns the bathroom light down and he makes his way out, only to find the television on and Will already asleep. He’s fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position, head half propped up, hands folded over his chest. Nancy’s three pillows are tossed down onto the floor and even the haze of his exhaustion, the sleep hovering over his eyes, Mike remembers that Will doesn’t like sleeping on more than one pillow.

He turns the television off. There’s a space beside Will, perfectly enough for him to fit without the two of them having to touch. Mike collapses onto the bed and Will stirs.

Will shifts, finally moving into a more sensible way of sleeping and Mike feels his eyes close like some unseen force is pulling on his eyelids. It’s simple. He falls asleep listening to the rhythm of Will’s breathing. He’s never felt this kind of peace before.

He doesn’t dream of home once.

When Mike wakes up the next morning, Will is long gone. The pillows are neatly lined up in the empty space beside Mike as expected, but Mike doesn’t take the same kind of effort. He tosses the blanket aside, immediately missing the warmth. The curtains are still drawn, but the light peeks past the lining of the curtains so at least Mike knows it’s still morning.

It takes quite an effort to push himself off the bed and make his way to the small kitchen, where Jonathan and Will sit, mugs of piping hot coffee nestled between their hands.

Mike’s father used to drink a specific roast of French coffee. He took it black, three sugars and naturally, that’s the way Mike grew up drinking it, too. Mike finds a half-opened pack of that very same coffee on the counter, a steel spoon stuck halfway into it. He didn’t know Nancy liked it, too.

There are three chairs around the table and Mike takes the one empty seat beside Will who takes one look at his face and passes him a freshly poured mug of piping hot coffee. Jonathan gives him a smile of acknowledgement.

“Where’s Nancy?” Mike asks.

“Work. She had a meeting.”

“At eight in the morning?”

“It’s New York.” Jonathan says, shrugging. “It doesn’t sleep.”

Mike takes a sip of his coffee. It makes its way down his throat, loud and bitter and for the first time since yesterday, he thinks of Hawkins. The coffee tastes the same, just the way his father used to take it and it burns on the tip of his tongue.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Jonathan asks, breaking Mike’s train of thought before it spirals any further. “Are you guys gonna go see anything?”

Mike’s plan was more crawling back under the freshly washed sheets and falling back into the sweet, loving embrace of unconsciousness, but Will quickly pipes up. His eyes glimmer with childlike excitement. The coffee doesn’t taste bitter this time.

“Oh man, I was thinking the MET, maybe the Empire State Building. Central Park tomorrow. Oh, and I heard Times Square is great.” Will says, without taking a breath. He’s one shade away from being purple in the face. “What do you think, Mike?”

Jonathan turns to stare at Mike, his gaze piercing. Mike clears his throat. “Sure.”

Will isn’t turned off by Mike’s clear lack of enthusiasm. He never is. That’s the way it’s always been. Still, Mike feels the tiniest smidge of guilt.

“Sounds like fun,” He says. Will’s smile is blinding. Jonathan never stops looking at him.

They shower, have another coffee and leap out of the door. Correction. That’s all Will, who practically drags Mike with him everywhere he goes. By the end of the day, Mike’s feet are positively hurting but Will with his relentless energy and tourist excitement refuses to wind it up.

They’re at Times Square by eleven in the night. Will pauses in a corner of the street, basking in the glow of the obnoxious billboards. Mike leans on the wall beside him. Will’s face is bathed in the blues and the yellows and the greens of advertisements and Mike really can’t take his eyes off him.

“Do you regret coming here?” Mike blurts, and Will’s face shifts. Mike knows he’s thinking of Mrs. Byers, but Mike needs to know. He needs to know that they aren’t making a mistake.

Mike had a life set for him in Hawkins. As the only son, he would’ve inherited his father’s flourishing business. He would’ve watched Holly go off to college. He knows he would’ve been married off to Miller’s daughter, Sarah. They would’ve had two kids, a picket white fence and for most people, that sounds like paradise.

To Mike, it sounds like nothing short of a death sentence.

He’s in New York now with no job and no money, but it’s the freest he’s been his entire life. He needs to know if Will feels the same way.

It takes Will a good while to answer. “It’s too early to say,” he starts. “But, I don’t think I’ll ever regret it.”

Something blooms under the cage of Mike’s ribs, his fingertips tingling with the urge to reach for Will’s hand. He doesn’t move, just lets his eyes slide shut as the chaos and commotion of the city beats on his eardrums.

It takes them two months to move out of Jonathan and Nancy’s house.

Their first apartment is in a six-storey building that always creaks with the tiniest burst of wind, is always too cold and Will complains about hearing rats skittering around in the walls. It’s nothing short of a nightmare, but it’s what their limited budget can afford. A cartoonist’s and freelance writer’s jobs don’t pay that much.

But it’s a roof over their heads and it’s theirs and that alone is enough for every complaint on Mike’s tongue to dry up as fast as it comes.

It still takes them quite a while to get adjusted to New York. The people, the food, even the smell of the city is miles away from the small town of Hawkins. On some days, when Mike is especially weak, he dreams of Hawkins. His mother’s citrus cake. The droning of his father’s television as he skims through a magazine. Some days, Mike misses it. A lot.

He knows Will does, too. He calls home more often, goes to see Jonathan whenever he possibly can. It’s a routine, yes, but Mike is a stranger to immense change like this. They don’t talk about it, even though he knows they should.

Luckily, a distraction comes barreling towards them in the form of Max, El and Lucas.

They move into the apartment in front of Mike and Will’s, a bizarre trio with a far more bizarre living arrangement, but Mike has learned not to question these things.

It takes them two months to interact, three months to talk and the first time Mike ever exchanges words with Max Mayfield, she asks him, “How the hell do you get girls with that haircut?” She’s the quickest friend he’s ever made.

Lucas is maybe the nicest person Mike has ever met. He’s fearless and nice and he’s always up for a drink. Lucas would definitely get along with Dustin, too. That’s a big check in Mike’s book. And, then comes El. Mike doesn’t have much of a friendship with her. She seems to get along with a very specific type of people, a type that doesn’t seem to extend past Max and Will.

But, it’s fine. Mike is long past his people pleaser days. He can live with the fact that someone doesn’t like him.

“If this is what six months in this city has done to you…” Will says, grinning as Mike tells him this. “Maybe I should’ve brought you to New York sooner.”

They’re in the kitchen by the stove. Mike takes one look at Max and El on their couch, playing some inane game on their phones. Their legs are tightly locked, Max’s head is on El’s shoulder and Mike, for a second, thinks that he gets it. Will follows Mike’s gaze, smiling softly when he sees the sight.

“Maybe you should’ve.”

Over Will’s mugful of coffee, their eyes brush and Will returns the smile. For some inexplicable reason, Mike’s heart jumps.

Whatever game Max and El are playing, they win. El screams, nearly jumping out of her seat and Max’s eyes glow, soft red brushed on her cheekbones. She looks starstruck, like something straight out of a movie and this is akin to news for Mike, who didn’t even know Max was capable of emotions other than a perpetual state of annoyance.

Will refills Mike’s cup and takes the empty spot next to him, leaning against the countertop.

“Do you think they’ll ever know about each other?” Will asks, as he sips on his coffee as they watch this quiet, meaningful exchange between an oblivious El and a blushing Max. El’s arm is slung around the back of Max’s fiery red curls, leaning into her side.

It’s doubtful. If Mike has learned anything from the romantic movies Lucas loves to cry over, it’s that the ones on the brink of setting off into a passionate love affair are usually the last ones to find out about said love affair. Every story is the same to the point where it’s infuriating and all Mike wants to do is reach into the television and throttle the pining assholes and scream at them, “He’s obviously into you, dumbass!”

“Doubt it.” Mike replies, shaking his head. “They’ll probably be the last to find out.”

“Wow, what ever happened to believing in true love?”

“I believe in true love.” Mike shrugs. “You’re just giving their intelligence too much credit.”

“You know, Max will kill you if she knows you said this.”

Mike scoffs. “I’m not afraid of Max.”

“I’m gonna tell her this.”

“...Please don’t.”

Splices of sunlight catch on the bridge of Will’s nose as he throws his head back and laughs.

“Don’t you worry, Wheeler.” Will says, moving to pat Mike’s chest. For a second, Mike’s paranoia takes over and he wonders if Will can feel his heartbeat. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“So, what’s the deal with you and Byers?”

This is the loudest party Mike has ever been to. It’s loud and the strung up green lights are ugly and the whole reason Mike is even here is because Will and Lucas (the only two people on this planet who Mike cannot say no to) combined their wily charms and forced him to socialize with people he doesn’t know.

Mike doesn’t even know whose party it is, just that it’s one of Max’s countless friends and that the beer is bottomless. Okay, maybe there’s one more reason why he’s here.

But, the beer isn’t enough to distract Mike from his raging headache, the itch under his skin that makes him want to run home, climb into bed and sleep this off. That’s how he finds himself in the corner of the living room, a cup full of beer and a drunk Max, asking him the stupidest questions known to mankind.

Mike squints at Max like she’s grown a third head. The beer has left him slightly buzzed and he’s missing Will. He’s missing Will. If only Will hadn’t gone off somewhere to refill his stupid drink, he’d know how to answer Max’s idiotic question. He always does.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Max glances at him quizzically, like Mike is a major idiot and she’s had enough of him. “Like are you guys dating… or is it just a casual thing where you’re sleeping together but you’ve allowed each other to see other people, even though you really don’t want to?”

“Uh…” Mike picks at his brain, trying to think of how to answer this and ultimately comes up with a genius answer. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Max sighs before she takes a sip of the alcohol in her red cup. “My friend asked for his number.”

Maybe Max is trying to get a rise out of him. She does a lot of things to tick Mike off for her own amusement. Last week, she claimed she loved the Lion King remake. This must be like one of those times. It’s good that even through Mike’s drunken haze, he sees Max’s tricks because there’s no way in hell he’s going to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

So, Mike schools his features into a blank slate as Max quirks a perfectly shaped eyebrow, and says, “Sure, give her Will’s number.”

“It’s a guy.” Max deadpans.

Mike’s stomach flips. “A guy asked for Will’s number?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no, of course, it’s not… it’s not a problem.” Mike coughs into his fist. “Why would that be a problem?”

“Good.” Max says and Mike bites his tongue. Even though the conversation is over, Max doesn’t leave his side. She stands next to him, leaning against the wall and they take a sip of their beers together in sync.

As the minutes tick by, people only seem to get more drunk. Mumble rap floods through the speakers and within the blink of an eye, the empty living room becomes a pseudo dance floor. Max and Mike don’t move — even on their best days, they’re not dancers — and Mike really wants to ask her something.

“Why’d you ask me for permission?” Mike asks, his gaze catching on where Lucas is talking to Will, both of them with one foot out of the kitchen. There’s a bottle tucked away under Will’s arm, green light caught on his lashes. Mike tries to tear his eyes away, but he can’t. He can’t.

“I don’t know, I thought…” Max trails off, ending her sentence with a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know what I thought. Just… something.”

“That’s vague.”

“Trust me, Wheeler.” Max sighs. “You don’t want to know what I thought.”

Will catches Mike’s eye, across the room and waves, a bright grin on his face.

“I won’t give him the number, if you don’t want me to.” Max says, her tone suddenly soft and she turns on her side.

There’s an undercurrent to his conversation with Max that Mike feels like he’s missing, but there’s no time to ask. Mike hates the feeling of someone looking through him. He hated it when his mother did it, he hates it when Nancy does it and he certainly hates it when Max does it.

Will and Lucas wade through the crowd of dancing bodies to make their way to Max and Mike. The bottle under Will’s arm is ice-cold beer. Just like Mike asked for.

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” Mike asks. Max’s eyes soften. The words taste like sandpaper on his tongue.

Will hands Mike his beer. There’s a dusting of pink on his cheekbones that Mike wants to reach out and trace. He swallows the desire down. Instead, Mike takes a sip as Lucas launches into a story about someone who snorted hummus in the kitchen.

“It was so fucking stupid.” Will contributes halfway through the story, unable to keep the laughter from bubbling past his lips. “It was funnier in the moment, but — ”

The music beats on Mike’s eardrums. He can’t stop thinking about that guy. Why would someone ask Will out? Of course he asked Will out, that’s not part of the question, but a guy. A guy. Mike is having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Will is going to be asked out by a guy.

Is Will even into guys? While that isn’t really much of a question — considering Hawkins’ gay population was close to zero — it’s still weird to think that Will is going to be asked out by a fully grown man.

There was a dark period in Will’s life where he spent six months dating Jennifer Hayes. Then Tanya in college. If Mike isn’t wrong, he’s pretty sure Jill from the grocery store also asked him out last week. Never a guy, though. Never a guy. That’s new.

Mike isn’t sure if he likes it.

It’s not about being homophobic. Mike isn’t homophobic. He just doesn’t like it when his friends have other friends. Or boyfriends. He’s not sure if he can handle the idea of Will, especially having a boyfriend. It rubs him the wrong way.

Mike takes another swig. It tastes bitter.

“So, you’re going out with him.”

“Yeah.” Will shrugs. “Why not?”

Because I don’t want you to, Mike neglects to say.

It’s been two weeks since the party, since Mike’s new job bagging groceries at the local store started and it’s been two weeks since Will got a guy’s number from Max. Mike didn’t think Will would say yes. But, it’s a Tuesday, seven in the evening.

The sky is a deep purple, an hour away from sinking into complete darkness and Will is going out on a date with Max’s friend.

At first, Mike thought Will had only accepted the date as a joke or at most, an experience but then Will had dragged Mike to the store to buy a new pair of jeans. Mike had stood outside the changing room, holding Will’s million blue shirts and jeans slung over his arms and he’d thought oh.

This isn’t a joke. None of this is a joke. Which had led Mike down another rabbit hole of Will being interested in men, but he’d pulled himself out of that as fast as the spiral started.

Mike hates this and he hates how much he hates this.

“When are you coming back?” Mike asks from the bed where he’s lying, Cleopatra style, trying to nonchalantly flip through a magazine and failing badly.

They’re in Will’s bedroom. Will is trying out different outfit combinations in front of his full-length mirror while Mike gives him input, even though Mike’s fashion advice is less than stellar. Will wants him here, so he’s going to be here. It’s as simple as that.

“I don’t know, I’m not going into a date thinking about when I’m going to leave.” Will answers, fixing his belt one last time. He turns away from the mirror and towards Mike on the bed. “What do you think?”

Mike swallows, looking away from Will and back towards his magazine. “It’s good.”

“You fucking hate it.” Will says, voice laced with panic. “You hate it and he’s gonna hate it and this date is going to be a disaster.”

Mike practically launches himself off the bed and towards Will by the mirror. Will has his face buried in his hands like he’s two seconds away from a mental breakdown. Mike sighs, grabbing Will by the shoulders as he turns Will to face him.

“It’s going to go fine. It’ll be great.” Mike says. Will looks unconvinced.

Mike reaches to fix Will’s collar where it’s stuck beneath his sweater. There’s an uncharacteristic flush to Will’s cheeks as Mike’s fingers brush the nape of Will’s neck. Mike doesn’t speak, terrified to shatter this fragile moment that they’ve crafted. Instead, he listens to the unevenness of Will’s breathing as Will reaches to grab Mike’s free hand that’s by his side, seeking some semblance of comfort.

“I don’t even know this guy.” Will says. “What if he’s a closet murderer or a stock trader or fuck, a soup hater?”

“He’s Max’s friend. I don’t think he’ll be a soup hater.”

“Mike.” Will says, his eyes lit up with a fiery intensity. “Please. Please tell me it’s going to be okay.”

They’re not talking about this date anymore. He’s known Will long enough to know this. Mike lets Will’s collar go before grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him gently.

“Will, it’s going to be okay.” Mike enunciates. Will searches his eyes for one long, painful second before he finds whatever he’s looking for and steps back, seemingly satisfied.

“It’s going to be okay.” Will chants under his breath.

It’s not okay. It’s been close to three hours since Will left for his date and with every passing second, Mike is slowly losing his mind.

He does every possible thing to keep his mind off it. He does the dishes, folds the clothes, scrubs the sink clean which Will has been pestering him about for days now. He even watches the television, but then an advertisement about condoms runs and Mike almost throws the remote out the window.

He needs a distraction. Anything would work at this point. Thankfully, a distraction falls right into his lap in the form of Max and her wild paint cans.

“This is a bad idea.” Mike starts, but Max quickly clicks her tongue in annoyance.

“I didn’t bring you here to complain.”

“Fine.” Mike grumbles, as he continues following Max down the abandoned subway tunnel. “How’d you even find this place?”

“Friend recommended it.”

“You’ve got the weirdest friends in the world.”

Max chuckles, the sound echoing down the empty tunnel. It’s wet and damp and really dark and Mike doesn’t like it here, but he doesn’t want to complain. Max didn’t have to do this. She didn’t have to come around and help him work out of his funk. But, she did.

Mike continues following her down the tracks as he fixes his jacket. Max’s paint cans rattle in her bag, auburn red curls tied back, but they bounce with every step she takes. They stop in front of a dark room. Max pauses at a power box that she pops open, flipping the switch and the space is flooded with light.

“Woah.” is the only thing Mike can bring himself to say.

“Impressive, huh?”

Impressive is one word for it. The room, covered by tall arches, is now lit up. It’s completely covered in art except for one wall in front of them, which is spray painted white. There’s a boombox on a stool beside an upside down couch that Max immediately moves to turn on, tossing her bag at the base of the blank wall.

