Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will spent a good portion of his childhood fantasizing about the end of the world. Hours upon hours were wasted lying awake in Mike’s basement, trading hypotheticals with the Party; how would it happen? A horde of zombies? An evil wizard? A robot takeover? Where would they hide? What essentials would they bring? Who would they trust?

It turns out that eight-year-old him knew nothing. His ingenious idea of packing a backpack full of canned food is useless if he doesn’t have one lying around when the earth cracks open. And then what? Was he supposed to live off of that for the rest of his life? What happens when he runs out? When the taste gets so familiar it’s sickening?

The Big Grand Apocalypse has always been about waiting things out. Being the last man standing. Surviving until the very end.

The end of what? The movie? The comic? Turning pages until he’s met with the back cover? The truth is, no one wants to be the last man standing. They don’t want to “wait things out.” They want to finish this. There’s no god or government they can turn to for saving. They have to be the saviors, or there’ll be no saviors left.

This has been the main topic of discussion during the past 35 weekly check-in meetings led by Hopper. Eight months. The world has been ending for eight months, and they’re no closer to death or survival than they were before.

It’s pointless. Every Friday the remaining Upside Down veterans gather in Mike’s living room to swap theories on how to stop this. They’ve never made it past brainstorming.

Still, they try. Mike especially, as he passionately throws out idea after idea, strategizing with Hopper and Nancy from across the room. He’s motivated, that’s for sure. A proper knight in shining armor who’s been glued to Will's side for months, unrelenting.

It’s incredibly frustrating. Not only is Will unable to focus on anything during the useless meetings besides Mike’s face, jaw set and eyebrows furrowed in determination, but he doesn’t get a break after they’re over either, given that he now lives at the Wheelers. It’s like ever since Mike and El broke up in May, he’s moved on to protecting his second favorite person. If El doesn’t need him, Will must. The worst part is that it’s true— he absolutely does. Curse Michael Wheeler and his need to be needed.

Will can't seem to get a moment alone. Breakfast? Mike is sliding up next to him at the table, bumping elbows. Volunteering at the shelter? Mike is insisting that he must be paired up with Will. Bedtime? Mike is sleeping two feet away from Will’s sleeping bag on the floor of his room— that is, when Will doesn’t have a nightmare and is forced to join Mike on his bed.

How is Will supposed to get over him when all of his best qualities are on display 24/7? He’s headstrong, and brave, and a natural leader. He’s thoughtful, always wordlessly checking on Will whenever someone brings up a sore topic, like his connection to Vecna. He’s generous, lending his clothes and spare blankets without second thought.

Will is going crazy.

He can’t stay here any longer. The walls are closing in. One more gentle touch from Mike as he slowly raises his voice at Hopper and Will is going to explode. “Don’t be scared,” it says. “I know you hate yelling, but it’s okay. It’s just me. Just Mike. You’re safe.” It makes Will sick.

The second his mom sighs and announces the conclusion of yet another waste of a meeting, resigning to the fact that they’re not going to make any more progress, Will makes up his mind. As the others clean up the living room, tossing their cups in the garbage and folding the endless maps sprawled across the coffee table, he sneaks down to the basement and throws on his jacket and backpack, leaving out the side door.

It’s reckless, he knows. No one is supposed to leave the house unless on assigned missions by the adults— especially not alone. He doesn’t care. He’s a big boy, he can handle himself. Besides, he escaped the Upside Down scratch free— more or less. If anyone knows how to avoid demogorgons, it’s him.

He just needs a bit of fresh air. Well, as fresh as he can possibly get given the spores floating everywhere, making it almost difficult to breathe. It’s familiar to him. All too familiar.

He doesn’t even know where he’s going; not too far, obviously. Nowhere outside his radio’s signal. He just wants the Wheeler’s house to be out of view. That’s all. Just far enough to no longer feel the tether between him and Mike. Escaping his sight, his touch, his smell— which might be hard now that they literally share clothes. It’s impossible. He’s surrounded by him, always and forever.

He’s halfway down Maple when he hears it— footsteps. The same footsteps that he had memorized by the time he was seven.

Will rolls his eyes and suppresses a scream. One minute. All he wanted was one minute alone. But no— his personal shadow just had to tag along. Because who would Mike be if he wasn’t a hero all the time?

Will nearly ignores him; he continues walking as if he hadn’t even noticed, fully intent on getting his much needed escape, alone or not. But something in his gut tells him to stop in his tracks. Maybe it’s his inherent protectiveness over those he loves— maybe it’s his annoyance, dying to get his feelings off his chest now that there aren’t a hundred potential eavesdroppers.

The footsteps stop along with him.

“Go back home, Mike,” Will says with a sigh. When he doesn’t get a response, he turns around to see Mike standing a few yards away, like a painfully loyal golden retriever. His face is the epitome of concern, dead set on protecting his human even if it means getting told off. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”

“Neither are you,” Mike retorts, unwilling to back down.

“You could get hurt. Please just go.” Will wouldn’t be able to stand it if Mike was injured because of him. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if Mike was injured period.

Mike scoffs at this. “And you won’t? Walking outside alone without telling anyone? You forgot this, by the way,” he tosses Will a gun.

“Rule number one,” Hopper’s voice plays through his mind as he turns over the gun in his hands. “Never leave the house without a weapon.”

Will flushes, undoubtedly in the wrong on this one, but brushes off his own stupidity for the sake of the argument. “I can handle myself.”

“Clearly,” he rolls his eyes, closing the distance between them with a few long strides. “C’mon, if you’re going to be dumb then at least let me be dumb with you.”

Will takes a step backward, holding his hand out in front of him. “No.”

Mike pauses, confusion flashing on his face before he raises an eyebrow incredulously. “No?”

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Mike— I can’t do this anymore. You’re… suffocating me.” Ignoring Mike’s shocked, broken-hearted expression, he plows on. “I get it. I get that you want to help people, and that you like to feel needed, but Mike— you can’t just… throw me to the side and rush back every time El breaks things off with you. Okay? This is too much. You’re too much right now. I’m not your girlfriend— stop treating me like it.”

Mike flinches like he’s just been hit in the stomach. Perhaps that was a step too far— but Will can’t really find it in himself to care. Not when this argument might grant him an inch of extra space, reserved solely for when they’re mad at each other. Mike’s face immediately sours. “I’m sorry for trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting!” Will shouts, just a tad too loud. “I’m fine. I was fine when you left me by myself for an entire year, and I’m fine now. And in case you haven’t noticed, nothing is here,” he gestures to the empty road beside them, completely silent apart from his own screams. “I’m not in danger!”

“Will— I’m sorry for abandoning you. But I’m trying to make it up to you, if you’d just let me—“

“You can make it up to me by leaving me alone for two fucking seconds!”

Mike takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and clearly trying not to let the hurt show. The hurt that Will put there. “So— what?” he asks, calmer, like he’s given up on fighting back. “I’m just supposed to let you leave? This is suicidal, Will.”

Maybe it is. Maybe Will doesn’t give a shit anymore about “surviving until the end.” There’s no light at the end of the tunnel, there are no solutions to this stupid situation. If this is how the rest of his life is going to pan out, he doesn’t care to live it. The apocalypse will drive them mad— it was only a matter of time before one of them snapped.

It was a hopeless fight to begin with.

Before Will can formulate a reply, a shadow moves in the woods next to them. There’s no time to react— it’s on Mike in an instant.

The next thirty seconds are a blur— or maybe it’s thirty minutes. Time stands still as the demogorgon opens its flower-petal mouth and shows off its hundreds of teeth. Will freezes in place at the familiar screech it lets out. Mike puts up a fight, pushing it away from his body with his forearms and aiming to kick at its stomach. It’s no use when it sinks its fangs down into his arm, ripping it off at the elbow like it’s nothing.

Mike’s agonizing scream is what wakes Will up from his trance. He hurriedly clicks the safety off his gun and points it at the demogorgon with shaky hands as it takes a bite out of Mike’s side. Praying he doesn’t hit Mike, Will fires three shots into the creature's torso, but not before it can raise a clawed paw to Mike’s face and rip open the skin. It releases Mike with a shriek, scurrying off into the forest to die a slow and painful death.

Mike collapses to the ground.

“No,” Will whimpers, falling to his knees beside him as his eyes fill with tears. “No no no no no, Mike!”

Mike’s one good eye flutters open and closed, the other lid cut in half by the lower of two diagonal scratch marks. A pained groan escapes his mouth.

“Mike,” he says again, the only word floating around in his head. He tugs off his jacket and presses it to the wound on Mike’s stomach, blood soaked through his shirt and pooling onto the street below. This is it. Mike is going to die. He’s going to die and it’s all Will’s fault. “You idiot. You were supposed to leave.”

Mike looks up at him and attempts to shake his head. “No, hey,” Will chides, putting more pressure on the wound, a trick he learned from the minimal first-aid training they all had to do. Now he wishes he had paid more attention. “Don’t move. I’m gonna call for help, okay? You’ll be alright.”

He won’t. They both know he won’t.

Will reaches over to his fallen backpack and pulls out his walkie, smearing it in blood. Mike’s blood. He tries not to think about it.

“Code red!” he screams through to the others. His voice sounds so panicked and desperate that he hardly recognizes it. He can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears anyway. “Code red, somebody help!”

“What’s wrong?” Dustin replies right away.

“We need to go to the hospital. Now!”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath. “Where are you? Is Mike with you?”

“The edge of Maple, by the tire swing,” Will says through a sob, voice thick with tears. The walkie drops straight to the ground as he sees Mike’s eye close without sign of reopening. “No, Mike! Mike, look at me,” he grabs his face in his hands. “Mike stay awake, please. They’re coming to get us, okay?”

“‘M awake,” Mike mumbles. Will’s tears nearly double. He’s so glad he got to hear his voice at least one more time. “Hurts.”

Mike doesn’t need to tell him that. He can see it in the way his face is all pinched up, hear it in the groans and the heavy breaths, feel it coating his hands in sticky red liquid. The air smells sickeningly like metal.

“I’m so sorry,” Will cries. He’s sorry for so much. Sorry for leaving on his own, sorry for making Mike follow, sorry for their fight, sorry for not firing the stupid gun until it was too late. There’s no time to say all that he needs to. “I didn’t mean what I said— any of it. You’re never too much. Ever. I want you by my side for the rest of my life. I need you. Please don’t leave me.”

Will can’t live without him. He doesn’t know how. He never has before. There can’t be Will without Mike. He wouldn’t even be able to imagine it.

Mike’s breaths turn ragid.

“No. No, Mike, can you hear me?” He nods, ever so slightly. It’s enough for Will. If he’s dying— if these are truly the last words that will ever be spoken between them— there’s only one thing he can say. One thing he needs to say. One thing he never thought he’d admit to Mike while he was alive— but his life turned out to be shorter than Will had expected. “I love you. I’m in love with you, Mike, please. You can’t go. I love you so much,” Will whispers, cradling his body to his chest.

A sharp inhale comes from below him as an arm loosely winds around his waist. Their last hug. Ever. No more sleepovers, no more sharing snacks in the movie theater, no more passing notes in class. No more late night talks, or trading secrets, or reading comics in Castle Byers. No more Mike. No heartbreak could ever compare to this.

Mike’s hand falls limply to the ground, and Will’s world falls apart. This is the end of the world. The whole time, this was it. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Will almost doesn’t hear the tires approaching over the sound of his own screams.

Chapter Text

Mike wasn’t supposed to be alive right now.

Now don’t get him wrong— Will isn’t disappointed that he is. He’s never been more relieved in his life. Honestly, he’s starting to consider that maybe there is a god out there, and they’ve finally taken pity on Will’s pathetic excuse for a life.

But there was no way Mike should have survived that, right? His pulse was almost undetectable by the time he was pulled into the car, and he lost more blood than Will thought was in his entire body. He got his arm eaten, for fucks sake.

Nevertheless, he’s still kicking. Not literally— he’s bedridden and comatose for the foreseeable future— but his heart is still pumping away. He’s stable, somehow. Due to live the rest of his life with Will's confession permanently in the air; the same confession made under the assumption that Mike would not be around to remember it. Will is screwed.

Mike got out of surgery late last night. The clock says it’s been twelve hours— eighteen since the incident— but it feels like an eternity. He doesn’t know why he insists on staying awake and glued to Mike’s side until he wakes up, since he has no idea when that would even be, but he does. He’s grown attached to the sound of Mike’s heart monitor and whooshing breath, muffled by his oxygen mask. If Mike could hear him, he’d say that he sounds like Darth Vader. Instead, that thought just makes him sad.

He can’t help but feel alone in this hospital room that’s constantly buzzing with friends and family. The one person he needs right now is noticeably absent from the conversation.

Will is scared that Mrs. Wheeler hates him, as he watches her stroke Mike’s hair. Will would hate him if he lured his son to an untimely death. Nancy has mostly kept to herself— or to Jonathan. Ted is— well, he’s Ted. And Holly is just scared. They all are. None of the Wheelers have said anything to him— nothing bad, at least. Just a bit of polite small talk and reassurance. It’s the silence that scares him most— a perfect mask of their true feelings. Their hatred, their resentment, their disgust.

The Party regularly rotates between here and the room down the hall— the one Max is occupying. Every hour or so, one of them pops their head in, asking Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler if there are any updates; it’s always a no. Sometimes they decide to stay, attempting to get something out of Will. A smile, perhaps.

Will hasn’t said a word since the car ride— nothing more than dozens of mumbled sorrys to Mike as he was loaded into the Wheeler’s van and driven to the hospital. Will’s mom had sat in the backseat with them in an attempt to calm him down. It, unsurprisingly, didn’t work. Will couldn’t focus on anything but the boy in his arms, completely unconscious and barely breathing. He has no idea how Nancy managed to get them here in one piece.

“Hey.” Will startles as his mom nudges his shoulder. He doesn’t know when she came in— last he heard, she was outside with Hopper. She offers him a water bottle and a muffin from the cafe downstairs. He accepts only the water, holding it in his lap without making any moves to drink it. She gives him a pitying smile, taking a seat on the chair next to him and setting a hand on his back. “You need to eat sometime, sweetheart. Mike won’t like it when he hears you’ve been going hungry for his sake.”

Except for the fact that Mike isn’t here. It wouldn’t matter if he was, anyway. He’d probably be pissed at Will for getting him into this mess. Will is the reason he had to get stitches in his side. Will is the reason his eye is all bandaged up. Will is the reason that he lost half of an arm. He can never make that up to him. Ever.

“C’mere,” his mom gestures for a hug. Will leans his head on her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of home. He just wants to go home, but he’s not really sure where that is anymore. The Wheelers’, probably. It’d be nothing without Mike. “I remember when it was you on that bed,” she says, nodding to Mike. “Both times. He never left your side, you know. Barely slept at all. He always had to make sure you were okay. I thought it was the sweetest thing. It turns out you two are pretty similar that way.”

They’re not similar. Mike wasn’t the reason Will was hurt— he just stayed out of the goodness of his heart. Will stays due to his own selfishness. He thinks he’d go crazy if Mike left his sight for more than a couple seconds.

“I should probably go get you some clean clothes, huh?”

Will looks down at his blood-soaked shirt dazedly. He hadn’t even noticed. In a sick and twisted sort of way, he doesn’t mind it— likes it, even. Likes having a part of Mike with him at all times, close to his heart; even if that part should have stayed inside Mike’s body. It reminds Will of the time Mike lost his first tooth on the playground and got to carry it around in a little necklace, courtesy of the school nurse. Rather than taking it home and putting it under the pillow for the tooth fairy, Mike had decided to give it to Will. A token of his very strange affection.

“Will, honey,” Mrs. Wheeler says from the other side of Mike’s bed. “You can go home and take a shower. We’ve got him for now.”

Will shakes his head without a second thought. He’s never leaving— unless Mike is disgusted with his presence upon waking up and politely requests him to.

Is it awful that Will kind of wants him to stay asleep? These next few moments might be the last he sees Mike without a scowl on his face, calling Will all sorts of names. These might be the last moments he has with him, period. The last time he’s allowed to be within close proximity.

Even if Will hasn’t lost him, he still lost him.

After either two minutes or two hours of comfortable silence, Will’s mom squeezes his arm. “Alright, I’m gonna go pick up some stuff at the house. You need anything? Clothes, toothbrush, maybe a few things to pass the time?”

Will nods, putting his full trust in her to grab his essentials. Whatever she gets is good enough for him. It’s not like he has the mental capacity to do anything right now.

“I’ll be back in one hour. Two tops,” she promises, standing up. “Try to eat a little while I’m gone? Just a couple bites.”

He doubts it, but he nods again anyway. He barely registers as she leaves the room.

It’s a little bit funny— out of everything Will has been through, this is the worst, and it didn’t even happen to him. Is this how Mike felt all those years ago? Minus the being in love part, of course.

Is this how Lucas feels? Will thought he understood before— he’s always been overly empathetic— but nothing can compare to this. Nothing has ever felt more like being torn in half.

At some point— post his mom leaving, but pre-return— Will hears raised voices outside the door. They’re just quiet enough that it seems like whoever they belong to are trying not to cause a scene. He half-assedly listens in, but he can only make out bits and pieces.

“Will… best friend… need… rest.”

“…Patient… answers.”

“…Mom… finds out… mad.”

“…Help… your side.”

Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly about him. He doesn’t know whether to feel guilty or annoyed.

He turns toward the door as it opens, Jonathan poking his head through. He looks exasperated, eye bags almost as prominent as Will’s. “Hey, bud. Can you come out here a sec?” Will glances back at Mike hesitantly. “It won’t take long,” Jonathan adds understandingly. “Hop just wants to talk to you in private.”

Will gets up from the uncomfortable old hospital chair for the first time in hours, nearly stumbling from the numbness of his butt. Mike would have found it funny.

Will often sees the world through Mike-tinted glasses. Everything he experiences suddenly becomes about him— “Mike would like that movie,” or, “Mike has a jacket like that,” or, “That reminds me of when Mike…” It’s not a new occurrence— Will figures he’s been doing it his entire life— but he never noticed it until Mike was in this bed, happy memories turned sad. The world has become blue.

Mike’s favorite color.

Will quickly— slowly and painfully— joins Jonathan outside the door of their room, facing an equally disgruntled looking Hopper.

“Hey, kid,” he sighs, running a hand through his regrowing hair. He’s out of uniform, putting Will at least a little at ease. This is strictly unprofessional. Off the record. He isn’t ending up in cuffs tonight for attempted murder. “Look, no one’s in trouble, alright? You can tell me the truth. I just wanna know what went down last night.”

The truth. The truth is that Will is an idiot who decided to take a little afternoon stroll in the middle of an apocalypse with no protection or reinforcements, all because his crush was getting a little annoying. And now his crush is on his deathbed, which is honestly a lot more annoying. Stupid fearless paladin.

“Can we go now?” Jonathan asks pointedly, as if saying I told you he wouldn’t budge. Will hadn’t even noticed he was silent for that long.

Hopper holds out his hand, visibly annoyed at Jonathan for being so impatient, and looks back to Will. “Can you just tell me what he was doing out there? I mean, I know he’s impulsive, but running out without letting us know and dragging you along with him? That’s just irresponsible.”

Wait— he thinks this was Mike’s fault? He’s just blaming him without any evidence? Mike might be crazy, but he’s not that crazy. Will is the one losing his mind. He can’t let Mike take the fall for this; not when he so selflessly put himself in danger to save Will’s ass.

“It was my fault,” Will corrects. Hopper and Jonathan’s eyes widen, like they either can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, or the fact that he answered at all.

“Will, I told you,” Hopper says. “He’s not in trouble. You don’t have to take the blame.”

Well now he’s just mad. Mike is hurt after performing the most heroic act Will has ever seen, and they’re still blaming him. Even after Will admitted guilt. Sure, he’s a goody-two-shoes who panics at the first sign of getting in trouble, but he can mess up too. He can be rebellious. He’s not some fragile little angel that can do no wrong. “No— I left the house. I wanted some air. Mike followed me out. He was just trying to protect me.”

Hopper pauses a moment, baffled, before sighing once again, accepting his confession as truth. “You know how incredibly stupid that was, right?”

Will nods, lowering his head to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. Now he’s reminded why he doesn’t rebel more often.

“Is that really necessary?” Jonathan cuts in, angry. Will sees a blurry shape that he thinks is his brother’s arm gesturing in his direction. “You promised him that he wouldn’t be in trouble.”

“And he’s not,” Hopper explains tiredly. “But I think it’s important for him to understand that actions have consequences. Someone could have gotten hurt. Someone did get hurt.”

Will holds back his millionth sob of the night as Jonathan argues back, “You think he doesn’t know that? He’s been through enough today, he doesn’t need some cop yelling at him.”

“I’m not yelling—”

“Just go. You got your answers— just go.”

Will hears footsteps retreat down the hall, Hopper taking his leave. He immediately feels a hand on his shaking shoulders pull him in for a hug. Jonathan gives the best hugs, he thinks. Top three for sure, along with his mom and Mike. Jonathan’s hugs are sturdy; no matter how big Will gets, he’ll always be the little brother.

“It’s okay,” Jonathan whispers as Will cries into his shoulder, clinging onto him like his life depends on it. Jonathan feels like a life raft in the middle of the ocean during a storm. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” Will protests. That’s not really a debatable fact. It was literally his fault.

“It was an accident,” he says, like that makes a difference. “Mike wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

He would. Mike thinks he’s disgusting now. Will lured him to his death all because of his feelings for him.

