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Mike’s breath has been knocked out of him. He was so close to losing it for the last time. But he lives on. He stares in awe at the familiar boy in front of him as he wipes the blood off his nose and drops to his knees.
Before Mike can even catch his breath, his body moves like it’s been pulled by an unseen tether. His feet tear at the earth, carrying him towards Will. He falls beside him with a weighty thud, like the world itself has decided to drop its burden at this moment.
He runs.
Runs right to Will’s side and lets his body drop down with a huge thump.
Will is conscious. He’s conscious and he’s looking right at Mike, dumbfounded. Mike can see the tiredness run through Will.
Mike has known Will for so long that he could read the lines of his face without needing words. Every crease, every flicker of his eyes, a poem Mike memorised in the quiet corners of their shared history. But now, there’s something else. A new language in Will’s face, one Mike has never spoken. Mike knows there are other dialects he has not explored in Will’s face. But they still felt familiar.
This expression, this face, was foreign to Mike, like a stranger wearing the skin of his best friend. Will, always so quiet, now burned with a fierce intensity Mike had never witnessed before. It was like a storm had taken root in his bones, a storm that set everything around him alight. Mike couldn’t find words for what he felt. His mind spun in a maelstrom—military men torn apart, kids ripped from their innocence, God, the kids—but beneath it all, a quiet awe crept up his spine. Will, the boy he had known his whole life, had never looked so... beautiful. So goddamn stunning. Mike's head cannot stay focused. They need to go.
“Will? Will, are you okay? We gotta go, we really need to go,” Mike says, panic rushing through him, what if they’re back, what if…
Mike shoves his thoughts aside, as if they were ghosts clawing at the door. He doesn’t let himself think about his parents, about the scene they had witnessed—about the Demo looming like some terrible shadow in the doorway. He won’t let himself think about that. Not now. Because Will had done the impossible. Will had pulled them back from the brink. Will had saved him. Saved Joyce.
“Yea-yeah I think so. I think I need help to-to stand please,” Will says, and Mike notices that his legs are shaking.
Joyce appears in a rush, her breath frantic, like a bird caught in a storm. She crouches beside them, her hands trembling as she touches their shoulders. It’s a simple gesture, but to Mike, it’s like the dam inside him is starting to crack. That soft touch, that unspoken care, undoes him. For a moment, he’s a child again, reminded of the warmth of his mother’s hands.
He doesn’t need to look down to know the hand on his arm is Will’s. He can feel the quiet power in it, the reassurance in the grip. Joyce’s hand ruffles his hair—a motherly touch that stirs something deep inside him—before she pulls away, her eyes glowing with something soft and fierce. And then, in the blink of an eye, her gaze hardens, like a blade sharpened by necessity.
“We do need to get out of here. We should try to regroup and figure out what we’re going to do about the kids. Will, you need to rest, too.”
Will nods, looking so tired and out of it that he is near collapse.
Will the Sorcerer. Despite everything, Mike smiles, thinking of their exchange earlier.
“I know where to go. Just for a short while though, we won’t be able to stay there long.” Mike says, and Joyce seems to know exactly where he means and shakes her head softly.
“That’s too dangerous Mike. Maybe we should just go to the Sqawk. Wait until the others make it back to us. And then when we confirm that everyone is safe, we can go back to the house.”
Mike nods. The Sqawk it is.
He loops an arm around Will, the boy feeling limp now, and attempts to lift him up. He frowns. He is not physically strong enough for this. He looks over to Joyce, who holds Will’s other arm up, mirroring the moment from twenty minutes ago. Mike remembers that it’s not only Will using his powers for the first time that has tired him, but he has literally collapsed moments before Vecna appeared. Mike’s heart tugs. And he must have expressed it too well.
“Mike, I’m fine,” Will mumbles, his sentences mashed up together and sounding tired “jus’ need rest.”
“Yeah! Yeah, we’ll make sure you get some.”
Joyce and Mike guide Will through the tunnels, taking their time and ensuring he is still with them. He is. Will powers through in the most impressive way.
Mike’s heart tugs again.
“Guys! Guys! What the hell, are you all okay?”