Mike sits down on the edge of the couch as Max gets to work.

She’s completely sunk into her element. She’s immersed from the get-go, a wild smile on her face as she shakes two paint cans in her hands and gets to work.

Her art is nothing like Will’s. Will’s art is far more controlled with precise brush strokes and not a smudge out of place, but Max runs the cans over the blank wall and doesn’t blink twice. It starts to take shape by the time the second song plays. Max steps back, takes a second to admire it before she looks back at Mike.

“Come here.” Max makes Mike stand with his back against the wall, as she runs a paint can along his profile, tracing Mike’s upper body half onto her art. She doesn’t even let him breathe until she’s done.

“This is starting to get uncomfortable.” Mike manages to say with his last bit of breath.

“Shut up.” She mutters under her breath as she paints along his ear.

When she’s done, though, she lets him back away. There’s a shape of Mike on top of Max’s cityscape background. Everything around Mike is pink and orange and yellow, but Mike’s silhouette is dipped in black. That twists somewhere inside him.

“It’s beautiful.” Mike mutters, his eyes running along the art. Max sits back onto the couch.

“I’ve been thinking about this one for a while now.” Max says, as she moves to turn down the music. “I don’t know. Something about this felt right.”

“What are you gonna call it?” Mike asks.

Max chuckles, shaking her head. “Great Expectations.”

It makes Mike think of home. The family business. Sarah Miller. Holly’s college fund. And Mike’s lungs contract like they’re running out of breath. He thinks of Will. Will’s date. He thinks of New York, its skyline and his eyes slide shut, slipping into a momentary darkness.

That’s why Mike doesn’t see the spider crawl onto his hand.

He doesn’t even know where it comes from. Just that the weird, giant looking spider falls onto the back of his hand and fits its little front pincers into his skin. Mike merely hisses in annoyance as he slaps it off. A heat spreads across the spot where he’s been bitten, but Mike thinks nothing of it.

“You okay?” Max asks.

“Yeah, just a stupid spider bit me.” Mike says, shaking his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

When Mike gets back home, Will isn’t back yet. It’s inching closer and closer towards midnight and Will isn’t back yet.

Mike tries not to let that get to him, but the thought of Will, hand-in-hand with Max’s friend, picks at Mike’s heart like a nail pressing into a scab wound. He hates it and worst of all, Mike doesn’t understand why he hates it.

Will can have other friends. Will can certainly have… boyfriends. Mike nearly vomits at that last thought, but he locks it in a designated corner of his brain and throws the key away. Mike falls asleep waiting for Will, who never comes.

When Mike wakes up the next morning, everything is normal. He gets up, brushes his teeth and takes a shower. He runs over his schedule in his head and tries not to think of how Will’s date might’ve gone. It’s all normal. Except not everything is normal.

His pants won’t fit.

This is slightly humiliating. The last time Mike’s pants didn’t fit, he had an overnight growth spurt at thirteen and Nancy hadn’t stopped laughing at him. Mike is past that age of growth spurts, plus he’s scrawny enough to fit into a kindergartener’s clothes if he needs to. It makes no sense.

The weird things don’t stop there.

Mike gets faster. A lot faster. For the first time since he’s been in the city, he isn’t late for work. He gets agile. It takes him two minutes to bag the groceries now and Robin, the cashier at his lane, stares at him with wide eyes.

“I hope you’re not doing drugs, kid.” is all she says before she goes back to rounding up the woman’s bill.

It’s not drugs. It’s not coffee. Mike has no idea what it is. He can’t explain the sudden burst of energy in his steps, his overnight growth spurt that makes it difficult for Mike to fit into his old clothes. It’s weird and it’s strange and it only gets worse when Mike wakes up one day and has webs shooting out of his wrists.

That’s how Mike finds himself in Dustin’s lab at seven in the morning, missing a day of work, so he can figure out just what in the freshest layer of hell is going on with him. Splices of lemon chiffon sunlight stream in through the blinds that Dustin has drawn halfway. Mike wishes the room was dipped in darkness right now.

Dustin’s lab is a disaster. Papers are strewn about, all over the place. Diagrams, sketches, equations that Mike can’t even read, words he can’t even pronounce. Dustin’s robot is eyeing Mike all wrong but when he tells Dustin that, he gets called an insane psychopath.

“No, man, I’m telling you.” Mike says, glaring at Dustin’s robot (Mews, as it’s affectionately named after Mrs. Henderson’s old cat, but Mike prefers British Bastard Who Wants to Kill Him). “It’s definitely plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Dustin mutters, as he flashes a bright white light into Mike’s eye for the fifth time. Mike’s retinas have to be burned at this point.

The television roars on in the background, a special report on the rising crime rates in New York but Dustin switches it to a special about cat psychologists. The large, bold text on the screen flashes with the title of the documentary as Dustin keeps working and Mike gets another glimpse at the large clock above the television.

Seven thirty-three.

None of this is enough to distract Mike from the fact that he feels like a lab rat right now, sitting on Dustin’s desk with Dustin poking and prodding at him enough to leave a few million blue bruises on Mike’s ribs.

They’ve been at this for an hour but Dustin is not losing that keen spark in his eye. He grins at Mike. This is the same look he’d had when he thought he’d discovered a new muscle in his neck. (Spoiler alert, he hadn’t.)

“This is insane.” Dustin repeats for the millionth time now. He uses his hand and curls it upwards, pulling it towards himself. “Do it again.”

“Are you fucking — ugh.” Mike huffs, rolling his eyes. Dustin quirks an eyebrow, daring Mike to complete his sentence. Mike scoffs. “Fine. Whatever.”

Mike is starting to feel like a circus trick now, but he needs Dustin’s help. Dustin is the only one with Dustin’s brain, four research grants and an acute ability to keep a secret. Those are three valuable qualities that Mike can’t overlook. Mike sighs in defeat again and Dustin moves to the side, lightly clapping.

Mike raises his wrist to point at Dustin’s green board that has twenty pages of calculations pinned to it with red thumbtacks. His webs from earlier are already starting to dissolve, Dustin’s calculations barely visible beneath the faded white.

“Come on, come on, do it.” Dustin keens.

Yeah, he’s definitely a circus trick. Mike glares at Dustin one last time and shoots another web. It goes splat onto Dustin’s page titled Riemann Hypothesis, effectively rendering it useless now. Mike still isn’t used to it. A chill crawls up his spine and Mike lets his hand drop.

“I’m not gonna do it again.” Mike sharply states, before Dustin opens his mouth again.

Dustin’s mouth dips into a tiny frown and Mike has to physically refrain himself from cursing him out.

“So, do you know what’s going on with me or not?”

Dustin hums. “I mean… okay. Let’s start with what we know. You got bit by a spider, your clothes don’t fit and you suddenly have an insane set of abs. I mean, what the hell is that, Mike? What is in your water?” Dustin says, pointing towards Mike’s abdomen, a gesture that Mike pointedly ignores. “You can shoot silk webs from your wrist which means the spider has reconfigured your DNA and I didn’t even know that was possible, which means you’re rewriting history and everything we know about science and holy fuck, that’s… that’s something.”

Mike blinks. “So… what does that mean, really?”

Dustin shrugs. “I have no clue. Of course this is going to affect your day-to-day, but I’m not sure if being buff is so much of a bad thing for you. Worst case scenario? You’re a superhero.”

Images of beat up Batman and Superman flash before Mike’s eyes and he gags. “Oh fuck.”

A superhero. Mike is a superhero. He gets bit by one spider and he becomes a superhero. He’s in an alleyway two blocks from Dustin’s lab, hunched over a dumpster and he gags again. A superhero. This is fucking insanity.

It makes no sense, but then again it makes total sense because none of these rapid changes in Mike’s life can be explained by anything other than outside bizarre forces that are working against him. The webs. The agility. The physical changes. Mike hasn’t seen the inside of a gym since he’s left Hawkins, but he’s starting to look like Lucas, who runs marathons and eats nothing but protein.

Mike’s heart is racing and his palms are clammy. He hasn’t been able to think straight since he left Dustin’s lab an hour ago. He didn’t sign up for this. He hadn’t come to the city to get away from his family only to get tangled up in something like this.

“God, fuck.” Mike mumbles, head resting against the disgusting wall. His knees threaten to buckle when his mind replays Dustin’s words. “Will’s gonna fucking kill me.” He mutters into his palm, before he throws up again.

First step to being a superhero? Learn to master your powers. At least, that’s what the comic books say.

Mike finds the tallest building near him, climbs up the stairs and makes his way to the roof.

“Now, Spiderman, you remember what you have to do?” Dustin asks, through the earpiece.

Dustin has taken to calling Mike Spiderman because — he’s a man and he got bit by a spider, extremely creative, yes — and Mike only rolls his eyes every time he hears it. This time is no exception.

“Yeah. Jump. It’s one word.”

“If it were that simple, we would’ve done this ages ago.”

“Will you just — ” Mike sighs. “This is not helping.”

“Fine. Fine. Sorry.”

Mike takes a deep breath as he stands at the edge of the roof. The ground is so far away from him that his vision is starting to blur. He can feel his heart race under the cage of his ribs. He could fall and break his spine in half. He could die. Although that’s a possibility that both he and Dustin brought up, it didn’t feel real until this very moment when he’s staring that possibility right in the face.

He should’ve called his mom and Holly. He should’ve said goodbye to Will this morning instead of slipping away quietly, like he’s been doing these past few days. If Mike dies right now, he’s going to die with so many regrets.

Mike cracks his knuckles as he pulls on the mask Dustin gave him.

“You ready, champ?” Dustin asks.

“I was born ready.” Mike says, as he stands by the edge of the roof.

And promptly climbs back down.

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this.” Mike says, burying his face in his hands as he sits down on the lowest stair on the staircase. There are tears burning in the back of his eyelids, though Mike can’t tell if they’re frustrated tears or humiliated tears.

“It’s okay, Mike.” Dustin replies, sounding overly sympathetic and Mike hates it even more. “Let’s just try again tomorrow.”

Except Mike can’t. He isn’t able to make the jump the next day or the day after and that’s how he wastes an entire week trying to figure out how to make a jump that should come easily to him. He tries seven different buildings, seven different roofs, but every time, there’s a fear holding him back.

Something is holding him back.

Mike quits on day ten. He refuses to take Dustin’s calls, skips out on work and spends half of his weekday with his face buried in his pillow, trying not to scream. It feels like salt in the wound when Mike’s bedroom door creaks open and Will’s head peeks inside, a beacon of light in the darkness of the room.

“Go away.” Mike says, with no real strength at all.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“I’ll make you some tea.”

Mike pulls his face out of his pillow and sits up. “Fine. But you better make it good.”

That’s how Mike finds himself sitting on the space on the countertop beside the stove where Will is boiling the water. The heat from the stove is prickling his skin, but more than that it’s his proximity to Will. The worst part? Will hasn’t even noticed.

The window has been pushed open to let in a cool breeze. The colors of the dusky evening cling to Will’s form, the lilac of the sky on the bridge of his nose. Mike traces it with his eyes once before he looks away, staring at his feet as he says the one thing he’s been wanting to say for weeks now.

“I feel like we made a mistake.” Mike blurts out in his mild state of panic. Will looks up from where he’s been stirring the water.

“What?”

“Coming to New York. I think it was a mistake.”

Will turns the stove off, pouring the piping hot water into two mugs. He doesn’t even look mildly surprised at Mike’s absurd confession. “But why?”

Mike hasn’t written a word for his novel. His job is bagging groceries at a local store. He can’t even jump off a building, for fuck’s sake. It’s the last part that he really wants to tell Will about. But, Mike bites his tongue. Those are enough sordid confessions for one night.

“Are you really doing what you came here to do?” Mike asks.

Will hands Mike his tea, standing across him as he considers Mike’s words. “We’re doing our best, Mike.”

“No. No, we’re not. No one’s best is being a bagman and a cartoonist for a local paper, Will.” Mike says. “Don’t you think we’re better than that?”

Will searches Mike’s eyes for a second, like he can see into Mike’s mind. “What is this about?” He finally asks.

“I hate my job, Will. I hate my job, I can’t write and I came to New York to chase my fucking dream but it’s all falling apart.” Mike says. “I’m not being my best. It’s not like I don’t try — fuck knows I do — but there’s always… always something… lacking. I don’t know what it is.”

Will runs his finger along the rim of his mug. “I’ll tell you something I never told you before.” Will takes a deep breath before he speaks again. “I never wanted to come here.”

“What?”

“I mean, this city… it’s so different from Hawkins. And between us, it’s always been you who’s had the grand ambitions. I was fine with living there, taking care of mom. I would’ve had a good life, you know.”

There’s something clogging Mike’s throat when he asks, “Then why’d you…”

“I took a chance.” Will says, shrugging. “On this city, on my abilities, on… you. I figured, hey what the fuck, let’s see where this goes.”

“But how?” Mike asks, his tone almost pleading. “How’d you know you weren’t going to screw it up?”

Over the steam wafting through their mugs, their eyes meet.

“I didn’t.” Will says. “It was just a leap of faith.”

“A leap of faith.” Mike repeats.

“You have to take a chance on something sometime, Mike. Why not now?” Will says and adrenaline courses through Mike’s veins.

That’s all it is, Mike. It’s just a leap of faith.

Mike perches himself atop the edge of the rooftop, his palms clammy and cold as he grips the edge, feeling the cement crumble away underneath his fingertips. It’s difficult to breathe up here. Maybe it’s the height. Maybe it’s because Mike’s lungs are constricting, like the walls are folding in on him.

Mike dares himself to look down. The world sprawled under his feet is alive. Even from up here, Mike can hear the commotion and the chaos of the traffic, loud honking and colorful cursing. There’s a crowd gathered in front of a store for their opening. If Mike crashes and burns, at least he’ll have an audience.

The thunder booms. Mike’s veins are full of adrenaline and fear and hope that this time — maybe this time — he’ll make it. He’ll survive.

It’s just a leap of faith.

Mike takes a deep breath and looks down one last time. The lightning zips through the night sky and as Mike clings to the glass windows of the skyscraper, the sky lights up behind him. Mike’s shoes squeak on the glass. His heart roars beneath the cage of his ribs. Mike’s hands shake as he pulls his mask down.

It’s just a leap of faith.

Mike jumps.

The glass shatters from the grip of his hands and Mike falls. At first, he can’t breathe.

Free fall. The pull of gravity. His body slows, tumbling into the vast expanse before he’s finally falling. The noise builds up, ringing in his ears and Mike watches as the roof of the skyscraper from where he jumped, only gets further away as he falls.

The full force of gravity hits him as Mike screams, flailing through the air with a distinct lack of grace. His heart is racing, his fight-or-flight mode activated as his body finally starts to realize that this fall might kill him.

The ground only seems to get closer every time Mike looks. He can taste copper in his mouth, blood from how hard he’s bit the inside of his cheek. He’s not going to die. He’s not going to die. Mike Wheeler doesn’t run from things.

Mike’s jump hasn’t gone unnoticed. The crowd gathered by the store have stopped looking at the ceremonial ribbon cutting and they’re all staring at Mike, gasping in horror. Mike’s adrenaline spikes, the pit in his stomach expanding as he closes his eyes.

He’s about to hit the ground. He can feel it in his bones. His instincts scream at him to take control, to live, to survive. The crowd is buzzing and Mike can taste their fear, ripe on his tongue. They don’t know what he knows. They don’t know that Mike Wheeler is going to fly.

He raises his hands, wrists turned upwards and he’s praying to whatever deity is up there listening to him. Webs come shooting out of his wrists and Mike is praying, he’s praying so much. He’s almost there. He’s almost dead. The webs reach the top of the skyscraper, gripping the edge of the rooftop where Mike was and — they pull him up.

His body jerks harshly with the force with which the webs pull him up and Mike never feels the solid ground.

He lives.

The crowd cheers or Mike’s brain might be making that up because he’s screaming, the sound of his own voice rings in his ears. He doesn’t stop, not once as he swings past the skyscraper to another one, then another one. The webs never betray him, never let him fall and he swings into the oncoming traffic.

His feet hit the ground with a jerk that would’ve shattered a normal person’s knee, but Mike isn’t normal. No. He’s Spiderman.

From somewhere, Mike hears the flash of a camera go off and under the mask, he grins. He jumps onto the tops of cars, trucks, then a bus that gives him one final boost and he’s out of the traffic.

Mike climbs up the side of a building, then another, then another. His body is refusing to tire, webs refusing to stop and Mike is yelling, screaming, lungs full of air and he’s alive, he’s never felt more alive.

Mike runs up the side of a glass building. A woman screams as she watches him run past her on glass panes. They’re rushing out of their seats to look at him, computers and coffee mugs abandoned. They openly gape at Mike, eyes wide and questions running rampant on their tongues.

He runs atop roofs, past people having their midnight beers. They gasp and they point and they look because this isn’t Mike Wheeler anymore. This is Spiderman.

Mike doesn’t stop once. He doesn’t breathe once. His legs burn with exertion, muscles contracting and expanding with an energy Mike has never felt in his twenty years of life before.

There’s a large gap between the rooftop he’s on and the other one in front of him. Mike doesn’t hesitate once. He doesn’t jump. He leaps.

It’s the last rooftop in Brooklyn and Mike’s brain knows this before his body does. He stumbles to a stop right before he falls. The exertion hits him like a sucker punch and Mike gasps for breath, pulling his mask up as he swallows a gulp of cold air, eyes widening as he watches the scene in front of him.