Jonathan stays holding him for as long as he needs, and doesn’t complain once. Maybe he’s just happy that Will isn’t a statue anymore. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like returning back to Mike’s motionless body. It’s sort of nice out here— like a breath of fresh air. His thoughts are no longer set to the soundtrack of Mike’s heart monitor. While he’s itching to be back at Mike’s side, he’s also just tired.

Will takes a seat on one of the many empty chairs in the hallway, usually reserved for his mom and Hop, or the Party members who stayed overnight. With the others off visiting Max, the two of them are all alone.

“Hey,” Jonathan sits down next to him, setting his hand atop Will’s on the armrest. He squeezes it, staring Will in the eye. It reminds him of a conversation they had months ago in the kitchen of a pizza parlor. “I know this is hard for you. And you can… talk to me about it, yeah? I’m here.”

Jonathan is the only person he can talk to about it. He’s the only one that understands just how much Mike means to him. Not that Will ever told him explicitly— but he still knows. It’s a mutual understanding between them, and Will needs it right now. Everyone else must think he’s overreacting. None of Mike’s other friends are completely incapacitated like this.

“I told him,” Will says quietly.

“Told him what?”

“That I love him.” Jonathan looks taken aback, but whether it’s at Will for admitting it to him or Mike, he doesn’t know. “I didn’t think he’d…” Live, his mind autocompletes. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. “I thought it was over.”

“And you regret it now?” Jonathan asks.

He wants to say yes. His answer has been yes for the past eighteen hours. But now…

“I don’t know. I’m kind of… relieved? I’ve just been worried about it for so long, and now that it’s out I just— I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird,” he assures. “It makes sense. That’s a heavy secret between you two. It must be nice now that the pressure is off.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees half-heartedly, pulling his knees to his chest and setting his dirty shoes on the cushion. “But I’m sure I’ll feel differently when he stops being friends with me.”

“Hey— it’s Mike. You really think he’d do that?”

“I think anyone would do that. It’s gross. And this isn’t even the biggest issue right now, so I don’t know why I’m complaining about it. Mike got his arm torn off because of me and he’s never getting it back. This is so stupid,” he rolls his eyes to the ceiling, willing back the tears that just won’t go away.

“No, it isn’t,” Jonathan insists, trying to meet his eyes again. Will doesn’t give in. “You’re allowed to be upset about this. Anyone would be. I don’t know what I’d do if it was Nancy on that bed. Probably die,” he jokes, earning a small chuckle out of Will. “And I don’t think you give Mike enough credit. He loves you. You’ve been his best friend for what— ten years? You’re not gross for loving him. Alright?”

Will tries to keep the butterflies in his stomach to a minimum at the whole “he loves you” part. Obviously Jonathan doesn’t mean it like that, but it doesn’t matter. Will likes it in any sense. He just wants to feel appreciated.

“Alright?” Jonathan repeats, clearly not giving up until Will accepts it. He doesn’t want to. He is gross for liking Mike. For one, Mike is a boy. But he’s also his best friend, who he’s shared a bed, and clothes, and probably a toothbrush with at some point. The boys at school don’t even like to be in a locker room with Will, let alone their bedrooms.

Still, he nods. “Alright.”

Whether or not he actually buys it, Jonathan stands up and offers Will a hand. Uselessly wiping away any stray tears, Will lets himself be pulled to his feet and led back through the door. His eyes immediately dart to Mike, who hasn’t moved an inch. He doesn’t know what he was expecting.

Will takes his place next to him, a now permanent indent on his seat. He resists the urge to grab Mike’s hand for obvious reasons— one, the entire Wheeler family, minus a sleeping Ted and Holly, staring at him, and two, the completely unethical violation of making a move on his best friend while he’s fast asleep.

Instead he chooses to watch his breathing, like a normal person. In, out. In, out. From over the blankets, Mike almost looks harm-free— besides the giant bandage over his eye. Will can pretend, just for a moment, that Mike is okay. He’s just taking a nap, as usual.

For now, Will can pretend like everything is okay.

Chapter Text

The next few days are a rush of people coming and going. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler take turns watching Holly at home, and Mike in the hospital— though Mrs. Wheeler seems to be here more often. The Party continues their game of ping pong, back and forth and back and forth between Mike and Max, returning home each night; not Lucas though. Lucas sleeps in Max’s room, as Will does with Mike.

Will’s mom and brother follow an unspoken rule— or, at least, unspoken to Will. One of them must be at the hospital with him at all times— like he needs any more supervision. Usually it’s both of them; his mom is a textbook helicopter parent, and Jonathan wants to be there for both him and Nancy.

Nancy is the only constant throughout this entire thing; her and Mike, who remains asleep approaching the ninetieth hour. Will can count on one hand the amount of times she’s left his room. Other than a few private conversations with Jonathan and a walk now and then, she’s been right by Mike’s side.

Will hadn’t really thought of Mike and Nancy as having a close bond. They’re not like him and Jonathan, who rarely ever butt heads— Mike has certainly complained about his sister often enough— but the Wheeler siblings are weird. They don’t get along, merely tolerating each other at the best of times, but when one of them is in trouble, they get fiercely protective. Will sees it with Holly, when Mike tries his hardest to shield her from the reality of their situation. He’s seen it with Nancy, when Mike fussed over her after hearing she faced Vecna, telling her off for her half-baked plan.

And now Nancy is here. Relentless.

She and Will haven’t spoken much. They’re sort of in a metaphorical stare-down, each waiting for the other to back off. Or, more like daring each other to back off. Do it, Nancy’s eyes say. Stop caring about my brother. See what happens. Will isn’t going to take her up on that, and he’s starting to think she won’t either. Good. Mike is in great hands.

There’s a bit of curiosity in Nancy’s stare, just as there is in Will’s. Why is he staying? Why does he refuse to leave Mike alone? Why does he care so much?

Will ignores it for the most part. He ignores the same look from everyone. The last thing on his mind is keeping his secret. It’s already been revealed to the person he was hiding it from the most— what does it matter anymore? Let them see him for who he is. He has bigger things to worry about.

Day five is quiet. It’s already 10:30 in the morning, but the hospital is still. Will and Mike’s moms are off in the cafeteria grabbing breakfast, and El and Dustin aren’t visiting until after lunch. Will assumes that Lucas is enjoying the rare peace, taking turns reading to Max with Erica.

Nancy, as always, is right here. Mike is going to love hearing about this when he awakes.

Will glances up at the sound of a throat clearing; Nancy is already looking at him in that calculated way.

“It’s funny,” she says suddenly, and Will doesn’t quite get what she means. Nothing about this is funny. “I hadn’t realized it before, but at some point our relationship changed in my mind. You became less of ‘my brother’s friend,’ and more ‘my boyfriend’s brother.’ I guess I forgot how I originally met you. I see it now though— you’ve always been Mike’s friend.”

Huh. That’s interesting. To Will, Nancy has always been Mike’s sister. Not that he doesn’t care about Jonathan’s girlfriend, but— he can’t help it. Anything Wheeler will forever return to Mike.

“It was sort of weird when you two started dating,” Will admits. “I mean, I’m happy for you guys, obviously. But Jonathan—” But Jonathan what? How could he possibly explain the relationship they have? Will doesn’t have a dad; it’s always just been his brother. “He’s really important to me. And you’re Mike’s sister. That’s like if my mom married your dad.”

Nancy scrunches up her nose at the same time as him. “Gross,” she complains, but laughs softly nonetheless. “You know, you’re really important to Jonathan, too. He talks about you all the time.”

“He does?” That’s a relief. Sometimes Will feels like a pest, always clinging on to those he loves, annoying them to no end. No amount of reassurance can fix that.

“Yeah,” she says, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed, sitting in the chair next to Will. He tries not to panic. After all these years of knowing each other, Nancy is still virtually a stranger. “Mike too.”

Mike— no. Mike doesn’t talk about him. Not anymore. He talks about El. And sure, maybe they’re broken up, but they’ll get back together. They always do. Him and Mike— they’re done. They’re friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Not even best friends; no more than Dustin and Lucas. Not even if they live together, or stay up late talking about anything and everything, or sometimes bring each other dinner when the other is upset. Will learned his lesson. Mike will always keep him at arm’s length.

“Jonathan and Mike,” Nancy continues, ignoring Will’s burning face, “they’re the most important people in my life. And you’re my favorite people’s favorite person. So, I don’t know. I thought we should get to know each other a bit better.”

Okay, she needs to stop. He is not Mike’s favorite person. Maybe top five. Maybe. And that’s just because Max has to be below him.

Even so, Will would like to get to know Nancy. She is Jonathan’s girlfriend after all. His almost-sister-in-law. And if they’re going to be stuck in this tiny hospital room together for the foreseeable future, they might as well not add an extra layer of discomfort to that.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Cool,” she smiles at him. Will doesn’t think she’s ever smiled at him before. He doesn’t know if she’s ever talked to him before. At least, not since she entered high school and got too busy with homework to play with him and Mike. Seeing her like this, she reminds him of Mike. Of course she does. Everything does. The way her hair curls, her high cheekbones, the warmth in her eyes— if Will were straight, he’d probably have a crush on her just like Dustin did.

“Cool,” he smiles back.

Another awkward silence falls between them, perhaps even worse than before. At least they weren’t trying to talk to each other earlier. They were both perfectly content living their separate lives.

“I had a Will when I was his age, you know,” Nancy says. Thank god, because Will wasn’t going to.

“A Will?” he repeats.

“Mhm,” she nods. “Her name was Barb.”

Will knows Barb. Or— he knew Barb. Both alive and dead. She came over to the Wheelers’ a few times when Will was spending the night. She was always nice to him, offering to play Legos when Nancy refused. Which was why it was so disturbing to recognize her screams of agony, moments before her death. Will would never tell Nancy that she died calling out to her for help.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He could have helped her. He should have helped her. Maybe they both could have gotten out of there alive.

“Don’t be,” Nancy dismisses. She wouldn’t if she knew the truth. “I’m just saying— Mike is lucky to have you.” Doubtful, but okay.

Before he can respond, she grabs Mike’s hand that’s resting by his side, gives it a quick squeeze, and places it into Will’s own.

What?

Oh god. She must have seen him staring at it. She knows he wanted to hold Mike’s hand. She knows.

Will tries to protest, tries to give it back to her, but she beats him to it, shaking her head. Seeing the obvious panic on Will’s face, she tells him, “It’s fine. I would have been okay with it, if it was Barb.”

It’s like she can read his mind. How did she know that’s what he was worried about— Mike getting grossed out?

Should he accept the gesture? Nancy— Mike’s guardian angel— did give him the go-ahead. Will trusts her with Mike’s life. Though her words mean nothing compared to his. She’s not all-knowing— unless she is. She probably is.

Will looks down at the hand he’s cradling, like it’s fragile as glass. It feels like it is. It’s the only one Mike has left. Will slowly laces their fingers together, setting his other hand on top. He basks in the warmth of Mike’s skin; just like he had always dreamed. Although his dreams never really involved a hospital bed.

I love you, he thinks. Please wake up.

Will spends the rest of the morning chatting with Nancy. Apparently her favorite animal is a seahorse, because they break patriarchal standards of child bearing. She takes board games way too seriously— which Mike has definitely mentioned in the past— and she used to regularly straighten her hair because it got more compliments from boys. Will awkwardly tells her that he thinks the Wheelers’ natural curls are pretty, to which she responds with a polite, “Thank you,” and says that she’s going to pass that along to Mike. Will turns bright red, eyes widening, and replies with an adamant, “Don’t.”

Will ends up pulling out his sketchbook, showing her his unfinished drawing of Mike that he’s been procrastinating working on for days. He just can’t do it. He can’t draw Mike like this, pale and beaten, lying on a hospital bed. His lifelessness bleeds through the sketch, all too apparent that he’s not just talking a quick nap. Nancy tells him that it looks good anyway.

Their moms return around noon, arms full of shitty hospital food. Will, as quickly as he can, sets Mike’s hand back on his bed, and his mom pretends not to notice; Will pretends not to notice that she noticed. Ignore, ignore, ignore. Just like the rest of his problems. He has way too much going on right now to have that conversation.

The Party arrives a little after one, bringing along a game of Clue. Ever since that second night— where Will decided to stop being a living zombie— they all agreed to pass the time together in more joyful ways. Card games, eye spy, telephone— they even got Will to laugh once or twice.

This time, as they gather around in a circle on the tile floor, Will invites Nancy to join them. She looks at him, surprised, before hesitantly sitting on the ground. It reminds him of when they were kids, and Nancy would lie on the basement carpet and color with them. Before she became a douche, as Mike would put it. Will thinks that she and Mike are more alike than he might realize, though he’d never insult Mike like that by saying it to his face. No offense to Nancy.

“It’s your favorite, right?” Will asks, pointing to the game. Mysteries and being right— the two things she loves most.

“Yeah,” she confirms, as if she’s surprised that Will remembered, even though the topic came up a couple hours ago. “It is. Thanks.”

“Mike, man, you gotta wake up,” Dustin complains to the lump on the bed. “We’re so bored that we’re playing with your sister.”

El giggles as Steve speaks up from where he’s leaning up against the wall with Robin, the designated drivers of El and Dustin— well, Steve drove. Robin just wanted to tag along. “Hey, are you going to invite us to play? We came all the way here.”

“Sorry, six player max,” Dustin says unapologetically with a shrug of his shoulders, not bothering to look up from where he’s setting up the board.

“Well, Steve and I could team up,” Robin suggests, already sliding onto her knees between Lucas and El. That settles it then, he guesses. “We basically have the skillset of one person anyway.”

Dustin sighs heavily, as if this decision affects him in the slightest. “Fine. Everyone pick your characters.”

“Oh!” Robin yells, raising her hand like she’s in kindergarten. “Can we be Miss Scarlet? She’s— Steve thinks she’s hot.”

Nancy scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Of course he does,” she says, more playful than anything. Will is glad they can still be friends. It gives him hope; maybe a person having unrequited feelings for someone doesn’t completely ruin their dynamic.

“Yup,” Steve responds tightly, elbowing Robin who winces beside him. “That’s me.”

Will finds that entire interaction odd. He finds Robin odd in general. He’s had a suspicion for the last few months that she might be… like him. He’s been secretly gathering data from afar— watching her watch that redheaded girl at the shelter, noticing the small rainbow bracelet she wears among many others, seeing the way she follows Steve around everywhere but adamantly denies that anything is going on between them. This just further proves his point. Robin thinks Miss Scarlet is hot— which she is so not.

No one else seems to pick up on her slip of the tongue, continuing to debate over their characters. Before Wil can claim his own, Robin catches his eye from over the board; okay, maybe he was staring. She immediately freezes, knowing she’s been caught. Neither of them move a muscle. But then she suddenly smirks, glancing quickly over to the hospital bed and back. She knows.

Will looks down and busies his hands, blushing.

It’s only fifteen minutes into the game when Nancy announces, “I have an accusation.” Everyone throws their heads back in a groan, nowhere close to guessing the culprit. Of course she already knows. She’s Nancy, detective extraordinaire. She does this in real life on the regular. “I think the murderer is… Professor Plum!”

“What?” Will shouts, turning to her in disbelief. “Liar, I am not! On what grounds?”

“On the grounds of ‘your face is dumb,’” she says simply, shrugging.

Will just sits there and gawks, mouth wide open in offense. This is unbelievable. He’s never seen Nancy this immature before. Maybe he’s starting to understand why Mike hates her so much. Is this how she treats brothers?

“Well I think it’s Mrs. White,” he fires back. “For throwing out false accusations. I’m an innocent man!”

“Innocent, my ass,” Nancy rolls her eyes, barely holding back a laugh. “Professor Plum, in the dining room, with a rope.” She slams her pencil and paper down onto the floor, confident that the game is over.

“Bullshit!” He ignores a sharp look from his mother. “You just made that up!”

Everyone looks to the door at the sound of the knob turning. Jonathan freezes in the doorway as he takes in the chaotic view in front of him: Will, pointing a finger at Nancy with a big goofy grin on his face, and Nancy, moments away from ripping into Will like there’s no tomorrow.

“Hey,” Jonathan says, glancing between the two of them, almost worried. “What’s… going on here?”

“Bonding,” Nancy answers, and Will lets out a snort.

“Your girlfriend’s a cheater. I’d watch your back if I were you,” Will warns his brother.

“I’m not a cheater! You’re just mad that I’m better than you.”

Will picks up her paper, scanning her notes. “You literally eliminated me as a suspect!” This is outrageous. A targeted attack. And here he was thinking they were friends— or, at least, more than acquaintances. Nancy does not want to make an enemy out of him. If she thought she was competitive, she’s got another thing coming.

Jonathan smiles at them both, clearly grateful that they’re getting along. Will is too. He likes Nancy— not that he’d ever admit that to Mike.

Jonathan goes to say something, but as he starts to move his mouth he suddenly pauses, squinting curiously at the bed. Will immediately springs up, spinning around to make sure that Mike is alright.

What he doesn’t expect to see is Mike blinking open his eyes.

Chapter Text

Will doesn’t get a moment alone with Mike for a frustratingly long amount of time.

In an ideal world, Will would have been the only person in the room— in the universe— when he woke up. Mike would’ve taken one look at him and smiled, stating that Will’s confession was all he thought about while in his coma— if he even could think, that is. He’d say that he felt the same, and that he wanted to get married and buy a house and raise a dog together.

But this isn’t an ideal world. Not even close.

Mike was immediately bombarded by his family— especially Nancy— doting over him and asking if he was alright. Mike groggily reassured them, still half asleep. Eventually he got sick of the overbearing attention and turned away from them, landing directly on Will who waited with wide, hopeful eyes.

Will could see the vision so well, with Mike’s lips turning ever-so-slightly up, ready to give a smile of reassurance. But of course, their moment that existed solely in Will’s head was shattered by Dustin, Lucas, and El running up to Mike and piling on his already sensitive torso.

Mike drifted back to sleep almost immediately after they stepped back to talk to him.

He awoke again later that evening, that time seeming much more alert, but still looking like he just had the nap of a lifetime. Will supposes he had.

Mrs. Wheeler had made the smart choice to call in a nurse to check on him— an opportunity they didn’t have previously, since he passed out after only a couple minutes. As they were waiting for her to arrive, Mike furrowed his eyebrows and lifted his good arm to his eye, feeling the gauze taped over it.

“Leave it, honey,” Mrs. Wheeler said, setting a hand gently on his forearm. “It got scratched pretty bad.”

Mike’s brows dropped impossibly further, looking like a confused puppy being left out in the rain. Will didn’t want to watch anymore— couldn’t bear Mike seeing what he had brought upon him— but he couldn’t turn away. “Is it okay?”

Mrs. Wheeler gave him an apologetic look, and Mike immediately understood. His eye was nowhere near okay. “They said you might still be able to make out shapes,” she offered, as if that’s any better. “But it’s pretty cloudy.”

Mike nodded sadly, his other arm lifting from beneath the covers. Will winced as Mike became confused once again when his hand hadn’t gone wherever he had meant it to. His bad eye acted as a blind spot, unable to see the issue until he turned his head to the left.

Mike’s eye widened in alarm, freezing as he stared at the half-missing limb.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nancy tried, taking a step closer to the bed as Mike’s breaths began to quicken. “Don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic? It’s—,” he reached over and cupped the place where his elbow would be, paling. Will could feel the anxiety rise in Mike as he shook out his arm, as if that would magically make the rest appear. Will saw the muscles under his sleeve flex, like he was trying to bend his nonexistent joint. Nothing worked. Obviously.

“Mike, breathe,” Nancy said, placing one hand on his shoulder and waving the other in front of where his forearm should be. “See? It’s not there.”

Strangely, that managed to calm him down a bit, like he needed confirmation that he wasn’t going crazy— or maybe he wanted permission to stop trying to find something that would never return.

Not long after, the nurse came in to check his vitals, measuring his heart rate and pupil dilation and a bunch of other sciencey stuff that Will was too worried to pay attention to.

“Alright, Mr. Wheeler,” she said, causing Mike to scrunch up his nose when she looked down to her clipboard. Will knows he hates when people call him that— it makes him sound like his father. “Everything looks good. You’re very lucky— there have been no complications. You’re making a miraculous recovery.”

He could tell that Mike wanted to roll his eyes, so Will did it for him. Lucky. Will would not call him lucky. Unfortunate, more like. All he wanted to do was get Will home safe, and now look.

“Do you have any questions for me before I let you get some rest?”

“Yeah,” Mike replied, not bothering to hide his attitude. Will couldn’t blame him. “When can I leave?”

“Well, your forehead stitches were removed yesterday, but your side won’t be ready for another five days. We'd like to observe you for a while after that as well. I’d predict at least another week. Two, to be safe.”

“Great.” He didn’t suppress the eye-roll that time, wincing a little at the motion.

Mike wasn’t in the best of moods for the rest of the night.

Ever since then, his room has never been empty. The bright side is that Will hasn’t left Mike’s side. If they aren’t alone, they can’t talk about his confession— which also means that Mike can’t tell him to leave. So Will has taken the opportunity to be a ghost, constantly hovering in the corner, unsure of his place.

He doesn’t even know if he wants to be alone with Mike anymore. Well, he does, obviously— there are a million things he wants to say to him. Apologize, for one. And besides, he can’t stand another minute of waiting around. He hates the suspense. He needs to know what Mike thinks of him; if he’s grossed out, or hates him, or never wants to talk to him again— whatever. He just wants to know.

Does he even remember? His eyes had already been drooping when Will said it— maybe his mind was long gone by then. He hopes Mike doesn’t remember it. He hopes he does.

“—and then Lucas fell straight on his ass,” Dustin narrates enthusiastically as he recounts their game of charades they played on day three at the hospital. Will chose to sit that one out, only assisting El in guessing.

