Chapter Text
Will Byers is kissing a girl for the first time.
The thing about Will is this: he knows he’s gay. He does. There’s absolutely no doubting it, not anymore; when he was younger, he would try to convince himself that he liked girls, because he was scared of being anything other than straight — because, in a sense, he was already about as far from normal as someone could get.
But he’s liked Mike for long enough to know that boys is where it’s always been, for him; chiseled jaws and dark eyes with naturally long lashes that flutter against high, sharp cheekbones when Will says something funny.
Maybe that’s just his type, though.
Either way, this girl he’s with now — definitely not his type. She’s pretty, there’s no doubt about that; her hair is long and unnaturally blonde, and her equally unnatural eyelashes flutter against her plumper cheekbones nicely when she closes her eyes. She’s the sort of girl that Will wishes he wanted, all curves and soft, shy smiles with a lacy bra that he can see peeking out of her shirt.
The shirt she keeps trying to take off, actually, because apparently she’s much more into this than he is.
“Will,” she says against his lips, cherry red lip stick sour on his tongue. “Will, baby, can we get on with this?”
Will tries not to cringe, but his hesitation must be evident on his face, because she leans back away from him, confusion written plainly against her pouted and kiss swollen lips.
“Um,” Will says smartly, his self preservation thrown out the window, but to get himself in this position, he’s beginning to think he never had any in the first place. “Sorry, I’m just —“
“Nope,” she says quickly, interrupting his admittedly lackluster explanation, and she gets up off of where she’s straddling him in favor of grabbing her purse. “Fuck you, actually. Your roommate was a better kisser, anyways.”
With that, and an extended middle finger that Will’s not exactly sure he deserves, she walks out the door.
Will collapses back on his pillow, allowing himself a disappointed sigh. Mike’s not home right now — he shouldn’t be for another few minutes, anyways — so he lets himself wallow in self pity, just for a second.
He presses his fingers to his lips, in an effort to feel her lips against his again, even though they were plump and bright red and wrong in all the ways that mattered. He closes his eyes and thinks hard, back to the time when he had accidentally walked in on her and Mike making out.
Even though Mike had gotten about as far as Will did, just now — except he’d gotten her shirt off, so maybe Mike just is a better kisser than Will — he had looked like he’d enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than Will had, hair mussed and pupils blown when he’d looked at Will standing in the doorway to their shared dorm room, like he was in a daze.
Will presses his fingers to his lips harder, feeling a tear leak out of the corner of his eyes. If he remembers hard enough, he can imagine that the lips pressing against his are Mike’s, instead of the blonde girl — Will hasn’t even the slightest idea what her name is, actually.
For the better, he guesses.
He’s been doing this — imagining, daydreaming, fantasizing, whatever you want to call it — for almost as long as he can remember. He’s loved Mike for almost as long as he’s known what romantic love is; all of the attraction came later, as they both grew into their bodies and Will learned he was supposed to look at girls the way he looked at boys — at Mike.
This — the imagining, the daydreaming, the fantasizing — it’s really only gotten this bad in the last few weeks. There’s an itch in his brain he can’t quite scratch, a hunger in his stomach that he can’t quite quell.
When he’d invited her — he still can’t remember her name, and he’s beginning to feel a little bad about it — over tonight, he’d hoped that he could calm the storm brewing within him, the longing that’s gotten so acute it’s painful to be around Mike, sometimes.
He’d hoped that she would help, but not — not because he was horny, or whatever. Will’s thought process — one he was maybe starting to regret a little, actually, but it was much too late now — had been that if he could kiss the same lips Mike had kissed, it would be like kissing Mike.
And, listen — he knows how stupid that is, okay? He knows that a girl’s soft lips will never replace the feeling of Mike’s sharp cheekbones under the pads of his fingers, the feeling of Mike’s body pressed against his, all hard lines where a girl was soft and pliable under his hands.
But he’d gotten a taste of Mike — a taste that was, admittedly, shrouded by a haze of both weed and alcohol, which wasn’t the best idea either of them had ever had, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time — and he’s been craving more ever since.
Will feels, sometimes, like he’s addicted to Mike — too much of him at once is dangerous, but so is leaving him alone for too long. He’s walking a treacherous tightrope, here, one that he’s been walking on for more than half of his lifetime. He’s beginning to get tired of the balancing act — of the heated glances before they go to bed, of Mike’s eyes on him when he gets out of the shower and walks to his room in only his boxers, of the cuddling on the couch that Mike insists upon during their movie nights — and wishes that, just once, Mike would be there to catch him when he falls.
Will knows that’s not going to happen. He knows, and he’s known for a while, but some stupid, idiotic voice in him he can’t seem to kill pipes up any time he begins to consider getting over Mike, saying things like maybe he likes you back! or friends don’t do that, Will.
He doesn’t, Will says back. And of course friends do that, that’s what we do.
And the cycle begins again.
The girls have been getting more frequent, as of late; Mike’s sexiled Will more in the past couple of weeks than he ever had before in their two years of sharing a dorm and then an apartment.