The entirety of Brooklyn is sprawled out before him. Golden, bright, loud. It’s thundering. Mike’s fingertips buzz, the energy pulling at him, right below his skin. Mike pulls at his phone that’s strapped to his belt.

Mike takes a step back to lean against the wall, head tipped up as delayed lightning sparks and the sky takes the color of blood-hot white.

It doesn’t even reach the fourth ring until Will answers.

“Where the fuck are you?” Will asks, voice pulling with the stress that it makes it sound like he’s hissing.

“I have no idea.” Mike confesses, and he laughs like a madman. “I have no fucking idea.”

Will pauses and Mike can hear the gears turning in his head. “Mike, are you okay?”

Mike stares at his hands as he pulls his mask off. He runs his thumb over the cheap cotton-plastic blend. “I’m great. I’m… amazing, actually. I just…” Mike takes a deep breath, but Will cuts him off before he can say something more.

“I can come get you if you’re fucked up.” Will says, and Mike hears something in the background that sounds like the jingle of Will’s car keys. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

“I’m fine. I’m safe.” Mike says. “I just… had a bit of an epiphany, you know.”

“Oh. About your book?”

“...Yeah. Sure. About my book.”

“That’s great!” Will gushes, and it tugs at Mike’s heartstrings. If he closes his eyes, he can see Will’s smile. “Is that why you called me?”

Mike teeters at the edge as he glances at the street below him. Two weeks ago, Mike wouldn’t have been able to make it up here without crying. Now, Mike skirts the edge with his toe and doesn’t even blink.

He listens to Will’s breathing on the phone, soft and patient as he waits for Mike’s answer. The dark clouds are heavy. Mike wonders if it’s about to rain.

“Just wanted to hear your voice.” Mike confesses. The bravery has made him stupid. Will’s breath hitches.

“Good. I’m glad you called.” Will says with a finality that makes his voice sound sterner than he actually is. “When are you coming home?”

Mike takes the phone away from his ear as he pulls his mask back on. “Soon. You want ice-cream?”

“If you get me anything other than chocolate, I’ll lock you out of the house.”

Mike can’t help his smile. “Chocolate it is.”

“Great. See you then.”

“See you.” Mike says, as he hangs up.

Will’s voice rings in his ears as Mike stares at the city one last time before he jumps back into the vast nothingness.

“You look different.” Will says to Mike one day, out of the blue.

Mike looks up from his phone. “What?”

Will stands at one end of the couch, hands on his hips and he’s scrutinizing Mike to the point where he feels like he’s been stripped down his barest in front of Will. There’s a distinct flush on Will’s cheeks.

“You look different.”

“Like a good different?”

“Have you been working out?” Will asks, instead of answering Mike’s question.

Mike blinks. “No.”

“You’re lying.” Will states.

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know.” Will mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “But don’t worry, I’ll get the truth out of you, one way or another.”

Mike turns back to his phone, unable to hide his smile. “I’m telling you the truth. Pinky promise.”

Will scoffs, but he’s grinning. He puts his coat on and grabs his keys before heading out the door. Before he leaves the house, though, he turns back to look at Mike.

“And, Mike?”

“Hm?”

“Good different.” Will says, before he shuts the door behind him.

It’s funny. Mike really doesn’t mean to become a superhero. He’s going to be late for work and this time, it’s not his fault. Kinda.

Mike is on a bus when he sees an armored truck rush down the street. People scream and complain, cursing the driver, but it doesn’t have to take a genius like Dustin to know that there’s something wrong. Mike gets Dustin on the phone, who taps into a police frequency with ease.

“The cops were escorting three arsonists to Rikers. They somehow managed to take control of the truck. It’s a bad situation, Mike.”

Mike watches the terror on the faces of the people around him, then at his wrists. He still has his mask, tucked away into his backpack.

“Do you think I could help?” Mike asks.

“Help how?”

“I don’t know, maybe web up the tires or get the driver?”

Dustin types away on his keyboard. “It might work, but I don’t know, Mike. I think it’s risky. A million things could go wrong.”

It’s too late, though. Even Dustin can’t talk him out of this. Mike talks to the driver and jumps out of the bus, finding the nearest rooftop. He scans his surroundings quickly, making sure that no one has followed him or noticed him before he pulls his mask on.

“Dustin.” Mike says, as he stands up on the ledge. “I’ll need you to be my backup.”

Mike follows the chaos to find the truck. Once Mike has it in his sights, he jumps down on the roof of the truck. Since he doesn’t have his suit, the landing is rough and Mike winces. The speed of the truck is insane. The force of the wind might’ve knocked him off had Mike been a normal person. He’s lucky he’s anything but a normal person.

Taking the criminals out is easy. They don’t even notice him until he’s pushed his way into the truck. Mike knocks out the guy in the passenger seat, webbing him up to the door before he focuses on the driver. Mike isn’t quite used to the close combat fighting but he manages to knock him out somehow.

Now, with both the driver and his partner knocked out, Mike tries to figure out a way to stop the truck before it topples over. Mike jumps out of the window, in front of the truck and grabs onto the front in an attempt to stop it.

“Mike, are you okay?!” Dustin yells, and that’s when Mike realizes he’s screaming.

It’s one thing to try and stop a truck. It’s another to try and stop a truck in motion. Mike’s muscles burn with pain and the heat of the truck hitting him square in the face. Every single cell in Mike’s body is protesting at this sudden assault.

When the truck stops, Mike nearly collapses. The traffic around him has come to a stop. They exit their cars coming to Mike — coming to Mike — but Mike panics and webs himself out of there. The snaps of cameras follow Mike everywhere, even as he disappears behind the safe cover of a nearby rooftop.

“Holy fucking shit.” Mike says, into his earpiece as he tries to hide. Dustin just chuckles.

By daytime tomorrow, Mike is everywhere. Correction, Spiderman is everywhere. There are news reporters begging for another photo, every social media platform hailing him a hero. Dustin keeps sending him the articles and the videos of Mike launching into action and it’s overwhelming to the point where Mike turns off his phone.

He tries to ignore it, go on with his life, but the bite has changed him. For better or worse, the bite has changed him and Mike can’t look past that.

It starts off with one mugging, then ‘resolving’ a drug deal, then helping acquire a stolen vehicle. If you need help, Spiderman is there.

As a token of his appreciation, Dustin makes Mike a suit.

“If you’re going to save the city, you’re going to need a suit.”

“Who said anything about saving the city?” Mike asks, as he pulls the mask on.

“Why don’t you try it first and then we’ll see, huh?”

That’s how it continues. With Dustin in Mike’s ear, he sets out to help around the city. Sometimes, it’s a cat stuck in a tree. The other times, it’s a liquor store holdup. Once, Mike gets asked to help rescue a man’s pigeons. It’s exhilarating. It’s not until Mike starts this, that he realizes how rewarding it is to help people.

Mike sees himself everywhere. The hero of the city. Spiderman.

Mike isn’t following Will.

Despite what Max would say, no, he really isn’t. This is a concerned friend checking in on another friend. He isn’t being weird about this. The crime in New York is abysmal. If Mike could, he would follow around every citizen to ensure their safety. (No, he wouldn’t. He really wouldn’t.)

Mike jumps onto the rooftop in front of him without blinking, as he ‘follows’ Will. Will continues talking on the phone animatedly and his coffee sloshes in his takeaway cup, narrowly missing the pavement. Mike sighs. Will should really start paying more attention.

Will turns into the alley beside him, chatting away on the phone. It must be El or Jonathan. Oh, fuck. Mike really hopes it isn’t that new guy from Will’s job. Even the thought of Will chatting it up with that two-time loser, Scott has Mike choking on his own bile.

Mike slows, walking along the edge of the roof as he keeps his pointed gaze focused on Will’s back. In five minutes, he should probably go. It’s almost time for his shift and he’ll be damned if he lets Eileen take over again. Mike looks away for one second and he hears a commotion from the alleyway.

“Give me your fucking wallet!”

Will.

Fuck.

In the two minutes since Mike has looked away, Will is already significantly further away from him. That could cost him. That’s the thought that gets Mike to run as fast as humanly possible so he can get to Will. Even from here, Mike doesn’t miss the silver glint of a knife being brandished.

Mike panics. He jumps onto the fire escape of the building opposite to him where he can get a better view of Will and the mugger. He readies himself, almost making the leap before he sees something.

Will doesn’t need him.

Mike is about to jump down the mugger from the building’s fire escape where he’s currently deciding his best course of action. Maybe web him up to the wall and punch him so hard in the face that a couple of teeth get knocked loose. He hasn’t even made up his mind on how to torture the mugger when Will takes action for him.

Will tosses his steaming hot coffee into the perpetrator’s face. The man screams, clutching at his face and the knife falls away. That’s valuable time that Will doesn’t waste.

Will tosses the cup away as the man stumbles a few steps back. He quickly reaches into his bag, rummaging through his things and there’s something akin to an evil glint in Will’s eye as he finally finds what he’s looking for.

A taser.

Will carries around a fucking taser.

Mike gapes in astonishment as Will presses the button, sparks coming alive at the ends of the taser. Will doesn’t even blink as he uses the taser, haphazardly jamming the device to the mugger’s chest. The reaction is instant as the mugger collapses, clutching his side in acute pain.

Mike can’t tear his eyes away from Will’s face. The smile tugging on the corner of his lips. The practiced ease of Will grabbing his phone off the ground where it fell as he calls the cops, keeping an eye on the mugger in case he tries to get away.

Fuck. Maybe Will doesn’t need him after all.

The kneejerk thought has Mike’s breath hitching in his throat. Will doesn’t need him. Will can take care of himself. The entire world is looking at Mike, asking for his protection when the one person who Mike really wants to protect can take care of himself.

Mike freezes, his gaze stuck on Will who’s toying with the taser, an unfamiliar confidence in his posture.

“Yes, yes, I’ll hold.” Will says into the phone, as he starts to gather his things.

Well. It’s time for Mike to hightail it out of here. Especially before the cops come. The cops really don’t like him. If Will sees him getting arrested, he’s going to kill Mike. If Will finds out he got arrested for being Spiderman, Mike knows that’s one interaction he’s not going to leave unscathed.

The fire escape is rusty. Mike already knew that when he sat on the metal bars and it almost gave way. What Mike wasn’t anticipating was for the bars to loudly creak as he prepared himself for his jump out of there.

The sound has Will looking up and his eyes widen. The grip on his phone almost loosens. Fuck. The plan was for Mike to get in and out of there without getting noticed. But, of course, for most situations in Mike’s life that involve Will Byers, it doesn’t go as planned.

“Holy shit, Spiderman?!” Will exclaims in a tone that has even the mugger looking up from his sorry state.

Shit. Mike hasn’t planned this. He really hadn’t anticipated that Will would notice him. Mike had a lot more faith in his stealth skills, which was clearly a gross miscalculation.

The smart thing would be to do a voice, right? Something gruff. Batman style, so he doesn’t give away the fact that he’s a malnourished, sleep-deprived twenty year old who’s way in over his head. Once again, he can’t make up his mind and instead, Will takes his silence as an answer itself.

“Fuck, this is insane. Dustin’s gonna flip when he sees this — oh, wait. Shit, he’s never gonna believe me. You don’t take pictures, right? Probably not.”

Mike clears his throat. He hasn’t practiced his Batman since Max’s and Lucas’ Halloween party last year. It’s so rusty. Will is going to hate him and his stupid voice.

“Not really,” Mike answers, and he sounds so fucking bad, that he has to clear his throat again. Will squints.

“Who are you trying to do an impression of?” Will asks, rubbing his chin in thought. “Gollum?”

“It’s clearly Batman.” Mike answers in his normal voice, instead.

“Oh.” Will says, before he sharply laughs. “Never would’ve guessed that.”

“That’s hurtful and rude.” Mike says, but he’s smiling under his mask. He wonders if Will can tell. “You bully everyone you meet like this?”

“Nah. But you seemed like you could take a joke, Spiderman.” Will says. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“I was trying to see if you needed any help.” Mike answers, his tone slighted. He points at the mugger, who’s given up on trying to escape. “But, clearly, you can handle yourself.”

Will blinks, as he looks back at the man on the ground. Maybe it’s a trick of the light or the lack of sleep has Mike hallucinating, but Will’s cheeks flush. He looks sheepish. Almost.

“Thanks.” Will mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. “I did karate once. When I was five.”

Mike knows. He was right there beside Will. He still hasn’t let Will live down the fact that Will’s still a blue belt while Mike’s purple. Yes, he’s childish like that.

“Cool.” Mike says.

Will is about to say something when there’s the loud sound of sirens going off. Mike’s eyes widen, slow but sure panic setting in as he scrambles to get out of there. He wants to say goodbye to Will, wish him luck for his presentation, but that would be creepy and weird and Mike isn’t sure he could handle Will thinking that he’s creepy and weird.

Mike has to treat him like any other ordinary citizen. So, Mike makes the jump onto the wall in front of him and makes it up onto the roof. He’s about to dash — the cops are almost there — when Will calls out to him, “Spiderman, wait!”

He knows he shouldn’t. The last thing Mike and this city needs is for him to be arrested. But, this is Will. It’s really tough to say no to him.

Mike looks down on Will, as Will hurriedly tosses through his things. Mike isn’t even half-sure of what Will is looking for but he gets his answer as Will throws something up at him. With the help of his godly reflexes, Mike catches it. A raspberry bran bar.

When Mike holds it up, gaze questioning, Will smiles, wild and hazy.

“Thanks,” Will says. “For looking after the city.”

Something unfolds inside Mike’s chest, golden and bright and suddenly, breathing is an unimaginably difficult task. Mike isn’t sure of what to say. He’s no stranger to gifts and he’s certainly no stranger to gratitude, but it’s not the same when it’s coming from Will.

He’s grasping at straws, hoping for his brain to come up with something but once again, Will has left him speechless. Luckily, he doesn’t need to think of something to say.

Two cops run into the alley, guns raised and shoulders tense as they surround Will and the mugger. One officer grabs the man off the ground, successfully handcuffing him while the other asks him a series of dry questions that has Mike nearly falling asleep, even from up there.

Will quietly answers the routined questions and he never looks up. Not even once. Mike doesn’t move from his spot on the roof, even though he should. He needs to know that Will is okay. The cops make sure Will is fine and in one piece, before they load the mugger into the car and take off.

Before Will sees him again, Mike should go. But his body no longer responds to his brain (and his common sense) because he stays glued to his spot. Long after the cops have gone. Will dusts his clothes, gathers his things and he looks up. Their eyes brush. There’s an unexplainable rush that goes through Mike’s head, leaving him unsteady.

“See you around, Spiderman.” Will says, hand raised to his head in a mock salute and then, like this was any normal day, he’s off.

“This Spiderman shit is crazy.” Max says, stuffing her mouth with Cheetos as her eyes are glued to the television, which is running yet another report on the masked superhero. This time, he’s saving a cat stuck on a tree while the owner shrieks in terror. “A literal superhero. In New York. I mean, what’s next? Flying lizards? A gingerbread man?”

“Spiderman is nothing like a gingerbread man.” El snaps.

“Sounds like someone is a bit of a fan.”

“He’s saving people’s lives, Max.” El shrugs. “He’s a hero.”

If anyone notices Mike folding in on himself, they don’t say. Yesterday’s liquor store holdup had left Mike exhausted and bruised. He’s pretty sure he even has a broken rib and it’s not like he can afford to get it checked anyway. So, the best thing Mike can do is sit back, try not to move or let Max see the pain on his face.

“And, Will?” Max asks, making Will look up from his phone. “What do you think of Mr. Spider?”

Mike tries not to look too eager for Will’s answer. He keeps his focus on the television screen, which is why he misses the quick glance Will gives him.

“I think he’s pretty cool.” Will says and that’s that.

Will breaks up with his boyfriend.

Mike doesn’t question it and he especially doesn’t question the sick flip in his stomach. Mike should be upset for his friend. He should be consoling his friend. Instead, Mike quietly rejoices, even though he doesn’t quite understand why.

Mike and Will find themselves on the rooftop of their apartment building, drinking their troubles away on a warm Thursday evening. The sun has melted into the horizon, yellows and blues and greens mixed together in a mess that looks like Max’s graffiti. It’s a sight that Mike can’t take his eyes off. And neither can Will.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Mike says, handing Will the half-empty bottle of warm vodka.

Will never gets drunk. His alcohol tolerance is unnerving. While Mike is down in three drinks, it takes Will six, seven, eight to get the same effect. But it’s different tonight. Either Will is letting go a lot more than he usually does or the vodka is stronger than he thought it was.

Mike tilts his head to the side. He can’t pull his eyes away from the flush on Will’s cheeks, the lining of freckles under his eyes. Mike traces every inch of Will’s face, committing it to his memory and filing it away in a box somewhere, for research purposes.

“What’s up?” Will asks, his voice rough from disuse. Mike keeps his eyes trained on the melting sun.

Mike doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his lungs scream for oxygen, body rife with anticipation. He’s been saying the words to himself for days now, staring in the mirror, but that experience has amounted to nothing because Mike’s hands still shake. He still feels his heart pound in his chest at an alarming rate.

“I’m Spiderman.” Mike says.

At first, Mike isn’t sure if Will has heard him at all. The man doesn’t even blink. Mike’s teeth gnaw away at the inside of his cheek in fear, anticipation, his fingers tingling from how hard he’s gripping that ledge below him.

