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23 (carrying the other one in their arms)
41 (sitting close and knees touching)
55 (tracing the lines on the other one’s hand)
Three out of six party members are crowded together on the couch. Mike and Will towards one end, and Dustin on the other. Lucas and Max are sat next to each other in one of the arm chairs, and El is seated in front of it on the floor as Max braids her hair.
There isn’t really a reason for Mike and Will to be sitting so close to each other, considering there would probably be space for a whole fourth person on the couch, but they’re still almost leaning against each other. For the past ten minutes, Will has been holding Mike’s hand. Mike doesn’t think Will quite realizes that’s what he’s doing, but he’s absently playing with Mike’s fingers and tracing the lines of his palm.
On the TV-screen in front of them, the man in black is climbing up a mountain and being watched by Inigo from above.
“I do not think you would accept my help!” Inigo calls, “since I am only waiting around to kill you.”
“Well,” the man in black says, “that does put a damper on our relationship.”
Will laughs beside him, and Mike feels it in his bones when their legs brush against each other. Will’s thumb presses into the center of Mike’s palm, and hey maybe there’s a pressure point there because Mike feels a little dizzy.
“Hey, Will,” Dustin turns towards them, eyebrows furrowed.
Will looks away from the screen. “Yeah? What is it?”
“Do you think the man in black is hot?”
Complete silence save for the sounds of the movie reigns for about a second, and then the room bursts into noise. Max, El and Lucas roar with laughter from the armchair. Will chokes on air and bends over coughing, and Mike sputters out something like ‘what the hell, Dustin!?’
“What!” Dustin asks, looking around and throwing his hands up. “It’s a legitimate question!”
“Okay, sure, but why do you need to know?” Lucas says, still bubbling with laughter. Max is red enough in the face for it to clash violently with her hair. “Like…”
He doesn’t get any further before he’s giggling too hard to continue talking.
“I ask you guys which girls you think are hot!” Dustin shouts.
“Carrie Fischer,” El states plainly. This time it’s Max who chokes, and Will has regained enough of his bearings to laugh at her.
Dustin snaps in El’s direction. “Solid choice.” Then, he throws his hands up again. “See!? It’s not that weird. Will, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Will shakes his head, “No, no, it’s okay. He’s… good-looking.”
Mike feels something green and acidic well in his chest and tries not to let it rise into his throat as he says, “Really?”
Will turns to him, confused. “Mike, come on.”
“What!?”
Lucas frowns at, a grin tugging at his lips. “Mike, do you have eyes?”
“Not cool,” Max deadpans.
“Sorry,” Lucas backtracks, “but, Max, even you think he’s hot.”
“He’s got a good voice. Plus, he wears a mask, right?”
“Yes,” El clarifies.
“Yeah, he’s hot. Will, you’re right. Mike, you’re incorrect as always.”
“Oh, what the hell.” Mike slumps back on the couch. Will pats his knee consolingly and Mike feels his cheeks warm. He lays his hand palm up on his thigh in hopes that Will might pick it up and hold it again like he did before.
“Can we go back to watching the movie, now?” El says tartly, apparently fed up with the nonsense and ready to go back to watching swordfighting. Mike can relate.
There’s a low chorus of ‘sorry, El’s throughout the room and then everybody goes back to watching. Will picks up Mike’s hand again — he should not be this excited about that — and leans slightly into Mike’s side. His heart pounds in his chest. His cheeks must be scarlet, judging by how warm they feel, but the room is dark and people are looking the movie anyway.
They watch the swordfight, laugh at the ridiculousness of the acrobatics and cheer as Inigo is bested by the man in black. Inconcievable gets a chuckle out of everyone every time, the party members taking turns doing their best Vizzini-impressions. Dustin easily has the best one, but is immediately declared to be cheating since he actually had a lisp for a few years. With him knocked out El is actually declared the winner.
The movie goes on, taking the man in black — Westley — and Buttercup through the Fire Swamp. Will is still holding Mike’s hand, but his movements gradually taper off until Mike’s fingers are basically only resting in his hand. Mike tells himself he’s not pulling away so he doesn’t disturb Will, but if he’s honest with himself it’s more because it feels nice.
By the time Westley’s wounds have healed, the sounds of soft breathing are all that Mike can hear. When he glances over to his side, Will has fallen asleep, head resting against the back of the couch and eyelids fluttering slightly.
The party boos at Prince Humperdinck and Mike shushes them.
“Will’s asleep!” he hisses.
Max’s eyebrows draw together. “So wake him up! He should see the end of the movie!” she whispers back.
Mike shakes his head. “He’s been having trouble sleeping, lately.”
He glances over at Will, sees the little crease between his eyes and squeezes his hand. He wants to smooth his thumb over the planes of Will’s face to comfort him, but… yeah, that’s not really an option, is it?
Everyone frowns at them at Mike’s admission, but Mike goes back to watching the movie. “Let him sleep,” he says, not making eye contact, “he needs it.”