Mike watches as Lucas gets closer and closer, his expression in shock as he stares at his friends. Lucas is not followed by any kids. Mike feels sick. Lucas looks dishevelled. He has looked tired for a long time.
“Will, man, what happened?”
Mike gives Lucas a look as if to say ‘later’. Lucas just nods, their silent language as strong as ever.
They will discuss this later.
Lucas helps Mike grab Will’s other arm as Joyce leads the way.
Mike forces a calm he doesn’t feel, burying the panic that rises in his chest like a tidal wave. His mind races, flickering between the faces of the others out there. Are they still on course? Has anyone strayed from the plan? He can’t shake the tight knot of fear in his gut, hoping—no, praying—that some of them have already made it to the Sqawk.
The room is empty. Hollow. The air is sharp and cold, as if the walls themselves have swallowed the warmth. There’s something wrong about the stillness. Joyce flicks the lights on, and the harsh glow cuts through the darkness like a knife. The boys, together in this fragile moment, gently lay Will onto the sofa, their movements too careful, too slow, as if they’re handling something fragile, something that might break at any second. Mike blinks, suddenly remembering that they were just fighting a burst pipe in the Mac-Z toilets not long ago. That feels like a lifetime ago. Will’s hair is still damp, clinging to his forehead like a stray memory. His clothes are soaked, the fabric heavy against his skin. Without thinking, Mike shrugs off his jacket, disgusted by the sour stench of sweat and grime and other things that clings to it. They both need a wash—desperately. Yet he drapes the jacket over Will’s limp form, who’s passed out, his breath deep but laboured. A pained expression tugs at his face, the lines of exhaustion etched too deeply for Mike to ignore. But he doesn’t care. Not now. He reaches out, his fingers trembling as they gently brush against Will’s face—too soft, too careful, as if the touch might shatter him. Lucas probably saw it. Joyce, too. But it doesn’t matter. It’s just them now, in this broken, haunted silence.
He clears his throat, the sound raw in the silence. Standing up from Will’s side feels like stepping away from something sacred, something fragile. He doesn’t look at the others, he doesn’t need to. He knows their eyes are on him, but the weight of them is like smoke, slipping through his fingers. It doesn’t matter.
“What happened?” The voice is quieter than he probably meant it to be, almost swallowed by the room’s cold emptiness.
Mike finally turns to Lucas, his words a careful thread unraveling as he explains, soft and deliberate. Joyce is pacing, a restless energy in her every step. For a 5’3 lady, she can make the place feel like an Earthquake. Her fingers tangle in her hair like she’s trying to hold onto something, or perhaps lose it all at once. Somehow, she has found a cigarette. She lights it in a frenzy, like the flame is the only thing keeping her grounded. Her hands tremble as she pulls in a deep drag, the smoke curling up around her like a wisp of something too fragile to grasp. Mike watches the smoke bleed into the air, each puff a fleeting memory of something darker. He’s never considered it before, but now, he thinks he could use one too—just to steady his pulse, if only for a moment.
By the end of Mike’s explanation, Lucas looks between the three of them, his gaze sharp.
“He must’ve seen the Demo in the tunnel,” Lucas says, his voice a whisper of disbelief. “He snapped it... Holy shit, did he know? Did he know he could do that?” His words hang in the air, suspended in the weight of the impossible.
Joyce shakes her head. Shrugs. Mike thinks back a mere few weeks ago, the plates trembling, lights flickering. It had been accumulating. Will has had it all along. But something made him snap tonight. Mike does not mention this to anyone. Keeps it safe like a locket inside himself.
Lucas is buzzing with questions. Mike offers simple explanations to them. His eyes wander to the boy on the sofa, his head blown back, hands up to his chest, hair messy and splayed everywhere on the arm of the sofa. Mike sighs deeply. Think back on the Demos being snapped, how Will moved his arms in a movement so controlled and then slightly lifted his head.
Will has just saved them all.