“Oh.” Will mutters, taking a sip of his vodka. “Cool.”

“Cool? What do you mean, cool?”

“I mean, okay — you don’t know this, but — this one time, I pretended to be Edward Scissorhands. Woke mom up by showing her that I had scissors taped to my hands. I don’t think I’ve heard her scream so hard.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Mike says, tilting his body sideways so he’s looking at Will. “You think I’m lying?”

“No! I just… I don’t think you’re telling me the truth, though.”

“Fine. I’ll prove it to you.”

“Mike, you really don’t need to — ”

Mike stands up, toeing the ledge. It’s comical, the way Will goes from half-dazed and totally drunk to completely awake and alert. But Mike isn’t laughing.

“Mike. Don’t be stupid.”

Mike is stupid, though. He is extremely stupid and stubborn and he’s going to prove his point, even if it brings him within an inch of an life. Will watches him, eyes wide as Mike jumps off the building.

Will screams his name.

This is familiar, explored territory of Mike and it’s muscle memory that brings Mike to plant his feet on the sides of the building. He’s careful to avoid any windows. Will looks down, the color drained out of his face as their eyes brush.

“Believe me now?” Mike asks, in a tone that sounds as smug and conceited as he feels.

Will huffs, as he splays a hand over the skin covering his heart. “You fucker.” Will says, and Mike laughs, loud and bright.

“What is this?”

“It’s a tracker.” Dustin deadpans. “Take off your suit, I’ll put it on you.”

Mike does as asked, stripping out of his suit while Dustin turns around. The tracker is a device so minute that Mike almost doesn’t see it. Dustin gingerly picks the tracker up, carefully integrating it into the wrist of his suit. Mike wraps a towel around himself, trying not to shiver as the cold breeze that flits in.

“That way, if you’re ever in trouble, I’ll know.” Dustin says, as he tosses Mike’s mask at him. It hits Mike square in the face.

“Thanks… asshole.” Mike mutters that last word under his breath, but Dustin hears it anyway and chuckles to himself. “I’ve gotta get back. It’s movie night.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let me interrupt your date.”

Mike’s heart jumps and he’s quick to deny it. “It’s not a — ”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dustin replies, quickly cutting him off before he turns around. “And here.”

Dustin puts a box in Mike’s hand. It’s small and barely inconspicuous but knowing Dustin, there could be a bomb in there. Mike quirks an eyebrow.

“What’s in here?”

Dustin turns back to his workbench before he speaks again. “It’s a spare tracker. The one I gave you is just a prototype so you never know.” Dustin pauses for a second. “But, you could always give it to someone else, you know. Just in case.”

Mike stares at the box in his hand. Will’s job, whenever he needs to go to work, takes him to a bad part of town. He might need Spiderman’s help sometime.

“Thanks, man.” Mike says, unable to describe the feeling bubbling over in his chest. “I gotta run.”

There’s an open window in the room of Dustin’s lab. Dustin prefers working in warm conditions, but he’s been leaving the window open for Mike ever since Mike told him. Mike is almost out of the window when he asks, “How’d you know?” Mike asks, his cheeks burning. “About…”

There’s something tender about Dustin’s smile when he looks at Mike. “It’s pretty obvious for anyone who’s looking.”

“Oh.” Mike says, almost emptily. He can’t stop thinking about Will. “Thanks, Dustin.”

“Anytime.” Dustin replies, waving him off and that’s the last thing Mike sees before he jumps back into the city.

“A bracelet.” El repeats. “What do you need a bracelet for?”

Mike huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans against the door, trying not to meet her eyes. “You know… for fun.”

“Uh huh.” El says, clearly not buying it. “What kind of a bracelet is it? Like a I’m so in love with you bracelet or oh! Please date me, I’m single and desperate bracelet? Or — ”

“A friendship bracelet works.” Mike coughs into his fist. “That… works.”

“Pay me thirty bucks extra.” El says, putting her right hand forward. There’s an evil glint in her eye, one he’s only ever seen with Max when she’s extorting someone.

“What the fuck, why?”

“It’s a bracelet for Will so it’s gonna have some extra stuff. You know, rhinestones, maybe some charms. Lots of glitter. That’s for sure.”

“I never said it was for Will.” Mike mumbles, and he can feel his cheeks burn.

El fixes him with a stare. “You clearly don’t have any other friends, so…”

“Wow. Rude. After I’m paying you forty-five bucks for a bracelet that’s going to snap in a week.”

El shakes her head. “Trust me. This one, it’s going to last.”

The thing is, when he first commissioned it, he really wasn’t expecting much. It’s a (friendship) bracelet made from woven blue and yellow threads. It would be blasphemy to expect some high work of art. But when El hands Mike the bracelet a week later, Mike takes one look at it and considers framing it in the Louvre after tearing down the Mona Lisa.

“It’s gorgeous.” Mike blurts out. “It’s… perfect. Thanks, El. Really.”

El gives him a smile, not unlike the one Dustin had given him not too long ago. “He’ll like it. Don’t worry.”

Mike isn’t worried. Not really. The only thing that could’ve driven Will away was revealed a week ago, anyway. If finding out that Mike was Spiderman wasn’t enough to make Will set off into a run for the hills, Mike isn’t sure if this is any worse. But there’s still a trace of hesitation as Mike fixes the tracker into the bracelet, its crown jewel.

Firstly, Mike isn’t sure if this is his place. Will isn’t seeing anyone — not that Mike knows of — but this is still way, way beyond a friend would go. That’s what Mike is thinking of as he turns the bracelet over in his hand, listening to the lock turn as Will walks into their apartment, weary after a long day at work.

That’s enough for Mike to shove the bracelet into his pocket. He’ll do it later. Later, for sure.

“Hey.” Mike pipes up, from the couch where he’s sitting. “Rough day?”

Will tosses his bag somewhere into the hallway that connects their living room and the bedrooms. Mike hears it sliding across the floor. Will takes the empty seat beside him, legs on the coffee table as his eyes slide shut.

“Just… exhausting.” Will answers. “I don’t know, it’s been a weird one. You okay?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, of course. I’m, uh, not going out patrolling today.” Mike says.

That causes Will to break out of his brief slumber. He stares at Mike like he’s grown a third head.

“What?” Mike asks, but Will doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns halfway in his seat, pressing the back of his hand to Mike’s forehead. Mike quickly swats his hand away. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not patrolling. I never thought I would see this day. Is the world ending? Is the sun never going to rise again?”

“Oh, haha.” Mike mutters. “Has anyone ever told you you’re the funniest man on the planet?”

“As a matter of fact, you did. Last week. Under the extreme influence of alcohol.”

“Makes sense because I could never say that sober.”

“Prick.” Will says and Mike can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “But, how come you’re taking a break today? I mean, it was Eileen’s birthday last week and you still went out. You’re not… gravely injured and currently internally bleeding, are you?”

The bracelet is burning a hole into Mike’s pocket. “I don’t have internal bleeding, no. Does a bruised rib count as a grave injury, though?”

Will fixes Mike with a stare, like he can’t figure out if Mike is joking or not. “Yes.”

“Okay, so I’m currently gravely injured.”

Will’s eyes soften. “Let me see.”

“What?”

“Lift up your shirt.”

It’s taking every cell in Mike’s body to keep himself from jumping out the window. “No.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Are you kidding me? I’ve seen you without your shirt on. You have a million abs, you should be dying to take your clothes off all the time.”

“You’re looking?” Mike asks, and it’s an innocent question, but there’s a lining of faint pink along Will’s freckles.

“No. Shut up. I’m not looking. Just — ugh, whatever. How do you take the fun out of everything?”

Mike shrugs out of his jacket. The movement gives him nothing but a twist of pain, but Mike still winces. He’s spent most of his life not getting tossed around like a lifeless ragdoll, so he’s still not used to having bruised ribs, cracked jaws and broken toes. This is the one part of the Spiderman lifestyle he can live without.

“Is it really that bad?” Will asks, softly.

“No, I’m just being a dramatic little bitch.” Mike sighs. “It’s, uh, it doesn’t feel great, though.”

“Let me see.” Will enunciates again.

Mike does as he’s asked. He can feel his heart jackhammering under his ribcage and this is stupid, this is so fucking stupid. He’s grown up with Will. They used to take baths together as kids. Until they were three, they ate out of the same plate. Still. There’s something different about taking his shirt off in front of Will now.

They’re no longer those same kids and Mike is no longer in the dark about what he feels for Will. Those feelings, that undefined jump of his heart around Will, Mike knows what it means. He knows he’s attracted to Will. Even though Will might not feel the same way.

“It’s worse than I thought.” Will says, and he’s wincing at the bruising that underlines Mike’s chest.

The pain intensifies and Mike can’t tell if that’s because someone’s looking or if it’s because Will is looking and fuck, Mike really hopes this doesn’t awaken anything inside him. Will, almost absentmindedly, presses his thumb to Mike’s rib.

“Fuck.” Mike winces as a bright flash of white pain lights up behind his eyes. Will jerks back, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry! I was just — ” Will cuts off, halfway through his sentence. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s really worse than it looks.” Mike drops his shirt and Will sits back, hugging his knees close to his chest. His mouth is pressed into a grim line, any traces of amusement from before having vanished into thin air.

“Mike, look. You need to start being more careful.”

Mike shrugs. “I’m fine. Really.”

“That’s not the point.” Will sighs. “I’m… I’m worried about you.”

A feeling akin to warmth explodes inside Mike’s chest. Will is worried about him.

“You don’t need to be. I’m going to be okay. Trust me.”

Will’s eyes soften and he nods. “Fine. Just don’t make me regret this or I’ll kick your ass.”

Just the mere idea of Will trying to fight him is a barrel of laughs. “Deal.” Mike says, unable to help the grin that stretches across his face.

A comfortable silence falls as Will flips through channels, trying to find something decent to watch. Mike toys with the bracelet in his pocket as he chews on a slice of pizza, unsure of how he’s supposed to bring it up. It’s not until they’re halfway through the movie, pizza box empty that Mike finds the courage somewhere deep inside.

“Hey, so…” Mike starts. Will’s attention is immediately on him. “Okay, this might be weird but I just… uh, I don’t know — ”

“Mike.” Will says, softly, immediately putting a stop to Mike’s spiel. “You’re rambling.”

“Right. Yeah, sorry. Look. I swung by Dustin’s lab today. He made a tracker for me, so this way he’ll always know where I am. Just in case I get into trouble, you know?”

Will’s gaze is chock full of amusement. “He really knows you well, huh?”

“Shut up.” Will laughs, loud and bright. “But, uh, he made me another one in case I wanted to give one to someone else.”

Realization flashes on Will’s face. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So. I mean, you don’t have to, but this way, at least I won’t be worried about you all the time.” Mike sheepishly admits. “And, you don’t even have to keep it on all day! You could take it off whenever you want. If you even want it, you really don’t have to — ”

“Mike.”

“Sorry.”

Will considers it. He stares at a point on the wall right past Mike’s shoulder. Mike is thrumming with anticipation but more than that, he’s fearful of rejection, which is new for him.

It’s different this time. Drunkenly confessing to El once and Sarah Miller had never had so much pressure because Mike didn’t have much riding on their answers. He’d known about Sarah’s boyfriend and he hadn’t missed El’s longing glances towards Max and Lucas.

He didn’t care if they rejected him. He cares if Will rejects him.

This exchange is a lot more than Mike putting a tracker on Will. It’s a symbol of the trust Will might place in him. It’s a whole lot of pressure and it builds upon Mike’s lungs like a steel weight, until Will turns halfway into his seat and says, “Okay, put it on me.”

Mike’s heart jumps. He gingerly fishes the bracelet out of his pocket and tells Will to put his hand forward. Mike tries not to make a big deal out of how clammy his palms are as he fastens the bracelet around Will’s wrist.

“Just so we’re clear,” Will starts. “I’m not going to have it on 24/7.”

Mike nods. “Yeah, of course.” Once he’s done, Mike tries not to notice his heart’s free fall once he has to let go of Will’s hand. “If you want, you could track me too, you know.”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll die of a heart attack if I see you free falling off a skyscraper at three in the morning.”

It fits perfectly. Mike wants to reach out and lace his fingers with Will. Mike swallows the desire down, choosing to laugh at Will’s joke instead. Will’s side is colored with the soft green of the colors coming from the television. Mike looks away.

“I’m going to be fucking late.” Will curses as he stuffs a notepad and a pen into his bag.

It’s been a frantic morning. Mike’s boss called him in for an early shift, which means he’s up at the same time as Will. Usually, their schedules are an hour apart so they can take their own time to take a shower and have a cup of coffee, but this morning, it’s nothing but chaos.

Mike packs his sandwich and slings his headphones around his neck. He’s not worried about being late. Swinging on his way over helps him avoid traffic and since humans are currently incapable of flying, the only things he narrowly has to dodge are pigeons, which is barely a cause of worry for him.

That’s not the case for Will, though.

Mike is fixing his suit underneath his clothes when it strikes him.

“Hey, I could drop you.” Mike says to Will, who looks up from his bag, eyes wide. “You’re just on my way to work, so it won’t even be much of a problem. You in?”

“Uh…” Will trails off, looking unsure. “It doesn’t really look safe.”

“It’ll be fine. You just have to hold on to me, that’s it.”

Will glances at his watch, then at Mike, then back at his watch. Mike can see the turmoil brewing inside him, but the urgency of the situation wins over.

“Let’s do this before I change my mind.” Will mutters, before he shakes his head.

In the next five minutes, they are by the window and Mike realizes he hasn’t quite worked out the logistics of this. It’s easy to squeeze out the window and jump off the fire escape when it’s just him but he has Will with him now. An extremely nauseated Will, who is starting to turn green around the corners as he looks at the ground below them.

“I don’t know about this,” Will breathes out as Mike climbs out on the ledge and he follows him out. “How much blood do you usually have in your mouth?”

“Uh, none.” Mike replies. “Look, it’s going to be fine, just hold on, okay? That’s it.” He taps Will on the shoulder. “Hey. You got this.”

Will takes a deep breath before he hesitantly takes Mike’s outstretched hand. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

Mike pulls his mask on after he takes a quick scan of their surroundings. “Put your arm around me.” Will does as he’s asked, arm gingerly extending around the back of Mike’s neck. He smells like citrus, Mike thinks before he shakes his head to rid himself of the unnecessary thoughts.

Mike pulls him up, his arm easily falling into place around Will’s waist. He’s done this so many times before with so many people that he doesn’t realize the implications of this until Will leans into his side, looking slightly alarmed and mildly greenish.

“It’s going to be fine.” Mike assures him once again as they prepare to jump. Will hugs his bag close to his chest as Mike shoots a web from his wrist, readying himself for the launch. He glances at Will one last time. Will pales.

“Wait, Mike, I don’t know about — oh, fuck!” Will screams into Mike’s ear as they make the jump.

Everything about this is a regular Tuesday morning for Mike, but Will is panicking. His screaming dries up within the first two minutes, but then the panic sets in. Will keeps repeating the words we’re gonna die, sounding like he’s two seconds away from bursting into tears.

“This is my punishment for forgetting to call Mom yesterday.” Will cries out as he nearly strangles Mike with his death grip on Mike’s neck.

“You dramatic little bitch.” Mike says, and Will lets out a scream as a pigeon flies in their direction. “Would you relax, I know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t watch this anymore.” Will buries his face in the crook of Mike’s neck and his breath is hot and Mike nearly drops the two of them into incoming traffic.

“What the fuck, watch out!”

“Sorry!” Mike yells, as his grip tightens around Will’s waist (just for safety, no other reason).

They make it to the roof of Will’s workplace within fifteen minutes instead of the usual thirty-five, at the cost of Will’s mental health. Will runs to the nearest wall for support when Mike lets his feet hit the ground, letting Will’s waist go with a lot of internal complaining.

“Good god, what the fuck was that?!” Will breathes out, forehead touching the wall like he’s about to collapse any second now. He looks at Mike, eyes flared, sweat clinging to his brow. “We are never, ever doing that again.”

A laugh breaks past Mike’s lips so fast he isn’t able to stop it. Will turns on his heel and at least he no longer looks like he’s about to throw up his breakfast. Will puts his bag down on the ground before he reaches into it to pull out a familiar raspberry bran bar and he tosses it towards Mike.

Mike catches it with ease. Will gives him a smile, a flash of yellow on his wrist as he waves.

“Thanks a lot, Spiderman.” Will says, before he turns to open the door to the roof. “See you at home.”

As much as he tries, Mike can’t save everyone.

Innocent people get caught in the crossfire. Innocent people get hurt. Innocent people die. And this time, it’s all Mike’s fault.

It’s a juvenile error that gets Andrew Josten killed.

Mike is patrolling when he sees a man brandish a gun at a liquor store owner. This is nothing new. Gun violence can be found in every corner of New York, but there is something horrifying about watching it unfold in front of his own eyes.

The man is drunk and he might be high, as he points the gun at the owner’s face. He’s frail and weak and he keeps begging the owner for a bottle. It doesn’t take Mike much to incapacitate him. One kick to the back of the drunkard’s knee is all it takes and the gun falls from his hand, skittering a little bit past Mike’s feet.

“You saved my life, man.” The owner says. The drunkard at Mike’s feet growls as the owner goes to call the cops.

Mike should have frisked him, should have checked him for other weapons, but instead Mike gets caught up in the praise and he doesn’t see the knife until it’s too late.

