Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two shots ring out! BAM!-then a pause-BAM! Mike’s head snaps towards the sound, squinting his eyes to orient himself to the darkness. A guttural, pained wail echoes through the trees as if some forsaken wraith howls at him in this lonely forest, its voice sounding all too familiar. Then, a loud screeching roar follows close behind it. Another shot! Mike sucks in a wretched, frightened breath, his heart thrashing in his chest so hard that it feels as if it might shatter his ribs. Dread settles sickeningly in his belly.

Will.

Mike bolts towards the clearing where he had left Will, tripping and falling on the raised root of a tree. He hisses as he scrapes his hands on the rocky ground covered with leaves, hitting his left knee hard . He grunts and pants at the pain, but recovers quickly enough, his mind racing with no other thoughts than getting to his best friend. They’d been assigned patrolling the small gates in the woods near Hopper’s cabin that have opened up, a new one everyday, since the crack in the earth split Hawkins in two nearly four months ago. People have been disappearing for weeks, and while the mayor and the police have been brushing it off as people taking off for safety or straggling missing persons from the ‘earthquake’, Mike and the Party know that it's something much more sinister. Vecna is opening up these little gates for a reason. He is wounded and weak, and so he’s letting his foot soldiers do his dirty work for him, absorbing his victims into the vines and stealing their souls until he has enough strength to see his vision through. 

Will has told him as much; at two am when Mike found him sitting on the porch, gazing out at the woods with a shadowy blankness to him that sent a shiver up his spine. He was staring off in the direction of the center of town hidden behind the trees, wearing a blanket, even in the sticky heat, and resting his chin on his knees tucked tight to his chest. He was so far away and tense that when Mike rested a gentle hand on his shoulder he had shuddered so violently he almost fell off his chair, fingers clawing viciously at his forearm. It reminded Mike too much of Halloween night all those years ago, when he’d found him cowering and shaking with terror in some random neighbor’s yard, looking up at him like he’d just come out of a nightmare, when the shadow monster was still trapped inside that nightmare, before it took hold of his mind, his very being, and bit down. And now, Will can feel every new soul taken, can feel every single mind stolen away, as if it was his own. Will feels every ounce of strength One gains and Mike feels how it chips away at his best friend, how a little piece of him dies every time. Sometimes the feeling that builds up in Mike's chest so tightly he can't stand it: his frustration, his helplessness, his rage. It tears right out of his chest and he screams into his pillow.

Sweat drips into Mike’s brow and he wipes it away roughly with his forearm. The air is hot and thick with humidity and the ground, last year’s dead leaves, the air itself, is wet. His hair, curled up and falling out of the half tie he has sloppily pulled it into, sticks to his forehead and his cheeks and along the back of his neck.

“Will!” he calls out wretchedly, almost unable to catch his breath and the injury to his knee sending a sharp surge of throbbing pain through his whole leg. He can feel the warm ripple of blood fall down his knee and the irritating wetness as it saturates the thick sock tucked in the old boot Hopper had given him. 

There is no answer. Panic boils through his chest again and then turns to ice as it shoots down his spine. This was such a stupid fucking idea. He told him they shouldn’t split up. That it wasn’t safe. 

But things have been quiet the last couple of days, and when things are quiet, you get comfortable. You get cocky. And so he had agreed. Mike hurtles through the thick vegetation, swiping it away forcefully with his arms and ignoring the prickers that claw at his bare skin and the rough bark that bites at his sides through his tank top. His ears ring and he can barely hear the trees as they rustle in the wind. Like someone’s hot cloying breath, it rushes through the forest. He shoves through the last of the small canopy of ferns, vines, and roots, rushing over a lichen covered stump, rotting and slowly being claimed back by the Earth. He steps up onto it, and it breaks. Another scrape drags cruelly down his shin. He grits his teeth and ignores it, having spotted moonlight gleaming on grass ahead. Sucking in ragged breaths, he grabs onto the last, smooth trunk of a thin tree, pulling himself with all his might out into the open. 

Mike stumbles into the moon soaked glade to find…Will. His back is to him and his shoulders are rising and falling in heavy waves, rifle loosely held at his side. He can already see the blood. There are two demodogs sprawled at his feet, bleeding out and limp. Mike feels as if his heart stops, and he’s having trouble catching his breath. 