Will ignores that it probably started as a way for Mike to prove to himself that he’s straight — it was a few weeks ago, after all, that Mike had been breathing hard against Will’s neck in the dark aisles of the library, lips tracing his collar bone, as they hid during a campus-wide game of hide and seek.
When Will asks how it went — like a good friend does — after he’s allowed back in, Mike just shrugs. “We never get that far,” he says, looking about anywhere but Will.
Will knows he’s lying. He always is. The pain in his chest grows deeper.
But for every time Mike’s texted Will and asked him to stay out for just an hour later, at El and Max’s apartment or with Lucas and Dustin, he’s done something that tip-toes dangerously close to the line of a romantic gesture. The first time Mike asked Will to stay out, he came home the next day with the original Star Wars trilogy, saying something about catching up on the classics. The second time, he’d bought Will dinner at their favorite pizza joint, remembering his order perfectly. The third time, he’d made Will breakfast in bed.
Will isn’t sure what’s romantic and what isn’t, anymore.
A key turns in the lock on the front door, and Will groans, turning towards the wall next to his bed. Maybe if he can pretend to be asleep, Mike will leave him alone.
He’s had no such luck with it before, but there’s a first time for everything.
“Will?” Mike calls out, and Will can hear him dropping his keys on the kitchen counter. Something else thuds next to them — something heavier, Will observes, like maybe his backpack — and then Mike’s sock-clad footsteps wander across their small living room, to the hallway that holds both their bedrooms and the bathroom. “Are you here?”
Mike’s never really had any qualms about being loud, the loudest person in any room he walks into, and it’s always been something that Will’s loved about him — how he can just demand attention, like that — but God help Mike Wheeler if Will is ever actually sleeping when he comes home, because if Mike always walks in like this — and Will knows he does — Will would have been awake at least four times over by now.
“No,” Will mumbles to the wall, despite his whole I’m-sleeping act that he wasn’t very committed to in the first place.
Will can hear Mike’s fingers rap gently on his door frame, door still wide open from when what’s-her-face stormed out. He’s acting like he’s asking permission to enter, which is a little bit of a surprise to Will, actually. “Hey,” Mike starts, and Will sighs as he rolls over to face him. Mike’s standing awkwardly in the middle of Will’s rug now, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Did I — was that Lily I saw walking out of here? She looked kinda pissed.”
Lily. Will understands why he forgot that name. He can name three Lilys he knows off the top of his head. “Um,” he says, even though he definitely knows the answer, because there’s only one angry girl he could be talking about. He looks up at Mike from his seat on the bed, then looks away almost immediately. The sight of Mike looking at him like he was — like he was hurt, or something equally as unlikely, was almost too much for Will. “Yeah.”
His voice comes out ridiculously quiet, and he’s embarrassed, cheeks flaming, but Mike comes to sit next to him anyways.
“Oh,” is all he says, a punched out sound, and Will grips his knees until his knuckles turn white. “You — uh, you’ve got some…”
He trails off, and then his fingers are brushing gently against the side of Will’s neck. Will shivers at the touch, like a damn fool, and Mike’s body heat is setting Will’s skin on fire for much too long before he pulls away.
“Lipstick,” Mike finishes, like the word wasn’t that hard to say, like he could’ve just let Will wipe his own damn neck, but didn’t want to. He pauses, and it sits heavy on Will’s chest as he brings his own hand up to his neck, covering the ghost of Mike’s touch and holding it close. “Did you have a good time, at least?”
The question feels awkward, forced — so, so similar to how Will feels when he asks Mike the same thing.
Will sighs, not entirely sure what to say that isn’t something along the lines of she wasn’t you. “Not really,” he admitted, deciding it best not to lie. Mike could always tell when he was lying, and having to explain that would be harder than just skirting over certain parts of the truth.
Mike makes some noise next to him, like he’s surprised, or agreeing with Will, and then his hand is on Will’s thigh, comforting and scalding at the same time. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, and it sounds sincere, but it also sounds like Will just told Mike his goldfish died, and it makes his skin itch.
“It’s fine,” Will breathes, watching as Mike’s fingers flex to squeeze his thigh. He looks at Mike with the best smirk he can muster, only to find that the other boy’s already looking at him. “She did say you were a better kisser, though.”
I’d love to find out for myself, he doesn’t say. He wishes he would just spit it out, sometimes, but Mike’s obviously — obviously not into him. Not like that.
Mike’s lips quirk into an amused smile, an absolute win in Will’s book. Not that he’s keeping score. “Her standards must be pretty low, then,” he jokes back, and then his eyes widen. “I mean — not like that! I just… I mean, I’m not —“
Will laughs at him, at his frantic searching for a way to save his ass, and gives him an apologetic pat on the back. “I just think she deserves better than us, Mike.”
Mike looks at Will like he’s never said anything more absurd. “How can anybody get any better than you?” He asks, seriously, and Will’s face gets really hot. He looks away. “Seriously though, why didn’t you tell me she was coming over?”
Will shrugs, looking down at his mismatched socks, one still pulled up to above his ankle and one squished down to below it. “I figured we wouldn’t take that long. Plus, you usually come home late on Thursdays, anyways.”