Mike laughs dully, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. No one else notices. “Really? Lucas, you klutz.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that these three couldn’t guess ‘flamingo,’” Lucas gestures to the others. “I had to hop around on one leg, flapping my arms like a crazy person.” Will doesn’t mention the fact that he knew the answer all along— he just wanted to watch Lucas make a fool out of himself.

Mike’s eye follows Lucas’s motion, scanning the line of friends next to his bed. Lucas, Dustin, El, and finally Will, hovering awkwardly at the very edge near his feet. Mike’s gaze lingers on him in a way that makes his pulse run wild. Half of his brain is screaming, “Mike’s giving me attention!” and the other half is hiding under a blanket. What is Mike thinking? Does he want to talk? Does he want Will to leave? Is he secretly calling him every name in the book?

Their moment once again breaks as Steve bursts through the door.

“Alright gremlins, pack it up. I want to get to bed at a reasonable time.”

“It’s 9:30,” Dustin says incredulously. “You're not going to miss Wheel of Fortune, grandpa.”

“Hey, drop the attitude, alright? I took time out of my busy day to drive you little shits here—“

“Busy striking out with girls, you mean.”

“You know what? I’ll leave you at home next time, how about that?” Steve retorts, grabbing Dustin by the backpack and tugging him outside. Lucas and El sigh before following them, knowing they’re in for a long car ride. Will does not envy them right about now.

Except he does, because now the only person between him and Mike is Nancy. His mom and Mrs. Wheeler are off who-knows-where, wisely choosing to leave whenever the Party comes to visit Mike’s already-too-cramped room. With Mike awake, everything automatically gets ten times louder.

Usually this would be the time when Will takes his leave, walking out with the others to sleep on the chairs in the hallway. He doesn’t this time, for reasons unexplainable to him. Maybe it’s the addictive rush he got from having Mike’s undivided attention, if only for a second. He needs more.

He gets more. As soon as the door closes behind El, Mike’s eyes are back on Will. Or maybe they always were. Maybe Will was the only one who looked away.

He’s been noticing this happening more and more often recently— Mike staring at him quizzically from across the room, like there’s something about Will that he just can’t put his finger on. Will doesn’t know if that’s a bad sign or a good one.

Either way, Will savors it— the adrenaline running through his veins, the way his heart beats faster than it ever has. He savors the way he feels trapped under Mike’s gaze, how being seen by him feels like being wrapped in a blanket, slightly itchy and uncomfortably tight. He savors the way he can drown in Mike’s gorgeous deep brown eye just one more time.

Sensing the unbearable tension in the room, Nancy stands up from her chair. Will wants to kill her. “I’m going to see if I can find Jonathan,” she announces, before hastily walking out the door. Jonathan isn’t here. He finally went home this morning after adamantly staying with Mike his first couple days awake.

It’s painfully quiet in the hospital room. Like, actually painful. Slowly peeling off a bandaid kind of painful.

“I’m not gonna bite, you know,” Mike speaks up, the corner of his lip curling up the tiniest bit.

Will furrows his eyebrows in confusion, before looking down at the bed. He’s somehow further away from Mike than where he started. His cheeks heat up as he tentatively steps over to Mike’s side. “Sorry.”

He can’t help it. Now that they’re alone— now that Mike is smiling up at him like nothing is wrong— his eyes well up with tears.

“Hey— what’s wrong?” Mike asks, concerned, like he can’t possibly think of a reason why Will would be upset right now.

“I’m so sorry,” he reiterates with a sob. “You shouldn’t have— I almost got you killed.”

“Will, no,” Mike reaches out a hand as if trying to touch him, but pauses mid-air. He seems to second guess himself, pulling back into his own space.

He’s disgusted, Will thinks heartbrokenly. He’ll never touch you again.

“Hey,” he tries again, and this time Will meets his eyes. “I don’t regret following you out. You would have died if I wasn’t there.” Will doesn’t even try to deny it. Mike saved his life; everyone knows it. He’s a hero. “I would’ve done it a thousand times.”

“But— you’re hurt,” Will argues weakly, pointing to his arm. He doesn’t give a shit if Mike saved him. His life isn’t worth this. Mike’s arm is gone. Forever. All because Will decided to be a dumbass.

“What, this?” Mike says, eyeing his injured arm with a playful scoff, like it’s just a mere papercut. “I’m fine,” he brushes off Will’s concerns with an unconvincing smile. “It’s not like it’s my right one. It’s no big deal. Who uses their left arm anyway?”

Everyone, Will wants to say. They have two for a reason. He can see right through Mike’s facade; it’s a huge deal to him.

“I wish I hadn’t done that,” he sniffles, head down in shame. He doesn’t deserve to look at Mike. “If I had just followed the rules, none of this would have happened.”

“It was an accident,” Mike counters.

“An accident that I caused.” No matter how Mike tries to spin this, the truth doesn’t change. It was Will’s fault. He wouldn’t be hurt if it wasn’t for him.

“Okay, you fucked up,” Mike concedes with a shrug. Will lifts his head to stare at him in shock. He never gives up this easily. Especially not at the expense of Will’s feelings. “Big deal. I should have gotten Hopper instead of following you out. We both made mistakes. I’m not, like— mad at you or anything. You know that, right?”

It’s times like these where Will questions if they’ve really been friends for ten years. He should have seen this coming. Of course Mike wouldn’t blame him for this. He’s so… indescribably perfect. But if he had to describe it, he would say that Mike is so inherently self-sacrificial that he prides himself on his recklessness. If he isn’t putting himself in danger for someone, he isn’t worthy. He’s proud of this, in a way. He’d give an arm and a leg— or, an arm and an eye— to make sure all of his friends and family are safe.

“You should be,” Will mutters uselessly. Mike’s mind is an immovable wall.

“But I’m not,” he replies simply. “So tough.”

Will almost rolls his eyes. At least he’s the same old Mike. Their relationship hasn’t changed too much.

“Hey, but— um,” Mike continues, biting at his lip in thought. “About— about what you said.”

Will’s stomach plummets. He spoke too soon. Here it comes— the big speech. Best case scenario, Mike lets him down easy— tells him they’ll always be friends. Just friends. Worst case scenario… he doesn’t want to think about it. Rejection, in any reality.

He plays it dumb. “What I said…” he drawls, prompting Mike to go on. He doesn’t want him to. Maybe Will can convince him that it was a dream.

“You know,” Mike says. Now it’s his turn to avoid Will’s eyes. Why is he flustered about this? “Like, when I was bleeding to death. About how you… like me.”

For some reason, Will wasn’t expecting him to actually say it. He thought he'd be too grossed out, or something— too disgusted to admit that a boy likes him. It’s out there now. Loud and clear. There’s no avoiding it.

“I’m sorry,” Will blurts out for the millionth time today. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t going to tell you, I promise— but then you were dying, and I panicked. I didn’t think you’d—” Survive hangs at the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it. It seems too cruel. Like he had given up hope— which he had. “I’ll back off, I promise. I’m not, like, expecting anything out of you.”

“Will,” Mike interrupts him by setting a hand over his on the bed railing. Will’s breath catches, and he hopes Mike couldn’t hear it. Evidently he didn’t, plowing on like he didn’t just tilt Will’s entire world on its axis. “You don’t have to do that. It’s not a problem, really. You don’t need to avoid me or anything. I just wanted to say… I understand now why you were so frustrated with me. I’ve been a real jerk these past few years, and I’m sorry. I thought it was hard for me when we weren’t talking, but I can’t even imagine… It just sucks— how I’ve been treating you.”

“Mike…” Will isn’t sure what to say. He didn’t even know that not talking last year was hard on Mike. He always thought it was a one-sided thing. “That’s not— you couldn’t have known. It wasn’t your responsibility to keep me happy. You had a girlfriend. It's my fault— I should have gotten over you by now.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t… downplay your emotions just because you don’t want to admit that I was a jerk,” Mike says, almost frustrated. “You’re my friend. I shouldn’t have abandoned you, simple as that. If I had known how you were feeling, I never would have.”

Will tries not to let the friend part sting. This is a happy rejection. A best case scenario. He should be greatful. “You’re really okay with this?” he asks, though he doesn’t know why. What’s Mike going to say? No? That he was just pranking him?

“Of course,” Mike assures, voice soft yet adamant, the way it always seems to be around Will. “Honestly, it’s kind of flattering,” he admits quietly, glancing down at their hands that are somehow still touching, as if he just realized they were.

Flattering? What does that even mean? Will can almost hear his heartbeat speed up.

Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep.

That’s not his heartbeat.

Mike pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned, but his heart monitor doesn’t slow down. Will doesn’t know how to react. Was he nervous? Because of Will? Surely not. Surely he’s just embarrassed that he was practically holding Will’s hand. Or that he admitted that Will’s crush is flattering, whatever that’s about.

“Just— like,” Mike tries to explain, stuttering over his words and turning red. Yeah, he’s definitely embarrassed. “It’s just— it’s nice to know that I’m likeable. Well, I mean, not anymore, but I was at some point. And not just to a girl who had never seen a boy her age before.”

“Mike, slow down,” he says, and Mike gratefully does so, like he was waiting for permission to shut the hell up. Will is going to be honest— he only understood about fifty percent of that. Even being fluent in Mike Ramble isn’t satisfactory enough sometimes. “What do you mean, ‘not anymore’?”

“Well, I’m— messed up,” he gestures to his bandaged arm, scrunching his nose at it in distaste. “Obviously you don’t still like me.”

Will’s heart breaks right down the middle. Why would he even say that? Does he seriously think that lowly of himself? “Of course I do.”

He probably shouldn’t admit that— what if Mike was only alright with his crush because he believed it was over? But what was he supposed to do? Let Mike think that he’s unlovable? Nonsense.

“You do?” Mike asks, genuinely surprised. It kills him. Will wants to kiss him right on the mouth to show him just how much he loves him. He doesn’t, but he wants to.

“Yes,” he nods adamantly, leaving no room for uncertainties. “I’m not just going to stop liking you because you don’t have an arm. And besides, it’s my—”

“If you say it’s your fault I’m going to kill you,” Mike warns, looking at him in a way that says try me. Will ducks his head to hide a smile— guilty. He can see Mike mirroring his grin out of the corner of his eye, proud to have made Will happy. Even in this hospital room, he’s still as selfless as always.

Mike’s expression falters momentarily, and he licks his lips— one of his nervous ticks. “But— seriously. You don’t have to, you know, like me. I mean, I have a nub for an arm and a slashed eye. That’s not exactly attractive.”

“I think it is,” Will says, so honest and raw that it almost hurts. It hurts because no matter how nice Mike has been, he was still rejected. There’s no sugarcoating that. He was rejected and he still thinks that Mike is the most beautiful person on the planet. And his own feelings aren’t his priority right now. Mike is being insecure— again. If Will can fix it, he’s going to. No matter the consequences.

When Mike doesn’t look like he’s about to run for the hills at the compliment, he continues. “I think you’re always attractive. And it’s kinda cool,” he shrugs, finally swallowing his reservations and reaching out a hand to brush his fingers on the bandage covering Mike’s eye. Mike freezes under his touch before exhaling deeply— Will can feel the warm breath on his wrist. “You’re like a pirate.”

Mike laughs through his nose, breaking the tension as he throws his head back onto the wall. “Oh god, I look like Captain Hook.”

“If he wore an eyepatch, you two could be twins,” he can’t help but tease. Hey— he had a huge crush on Captain Hook as a kid for a reason. He has a type.

“He does,” Mike squints, confused.

“He most definitely does not.” Trust him— Will would know. “I think you must have bumped your head on the way down,” he ruffles Mike’s hair before his hand gets unamusedly pushed away.

Will and Mike spend the next thirty minutes catching up, though it feels like they were never apart. They weren’t, Will supposes. He was right by Mike’s side the entire time.

Honestly, they’re acting closer now than they have in years. Maybe it’s Will— maybe he had accidentally built a wall between them to ensure that Mike would never figure out his feelings. Or maybe it was Mike, not knowing just how badly Will wanted him close. Either way, Will has never felt freer.

When Nancy returns a little while later, he excuses himself to the bathroom attached to Mike’s suite. As quietly as he can, he slides down the wall and sobs into his arms. He thinks of Mike, and how he was so sure this would be the end of them. Will thinks about how sweet he was about this whole situation. He thinks about all the compliments he gave to Mike, and how he never thought he’d get the opportunity to share them. It’s all he could have ever asked for.

None of it dulls the impact of the rejection. He remembers now why he had never told Mike his secret before— because he didn’t want an answer. He was fine living in his fantasy world where maybe, someday, he might have a chance.

A big, fat, giant, “No” has just slapped him in the face. He thought he’d gotten rid of his hope years ago; it turns out he’d just buried it deep inside.

Mike is his friend. He’s his best friend who loves him, and doesn’t even care that Will loves him back the wrong way.

It will never be enough.

It has to be.

Chapter Text

Mike is due to get his eye bandage off the next day.

Honestly, he would have been fine without it a long time ago. The doctors had come in asking if he wanted it removed, but he made up some excuse about “playing it safe with infections.” It’s bullshit.

Mike is scared. Of what, Will isn’t sure. He imagines that it would be scary— waking up one day with an eyeball out of commission. He saw how Mike reacted to his arm a few days ago; maybe he doesn’t want to relive that panic. With the bandage on, it’s easy to ignore. Mike can pretend that the only reason there’s no visual input from his left eye is because there’s something blocking it. Once he takes it off, there’s no more deceiving himself.

Or perhaps Mike doesn’t want to look at it. The doctors had warned them ahead of time that the scratches would definitely leave a scar— on his face no less, a subject that Mike is already sensitive about.

Will thinks it’s a mix of both.

Today, however, he finally agreed to get it over with. The nurse comes knocking on their door at nine in the morning, with a cheery smile and high pitched voice that Will feels it’s way too early to deal with. He supposes that a positive attitude is exactly what Mike needs right now, so he bears it. Although, Mike doesn’t seem too thrilled to see her either.

“How are we feeling today?” she asks him as she pulls on her blue surgical gloves, even though there’s no we about it.

“Fine,” Mike replies, but it comes out as more of a question. He visibly leans away from her as she rounds his bed, taking Will’s usual spot at his head. Fine then, Will thinks as he steps out of the way, now forced to watch Mike two feet further to the right than normal. Whatever. He doesn’t care.

“Are we ready to give that eye a bit of breathing room?”

Will would really like to know where in nursing school she learned that everything needs to be said in plural form.

“I guess,” Mike shrugs nonchalantly, but Will can sense the reluctance in his body language. His shoulders are tense and his hand is gripping the bed sheets like his life depends on it.

“Alrighty, well this is for you,” she hands him a small mirror, which he begrudgingly accepts. He scrunches his nose up at it, pinching it between two fingers like it’s a dirty diaper. Will tries not to get stuck on how adorable he is. “Now I’m going to peel off the gauze, okay? Tell me if it hurts.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, almost a squeak. He must be really nervous if he can’t even come up with a sarcastic quip to mask his fear. Mike jerks back slightly as the nurse’s fingers meet his cheekbone, but he shuts his eye and forces himself to still. His face bunches in either pain or anxiety as she slowly starts to peel away the bandage.

Even after it’s completely removed, Mike’s eyes remain closed tight, the two diagonal scars on full display. The top line is the longer of the two, starting on his forehead and slicing right down the arch of his brow. The bottom line begins on the inside of his eyebrow and reaches just to his cheek.

It’s not like Will has never seen it— the nurses come to dress his wounds everyday. Mike is the one this is new for. No one has seen him with his eyes open though. Only the surgeon.

Mike slowly peels open his right eye, bracing himself as he looks into the mirror. He’s frozen for a moment, before raising his arm from his side. When it doesn’t make contact with his face, Mike glances down at it, forgetting that his hand no longer exists. He huffs in annoyance, setting it back on the bed.

He turns back to the mirror, suddenly looking determined— or, more likely, pissed off. Mike opens his other eye, stares at it for exactly two seconds, and shuts them both again. He drops the mirror onto his lap and crosses his arms— well, he tries to. It looks more like he’s sticking his hand under his armpit. Will knows that this only makes Mike more mad.

Will had only gotten a glimpse before Mike’s eyes closed, a fog covering his iris. It’s sort of incredible. He wants to get lost in his eyes in a whole new way now. Not a deep brown, but a sparkling gray.

Mike makes no move to reopen them, his face souring more by the second. Will thinks he has a cute pout— but this isn’t the time. He meets Nancy’s awaiting gaze from across the room and nods in the direction of the door. I’ve got him.

Nancy wastes no time in ushering her mom out of the room. I trust you, the gesture says. “Let’s give him some space,” she whispers to Mrs. Wheeler, leading her out by the arm. She shoots a sharp glare to the nurse when she doesn’t immediately follow, definitely not a fan either.

“You can keep the mirror,” the nurse says with a smile before rushing out of the room, as if Mike would want to. As if that’s not the source of all his problems.

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving them in silence. Will takes a step closer to the bed, Mike’s eyes still shut tight, head positioned down toward his lap. “Mike,” he slowly reaches out, settling a hand on his cheek and turning his face toward him. It’s a lot braver of a move than Will would have made days ago— weeks ago, even years ago— but Mike doesn’t resist, going easily with him.

He doesn’t pull away when Will cradles his head in both of his hands— if anything, he relaxes into the touch, fluttering open his eyes. Mike looks up at him from under his lashes, almost bashful. Paired with the pout, Will nearly passes away.

He’s gorgeous. The contrast between his eyes is striking— the darkest dark paired with the lightest light. Will doesn’t know which one to look at— the achingly familiar brown that he knows as Mike, or the new shiny gray, with a million secrets to discover— so he frantically switches between the two. Of course he’s going to miss the warmth of Mike’s old eye, but he sort of likes the iciness of this one.

“I look stupid,” Mike mumbles, his face squished between Will’s palms.

“I think you look beautiful,” he says, still scanning his features like they’re a treasure to behold. They are. They always have been.

“Really?” Mike asks, surprised, a deep blush rising on his cheeks. He seems so hopeful that Will wants to cry. Mike genuinely thinks he’s some sort of unloveable monster.

“Definitely. I like it,” he tilts Mike’s head in every direction, watching how the light bounces off of his eye. It’s like it reflects absolutely everything— which Will guesses makes sense, since it’s no longer absorbing the light rays as it’s supposed to. He wishes he could say more— wax poetic about how he adores the shape of Mike’s eyes, the way his bottom lashes make them seem wider than they already are. But that’s a little too far, even with how receptive Mike is being. “The scar looks kinda badass,” he traces a finger down the line, Mike closing his eye along with it.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, right? To spare my feelings or anything?”

Will most certainly would, but he isn’t right now. Sure, his new appearance might take a little getting used to, like when Mike cut his hair a while ago, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. He looks really good.

“Never,” he replies, and this time he is lying. Oh well. When Mike still seems a little hesitant, Will moves over to his backpack on the ground. He needs to show him just how desirable he is— someone worthy of being a muse. “Can I draw you?” he asks, pulling out his sketchbook. “Your eye just looks really cool. I want to capture the effect.”

“Oh!” Mike says, looking a bit caught off guard. Pleased, but shocked. “Yeah, sure. Do whatever you want.”

Will rushes to sit, wanting to copy down Mike’s blush before it recedes.

El shows up early today, driving over with Jonathan who’s made it his mission to get Nancy out of the hospital for an afternoon. She takes the seat next to Will as he’s just putting the finishing details on his sketch.

“His bandage is off,” she says, referring to the sleeping Mike in front of her. “He looks bitchin’.”

Will chuckles. “Yeah, he does.” He’s like a superhero, scarred from a perilous battle; scratched by an anti-Wolverine. He’s Will’s superhero.

“That’s nice,” El points to his drawing. Will freezes.

It’s not like it’s romantic to draw your friends— he has similar sketches of Max a few pages back— but he can’t help but feel caught. He’s always been very open in his artwork. He doesn’t have a diary— he has a sketchbook. This is how he expresses himself. He’s scared to look back down at the page; scared that it’ll be covered in little tiny hearts.

“Thanks,” he clears his throat, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “He said I could. I just wanted to give him something to cheer him up, you know?” he adds, completely unnecessary. She wasn’t even accusing him of anything; he’s definitely overcompensating.

“I think he will like it. He’s pretty.”

Will can’t stop the jealousy that spikes through his stomach. It’s so stupid. He doesn’t get to feel like this. Of course El thinks he’s pretty— she’s his ex. Will wants her to think he’s pretty. At least then he knows that Mike had been loved like he deserves.

“Yeah,” he mutters under his breath. He’s not even sure if El hears it.

Above everything else, Will feels guilty. Guilty for liking Mike, guilty for hiding it from his sister, guilty for being jealous of his ex-girlfriend. If he’s learned anything from his time at the hospital, it’s that life is short. There’s no point in worrying about what people will think of him— he’ll always be the way he is, and they’ll either accept him or they won’t. Waiting won’t change that. Sometimes people might even surpass his expectations.

He’s tired of hiding. From everyone. Even if no one else stands with him, he still has Mike, and Jonathan, and probably his mom. He has Nancy, and Robin, and Steve by association. And where Steve goes, Dustin goes too, and there’s no way Lucas would be left behind.

Really, Will is only worried about El and Hopper. Hopper mainly. His mom loves him, and Will would die before ruining another one of her relationships just because he’s gay.

Hopper isn’t his dad— Will has no obligation to tell him anything right now. But El is his sister. She deserves to know when her brother is in love with her ex-boyfriend.

“Hey El?”