Lucas is pacing now, his footsteps slow and deliberate, as though he’s trying to walk around the edges of a puzzle he can’t quite solve. Every few minutes, he glances down at Will, his face tight with worry, as if checking if Will will slip away in the next breath. Joyce, meanwhile, sits like a statue, her shoulders heavy with unspoken thoughts. Mike stands, a restless energy in his bones, but he’s too consumed by the need for action that he can’t bring himself to move. They’re all trapped in this limbo—processing it differently, as if the weight of everything is too much for one person to carry. A plan. There has to be a plan. They can’t stay here. But still, they’re frozen, suspended in the cold air of uncertainty.
Just as the silence thickens, the door bursts open with a heavy jolt, a rush of energy that cuts through the heavy air like lightning. Robin stumbles in, her breath ragged, eyes wide with the rawness of panic. She looks determined, but extremely panicked. She looks over at Will and seems to click something together. She seems as though she wants to dig deeper, but her head shakes quickly.
“Holy shit,” She sputters and Mike remembers Robin and Will laughing in the tunnels earlier. He wants to look away and cry. But they are supposed to be working together. So he bites down on his lip. Mike does not cry.
Robin talks in a rush, her words spilling out like a river breaking its banks, too fast to catch. Joyce doesn’t say a word in response, but Mike notices how her silence speaks volumes—no frustration, just a weariness that sinks deep into her bones, and a quiet, solemn weight that hangs between them all.
The kids.
Robin talks up a storm, saying that before she can do anything about the kids, the Demos had swiped them all. She looks as though she is on the verge of a panic. She cannot get in contact with the others. The kids are all gone.
“I’m going to the hospital,” she ends, and Mike snaps out of his head.
“No. No, how are you getting there? Where’s Murray?” Mike spills out and Robin does not answer. Her expression now focused.
“I’ll go with her.” Lucas looks serious. “Max. What if…” Lucas trails off and gets to the door. When he is about to step out, he looks back fiercely at Mike.
“Stay in contact. I’ll try Dustin and the others again. Try Hopper. You try as well. Make sure Will is rested. Then we can recuperate again. There’s no point doing anything now, we are outnumbered.”
Mike finds himself nodding, and the pair rush out. The door closing behind them and unanswered questions rushing through Mike’s brain.
Joyce sighs. She lights up a cigarette. Mike figures that she is worried about Hopper and El.
“Mrs.Byers?”
Joyce looks up at Mike, her expression intense.
The cold of the Sqawk seems to seep into their bones as they sit in the dim light. The small room, usually filled with chatter and energy, now feels like a tomb. It’s silent and still, save for the faint hum of static. The air still smells faintly of stale coffee and dust, a forgotten place that somehow feels safer than the world outside. But Mike knows they need to keep moving.
And Mike really needs a shower.
“How are we gunna get anywhere?”
“My car is outside. It’s just not safe to drive it right now. We need to lay low here. If we see an opportunity, we can quickly go to the house, pick up some extra supplies.”
Mike nods in agreement, the plan settling somewhere in the back of his mind. It’s the only option they have. He slides down to the floor beside Will, the boy still fast asleep on the sofa. Mike’s body is stiff, muscles sore from the hours of tension, but his mind is still racing, spinning in circles he can’t seem to stop.
There’s a silence that stretches out, thick and suffocating, as if the world itself is holding its breath. Mike reaches out again, bringing his jacket up higher over Will’s shoulders, making sure it’s snug. Will’s body instinctively shifts closer, curling into the warmth, and for a moment, Mike feels like he can breathe again.
“Mike?”
The sound of Joyce’s voice is soft, like a whisper cutting through the chaos, and Mike turns to look at her. She’s watching him with a tenderness that surprises him, her eyes filled with something between concern and understanding. Then, for the first time that night, she smiles. It’s a small, quiet thing that carries more weight than any words she could say.
“What you and Will have. It’s very special. I’m happy you’re here for him. Just like I was happy you were there for him in the hospital. And in the shed.”
There is a lump in Mike’s throat that he cannot swallow. He tries, but the knot tries to choke him. He gives up.
“I know you had some tension. I don’t understand it - or why. But I know one thing. And that is how much you mean to him. I’m happy you’re both speaking again. When you both work together, when you’re both on the same page, you can achieve beautiful things.”