He can hear the smirk Mike is trying to suppress in his voice. “Okay, Mr. Confidence, fine then.”
“Why Mr. Confidence?”
Mike laughs as he stands up, giving Will’s thigh one more squeeze. “I figured we wouldn’t take that long,” he mocks, voice going ridiculously deep. It draws a laugh out of Will, at least, even though that was definitely not how he’d intended that sentence to land. “Doesn’t matter anymore, anyways. She’s gone, and I’m here, and you’re here, and I’ve got takeout from Max and El’s and a couple of DVD rentals I think you’ll appreciate. You in?”
As if Will could ever say no to Mike.
~*~
Sometimes, Will wishes he could say no to Mike.
He’s had a good time watching old movies with Mike in their little living room, sitting a little too close together on their couch so they could share their singular soft blanket. It’s been fun, and it’s always been fun to hang out with Mike, whether it was for a reason he can’t say out loud or not.
But God, Will wishes he had some semblance of self restraint.
Only about halfway through the first movie, Mike leaned over onto Will’s shoulder, the crown of his head fitting perfectly into the curve of Will’s neck. And — well, that was fine, actually, because it wasn’t often, these days, that Mike would initiate this sort of touch between them, probably as some way to defend the last vestiges of his supposed-straightness.
They stayed like that for a long time — hip to hip, arms pressed together, and Will’s fingers have twitched more than once with the urge to reach out and grab Mike’s hand — but it wasn’t until Mike had gotten up to put in their third movie and returned to the same exact position that Will realized hey, maybe this isn’t normal.
He would’ve asked about it — honest, he would have — if Mike hadn’t fallen asleep, the steady weight of him on Will’s shoulder growing heavier, his breathing evening out.
And, well. Will sort of feels like maybe the universe is out to torture him, just a little bit.
It’s fine. Mike’s fallen asleep on his shoulder before. His hair tickles the side of Will’s neck that he’d brushed his fingers over earlier, where that girl — Lily , Will reminds himself — had been kissing him. And — objectively, really, it’s fine. Will’s not in a romance movie, he’s not the protagonist that some poor teenage girl going through a breakup is crying over because he has everything she wishes she did — he’s not that guy. But it feels a little cruel, a little terrible, a little painful that Mike is so close, but the remnants of Lily’s lipstick that Will had tried desperately to wash off in their bathroom still separated them.
It’s fine.
Will’s not even sure what movie is on anymore — it's one that Mike's been raving about for a couple weeks, but they’d both been so busy they hadn’t been able to hang out in a while — but he could honestly care less, because it really does sort of feel like he’s in his own movie, as conceited as that may be. Mike’s head falls forward, a little bit, and Will puts his hand up to catch him, but Mike catches himself and burrows further into Will’s side, grabbing his arm and wrapping his hands around it like a toddler might.
It’s fine.
Will — God, Will wishes he hadn’t been so stupid a few weeks ago, hadn’t been so drunk or so high that he had thought it would be a good idea. He should have known that kissing Mike — getting everything that he had wanted for so long — was a bad idea, a terrible idea, because now he was craving it like never before.
Sure, he’s wanted to kiss Mike for almost as long as he can remember, but after a few years of knowing that you’re in love with your straight best friend, the sharp pain subsides, a little bit. When he was thirteen, Will wasn’t sure he knew how to breathe around Mike, anymore — he was always staring at Mike’s lips, and he felt so fucking obvious about it that he's still embarrassed to this day. But that sharp pain, the want that had felt all-consuming — he’s learned to control it, how to dial it down, how to live with it.
He had been doing so well, too, before they decided it would be a good idea to participate in the campus-wide game of hide and seek inebriated out of their minds.
Will had lost his fragile grip on his feelings, just for a second, and it had resulted in weeks of pain, of feeling like he was thirteen again, like Mike would hate him if he knew their kiss — their kisses, their time spent pushing one another up against a wall and being unable to control their hands and letting their want be written plainly on their faces — meant anything more to Will than it did to him.
Will wants to kiss Mike again. He wants to so badly. He wants to kiss Mike awake, he wants to lay them both down together on this couch and kiss him senseless, he wants to let Mike erase the lipstick on his neck and replace it with a mark from his teeth instead. He wants and wants and wants.
He wants, but he can’t have. Will knows, he’s — he has known. It’s why he texted Lily to come over, earlier, why he’d tried to avoid Mike immediately after. He feels like Mike’s seen his soul, laid bare in front of him, and that just makes Will that much easier to read.
What would Mike do if he knew Will liked him? Would he move out? Would he kick Will out? Would he kiss him and tell him he likes him back?
Will lets his head lull to the side and rest on the top of Mike’s. He may not be able to have Mike the way that he wants him but — but he can have this. He can let himself have this, while he still can.
He feels like he’s thirteen again, like just being in Mike’s proximity is setting him on fire. He decides he should probably call another one of Mike’s exes tomorrow, so he can get this energy out, so he can feel the ghost of Mike’s lips against his own.
Will falls asleep hating himself, just a little bit.