Work Text:
Hawkins, 1988
Will sped down Maple Street.
It was just a shy few days into October, and the temperature had already plummeted below 50 degrees. Plumes of white fog stretched from his mouth as he panted and the wind swept his fringe to the side, exposing his forehead. The settling sky was a mix of pale orange and soft blue, exceptionally cloudless. A promise of a starry night.
The air was crisp and lingered of leaves and dew. He pedaled by suburban house after suburban house; houses he’d flashed by at least a thousand times before. The way to Mike’s house was ingrained in his brain, from the shortcut through the forest (saving a grand total of three minutes) to knowing each crack and pothole in the pavement, the ones best avoided on dark rides home. Not that he often had to ride home at all. More often than not, he just stayed the night.
Will’s hand-me-down jacket was left unzipped at the top, allowing cold air to sneak inside and billow by his back. He held back a shudder and picked up his pace, legs cramping with lactic acid as Mike’s house came into sight on the end of the cul-de-sac.
The tires of his bike crunched over a smattering of dry leaves as he turned onto the driveway. He skidded his bike to a stop, the rubber tires squealing faintly against the asphalt. Propping the bike against the side of the house, he jogged to the front door, tucking his hands under his arms for warmth. He could already hear faint noises of people moving around inside—the hum of the TV in the living room and a low conversation between Karen and Nancy.
Will knocked twice, and when the door swung open, Mike was there, wearing a washed out sweatshirt and a lopsided grin. His hair, recently cut shorter, curled pleasantly by his jaw. Will’s heart squeezed tightly in his chest.
“Hey.”
Will shuddered, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. “Hey.”
“You really should be wearing a hat,” Mike remarked, eyes lit up with mirth as he stepped aside to let him in.
“You sound like my mom.” Will deadpanned, voice shaky from the cold and cheeks pink for a whole other reason, “That’s actually kind of exactly what she told me as I left.”
Mike rolled his eyes before grabbing Will’s arm and pulling him inside, swiftly shutting the door behind them. The warmth of the house hit Will immediately, as did the familiar scent of Mike’s home; the remnants of dinner lingering and like the generic laundry detergent Mrs Wheeler used. In a way this felt like home for him too.
Mike leaned against the wall, eyeing him. “But I mean, come on, Will. Gloves at least.”
”Yeah, yeah.” Will said, waving dismissively as he kicked his worn Converse off. Mike’s shoes, Converse as well, were strewn across the hallway floor. He nudged his own pair together until they stood at least kind-of neatly.
“You could’ve just called, you know,” Mike continued, a familiar softness in his voice, the kind he only used when it was just the two of them. “I could’ve—I would’ve picked you up.”
Mike had gotten his license just a short while after the whole End-of-the-world ordeal, and Will knew that he really didn’t mind driving over to Will’s, but still. He wasn’t exactly the one to ask for favors—especially when it came to Mike.
Blood rushed to his cheeks, and he dipped his head down as he hung his jacket on the coat-rack. “Oh. I didn’t think about it. Besides, I like the ride.”
Mike’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, then he nodded toward the basement. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you.”
Will followed him down the stairs, his heart thudding quickly in his chest at the premise of something to show you.
The basement was as familiar as his own room; messy piles of board games, empty soda cans and discarded VHS tapes set on the coffee table. Fairy lights were strung across the walls, bathing the space in a sallow light. Recently, Mike had hung up a few band posters as well. Some were Will’s favorites; The Cure, Depeche Mode and U2. He took great pride in being the one to have introduced them to Mike.
“What is it?” Will asked, flopping down on the couch as Mike avidly rifled through a cardboard box near the TV.
“You’ll… see,” He answered belatedly, sounding a little bit far away. A beat passed before he finally pulled out a black VHS box featuring a skull and bold, red lettering on the front. He held it up triumphantly. “I know you’ve wanted to watch it since it came out.”
Will’s face broke into a grin as he read the title. “Is it…”
“Evil Dead II ,” Mike finished, dropping down cross-legged on the floor, a pleased grin on his face as he patted the spot next to him.
“They just got it in at Family Video. Robin told me like, a month ago, but I wanted to surprise you with it.” He continued, eyes lit up with an almost childlike glee.
Will dropped down beside him, an electric rush sparking through him when their fingers brushed as Mike handed him the tape. His mouth dropped open in slight awe as he skimmed the blurb, turning it over again and flattening his palm across the hard plastic. He turned his gaze back to Mike. “I can’t believe— this is so awesome!”
Mike flushed, scratching his neck sheepishly. “It’s no big deal, really.”
Will shook his head. “No, really. I’ve wanted to see this forever.”
Mike smiled bashfully in response, before his eyes widened with impish. “Remember when we watched the first one, and Dustin got so scared when Cheryl transformed into a demon that he threw up?”
Will cringed at the memory, dropping the tape to cover his scrunched up face. Groaning, “God, yeah. Don’t remind me.”
Mike, seemingly not as disturbed by the, in what Will would describe as traumatic, event, whispered in his best imitation of demon transformed Cheryl; “Why have you disturbed our sleep? Awakened us from our ancient slumber. You will die—"
Will shoved Mike hard enough in the shoulder for him to break character. “It’s not funny, Mike! I couldn’t eat popcorn for months after that.”