“Hm?” she hums as she grabs onto his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. They’ve gotten so close over the years— he hopes this isn’t the end of them.

“You know I love you, right?” Will asks cautiously. How exactly is one supposed to start this conversation?

“I love you too. You’re my favorite in the Party,” El says, which is most definitely a lie. Max is literally her best friend. “My favorite boy,” she corrects, as if reading his mind. He’s not entirely sure she can’t do that, which makes him a lot more nervous than it should. He would be so embarrassed if she knew what he’s been thinking about Mike all this time.

“Um— well, I just wanted to say—“

The door bursts open as Dustin and Lucas barrel into the room.

“Mike!” Dustin yells, running to the foot of his bed. Mike startles awake at the intrusion, alarmed and fully ready to fight off another demogorgon. “Oh, shit, sorry. Were you sleeping?” he lowers his voice to a whisper. A little late for that.

“Woah, dude,” Lucas steps to the opposite side of the bed as Will, pointing a finger at Mike’s face. “Your eye.”

Will nearly face palms. He glares at Lucas from across the room, who doesn’t even look over to see it. All of his hard work building Mike’s self esteem has been flushed down the drain.

Mike looks down at his blanket, picking at the fuzz. “Yeah, they took the bandage off,” he shrugs, trying to play it cool. Will sees the tension in his shoulders.

Dustin pushes Lucas out of the way, shoving his face uncomfortably close to Mike’s. He squints at him like Mike is some sort of strange specimen to be studied. “You can see right where it was split,” he points out unhelpfully, referring to the line of slightly puckered scar tissue along his pupil that’s only visible up close. Will had noticed it before, of course, but didn’t deem it necessary to bring up.

Sensing as Mike turns increasingly more uncomfortable, Will decides to step in. He stands up, ripping out a page of his sketchbook. “Mike.” He turns his head in Will’s direction, visibly relieved as he watches him approach. Will holds out his drawing for Mike to take. “Here. I finished.”

Mike grabs the paper, examining it with awe. It’s a face that Will has grown familiar with— the same one Mike does whenever he sees some of his art.

“Wow,” he whispers, almost like he hadn’t meant to. “I look… cool.”

“Yeah,” Will says, staring directly at Mike instead of the drawing. “You do.”

Mike glances up at him and gives him a grateful little smile. Will returns it; a moment that exists just for them.

“Dude, that’s sick,” Dustin leans over into Mike’s space once again, trying to get a good look at the picture. And… moment shattered. That didn’t take long.

Mike shoots Dustin an annoyed look, but he doesn’t notice it. If Will had to guess, he’d say that Mike is almost as disappointed as he is. Which is stupid, because Mike has no reason to be disappointed. Will has no reason to be disappointed. They just smiled at each other— nothing out of the ordinary. Mike is probably just grumpy from his nap— and frustrated that Dustin clearly doesn’t know the concept of personal space.

With Mike now distracted, Will takes the opportunity to finish his earlier conversation with El. “Hey,” he walks over to her seat, where she had been watching them. “Do you want to get some food from the cafeteria?”

El seems surprised, no doubt at the fact that Will is voluntarily leaving Mike’s room. He’s only slept at home a couple times— when his mom forced him to— and mostly relies on others to bring him his meals. “Sure. I would love to.”

Truthfully, Will wouldn’t. The only reason he’s leaving is because he knows that if he doesn’t tell El now, he never will. The longer he waits, the more in his head he’ll get.

The two of them quietly escape the room, strolling side-by-side down the hallway in silence. El has her arms behind her back, walking with an odd bounce in her step. It’s the kind of gracefulness that only a girl could pull off— Will is painfully envious.

Is that what Mike likes? The things that make girls girls? Their long hair and their makeup and their short height? Their high voices and their dainty fingers and their flowing dresses? Everything that Will could never be? He would change every piece of himself to fit Mike’s standards.

Will quickly changes direction as they approach the cafeteria, grabbing El’s wrist and leading her down an empty hallway. He sits them down on a bench, the only sound around them being the buzz of a vending machine. El looks at him quizzically, but doesn’t say anything.

“El,” he finally breaks the silence, holding both of her hands in his own sweaty ones. She doesn’t complain, squeezing him back. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” she replies, unbelievably patient. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he nods vigorously. He knows exactly where her head is going— he would think the same after all they’ve been through. “Yeah, no one’s hurt or anything. I just— I’ve kind of been a shitty brother, and I haven’t been very honest with you.”

“You lied?” she asks, but she doesn’t sound very angry about it. More… confused? Which makes sense, since Will hardly ever lies— to her, at least. It’s her one rule.

“I mean— kind of? Not really. By omission, I guess. But anyway, that isn’t the point. The point is… I sort of might like Mike, a little bit,” he rushes out in one breath. A little bit is the understatement of the century. Mike is the love of his life, whether or not he reciprocates.

El furrows her eyebrows at him. “I would hope so. He is your best friend.”

Will just blinks at her, dumbfounded. “No, like— I like him. Like, the way you liked him. Romantically.”

This doesn’t seem to bring her any clarity, as she tilts her head, the same way she does when learning a particularly hard concept at school. “But you are a boy.”

He instantly feels a jolt of fear rush through him, his blood turning to ice. She’s not okay with it, he tells himself. Abort. It’s just like the kids on the playground. But El’s face doesn’t look like his old bullies. It’s not judgemental, or mad, or disgusted. It’s simply curious. She doesn’t know. She didn’t grow up like them. She’s genuinely asking.

“Yeah, well,” Will starts, voice only shaking a tiny bit. “Sometimes boys like boys instead.”

“You can do that?” she asks, almost brightening up. She seems astonished at the concept. Will supposes he would act the same if he just learned something new about the society he lived in.

“Sure. Well, some people think so. Others don’t like it so much.”

At this, El looks so genuinely lost that Will almost laughs. How could he have thought that she was homophobic? “Why?”

“Ask Mom,” he says, not particularly in the mood to talk about why over half the world hates his guts. “Or— no,” he pauses, remembering that he’s not exactly out to her yet. He imagines how horribly that conversation would go, El starting with something along the lines of, “Why don’t people like that Will is gay?” “Don’t ask Mom. Ask Jonathan.”

“Okay,” she agrees easily. They both sit in silence for a moment, El lost in thought and Will holding his breath in anticipation. He would kill to know what she’s thinking. “So you’re stealing Mike from me?”

He takes it back. He would like to return to three seconds ago when he hadn’t heard that.

She hates him. She hates his guts— if not for being gay, then for liking her ex. This is the first time he’s had a bad reaction to coming out, and it’s not even because he likes guys.

El’s stony demeanor falters as she cracks a smile, turning into a sputtering laugh when she nudges Will’s arm. “I am joking. You should have seen your face.”

Will is going to kill her. So much for family tells each other everything, or whatever. Sisters suck. “You ass, you scared the shit out of me,” he shoves her back, harder than necessary. It doesn’t stop El’s fit of laughter.

“We broke up. I do not care if you like him. I do not anymore.”

This makes Will pause in his tracks. “You don’t?” He had fully expected them to get back together at some point. Sure, eight months is longer than any of their other breakups, but they have a lot going on right now. El is too focused on saving the world to worry about romance, but that doesn’t mean she won’t want it when all of this is over. “You said he was pretty.”

“Your drawing was pretty,” she corrects, and now Will feels like a big dumb idiot. And a jerk for being jealous in the first place. “But Mike is pretty. And so are you, and so are Max, and Lucas, and Dustin.”

“Oh. Well thanks, El.”

“I bet Mike thinks you are pretty, too,” she continues, smirking conspiratorially— the influence of Max, no doubt. She stands up hastily, turning to walk back down the hallway they came from. “I will put in a good word for you.”

“No— El!” he jumps up, chasing after her. This was a mistake.

They return back to Mike’s room after grabbing a quick lunch, as originally intended, bringing the others back a cookie. Will managed to convince her to keep quiet, explaining that not every guy likes other guys. El didn’t buy it, for some reason, insisting that he has a shot. He appreciates the sentiment but shuts her down, afraid of raising his hopes too high.

El, Lucas, and Dustin head home later that night, leaving only him and Mike. He has no idea where Mrs. Wheeler is, but figures she assumed that Mike had plenty of people watching him. It’s fine. It’s not like Will was planning on sleeping at home tonight anyway.

“Hey, um— Will?” Mike asks out of the blue.

Will glances at him from over the top of the book he’s reading. Mike’s eyes are bouncing all over the place, like he’s too nervous to settle on one point of focus. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” In lieu of a response, Will scoots his chair closer to the bed and leans in, offering a listening ear. Mike lowers his voice at the proximity. “Does my hair look gross?”

Will blinks in surprise. He had expected some big secret— not a question that he’s heard from Mike dozens of times throughout their lives when he wants to know whether he needs some dry shampoo. “Your hair?”

“Yeah— I mean, I haven’t really washed it in like, weeks, and I would have asked Dustin or Lucas but they’d probably just say it looks fine without even really looking at it, so I just… I don’t know, I guess I wanted the opinion of someone who actually likes guys, you know? Wait, you do like guys, right?”

It’s been days since Will has gotten stunned by one of Mike Wheeler’s famous rambles, but here he is. He doesn’t even know what to say to that. Of course, he understands the pain of not having shower access in the middle of a hospital. He has taken it upon himself to wash his hair in the sink and wipe himself off with a washcloth and hand soap. The rest of that, however, is just… wow.

“Yes, I like guys, Mike. You’re a guy.”

“Well, yeah,” Mike says, growing embarrassed, “but I wasn’t sure if you just liked me, or, like, guys in general.”

Will gives an awkward little chuckle, unsure of what to make of this conversation. Bemused, would be the word he’d use. He’s bemused. “No, I definitely— I’m gay.” Will realizes now that he’s never said that out loud before. He’s never admitted that to anyone, and he just blurted it out to Mike without a second thought.

“Cool,” he nods, staring at Will like he doesn’t know what to say either. It’s entirely too vulnerable, laying bare his feelings for Mike to judge. His heart feels completely exposed. “That’s cool.”

Will inhales sharply, looking up to the top of Mike’s head just to break the agonizing eye contact. “But— no, your hair looks fine,” he reaches out a hand and brushes it through Mike’s bangs. He only realizes what he’s done after it’s too late, and tries to play off the motion by moving the strands every which way, as if examining the damage further. “I mean, it’s a bit greasy, but your curls cover it up pretty well.”

Will doesn’t have the same luxury; two days without washing it and it looks like he stood outside in the rain.

When Mike doesn’t respond, Will removes his hand, which was still messing with his hair. “Is this all I am to you now?” he jokes. “I’ve been reduced to your own personal mirror?”

Honestly, he’s flattered. Mike wanted his opinion on his appearance because Will likes him. Mike trusts that Will knows his face well enough to tell when something looks off. He trusts Will not to shatter his self esteem, to compliment his newfound insecurities and critique the easily fixed. He trusts Will to help him look his best.

“A nice mirror,” Mike offers, smiling guiltily.

“As opposed to what? Are your other mirrors mean?”

Mike shrugs, eyes moving down to Will’s hand on the bed, just inches from his own. “Yeah,” he replies, so truthful yet so meek.

Will tries to keep the worried crease from forming between his brows, but it’s no use. Mike seriously hates the way he looks. Will is going to kill everyone who ever criticized his beautiful face. He’s never understood the hate.

If Will can do something to help him feel better about himself, he will. That’s why he grabs Mike’s hand, pulling him to a fully upright position. “Come on,” he wraps Mike’s arm around his shoulders, rotating his body so that his legs move off the bed and onto the floor.

“What are you doing?” Mike asks as he’s helped off the bed, willingly letting himself be stood up. Will stabilizes him with an arm around his waist, careful to avoid the wound. He leads them to the bathroom, opening the door and depositing Mike by the sink, making sure he can stand on his own.

Will turns on the tap, sticking his hand under to test that the water is warm enough. “Give me your head,” he says once he’s satisfied, arms out in a request.

Mike looks at him apprehensively, but grabs onto the sink, ducking his head into Will’s grasp and allowing him to guide him under the faucet. Will runs his hands through the curls, seeing them flatten between his fingers as the water rushes over them. It’s undoubtedly the best thing he’s ever felt.

Will grabs the bottle of travel sized shampoo off the sink that he bought from the store in the lobby, and lathers up his hair. He watches as it turns foamy, massaging it into Mike’s scalp and dragging his fingernails along his head.

Mike sighs deeply. “You should be a hairstylist.”

Will would rather die. The only hair he doesn’t feel absolutely repulsed to wash is Mike’s. Having strangers’ hair fall out in clumps into his hands? No thanks.

Mike’s hair, however, is fantastic. He loves how soft it is when he rinses out the conditioner, all silky smooth and shiny black. He doesn’t even mind when he scrubs Mike’s hair dry with the hand towel and he comes back up looking like a wet dog. He’s a cute dog, even when Mike shakes his head back and forth, drenching Will in the process.

“Thank you,” Mike says as Will tucks him back into his bed. He’s half asleep, Will’s head massage relaxing him a bit to well.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling slyly as he pinches one of Mike’s cheeks between his fingers. “Now you’re a handsome young man.”

Mike bats his hand away, rolling his eyes before closing them. “Shut up, Mom.”

Comfortable silence falls over them as Mike begins to drift off. Will has missed that recently— being completely comfortable with Mike. It feels like they’ve been walking on eggshells around each other recently— like they’re strangers who have known each other all their lives. They’re exploring an entirely new dynamic in their relationship. Will simultaneously feels closer and further away from Mike than he ever has before.

Will watches Mike’s chest rise and fall, no longer accompanied by the heart monitor that he had been complaining was bugging him. Will sort of misses it. It soothed him. He still occasionally sees flashes of that night when he closes his eyes— Mike’s torso ripped open, his arm torn off, his piercing screams.

His eyes wander to the arm on Mike’s left, still dressed with gauze. Specifically, he spots the mole just above his elbow— the one Will used to be obsessed with. Is obsessed with. It’s just so Mike— even after the rest of his arm has become unrecognizable as his own. No one else has that exact marking.

“You can touch it, you know,” Mike mumbles, eyes half open. Will startles— he didn’t even know he was still awake.

“Huh?”

“My arm. You always seem to avoid it. Like, when you were carrying me back to bed. You switched sides so you weren’t near it. You aren’t actually grossed out by it, are you?”

“No!” Will almost shouts, quieting to a whisper once he remembers that it’s late. “No, I just… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” he assures with a shrug. He stares at Will like he’s waiting for something— for Will to do something. Prove it to him, maybe. Prove that Will doesn’t find him disgusting.

So he does; obviously he does. Will rounds the bed, sitting in the chair that’s typically reserved for Mrs. Wheeler. He drags it over to the edge of the bed, and meets Mike’s gaze. He slowly extends his arm, brushing it lightly over the sleeve of Mike’s hospital gown. It’s warm.

Will applies more pressure, fully settling his hand down. Only the pad of his thumb brushes Mike’s skin at first, before he slowly trails down. He’s somehow surprised at the sensation, giving his arm a squeeze. For some reason, he hadn’t expected it to feel like Mike’s arm, soft and squishy, but rather hard and plasticy. Don’t ask him why— he knows that sounds ridiculous. It’s still Mike’s body, after all.

When Will looks back up, Mike is already fast asleep. His mouth is hanging open slightly, and a soft snore escapes it. Will has no doubt that he’ll awake in a puddle of drool. Cute.

Mrs. Wheeler and Nancy are both yet to return. It seems that tonight will just be the two of them. Not that Will is complaining— they haven’t had a solo sleepover in ages. Ages meaning just before the accident, of course. It feels like forever ago. It’s funny that the one thing Will had been trying to escape— Mike sole, undivided attention— is what he now craves the most. Normalcy.

Will follows him into sleep soon after, curled around Mike’s arm with his head on his shoulder.

Chapter Text

When Will regains consciousness, it’s to Mike squirming beneath him. He’s about to complain— to tell his pillow to stop moving and go back to sleep— when he hears a sharp inhale. He groggily raises his head to see Mike grimacing in pain, trying to move his arm out of Will’s grasp.

Will quickly drops it, backing up to give him some space. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Mike shakes his head, an obvious lie as his face is still scrunched up. “I’m fine,” he assures, stretching out his arm.

Will jumps as a voice speaks up behind him. “Do you need me to get the doctor?” Mrs. Wheeler asks. Apparently she showed up some time this morning, the sun now streaming through the closed blinds. Mike nods. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Will, stay here and watch him?” she requests, setting a hand on his back.

He agrees, of course— like he’s leaving Mike in this state. As soon as she’s out the door, Will turns back to him with urgency. “Are you alright? Did you rip a stitch?”

“I don’t—“ Mike starts, interrupting himself with another grimace. “I don’t know. It was fine before.”

It was fine before Will messed with it. He knew he should have left it alone. Mike needs to heal, not to be slept on. It was too much too fast. Will probably reopened the wound by tugging on the skin.

A team of doctors arrive shortly after, with a worried Mrs. Wheeler hot on their heels. To Will’s dismay, they swiftly kick him out of the room for testing— some bullshit about “family only.” Like Will hasn’t been here since day one.

So, here he stands, pacing back and forth in front of the door like a crazy person, as if that’ll get him invited back in faster. He wishes he could be in there right now, if only to comfort Mike. Of course, he’d like to understand what’s going on as well— if Mike needs to go back into surgery, or if Will just pushed too hard on a bruise.

It’s only about ten minutes before Nancy enters the hallway, barreling toward Will as soon as she sees him standing there anxiously. “What happened?” she demands, hands on his shoulders. Jonathan jogs up behind her, having been out with her all night.

“I broke him,” Will says, trying deeply not to cry.

“You broke him?” she repeats, sounding more confused than pissed. That’s good, at least. He doesn’t have to worry about getting killed by Mike’s sister.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Jonathan says, rounding Nancy’s side to set a hand on Will’s bicep. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“It is true. I layed on his arm last night and now he’s hurt. You didn’t see him in there. He’s— he was in so much pain. I probably broke the only part of his arm he had left. I split the bone right in half with my big stupid head.”

“Will, hey.” Will looks up at the sound of Jonathan’s voice, eyes staring into his with conviction. “Calm down, yeah? He’s okay. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Nancy agrees, speaking oddly soft, like she’s trying not to scare Will away. He’s only seen her do that a few times— usually with Holly, but recently with Mike as well. “Whatever happened, it’s alright. Mike is tough.”

He shouldn’t have to be. How much damage can he take at the hands of Will? He should just run away— make sure that Mike never has to come in contact with him ever again. Mike is too nice to send Will away himself; even if it means risking his own life.

Will is the personification of bad luck. He always has been. He put his mom in danger when he was just a child, as she took cruel words and harsh blows trying to defend Will from his father. He put the Party in danger when he was twelve, as they fought demogorgons and the government to get him back home. He’s put everyone he loves in danger ever since, years upon years of fighting this endless evil.

Not for the first time, Will is starting to wish Mike had let him walk alone that night.

Will’s head snaps up immediately as Mike’s door swings open, a doctor in a lab coat sending them a quick smile as he hurries away, scribbling something on a clipboard. He practically sprints into the room, watching another doctor converse quietly with Mike before spinning on her heel and following after the first.

That’s it? They’re just gone? No one is going to fill him in on anything? He was waiting outside the door for over fifteen minutes, and all he gets is a polite smile? Sure, maybe he’s not Mike’s family, or even his boyfriend or anything, but surely he deserves to know if Mike is dying from some weird infection.

“Do you want to tell him?” Mrs. Wheeler gently asks Mike, rubbing his arm, sitting in the spot that Will had been this morning.

Mike nods sadly.

He’s dying. They have to amputate the rest of his arm. They found a tumor and he has to go back into surgery. He’s allergic to his stitches and now they have to let him bleed out.

Mrs. Wheeler motions for Will to sit beside her. He tentatively makes his way over, eyes never leaving Mike. He leans closer as Mike opens his mouth to talk, bracing himself for the worst.

“I’ve gone crazy.”

What?

Well that is the worst, he guesses. Mike’s brain is his most valuable asset— it’d be a shame if that were to go.

“Oh Michael, no you have not,” Mrs. Wheeler says, swatting him lightly. “Don’t say that.”

“I have!” Mike argues, throwing his arms out. “I’m not even hurt!”

“You’re not hurt?” Will interrupts, and Mike meets his eyes for the first time since he walked in the room. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” Mike shakes his head adamantly. “No, I’m fine. I told you it would be okay if you touched it.”

Then what was all that earlier? Mike was in pain. Will saw it with his own two eyes. There’s no way Mike just imagined that, right? There’s no way his brain could have faked that. Why would it fake that?

As if reading his mind, Mike clarifies, “I have phantom limb syndrome. It’s all in my head. I know that my arm is gone, but my brain doesn’t. All it knows is that it would be hurting right about now.”

“Oh,” Will says, reaching out to grab Mike’s forearm before remembering that it doesn’t exist. His hand twitches in contemplation, and he decides to set it on the bed instead. “What does it feel like?”

“Like it’s all bent out of shape,” Mike explains, bringing his other hand over and waving in the empty space where his arm should be, “down here. I’ve always been able to feel sensation in it— ever since I first woke up. That’s why it was so weird for me. I could flex my hand and stuff, but I couldn’t see it. It wasn’t painful until today though.”

Will slowly lifts his hand and hovers it around where Mike’s would be, glancing at him to see his reaction. Would it hurt? Would it mess with his brain and make things worse? Would it be comforting? He hopes so.

Mike smiles at him, chuckling softly. “I can’t feel that, Will. I’m not magic.”

