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"Okay."
The word is more to himself, a not so subtle reassurance that he's doing the right thing here. He was nervous enough riding his bike across town, thinking about how it would affect his body, even this early. Truthfully, he'd focused more on that than the looming prospect of telling El about this, about the baby and what happened. Mike knows she'd raise hell for him, but... he thinks this is something that needs to stay quiet.
Getting off his bike, he rolls it towards the porch, setting it against a post.
Okay.
Just go to the door and knock.
He can do this.
The sound of his footfalls feel entirely too loud on the rocky ground leading to the house, then the wood creaking quietly under his weight. He stops right in front of the door, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Doubts bounce around his head like ping pong balls, always moving, persistent, and there. If he does go through with this, there's no going back, no correcting, no changing it.
He lifts his hand, hesitating, then knocks.
"Coming!"
He freezes at Will's voice coming through the door. All too late he remembers that Jonathan was going to take El shopping today. Before Mike can leave or even turn to, the door opens with Will behind it, his face splitting into a smile.
And fuck, Mike is weak. He's weak as he stares at Will, getting caught in his jawline, the light redness of his cheeks, the glowing life in his eyes. He's weak as he accepts Will's offer to come inside for lunch, settling against the counter with crossed arms as Will's strong arms move, muscles shifting as he grabs things. How he's wearing a surprisingly form-fitting shirt, although a flannel is tied around his waist. Will's gotten better about a lot of things, Mike's noticed; he's starting to be able to handle the cold of Hawkins without freaking out and wearing long sleeves constantly, even in the safe warmness of his own house. It probably helps that this isn't his old house, instead one near it, but on the other side of Steve's.
"So, did you come here just because you felt like it?" Will asks with a light tone.
Mike bites his lip again, wondering if it would be okay to tell Will instead, eyes moving to the floor. He isn't sure about it, and he has no idea how Will is going to react to the news that Mike was...
Mike doesn't even like thinking about it, though that was probably more understandable.
He uncrosses his arms, shifting on his feet.
"Mike?"
Mike looks at Will, noting the concern in his expression as he looks over. Mike's lips part as if to say something, but nothing comes out, like the words had been stolen and brain malfunctioning. Instead, what comes out is a shaky breath, and he looks away from Will as he finds himself tearing up and struggling not to break down, hands coming up to cover his face.
Mike hears shifting, the sound of metal against something solid, and then feels arms wrapping around him. He tenses before melting into it, wrapping his arms back around Will and burying his face in Will's neck, tears soaking the collar of his shirt.
"'M sorry," Mike chokes out, muffled, but he's close enough that Will hears.
"Whatever it is, it's okay." Will's arms tighten around him, the pressure around Mike's waist an enormous comfort that only makes him choke out a sob at the kindness of his best friend.
It's very much not okay, Mike thinks, I don't think it can be after this.
It takes a few minutes for the tears to stop, but he stays where he is after, not willing to let go of the soft warmness of Will's hug just yet. If he could, he doesn't think he'd ever let go, preferring this to any other hug he's gotten. As if he can't stop himself, he mutters, "Please don't go..."
"I'm not going anywhere."
You will, he wants to say, when I tell you, you'll hate me.
Eventually, they do pull away from each other, but Will doesn't move far, still keeping in arms reach. "Do you want to talk about it?" His voice is gentle, and for some reason, Mike hates it. It feels a little like he's being pitied or something, even though Will of all people would know how much pity hurts.
Mike takes a deep breath. If there were any time he would do this, tell Will, it's now. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the test, rinsed off after he'd seen the results because not doing that would be extremely gross if he was going to use it as the conversation starter. He doesn't look at Will as he holds it out, muttering the fact that he'd rinsed it off with tinted cheeks.
It leaves his hand, a soft intake of breath heard seconds later. A soft call of his name follows as Will hugs him again.
"I... I don't... 8 weeks," Mike mutters shakily, feeling Will tense. "I keep- I keep thinking about it, what happened."
Will pulls away, and Mike can see how his worry has skyrocketed, eyebrows furrowed. "You didn't-"
Mike cuts him off with a shake of his head. He watches Will's shoulders deflate as a devastated look crosses his face. He takes a deep breath of his own from what Mike can see, and Mike hates that even crying, even devastated for Mike as he is, he's still pretty. Mike looks away.
"We... we should tell Hopper," Will suggests, and Mike tenses before all the fight leaves him.
It'd be better this way, he tells himself. He needs to see a doctor, anyway, and he'd rather Joyce take him than anyone else. He nods wordlessly before Will nudges him over to grab plates for what he'd been making, which was grilled cheese. Will mentions he should probably eat as he's handed a plate with one on it and an added "ask if you want more, okay?"
They eat at the table quietly, Will talking for both of them about a new painting he'd started. Mike slowly relaxes, but leaves before anyone gets back, promising to come back the next day so they could tell Hopper and Joyce.
Getting on his bike, Mike lets out a breath.
Hopefully everything will be okay.