Far be it from the party to question someone having trouble resting, so they leave it be. And besides, Mike has the movie for another week. They can rewatch it.
Will sleeps until the end credits. Everyone gets out of their seats or stretches while still seated.
“That was good,” Dustin declares. Everyone nods in agreement. He glances over at Mike. “You gonna wake him up now, or what?”
Mike considers this, but Will is still resting peacefully, chest rising and falling slowly with his breaths. “I’ll call Mrs. Byers,” he says, shaking his head, “he can sleep here.”
Max’s eyebrows fly up towards her hairline, and Mike restrains himself from flipping her the bird. Doing so would be implying that there’s something like what Max thinks is happening here, which he very much wants to avoid.
“What, leaning against the back of the couch?” Max says, clearly unimpressed.
“No!” Mike says. “I’ll— I can carry him to bed.”
He can tell that everyone except Max at least tries not to laugh, but none of them succeed.
“Okay, laugh it up,” he says, “I’m trying to do something nice, here.”
Will stirs beside him, and Mike holds a finger to his lips to silence everyone. Thankfully, it works, and Will settles down again.
“Bro,” Lucas starts, whispering quietly, “you’re whipped.”
Mike feels his eyes bug out of his skull. El whacks Lucas on the leg.
“Whatever,” Mike says, cheeks warming up, “get out of my house.”
Everyone dutifully spills out of the basement. Mike takes a second to lean back against the couch and breathe. Obviously, the party is okay with him being… gay, or whatever he is. Will came out a while ago, and nobody reacted weirdly to that. But, still, it makes Mike a little nervous how obvious he apparently is about his crush on Will. Has Will noticed? Does he care?
Mike shakes his head, trying to erase the thoughts like his brain is an Etch-A-Sketch. Will is still snoozing beside him, blissfully unaware of the internal turmoil Mike is going through.
He resents it, but his friends might have a point about him not being able to carry Will. If he is, it’s not far. Definitely not up the stairs to a proper bed, and only maybe to the spare bed in the corner of the basement. He looks at the sofa, worn from years of use but soft and comfortable nonetheless. His mom has insisted on replacing it several times with something newer, more modern, but Mike has resisted every time. The only reason he’s succeeded in stopping her is the argument that nobody except him and the Party ever hang out in the basement anyway.
The sofa is a fine place to sleep, he supposes. Mike has crashed down here a few times, when he got too lazy to go back upstairs, or they had extended family that he’d rather avoid on the ground floor. If he can manage to maneuver Will so he’s horizontal and has his head resting on a pillow, he should be comfortable all night.
Mike stands up and surveys the situation in front of him. There are already pillows by one of the armrest, so if he rearranges them slightly and puffs them they’ll be good. Will still has his head lolled back against the back of the couch, so if Mike holds one arm under his legs and the other behind Will’s shoulders, he should manage the lift.
He takes a deep breath, shaking his arms out. “You can do this, Wheeler,” he mumbles.
In he goes.
It goes splendidly.
Well, at least until Will stirs just as Mike lifts him off the cushions. His eyes fly open and he jumps in surprise. The movement is too much for Mike’s already shaking arms to handle, and he promptly drops Will back onto the couch before losing his balance and falling forward and hitting his nose on Will’s shoulder.
“Ow,” Mike whines.
“Mike?” Will asks, obviously confused and still dazed with sleep. “What’s going on?”
Mike sits up, rubbing his nose. No blood, at least. That’s good. Still deeply embarrassing, but not mortifying.
“You were asleep,” Mike says by way of explanation.
“Yeah,” Will says, frowning in confusion. “Why— wait, were you trying to carry me?”
“I— yeah.” Mike sighs.
“Why?” Will says incredulously.
“Well,” Mike hedges, pressing his thumb into the line on his palm in a fascimile of what Will was doing earlier, “you fell asleep during the movie. And— you said earlier that you’d been having some trouble sleeping lately, so I didn’t want to wake you up! And then the movie was over and you were still asleep, so I thought— well, I thought I’d let you sleep. But the couch— you were, like, sitting and leaning back? And the couch isn’t super comfortable that way — it’s fine if you’re laying down, though — so I thought I’d, y’know… move you. So you wouldn’t…” Mike trails off, realizing he’s maybe said too much.
Will’s smile is soft, and his eyes sparkle in the dim light of the basement. He puts his hand on Mike’s arm. “That’s really thoughtful, Mike. Thank you.”
Mike blushes for what feels like the millionth time this evening. “Yeah, um. Yeah. Don’t— don’t mention it.”
Will huffs a laugh, his hand slipping away. “Well, now that I’m awake, can I take the guestroom?”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Mike tries to regain his bearings. “I was, uh, gonna call your mom after I’d—“ he cringes, “moved you. But, well.”
“I’ll call her,” Will says.
“Yeah,” Mike says as Will slips off the couch and walks over to the phone.
Mike, as soon as he knows he’s out of immediate sight, slams his head into the pillows in front of him.