Oh. Or that. Will blushes, pulling away.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks. It doesn’t look like it, but who knows? Maybe Mike is better at hiding things from him than he thought.

“Yeah, kind of. I mean, now that I’m not panicking it’s definitely a lot better. The doctors said it’ll go away. I won’t even be able to feel it at all in a couple years.”

Years? Mike has to deal with this for years?

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Mike rolls his eyes, jabbing him in the side with his injured arm. Will gasps, reaching over to cover the point of contact as if he had actually been stabbed. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Those are the only words in your vocabulary, I swear to god.”

“Are not,” Will defends, crossing his arms, ignoring the fact that he was about to apologize.

“Yeah they are, Will,” Jonathan butts in unhelpfully, moving to stand behind his chair and grabbing the backrest. Betrayal. His brother is supposed to be on his side; what else is family for? Fine then. He’ll just team up with Nancy instead. He’s sure she’ll love ganging up on Mike.

Now that Mike’s attention has been diverted away from Will for the first time since they entered the room, Nancy makes her way to the opposite side of the bed, taking a seat in Will’s usual spot. “I was gone for one night— one night— and you chose now to get yourself hurt?” she punches him lightly in the chest, a fond smile on her face.

Mike laughs, holding his arms out to block her attacks. “No! Please! Hang out with your stupid boyfriend more, you’re driving me crazy!”

“Stupid?” Jonathan mutters behind Will, who snorts in response. He pats Jonathan’s hand in sympathy. Unfortunately, sisters’ boyfriends will always be stupid, no matter how well liked they are— and Mike likes him a whole lot. There’s not much Will can do about that.

They all manage to calm down by the time the others arrive, Jonathan going to sit by Nancy and Will staying with Mrs. Wheeler. It’s a bit odd, but he doesn't complain. She doesn’t once blame him for Mike’s injuries— not even so much as a dirty look. She’s a lovely lady, really. Will has always felt safe with her. Comfortable might not be the right word, as he feels the need to iron his clothes and gel his hair whenever he’s in her presence, but she’s definitely nice. And she smells like motherly perfume and the Wheelers’ house, so he’ll stay put.

Mike fails to mention his phantom limb syndrome to the others. Will doesn’t know if he just forgot, or if he doesn’t want them to know. Maybe he’s scared of bringing the mood down. The Party walks in every day with smiles on their faces— they don’t see the behind the scenes. They don’t see Mike’s insecurities, or his wound cleanings, or his pain. To them, he’s just waiting to be released.

Jonathan and Nancy take their leave as soon as they arrive, not wanting to over-cramp the space. El and Dustin steal their seats, scooting them up to Mike’s bed to show him some new gadget Dustin made. Will only half pays attention, lost in his head, with his eyes stuck on Mike’s rapidly flexing arm.

Has he been doing that the entire time? The past five days that he’s been awake? What is it exactly that he's doing? Trying to move his hand? Trying to reduce the pain? Trying to get extra energy out while he’s bed ridden? Is he even aware that it’s happening?

“Hey,” Lucas taps on the edge of Mike’s bed frame, getting the attention of the others. “I’m gonna go check on Max real quick. I’ll be right back.”

“Cool,” Mike nods, unbothered, dropping his gaze back to the weird sundial in Dustin’s hands, squinting and prodding at it. The curious scrunch of his nose is adorable.

It’s been a while since Will has visited Max. For the entire time he’s been stuck in this hospital, he hasn’t gone once. He feels kind of bad, to be honest. It’s not like he doesn’t care about her, it’s just… Mike. Will has had his hands a little full recently.

But that’s no excuse. Lucas has made sure to divide his time between Max and Mike— Will needs to do the same. And besides— he wouldn’t mind having a bit of a break from worrying about Mike.

Lucas does a double take as Will rises from his seat, walking over to the door. Lucas opens it wider for him, allowing Will to duck under his arm and pass through. “You’re joining me, Byers?” he asks, following after him.

“Yeah,” Will shrugs, as if it’s no big deal; as if he does this every day. “How’s she been?”

“No progress,” he regretfully replies, shoulders drooping slightly with the depressing shift in conversation. “But no complications either, so I guess it’s not all bad.”

Lucas is putting on a brave face— Will can tell. Even though Max has been in this hospital for over eight months, the fear hasn’t left him. Truthfully, he’s been a lot worse lately. Before Mike got hurt, Lucas visited a few times a week— always during the day, and only for a few hours. Now, he’s back to sleeping in the small, uncomfortable chairs.

Will thinks it’s the stress; or maybe it’s out of convenience, since the Party is already set to visit everyday. Either way, Lucas is regressing back into old, unhealthy habits. Will can’t even blame him— that would be incredibly hypocritical. He knows that being away from Max would only hurt him more.

They reach the end of the hall, the placard on the door reading Mayfield. Will takes a deep breath and enters the room. The first thing his eyes land on is a pale figure lying on the bed, her red hair tied up in braids; he’s not sure if that was El or Erica’s doing.

She looks so fragile— almost like Mike had when he was still asleep. There’s barely any color to her face, with deep eyebags despite her eternal sleep. Will almost has to turn away, the familiar nausea he felt for the entire beginning of his stay at the hospital creeping back in. It reminds him too much of losing Mike.

“Come on,” Lucas guides him to the seats on her left. The room is empty apart from the three of them, a stark contrast to Mike’s. “So,” Lucas slaps his legs in the deafening quiet. Will thinks he hates it as much as he does— the lack of input from Max is unsettling. “It’s been a while since we talked— you know, one-on-one. How have you been?”

How has he been? Not great, to say the least. He’s in a hospital because the love of his life almost got eaten.

“Well, I mean, I’ve been with Mike a lot. You know that. It’s just… a lot of cheering him up. Which I don’t mind, of course. I think he’s having a harder time than he lets on. But, I mean, he seems okay.”

“I didn’t ask about Mike,” Lucas says, and Will pauses. Was he talking about Mike? When did he start doing that? “I’m asking about you. How are you dealing with this?”

“I’m… fine,” he lies, an automatic response. Will isn’t the one on the bed. He’s not the one who got his body parts mutilated. He’s not the one living in constant pain. It’s not about him.

“Will,” he deadpans, not buying it for a second. Lucas rotates his body toward him, setting a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Out of everyone, you think I’m going to believe that?” he asks, tilting his head in Max’s direction. Oh right. He’s an idiot. “Trust me. I know exactly how you feel. I mean— not exactly,” he rushes to clarify, eyes wide with his hands out placatingly. “I’m not saying that— you know. Our situations aren’t the same, but like, I get it.”

Does he really not know? He expected Lucas to have picked up on it by now. Unless he has, and this is his way of turning a blind eye. Will had been taking that speech as an “I see you, and I accept you” kind of thing, but maybe not. Maybe Lucas doesn’t accept him, and he’s been slowly letting his guard down for no reason.

Will could let it go. He could say, “Yeah, I know what you meant,” and leave it at that. He could play it safe. Or he could stop running. He could finally be himself in front of one of his oldest friends. He could stop worrying about this for the millionth time and tell the truth for once. Because he’s tired. He’s tired of lying to everyone he loves. He’s never going to do it again.

“It is the same,” he corrects, so quiet that he’s almost whispering.

“What?” Lucas asks, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Our situations. They’re the same. I like Mike.”

“Oh,” he says, going silent for way too long afterwards. Will braces himself. “I mean, that's cool! You know I’m cool with it, right?”

Will lets out the breath he’d been holding, relaxing every muscle in his body that had apparently gone tense. “Well, I thought you already knew, so yeah, I hoped so.”

“I didn’t, but I guess it makes sense,” Lucas muses. “You’ve been extra clingy with Mike lately, but I thought you were just traumatized from watching him almost die in front of your eyes. That definitely fucked me up with Max.”

“It was the scariest moment of my life,” he admits, and that’s saying a lot. He’s been kidnapped and almost killed like twenty times. “I thought I lost him.”

“But you didn’t.” Lucas offers him a bitter-sweet smile. Will immediately feels guilty— here he is complaining about Mike’s recovery when Max is still comatose. “He’s doing great. I’m happy for you.”

Will can’t imagine how it would feel to see someone else’s person heal perfectly fine while yours makes no progress. He would certainly feel jealous. Maybe that’s why Lucas has been hauled up in here by himself— he can’t stand to look Will in the face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lowering his eyes in shame.

“Don’t be,” Lucas shakes his head. “I don’t think I could handle it if Mike hadn’t recovered either. Two of the people I love most? I would have lost it.”

Will guesses that’s true. When Lucas had heard that Mike was injured, he shut down similarly to Will. That couldn’t have been easy on him.

“Well, I’m sorry anyway. For not understanding before. Not fully, at least. I should have been there for you more back in spring.”

Lucas shoves him in the arm good-naturedly. “You were there for me. There was nothing more you could have done. You don’t have to apologize just because Mike survived.” Will’s first instinct is to disagree, but he stops himself. Maybe Mike was right— maybe he does say sorry too much. “Speaking of Mike…” Lucas raises his eyebrows suggestively, nudging him with his elbow.

Will regrets telling him. “What?” he asks innocently, playing dumb.

“You like him.”

Will rolls his eyes as Lucas leans closer to him, puckering his lips. It’s Will’s turn to shove him away. “Shut up. It’s not a big deal.” He’s embarrassed to admit that he kind of likes this— talking to his best friend about his crush like a normal teenager. He’s always hated when the boys would gather around in a circle during sleepovers to obsess over girls. All he wanted was to participate.

“Is so!” Lucas protests. “Is he your first crush?” Will decides not to answer, but he’s pretty sure that his blush gives him away— his first and longest crush, to be exact. Three years and counting. “Aww! Are you going to tell him?”

“He knows.”

“He does?” he asks, surprise written all over his face. Will supposes that’s fair. Two weeks ago, he himself was adamant that Mike would never find out.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, trying to play it cool. Lucas wouldn’t judge him for being a complete idiot, right? “He was dying, so…”

“Yikes,” Lucas winces sympathetically, patting Will’s hand that’s been holding the armrest in a deathgrip this entire conversation. “That’s unfortunate. How did he react? He’s… okay with it, right?”

“Yeah,” Will assures quickly, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, he was really sweet about it.”

“Good,” he says, crossing his arms, as if he would have beaten Mike up if he’d been rude. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

“For what?”

“That he had a girlfriend.” The “you have no chance” goes unsaid. Will hears it all the same.

“It’s okay,” Will gives him a sad grin. “I mean, I’m not expecting anything. My hopes haven’t been up since, like, middle school.”

“He’s lucky to have you, you know,” Lucas says sincerely, setting his hand fully over Will’s. “It’s his loss.”

Will laughs— more like scoffs— under his breath. Lucky wouldn’t be the word he’d use. Burdened, maybe. Cursed. Unfortunate. “Sure. Thanks Lucas.”

“Anytime,” he replies, pulling Will in for a hug over the arm of the chair. It’s nice. Everything— the hug, having the truth out in the open, the feeling of acceptance that he's gotten way too used to lately. “I love you, man.”

“Love you, too,” he mumbles into Lucas’s shoulder. He means it— he loves his friends more than anything in the world. He just hopes he gets all his friends back soon. Max still has to make fun of him for falling for Mike, after all.

Chapter Text

Will really makes an effort to start leaving Mike’s room over the next couple days.

He hates to admit it, but his mom might have been right. Spending a bit of time away from Mike has been good for him. He feels so much more refreshed after his little trips around the hospital.

Isn’t that how this whole thing started? Will wanting space from Mike? When did his goal turn into staying as close to him as physically possible? Probably around the time he almost got eaten by a demogorgon, he supposes.

Will typically sneaks out of the room before Mike wakes up to grab a quick breakfast, wandering through the halls for longer than he strictly needs to. Mike is always awake when he gets back, but he never mentions it. Will feels like a traitor leaving him behind like that.

He just likes to clear his mind a bit— get out of the headspace where all he can think about is Mike. A Mike-free zone, if you will. Sometimes he likes to bring his sketchbook to draw the other patients with their morning coffee. The hospital is practically a goldmine for artists; there are so many people with so many different stories. Each patron displays a complex variety of emotions on their faces— Will hopes he relays them with justice.

He’s just finished sketching a young mother attempting to feed her daughter some applesauce. Her hair is in a messy ponytail, eyebags so deep that they became the focus of Will’s drawing. Her daughter refuses to eat anything, crossing her arms and stomping her feet. The mother looks seconds from bursting into tears. Will gets the feeling that the toddler isn’t the person they’re here for.

Will collects his book and makes his way back to Mike’s room— it’s way too early in the morning to be this depressed. As he approaches the door he suddenly pauses, hearing hushed voices from inside.

“…here for you.” Nancy says, muffled and barely audible.

He shouldn’t listen in. This is clearly a private conversation. No one says “I’m here for you” casually. Especially not emotionally repressed siblings who were never shown familial love growing up.

Is Mike upset again? Will is usually the one who handles that. Was he keeping this a secret on purpose, or was Will just conveniently out of the room when Mike needed him?

Or is Nancy upset? Is she having as hard of a time with this as Will is? Definitely. He can tell. It’s just unlike her to say anything about it.

“Do you regret it?” Nancy asks through the door. Will’s heart stops. They’re talking about him. They’re talking about that night. Mike had initially told him no— that he hadn’t regretted it. Will never quite believed that. This is his opportunity to see if he was lying.

Will holds his breath as he presses an ear to the door.

“No,” Mike denies immediately. “No, you know that. I mean, I regret not stopping him earlier. Or not forcing him to go back home with me. But— I can’t regret being there.”

Will feels a tear roll down his cheek. After everything, Mike is still on his side. Even though it’s entirely his fault, and Mike acknowledges that; he acknowledges that changing Will’s actions would have stopped this whole situation from happening. Somehow, Mike’s admission makes him feel more guilty than he ever has before.

“You don’t have to pretend all the time, you know,” Nancy says. “They’d get it. I mean, lying to the others is one thing, but to Will? He’d want to know if you were having a hard time with all this.”

“I do have to. Will already—”

“What are you doing out here?” Jonathan suddenly asks from over Will’s shoulder, making him jump nearly out of his skin. He quietly shushes him, placing his pointer finger to Jonathan’s lips and pleading with his eyes. Will strains to hear any noise from behind the door, but it’s gone silent. Either he’s now too far away from the voices to hear, or they’ve stopped altogether from the commotion in the hallway.

Seriously? Jonathan had to show up now? Right when Mike was about to explain why Will is the reason he can’t be honest with his friends anymore? Mike is struggling and no one even knew. Because of Will.

He winces as the door suddenly opens behind him.

“Hey Nance,” Jonathan greets, slurred from where his lips are still trapped under his finger. Will hurriedly drops his hand away to hide the evidence.

“Will,” Nancy says, short and warning. He turns around to see her arms crossed, an unimpressed look on her face. He’s so fucked. He’s so screwed. Why did he think it was a good idea to listen in on a private conversation? With Nancy of all people?

She grabs his wrist and yanks him into the room, pointing a finger at both him and Mike. “Talk,” she demands, before joining Jonathan in the hallway, slamming the door behind her.

“Will,” Mike says, not unlike his sister, after about ten seconds of unbearable silence. He is so fucked.

“Yeah?” he replies meekly, barely making eye contact. He knows he messed up. He is totally in the wrong here. He just hopes that he hasn’t completely lost Mike’s trust.

“What were you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Will says instead of answering, because there’s really no need. Mike knows what he was doing. He just wanted him to admit it. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“Yes you did!” Mike shouts, throwing his arm out in disbelief. “You obviously did!”

Will freezes, inhaling sharply. Mike is yelling at him. Mike never yells at him. He can count the number of times on one hand. The first was when they were six, and Will broke one of his action figures; it ended with Will sobbing apologies on the floor of his room, sure that Mike was going to react in the same way his dad would. Mike had made sure to keep his voice lower around him from that point on. It only happened two times after that, once in Mike’s garage on a rainy day, and once at a roller rink.

Something inside him snaps. He finds himself growing mad at Mike— for lying to him, for accusing him, for yelling at him. It’s unreasonable, he knows, but he can’t help but fight back every time Mike starts an argument; Will could never imagine being that brave around anyone except Mike.

“Well you lied to me! Were you ever going to tell me the truth if I hadn’t heard it?”

“I didn’t lie, I just chose not to tell you,” Mike deflects, almost mumbling. He most certainly did lie. Even if he doesn’t count lying by omission, Will is fairly certain that Mike has assured him he was perfectly fine every day this week. “And what was I supposed to do? Say that I constantly feel like shit? You already apologize every time I’m even a little bit uncomfortable, I don’t want you to be more guilty,” he admits, sounding more heartfelt than angry.

All of the fight leaves Will in an instant. Mike lied for his sake? Because he didn’t want him to feel bad? Now Will just feels like a jerk. He’s been so caught up with trying to clear his conscience that he forgot how it would impact Mike— how pressured he would feel to get better as fast as possible. Apologizing doesn’t make it up to Mike. All it does is assuage his own guilt.

Will walks over to Mike’s side, taking a seat in one of the chairs. “I promise to stop apologizing.” Mike’s eyebrows raise in surprise, smiling as he opens his mouth to speak. “If,” Will continues, interrupting him by raising a finger, “you tell me what’s going on.”

Mike pauses for a moment, mulling the deal over, before nodding his head in acceptance. “Alright. But please don’t feel guilty about it. It’s not your fault— it’s just how I feel.”

Will bites his tongue before he can protest. That wouldn’t do either of them any good. This isn’t about him. Mike shouldn’t have to reassure him right now. He nods instead.

“I’m just kind of scared, I guess?” Mike starts, watching where he’s fiddling with the edge of his blanket. “My eye is— well, it’s not horrible. I’m having a bit of trouble adjusting to the new perspective— my depth perception is all off, and I jump whenever I wake up and someone speaks on my left, because I don’t know that they’re there— but I can manage that. The real problem is my arm.”

Will leans closer, putting his hand over Mike’s for encouragement. That was a stupid move. He should have gone for the shoulder— guys touch each other on the shoulder, right? This screams romantic.

However, Mike doesn’t complain. He turns his palm up and interlaces their fingers, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Will is so shocked that he nearly doesn’t catch Mike’s next words.

“I don’t know how I’m going to live without it. I can’t do anything. I’ve been so reliant on you, and my mom, and Nancy since I woke up because I’m too scared to try stuff on my own. What if I can’t do it? How am I going to— to make food, or drive, or wash my own hair? What if I fall and can’t push myself back up? I just— I miss my arm. I miss a bit of flesh. I know it’s stupid, but I want it back so badly that I feel sick.”

Will can’t even imagine how Mike must be feeling. To suddenly wake up with only one arm, and have to adjust to the fact that it’ll be that way for the rest of his life? That’s so overwhelming. The only person that could in any way understand what Mike is going through is currently in a coma.

“You don’t have to do stuff on your own,” Will tries, though he knows he can’t fix this entirely. “I’m here for you. Always. Whatever you need.”

Mike smiles at him sadly. “Thanks, but you can’t do everything for me. At some point I’m going to have to learn.”

Will would do everything for him. For the rest of their lives. He’d be Mike’s personal nurse until they’re old and gray. He can’t exactly reveal that though, so he chooses to go for another angle. “Well, I’m sure you will. You’re a fast learner. And it doesn’t have to be all at once. Just one thing at a time, yeah?”

Mike nods. “I guess,” he sighs, though Will can tell that he’s grateful for the compliment. It’s still disappointing, he thinks. There are no solutions for his situation. “Thanks. That really helped. You’re so smart.”

Will blushes, ducking his head and biting back a grin. “Thanks. I mean, not really. I just—” he looks back up to see Mike watching him amusedly. He’s so fucking obvious. “Stop,” he mutters uselessly, going even redder.

“I’m not doing anything,” Mike says innocently, letting go of Will’s hand to hold his in the air. Even though he’s smiling slightly, Will can still see a bit of sadness in his eyes. He’s trying so hard to be okay, but he’s just not. He can’t fake it anymore— not without Will noticing.

“Hey, guess what?” he prompts, nudging Mike in the arm. He knows just how to cheer him up.

“What?”

“Back when you were asleep, Nancy said that you were her favorite person,” Will tells him. “But she also said that I was your favorite person, so I don’t know how much you should trust her,” he rambles, turning into an almost unintelligible mumble near the end, and he shrugs his shoulders in embarrassment. Why did he say that?

“You are my favorite person,” Mike replies, eyebrows drawn in confusion, like this is a fact that Will should know by now. It isn’t. It’s not a fact at all. He is not Mike’s favorite person. He can’t be. “Will, you know that you’re my favorite person, right?”

Obviously not. He stays quiet, choosing to stare at the bed sheets instead.

“Who else would it be?” Mike laughs softly, trying his best to meet his eyes.

“El, Lucas, Dustin…” he supplies, the list endless. Anyone but me.

“Will, I’m pretty sure you’re the only person I haven’t told to get the fuck out of my room this week. I mean, the others are great,” he shrugs, gently placing his hand back on top of Will’s, “but they’re not you.”

He can’t say stuff like that. He can’t just make Will’s heart leap whenever he feels like it. He can. He can, and he does. Constantly.

“But Nancy,” Mike suddenly changes the topic, voice louder and harsher than the previous silky smooth tone it had taken on. “She really said I was her favorite?”

Will nods, a bit jerky from the whiplash he just experienced. It looks like their moment is over. It always feels like things end too soon between them— like something builds and builds and builds, but right before it can snap, setting whatever it is into motion, someone hits the kill button. Jonathan, usually. Their friends too. But lately, it’s been Mike.

