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Mike was on his way back home, the morning air still cool as he pedaled down the quiet street. Earlier that morning, he had slipped out of the house to grab bagels from the local bakery, a small attempt at breaking the monotony of cereal breakfasts he and Will had been stuck with for weeks. When Mike had left, Will was still fast asleep, curled under the blankets, his face peaceful in a way that made Mike hesitate before quietly closing the door behind him.
When he reached the house, Mike tossed his bike carelessly into the front yard and jogged up the steps, already thinking about how pleased Will would be when he saw the bagels. He reached for his keys only to freeze, realizing he’d forgotten them entirely. Thankfully, the door wasn’t locked; he pushed it open with a quiet click and stepped inside, closing it softly behind him. The house felt unnervingly silent, the kind of silence that pressed against his ears and made his chest tighten. Joyce had left earlier that morning with Hopper, and his parents had been gone for days, but the absence of noise from anyone else made unease coil in his stomach.
“Hello?” Mike called out, his voice echoing faintly through the hallway. When no one answered, he walked into the kitchen and set the bagels down on the table, the paper bag crinkling loudly in the quiet space. He moved toward the living room, scanning the furniture and half-expecting someone to pop up and scare him, but the room was just as empty. Were they really all still asleep? That didn’t make sense, especially not Will. Will never slept in this late, not unless something was wrong.
The worry crept into Mike’s thoughts before he could stop it, dark and familiar. After everything they’d been through—after losing Will once already—the fear never truly left. His heart began to race as he imagined all the terrible possibilities.
“Will?” he called out, louder this time, his voice bouncing off the walls as if the house itself refused to answer him.
Mike climbed the stairs two at a time, opening every door he passed. His own bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made. Holly’s room was untouched, toys scattered across the floor. The bathroom was vacant as well, the mirror reflecting only his increasingly anxious expression. With a growing knot in his chest, he moved toward Nancy’s room, hoping to find either her or Jonathan so he could ask where Will was.
“Nancy?” Mike called as he pushed the door open. “Have you seen Will—” His words died instantly as the door slammed against the wall, revealing a sight that left him completely speechless.
A figure stood frozen in the middle of the room, the silhouette unmistakably familiar. Blonde hair framed his face, not his real hair, Mike realized distantly, but a wig. A tube of lipstick trembled in his hand as his head slowly turned. Will stood there, eyes wide and glassy, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold onto the makeup. He was wearing one of Nancy’s old wigs, something she’d used years ago for a Halloween costume, and his face bore faint traces of makeup: smudged eyeshadow and a light coat of mascara that only made his fear more obvious.
Mike’s mouth fell open, shock rooting him to the spot. Will swallowed hard, a thick lump lodged in his throat, and opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again. He knew how wrong this must look, how exposed and vulnerable he was standing there like this. His hands trembled as his eyes flicked nervously toward Mike, searching for something. Understanding, maybe, or mercy.
“Mike…” Will whispered at last, his lower lip quivering as he said his name.
Mike reacted instantly, spinning around and rushing out of the doorway as if the room itself had burned him. His expression was tight, almost angry, though whether it was anger, confusion, or fear even he couldn’t tell. Panic surged through Will as he chased after him, his heart pounding in his ears. Mike stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the hallway and leaving Will standing alone on the other side, staring at the closed door with tears threatening to spill.
Will slammed his fist against the door, the sharp sound echoing down the hallway. “Mike, it’s not what it seems like,” he cried, his voice cracking under the weight of panic and shame. His knuckles stung, but he barely noticed; all he could focus on was the unbearable silence on the other side of the door, a silence that felt louder than any shout.
Inside the room, Mike slid down the door until his back hit the floor, his knees pulled up toward his chest. He pressed his palms against his face, trying to breathe, trying to understand what he had just seen. His heart was pounding, his thoughts racing in circles he couldn’t control, and the image of Will standing there refused to leave his mind.
“I’m sorry,” Will sobbed, the words tumbling out between broken breaths. “I—I understand if you think I’m disgusting now, but could you please just open the door?” His voice shook so badly he could hardly recognize it as his own. Tears blurred his vision until the door in front of him became nothing more than a warped shape. “Please,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against the wood, “can you just listen to me?”