The drunkard stabs Mike’s calf, switchblade breaking his skin and he reaches for the gun.

Mike is too slow to react as the gun is pointed at the owner. When the trigger gets pulled, something inside Mike dies, changing him forever.

It didn’t help. The patrolling didn’t help. Mike still ruined a man’s life. No matter how many he saved today, it’s never going to account for the fact that Andrew Josten was dead. All because Mike once chose himself over someone else. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

The house smells like faded ginger and salt, lights turned down all the way. Moonlight floods the house, splices of silver spilling across the floor as Mike walks into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Anything to combat the thunderous headache that’s knocking at his temples, a loud promise of an oncoming migraine.

Mike pulls at his mask, tossing it past the sink and it clings to the dish rack. He can’t bear the sight of it right now.

Will is nowhere to be seen. That’s for the best. The last thing Mike needs is for Will to see him like this, in this broken, pathetic state. He’s let enough people down for one lifetime.

Mike swallows the chilled water wrong and his lungs burn, like he’s been set alight. A match tossed to his gasoline-soaked insides.

It’s not helping. None of this is helping. Mike can’t stop himself from thinking of Andrew, his wife, his two girls who have no idea that there’s a chance that their father might never come back home.

This is all his fault. Once again, Mike Wheeler is there to ruin everything good, destroy a family just because he put himself above the needs of others. Mike laughs, sharp and sardonic. He’s such a pathetic Spiderman. A selfish, pathetic, no-good Spiderman. Mike eyes the glass he’s holding in his hand and the urge to fling it out of the window, along with himself, almost wins over.

Mike rests against the sink, hunched over the dishes of last night. He’d promised Will he’d get it done. He’d promised Will he’d try to rest and heal. He’d promised the city of New York that he’d protect them.

What a shocker. Mike Wheeler. A failure.

Mike feels him before he sees him. There’s a loose floorboard right outside their kitchen and not even Will’s feather light step can keep from the loud creak sounding out in the empty space. Mike used to joke about how Will would walk around like he was trying to disappear, as if he could ever hide himself from Mike.

This time, he wishes that Will would leave.

“Mike?” Will asks, voice ever soft and Mike hates it. He hates being treated like this. He’s not fragile. He’s not pathetic. (But, then again, isn’t he?)

“Please go.” Mike says, the words bubbling past his lips before he can reign them in. He means it, though. He means every bit of malice he pours into those two words. “Just… please leave me alone.”

Mike doesn’t look up from where he’s staring into the drain, but he doesn’t even have to look to know that Will hasn’t left. He’s stubborn like that. It’s something that Mike loves about him, but tonight, it’s just another reason for Mike to pick a fight with him.

Mike doesn’t think he’d survive that. Not after all this.

“What happened?” Will asks, stern and stubborn and Mike looks up.

The moonlight flitting in through the window lights up one side of Will’s face, all sharp angles and soft features. Whatever was ebbing away inside Mike, picking at his insides, fades away and Mike stands there, stripped bare and filled to the brim with want. A want he can’t place, a want that twists like a sharp knife in his gut, a want so foreign yet so familiar Mike wonders how he’s spent most of his life not knowing that it was there.

Mike looks away, down at his hands that grip the marble of the sink so tight that his knuckles turn white.

“He’s dead.” Mike says. There’s a sharp intake of breath and Mike knows what Will’s face looks like, he sees it flash before his eyes. Pity. Pity, because that’s all Mike deserves. “It’s all my fault.”

“Mike — ”

“Don’t.” Mike cuts him off before Will can get started on some spiel about how this isn’t his fault, that there’s nothing else he could’ve done because Mike could have, he absolutely could have. He could’ve frisked the man, he could’ve knocked him out. He could’ve been faster.

Will’s words die on his tongue and he shrinks in on himself, the soft hunch in his shoulders magnifying. On any other day, Mike wouldn’t have forgiven himself for this. This isn’t any other day.

Mike’s teeth sink into the inside of his cheek so hard, the taste of copper floods his mouth. He needs to fix this, but there’s nothing Mike can do. There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing —

Oh.

Mike straightens up. Will flinches at the sudden movement, arms hanging at his sides like he’s unsure of what to do with them. A new, sudden resolve fills Mike as he meets Will’s eyes, wide and confused.

“I’m gonna turn myself in.”

At first, he wonders if Will has even heard him because nothing about Will’s expression changes. Will’s eyes run rampant, all over Mike’s face, gauging Mike’s reaction. Will’s breath hitches as he takes a step back, when he realizes Mike is being serious.

“You’re kidding.” Will says, his voice brittle like chalk and all the color has drained out of his face. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“No, I’m not.” Mike replies, and he crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly defensive.

He’s never heard Will plead before. “Mike. Don’t do this.”

“His family needs closure.” is all Mike says.

Nothing can stop Mike. He’s going to do this. He’s going to fix this. He’s going to make sure that this is never going to happen again. They’re all better off without him. Max, El, Lucas, Dustin. Will.

Because this is all Mike does. Ruin things. This is the last time he’s ever going to ruin things.

Mike can’t think of anything to say and if he stares at the pale of Will’s face any longer, if he continues to notice that Will’s hands have started shaking, Mike might change his mind. He can’t afford to change his mind. There’s a family counting on him.

He moves to leave the kitchen, but Will blocks him with a quick sidestep.

“Stop this.” Will says. His hands are curled up into fists at his sides and if he gets any angrier, he’s going to start shaking. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“Really? Because I think this is the first rational thought I’ve had in weeks.”

“Don’t.”

“Let me go.”

“I can’t.” Will says, and he sounds like he’s pleading with Mike. “This is just your guilt talking.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not the solution, Mike.”

“Then tell me what is!” Mike exclaims, and he hates himself, he hates himself as Will flinches. “Because I can’t think of one fucking thing and I’m going crazy, Will, I’m going crazy. I don’t know what to do.”

The fight leaves Mike’s body as fast as it comes and he leans against the sink, desperate for any kind of support. Tears burn behind his eyelids, sharp and stinging like a shower of needles and Mike has the weight of the world pressing down his shoulders. It hits Mike all at once like a sucker punch. The pain, the guilt, the disgust and Mike turns away from Will, who hasn’t said a word since Mike’s little outburst.

Mike tries hard, he tries his hardest not to, but ugly, fat tears roll down his face. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do and it’s killing him, it’s eating him alive and god, if it isn’t fucking pathetic that all Mike can do is cry about it.

“Fuck,” Mike breathes out and it’s barely audible past the phlegm clogging his throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

Mike moves, his back hitting the edge of the sink as he slinks down on his knees. What kind of a superhero is he, falling to his knees at the smallest adversity in his path? What a joke.

In the haze of his self pity, he almost forgets Will is there. Almost. It’s impossible to ignore him when Will sits down in front of him, legs neatly folded under his thighs.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and Will moves to meet Mike’s eyes, gaze soft and unsure as he takes Mike’s face into his hands. Will, still unsure and hesitant, brushes his thumb over the expanse of Mike’s cheek and Mike leans into it, pure instinct and pure want consuming him whole.

“If you go,” Will starts, and he’s so close, Mike could trace the line of freckles crowning his cheekbones. “Think about what’ll happen to Max. Or El. Or Dustin and Lucas.” Will smiles, sparkling bright in the moonlight. “The city would fall apart in a day without you.”

And you? What about you? Mike wants to ask.

As if Will hears him, he says, “I don’t think I could live without you.”

And, it happens. It happens. Will pulls him in, like he has his own force of gravity and Mike crashes into him, into Will’s firm embrace. The tears fall, taunting and traitorous. Mike buries his face into Will’s shoulder, heart pounding beneath the cage of his ribs and Will holds onto him, grip on the back of his neck tight like Will is terrified to let him go.

It’s almost a habit. They grew up together. There’s not one phase of Mike’s life that Will hasn’t seen. There’s not one crisis in Mike’s life that he’s faced alone. Will has always been there, right beside him. His best friend, his confidant, his soulmate.

And yet there’s something different about the way that Will holds him now. Mike keeps his grip tight around the firm muscle of Will’s arm and it keeps him tethered, grounded as the tears slow, then dry and they’re left holding each other for no reason other than one: they don’t want to let go.

Mike buries his face in the crook of Will’s neck like he’s seeking shelter, the strong scent of Will’s citrus shampoo refusing to leave him alone. If Will protests, Mike doesn’t hear it. All he feels is the weight of Will’s arm slung over the back of his neck. Like Mike isn’t the only one seeking out this unnamed comfort.

“What am I going to do?” Mike asks, hazy in the heat of the moment, so softly that he wonders if Will has heard him.

Will hears him. He always does.

“We’ll figure it out.” Will runs his hand through the tuft of Mike’s hair, tucking a piece of his hair behind Mike’s ear with practiced ease. “Don’t we always?”

It’s been a long few weeks.

Mike hasn’t been able to do much of anything outside work and patrolling. Most nights, sleep evades him, but the city will fall apart without him. So, he goes to work. Bags groceries. Fights bad guys. Tries not to think of Andrew.

It’s going to blow up in his face one day. Mike just doesn’t expect it to happen so soon.

Mike is out patrolling one late evening. Every blink makes the back of Mike’s eyelids burn. With every swing, his vision blurs. He needs sleep. He knows he needs sleep and he knows very well that this is going to affect his performance, but every time he closes his eyes, he sees Andrew.

There’s a jewelry store holdup two blocks away. Mike’s punches feel sluggish, eyes drooping with crisp exhaustion, but he gets the job done. Before the owners can thank him, Mike hightails it out of there. Maybe tonight. Tonight is the night that fate takes pity on him.

He’s on his way back home when it happens. A mistake. It’s a simple miscalculation and it costs him. Mike slips.

It happens in the blink of an eye. The web doesn’t come out and Mike falls into the traffic. Before he has the chance to web himself out of there, a bright white light flashes in Mike’s eye, the distinct sound of a man screaming, “Get out of there!”, the loud sound of a trucker horn blasting in his ears, before it all goes dark.

Mike wakes up to the taste of blood in his mouth.

In his delirious state, it takes him more than a minute to realize he’s surrounded by people. There are five and they’re standing over him, whispering to each other. That’s how Mike notices. He’s sprawled out on the ground, choking on his own blood.

He can’t move. When he tries to think, his brain hurts. That bright light is burning Mike’s retinas.

“What…” Mike tries to say, but his mouth refuses to form the words. He tries moving next, reaching out his arm, but the movement leaves him in pain. Mike screams.

“He’s up, he’s up!” One of the bystanders yells. She crouches down to check on Mike. “Where the fuck is that ambulance?” She asks the guy behind her, who merely shrugs.

Ambulance. “Hey, what… what happened?” Mike manages to croak out.

“You were hit by a truck, dude.” She says, simply.

Oh. The blinding pain makes a lot of sense then.

“Don’t move, an ambulance is on its way.”

Ambulance. Mike freezes, quickly reaching for his face even though the action uses up every bit of energy that he has left inside his body.

His mask is still on. That’s not going to be the case when the ambulance gets there. They’ll need to cut his mask off to put an oxygen mask on him. No matter the circumstances, he can’t let that happen.

Dustin’s lab. He needs to be at Dustin’s lab.

Even moving an inch leaves Mike screaming for help. His muscles tense, bones broken, but if he’s going to keep the identities of everyone in his life safe, he’s going to have to get out of here.

Mike swallows a bout of blood, somehow managing to sit up. The bystanders protest, white noise ringing in his ears. Dustin’s lab is only three blocks from here. That’s for how long Mike has to survive. With that thought, he pulls himself out of the ruckus.

Mike isn’t thinking of anything as he swings. He’s running on fumes, every step costing him energy he can’t afford to give. He doesn’t have long before his body gives out.

Somehow, through his delirious state, Mike manages to find the lab within the web of similar looking apartments. Mike climbs onto the fire escape, clutching his side as it protests. Just a little bit longer, he promises himself. He knocks on the window with a bloodied knuckle.

It’s Mike’s luck that Dustin isn’t listening to any loud music like he usually does. Mike winces, tears streaming down his face as he leans back into the bars of the fire escape for support. He spits up clotted blood.

Dustin runs to the window, eyes wide with terror. “Mike, what the — ”

“Help me. Please.” Mike manages to say before he passes out, Dustin’s words going unheard.

Mike doesn’t remember much of the rest. There’s a woman talking to him and his brain manages to find Dustin’s voice among the mix of people who are speaking over each other. He’s flat on a bed, a large white light above him and he’s in scrubs, the material unlike that of his suit. He misses his suit.

Mike blinks, squints at the sight. “What the hell…”

“Mike. Mike. This is Dr. Palmer. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

It’s a woman’s voice. She’s saying his name just like Will does. Will. Where the hell is Will?

“Do you understand me, Mike?”

There’s ice running through his veins, mouth tasting like copper. If Mike was ever held underwater, he knows this is what it’d feel like. The sense of his lungs contracting, running short on oxygen as his head spins.

“Call Will.” Mike mumbles. “Call… Will...” He says, before he fades out of consciousness again.

When Mike wakes up, his mouth is dry. The bright white light has been substituted for a reasonable bulb. Mike blinks as his eyes adjust to the brightness. Where am I? His sluggish brain manages to ask as he takes one glance around.

It’s a makeshift hospital room. Mike is on a bed, half propped up. He’s connected to three bags of fluids and the only purpose it serves is to remind Mike of the time his father was in the hospital. Holly had spent three straight days crying on Mike’s lap. The memory hits Mike in the stomach like a sucker punch.

The door creaks when it opens.

A woman walks in through the door. She’s wearing a doctor’s coat, a clipboard clutched close to her chest and she smiles at him warmly as she slowly explains that they never expected for him to wake up for at least a few more weeks.

“Oh.” Mike says, letting the information slowly sink in. He remembers bits and pieces about the accident. The loud truck horn. The blood clots. Asking for Will. “How long was I out?”

The doctor smiles as she breaks the news. Three weeks. Mike was out of commission for three weeks.

It sets Mike off into a panic and the panic burns like a bitch. Mike cries out as he tries to move, but is unable to. That’s when Dustin chooses to walk in, face pale as a ghost.

“Mike, are you — ”

“Take me home.” Mike tells Dustin, who immediately glances at the doctor. “I need to — I — ”

I need to see Will. I need to tell Will I’m sorry. I need Will to see that I’m okay.

The doctor hesitates. “I really don’t think that’s — ”

“Dustin.” Mike says, his eyes wide and pleading. The resolve in Dustin’s face melts away. Mike sounds like a petulant child, he knows that much, but he can’t bring himself to give a fuck. “Take me home.”

Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Are you sure you’re not going to need me for this? Dustin had repeatedly asked Mike as they sat in the car, finishing off their coffees. If Mike had been extremely honest, he would’ve gotten down on his knees and begged for Dustin to be next to him for this.

There’s a feeling akin to terror running rampant under Mike’s skin as he knocks on the door, waiting for Will. He doesn’t have the guts to use his own keys to open the door.

Mike’s hands shake. He can’t even begin to fathom the depth and the intensity of Will’s anger when he’s going to find out about Mike. There’s going to be rage, a sprinkle of assault, but at the end of the day, they’ll move on from this.

They’re Mike and Will. They’ll move on from this.

More than ever, Mike feels like melting away into the hardwood floor. Disappearing. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to look into Will’s eyes ever again.

The door is pushed open.

“Hey.” Mike manages to say, putting his hand up and giving Will the most pathetic wave in the history of mankind.

There’s something off about Will. His face has fallen, pale around the edges and he looks physically ill, like he’s recovering from a sickness. There’s a beat of disbelieving silence as Will’s eyes widen, his hand tightening around the door knob.

“No.” Will whispers, gaze scouring every inch of Mike’s face like he’s expecting Mike to disappear into a puff of smoke. “There’s no… it’s not…” He shivers. “I thought you were dead.”

There’s bile climbing up Mike’s throat and he takes a step forward. Will stays frozen in his spot, staring at him in blatant disbelief.

“Will.” Mike says, as softly as he can. “Will, I’m sorry.”

Will makes an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat, his lower lip wobbling as he looks away and Mike has never hated himself more. He did this. He did this to Will. His heart clenches in his chest.

“God, I fucking hate you.” Will cries out before he’s crashing into Mike’s arms like a tidal wave.

His grip is just as strong as Mike remembers, bone-crushing and grounding and Mike buries his face in the crook of Will’s neck. The tears roll down his face, ugly wet sobs muffled in the cotton of Will’s shirt. Not once does Mike dare try to pull away.

It takes Mike not more than twenty minutes to explain everything that happened. He lost focus. He slipped into traffic. He almost got crushed by a truck. With every sentence, Will’s eyes only grow wider into disbelief, the color draining out of his face as fast as it had come.

Will hasn’t let go of Mike’s hand. Mike’s ankle is locked around Will’s, thumb absentmindedly running over Will’s white knuckles.

“Why didn’t you call?” Will asks, voice watery and low.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing Mike can bring himself to say. Will’s face just cracks, eyes brimming with unshed tears. It pulls at Mike’s heartstrings until he can no longer keep looking.

It changes things between them. Mike tries his best not to let it, but there’s only so much he can do when Will is the one pulling away.

Will becomes distant. He doesn’t laugh at Mike’s jokes. Whenever they’re together, it feels as if Will’s mind is occupied elsewhere. Mike is at a loss. A complete loss, because Will might’ve pushed other people away before but never Mike. In their years of friendship, it’s never been Mike.