“Yeah,” he keeps nodding, like an idiot. “Weird, right? She, like, tried to be friends with me. Said it was because she loved you, or something.”

Mike scrunches up his nose in disbelief. “No way. She was probably trying to scare you away just to mess with me. Or steal you. Whatever she offered you, don’t listen to her. You’re still on my side, right?”

“Of course,” Will promises, setting his other hand over Mike’s. “I'm always on your side.”

That turned out to be a big fat lie. Not even five hours later, Will is itching to get away from Mike. He loves him— he really does— but this hospital room is suffocating, especially with the five people that are currently occupying it. He needs another walk.

He hates leaving Mike all alone— well, alone with Lucas, Dustin, and El. Mike is probably suffocated too; even more so than Will, since he’s been stuck in here for almost two weeks. He can’t leave, and Will is ditching him because he can.

No more “sorry”s, he reminds himself, standing up from his chair and making his way to the door. He has to live for himself now. He can’t base every decision off of Mike.

“Where are you going, Will?” Dustin asks, right before he can sneak out. Damn it. So close.

“Um,” Will turns around, all eyes on him— including Mike’s disappointed ones. “Just— out. I’ll be right back,” he assures, speaking directly to Mike. So much for not keeping his opinion in mind.

“An adventure? Sounds fun, I’m in,” Dustin says, walking into the hallway, no invitation needed. Will doesn’t mind. The point is to get away from Mike, not everyone else.

Before Will can close the door behind him, he takes one last look over his shoulder at Mike. He’s still staring at Will with puppy dog eyes that could put someone under a spell, nearly pouting. Will doesn’t even think it’s intentional.

Whatever. He needs to stop feeling bad for Mike. He shakes himself out of it, following Dustin who’s already wandered halfway down the hall.

The two of them find a nice secluded bench after a visit to the vending machine, Dustin grabbing some animal crackers. He tears open the top of the bag, shoveling half of the packet into his mouth at once. “Man, I missed these things. Remember in elementary school when I would bring these every day for recess?”

“I do,” Will says, laughing at the memory. “But you refused to share them like the rest of us did with our snacks.”

“Well it was my snack,” he argues with his mouth full. “I don’t understand why you all insisted on having pooled resources when you could have just eaten your own food. Sorry, but I don’t think that oreos and pretzels would taste good together.”

They did taste good together. The real issue was the stomachache that came afterwards when combined with Lucas’s Doritos.

“It was a feast,” he corrects. “You’re just mad because you missed out on a great tradition. And it only started because Mike wanted to share his snack with me. I didn’t have one, and I was too scared to ask my mom because I knew we weren’t rich. He was just being nice.”

Dustin sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a gentleman. Speaking of you and Mike— how have you guys been? You’re spending quite a lot of time together.”

Oh great. Here it comes. The strange looks, the hinting “you can tell me”s. He’s kind of sick of this. How many times does he need to come out? Can’t he just tell one person and ask them to pass it along? Put it in the newspaper?

Even after all this practice, he still gets nervous. That might be the worst part. He’s tired of the emotional turmoil. He just wants to get it over with— like ripping off a bandaid.

Will takes a deep breath and steels himself, sweaty hands gripping tightly onto the legs of his pants. Here goes nothing. Here goes everything. “I’m gay and in love with him,” he rushes out, winded by the end of the short sentence. He hesitantly looks over at Dustin, who sits frozen with his forehead creased and his jaw open, absolutely shocked. Was that too blunt? It was probably too blunt.

“Uh,” Dustin starts, blinking rapidly as if Will had slapped him in the face. “Thanks for telling me? I mean, I was gonna ask if you two are sick of each other yet, but that’s cool. Yeah, that’s— sure.”

Will groans, hiding his face in his hands. He is such an idiot. “There, there,” Dustin pats his back condescendingly. Will wants to evaporate. “Sorry, I see where my words could have been misinterpreted. I wasn't trying to catch you out, or anything.”

“No, no it’s fine,” Will dismisses, talking into his hands. “I was going to tell you anyway. It’s just— I’ve had this conversation about five times since I got here. I was kind of expecting you to say something eventually.”

“Five times?” he exclaims. “Jeez, you can slow down, you know. Who have you told?”

“Mike, Jonathan, Nancy, El, and Lucas,” he counts off on his fingers. “But technically Jonathan already knew.”

“Dude!” Dustin shoves him in the shoulder, causing Will to finally resurface. “You told Nancy before me? I thought we were friends!”

Will smiles, finally feeling at peace. This is it. All of his friends know, and they’re okay with it. He never has to worry about that ever again. That is, until Max wakes up, but he doubts that a cool skater girl from California would have issues with him. “It wasn’t my fault— she ambushed me! And I didn’t even really tell her.”

“Curse her detective skills,” Dustin says, making them both laugh. Will lays his head on his shoulder, and Dustin doesn’t protest, wrapping him in a side hug. They’ve always been the most affectionate Party members. “Has everyone been good to you? Or do I need to have a talk with them?”

“No, everyone’s been great. Honestly, I’m kind of scared that this will all be a dream.”

“What about your mom? Does she know?”

Will shakes his head. “Not explicitly. I should probably tell her soon, but… I don’t know.”

“You don’t think she’ll be cool with it?” Dustin asks, and Will shrugs. It’s not that he thinks she’ll be uncool with it, it’s just— well, he has a bad history with parents. You never know. “Will, have you met your mom? She’s literally the most supportive mother I’ve ever met. She’d let you become a serial killer if you wanted.”

“I know, I know,” Will says. He’s the baby of the family. He thinks the only time his mom has ever been mad at him was when he forgot to call home after he arrived at Mike’s for a sleepover. It’s not like he’ll get kicked out— she has insane separation anxiety. But— “The stakes are just higher. No offense, but I can get more friends. I can’t get another mom.”

“You won’t need one,” he promises, jostling Will around. “You have the best on the market.” He really does. He doesn’t want another mom. He just can’t help the fear of losing her forever. “But— hey,” Dustin continues, sensing the fact that he’s still down. “You know she’s nothing like your dad. If she was, they’d probably still be together.”

That’s true, he guesses. They really are polar opposites. He has no idea how they got together, or why anyone thought their marriage was a good idea. If his dad is evil, his mom is the embodiment of good.

“Yeah. Thanks Dustin.”

“Anytime.” He dumps the crumbs from the bottom of the packet into his mouth, and crumples it up. Will cringes; loose crumbs might be the worst texture in the world. Dustin shoots the packet into the garbage next to them, nearly missing. It’s a good thing Lucas was the only one of them who decided to take up basketball. “You ready to head back?” he stands, offering a hand to Will.

“I guess,” Will sighs, allowing himself to be pulled up.

“Oh, you’re totally sick of Mike,” Dustin snickers, leading them down the hallway. Will doesn’t even try to deny it. As much as he loves him, it’s hard being with someone twenty-four hours a day.

The second they walk back through the door, Will freezes.

El is sitting there, hands in Mike’s hair, while he does nothing about it. He’s enjoying it, it seems, as he’s smiling wider than he has in a long while. His head is tilted toward her for better access, and neither of them even bother to look up as Will enters the room.

That’s Will’s hair. Mike is his.

Woah. No he is not. He’s not even close to being Will’s. Just because Mike is okay with him having a crush, that doesn’t mean Will owns him. He doesn’t have any right to be jealous right now.

Except he is, because El knows he likes him. How could she? After promising that there’s nothing going on between them, she goes after him the second Will turns his back?

“Oh, hey guys,” Lucas finally notices them, lifting an arm in a wave.

Mike quickly turns his attention to the door, sitting up straight. “Will,” his eyes go weirdly soft as he sees him. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” Will walks over to him, taking Mrs. Wheeler’s seat on Mike’s left since his has been stolen by Lucas. As he gets closer, he notices two clips on either side of Mike’s head, pushing his hair out of his face. They’re yellow— El’s.

That’s what she had been doing. He meets her eyes from across the room, and she just smiles innocently back at him. He is such an asshole. A jealous asshole.

“Do they look alright?” Mike asks him as Will returns his focus back to the way the clips make his face brighten.

“They’re very pretty,” he says, booping the one on his right.

“Promise?” Mike presses, smirking up at him in a way that tells Will that he’s joking. It’s a strange joke— one that sends butterflies through his stomach.

“Absolutely,” he nods back, faux-serious. He wants to kiss the expanse of forehead that’s been revealed to him.

“It’s getting dirty again,” he mentions offhandedly, quiet so that the others would have to purposefully try in order to hear it. “That’s why we put it back.”

“Did you want to try to wash it yourself?” Will offers. This might be a nice place to start— something that Mike can do without much trouble. Or, at least, with very little assistance. Mike shakes his head. Maybe not, then. “Okay. I can do it.”

He meant what he said. He’ll help Mike until the day he dies.

“Thanks,” Mike smiles at him, soft and sweet. Will is so in love.

“Will, are you seriously flirting with him?” Dustin interrupts. “You’re bold, man.”

“No,” Will shuts that idea down immediately, mouth dropped open in astonishment. He is not flirting with Mike. That would be so inappropriate. “I’m complimenting him. He likes it.”

“That’s the same thing,” Lucas pitches in unhelpfully. It is not the same thing. “If you compliment someone you like, you’re flirting. Also, I’m assuming you told Dustin, because he’s been making faces at me since you two started doing whatever that was.”

“That’s not flirting!” he insists. “Flirting is done with the intention of winning someone over. That’s not what I’m doing. That’s not what I’m doing, I promise,” he repeats to Mike in a panic, eyes wide. The last thing he wants is for Mike to think he’s making a move on him.

“I know,” Mike says reassuringly. “They’re just compliments. But, I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you were flirting.”

What? Surely that’s not true. Will would mind if a girl hit on him. He’s just trying to be nice.

Lucas gives him an odd look.

“No, like—” Mike tries to defend himself. “It’s Will. Come on. Tell me you wouldn’t like it at least a little bit.”

Huh?

Lucas and Dustin turn to Will and look him up and down in consideration. Now this is just uncomfortable. Why is he being ogled by his three best friends while he’s standing right here? “I mean, he’s got a point,” Dustin tells Lucas. “He’s a catch.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, like you see? “And you can practice on me. For your future boyfriend, or whatever.”

“Will does not need practice,” Dustin states, as if Mike’s suggestion was ridiculous. “He’s a natural.” He is not a natural. He wasn’t even trying to flirt to begin with.

“Seriously,” Lucas agrees. “Try one on me, Will.”

“Try… flirting?” he questions. Surely that can’t be what he means.

“Yeah,” he nods, to Will’s horror.

“I can’t— Lucas, I can’t flirt with you,” Will whispers, as if anyone is around to overhear them. God forbid someone finds out he’s gay. That would just be unprecedented.

“Why not?” he replies, almost offended. “You did with Mike. What? You can’t think of anything you like about me?”

“No!” he shouts. That is definitely not the problem. If he wasn’t already head over heels for Mike, Lucas would be a close second. “I just— isn’t that weird for you?”

“Not really,” Lucas shrugs.

Does he seriously have to do this? It’s one thing telling Mike he’s pretty in the safety of their own secluded room, but here? Where everyone is staring at him? He hates the attention.

Before he can stumble his way through a compliment, his knight in shining armor comes to his rescue. “Will shouldn’t have to do it if he’s not comfortable,” Mike says, lips set in a hard line.

“Why? So you can steal all the flirting for yourself?” Dustin accuses, pointing a finger at him.

Mike shrugs, a smug smile on his face. “Hey, if Will only wants to compliment me there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m just better—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dustin rolls his eyes. He turns to Will, having had enough of Mike’s bullshit. “He’s not taking advantage of you, is he?”

“What?” Will asks, thoroughly confused. How would he be taking advantage?

“Well, he knows you like him,” he explains. “You're sure he’s not just using you for compliments?”

“No,” he adamantly denies. “No, it’s not like that. He’s doing me a favor, honestly. I like giving him compliments. I get to tell him the things I’ve always wanted to, and he gets to feel good about himself. It’s a win-win.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Mike adds on after El glares at him a little too harshly.

“Okay,” she accepts, eyeing him critically. “But remember. He is my brother— you are only my ex.”

“Did you just threaten me?” he asks incredulously, eyebrows raised to where his bangs would be if they weren’t clipped up. “Excuse me, I thought we were friends again.”

“We’ll see,” she says ominously. She glances at Mike from the corner of her eye and sends him a small grin. They’re totally best friends.

Somehow, that fact doesn’t make Will jealous. After all, he is Mike’s favorite person.

Chapter Text

“I hate Go Fish,” Mike groans, face scrunched in disgust as El deals out their deck.

“I do not care,” she says, not hesitating to set a card onto his growing pile. “You will have fun if you stop complaining.”

Mike begrudgingly scoops up his cards, muttering something under his breath. El only smiles, knowing she has him hooked around her finger. She has all of them hooked around her finger, hence why they’re playing the most boring card game in the history of the world.

Mike doesn’t like card games in general, preferring things like trivia or Scrabble— stuff that stimulates the brain. El likes anything with dice that she can easily manipulate, though she’ll play anything once. Apparently, no one had ever shown her Go Fish before yesterday, where she beat Hopper eight times in a row. Safe to say, she’s been obsessed ever since.

Will’s favorite card game is personally Old Maid. His mom loves that one. They used to play all the time when he was a kid. He was never necessarily good at it, though; he’d hide the old maid in his deck because he felt bad that no one wanted it. Go Fish isn’t horrible, he supposes. He’d rank it just below Solitaire— not the best, but not the worst. If El enjoys it, so will he.

“Play nice, Mike,” Mrs. Wheeler warns, and he replies with an embarrassed, “Mom!” Next to Will, Dustin hides a laugh behind his hand. Lucas doesn’t bother hiding his.

“Yeah, come on Mike. Be a good sport.”

Mike rolls his eyes, dipping his hand below the side of the mattress— out of sight of Mrs. Wheeler— to flip him off. Lucas responds by scratching his head with his middle finger.

It’s a busy day at the hospital— the most visitors Mike has had at once since he woke up. Of course there’s Mrs. and Miss Wheeler, who are here ninety percent of the time. There’s the Party, who are here every available visiting hour. There’s Steve and Robin, who only stay over occasionally when they can’t be bothered to drive back later in the night. And there’s Will. That much is self explanatory. They’re so lucky that the hospital has completely given up on their two at a time rule after their receptionist quit. Or got eaten. One of the two.

Dustin throws his arm around Will’s shoulders, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “Hey Byers. How do you feel about an alliance?”

“An alliance?” Will raises an eyebrow, intrigued. This sounds an awful lot like cheating. Will is not above cheating by any means.

“Yeah. You ‘accidentally’ give me clear view of your cards. I’ll slide some over to you when no one’s looking, and vice versa. If one of us wins, we both win.”

Will pretends to consider this for a moment. “Hmm. No thanks. I can beat all of you easily.”

Dustin gasps, jaw dropped open in shock, hand on his heart. “Oh, it is so on. You just made an enemy, Will.”

Sure. Like Dustin is any kind of threat. Will begins to laugh before he’s interrupted by an irritated Mike. “Dustin,” he says, voice monotone, burning holes into Dustin’s head with his blank stare, if that’s even possible. That’s how you know he’s serious— a calm and collected Mike is a pissed Mike.

“What?” he asks. Mike doesn’t answer— he just quickly glances to Will and back, eyes wide as if trying to hint at something that should be glaringly obvious. Will is just as confused as Dustin, who repeats his original, “What?”

“Hands off,” Mike whispers angrily, like that would stop Will from hearing it, even though he’s closer to him than Dustin is. Will’s heart frustratingly skips a beat. Hands off of him? Is Mike being possessive right now? Why? It’s not like Will is his to be possessive over; he wouldn’t mind if he was, but he isn’t. It’s just a fact. Mike had the opportunity to make Will his, and he didn’t. Why does he have to be so confusing all the time?

Dustin rolls his eyes, removing his arm from around Will and throwing them both up in the air. “Sorry, geez. I didn’t know you owned him,” he says sarcastically.

“I don’t own him,” he mutters back, busying himself with the cards in front of him instead. Again, Will wouldn’t mind. If they were dating, he would be totally, one million percent okay with Mike getting jealous over him. That doesn’t change the truth that they aren’t— yet Mike continues to treat him like a fake little boyfriend. It’s maddening and everything he’s ever dreamed of all at the same time.

The worst part is, Will can’t discourage him. Mike is like a magnet, forcing him to pull his chair over to the bed so they can sit side-by-side. Will is rewarded with a small smile that Mike attempts to suppress.

Maybe he is being used, unintentionally. Maybe he’s being strung along for Mike’s own pleasure. Maybe Mike likes having someone that will do whatever he asks now that he no longer has a girlfriend— someone to be his, and only his. Maybe he knows that Will can’t resist him.

He doesn’t really mind.

El promptly starts the game soon after, asking Will if he has any threes. He unfortunately does, and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from accusing her of spying on his cards with her powers, despite the fact that her eyes have been wide open and present the entire time.

Lucas asks Dustin for eights, to which he replies, “Go fish.” Lucas narrows his eyes at him and shakes his head disappointedly, as if Dustin had done it on purpose, and picks a card from the draw pile.

“Michael, your fives please,” Dustin requests confidently, holding out an awaiting palm.

“How?” Mike stresses. Dustin only shrugs, flexing his hand in a gimme motion. Mike sighs, furrowing his eyebrows as he realizes he doesn’t have another arm to grab the card with.

“Do you need help?” Will asks.

“No,” he says shortly, almost annoyed. Will would feel bad for suggesting it if he wasn’t sure that Mike is only mad at himself. He wants to do this on his own— he wants to prove to himself that he can be independent, but he hates that he’s struggling. Will’s just proud that he’s conquering his fear.

After some deliberation, Mike decides to set his cards face down on his lap. He uses a finger to slide the one he wants toward him, picking it up only to discover it was the wrong card. He frustratedly puts it back into the pile, repeating the process for the one next to it. This time successful, he gives it over to Dustin, who had long since dropped his arm so as to not rush him.

“Pleasure doing business with you, good Sir,” Dustin says cheerfully, placing the card into its place in his hand.

Mike’s mood improves marginally, now directing his attitude toward Dustin rather than himself with a scoff. “Yeah, yeah.”

On Will’s turn, he swoops in to steal Lucas’s eights, to his dismay. Lucas complains that they’re all ganging up on him, to which Mike responds by asking him for twos. Thankfully, for all of their sakes, he says, “Go fish.” Much easier than before, Mike sets his cards down and grabs one from the draw pile.

Within only a few rounds, El has collected two books, ahead of Will by one. He’s determined to win. He has to. By any means necessary. Which is why it pains him to make his next move, knowing that this person has the cards he needs.

“Mike,” he starts, grinning to himself at the outburst he knows is coming. Will loves him, truely— but love doesn’t come before winning.

“No,” Mike says immediately, deadpan.

Will can’t help but laugh. “Mike, do you have any sevens?” He knows he does— Dustin just gave him one.

“I hate Go Fish,” he mumbles once again as he attempts his new method of card trading, practiced and almost perfected. Almost, because even though his movements get smoother each round, they’re still awkward and uncoordinated. And Mike is already awkward and uncoordinated on a good day.

Breathing out sharply from his nose, Mike narrows his eyes at the card he’s trying to grip onto without the neighboring ones sliding with it. Will watches in slow motion as the left side of his pile slips off of his lap and onto the floor. He looks back to Mike, holding his breath for his reaction. It can’t be good.

Mike stares at the mess, staying frozen for a moment too long before he knocks the rest of his cards to the ground as well. He pulls his knees up to his chest and crosses his arms, his face contorting with anger in a way that Will rarely ever sees. He’s going to blow up.

“This game is so stupid,” he grumbles to his legs, before turning to the Party. “I told you I didn’t want to play!”

The others are left speechless, looking at him with wide eyes, mouths opening and closing while trying to figure out what to say. They shouldn’t say anything— it would only aggravate him further. He’s looking for a fight— a way to prove to everyone that he isn’t as weak as he feels. He’s deflecting. What he needs is deescalation. Reassurance. A friend.

Will moves his chair even closer to the bed until his knees knock the mattress. “Mike,” he whispers, setting a hand on his arm.

Mike glares at him from the corner of his eye. He’ll still snap if provoked, but at least he’s responding. Cooperation is all Will can ask for.

Will shows him his cards, offering a small smile. “Do you want to team up?”

Mike glances warily between him and his cards, deep in thought. He looks like an injured animal caught in a trap, trying to determine whether Will is here to help or hurt him. He should know by now— Will would never hurt him.

Slowly, Mike scooches himself to the side, making room on his bed. He pats the spot he’d just been occupying, inviting Will to sit. Will pauses, surprised, before hurriedly standing up, joining Mike on the mattress.

This wasn’t his intention. He’d just meant for them to share cards, which would be perfectly doable from his chair. Will tries not to read too much into this. They’ve shared a bed before— more times than he can count. And it’s not like Mike can just get up and sit wherever he wants. He just got the rest of his stitches removed a few days ago. It’d probably be painful to lean over the whole time.

It’s just out of convenience. Platonic.

At least, that’s what Will tells himself as Mike wraps an arm around his waist and lays his cheek on his shoulder. Will doesn’t move a muscle. He’s too scared to. Mike is cuddling with him.

He’s upset. He’s having a hard day and he’s counting on Will to support him. If Mike needs to hug someone right now, Will is honored to be that person. Now that he thinks about it, when was the last time they hugged? When was the last time Mike got a hug? How touch starved must he be to be acting this way in front of everyone?