Anger flared in Will’s chest, but it wasn’t directed at Mike, it was entirely at himself. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have believed that no one would walk in on him while he was experimenting with all this girly stuff? And how could he ever expect Mike not to be disgusted by it? Anyone would be. Will felt sick with shame, his skin crawling as if he wanted to peel himself out of his own body.
Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he’d held onto a quiet, foolish hope. Maybe if he looked more girlish. More like El, more feminine, more like the girls Mike noticed then maybe Mike would look at him differently. Maybe then Mike would feel something for him, the same way he did for any other girl. It wasn’t something Will had ever said out loud, not even to himself, but the truth burned all the same: he had been trying to impress Mike.
But that kind of hope belonged to another universe, not this one. Not this world, where being seen like this could get you hurt or worse. Not this place, where fear and shame were constant companions.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and Will’s heart leapt painfully into his throat. For a brief, fragile second, he thought Mike was finally going to listen. Instead, Mike brushed past him in a rush, avoiding his eyes entirely as he bolted down the stairs. Will barely had time to react before instinct took over and he followed, his chest aching with every step.
Mike headed straight for the basement, moving fast, like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts. He tried to slam the door shut behind him, but just before it closed, Will caught it with trembling hands. The basement smelled faintly of dust and old fabric, shadows stretching across the walls as Mike stormed toward the couch Jonathan usually slept on. He rummaged beneath the cushions and then under the mattress, movements frantic, until he finally seemed to find what he was looking for.
By the time Will reached the last step, he saw Mike strike a lighter and bring a blunt to his lips. The flame briefly illuminated his face as he inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs like he needed it to breathe. Then Mike collapsed onto the couch, eyes squeezed shut, turning his face away as if he couldn’t stand to look at Will. That small, deliberate act hurt more than anything else, tightening Will’s chest until it felt like his heart might break.
Will slowly knelt in front of Mike, desperate to catch his attention, but Mike seemed determined to ignore him. His eyes remained closed, his body slack against the couch as if Will weren’t even there. The dismissal stung sharply, igniting something hot and frustrated in Will’s chest.
“Mike,” Will pleaded, his voice strained and breaking. When Mike still didn’t respond, the hurt twisted into irritation. Without thinking, Will reached forward, gently but firmly pulling the blunt from between Mike’s lips and pressing it out against the edge of the coffee table. Smoke curled briefly before disappearing into the air, leaving the room heavy and quiet.
“Look at me,” Will whispered, his voice softer now, almost fragile. His wide, doe-like eyes begged for attention as he placed his trembling hands on Mike’s knees, grounding himself there. When Mike finally opened his eyes, their gazes locked, and for a moment, neither of them breathed.
Mike stared directly into Will’s hazel eyes, now darker and more expressive with mascara lining them. He had always admired Will’s long eyelashes in a quiet, unspoken way, but like this, framed by makeup, they were devastating. Will looked different, unfamiliar, and yet unmistakably himself. Beautiful in a way Mike had never allowed himself to consider, in a way that made his chest ache with confusion and something dangerously close to longing.
That seemed to be Will’s cue to speak, panic rushing in to fill the silence.
“I—I just wanted to try something,” Will began, his voice stumbling over the words as he searched for something safer to say. “For Halloween.” The excuse sounded thin even to his own ears. Mike didn’t respond, his stare unwavering, and Will could feel the lie unraveling under the weight of Mike’s gaze, as if he could see straight through him.
The truth was messier. Will had gone into Nancy’s room out of curiosity, not with any plan in mind. He’d only meant to look around, but then he’d seen the makeup scattered across her desk. Something about it had pulled him in. He wanted to know what he would look like if he changed just a little, softened himself at the edges. He wanted to see himself the way Mike might—wanted to imagine what it would be like if things were different, if he were different.
Mike suddenly straightened, lifting himself off the couch, and Will panicked, afraid he was about to lose him again. He scrambled to follow, his heart pounding, but he never got the chance. Mike leaned forward abruptly and pressed his lips to Will’s. Soft, uncertain, but undeniably real.