Mike’s hands are shaking now, and he can’t stop it. He’s frozen, stuck in the realisation that maybe, just maybe, Joyce sees something he hasn’t even admitted to himself yet. He looks at her, and he realizes how much older she looks, how much more grown-up she is, despite everything. How much she’s seen and carried, watching them grow, watching them become who they are now.
Mike swallows hard, his gaze flickering to Will’s face again, to his chest rising and falling with the soft rhythm of sleep. His heart pounds in his chest, the truth settling in like a stone sinking in water.
He loves Will.
Mike loves Will.
He loves Will so much that he will fight by his side, he will defeat this evil with him and with everyone. Mike knows that the tensions in his small world extend beyond the Upside Down. He knows that when this is over, if it ever is over, he will have to face himself in a world that is closed off to people like him. Mike does not know if Will could even feel the same. But Mike knows that Will is like him. Always has been. Even if he does feel the same, the world will never let them be together. There is more evil. Evil that extends past the Demos and Vecna and the Mindflayer. Evil that looks just like any ordinary human. He is not ready to face that. But he wants to try.
Mike does not realise he is crying until Joyce scooches next to him and wipes up a tear.
That does it for him. The pipe bursts. And Mike is sobbing for the first time in years. He’s sobbed like this before. When he thought he saw Will’s body being pulled from the lake. When he thought El was dead.
And now, his parents might be dead. And Mike has to deal with his identity forever.
Mike cries because the world is too heavy, because everything feels like it's falling apart, and because he can’t carry it anymore. He cries for the boy he loves, for the future that’s slipping out of reach, for the part of himself he hasn’t even begun to understand. He cries for Holly who is probably out there and lost, just like Will was all those years ago. He cries for his mother and father in the hospital. He cries just because it is the only thing he can now do.
Joyce’s hand gently rubs his back, a soothing motion, but Mike can’t stop. He doesn’t know why, but he just keeps sobbing harder and harder, like the dam that had been holding everything back has finally cracked open. He cries over everything in his life that is crumbling down before him. Cries at the fact that there is no end to the fight yet. Cries at the worry about his friends. Joyce shushes him softly, murmuring words of comfort that would normally soothe him, but all they do is make him cry harder. The soft rhythm of her voice doesn’t stop the flood of emotions that pour out of him, the weight of everything he’s lost, everything he’s afraid of losing, too much for him to hold back any longer.
He cries until his eyes burn, until his chest is tight, and he feels weaker than he has ever felt in his life. But deep down, Mike knows he needs this. He needs to feel. He needs this overwhelming, suffocating emotion that’s been bottled up for so long. He needs to become comfortable with it, to not be afraid of it. Mike from three years ago would huff at him. Mike tries to bury that verison of him deep in the ground.
“Mike?...Mom?”
The voice is so soft, so quiet, that Mike doesn’t recognize it at first. But then it becomes earth-shattering. He feels the air shifting, a change in the room. He straightens up, his body jerking to attention. Will is awake, his eyes wide and unfocused, confusion clouding his face as he stares at the two of them.
Mike straightened his posture. Will is awake, staring at them both with confusion.
Mike is so relieved that wants to cry again. Will looks so small, laying down and gazing down at them both. His eyes are soft again, a complete contrast to what Mike saw in the Mac-Z.
Before he can stop himself, Mike lunges forward, pulling Will into a hug. It’s awkward, with Will still horizontal, but Mike doesn’t care. His arms wrap around Will’s shoulders, and Will, weak but instinctively strong, raises one arm to clasp Mike’s shoulders, pulling him closer.
Joyce sighs in relief and tenderness. The warmth of it settles the room.
“Oh, Will. Will, my brave boy,” she says, her voice thick with love. It’s the kind of love Mike’s never truly had words for, the kind that fills every crack and corner of the world around them, even in the face of everything else crumbling. It almost breaks Mike again, makes him want to fall apart all over again, but he holds it in.
He pulls away from Will, wiping his eyes quickly, trying to regain some composure. He watches Joyce hover over Will, her hands gentle as she checks him over, making sure he’s really there, really with them again. Will makes a few low grunts of complaint, still clearly out of it, but he doesn’t resist. He lets Joyce comfort him in that way only a mother can.