“Will?” he asks, and it comes out as a heaving breath of air.

Will’s shaking shoulders turn and he shifts on his feet towards Mike. A rush of happy relief floods through Mike as he sees him, standing and breathing and demodogs dead at his feet. 

He’s okay.  

Will turns and faces him and Mike’s eyes are fastened onto his face, covered in streaks of mud and dark blood and his paleness bright underneath the violet light of the moon. The damp Summer air has created a ghostly mist that clings around the bottoms of the trees like a toddler at a mother’s skirts, begging for attention. There are fireflies blinking softly where meadow meets forest, and now that the demodogs are no longer seeking their prey, the high trill of the cicadas and crickets and frogs returns, its crescendo so loud it’s almost deafening. The stark contrast of so much beautiful life reverberating off of the Upside Down’s wrong and lingering death is eerie and it makes Mike shiver with anxiety.   

Mike steps towards him. “Will, are you okay?” he asks, watching Will’s eyes intently as they brighten in elated recognition. The wind blows again, and Will’s sweat soaked hair flutters across his nose. His mouth curls up on one side as a smile pulls there. “ Mike ,” he whispers, and then his face blooms brilliant as he smiles. A burst of pride and love shoots up in Mike’s chest. Nothing makes him feel as content as when he can be there for Will.   

Mike sighs then and his brow creases, everything happening so fast that it feels as if they are both caught up inside a lost second of time. He’s suddenly confused because Will’s face changes. His smile slowly fades and his eyebrows go up, as if he’s concerned about something. It makes the hair on the back of Mike’s neck stand on end. He fights the urge to glance behind him, searching for some monster hiding in the darkness of the woods. He takes a breath and then Will’s gaze shifts again, recognition suddenly swiped away and replaced with a frightening, distant emptiness. He tries to step towards Mike, something he wants to say caught on his lips. 

“I—I don’t—--,” he murmurs, exhaling heavily before his eyes roll back in his head as he takes one more stumbling step, and Mike propels himself forward as he realizes he is going to fall. 

“Will!” he shouts, dropping his weapon and instinctually throwing his arms out in front of him. He manages to get one long arm under Will, but his friend is too far to the ground already. He’s too heavy. Will’s cheek hits the side of his arm roughly and they both tumble, his friend’s dead weight slamming them roughly to the ground. Thankfully, Mike is able to get his body halfway underneath him preventing him from hitting his head or breaking an arm. Mike falls hard on his shoulder and he yelps with the shattering pain. But he looks down to see that Will’s face is resting against his chest. His eyes are shut and his mouth is relaxed as his head lolls against him when he settles them back onto the grass. Mike shifts his hips and pulls Will up as hard as he can, his body heavy and limp against his. He bends over Will, back deeply curved and cradles his head in his lap before shifting gently into a cross legged sitting position. 

“Will—” he whispers, shaking him. There’s no response other than Will’s arm falling onto the ground and his head slumping to the side. He shakes him again, rougher this time, his throat clamping up painfully with emotion, tears already threatening to fall. “Will!” he urges louder, his voice cracked and anguished.  

No, no, no.  

Mike clings to Will, cradling him in one arm like a baby and shaking him, pressing panicked fingers along his cheek. He grips his chin and shakes his face as an unbridled sob rushes out of his chest, echoing into the Summer woods that have grown silent. He sucks in a heaving breath, snot and spit already making a mess of his face. He wipes his nose with the back of his arm and then palpates Will’s face once more. 

He can feel his shallow breath on his hand and he cries out and smiles when he realizes. He’s alive! Alive! Alive! the voice in the back of his head screams.   

“Will–wake up,” he urges, brushing a thumb over his cheek again. To his surprise, his eyelids flutter open and Will’s hazel eyes are suddenly looking up at him when he gains consciousness, and then his face twists into a gnarled grimace. A pained sigh escapes his lips and he whispers roughly, “Mike—.” 

“What hurts? What happened?!” Mike frets, his eyes flittering up and down Will’s body anxiously. 

Will swallows heavily and his shoulders go to his ears when his body tenses in pain again, as if it hurts to speak. He stutters. “I—-ahh-my side.” He grimaces again. “My side hurts.”  