Mike snorted, grin unwavering. “Yeah, no kidding. We were way too young to watch that. But I think it should be fine now, though. I’ve heard this one is less.. gore-y, compared to the first one.”
Will laughed, bright and easy. “That’s good. I mean— we’ve seen enough of… that to suffice for a hundred lifetimes. No throwing up this time.”
“Yeah. No more throwing up.” Mike laughed, nudging him in the side with his elbow. He rested his arm there on the carpet, the slight of his forearm still pressing into Will. His sleeve had ridden up, and a sliver of freckled scattered skin exposed itself.
Will looked down at the tape between them again, then back at Mike, his chest tightening with something warm and unnameable. “Thanks, Mike. Really.”
Mike shrugged casually, but the faint redness creeping up his neck gave him away. ”D’you wanna watch it right now?”
He sounded a little hesitant, as if he expected Will to storm out of the basement right then and there. Something stirred deep in Will, an electrifying mass sparking to life in his stomach. He nodded, then glanced up at the staircase. “Are we waiting for the others?”
Mike’s expression faltered briefly. A beat. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, I— I was actually thinking it would be just us, this time.” He waited, eyes flitting all over Will’s face, “If that’s okay?”
Will swallowed thickly, heart hammering relentlessly in his chest. He mustered a steady smile. “Oh, yeah. For sure. Just us. I’m okay with that.”
Mike’s eyes lit up, eyebrows raised and cheeks blossomed in a vigorous pink. He stood suddenly, motioning awkwardly behind him. “Okay. Yeah. Great. I’ll— I’ll get some snacks from the kitchen, if you’ll get the movie going?”
Will nodded, something between a breath of relief and a laugh escaping him, and Mike disappeared upstairs. As he put the tape into the VCR he could hear rustling in the kitchen above him, and despite himself, he smiled. He was so lucky, truly, to have a friend like Mike.
A couple of minutes later, with the lights shut off and a bowl of popcorn resting between them, the opening credits of Evil Dead II flickered to life. The glow of the TV bathed the basement in a bluish hue, and Will couldn’t help but glance over at Mike.
He was staring intensely at the screen, the light illuminating the soft slope of his nose and jaw. A trail of freckles on the bridge of his nose conspicuous from where he was sitting. Mike’s hand rested gently in the space between them. Will swallowed, turning his gaze back to the screen.
An ominous tune swelled in the space, as well as the voice of the narrator. The air felt humid and lingered with anticipation. Mike moved beside him, the warmth of his side pressing against Will.
Legend has it that it was written by The Dark Ones—Necronomicon Ex-Mortis—roughly translated: Book of The Dead…
Mike leaned closer, lowering his voice, despite it only being the two of them (i.e no Dustin to hush anyone who spoke in a volume over 20 decibels). “This is going to be so good.”
Will nodded his head in agreement, as a small smile formed on his lips. ”I still can’t believe you did this— and the fact that you managed to keep it a secret for so long, mostly.” He whispered slyly, glancing at Mike.
Mike made a noise, something between a laugh and an affronted splutter. ”I—I’m good at keeping secrets!” His face had turned a little red, noticeable even in the low light.
”Are you, Mike?” Will asked, sounding slightly incredulous. He bit back laughter.
“Yep. You have no idea.” He kept his gaze towards the TV, where Ash and Linda drove in a mellow silence.
Will was quiet for a moment. ”Okay. Sure.”
This time Mike turned to properly face him. His eyebrows were comically high on his forehead, mouth twisted in a serious frown. He looked similar to Karen, in a way. ”I am. I am!”
Will gave him a mixed look of amusement and fondness. ”I believe you.”
”You’re— okay. Good.” Mike muttered, not sounding entirely upset, as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Their little squabble faded, and they fell back into silence. Mike had soon drowsed back into the couch again, arm pressed against Will’s and head lolled slightly to the side. Outside the sun had dipped completely and the basement drowned in darkness.
When the credits rolled the clock had turned a little over half past twelve. Will felt tired, sluggish, almost. Mike was half asleep on the couch, his hair spreading out around his head like a halo. Will poked him carefully.
”Hey.” He smiled.
Mike’s eyes fluttered open. ”Hey.” He smiled back, small and genuine.
”You kind of missed the ending.”
Mike pushed himself into a sitting position, running his hand through his mess of curls. He scrunched his nose as he held back a yawn. ”Oh, fuck,”
Will smiled lopsidedly at him. ”It’s alright. I mean, I’m the one who wanted to watch it, anyway.” He said, shrugging.
Mile went silent for a second, before glancing away. ”No— I mean. This just wasn’t how I planned for it to go, I guess.”
Will gave him a weird look, smiling bemusedly. ”Planned? For what?”
Mike made a strangled, throaty sound. His cheeks had turned an awfully attractive shade of bright pink. ”It’s stupid. Just— it’s nothing.”
”It’s stupid, or it’s nothing?”
”Both. Neither. I don’t know!”