Nancy and El bend down to pick up the cards Mike spilled, shuffling them and placing them at the bottom of the deck. Will can’t be bothered to thank them— he’s too focused on the way Mike’s hand is burning where it’s resting on his hip. He’s sure his face must be bright red; he can only hope that his friends don’t bully him for eternity because of it.

“I’m sorry,” Mike says quietly to Will as everyone settles back down to play.

Will can’t blame him for being angry. He would be too, in his situation. Yelling probably wouldn’t have been his first reaction, but that’s whatever. It must have been horrible for Mike to finally try something on his own, only to find out that he can’t. But Will would be damned if he gives up on him now. He knows Mike can do it— they’ll figure out a way. He only hopes that Mike doesn’t give up on himself.

“It’s alright,” he assures, resisting the urge to put his hand somewhere stupid, like Mike’s thigh. He’s not exactly sure where the line of too far is for them anymore, but he’s gonna let Mike draw it. He’ll follow Mike’s lead, only saying what he says, touching where he touches, leaning in as far as he does.

Will ends up winning the game, with no help from Mike. His only working hand spent the entire game playing with Will’s belt loop, his thumb slipping occasionally under his shirt to rub at his skin. Will went from a team of two arms to a team of two-and-a-half. He’s not complaining.

Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler head to the cafeteria around six, asking the Party and Co if they want them to bring back any dinner. Steve responds with a polite, “No, thank you. We should be heading back soon anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Wheeler pushes. “It’s no trouble, really. I don’t want you all to go hungry.”

“Oh, no. We’re sure Mrs. Wheeler,” Robin says. “We’ll be fine.”

“Alright. Mike, Will— your usuals?”

“Yes please,” Will answers. He’s almost embarrassed at the fact that he has a usual. He’s been spending way too much time here.

With a vague affirmation from Mike, the women take their leave. As soon as the door closes, Steve turns to Dustin, El, and Lucas. “Quick. Let’s go before she comes back.”

“What? Why?” Dustin asks as he’s practically shoved out the room. “Let me grab my bag first, Jesus Christ.”

“Because, I never know how I’m supposed to say goodbye to Mrs. Wheeler. Should I thank her for her hospitality?”

Mike scoffs, his distaste for Steve never dulling throughout all these years. “You say, ‘Peace. I’m out,’ and then you leave.”

“Very funny, Wheeler. Now let’s go,” he ushers Dustin out the door, who barely has one arm through his backpack straps. He snaps his fingers to hurry along Lucas and El, who quickly follow after Dustin. “Ándale.”

“Don’t pretend you know Spanish,” Robin says, amused. Before she can join the others, she takes a look over her shoulder at Mike and Will, hesitating. “Actually, I have to do something first. Can I meet you outside?”

“Robin—“

“Five minutes,” she promises.

Steve sighs. “Five minutes,” he agrees, holding up five fingers for emphasis. “I’ll be in the car.”

Will has no idea what Robin needs to do. Honestly he had been hoping that he could use this time alone to talk to Mike about what happened. Have a bit of a heart to heart. It’s fine. It’s not like he and Mike lack time together. They can talk later.

Robin practically sprints to sit in Will’s old chair, and now he’s realizing that he probably should have gotten off the bed a while ago— but Mike hasn’t kicked him off yet, so he’s going to milk this for as long as he can. “Hi,” she says excitedly, a big smile on her face. Will thinks it’s strange, but Robin is always strange. It’s like she’s constantly bursting with energy.

“Hi?” Mike replies, clearly just as confused as Will is.

“Sorry, I know we don’t know each other that well. This might be kind of weird, but I just wanted to tell you guys that I see you. And that I’m safe. I think you already know that, but, well— people like us should stick together.”

Safe? People like us? Oh. Oh no. Not with Mike here, please. He can’t take another gay interrogation.

“Thanks, Robin,” Will says with an awkward grimace. “Obviously I’m safe too. And Mike. And pretty much everyone else. They’re all really cool.”

“What are we talking about?” Mike whispers to him, too oblivious for his own good. Will wishes he could keep it that way.

Before Will can painfully explain that Robin clocked his gay ass when Mike started snuggling up to him and is now confronting him about it, she beats him to the punch. “I like women. So you don’t need to worry about me.”

Will had known this before, obviously, but it doesn’t fail to make his heart stop. She’s like him. Officially. There’s another queer person in Hawkins.

Mike’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re…”

“Yes,” she nods. “I’m. And by the way, you guys are a really cute couple. I know you probably don’t hear that enough, but seriously. I’m jealous.”

“What?” Will exclaims, and waves his hands back and forth in front of him. “No no no, we’re not dating. Mike isn’t gay.” This is his worst nightmare. He’s going to die. Not only does Mike have to deal with his stupidly massive crush, but Will is bringing him down with him. He’s so flustered around Mike that people think he’s queer by association. Mike is going to hate him.

Robin raises her eyebrows, looking between them in a panic. “Oh, sorry. I just thought— are you sure?” she says quietly, like she isn’t sure. Will is positive. Why would Mike be gay? How could they be dating without his knowledge?

Mike makes a motion out of the corner of his eye, and when Will turns to him, he’s staring at Robin with sharp eyes and a set jaw. That’s his shut your mouth look. Will knows it anywhere. Mike is mad. He can’t stand even the suggestion of him and Will dating.

Am I sure, Will thinks to himself bitterly. Yes. Yes, he’s sure. And this is why.

“Oh,” Robin says, still making eye contact with Mike, a thoughtful look on her face. “Right, sorry. My bad.” After a few agonizing seconds of silence, she adds, “Well, I should go. Steve is gonna kill me if I’m late.”

“Bye,” Will waves as she stands up, slipping through the door. Before it can close behind her, she pops her head back into the room.

“I’m still safe, if you want to talk,” she tells Will. “And keep your head up. You never know what might happen.” With a wink, she’s out the door.

Will likes her— even if she is a bit odd. And embarrassing. And wrong. She’s still pretty cool. He thinks she’d make a great mentor. It’d be nice to talk about gay stuff with someone who gets it, rather than people who understand.

“She’s crazy,” Mike states, staring at the wall in front of him where Robin had been seconds ago.

Will laughs, leaning his head down onto Mike’s shoulder, because apparently he can do that now. Mike doesn’t say anything about it, resting his head on top of Will’s. It’s nice. Will could be content here for the rest of his life. Relationship or not, he’s happy just staying like this.

Chapter Text

It’s finally here— the day Mike stops complaining about being stuck inside a hospital.

After two long weeks, he’s now being discharged. The doctors had come to run their final tests last night, ensuring that no complications would arise should Mike choose to go home. Obviously, he did. He practically jumped out of bed and ran there himself when he heard the option.

Mike isn’t the only one who’s happy. Will certainly wouldn’t mind sleeping in a bed for once. Or, on the floor in a sleeping bag, at least. Either way, lying down sounds nice. Holly had been pretty excited as well to hear that her brother’s finally going back home. Mike looked like he immediately regretted his decision, knowing that the second he steps foot in that house, she’s going to bug him relentlessly until he plays dolls with her.

Even that can’t break Mike’s spirit. He’s been smiling all day, ranting nonstop about how he can’t wait for the comfort of his queen sized mattress and a real, actual, warm shower. Will agrees. What he thinks Mike is most looking forward to, however, is privacy. Space to exist without his family breathing down his neck. Like now, for instance, as Mrs. Wheeler insists on helping her fifteen year old son change out of his gown with all his friends and family listening in.

“Mom, I can do it myself,” Mike says, growing red with embarrassment.

“Well, you never know, honey. What if you need help?”

“Then I’ll figure it out!” he exclaims, getting more and more frustrated the further she pushes. Will knows how important Mike’s independence is to him. He’s been trying harder lately to do basic tasks without assistance, knowing that he has to learn sometime. “I have to do things on my own. What happens when we get home? Are you gonna help me take a shit?”

“Michael!” she snaps in a warning tone.

“Mom,” he groans back, looking about two seconds away from melting into the floor.

Will has to step in. He can’t just watch Mike suffer like this. He knows how humiliating moms can be, even when they mean well.

“I’ll help him,” he says without thinking. Why? Why the fuck was that the first solution that came to his mind? Not, “Hey, I think Mike is plenty capable of dressing himself,” or even, “Back off woman, he said no.” Of course not. He had to dig himself into a hole.

Everyone in the room turns to look at him like he’s crazy. Maybe he is. Maybe he finally broke, offering to help his crush change his clothes. What the fuck is wrong with him? Obviously he didn’t mean it— he’s not actually going to help, because again, he doesn’t think Mike needs it. He just wanted Mrs. Wheeler off his back. But no one else knows that. They all must think he’s a massive creep.

Will shoots Mike a look that says, “Sorry, just trust me.”

Mike nods after only a millisecond of contemplation, putting his complete and utter faith into Will for no reason at all. “Yeah, see?” he tells his mom. “Will can help. So you can go now.”

Mrs. Wheeler considers this offer for a moment, then seems to accept it. “Alright. I guess that works. I’ll go fill out your discharge forms in the lobby. Meet me there when you’re ready, okay?” She turns to Will now, adding, “His clothes are in his backpack,” like he’s Mike’s babysitter or something. He doesn’t need to know that. He will have no part in handling Mike’s clothes.

Everyone files out the door after Mrs. Wheeler, Lucas and Dustin shooting Will odd glances on the way. Will wants to bury himself alive. When he looks back at Mike, he’s already hopping off the bed and heading toward his bag. He brings it back over, dropping it on top of the mattress, and makes awkward eye contact with Will.

Oh, right. He has to turn away. “Um,” Will says stupidly before spinning on his heel, walking over to the corner of the room like he’s in time out. He covers his eyes with his hands, even though he’d still be staring at a white wall without them. He hears the backpack unzip behind him, followed by the sound of rustling fabric.

After about three minutes of muttered cursing and frustrated sighs, all movement ceases. Will is about to turn around, assuming that Mike is finished, when he hears a reluctant, “Will? Can you… help?”

His heart stops. He’s such an idiot. He was so sure that Mike would be able to do this himself— Will never even considered the fact that he would have to be the one to step in if he couldn’t. He signed up for this. This is literally his job, and he’s shocked that he has to do it.

“Are you sure?” Will checks, not moving from his little corner. He can’t help the shame that overtakes him. He’s such a freak. He probably wanted this the whole time, subconsciously— for Mike to fail, for him to need Will’s assistance. That’s why he volunteered. “You don’t want me to. I’m—” gay. I’ll like it a little too much. I’ll pray on you, like the boys whisper about in the locker room.

“Will,” Mike says again, defeated. “Please, just— help.”

Okay. That’s fine. Mike needs him. He just has to suck it up. Push any and all thoughts away. He can do it. Mike is probably ten times more embarrassed about this than he is.

All of Will’s worries fly out the window as soon as he turns around. Mike is standing in the middle of the room with his gown halfway over his head, his arms caught in the sleeves. To Will’s relief, only a sliver of his torso is visible, right above the waistband of the sweats he managed to put on, showing a bit of his new scar. He looks— ridiculous, frankly. Will sputters a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand a second too late.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Mike complains, and he sounds so miserable that Will immediately feels guilty.

“I’m not, I’m sorry.” He steps over to Mike, grabbing the bottom of his gown. “Arms up.” Mike complies to the best of his ability, and Will manages to pull it over his head, tossing it onto the bed. Mike’s hair is all frumpled, and he’s wearing the saddest, most adorable pout in the history of the world. “What’s the matter?” he asks as he grabs Mike’s sweater.

“I wanted to do it on my own.”

“I know,” Will says, sliding the sweater onto him. “But hey— at least you got your pants on,” he jokes. When Mike doesn’t cheer up, still staring down at the ground in shame, Will grabs his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Hey. You’ll get there, alright? Head up.”

Mike sighs, not quite accepting it. “I guess.” Will wants to push further, but he senses that this isn’t the time. He’ll progress at his own rate; Will just has to be patient. Mike looks down at his sweater and smiles, swinging his smaller arm back and forth and watching the extra fabric of the sleeve flap around. “What do I do with this?” he asks, and then slaps Will in the face with it.

Will gasps, holding his cheek as if it had actually stung. “Michael.” How dare he? After all Will has done for him.

Mike laughs, genuine for the first time in a while. “I look like an idiot. I can’t walk around like this.”

“Here,” Will takes the sleeve, tying it in a knot at the end of his arm. It doesn’t look any less strange, but at least now he can’t use it as a weapon. “Fixed it.”

“Wow, thanks!” Mike says, overly enthusiastic, but surprisingly not sarcastic. He lifts his arm up, examining it from every angle. “This is a fashion statement. I’m gonna be the coolest kid on the playground.”

Will snorts. Mike is such a dork. His dork. His stupidly strong, brave dork. Before he even realizes it, Will is scooping him up in a big hug.

Mike is still for a second, muscles stiff, before he wraps his arm around Will as well, relaxing into him and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “What’s this for?” Mike asks, as if he also hasn’t initiated random physical contact with Will these past couple weeks.

Will shrugs. “Thought you might need it.”

Mike doesn’t respond— he just holds Will tighter. Will thinks he might have guessed right.

They eventually detangle themselves— after an absurd amount of time that Will does not wish to disclose, or even think about— and head for the lobby. Mrs. Wheeler is at the front desk chatting away with the receptionist, while the others are just standing around with their bags, waiting to go. We’re never getting out of here, Will thinks, as he remembers Mrs. Wheeler’s ability to talk anyone’s ear off.

Will immediately spots his mom standing off on her own, making a beeline to her with Mike on his heels. They haven’t spent much time together lately, even though she’s been with Will half the days he was here. It’s not the same. With Mike injured, it’s like no one else exists.

“Hey, Mom,” he says, crashing into her without warning. She returns the hug instantly, rubbing his back.

“Hi, baby,” she replies, and Will can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed by that. He loves his mom. Sue him. “Hi, Mike.”

“‘Sup, Ms. Byers?” Mike says, like a loser. Will chuckles into his mother’s shoulder. ’Sup? What the fuck is wrong with him? “Um, so— Will,” Mike nudges him, like the attention hog he is, and Will finally lets go of his mom, turning toward him. “You’re riding with us, right? I mean, Jonathan is, so I assumed. I don’t want you guys to have to make an extra stop.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Will shrugs, a little puzzled at Mike’s nervous demeanor. He’s acting so strange. Jitters, he guesses. He’s going home for the first time in weeks— it must be a bit nerve wracking.

“Cool. Uh— I’m gonna go find my mom,” he gestures his thumb behind him before immediately spinning around and walking away.

“What’s up with him?” Will’s mom asks. So he is acting weird. It’s not just Will.

Will turns back towards her, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he says tiredly. Mike is Mike. There’s no explaining him. Will wouldn’t change a thing about him. “Hey Mom? Can we talk?”

This is his chance. His only chance. His mom is leaving for Hopper’s cabin any minute for the foreseeable future. Will wants to tell her. He needs to tell her, before they part. He promised it to himself— and to Dustin. She’ll be okay with it. He knows she will.

“Of course,” she agrees easily, setting a hand on his cheek and drawing her eyebrows with worry. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he assures, fiddling with the cuffs of his flannel sleeves. “Yeah, I just— you remember Dad?”

Her eyes widen in surprise, clearly taken aback at the abrupt change of topic. “Unfortunately. What about him?”

“Do you remember what he used to say about me? About…” he trails off, letting her connect the pieces on her own. There’s very little his father did say about him. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out what he means. Will’s heart is pounding harder than it ever has before. He can’t even look his mom in the eyes. She hasn’t pulled away in disgust yet, which must be a good sign. He takes her silence as understanding, continuing on before he loses his nerve. “It’s true.”

“It is not true,” she says adamantly, and Will freezes, finally glancing up at her face. He’s worried he’ll find hatred, anger, even disappointment; he doesn’t. All he sees is love and determination. She doesn’t seem shocked in the slightest by his revelation— but whether that’s because she doesn’t believe him or she knew it all along, he doesn’t know. “Nothing he ever said about you is true, do you understand me? You are not the names he called you— not in the way he meant them.”

Will tries his best to hold it together, not wanting to cry in the middle of a hospital lobby, but he can’t help the tear that slips out without his permission. His mom wastes no time engulfing him in another hug. “You’re an incredible person. Who you love doesn’t change that.”

“I’m sorry,” he sobs quietly into her shoulder.

“Don’t,” she says sternly. “Don’t you ever apologize for that. I love you, sweetheart. Always.”

Will finally lets go, allowing himself to break down in her arms. It’s been a surprisingly long time since he’s truly lost it, given the situation. Two long weeks. He just feels so… relieved. He knew that keeping his identity a secret was taking a toll on him, but he never realized just how bad it had gotten. Deep down, he always felt that love was conditional. He spent every moment acutely aware that once his secret was out, no one would treat him like they were then. Like a human. And now that’s just… gone. There are no more storm clouds looming above him. He’s not so terrified for the future anymore. He might have a future.

Once Will gets it all out of his system, he leans away, wiping under his eyes. “You alright?” his mom asks, smoothing down his hair with her hands, a proud smile on her face. She’s proud of him. Even though he’s gay. She’s proud of him because he’s gay.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He means it for once. He’s going to be okay.

“Hey,” Dustin says from behind him. He pauses the second he sees Will’s blotchy face. “Oh, I’m interrupting. My bad.”

“It’s fine,” Will promises just as he’s about to walk away. “We’re done.”

Dustin scans the scene, looking Will up and down curiously. “You told her?” he guesses.

“Yeah,” he nods. “You were right.”

“Of course I was,” Dustin scoffs, humble as always. “I know everything, Will. When are you going to start believing me? Anyway, I was going to ask if you could tell your prince charming to hurry his ass up. We’re all bored out of our minds.”

Will’s mom gasps next to him, grabbing his arm excitedly. “Are you and Mike going out?”

“No!” Will exclaims frustratedly. Why do people keep assuming that? Mike has shown zero interest in him. Zero. “He’s just being a jerk.”

“I give it three days,” Dustin tells her.

Will scrunches up his forehead in confusion. Sometimes it feels like his friends are having an entirely different conversation than him. “Three days for what?”

Dustin raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “You know, you two are incredible,” he says sarcastically. “Truly a match made in heaven.”

With that, he walks away, muttering something under his breath. What the hell was that about? And why does his mom look like she’s in on it— whatever “it” is? Why is he the odd one out here?

Mike turns around from the front desk, his eyes immediately landing on Will. He smiles brightly, giving Will a wave, and starts heading over to him. Will’s mom pats him on the shoulder. “Have fun at Mike’s, sweetie,” she tells him, like she knows something he doesn’t, before walking off.

At the Wheeler house, Will tries his best to give Mike space. It’s the least he can do after crowding him for weeks— he doesn’t think that Mike has had a minute alone since he arrived at the hospital. Will mostly keeps to Jonathan’s room, aka the basement. They put on a mixtape as Will draws, though the background noise doesn’t help him escape Jonathan’s relentless teasing about Mike. Now that he’s out, the brotherly bullying has gotten a whole lot worse.

When Will has had enough embarrassment, he goes to the kitchen to help Mrs. Wheeler start dinner. He needs to repay her somehow. After all, she did let him crash with Mike every day for the past two weeks— the past eight months, really, since the Byers first moved back to Indiana. Plus, he’s not going to pass up the opportunity to snack while they work— on real food, too. Not just that crappy hospital stuff.

After dinner is served— where Mike becomes overjoyed at the fact that Mrs. Wheeler isn’t forcing him to use a knife to eat his meatloaf— Mike heads back to his room, pausing at the top of the stairs to look back at Will, making sure he isn’t following. Will assures him with a shake of his head. Don’t worry. You can have the room for now. I won’t intrude.

Instead, he colors with Holly in the living room. It’s honestly a bit uncomfortable with Mr. Wheeler in the background, just sitting on his chair and watching the late night news. Will knows he doesn’t care what he and Holly are doing, but he can’t help but feel judged. Mr. Wheeler always tends to have that vibe about him: judgmental. Like he’s constantly unsatisfied.

As the clock hits nine p.m. and Holly is told to get ready for bed, Will realizes that he should do the same. Mike has had over eight hours to himself. That should be enough, right? He can’t complain about that.

It’s definitely enough time after Will spends nearly forty-five minutes in the shower, doing nothing but enjoying the warm water. Hey— the Wheelers are rich. Will learned early on that they don’t need to worry about things like running out of hot water. What’s the harm in using that to his advantage?

When Will knocks on Mike’s door, entering at a muffled, “Come in,” he realizes that Mike has done the same as him. His hair is still damp, and he’s successfully changed into his pajamas, tucked up in bed with a book. The overhead light has already been turned off, only the yellow glow of his bedside lamp illuminating the room.

“Hey,” Mike greets with a smile, setting his book into his lap. “Look who finally showed up.”

“I thought you might’ve wanted some alone time,” he explains, closing the door behind him. “You wouldn’t shut up about how much you were looking forward to it yesterday.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean— I don’t mind if you’re here. Roomie,” he adds on awkwardly, cringing to himself the moment it leaves his mouth.

Will laughs nervously, sending him a strange look. “Alright, ‘roomie.’” He shakes his head, moving to lay on his sleeping bag. Mike is so weird.

“What are you doing?” Mike asks, holding his arm out in front of Will to stop him. Or— it would be in front of him, but it doesn’t quite reach anymore. Will gets the message anyway.

Will raises an eyebrow at him. “Going to sleep? Is that okay with you?”

“On the floor?” he questions. Will looks at him like he’s insane. He is insane. Why would Will not sleep on the floor? This has been their arrangement for the majority of a year. “You’ve been sleeping in those uncomfortable chairs for weeks, Will. You need a real bed. Just— come here,” Mike scoots over, lifting the covers for him to slide in.