Mike’s hand is already brushing along Will’s chest, down his torso. He shoves Jonathan's old blue, button up t-shirt out of the way to examine him. That’s when Mike’s chest clenches tightly in fear when he sees the blood. His white tank top underneath has been ripped and there’s a claw mark that has torn its way through fabric and flesh, turning the shirt a deep crimson that seeps into the top of Will’s jeans. Will winces when Mike presses two fingers to it, turning them towards his face and rubbing the hot blood between them. His lip quivers as it all finally hits him. The demodog must have gotten an efficient swipe in before meeting its demise. 

“Will!!” Mike cries dejectedly, his voice high and broken and his body writhing with panic. “We gotta get you up, okay?! You gotta get up.” He’s already moving, shifting himself out from underneath Will. He shouts in agony at the movement. “Can you do that for me?” 

Mike is standing then, wrapping his arms around his friend. He tugs him up with all of his strength and forces himself onto his feet like a rag doll. Will groans with the effort, his face scrunched up in pain and his breath hot upon Mike’s cheek. 

“Come on,” Mike grunts. They stumble and almost fall back down to the ground when Will’s legs almost give out underneath him again. But Mike’s able to keep his stance, wrapping Will’s arm heavily around his neck and avoiding his injury, wrapping his grip around the waist of Will’s jeans, taking hold of the belt there with all of his strength and pulling him up. 

It takes a moment for them to settle on their feet, and they are both already desperate for breath, but Mike takes a step and Will does too. Luckily Hopper’s cabin is close by. 

“Okay,” Mike states determinedly. “We have to get you back to the cabin. Okay? Can you do that?” 

Will nods, his eyes glued to the ground as he takes another step, wincing with pain with every movement. They make it over the log Mike had fallen in efficiently enough. Mike stumbles a bit when he steps down onto the path, his ankle threatening to turn. But he catches himself and Will hisses, his free hand clutching his side, but he stands straighter as they move down the path, his mouth pressed into a harsh, determined line. 

They walk for what seems like ages, even though Mike logically knows has only been a few minutes. 

“You okay?” he asks Will again. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I can do it. Just keep going.” 

Hopper’s cabin emerges out of the darkness and Mike is so relieved he almost falls to his knees. He tugs at Will’s waist, coaxing him on. The house is dark. Everyone is still out on their patrol. The cabin has become a sort of a central gathering point for the Party. Argyle had parked his van there and they had made up makeshift beds in the living room. His parents were staying nearby at Hopper’s trailer with Holly. Some others had parked their Rv’s and campers along the service road. It had become this weird little community of people who, in normal times, probably would never interact with each other; complete with its own rules and hierarchy. Mike enjoyed it all things considered. He liked the idea of a rag tag group of people banding together in an otherwise hopeless situation. And most importantly the Party was together. It just seemed right. If they were going to go out, they’d go out together. 

Mike glances back at Will. He’s covered in muck and sweat and his slightly grown out hair falls messily into his eyes. His clothes are stained and clinging to his body and there are circles under his eyes from the nightmares. But he is Will. He’s his best friend, and when he says they’ll go out together. It’s him he’s really talking about deep down. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Mike frowns. There’s no time to examine why that thought makes his heart swell in his chest. There’s no time to examine why Will is the first person that comes to mind when someone asks, Who can’t you live without?

Will cries in pain again as they ascend the stairs, slowly but surely, and Mike can feel by the way Will’s fingers are pressing achingly into his neck that he’s losing his strength. He needs to get him sitting down. 

Mike bends awkwardly and turns the doorknob, roughly shoving the rickety door open. It hits the wall with a slam, bouncing back at him. But Mike just shoves his shoulder into it and pulls Will through the doorway. It’s dark and quiet inside the cabin, patrol only having started an hour or two ago. Mike saw a fire down the hill outside one of the RVs, belonging to a couple of people on watch here. But there’s no time for that. 

Mike leads them toward Hopper’s bedroom. He has a real bed and that’s where they’ve been stashing medical supplies, for moments exactly like this. They trip over blankets and other things he can’t see and Mike curses when something sharp scrapes against his calf. Will’s breathing is labored and ragged in his ear and his body is so hot against his side. 

Finally, he gets them to Hopper’s bed and Will all but collapses onto the mattress, pulling Mike down with him. He falls over top of him, one arm caught behind Will’s back and they are suddenly chest to chest. Belly to belly. Will’s head goes back into the pillow and he grimaces, letting out a little wail of agonizing pain, “Fuck! It hurts!”