Once they all settle again, the silence returns, but it’s softer now. More like a quiet pause, rather than a weight. Still, Will’s expression shifts, his brow furrowing slightly, a look of deep concentration filling his eyes.
“I saw it,” he says, his voice raw but firm. He looks at them both, his gaze steady, though there’s an edge to it. “From their point of view again. I felt… something I’ve never felt before. Like I just tapped into it.”
Mike and Joyce listen carefully. Will describes seeing Mike, Joyce, Lucas and Robin through the Demos’ eyes. He recalls feeling the electric power run through him and how he extended it outward. Mike watches him in awe.
“You used your willpower,” Mike says in an attempt to break the tension again. He does not know the extent of Will’s powers yet. Nobody probably did. He does not know where they are going from here. But he knows one thing. Vecna is getting his ass beat. Joyce groans at the joke. His words are meant to sound casual, like he’s brushing it off, but even he knows it’s more than that. He doesn’t know the full extent of what Will can do—not yet. Nobody does. But something in Will has changed. As though it has been built up for years.
“What did I tell you?” Mike says, smiling up at Will.
Will grins back.
“The sorcerer.” Will says. He tries to stand up. He manages successfully. Mike watches as the boy grimaces at the state of himself, covered in fluids. Mike subconsciously looks down at himself. God he reeks.
“Vecna’s going down,” Mike mutters under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
Joyce glances at him, her expression unreadable for a moment, before her lips curl into a small, knowing smile. It’s not a smile of relief, but of something deeper, something that says: We’re in this together. They’ve all seen things they shouldn’t have seen. Faced things that have changed them forever. But somehow, they’re still standing.
Mike knows that with Will’s strength, with his own resolve, and with everyone fighting at their side, they can make it through this. They have to.
And he doesn’t care what it takes.
Mike and Joyce fill Will in about the others. How they are planning to go back to the house quickly, to replenish supplies. A quick change of clothes. And then they track down the others. The fight continues.
Mike needs some damn coffee.
The car’s headlights cut through the darkness like a pair of weak candles struggling against an overwhelming storm. The road stretches ahead, empty and silent, the shadows of trees and abandoned buildings creeping alongside them. Joyce lights up another cigarette, and Will tells her to stop. Joyce instantly puts it out and smiles at her son.
Mike sits in the backseat, his hands curled tightly around his knees, his body pressed against the cool leather. The silence in the car is thick, wrapping around them like fog, the kind that weighs down your chest and makes every breath feel heavier than the last. Outside, the night is swallowing everything, the trees, the streets, the world they’re trying to save. Inside the car, the only sound is the occasional hum of the engine and the quiet click of Joyce’s fingers tapping against the steering wheel. Hawkins looks like it’s in a deep sleep, unwathering, unaware.
Mike’s gaze drifts to the rearview mirror, where he catches a glimpse of Joyce’s face. Her eyes are intense, scanning the road. Every now and then, her fingers tighten on the wheel, her knuckles going white, and Mike wonders if she’s picturing something—someone—out there in the night, just waiting for them to slip up. Waiting for something to jumpscare them. Mike prays for no run-ins with the military. He prays hard.
"Everything okay?" Mike asks, the words coming out rough, like he hasn’t spoken in ages.
Joyce doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes flick briefly to the rearview mirror, catching his gaze for a second. The moment is fleeting, but in that second, Mike can see it—the same quiet dread that’s gnawing at him. She’s just as tense as he is. She’s just as aware of how exposed they are right now.
“I’m fine,” Joyce mutters, but her voice betrays her. It’s thin, tight, like a rubber band about to snap. “Just nervous, that’s all. I don’t know what’s out there, Mike. I don’t know what we’re walking into. We need to find the others. Quickly.”
Mike nods.The whole world feels off balance right now, like they’re standing on a cliff’s edge and waiting for the ground to fall out beneath them.
Will shifts in the front seat, groaning softly, his face still pale from exhaustion. But even in his slumped position, he’s tense, too. None of them can sleep, not with everything hanging over them like a storm cloud. Mike doesn’t dare disturb him, not now. Will’s barely recovered enough to stay awake, let alone talk. But Mike knows Will’s thoughts are running in the same direction. What’s next? What happens next? Mike’s thoughts drift to Dustin and Lucas, clenching his knees even tighter.