Will hesitates, picking at the skin on his fingers. “Are you sure?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been sure the last ten times, too. Just come here or I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Well Will can’t have that. He hurries to slip under the covers, warmth flooding him immediately. This is where Mike was sitting. He’s like a human radiator, Will swears. It’s nice. He’d say he wants to turn Mike into a blanket and wrap it around himself, if that wasn’t so weird.

He looks forward as his head hits the pillow to see Mike’s face inches from his own— completely unnecessary, by the way. There’s about ten feet of space behind Mike, but he loves to make Will miserable just for fun. For a split second, he swears Mike’s eyes are wandering too far down on his face, but they correct themself in an instant.

“Night, Will,” he says, quickly reaching over him to turn off the light, forcing Will to roll onto his back. He holds his breath, trying not to think about the fact that Mike is only about two inches too high to be laying on top of him. The room suddenly goes dark, but Will can just about make out Mike’s silhouette return to his spot beside him, turning to face the wall.

With Mike’s back towards him, Will mumbles a quiet, “Night, Mike.”

He lies there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he got himself in this situation.

Chapter Text

The next few days follow a pretty similar routine.

He and Mike head downstairs promptly after waking up, both making their own breakfast alongside each other. This allows Will to help him with whatever he needs without making him feel incapable. Mike doesn’t have to worry about unscrewing peanut butter jars— Will simply uses it first and hands it over to him, uncapped. Cracking eggs? Mike doesn’t need to bother. Will can save pans by making both of theirs together.

After they eat, they mostly just hang out in Mike’s room, or with the Party in the basement when Jonathan’s with Nancy. Will draws about fifty million portraits of Mike, per his request, and they all get hung up proudly on his bulletin board.

Mike spends his time relearning old hobbies— how to write without a second hand to hold the paper down, so it doesn’t go flying out from under him, how to turn the pages of a book while also making sure the others stay in place, how to play guitar. He’s found that it’s easier to write in heavier spiral notebooks, and he has a good rhythm down for page turning— it’s all about the timing. He’s pretty much given up all hope for guitar.

Will thought that Mike would have a harder time adjusting to home life, but honestly, there haven’t been any major problems. He’s learned to shower, change, brush his teeth, and even make a basic sandwich without assistance. He hates to say it, but things are starting to look up.

The both of them help Mrs. Wheeler cook dinner every night; Will, because he still feels indebted to her, and Mike, because he’s trying to work on his motor skills. Mrs. Wheeler had been hesitant in handing him a knife, but ultimately gave in when Mike had asked, “What’s the worst I can do? Cut off a finger?”

Watching Mike chop up a pepper for the first time was amusing, to say the least. It fell on the floor about three times before Mrs. Wheeler noticed, and made him rinse it off in the sink. Eventually he found a solution, using what Mike affectionately referrs to as his “baby arm” to hold the vegetable in place. Mrs. Wheeler, while proud, had told him that he had to wash his arm if he was going to be handling food with it. Mike found this outrageous.

Every night ends the same way, with Will falling asleep in Mike’s bed.

He’s not going to complain— he honestly loves it. But that’s the problem. He’s getting too used to the body heat, the attention, the leg that somehow manages to get thrown over his own every time without fail. He wants this. He wants this forever— just him and Mike, sharing a life together in a little studio apartment with Will’s canvases scattered around. He wants to make breakfast in the morning, and to hand Mike a coffee as he leaves for work. He wants the domestic peace of a lazy day spent cuddled up inside their shared room, in their shared bed.

“Don’t you think it would be cool if I had, like, one of those robot arms, or something?” Mike asks, lying on that very same bed that’s made it into his visions, with Will sitting next to him. Early afternoon light shines through the windows, highlighting the shadows on Mike’s face where it sits by Will’s hip. Will tries to shake himself out of the daydream.

“A prosthetic?”

“Yeah. Like Luke Skywalker, but shitty.”

Will laughs, and Mike’s eyes light up at the sound, pleased. “Hey, I mean, Christmas is coming up,” he nudges Mike in the side with his elbow. “You could always ask for one.”

Mike scoffs. “Sure, l’ll just ask for an entire arm three weeks before Christmas. Mom would love that. We’re sharing clothes, Will, I don’t think extravagant presents are really on the table right now. Most of the stores aren’t even open.”

“You never know,” Will shrugs, looking away from his sketchbook to smile down at Mike, who’s already staring right back at him with raptured attention. “Santa might bring you one, if you’re good.”

“Santa?” he snorts, throwing Will’s stress ball in the air and attempting to catch it. He barely manages with his skewed vision. “Come on, even he wouldn’t want to come to Hawkins right now.”

“Don’t tell that to Holly.”

“Trust me, I won’t,” Mike says. There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation, but it’s not awkward. It never is, between them. It’s tranquil, the only noise breaking the quiet being Will’s pencil scratching on the paper. Mike scoots toward the pillows, propping himself up on his baby arm. “What’re you drawing?” he asks, stretching his neck to see over the sketchbook.

It’s really no surprise— he’s drawing Mike, just like all the other times. It’d be nice if his subject could sit still for more than two seconds, but it’s fine. Will drops his yellow colored pencil and tilts the book in Mike’s direction, allowing him to see his own upside down face in all its glory. Mike sits up to get a better view, pressed right against Will’s thigh.

“I’m working on lighting,” he explains, as Mike scans over the drawing in awe. It makes butterflies erupt in Will’s stomach; he feels special, like his artwork is something to be treasured. “I’m not very good at it. It’s always been something I wanted to get better at. All my other work just seems… flat. Just a subject and a background. Not interacting, but separate. I know you’d probably say I’m being too critical, but there’s always room for improvement. And the way the lighting was hitting your face— it was golden. I figured I might as well tr— mmph.”

Will’s eyes widen as he gets cut off by another pair of lips crashing onto his. He freezes instantly, but the pressure is gone before Will would’ve had a chance to react anyway.

What?

He can’t think right now. There are simultaneously zero and millions of thoughts running through his head. All he can do is stare straight ahead at nothing.

Mike just kissed him. It had to have been Mike, because last he checked, they were the only two people in the room. Why would Mike kiss him? What— Why?

Don’t get him wrong— it was a nice kiss. It was the best, and only, kiss Will has ever received. His stomach has been churning with pleasant nerves since it happened. He can still feel Mike’s plush lips slot between his, warm and soft and amazing. His face burns as he remembers the little mwah sound they made when they separated, straight from his dreams, and— he needs to stop thinking about this before he explodes.

“Will?” Mike asks tentatively.

“Huh?” Will looks over at him in a daze. Mike is staring at him with a creased brow, like he’s worried about him. Has Will gone crazy? Did he imagine that whole thing? He couldn’t have. That’s impossible. Did he? Does Mike think he’s totally insane?

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you or something,” Mike says, sounding just as panicked as Will is. Okay, so it was real. That’s good. Right? Mike groans, shoving his face in his hand. “I always do this. Why can’t I just be normal?”

Will can’t even begin to formulate a response to that. Just— “Mike— what?”

“I don’t know!” he exclaims, lifting his face up to reveal the red that was hidden behind his hand. “You started rambling about art, and— it was cute.”

“Cute?” Will squeaks. He’s too stressed to be embarrassed about it.

Mike pulls at his hair, frustrated. “Oh god, I’m ruining this.”

That, at least, is enough to pull Will out of his stupor. He grabs Mike’s wrist, guiding it back to his side. “You’re not ruining anything,” he assures, but Mike doesn’t look too convinced. Will isn’t sure what “this” is, but there’s no way in hell he’d let Mike beat himself up about it. “What aren’t you ruining?”

Mike bites his lip, eyes cast downward. He glances over to where Will’s hand is circling his wrist. It seems to give him some confidence as he looks back up at Will, that familiar Mike Wheeler determination coating his features.

“Will,” he says, staring at him with that deep brown eye. Will couldn’t move even if he wanted to— he feels like he’s under a spell. “I really, really like you,” Will’s breath catches in his throat. Mike can’t mean what he thinks he means. There’s no way. His heart beats hopefully in his chest. “Like, a lot. I think I have since we were kids.”

Will stops him there. He knew it was too good to be true. He doesn’t know what Mike is doing, but it’s wrong. It’s just a cruel, cruel joke. “No. No— Mike, you can’t just say that.” He watches as Mike’s face crumples, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care. He’s not the mean one here. “You rejected me, Mike.”

“I didn’t,” Mike rushes to clarify, eyes begging Will to believe him. It nearly works. He hates this stupid spell. “I let you believe I did— which I’m really sorry about— but I couldn’t say the words. I knew deep down that they would have been a lie. I was confused at first; I meant to turn you down that first day, but I just… couldn’t. And then I figured out the problem,” he smiles sadly, slipping his hand into Will’s.

He isn’t sure what to believe. Thinking back on it, Mike never explicitly told him no. It was implied, but never said. And why would Mike lie to him? What does he gain from making this up? From making Will miserable? Who pretends to be gay for fun?

He’s scared. He’s terrified of opening his heart up once again, only to be laughed at. He takes the plunge anyway.

“You… really like me?”

“Yes,” Mike says adamantly. “I know I’ve been weird, and unpredictable, and stupid these past few years, but please trust me on this. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. That’s what scared me.”

Will gets it. Accepting the fact that he liked boys was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. It wasn’t immediate— it was a process. A really fucking difficult process. That doesn’t mean he likes Mike any less.

“You like me,” Will repeats happily, his eyes welling up with tears.

Mike notices this instantly, scooping him up in a hug. “I love you,” he corrects, squeezing him tight against his chest.

Will laughs hysterically. This is unbelievable. And yet, he believes it. “I love you, too.” Mike loves him. Him. He doesn’t even feel real right now. It’s like he’s floating up to the ceiling, with only Mike’s arms keeping him tethered. He’s half convinced that he’s going to wake up any minute, or that Vecna has come out of hibernation. Shaking that thought away, Will pulls back slightly to ask, “How did you find out? About… you know.” Liking him. He’s never going to get over that.

“It was gradual, I think,” Mike starts. “There was no definitive moment where I knew. I guess the seed was planted in my head from the very beginning. You opened up my world when you confessed to me. I had no idea that you could like me. Not even just because of the gay thing— I mean, that too, but, like… you’re so cool. And I’m so— me.” Will tries to protest, but Mike holds up a hand, signaling him to wait. “There was never a world where we could be together. That wasn’t a possibility in my mind, so I guess I just shoved all of those thoughts away. But then you liked me, and the walls I’d built up came crumbling down. I realized that the rules I’d been following— that I couldn’t touch you, or sit too close to you, because boys can’t do that with other boys— they didn’t mean anything. I couldn’t hide from the reality of us anymore.

“I guess if I had to pick a moment, it would be during our game of Go Fish. It’s stupid, but— I don’t know. You just— you knew exactly what to do, and you were so sweet about it. You’re always there for me, and I realized that I want you to always be there for me. I had to stop denying the fact that you’re special to me. I mean, I loved receiving compliments from you— more than anyone else in the world. I knew they made me feel all fuzzy, but, well, they were compliments. I could tell myself that I would’ve reacted the same no matter who said them, even if I didn’t really believe it. But after the game? After you saved my ass when I was being a giant jerk and you still let me cling onto you like a baby? I gave up trying to run from it. I wanted you to be mine.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was just… scared. Scared of— rejection, I guess? I know it’s silly, since you literally had the balls to confess to me on your own, and I couldn’t even do it with that confirmation, but I was always worried that you’d just… stop liking me. You said you still found me attractive, but— I don’t know. I thought that maybe over time you’d realize you were wrong? Or you hated the way I acted during our card game and you finally had enough of me—“

It’s Will’s turn to shut him up with a kiss. He grabs Mike’s cheeks and pulls him in, planting one right on his mouth, rendering him speechless. Thank god, because Will thought he’d never get a chance to talk again.

“I love you,” he reiterates, staring deeply into Mike’s eyes. “I will always love you. That’s not going to change. Understand?”

Mike nods dumbly, face still squished between his hands.

“Good,” Will says, pressing their foreheads together. “And you’re stupidly insecure.”

Mike groans, hiding his face in Will’s shoulder. “I know.” Will laughs, patting the back of his head consolingly. Mike hums contentedly as he plays with the hair at his nape, scratching his nails along his neck. “Just— are you one hundred percent sure about this? I mean, I’m gonna be a hassle, with my arm and everything. I don’t want you to feel burdened or anything.”

This boy is going to be the death of him. How many times can Will reassure him before he actually gets it through his thick skull? He would climb a mountain if Mike’s favorite flower grew at the top.

Clearly, words aren’t getting through to him. So Will is going to have to go about this another way.

He shoves Mike backwards into the pillows, climbing on top of him. Mike’s eyes are wide as Will cups a hand around his jaw, leaning down to close the gap between their lips. This kiss is deeper than the others, a slow, languid brush of their lips. Honestly, Will isn’t entirely sure he’s doing this right— it sort of feels like he’s eating Mike’s face. But Mike certainly doesn’t seem to mind, setting a hand on Will’s waist and yanking him down so that their chests are flush together.

It definitely feels right. Will swears he sees fireworks behind his eyes. Or maybe those are spots from nearly passing out. Either way, he’s on cloud nine. He suddenly understands why his friends are so obsessed with kissing.

Will leans back, nose almost touching Mike’s. “Got it?” he asks, wildly out of breath and strangely hoarse.

“Absolutely,” Mike says, eyes set low on Will’s face. Not even a second later, he’s chasing back up into Will’s mouth, trailing his hand up to the back of his neck and pulling him down.

Words were never really needed between them anyway.

Will is the happiest he’s ever been in his sixteen years of life. Ironically, he managed to achieve this during the literal end of the world.

The world has been ending for just over a year now, so he supposes it was only a matter of time. Will he turn twenty before this is over? Thirty? Sixty? He doesn’t know if he can last that long in this hell— but with Mike, who knows? Will feels like he can do anything with him by his side.

The Party is currently gathered in the Wheelers’ basement. They’re throwing a small celebration for Max, who just got discharged from the hospital after weeks of observation. She’d woken up around Will’s birthday, just short of her coma aniversary. It was the best present he could have received.

Max is scheduled for physical therapy to regain some of the muscle in her legs, but for now she’s getting around with a wheelchair. She’s fully blind, unlike Mike. She hasn’t said anything, but Will knows she’s having a hard time with it as well. Lucas had come to him for advice on how to cheer her up; once again, they’ve found themselves in very similar situations.

The party was not Will’s suggestion— Mike would rather die than bring more attention to his disabilities, and he presumes Max would as well. It was actually El’s, disguising the celebration as a friend reunion slash late-birthday party for Mike, since his was spent in the hospital with Max. Will thinks that Mike would have refused, not wanting to take attention away from Max, if it weren’t for the fact that she wouldn’t have agreed to come otherwise.

As it is, Max is sitting next to Lucas on the couch, after having been floated down the stairs by El. Will hates to admit it, but he was a little jealous. It looked like a lot of fun.

Mike also got dibs on the couch, by means of exploiting his condition. No one had really bought that his “arm hurt,” given the fact that it hasn’t hurt since the weather started warming up, and arms have nothing to do with needing couches, but they did relent at, “It’s my couch, deal with it.”

Will, of course, gets the last seat; boyfriend privileges. His arms are curled around Mike’s baby one, head on his shoulder. It’s his spot— he claimed it months ago. It’s one of the only ways they can be physically affectionate while still insuring that Mike has an available hand.

“You’re going to make a permanent indent on his shoulder, I swear, Will,” Lucas says. “Are you glued to that arm?”

“Yes,” Will answers, snuggling closer. “It’s mine.”

“It has one function, and that’s to make Will happy,” Mike jokes, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. Will smiles to himself, satisfied.

“Boooo!” Max shouts, giving them both a thumbs down. “I heard that. Stop being gross.”

Mike— very maturely— blows her a raspberry. “You were so supportive when we came out to you. What happened?”

“That happened,” she nods her head to where Will is still clinging to him. He’s not that bad. Mike is definitely worse. Will doesn’t even allow mouth kisses in front of other people.

“That is an angel,” Mike says, hand over Will’s as if that could protect him from Max’s hatred. It’s sweet, and Will is almost touched by it. Almost.

Will scrunches up his nose, lifting his head to nail him with an unimpressed look. “‘That’?”

Mike raises his eyebrows, realizing his mistake. “That… beautiful boy. Whom I love,” he corrects, voice pitching up at the end of each sentence.

Will screws his mouth to the side, considering. “Alright. Nice save,” he decides, sparing Mike just this once. “Only because you said ‘whom.’”

Mike grins, proud of himself, as Will lies back on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his torso instead. Mike accommodates easily, winding his arm behind him. “Because I’m super smart and hot?”

Will nearly laughs— not that both of those things aren’t true, but they couldn’t be further from the reason. Mike is smart when he works out a difficult puzzle, or when he gets a good grade on a test that everyone else fails. He’s hot when he runs his hand through his hair, or when he first wakes up and his voice is still gravel-y. This is not one of those times. “No. Because you’re a dork.”

Mike turns to him, jaw dropped in offense. “How could you? Do you even love me anymore?”

Will giggles at his dramatics, nuzzling the tips of their noses together, and— okay. Maybe he understands where Max was coming from. They’re a little insufferable. But, to be fair, she only has to deal with Will’s love for a couple hours— he has to live with it.

“Nope,” he says, only because Mike knows it isn’t true. It’s taken a while, but they’ve gotten to the point where they can joke about stuff like this without his insecurities getting in the way. Just to be sure, Will leans up to kiss Mike’s blind eye, something that always manages to subdue him.

Suddenly, a pillow is chucked at their heads.

“What the hell?” Mike exclaims, spinning angrily toward El and Dustin across the table. “Who did that?”

Dustin points to El, and El points to Dustin, innocent looks on their faces. Liars.

“It was totally deserved,” Max says. Will isn’t entirely convinced that she didn’t have a part in that.

Lucas nods. “You two are sickeningly sweet.” He says it as if it’s an insult, but it sort of sounds like a compliment.

“They’re in love,” El comes to their defense, like the best sister in the world. “Leave them alone.” Will vaguely remembers a similar situation the other way around, with El being all lovey dovey with Mike. He believes he had responded with, quote, “Gross.” But, to be fair, they had been pretty gross. He and Mike, on the other hand, are sweet. Sickeningly so.

“Gross,” Max replies, her face souring in disgust. Well. Touché.

“Oh, shut up,” Mike says. “At least I have a working eye.”

“At least I have two working hands,” she rebuts.

“Both of you, quiet,” El demands. Mike and Max obey immediately, closing their mouths, but not before shooting each other a dirty look. The small quirk of Mike’s lips tells Will all he needs to know: they’re having the time of their lives. “Good. Now Mike, bring us snacks.”

“Snacks, snacks, snacks,” Dustin chants, slamming his fists on the table in front of him. Lucas quickly joins in. “Snacks, snacks!”

“Alright!” Mike shouts over the loud banging, before Mrs. Wheeler can storm down here and complain. “Jeez, I’m going. Be right back,” he tells Will, pecking him quickly on the cheek, much to the others’ dismay.

“Nuh uh,” Will shakes his head, arm looping around Mike’s as he stands. “I’m coming. I wouldn’t let you carry bowls of food downstairs with two hands, let alone one. As funny as it would be, I’m not watching you sweep up popcorn all night.”

Mike sighs, like he doesn’t want an excuse to spend some time alone with Will. “Fine. I suppose.”

“Don’t sound too disappointed,” he teases, jabbing Mike in the side.

Mike yips, making a break for it up the stairs and nearly falling flat on his face. Yeah, it was a good idea for Will to come along.

Will leans against the island as Mike puts a bag of popcorn in the microwave. He presses the number two, stepping over to fill a bowl with chips while the timer counts down. He’s gotten pretty good with his hand lately. Though he can’t do everything he could before, he’s certainly got the basics down. Everyday tasks come naturally to him now. Will has never been more proud.

It’s getting easier these days for Will to forget— to look at Mike and not feel immense guilt. To see Mike without seeing all that he’s done to him. He’s just Mike. Normal, regular Mike, with one-and-a-half arms and two scratches on his eye. His Mike. His boyfriend. The man that he loves with his whole heart.

“Hey Mike?”

“Hm?” he hums, not looking up as he empties the chip bag, crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash.

“I never said thank you. For, you know. Everything. Saving me.”

Mike finally turns his head, full attention now on him. He walks over to Will, caging him in by setting a hand on the counter. “Of course, Will. You don’t have to thank me for that. I would have done it in a heartbeat.”

“I know,” Will says, eyes staring downward. He’s definitely blushing. “And that’s why. You were so selfless— throughout all of this. I’m sorry I haven’t been saying it enough, but… I’m incredibly greatful. You’re just— you’re my hero.”

Will had been mad at Mike in the beginning— for being stupid, and reckless, and for caring about Will’s safety more than his own. In reality, he’d been mad at Mike for caring about him at all, when Will couldn’t even care about himself. He didn’t value his life. He hadn’t in a while. He had been reckless.

Now he has so much to care for. For what feels like the first time in years, Will would mind if the world swallowed him up tomorrow. He would go down kicking and screaming. Mike gave him that chance. He gave him the chance to live another day, another month, another year. And he’s so thankful for that.

Mike paid the price for this time. For once, Will can say something other than, “You shouldn’t have.” He can take the gift and enjoy it. For once, he can say, “Thank you.”

Mike smiles softly, cradling Will’s jaw in his hand. “It was the best thing I’ve ever done,” he whispers, leaning in.

As their lips touch, Will knows he truly means that.