Mike’s breath hitches and he freezes when Will brings his head back up to face him and they are suddenly almost nose to nose. His expression falters and his eyebrows go up in surprise, hazel eyes growing wide and completely caught off guard. He sighs and Mike can feel his breath skate across his own mouth. He instinctively swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. Will’s eyes drop there, watching him, and Mike wonders why he’s never noticed how thick his eyelashes are. The word beautiful flashes in his mind and his heart flutters in his chest. 

Mike’s caught up in the moment, caught up in their shared breaths and the feel of Will under him as he is tangled up between his legs. His fingers sink into Will’s shoulder when he feels the inside of Will’s knee brush along his hip, and he flushes when the thought of what Will’s lips might feel like against his flutters across his mind. When he wonders what he tastes like. 

“ Mike —-,” Will sighs, pelvis shifting up into him.  

Mike tries not to shudder. “Yeah?” he hums, and sucks in a breath when Will’s hand rests along the side of his head, cradling his cheek, his jaw, his ear. 

“You’re—you’re hurting me,” he forces out, his face suddenly contorting with pain. 

Mike startles, only now realizing he is actually laying on top of his friend, pressing his weight slack against him. Distracted.

He reels back. “Shit! Shit!” Mike finds his feet again, eyes and hands roaming over Will’s torso. “Fuck! I’m so sorry.” 

Will smiles up at him, his gaze exhausted and dreamy as if delirious from the blood loss. Mike thinks he sees a blush high on his cheeks, but with all the blood and dirt it’s hard to tell. “It’s okay,” he chuckles. “I’m fine. I think I was in shock earlier or something." Mike doesn't say anything, but he thinks he kinda still is. He watches as Will tries to sit up and slide his shirt off, but it’s tangled around him, stuck under his butt. He grits his teeth. “Here–” he grunts, trying and failing to get it out from under him. “Can you help me get this off?” 

Mike hesitates a second, his brain still ten paces back, and bites down on his bottom lip. What the fuck was he thinking? What just happened?

But Will is staring up at him with wide eyes, expectant and waiting. Mike rushes towards him. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Here. Let me get it.” Will stops struggling and slackens his shoulders as Mike tugs the fabric out from underneath of him and then pushes it off his arms. He notices that there’s blood and dirt and grime already staining the sheets and he hopes Hopper won’t be too pissed. Mike tries not to notice how Will’s shoulders flex as he moves, tries not to notice how the muscles of his back billow attractively over his ribs as he pulls his tank top over his head, throwing it over the edge of the bed to the floor. His movements are jerky and cumbersome.

Mike tears his eyes away, instead turning his attention to Hopper’s end table. He quickly pulls the chain on the lamp and then heads towards the corner of the room to get the supplies he needs. It takes a moment to find them all, and the room is heavy with the sound of their breathing in the silence. 

“It’s a while until dawn,” Will says, strangely pensive, face turned towards the window. 

The walkies, Mike suddenly remembers. “Fuck!” he whispers to himself. 

“What?” Will asks, staring up at him confusedly as he strides briskly back to the bed. 

Mike creases his brow. “My bag," he groans. "—the walkies—-your rifle--I left them in the woods.” 

Will’s face falls. “Fuck,” he whispers back, looking around him as if they might suddenly appear out from under the sheets. Mike thinks he better get a move on stopping the bleeding.

“I’ll go back in the morning for them, but we’re just gonna have to wait it out until they come back from their patrol.” 

The phone lines had been dead for about a month or two now and he isn’t sure who he’d call anyway. His mother? But what would she be able to do? It isn’t safe anyway, with El still being hunted by Sullivan.

“Here,” Mike offers softly, setting everything he might need onto the table. “Lie back.” 

Will gazes up at him with an expression he can’t read, but gently settles back onto the bed, wincing slightly and his hand instinctively hovering over his side. He doesn’t touch it.

Mike’s fingers twitch at his side, his mind starting to race. They’d all been given basic first aid instructions by Hopper and Owens, but this is the first time he’s had to use them for anything more than a minor scrape or burn. His chest clenches anxiously and he sighs out, kneeling next to the bed. Will brings the arm closest to Mike up over his head and holds onto the headboard, the other he shoves under his body, like he doesn’t trust himself. 