Will tilted his head, eyes softening. He waited, letting the silence stretch just a little.
“Mike,” He said quietly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But… you can.”
Mike looked like he was debating it. His fingers twitched where they rested against the couch cushion, drumming out a nervous rhythm. Then he exhaled, long and shaky. He glanced up, locking eyes with Will. His eyes were dark, desperately flickering over his face. ”Yeah?”
Will nodded, swallowing down his own unease. He reached out, placing a clammy hand on top of Mike’s, squeezing once, twice. ”Yeah. Yeah, ’course.”
Mike glanced down at Will’s hand. ”I— I can’t say it.”
Will brushed his thumb lightly over Mike’s knuckles, grounding. “That’s okay,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to.”
Mike looked up again, something unreadable and raw in his eyes. “But I want to.”
Will took a slow breath. The TV, which had yet to be turned off, crackled with static. He felt dizzy.
Mike’s voice cracked slightly as he added, “I just… I don’t know how. I’m scared it’ll ruin things.”
Will shook his head, gave Mike’s hand another squeeze. “It won’t,” he whispered. “I promise. Whatever it is—whatever you’re trying to say—it won’t ruin anything.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“I am,” Will said firmly. “Because it’s you.”
That made Mike’s face crumple for a split second. He bit down on his lip, shook his head, and when he spoke again, it came out mushed together into one word; canishowyouinstead?
Will blinked, his mouth dry and mind rushing. ”What?”
Mike’s cheeks burned crimson, but he didn’t look away this time. His voice was steadier now, but only just. “Can I… show you, instead?” he repeated, slower this time.
Will’s heart was thudding so loud he was sure Mike could hear it. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at him— really looked at him. The pink flush, the tremble in his fingers, the urgent desperation in his eyes.
Then, he nodded. In a single breath; ”Yeah.”
Mike still hesitated for a second longer, as if giving Will one last chance to back out. When he didn’t, he leaned in, carefully and tentatively placing his hands at the sides of Will’s face.
And then, quietly, softly, he kissed him.
Will’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned in without thinking, hands instinctively moving to his cheeks. Mike tasted a little like the buttered popcorn they had shared, and his lips were soft and slick, despite the dry autumn air. God, how had he ever lived without this? 10 whole years; years of friendship and yearning and wanting, succumbing to this. To the gentle press of bodies and lips—to something much more, something much stronger.
Mike leaned away all too quickly, breaking the kiss. His hand still resting on Will’s cheek. ”Was that… was that okay?”
Will nodded quickly, without any hesitation. ”Yeah. That was—” His voice had gone gravelly all of a sudden, and he noticed that his hands were slightly shaking. He was at a loss for words. Mike, his Mike, had kissed him.
Mike laughed in relief, dropping the hand from Will’s cheek to run a hand through his coarse hair. ”Okay. Good— that’s good.”
Will’s smile grew, the kind that made his cheeks ache. He leaned his forehead briefly against Mike’s, breathing in the quiet between them. The air around them felt thicker somehow—like it was holding its breath too.
Neither of them moved, not really, except for the slight shift of Will’s fingers curling into the hem of Mike’s sweatshirt. “I’ve kind of… thought about that,” he admitted, voice almost inaudible.
Mike blinked. “The kiss?”
Will nodded, eyes still soft, almost dazed. “Yeah. A lot.”
Mike’s mouth parted in surprise, then curved into something gentler than a smile. “Me too,” he whispered. “For, like… a stupidly long time.”
That made Will laugh—short, breathy, relieved too. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Mike huffed, sheepish. “Because I’m me. And you’re you. And I didn’t want to mess it up.”
“You didn’t,” Will said quickly. “You didn’t mess anything up.”
The static from the TV still buzzed in the background, but neither of them moved to shut it off. The outside world felt far away.
Mike sat back a little, watching Will like he was trying to memorize every inch of him. “So… what now?”
Will shrugged, a teasing smile creeping up his face. “We watch the movie again, obviously. You kind of missed the horror movie of the century”
Mike groaned and dropped his head back against the couch. “I was tired!”
“That’s no excuse, Wheeler.” Will grinned, nudging him. “But fine. I’ll let you pick next time, on the condition that you won’t fall asleep halfway through.”
Mike blinked at him, eyes gleaming. “There’s gonna be a next time?” He asked, sounding hopeful.
He was a little out of breath, but still felt a lot braver than he had ever been. “Yeah. Of course there is.”
Mike reached out and laced their fingers together, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Good,” he said. “Because I have like, ten other movies rented.”
Will rolled his eyes, laughing good-naturedly. Fondness wallowed over him. ”Right. Can’t let those weird 70’s movies go to waste. I mean— someone has to watch them. It would be a dying business, if it weren’t for you.”
Mike made a disgruntled noise, hand tightening around Will’s. ”What? You like them too!”
”Mhm, sure.”
Mike shook his head in faux disappointment. ”I hate you.”
Will laughed, leaning into him. ”No, you don’t.”
”Yeah, you’re right. I like you a lot, actually.”
Will’s cheeks cramped, so much. His body ached with love. ”I like you a lot, too.”