It all comes to a head when Mike finds Will’s bracelet left on the coffee table.

Mike freezes in his step, gingerly picking it up before he realizes what this means. Will has never taken the bracelet off. Since he’s known about Mike, there was never a time when he didn’t want Mike to know where he was going. And now, Mike feels numb as he stares at the yellow threads, the tracker in the crown.

Mike stares in the void of the night.

The bracelet was enough of a hint that Will wants to be left alone. But it’s close to midnight and Will is out there, distressed and alone and that thought is enough to make Mike suit up, put on his mask and jump back out into the city.

He knows Will can handle himself. He knows the last thing Will wants right now is to be rescued by Mike. But it’s an itch under his skin, a thought pounding in the back of his brain.

If they’re ever going to go back to normal, they need to straighten this out.

Mike sets out to find Will. He looks anywhere he can think of. Will’s office building. The grocery store. Their favorite Chinese takeout place. Loyola’s, the cafe which makes the shittiest coffee on the planet.

Will isn’t there.

It’s less panic and more disbelief that maybe Mike doesn’t know Will as well as he thinks he does. Until it strikes him. Well, of course. It makes sense. It makes sense that out of all the places in the city that Will would pick this one. Mike should’ve guessed.

Of course Will would come back here. It was the start of their life together.

Mike swings over to the roof of the building and he doesn’t even blink twice when he finds Will leaning against the metal grate of the fire escape of the fourth floor. Will’s gaze is focused somewhere far beyond into the vast nothingness of the city that unfolds before them, loud and bustling. He seems distracted, fingers ideally drumming on the metal railing that Will grips so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

Ideally, Mike wouldn’t be here. It’s not that late. There’s a chance he might get spotted and if he gets spotted, Will is not going to go unnoticed either. There are going to be a million questions about what Spiderman is doing with a civilian in a situation like this and the last thing Mike wants to do is put Will into any form of danger.

Still, he finds himself unable and unwilling to move from his spot on the roof where he sits, right above where Will is standing. Mike wonders if he should make his presence known or maybe Will already knows. There was no chance Mike was going to let him wander out there alone by himself, especially without the tracker.

Mike is incorrigible and an unrelenting person. It’s both his best and his worst quality. He just can’t help himself.

Mike climbs his way down to the fire escape of the fifth floor. He tries his best to be quiet about it, but there are a lot of things you learn after you spend close to fifteen years with them. Like Mike knows Will is allergic to strawberry, but his conditioner is strawberry flavored. Like Mike knows that Will needs the television volume cranked to the highest setting while he cooks.

Like Mike knows that Will knows he’s here.

Mike doesn’t even have to say a word, he knows Will knows. Mike waits for Will to say something, maybe tell him to fuck off (which would be a valid reaction, if Mike is being entirely honest with himself), but Will gives him nothing but silence. Deep down, somewhere, it stings.

Mike tosses his legs over the railing, so his legs hang right over Will’s head. He’s waiting for Will to say the word. If Will tells him to leave, Mike will. He won’t even blink.

“Took you long enough.” Will says, and when he speaks, a thin dusting of frost leaves his mouth. Will wraps his arms around himself, rubbing his forearms for the tiniest semblance of heat. He doesn’t look up, not even once, but there’s still a chill crawling up Mike’s spine.

Mike lets his head tip up and he glances at the heavy clouds in the midnight sky. They threaten to burst at the seams. It’s not going to rain. It’s going to pour.

“I had to check out a million other places.” Mike responds. “I didn’t think you’d come back here.”

Will hums softly under his breath. From up here, Mike can’t see his face but the golden streetlight beats down on his face, running up the side of his neck and Mike is consumed by the urge to see what Will looks like in the gold. But he stays rooted in his spot, biting on the inside of his cheek as he waits for Will to speak again.

“I just… I needed to think.” Will says, softly as he dips his head. He hasn’t looked up yet. Mike wishes that he would. “Fuck, it’s been a hell of a month, huh?”

The image of Andrew Josten comes flashing before Mike’s eyes and grimaces, but it quickly ebbs away to give space to warmer memories. The day he told Will he was Spiderman. Max’s fingers tangled in Mike’s hair as she pulled him away from the pool pit at a party while Lucas tried to take a picture of them. Will’s arms around him on that cold kitchen floor. Yeah. It’s been a hell of a month.

It starts to drizzle. Mike watches the raindrops as they fall, hardly noticeable and he watches as Will puts his hand forward to catch the rain in the cavity of his palm. Mike’s heart stutters, his breath halting in his chest as Will finally, finally tips his chin upward and meets Mike’s gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Mike finds himself saying instead of the million other things on his mind. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

“Can you really blame me if I don’t believe you?” Will asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. He retracts his hand and there’s a dark cast on the side of his face.

“I just — ”

“You were gone for weeks, Mike. Not days. Weeks. Do you know what that feels like? The fact that you were out there, putting yourself in danger and I didn’t even — you could’ve — ”

The fight inside Will seems to die. He physically deflates like a balloon that’s been popped by a nail and guilt catches like a noose around Mike’s neck and he’s hanging, suspended in midair. A million apologies run rampant on his tongue, but that’s not what Will wants. That’s not what he needs. Mike bites his tongue.

“You know what it’s been like. There was Andrew and the accident and the fact that you almost got fucking killed — do you even — do you even care? When you went out on your patrols, did you even think about what would happen if you got into a fight you couldn’t win? Or if you pissed off the wrong person and your reflexes weren’t fast enough to save you? Did you ever consider that?”

Something twists inside Mike’s gut.

“Or were you just trying to prove a point? Big, mighty Spiderman who protects the city? Like you aren’t a human being, too?” Will’s words are harsh, sucker punch after sucker punch, but his voice cracks halfway through the sentence. It pulls at Mike’s heartstrings. “Who is going to protect the city if you’re dead, Mike?”

The raindrops roll off Mike’s suit and they drip, drip, drip onto Will’s hair.

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

The silence is pulled taut like an elastic band and it snaps against Mike’s skin when Will sharply inhales, his hands tightly knotted together like he’s trying to hide the fact that they’re shaking. The rainfall is starting to pick up.

“Of course I don’t want you to leave, idiot.” Will retorts, but his tone is completely devoid of malice. Instead, he’s starting to sound exasperated, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “You’re such an idiot.”

He is. “I am.” Mike says.

“Are you ever coming down here or what?”

Mike’s heart twists in his chest. He does as he’s asked. Mike gets up to stand on the ledge of the fire escape, narrowly missing hitting his head on the ledge above him. Will scoffs as he watches Mike’s struggles, but as he looks away, there’s a phantom of a smile that crosses on Will’s face.

Mike plants his feet at the top of the fire escape, right above Will. Will doesn’t move even as Mike lets himself fall backwards, so his face is right in front of Will’s. He’s never been this close to Will’s face — not out of his red hot daydreams that Mike will forever deny the existence of — and from up close, he can see everything.

The conflict etched over Will’s face, the rainwater stuck to the edges of Will’s hair, the dent in Will’s lower lip from where he’d been chewing on it earlier. It would be so easy to kiss him now. Mike’s toes curl in his suit.

There’s a hitch in Will’s breathing as he moves, lifting his hand to cup Mike’s cheek. His gaze is hazy, like he isn’t quite processing his actions, like he’s acting purely on instinct and Mike can’t find his breath. It’s like every bit of oxygen in his body has been pumped out of him and Mike can barely push his last words out without the burn of breathlessness twisting deep inside him.

“I’m so sorry, Will.” Mike manages to croak out and he isn’t even sure if Will’s heard him over the cacophony of the downpour, the rush of the cars passing them by.

Will glows in the moonlight and he positively simpers, tilting his head as his thumb grazes Mike’s cheek. There’s a heat crawling up the side of Mike’s neck as a deluge of rain overwhelms the city. Despite that, neither of them move from where they are, terrified to shatter this delicate balance they’ve struck.

Will doesn’t seem to process what he’s doing as his thumb catches at the base of Mike’s mask. There’s copper flooding Mike’s mouth from how hard he bites the inside of his cheek. Will pulls his mask down, up to Mike’s nose so the lower half of Mike’s face is completely exposed. Will’s lips are bitten red and that’s all Mike can focus on.

The corner of Will’s mouth. Pink, pink, pink. The tongue peeking out from Will’s lips to wet them. The base of Will’s palm grazing Mike’s cheekbone.

“No, you’re really not.” Will replies, and he kisses Mike.

Mike doesn’t know what to do. Okay. That’s a lie. Mike knows what he’s supposed to do, but he’s barraged with a million questions, doubts, the feeling of his heart thumping away beneath his ribcage. It’s not until Will backs away, eyes wide like the haze is broken, that Mike realizes he hasn’t kissed Will back yet.

The regret seems to hit both of them at the same time, for two different reasons.

The color seems to drain from Will’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I — ”

“Will — ”

“I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, I — ”

Mike hasn’t thought this through. He knows he should. This is going to change them, going to change everything between them, but Mike can’t bring himself to care. Right now, in this moment, soaked in the rain, Mike wants to kiss Will back. So, that’s exactly what he does.

He cradles Will’s face in his palms, their noses bumping and Will is struck with that familiar surprise. There’s a heat flooding his cheeks and for that moment, Mike is glad that his mask is still covering half of his face.

Mike isn’t thinking straight. He presses his mouth to Will’s, once, twice, then once again. He tastes like breath mints, a faint scent of citrus of Will’s shampoo. Will sighs, soft and hitched as his forehead touches Mike’s. Will’s eyelashes sweep the pale expanse of his pink cheek as he blinks.

A soft “Oh,” escapes Will, the realization settling in quickly. His eyes flick up from Mike’s nose to his lips, eyes dark and electric with want and desire and Mike has never felt more alive than in this moment. It’s nothing like scaling up the walls of a building. This is a thousand times more powerful. The heat emanating from Will’s face could power an entire city, but Mike is sure he isn’t faring any better.

“Are you all caught up now?” Mike whispers, and he sounds every bit as cocky and conceited as he feels.

“Brave words for a guy who hasn’t kissed me properly yet.”

“Sorry,” Mike says, clicking his tongue as he leans in, a hair’s breadth away from Will’s lips. “Let me fix that right now.”

This time when Mike leans in, he doesn’t hesitate. He leaves no room for Will to pull away. He’s not letting Will go, not this time. There’s a sense of bewilderment and amazement that floods Mike’s chest as he kisses Will. Will’s hand moves from Mike’s cheek to the base of his mane as he tilts his head, giving Mike further access.

This is nothing like all the other times Mike has kissed someone. He’s never felt this electric desire flooding his system and he’s about to burst at the seams from the sheer intensity of this kiss, even though they haven’t really done anything. It’s that thought that pushes Mike to nip at Will’s lower lip, soothing that bruise over with his tongue.

Will huffs, softly sighing into his mouth and Mike is all too aware of Will licking at his teeth. Mike’s fingers knot into Will’s hair and he’s overcome with the thought of wanting to yank, just to see how Will would react. If he’d complain, if he’d curse Mike out or if he’d let Mike press him into a wall and —

“Get down here.” Will says, and it’s the sweetest melody Mike has ever heard.

Mike lets his feet drop from the level above, dropping into the fire escape to where Will is standing. Will has left a little place for him. Not too much. Just enough for Mike to jump over the railing and into Will’s personal space. Will doesn’t move, not even as their thighs brush, Mike’s heart crawling up into his throat as that happens.

“Hi.” Mike says, as he pulls his mask off. His curls fall down to frame his face and Will grabs a tangle of Mike’s hair to push behind his ear, fingers trailing down the side of Mike’s face to fit in the space between his chin and jaw.

“Hey.” Will replies, voice hoarse as his eyes flick past Mike’s nose.

Mike leans into the metal of the railing as Will crowds him, Will’s hands move to grip the railing beside him, narrowly missing brushing Mike’s waist. Mike can’t complain. There’s something very attractive about Will completely caging Mike in and Mike can’t say he hasn’t thought about it. The thin layer of firm muscle lining Will’s arms. Will’s firm grip that’s almost on his waist. Mike wants and he wants, but Will takes it first.

Will grabs the back of Mike’s neck, raising up to his tiptoes and brings them together in a fit of urgency.

Mike’s pulse races against his wrist as they kiss. Mike drinks in every single thing that he can about this very moment. The steady pounding of rain on his head, running his hands through Will’s hair as Will comes to grip his waist, pressing his thumbs into Mike’s hips like Will is trying to leave a mark of himself in the jut of Mike’s waist.

Like Will is trying to stake his claim.

Like Mike could be anyone but Will’s.

They only part when their stupid lungs get in the way. They breathe in sync, chests heaving and then Mike moves to bury his face in the crook of Will’s neck. Will softly gasps as Mike knits a bruise into his neck, teeth sinking into the skin covering Will’s collarbone.

“I have work tomorrow, asshole.” Will manages to force through gritted teeth, but he makes no effort to try and pull Mike off him.

“Don’t care.” Mike says the words against Will’s skin. “Cover it up.”

“I can’t stand you.” Will retorts, as he kisses Mike again. Will backs away but not too far and Mike runs his thumb over the gloss of Will’s lower lip. Will’s eyes slide shut as he leans into the touch.

“Mike.” Will starts, eyes hazy as they open. “Take me home.”

As they swing on the way home, there’s a coil of fear curling around Mike’s lower intestine as Will’s arm curls around the front of his neck, gripping him tight. The rain starts to wane. He doesn’t know where they’re going to go from here, how the things between them are going to change and Mike is fully reeling with panic by the time their feet hit the ground.

Mike lets Will down on the roof of their apartment building. He doesn’t meet Will’s eyes, instead choosing to keep his gaze trained on his toes. Will doesn’t blink, immediately reaching for Mike’s wrist as a gesture of comfort.

“Are you okay?” Will asks, softly, trying to make their eyes brush.

“I’m sorry, I just — I don’t know. I can’t — ” Mike sighs, burying his face in his hands as he leans against the wall. “Can you give me a minute?”

“A minute? Like — ”

“I just need to get out of the suit. I’ll see you at home in a minute.”

Will seems uncertain. “Are you sure?” Will runs his thumb along the bridge of Mike’s nose. “You don’t look very… good.”

“I’m fine, I just — I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

Will searches his eyes for a second and Mike is hoping that the blind panic isn’t showing. Will steps back, squeezing Mike’s wrist once before he lets go. Mike misses the warmth, but the panic in his chest is starting to fizzle as Will walks off the roof, giving Mike a small wave as he goes.

There’s Will everywhere, infecting his mind. Will’s voice rings in his ears. Will’s body heat is almost his own. He can still taste the mint of Will’s breath. The fright seizes Mike’s lungs again, leaving him breathless. Mike buries his face in his hands.

Mike keeps a bag of his clothes tucked behind a pallet on the roof to change whenever he gets back from patrols in case he ever has to walk in through the front door. It’s three in the morning, no one is going to see him, but Mike finds himself changing out of the suit, just for habit. To control the thunderstorm swirling around in his mind.

Will, Will, Will, his mind seems to chant as Mike makes his way down the staircase to his and Will’s shared apartment, his suit tucked away under his arm. Mike knocks on the door, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He should probably get his keys but his heart is thumping in his chest. He can’t think straight. His palms are clammy.

The door opens.

Will hasn’t put the lights on yet, so the apartment is flooded with the thinning silver of moonlight. Even in the darkness, Will looks exquisite and Mike can’t take his eyes off the bruise he’s left on Will’s neck, totally on display. It can’t even be hidden by Will’s collar. That unleashes something carnal inside Mike.

“Hi.” Mike says, and Will’s eyes flick to Mike’s. There’s a slight flush to Will’s face.

“Are you okay?” Will asks, fingers curling around the doorknob as he takes a step forward.

“I’m sorry, I got — ” Mike bites the inside of his cheek. “I got into my head and I — I got nervous. Sorry. I wasn’t — I wasn’t trying to — ”

“It’s okay. That’s — it’s fine, Mike, it’s — ”

“Why was this so much easier when you were pissed at me?”

Will leans into the door, a lazy smile taking over his face. “Passion of the moment, I guess.”

“Passion.” Mike repeats, breaking off into a sharp laugh that has the potential to wake up their neighbors. “You’re really — you’re really something, Byers.”

There’s a glint in Will’s eye. “Is that so?”

“Uh huh.” Mike says, stepping into the apartment and Will doesn’t take a step back. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Will blinks once before he gets on his toes and pecks the corner of Mike’s mouth. “Next time, don’t ask.” He says, and Mike doesn’t.

It’s been a week since.

They haven’t talked about it yet. Mike is starting to get the feeling they’re never going to talk about it. The only problem is that Mike can’t stop thinking about it. He knows he shouldn’t. It was an emotional, nerve-wracking moment and Will was just being friendly. Emotional. They’re best friends. That’s all.

But that night changed something for the both of them. It’s impossible to look over at Will now and think that that’s his best friend. Instead, it’s something feral, something deep inside him that thinks I want to kiss him, I want to kiss him, I want to —

That changes things. That changes people. Even people like Mike and Will.

Even though Will refuses to say anything about that night, sometimes Mike will catch him looking. Over the salt and pepper shakers, over the empty dish rack, over the piles of folded clothes that Will shoves into his arms. Will doesn’t look away, his cheeks burning hot, red hot like a poker tending to the fireplace and Mike knows what he’s thinking about because he’s thinking about the same thing.