Mike swallows the thick spit in his mouth, his eyes tentatively roaming over Will. He notices the dark hair underneath his arm, the gentle slope of his chest and ribs, and his belly that is quivering with nervousness and the anticipation of pain. He avoids meeting Will’s eyes, but he can feel his gaze on him. It prickles the side of his cheek. Mike decides to focus on the wound. He exhales when he brings his face closer to examine it. He can see three open gashes, maybe five or six inches long that tear on a diagonal from Will’s lower belly across his hip bone. The front of his jeans are ripped where one more gash sits just below his hip. Mike presses his lips together as he haltingly pats a large piece of gauze over the exposed area. Will immediately hisses, his entire body tensing as he tries not to pull away. Overall, the gashes are decently deep, but it looks like only half of one is deep enough to need stitches. 

Mike immediately gets to his feet. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” He's not really sure where he thinks Will is going to go, but he’s already rushing out of the room. He heads towards the kitchen and turns on the electric kettle on the counter. Then he grabs soap, the lighter from the stove, a bowl and clean rags. Before the water can boil he retrieves it from its hot plate and pours the steaming liquid into the bowl. With great care he walks his supplies back to Hopper’s room. 

Will is waiting for him, and when he sees him in the doorway with the bowl of hot water he immediately shoots his arm back over his head to hold onto the metal headboard. Mike kneels back down beside him and takes a deep breath to settle his nerves. This entire situation is probably the most intimate thing he’s ever done. Somehow, it feels more intimate than kissing El in her bed before they broke up or even being alone with Max in the hospital room. The room is hot and close and the only sounds are the trees rustling in the breeze through the window and the singing of the summer bugs. Will’s breathing is deep and even and Mike doesn’t look at him when he says, “Will, I’m gonna need you to just–uhm–unbutton your pants. Uhm-I need to see the gash there."

Mike swallows again, forcing himself to look up. Will has closed his eyes and nods, flinching as he shifts his legs to a bent position, bottoms of his feet flat against the mattress. Mike watches as his fingers shakily undo his belt, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet, then the top button of his old Levi’s, then the zipper. He shifts his hips up, raising them slightly off the bed and groaning with the pain of it as he shoves them down off his hips a bit, underwear too, which are also ripped and soaking with blood. He breathes out heavily with the effort, his face still contorted in discomfort when he settles back into the mattress. His head swings up and he glances down at his abdomen, trying to see it. 

“Is it bad?” he asks, panting and panicked. 

"No," Mike says quickly, before he even sees it.

He has to force himself to look. Will’s pelvis is exposed until just above his pubic bone. His hips jut out forming a gentle v that connects somewhere hidden beneath his boxers. A patch of thick, dark hair peeks out from there. It fades into a thinner and scattered pathway that leads to his belly button. Flustered heat creeps up Mike's neck. He bites his lip and clears his throat, sitting up higher on his knees and unfurling the rag he’s soaked with warm water, darting his eyes away from there and back towards the gash.

“This might—-” He warns as he presses the soapy, hot cloth to Will’s skin. He hisses loudly, then something like a growl leaves his lips, his fingers immediately clawing at Mike’s shoulder. His nails dig in so harshly into Mike's muscle that he breaks the skin. “--sting a little.” Mike scrunches up his face as he watches Will’s brow crease deeply and when his eyelids flutter back open they lock eyes. His gaze is wild and feverish with the pain.

“Sorry! I'm sorry!” Mike whispers frantically. “But this one is actually the most shallow out of all of them so that’s good at least.” 

Will nods at him as if he’s trying to convince himself that’s true, closing his eyes again as the muscles in his abdomen tense tightly at each stroke of the cloth over his wound. Mike continues his efforts for quite some time, slowly padding and dragging the cloth over the skin and trying not to grimace every time Will sucks in a ragged breath or curses into the crook of his arm. He doesn’t think he’s heard Will say so many curse words in one sitting in his entire life. He hates to say it considering the predicament they’re in, but it is a little funny. It is a little cute.