Joyce swerves the car slightly, her grip on the wheel tightening as they pass a line of abandoned vehicles. She drives as though she has never been taught, the nerves guiding her through the road, her head not in it. A couple of military trucks, upturned and burned out, their windows shattered, sit like forgotten ghosts in the moonlight. For a second, Mike imagines someone, some soldier watching them from behind the wreckage. He imagines a hand rising from the shadows, holding a rifle, just waiting for them to make a wrong move. He imagines a Demo launching at them, gripping the roof of the car before getting to them again.
“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Joyce says, her voice a little firmer now, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as Mike. But even then, her words don’t hold the weight they once did. “We just need to get to your house, grab the things we need, and go. We can’t stay here much longer, Mike. We know that.”
"I know," Mike mutters under his breath. The words feel hollow, like promises made to a ghost.
But they can’t keep moving on. They need a plan. Quickly. Mike’s head starts to work out something.
The car’s tires roll over the cracked asphalt, the sound of rubber meeting road strangely loud in the silence of the night. Mike glances out the window. There’s something eerie about the stillness—nothing moving. Not a single light anywhere, not even the faint glow of a distant streetlamp. It’s too quiet. Too empty.
The hairs on the back of his neck rise.
The tension in the car escalates with every mile. Mike’s pulse quickens. He looks out at the dark road again, his eyes searching for shadows that aren’t there. They pass by a few homes—abandoned houses, windows boarded up. Some look untouched, like time itself froze them in place.
His thoughts cut off as Joyce’s voice rises, the slight quiver in it unmistakable. “We’re too exposed, Mike. They could be anywhere. We need to be careful.”
Mike swallows hard, shifting uneasily in his seat. "We’ll be fine," he says, but it doesn’t come out sounding like he believes it. He turns his head toward Will, who has his eyes closed now, his face drawn in exhaustion, yet still unrelenting, still carrying the weight of something far heavier than any of them.
"We just need to get to the house. Get some supplies. And then we figure out what to do," Mike mutters, more to himself than anyone else.
Joyce gives him a tight nod, but Mike knows she’s not convinced. Her hands shake slightly as she grips the wheel, her knuckles white. Even with the windows rolled down, the air feels thick, suffocating, like it’s pressing in from all sides.
The darkness outside the car is overwhelming now, swallowing everything but the small bubble of light cast by the headlights. Every street corner feels like a potential threat. Every abandoned vehicle looks like it could hold someone waiting. The more Mike tries to push the thought away, the more it claws at him.
A shiver runs through the car as they pass the last stretch of road leading to Mike’s house. The quiet weight of the night presses in from all sides. They’re closer now. But the question hangs in the air, unspoken: What happens when they get there?
Mike shudders as he looks into his house. The house he has grown up in. His safe haven. He realises that he couldn’t go back there properly. Not for a while anymore.
As he gets to the door, Mike gulps. This is where it all happened.His entire family, other than Nancy, is gone. All of them were torn apart. Mike feels a hand on his shoulder. He knows it’s Will’s. He forces the tears back. Opens the door with a creak. The house is quieter than it has ever been in the past eighteen months. Mike couldn’t bear to look at any of it. Bounds downstairs into the basement instead.
He hears the hushed voices of Joyce and Will.
By the time Mike is in the basement, Will has joined him. Joyce is clattering upstairs, cursing under her breath.
Mike takes it in Will's makeshift bedroom. It’s frozen in time. Open sketchpads, duvet covers strewn around. Mike’s eyes land on a record they were both listening to the night before the unsuccessful Crawl. He doesn’t remember the name of it, because he was looking at Will jamming along to it. His head drowned the music out.
“Mike. Get in the shower. I’ll go get us a change of clothes from your room.” Will’s voice cuts the stillness of the room, offering a gentle but firm promise.