Will flinched in surprise, pulling back just slightly, his breath hitching. Before he could retreat any further, Mike cupped his face gently, like he was afraid Will might shatter. His thumbs brushed over Will’s cheeks with a tenderness that made Will’s chest ache, grounding him in the moment.
“I wish you were a girl,” Mike murmured quietly, the words falling between them like something fragile and cruel.
The sentence broke Will open. His heart splintered piece by piece, the pain slow and suffocating. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t argue. A single tear slipped free and traced a quiet path down his cheek.
So would I, Will thought bitterly. So would I, if that meant you could love me.
He exhaled shakily, the sound barely audible.
“Then pretend,” Will said, his jaw tightening as he forced the words out. “Just for a minute. Pretend that I am.” His voice trembled, but he held Mike’s gaze, refusing to look away. “Pretend that I’m your girl.”
Mike wiped the tear from Will’s cheek with his thumb, his touch lingering, before leaning in again. This time there was no hesitation. He was fully off the couch now, closing the distance between them completely. His lips crashed against Will’s, harder, more desperate, and Will melted into it, his hands threading into Mike’s hair as if anchoring himself there.
They only pulled apart when they had to breathe, foreheads resting together, breaths uneven and shaky. Mike could still taste the cherry sweetness of Will’s lipstick on his tongue, a reminder of how wrong this was and how impossible it felt to stop.
They found themselves lying side by side on the floor, faces just inches apart, the warmth of each other’s bodies grounding them in the quiet of the basement. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk around them, leaving only the two of them suspended in this impossible, fragile moment. Mike pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of Will’s hair behind his ear with an almost reverent gentleness.
“You are so pretty,” he murmured, his voice soft and almost stunned.
“You are high,” Will gritted out, trying to mask the flutter of nerves and heat rising in his chest.
Mike chuckled, a low, escaping sound that felt both tender and amused. “I guess we’re both telling truths now, don’t we?”
Will flinched at the weight of that truth, the ache in his chest sharp and unrelenting. Lying there, so close to Mike, he felt the raw pulse of his own heart bleeding on the cold floor. If only he could change enough, just enough to fit into whatever mold Mike seemed to crave.
“So tell me,” Mike said, his thumb rubbing gently over Will’s cheek, his gaze piercing. “Why are you all dressed up?”
Will’s stomach twisted. He wanted to speak, to bare everything, to explain the tangled mess of curiosity, longing, and foolish hope that had led him here—but the words wouldn’t come. Vulnerability felt too dangerous, too fragile to expose, even to Mike.
“I—” Will faltered, biting his lip, then finally whispered, “How bad would God punish me if I said I did this voluntarily?”
Mike’s response was quiet, laced with a dangerous humor that made Will’s chest tighten. “Enough to make me a sinner with you.”
Before Will could process the meaning, Mike leaned in, capturing his lips again. This time, he bit Will’s bottom lip gently before melting back into open-mouthed kisses, each one igniting a heat Will didn’t know how to resist. For that minute, for that fleeting heartbeat, Will had been Mike’s girl. The illusion burned bright and intoxicating, and Will’s body responded without hesitation.
When the moment passed, Will pulled back slightly, pressing a soft kiss to Mike’s forehead. “Maybe in another life,” he whispered, the ache in his words leaving no room for argument.
He pushed himself up on one hand, and Mike reached instinctively to grasp it. “Why not this one?” Mike’s eyes shimmered with tears, and his voice shook under the weight of what he felt.
“Because this is all I am,” Will said softly, standing fully and removing the wig. He wiped at his eyes and lips, the ritual feeling both painful and necessary. He cast one last glance at Mike before turning and walking slowly upstairs, each step a quiet resignation.
Mike remained on the floor, utterly alone, the room now impossibly empty. Tears streamed down his face, unrelenting and heavy, even as a strange, bewildering sensation lingered in his chest. He had liked it. All of it. Worse, he realized he liked Will exactly as he was. His heart ached with the impossibility of it, the ache sweet and bitter at once.
He lifted a trembling finger to his lips, as if tracing a phantom kiss he could no longer touch. It felt like a dream, a vision conjured by his mind, fragile and fleeting, suspended on the cusp of reality and desire.