Mike throws the saturated rag onto the floor and then wets another one. He drags the soapy cloth over the wound and up along Will’s ribs, then along the soft padding of his belly, cleaning blood out of hair there hair. Once his wound is completely clean he rests a few pieces of gauze there to sop up the fresh blood and soaks one last fresh towel. His hand hovers for a second over Will’s skin, suddenly feeling very shy now that there are no more wounds to clean. Heat singes his cheeks knowing Will is watching him now that he has a little relief. He can feel his gaze follow his hand as it presses back towards his belly, finishing cleaning the blood and mud there and over along the other side of his torso, wiping dirt and grime and dried blood off his other hip, the towel soaking the hem of Will’s jeans and underwear. He slowly swipes it up, over Will’s old scar—the burn from that horrible night he was brought here and burned from the inside out. He gently strokes there for a long second, before continuing up over Will’s ribs, and over the hills of his chest, towards his collar bones, water pooling in the hollow of his throat. All the while Will’s sighing contentedly, eyes continuing to follow his every movement. Mike tries to remember to breathe, and his heart pounds in his ears. He knows he doesn’t need to be doing this. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Yet... he can’t stop himself. He wants to. It’s a miniscule moment of comfort he can offer his best friend. He deserves a little tenderness.

Mike unfolds the towel and refolds it again, exposing a clean square. Then he continues his efforts, pointedly avoiding meeting Will’s eyes as he swipes the rag over his shoulders. Will has relaxed under his touch, his hands resting reposed at his side and his breathing coming and going in a calm, steady swell. Mike enjoys watching his body respond, to see it uncoil into something soft and pliable after so much pain. It’s the least he can do, a little reprieve before he hurts him again. Mike holds his breath, ignoring his heart racing in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach and audaciously takes hold of Will’s right hand that now rests across his belly. 

Will’s breath hitches a little as he does so, and Mike’s eyes dart towards his face. What he finds there makes Mike’s brain glitch out. His heart pounds sharper in his chest and he breathes out heavily. Will is gazing at him, hazel eyes boundlessly dark and watchful in the dim light. His mouth has softened and his lips are full, and the crease around his brow has gone away. All the heat in Mike’s cheeks surges through his entire body, but he can’t look away as he drags the cloth over each one of Will’s strong fingers, tugging and pulling at each one and rubbing it across the soft spot in between them. He takes Will's hand fully in his own and turns it over, wiping his palm and the inside of his wrist before setting it back down carefully at his side. Then, he scoots closer to the bed, taking the hand closest to him and tenderly scrubbing away the dirt and grime and blood from the beds of his fingernails. After he’s finished, he lets Will’s hand rest in his just for a moment, somehow afraid to let go. Somehow it feels like the most right thing ever when Will’s fingers wrap around his and he squeezes his hand in silent thanks. 

Mike peers at him. “Are you ready?” he asks quietly, setting the cloth with the others in a pile on the floor. 

Will nods at him silently, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down heavily. He pulls his hand from his and returns it to the headboard, the tendons in his wrist flexing as he squeezes. Mike’s hand feels cold as he leans back towards the table, preparing what he needs. He finds the needle and suture string, holding the needle up to the flame of his lighter, counting to thirty inside his head. He grabs the surgical pliers and a small pair of scissors. They’re not meant for this, but they’ll do well enough. 

He settles himself back above Will, long arm stretching out to pull the lamp closer with the hope it will help him see better. His heart pitter patters in his chest and he clears his throat nervously as he pours rubbing alcohol over his hands, wrinkling his nose when its harsh smell floods his nostrils. Then he pours it over the needle for safe measure. It splashes loudly through the quiet into the bowl of dirty water. He dries his hands on the last clean towel and then huffs out a breath. “Okay,” he says, watching how Will’s body is back to being tense. “Just hold still, alright?” Will nods his assent, eyes darting nervously to his wound. 

Mike leans in close, squinting in the low light and then once he finds his spot, holds his breath and pushes the needle into the skin, just as Owen’s showed him. Although this is not a banana, this is his best friend’s fucking skin. Will makes a little high pitched noise in the back of his throat, sucking in a deep breath and Mike presses it further and further, wincing as he does so and forcing himself to not close his eyes. Sweat pricks at his brow and Mike desperately ignores how his stomach twists. Blood and needles and all this is decidedly not his favorite thing in the world. It’s one thing when it’s an action movie, but another thing entirely he’s discovered when it’s real life. He flinches again, but then he feels it poke free at the other side, and Will’s body slackens. Mike ties the knots as best he can, telling himself the steps over and over in his head. Finally, he pulls the remaining string taught and cuts. 