But change, it’s a fragile thing and a relationship like Mike’s and Will’s might not survive it.

So, the easiest way is just not to talk about it.

It’s eating Mike alive. When he’s patrolling, when he’s helping grandmas cross the street, when his fingers hover over the keyboard trying to write an article, his mind floods with the memories of that night.

The familiar creak of the disgusting apartment building. The downpour soaking Will’s green sweater. Will’s warm palms curled into his cheeks, like he could somehow pull Mike closer. Friends don’t do that. Best friends certainly don’t.

That’s what Mike is thinking of one night when he’s doing the dishes.

It’s a mind-numbing task but one that he’s come to enjoy because when his mind wanders, he no longer feels ashamed about it. His phone is propped up by the window (Mike likes to live life dangerously) playing a loud death metal song that Dustin sent him a few days ago. He runs the sponge over the plate, does it again until the plate is positively sparkling like the dishes from a dish soap commercial, and he realizes he needs to move on.

He puts the plate away, grabs a spoon.

The loose floorboard creaks. Mike wouldn’t have even heard it above the music had it not been for his overactive senses. With a sucker punch, he realizes what that means.

His body currently perceives Will as a threat.

With his hands buried in the dishes, soap suds clinging to his arms and his clothes, head half-bopping to a death metal song, Mike knows he must make for a ridiculous look right now. Absolutely ridiculous. But Will doesn’t say that.

Will stands by the door, demure and unsure as his eyes flick from Mike’s face to the sponge in his hand. Mike tries but he can’t stop himself from thinking about knitting his hands into Will’s soft blue sweater and pressing him into the edge of the cold countertop before he loses his mind.

“Hey.” Will says. “Need help?”

Mike points to the washcloth next to him. “Sure. You could dry.”

They get to work. It’s three days worth of dishes, so they have quite a bit to work through. But that’s the thing about being a good team. It’s easy to get the job done.

Mike chews on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from blurting out something stupid that would totally jeopardize these quiet moment they’re having.

Will doesn’t seem to be faring any better. He’s seemingly caught up in some long train of thought because he’s become masterfully slow at drying the dishes. Mike watches Will from the corner of his eye, biting down on his tongue so he doesn’t ask the wrong question.

Their shoulders almost press, Will’s body heat is almost his own.

He does his best not to look, but the moonlight bouncing off the bridge of Will’s nose, soft lips bitten red from how much Will has chewed on it, it’s distracting. It’s distracting and Mike wants and his fingers itch with the desire to run through Will’s hair, leaving nothing but lather in his curled hair.

He hates it, he hates doubting himself, even though it’s a familiar emotion to get caught up on.

“This music is awful.” Will finally says, and when Mike looks over, his nose is wrinkled. “Can we turn this shit off?”

“Yeah, sure thing, let me — ”

“No, it’s okay, I got it.”

Will reaches for Mike’s phone and turns the song off, dipping the kitchen in a certain, tense silence. If Mike strains his ears hard enough, he can hear the soft hitch in Will’s breathing, his own pulse picking up at the thought of saying something that’s going to shatter this rhythm they’ve picked up. He hates this type of uncertainty.

For a beat, he pauses but then he goes back to washing, slowly running the sponge over a bowl.

“Mike.”

Mike turns to glance at Will, who’s called his name so softly, it was almost inaudible. Will has paused in his action and he’s holding a plate close to his chest, almost like he’s trying to protect himself from something. He’s resting his hip against the sink, knee knocking into Mike’s.

Mike’s hand nearly crushes the sponge.

He doesn’t move, but Will does. He takes one step closer, until their noses are almost brushing. Mike’s eyes trace Will’s freckles, the mole on his nose and he wants, he wants and that ache that has buried itself so deep inside him is slowly starting to spark.

Starting to come alive.

There’s an uncertainty in Will’s gaze that hasn’t left since he’s come into the kitchen. His eyebrows are furrowed, like he’s fighting some force inside him and he inhales sharply.

“Are you okay?” Mike asks, almost a reflex, but Will doesn’t answer.

He just sucks in a deep breath, lets his hand travel up to Mike’s face to brush his cheek and he gets on his tiptoes, hand curling around Mike’s bicep. There’s a moment. It’s ridiculous how loud it is inside Mike’s head. Will’s breath is of mint and Mike’s blood is running hot under his skin.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He’s caught and stuck on a train of thought that’s leading him nowhere. Will’s eyes slide shut and Mike lets himself move to close the distance between them.

The angles are all wrong. Mike’s neck hurts from the strain, hands still stuck in the sink, but he can’t complain about the press of Will’s mouth against his own. At first, for one long moment that feels like a lifetime, Will doesn’t move and a stray thought clambers into Mike’s mind like a rat skittering around in the walls.

What if he read this wrong? What if he’s made a mistake? What if —

Will’s thumb runs over his cheekbone and he says, “Stop thinking,” before he finally, finally kisses Mike back.

Mike stops thinking, lets his muscle memory do the work for him. It’s hard to seem insistent when his hands are occupied, but Will helps, tilting his head to the side for more access. The hand around Mike’s arm tightens, the other one moving to the base of Mike’s nape while Mike stands there with his stupid hands tied.

He kisses just the way Mike remembers. Soft, tender and if Mike was delusional, he would’ve said eager. But no, the eager one really is Mike because he’s spent hours daydreaming about this at every waking moment, wondering what it’ll feel like when that ache in his chest finally ceases to exist.

Will licks at his teeth, fingers easily fitting into the space between Mike’s jaw and his ear like he was always meant to fit there. Two perfect puzzle pieces. When the ache in his chest dissolves, for the first time in days, Mike breathes.

When they break, Mike’s lungs burn from the lack of oxygen. Will slowly gasps, eyes slowly pushing open. Will’s hands don’t leave his face. Traces of mint dance on Mike’s tongue.

It’s like nothing and it’s like everything he’s been thinking of.

“Sorry,” Will breathes out, like he hasn’t just kissed Mike like that and changed his life. “I wasn’t — I wasn’t — ”

“Shut up.” Mike hisses, but it’s missing any bit of malice that he was intending to show. “Can you just — can you not — ”

For a second, it’s quiet, but Will erupts into a fit of giggles. Will’s cheeks burn red, bright red as he buries his face in Mike’s shoulder. The press of Will’s nose into his skin is grounding and Mike can feel his anxiety beginning to shatter as he chuckles along with Will.

“We’re fucking stupid.” Will says, his face in the crook of Mike’s neck. “We’re such idiots, d’you ever think about that?”

“Every day.” Mike replies. He kisses the corner of Will’s mouth, just to hear his breath hitch. “You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this the entire time?”

“Yeah.” Will smiles as their eyes brush. “You could’ve kissed me sooner, you know.”

Mike jerks back and Will’s gaze is soft and amused. “Wait, why is this on me?!”

“Um, I kissed you the first time so the next time, you should kiss me. That’s usually how it works.”

“Decided by who?”

“Anyone who gets romance.” Will replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “Which, you clearly don’t.”

“Wow, rude.” Mike says, running his hands under the open tap to wash them of the soap suds that cling to his skin. “I mean, I did just change your life with that kiss.”

Will laughs, loud and bright. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“You just melted into a puddle in my arms.”

“I did not melt into a puddle, what the fuck.”

Mike splays a hand over his chest in faux hurt. “Lies. Just ignorant lies.”

“God, you’re insufferable sometimes.” Will manages to say between his soft laughter peeling through his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Mike grins. “You think I’m cute?”

“I think you’re a lot of things.”

“Tell me.” Mike says.

Will’s eyes brighten as he takes a step closer. “I think you’re cute and funny and smart and how do you manage to drive me fucking insane like this?”

“It’s the Wheeler charm.”

“You’re such a dork.” Will says, almost fondly before he reaches in again and Mike’s mind empties itself.

It becomes a thing.

They don’t intend it to but it becomes a thing.

They don’t talk about it even though Mike badly, badly wants to but for as long as he can, he’ll settle for this. The press of Will’s hand on his chest. Will’s skin blood-hot to the touch when Mike reaches under his shirt. He can live with this.

Mike stops sleeping in his own bed. That becomes another thing. Even once he comes back from patrolling, bone-tired and sweaty and gross, Will leaves space for him. It’s terrifying just how easy it is to fit back into Will’s warm embrace, the exhaustion leaching out of him as Will’s arm curls around his middle.

Yeah, Mike can live with this.

But, on some days, it isn’t enough. Like this one. It’s a cold evening, but Will’s bed is warm enough to combat the frigid breeze that blows in.

This time, they’re moving into uncharted territory. There’s a heat to their kissing that wasn’t there before, a mutual acceptance that’s relatively new. Will is on his back, Mike in the small space between his sprawled legs. This is new and Mike is rife with anticipation as he chases Will’s tongue with his own.

He wants to ask, are you sure this is okay, are we moving too fast, but Will grabs him by the collar to deepen the kiss and Mike forgets that there was a thing he wanted to say.

Mike isn’t one for casual sex. It’s never even been something he’s considered. But it’s different with Will. There is no such thing as casual with Will. That’s the thought that makes Mike break apart from Will, Will’s hands still locked tightly around his waist.

“What are we doing?” Mike asks. “I mean… what is this?”

Will grins at him, amusedly. “Do I have you give you the birds and bees talk, Michael?”

That stings. “That’s not funny.” Mike bites back, as he gets to his knees, moving off Will to sit in the empty space beside him, back against the headboard with his arms crossed over his chest.

The realization, that this isn’t a joke, seems to strike Will and the honeyed mask fractures. Will sits up to face him as he turns to face Mike. Mike glances at the crown of bruises he’s left along Will’s neck and then he looks away, staring up at the blank ceiling.

“Okay, Mike, talk to me.” Mike doesn’t look at him. “Hey.”

“Go away.” Mike says, with no force at all.

“Mike. Hey. Hey.” Will takes Mike’s face into his hands, all traces of amusement wiped. “Talk to me, okay?”

“Why’d you kiss me?”

“What?”

“Why did you kiss me?” Mike enunciates.

“I — I wanted to.” Will mumbles. “Is that not… is that not good enough?”

“It’s — it’s not enough for me. I mean, are we just going to keep doing this — ” Mike gestures at the space between the two of them. “ — for the rest of our lives?”

Will flushes, shifting uncomfortably as he lets his hands drop from Mike’s face.

“I — I — ” Will trails off. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I do.” Mike says, fiddling with his sleeve as he tries to avoid Will’s gaze. “I can’t do this forever, not if this isn’t going anywhere, okay, Will? I — god, fuck.” Mike mutters under his breath.

This went so much better in his head.

A silence falls over them, light as the first snow of winter. Mike’s eyes are fixed to a point on the ceiling, laser focused. Will reaches for Mike’s hands in between the duvet pushed aside. Mike curls his fingers into Will’s palm like instinct and Will leans into his side, his head resting on Mike’s shoulder. Like clockwork.

“Let’s do something tomorrow. Just the two of us.” Will says, tracing the shape of a star into the expanse of Mike’s knee.

“Like a date?”

“Yeah. Like a date.”

“How the hell did you find this place?” Will says, looking around in awe, his breath caught in his chest. Mike can’t take his eyes off him. “It’s… wow.”

“So, you’re having fun?” Mike asks, unable to keep his smile under wraps.

“Are you kidding?!” Will gushes. “I’m pretty sure I’ve dreamt of something like this.”

“Then don’t let me stop you.”

Will immediately lets go of Mike’s hand to go running into a section that’s clearly caught Will’s eye. It’s a sticker shop. Mike found the place one morning when his coworker told him about it and the light bulb had gone off in Mike’s head, so Mike had dragged Will over here first thing in the morning. They haven’t even had their coffee yet.

Mike stands in one of the aisles, answering texts from Max, who’d sent him a photo of burnt chocolate chip cookies at three in the morning — Mike texts her back: yummy save me some — and Dustin, who’d sent him the designs for a new suit prototype, Suzie’s rainbow socked foot in the background. Lucas had asked do you want to get a drink later? to which Mike quickly texts back yes.

“Look at this!” Will exclaims, as he holds up a set of stickers. There’s a giddy, giddy smile on his face. “Oh man, I want to buy them all but I’m broke.”

“Just get it, we’ll figure it out.” Mike says, as he texts Dustin back with a yes, yes, no, fuck yes.

He’s so busy with sending his reply that he doesn’t notice Will sidling up to him — and Will plants a sticker right on Mike’s nose. Mike blinks.

“What does it say?” He asks, not making an effort to take it off.

“Good job.” Will says, as he holds up a set of complimenting stickers. He takes another sticker on his index fingers, drawing up Mike’s sleeve, bringing Mike’s suit into view. Will pushes the sleeve of his suit up, planting the sticker on Mike’s bare skin so it’s tucked away under his suit. “This way, I’ll always be with you. To cheer you on.”

Mike has always known that self-preservation is a foreign concept to him, but it’s especially worse this time as Mike presses Will into a shelf and kisses him hard enough to make him bruise.

At least once a month, Mike and Will make it a point to have dinner at Nancy and Jonathan’s place. It’s never a grand affair, just a meetup to assure each other that they’re still alive and that the city hasn’t quite swallowed them whole yet.

This time, Mike and Will get there early to help with food prep, though Mike is useless with knives and fire and anything to do with cooking really. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.” Will had said, moments before Mike pressed him into the countertop and kissed him senseless, cooking lessons forgotten. So, Mike isn’t feeling good about this.

And, of course. Mike and Will are dating, pertinent information that they haven’t quite revealed to their siblings yet. Mike is convinced that Jonathan has a firm dislike for him (he isn’t man enough to use the word hate, though that’s the more accurate emotion), while Will is terribly intimidated by Nancy.

“She’s so perfect, she’s terrifying.” is the only thing Will says when Mike asks him about it, a sentiment Mike vehemently disagrees with but won’t dare bring it up.

So, yeah. It’s a bit of an understatement to say that they’re both extremely nervous about this. Mike even swings by a local florist to get a bouquet of flowers to smooth things over while Will, who is far better at faking classiness than Mike is, sets out to get a bottle of wine. It’s supposed to be a decent evening, but Mike can’t say he has high hopes.

As Will rings the doorbell, Mike tucks his hands away into the pockets of his jacket to hide the fact that they’re currently shaking. But Will knows because he always knows and he quickly kisses Mike’s cheek. Before Mike can react (or counter the kiss with one of his own), the door opens and Jonathan greets them both with a charming smile.

“Nancy, they brought wine!” Jonathan says, as he takes the bottle from Will with an investigative glint in his eye. “Did you guys become millionaires overnight?”

“It was eight dollars.” Will says, shrugging off his coat.

“Which was everything in my bank account.” Mike mutters, which makes Jonathan laugh. There’s a tiny swell in Mike’s chest. Jonathan thinks he’s funny. Jonathan thinks his brother's boyfriend is funny. Mike would be lying if he said that wasn’t a confidence boost.

“Mike! Kitchen!” Nancy calls him in from the kitchen while Jonathan and Will settle in, setting the dinner table. When Jonathan turns around to grab the folded napkins and set them beside the empty plates, Will catches Mike’s eye and mouths a soft good luck.

When Mike walks into the kitchen, there’s pasta sauce swiped across Nancy’s cheek and she’s holding the ladle like it’s a weapon. She looks miserable, to say the least.

“Hey, Nance.” Mike says, cautiously approaching her like you would a caged animal. Nancy sighs, shaking her head as she leans into the countertop for support. “Need help?”

“Yeah, you could drain the pasta.” Nancy says. “You got it?”

Mike scoffs. “Yeah, don’t worry about me, I got it.”

They fall into an easy silence then, while outside, Jonathan and Will chat it up easily. While Nancy and Mike have never been as close as the other two, it’s still easy for them to be a team.

After all, when their parents were gone and Holly wasn’t there, the only person Mike had was Nancy. And, maybe that’s what they’re both thinking of because when Mike accidentally catches Nancy’s gaze over the pasta pot, she gives him a quiet smile, one she’s never given him before.

Mike is listening to Will intently tell a story about his boss’ alleged plagiarism trial when Nancy stops his train of thought with a question that has Mike nearly falling to the ground, “How are things with Will?”

“What — um, oh, uh, good. Good. It’s been… good. Why?”

Panic seizes Mike’s chest. There’s no way… they can’t already know. He turns to Nancy for an answer to his question.

“Relax, I was just asking, Jesus.” Nancy sighs. “You can tell me about these things, you know.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Mike snaps back, but he regrets those words as they leave his mouth. Mike tilts his head to try and gauge Nancy’s reaction, but her expression is guarded. Lips pursed.

“I didn’t mean that.” Mike rectifies.

“I figured.” Nancy says, stirring the pasta sauce. “Why are you so panicky tonight?”

“I…” Mike stares at the clouded pasta water in the big bowl in front of him. He can barely see his face in it. When he pulls his eyes away, Nancy is staring at him, pieces of perfectly curled brown hair falling into her eyes.

“We’re dating. Will and me — Will and I, whatever. We’ve been… together for a while now and we were thinking of you telling you guys tonight. It’s… I don’t know. I was nervous, I guess. Not about Will, but about…” Mike sighs, trailing off. “I don’t think Jonathan likes me and that sucks because I — ” Mike pushes the next words through gritted teeth. “I want him to like me.”

Nancy’s eyes are glazed over like she’s barely processing this information. Mike wonders if he’s broken her brain.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Nancy says, making wild hand gestures before she moves to turn off the stove. “Back up. What do you mean you were about to tell us tonight?”