Mike could only nod. It’s strange, the way Will’s presence makes everything feel more manageable, even when everything else is falling apart. Mike nods again, this time with a little more strength, and heads toward the shower. He hasn’t used the one downstairs in so long. His fingers fumble with the buttons on his jacket as he walks to the bathroom, his mind still racing. He’s tired. So fucking tired, but his body and mind are too full to let him rest.
He turns on the water, stepping under the hot spray as it hits his skin. For the first time in days, he lets the heat soak into his muscles, the water running over his body like it can wash away everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the overwhelming pressure. The house feels distant now, a vague memory at the edges of his thoughts, fading away as the sound of the water drowns out everything else. He uses whichever shower gel that Will is using and the closeness makes his heart ache.
After a while, Mike shuts off the water and wraps a clean towel around his waist. Despite everything, he finally feels fresh. He steps out, feeling a little more like himself, but still heavy with everything that’s happened. He knows Will is waiting for him, and the thought of seeing him again settles something deep inside, something Mike doesn’t quite know how to name yet.
When Mike walks back into the basement, Will is there, sitting on the edge of the bed with a pair of clothes in his hands. He’s changed too, his own clothes a bit more put together, his hair damp from the upstairs shower water, though it looks like he’s been working through something in his head. Mike can see the exhaustion still in his eyes, but there’s something else there now. It’s something bright, something alive in the way he’s looking at Mike.
“Here,” Will says softly, offering him the clothes.
Mike takes them, but doesn’t move right away. He watches Will for a moment, noticing how close they are now. How the space between them has shrunk.
Will shifts slightly, his eyes flickering with something unspoken. There’s a heaviness in the air now, a quiet charge that neither of them can ignore anymore. They’re standing on the edge of something they both know they can’t take back. Will glances at Mike’s chest and gulps, and Mike sees it. He takes the clothes and heads back into the bathroom, quickly pulling the clothes on his body, hands shaking so hard.
He goes back to Will.
Mike is brave again.
He steps forward, his chest tightening. For a second, he hesitates, but then he’s reaching for Will, his hands on his shoulders, pulling him in. Will doesn’t resist. He wraps his arms around Mike, and the world feels like it’s slipping away—fading into nothing but the two of them.
When they pull away from the hug, Will stares at Mike, dumbfounded.
The pipes burst again. Mike doesn’t cry this time, though. He just does something that may be very stupid later. Very very stupid. But he does not care one bit. Not after everything today. Mike feels the memories of the past eighteen months coarse through him. How they had both been so filled with inexplicable rage towards each other. The awkward run ins, the eye rolling, the reconciliation that felt so awkward at first.
He looks at Will. Will is staring at him. Longer than three seconds. Will is looking into him, right into his soul, and Mike cannot help it anymore.
He closes the gap between them.
Mike leans in, his heart hammering in his chest. Will’s lips are soft against his, tentative at first, like they’re both testing the waters, afraid of what it might mean, but neither one of them pulls away.
The kiss deepens, slow and unhurried, like the world outside has stopped existing, and it’s just them, standing in this moment together. Will lets out a sigh into his mouth and Mike circles his arms around the shorter’s waist, gripping slightly. He thinks back to how Will looked back at him in the Mac-Z, a look of utmost fiercness.
He thinks of how light and refreshing it has been to be reconciled. He thinks about the possibility that they were both just cowering away from each other from the beginning, both for the same reasons, an uncertainty, a way to protect themselves.
When they pull apart, it’s only by an inch. Just enough space for their foreheads to rest against each other, breath mingling between them. They are both breathing heavily, like it’s relief, and a mixture of exhilaration. Will looks absolutely bewildered, but he does not let go. He brings his hands up to Mike’s face. Mike pulls him in again, kissing his head, as Will’s arm wraps around him. They stay like that until they hear Joyce’s voice pull them out of a newly found utopia. They pull apart and there is a promise in Will’s eyes. They are both trembling, and Mike cannot help but press his forehead against Will’s again, taking it all in. Shaking with a feral nature.
They will delve into this. Later.
And in this moment, with everything that’s happening, with everything that’s broken and uncertain in the world around them, Mike knows that they will figure it out.
They will work together.
Everything is not fixed, but Mike’s heart feels like it’s slowly piecing together.