“Okay,” he whispers excitedly, letting the breath he was holding release. He glances up at Will, who’s looking at him expectantly. He smiles back at him slightly. “One down—-” Mike’s smile falters. “Only four more to go.”

He groans internally. Between his best friend being half naked in front of him and him having some kind of embarrassing feral response he’s convinced is probably because he hasn’t been touched lovingly by anyone in five months, along with realizing suturing might be his least favorite activity ever, this is quite literally torture. From the look on Will’s face, the feeling seems to be pretty mutual. If he wasn’t still reeling from seeing Will collapse to the ground, he might laugh. The whole situation is absurd.

It takes him way longer than he wanted, but by the end of the suturing, he’s actually quite proud of his work. He’s not sure many other seventeen year olds could do any better. He hopes they will hold long enough for Will to heal. 

There’s a long beat as he inspects his work one last time and a heavy wave of exhaustion suddenly washes over Mike, making his shoulders deflate. “I’m done,” he states quietly, risking a glance up.

Will’s eyes are bright and shining with tears. He swallows heavily and then his face breaks open into a beaming smile. Mike beams back, pride building more in his chest. He nods at him, the utter relief and happiness that Will is okay flooding through him. He is safe, and Mike helped him. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he tells him. 

Will nods quickly in return, spit thick in his throat and his voice emotional. “Yeah.” 

It takes a few more minutes for Mike to apply what ointment and bandaging he can to the rest of his wounds, and then Will shifts.

“Hey,” he says, shoving his shoulders back into the mattress as he tries to lift his hips to towards the ceiling again, one side of his mouth pulled up into a grimace as he feels the tugging of his wound. He grumbles under his breath, before looking up to Mike, his face a mixture of exhaustion and embarrassment. “Can you help me get these off?” he asks abashedly, tugging at his jeans with frustration. Mike’s eyes follow his movements and that's when he sees Will's underwear is going with them he rushes over, his voice coming out clipped and nervous.

“Oh! Hey, hey. Hang on, let me get it.” Mike's ears are so hot they feel like they might fall right off. He ignores his own plight and pulls at Will’s worn sneakers and removes his socks, liking the way Will wiggles his toes when he's free of them. Then he gently takes hold of both of Will’s hands. “Here,” he says, guiding him to the hem of his boxers. "You hold onto these.” 

Will does as he’s told and Mike can’t bring himself to make eye contact. Instead, he focuses on his fingers as they curl around the hem of Will’s jeans and gently tugs them down. Will lifts his lower half as best he can and it takes a few heaves, but Mike eventually is able to free him of them. He throws them in a tumble onto the floor, the buckle of his belt clattering loudly on the wood planks.

A rush of exhilaration pummels through Mike's chest and a tight pulsing shudder coils low in his belly. Some hot, half-dreamt memory, only allowed behind closed doors, floats through his mind and it makes him flush more. Had this been something he’d dreamt of? Had this been something he wanted, laying all alone in his bed at night and wishing someone loved him? Mike is burning up, in more ways than one, and he almost can’t bear to look at his friend, still spread out on his back and looking up at him with eyes that might be filled with everything Mike has ever asked for. 

Will sighs deeply and then suddenly the moment is gone. He bends his knees up towards his chest a little and then smiles at Mike shyly, tapping the bed beside him. Mike needs little encouragement. He is bone tired.

He removes his own sweat stained and blood soaked tank top as Will reaches up awkwardly to turn the light out. Then, feeling braver in the darkness, Mike removes his shorts, shoes and socks, before quickly climbing into the bed. He pulls the covers swiftly over Will’s body and then his own, sitting up on one elbow and watching Will’s face as his eyes adjust to the darkness. Will turns his head towards him, now painted in blue and violet shadows, and even though there are one thousand thoughts racing through Mike’s mind, he can’t think of anything to say. He can’t lay down, can’t say goodnight, can’t turn over for sleep. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He doesn’t want Will to stop looking at him like he is something perfect. 

Luckily, he doesn’t need to because Will does it for him. He hums low in his throat. “Hey Mike–”  he says, his deep voice a little hoarse from exhaustion. 

“What is it?” Mike asks, fighting the urge to swipe the hair out of Will’s eyes. 