“Uh…” Mike blinks. “What about that statement was confusing to you?”

“I don’t… what? Haven’t you guys already been together for years now?”

“What?!” Mike exclaims, blood rushing to his cheeks. The chatter outside ceases. “No! We’ve been — it’ll be three months next month, what are you talking about?”

“I — okay, wait. Jonathan!” Nancy loudly calls out. “We’re straightening this out. Now.”

Mike stands there, speechless as Jonathan rushes into the kitchen, Will quickly in tow. When their eyes brush, Will mouths what happened to which Mike shrugs. He doesn’t have the slightest clue himself.

“Is everyone okay? Anyone hurt?”

Nancy pointedly ignores Jonathan’s question, hand on her hip. “Jonathan, for how long have Mike and Will been dating?”

Will’s eyes flare with poorly masked panic while Jonathan hums, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Uh… since before New York, right?”

“They’ve been dating for three months.” Nancy says, to which Jonathan exclaims, the loudest Mike has ever heard him, “What? But the math isn’t adding up. How — I thought — ”

“Wait, hang on.” Will says, his panic replaced by utter confusion. “You guys thought we were already dating? Since — since when?”

Nancy hums, rubbing her chin in thought, while Jonathan does the same. They’re so eerily synced. Mike keeps his gaze trained on the bubbling marinara sauce, trying to ignore the flood of red rushing to his cheeks.

“Oh, yeah, this one time when you guys came back from school and you spent all day at the kitchen table, letting Will draw DnD characters on your arms. With a black marker when you knew how mom would react.” Nancy says, recalling the memory like it’s been burned into her. “You didn’t even let mom touch you like that, so I thought. You know.”

“That’s not — that’s totally unrelated.” Mike huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he tries to hide his face behind the collar of his pressed dress shirt. He doesn’t know if he can ever look Will in the eyes again.

“Oh.” Jonathan suddenly says, the realization struck sharp across his face and he glances back at Will. “I mean, I don’t know if I can say this.”

“Say what?” Mike asks, suddenly curious.

Will and Jonathan seem to be quietly communicating with their eyes, but failing miserably because Will shrugs his shoulders in confusion and Jonathan sighs before he speaks again. “Remember your Bugs Bunny sketchpad?” He asks, eyebrows raised so far up they nearly disappear into his hairline.

These five words jolt a memory buried so far deep inside Will that he almost jumps. A distinct red is crawling up the side of Will’s neck, eyes stuck to a point on the wall beyond Mike’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I remember.” Will mumbles. “How the hell did you even find that? It was…” He huffs, jaw tight. “It was very well-hidden.”

Jonathan laughs, sharp and bright and there’s a smile on Nancy’s face faster than Mike can blink.

“You’re really not as slick as you think you are.” Jonathan says, and it feels like he’s talking to both of them.

Dinner is a bit awkward, to say the least. Nancy seems to have straightened out whatever she wanted to straighten out and she’s back to chatting with Jonathan like nothing happened. Mike isn’t the type to let things go, though. When they’re at the dinner table, Mike quickly takes the empty seat beside Will, who doesn’t acknowledge Mike’s presence.

Mike quietly eats his pasta, bumping his foot into Will’s under the table. Will almost jumps. The tips of his ears are red.

“Hey, what was on your sketchpad?” Mike whispers, trying to catch Will’s eye.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Are you serious?” Mike deadpans. “Oh, was it like photos of my ex-girlfriends with their eyes crossed out?”

Will blinks. “You’re dated three people. I can’t fill an entire sketchpad with that.”

“So, you’ve thought about it.” Mike asks, his tone amused.

Will scoffs. “No.” Mike tries to stifle his giggle behind his sleeve as Will pinches his thigh. “I really haven’t.”

“Okay,” Mike says, dragging out the last sound as he tries not to smile. “But seriously, what was it?”

“Would you drop it already?”

“Tell me and I won’t bring it up again.”

Will sighs, stirring his pasta with a fork. He’s fighting an internal battle, Mike can see it written all over his face, but he caves. Mike can’t stifle his grin this time.

“For a while — only for some time — the only thing I could draw was you. I mean, your face. It was good for practice, you know. The only thing I drew for an entire year was you.” Will says, quietly picking at his food as Mike’s chest swells with adoration. “I mean, this was before…”

“Before what?” Mike asks.

Will shakes his head, but he continues talking. “Before I knew… about myself. I thought it was just a friendly thing. And then I… realized that I wasn’t…” Will takes a deep breath before he speaks again. “...like everyone else around me, so I hid it under my mattress. It’s an entire sketchpad with just you and character designs I made for you and… I don’t know. It’s embarrassing when I think about it now. God, fuck. Should’ve burned it when I had the chance.”

“Well, I think it’s flattering.” Mike quickly replies. Will narrows his eyes.

“Really.”

“Yeah, really. I mean, to have Will Byers drawing you… dude. Do you even know what an honor that is?”

Will scoffs, but he’s smiling. Mike reaches for his hand under the table.

“You’re an idiot.” is the only thing Will says before he turns back to his food, squeezing Mike’s hand.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Mike says, unable to keep the grin off his face.

They’re at home when Mike realizes.

It’s been a long day. Mike never spends more than three hours on patrols due to an acute fear of burn out and Dustin’s overall analysis of Mike’s stamina, but the crime rates in New York have been especially high this week.

It’s been six hours since Mike has left home and on the way back, all Mike can think about is his bed. His warm bed. Maybe some dinner if he’s lucky. With every passing minute, it inches closer and closer towards striking two in the morning and Mike is going to thank every one of his lucky stars if Will doesn’t kick his ass.

Will always leaves the bedroom window ajar for Mike to quickly enter, but this time, it’s closed. The lights are also turned all the way down. Earlier, Mike’s first reaction would’ve been to panic, but now, Mike gets to the roof, changes into his normal clothes and makes his way down.

He uses the key to push the door open. The light in the kitchen is still on.

Will is there, a chair pushed towards the countertop, and he’s asleep. Drooling right on top of his notepad.

Mike tries his best not to wake him, but the sight of Will and Will’s bent spine in that atrocious sleeping position makes Mike the tiniest bit nervous. Mike walks over to him with steps as quiet as humanly possible, trying to wake him without waking him up, but what Mike sees on the sketchpad makes him freeze in his step.

There are suit designs, half hidden by Will’s arm, but Mike can see them. Mike glances at the designs, then back at Will’s face and he wakes him up. Will is not the world’s lightest sleeper, but a simple shoulder nudge is all it takes for Will to wake up. That’s why the bedroom window wasn’t propped open.

Will accidentally fell asleep waiting for him.

“Will.” Mike whispers, poking Will’s cheek, as Will starts to stir but immediately falls back asleep. “Will.”

It’s that final Will that pushes to open his eyes and even through a bleary gaze, Will recognizes him. “Hey, you’re back.” Will says, as he pulls his face away from the sketchpad which has strings of drool attached to it. Will grimaces, wiping his cheek. “Ugh.”

“You okay?” Mike asks, amusedly as he moves to wipe the corner of Will’s mouth. Will’s eyes haven’t completely adjusted to the flood of moonlight and he squints, swallowing down another yawn.

“Yeah, just… it’s been a long day, I was — ” Will freezes as he glances at Mike, then looks back at the sketchpad and sighs. “Fuck. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Mike moves to cradle Will’s face in his palms, Will immediately leaning into the touch. “See what?” Mike asks, pressing his thumb onto the tip of Will’s nose. “I didn’t see anything.”

“God, you’re so — ” Will starts, eyes filled to the brim with a warm, familiar fondness.

“I’m so what?”

“If I say it, it’ll go to your head.”

“That’s exactly why you should say it.”

Will chuckles. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Come on. You need sleep.” Mike says, as he moves to grab Will’s hand in an attempt to drag him out of the chair, but Will doesn’t move, instead he falls back onto the counter and closes his eyes. “Will. Get up.”

“Help me up.” Will says, making grabby hands at Mike and Mike sighs, immediately giving in. He leans down to put his hand around Will’s waist and pulls him up. Will doesn’t even hesitate, just buries his face in the crook of Mike’s neck. Like he hasn’t even thought about it. Like it’s instinct, muscle memory.

Mike finds him unable to move from his spot. His eyes travel to where Will’s nose is pressing into his skin. There’s a trail of moonlight lining Will’s freckles, the pink of the corner of his mouth. Will has fallen back asleep and he’s currently drooling right onto Mike’s hoodie. Even in the barely lit kitchen, Will is glowing.

Will looks ridiculous and beautiful and Mike is in love with him. Mike is in love with him. The realization doesn’t even make him blink once. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. Mike wonders why it took him so long to realize it.

Mike carries Will to his bed — their bed — and he tucks Will under the duvet, not making the mistake of touching him anywhere else in case he slips up. Mike pushes himself off the mattress.

His heart is pounding in his chest, his palms clammy. Mike is in love with Will, Mike is in love with Will, Mike is in love —

Mike’s heart lurches into his throat when he feels a warm hand curling around his wrist, tight and pleading and wanting.

Mike, against his better judgment, looks. Will, through half-lidded eyes, reached over to grab onto Mike’s wrist. He’s bathed in the silver of the moonlight, all soft blues and dark hair splayed on his pillow. He’s never looked this real and this untouchable and Mike, terrified and completely confused, can’t look away.

“Stay.” Will says, and there isn’t much room for argument.

“I haven’t showered yet. I need to — ”

Will scoffs, eyes sliding shut as he moves to the side to make space for Mike. He hasn’t let go of Mike’s wrist yet, fingers curling around the skin above Mike’s thundering pulse. “Do you really think I care about that shit?”

Mike is in love with him.

“Maybe I should sleep in my own bed tonight.” Mike says, his voice barely breaking over a whisper but Will hears him anyway. He still hasn’t let go of Mike and Mike is filled with the irrational fear that Will can feel the race of his pulse, can hear the thundering of Mike’s heart pounding against his ribcage and —

“Mike.” Will mutters. Then the next word he says is so soft Mike almost misses it. “Stay.”

If he were any smarter, he would’ve walked away. Instead, Mike does the stupidest thing. He climbs into Will’s bed, lets Will fit into his side and they fit perfectly. Two puzzle pieces made to fit. Mike is on the side with the lump in the mattress but as he lets his gaze run over Will, who streams in and out of consciousness and the thought twists inside him all over again when he sees the yellow bracelet around Will's thin wrist.

Mike is in love with Will.

“I was thinking.” Mike says, as he’s helping Will fold the clothes.

“That’s concerning.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Shut up and listen. I was thinking… we could go back to Hawkins. For Christmas. You know, if you want to.”

Will beams. “I always want to.” He says, and that’s that.

The drive back to Hawkins is a strange one. They’re well aware of the fact that they’re different people now, not to mention that they’re dating, which upon revelation, could go one way or the other. Splices of cloudy orange light spill in through the windows. Will reaches for Mike’s hand on the gearstick.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Will assures, and Mike wants to believe him.

There’s also the thing biting at the corners of Mike’s mind, begging to be freed like a starving, caged animal. Mike’s realization. It’s been bugging him for the past few days. Every time Mike tries to bring it up, he clams up. He panics and flails about like an idiot and immediately changes the topic. Mike can tell Will anything, but this isn’t anything.

This is not equated to telling Will to pick up milk on the way home or asking Will if he wants to be Mike’s backup on patrol. Telling Will that he loves him is nothing like that.

That’s what Mike is thinking of as he stops the car outside the Byers house. Joyce is nowhere to be seen — which is understandable considering that they’ve reached an hour earlier than they said they would. Mike watches, as Will’s eyes brim with unshed tears, his breathing shaky and hitched and full of homesickness that it makes Mike wonder how it took him so long to see it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mike asks, and Will looks away from the front door of his home.

“Yeah, I’ll stop by, don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

This would be the perfect time to say I love you, like a throwaway line so Will wouldn’t notice. But who is Mike kidding? Of course, Will would notice. Mike doesn’t want to distract Will from the fact that he’s home, he’s home and so Mike doesn’t say the three words that are on his mind. He just lets his hand wrap around the back of Will’s neck, leaning in once before he lets him go.

When Mike gets home, his mother bursts into tears while Holly awkwardly gives him a hug. His father is over at the office, but he gets home early that evening. He even hugs Mike, which is painful and awkward, but Mike’s eyes meet his mother’s over his father’s shoulder. She smiles at him, warm and energetic and Mike tries to return it with the same kind of enthusiasm.

There’s something odd about falling asleep in your childhood bedroom. Having to deal with the knowledge that things have changed rapidly, that he’s both the same and yet such a different person since he’s left — it’s all a bit much. Mike webs up his ceiling, watching the strings fade away into nothingness as he falls asleep.

It’s snowing.

Mike cradles a cup of perfectly chilled eggnog as his mother decorates the large Christmas tree in the corner of their living room. Holly is on the phone, chatting away with one of her friends and Mike lets the sound of her voice beat on his eardrums. The droning of his father’s television is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of the doorbell ringing.

“It’s Will.” Mike answers his mother’s questioning gaze and she simply smiles, shaking her head.

“Ask him to come over for dinner before you leave.”

Mike pulls his coat on, easily fitting his gloves onto his shaking hands. “Sure.” Mike merely answers, as he laces up his boots and opens the door to find Will, waiting for him.

In the molten gold of the fairy lights, Will positively glows. There’s a faint lining of pink along his cheeks, flakes of snow caught in his hair. Mike can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t, but he grabs Will’s wrist, pulling him forward and kisses him like he’s a man in the oasis, starving for a sip of water.

“Hello to you, too.” Will says once they’ve parted, but he’s grinning.

“Wanna walk?”

Will nods and they set off.

It’s nostalgic, walking past everywhere they used to hang out as kids. The abandoned buses. Their old school. The lake where Mike and Will could spend days at, watching the moonlight bouncing off the waves, making the water look like buckets of thin silver. Finally, right at the end of town, they reach the swingset. The place where they first met.

There’s one single street lamp lighting the park as the time inches closer and closer towards midnight. Flicks of silver and white catch in Will’s hair. His back is to the moon, the light curling around the back of his head like a soft halo. Mike’s mouth goes dry, hummingbird heart fluttering underneath the cage of his ribs. Will sits down on the empty swing, Mike occupying the one beside him.

Three words, eight letters. They’re hammering against the sides of Mike’s skull, plaguing his entire being and Mike lets his cheek rest against the cold metal chain that holds up the swing. The taste of rust floods his nostrils. When he meets Will’s eyes, he offers him a small smile.

Will, the all-knowing, all-seeing merely says, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

The breath is knocked out of Mike with a single sucker punch. “Why do you think that?”

Will shrugs, gaze trained on his feet, and when he speaks, a thin dusting of frost leaves his mouth. “I don’t know. Just felt like it.”

Mike huffs, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Yeah, you’re — ” He breaks off into a soft chuckle, devoid of any humor. “You know me so well.”

“Are you okay?” Will asks, voice soft and he reaches for Mike’s hand which lays uselessly in his lap.

“No, I — ” Mike sighs, desperately clawing for the words that are buried deep inside him. “I’ve been thinking. I know we’ve only been seeing each other for what? Four months now? But, I — fuck. I think I might be in love with you.”

The words tumble from Mike’s mouth before he can stop them. The realization of what he’s finally said only sinks in when Will’s eyes widen momentarily, a shaky exhale leaving his mouth as Mike appreciates the gravity of his confession. Will’s fingers tighten around his wrist, thumb pressing into his pulse point.

“I know it’s too early.” Mike says, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he can taste the copper on his taste buds. “I know three months is nothing, but the way I feel about you, I — it can’t be anything else. So, there. I’m in love with you. It, uh… it sounded more romantic in my head.”

The uncertainty picks up inside him, pulled taut like an elastic band as minutes pass and Will doesn’t say a word. The band of elasticity snaps against Mike’s skin.

“Mike, I — ” Will starts before he freezes up, spine going taut and cheeks lighting up to a bright, bright red. “I’ve spent my entire life loving you.”

“Oh.” Mike says, uselessly. “I didn’t — I had no idea.”

Will shrugs, but his face is downcast, lips pulled into a soft frown that looks so out of place on Will’s face. With the haze broken, Will’s eyes are filled to the brim with uncertainty again and Mike never wants to see that on his face again.

“It’s okay. You weren’t looking.”

Mike can’t pull his eyes away from the flush on Will’s cheeks, the lining of freckles. Mike traces every inch of Will’s face, committing it to memory. He feels the jump of his pulse as he thumbs the skin over Will’s cheekbone.

“I’m looking now.” is all Mike says, watching Will’s expression morph into something much softer.

The plummet in his stomach is something akin to the feeling you get right before the drop on a rollercoaster. His organs lurch, his heart jumps up into his throat and he’s filled to the brim with this restless energy, pushing him to do something, anything.

They’re in a public place now, no longer in the comfort of their own home. Anyone could see them out here. Still, Mike can’t bring himself to care as he brings his face closer to Will’s, resting his forehead against Will’s. Will’s breath is frost, but his palms are warm, a beacon of comfort as Mike curls his fingers into them.

“I love you, too.” Will says, his voice barely breaking above a whisper but Mike hears him anyway. He always hears him. The snow settles over the ground like fine dust, catching in the wisps of Will’s hair and in the back of Mike’s ear. Will closes his eyes and grips Mike’s hand tighter, like he never intends to let go.

*