“Thank you,” he says, voice breaking slightly with emotion again. He sucks in a deep breath and Mike can hear the way he stifles a shuddering sob threatening to escape, trapping it inside his chest.

“Of course,” Mike murmurs reassuringly. “It’s what I’m here for right?” 

Will smiles and huffs a small chuckle. “Yeah, I guess so. Best friends.” 

Mike bites down hard on his lip as his chest clenches tightly and tears prick at his eyes. Now it’s his turn for his voice to break. “Yeah—” He nods at him, unable to continue speaking. His hand instinctively cradles Will’s jaw in his hand, his thumb swiping lovingly across his cheek. His face is wet. He wipes it away. Will’s eyes dart up towards him at the touch, surprised and wanting and scared. Mike lets himself stare, lets go of his own trepidation. He brushes his thumb over Will's bottom lip, reveling in how soft it is against his skin. He leans in closer, unable to look away, finally letting Will’s current pull him out to sea. Will's lips separate, as if he’s going to say something, but his eyelids are already fluttering shut and his hand comes up to rest on Mike’s forearm. He rubs there fleetingly, before pulling Mike forward. Solid and decided. And Mike sighs out, his fingers tangling in his hair and pulling at the back of Will's neck. With one last bated breath, Mike closes the distance between them, their lips meeting in a burning kiss. Will hums into his mouth, and it sounds startled and needy and beautiful. 

Mike shifts himself forward when he remembers that Will can’t move easily. He looms over him, one hand sinking into the mattress on either side of his body so he can lay down, flat on his back. Will responds by brushing his fingers through his hair, the sensation of his nails gently gliding across his scalp making his entire body thrum. Needing to taste more, he swipes his tongue across Will’s in askance, who immediately responds by opening his mouth for him. His hand gently glides from the bed to Will's shoulder, splayed out and brushing along his clavicle towards his chest where he can feel his hummingbird heart pitter patter wildly against his palm.  

Mike lets out a soft groan and then pulls away suddenly, terrified of how he wants to rock his hips against the mattress. Will croons a small protestation, his eyes darker than he’s ever seen them; so beautiful in the full moon's light. Even though he loves the sun, Mike thinks. He was made for moonlight .

“ Will —” he whispers, out of breath, anxiety suddenly binding his chest up in a knot. It all rushes out of him in one breath. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I don’t know—-” he stumbles. “I just-- don’t know what I’d do without you. And I want to keep kissing you. God , I want to—but you’re hurt- and I think—”

Will presses two fingers to his mouth, cutting him off. 

“Mike–,” he whispers. Mike’s mouth hangs open when he takes them away. Will smiles. "Everything's okay."

He's peering at him affectionately, always the steady, calm eye to his storm. “Will you help me turn over?” he asks, already turning his shoulders away from him. Mike does as he is bidden, doing what he can to help Will switch positions. There are small, clipped whimpers in the back of his throat as he turns and Mike gently pushes at his back to make it easier. Will brings his knees to his belly slightly then, and to Mike’s surprise, reaches back blindly, pawing at him until he finds his arm. He tugs awkwardly at Mike and it takes him a second to figure out what he wants. Once it dawns on him what it is, his heart flutters frenzied in his chest. He feels as if this entire night has been some sort of dream he’s stumbled into. He’s suddenly so afraid that when he wakes up, he’ll be alone in his bed and none of this has been real. 

But the thing Mike realizes then, as he moves his body to align with Will’s and wraps his arm around his ribs, presses his palm to Will’s chest, and pulls him close. What he realizes, as he buries his face in his friend’s neck and breathes him in deep, as he presses the gentlest of kisses at his hairline, is that he doesn’t care in the least if it’s all a dream. He’ll live here until morning and savor it. 

He hums happily as his nerves calm and his pulse evens out, “Goodnight Will.” 

Will rests his hand where Mike’s lies over his heart. 

Suddenly, the weight of Will’s words in a pizza van, so many months ago, finally dawn on him. Why had it taken him so long to see it?  I am your heart, he thinks as he shuts his eyes, and you are mine.  

He has so much to tell him. So much to apologize for. So much lost time to make up for. Mike pulls him closer.

“Goodnight Mike,” Will responds sleepily, his weight next to him quickly growing heavy. Mike stays awake a few more minutes. Will’s hand falls away from holding him and his breathing evens out as it turns deep and rhythmic, and Mike lets himself slip away too.