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Mike doesn't remember how it started. He's been zoning out on homework for at least an hour without getting anything done, while Max and Lucas bicker amicably from the other side of the basement, fading into background noise. Mike hasn't been paying attention for a while when he happens to tune in to an argument as to who is out of whose league, not only between the two of them but about their friend group at large.
He listens to them for a moment while staring at the rafters above the couch he's lying on, trying to pick out where this topic came from, when Max, laughing, asserts that Will's is the most unreliable judgement on crushes. He reflexively makes a face.
"Will doesn't have bad taste."
Mike doesn't know why this, of all things, is what prompts him to interject in their conversation, but he is strangely defensive.
"He doesn't even seem to have any interest in crushes, why would he have bad taste?"
Max laughs like Mike has made a great joke, although he gets the distinct sense it's definitely more at his expense. When he doesn't react, her smile drops and she seems surprised.
"Really?"
Mike makes an uncomprehending, annoyed gesture, and he notices that Lucas is giving Max a warning look. Honestly, he should know better than that; even Mike knows that's the easiest way to challenge her to push the envelope.
"You've gotta be kidding. It's completely obvious–"
"Are you actually gonna tell me what you're talking about?" Mike cuts her off with a huff, at the same time as Lucas does.
"Max, don't, just let it go."
Irritated that clearly they're both in on this big conspiracy, Mike sits up and closes the book that's been face down on his chest. "You're messing with me, aren't you. It's not gonna work, Will's my best friend, of course I'd know if he had a crush on someone."
Max just stares at him for a moment, with the sort of expression one might wear while staring at a dead bird. "You're fucking stupid."
Mike blinks owlishly at her, brow furrowing, too nonplussed to be immediately offended. "What?"
Max rolls her eyes dramatically. "You really haven't noticed how he acts around you? After like ten years of being friends with him?"
"What are you talking about?" Mike demands, more frustrated with how vague she's being than her insulting tone.
"He's been in love with you since you were kids–!"
"Max!" Lucas protests, trying and failing to talk over her or prevent her from telling him.
"What! No one else was gonna tell him, he was never gonna figure it out, apparently!"
They devolve into an argument, but every sound has gone echoey and faraway to Mike's ears. He feels a little like he did the time he fell into a drainage canal on his bike, the moment of stomach-clenching weightlessness before he'd hit the concrete. He has to be misunderstanding her. There's just no way Will could be...in love with him, especially not all this time. Mike would know. Wouldn't he...?
...Oh, shit.
He realises Max and Lucas's arguing has ceased when he hears his name.
"Mike?" Lucas asks again slowly. They're both staring at him like they, too, are watching him fall, waiting for him to smash face-first into concrete. "Are you okay?"
"Igottgo," he rushes out, jumping up from the couch and taking the stairs two at a time. Their calls for him to slow down fall on deaf ears—he's already in the garage, grabbing his bike.
He doesn't have a plan. Mike honestly isn't sure what he's going to do or say when he gets to the Byers-Hopper place. The only thing he's certain of is that he has to talk to Will, immediately.
Moments from the past nine years are rewriting themselves in his memory as he bikes, realigning into a picture so clear he can't fathom how he never saw it before. But the doubtful, insecure, fearful—and usually the loudest—part of his brain is saying it isn't possible, for the sole and paramount reason that he couldn't possibly be that lucky.
It's never been a conscious thought, never been something he's put words to even in the relative sanctity of his own head. But now, in the face of this revelation, he allows himself to think it explicitly.
I love him.
He isn't sure how long it's been true. Part of Mike suspects there was never a single moment when it first hit him—rather that it came on like a slow wave, creeping up on him until he couldn't remember a time when he wasn't submerged in it.
And now, confronted with the idea that Will might've felt the same all this time, it's like Mike has just been told that he can breathe under water. It's such a foreign and potentially terrifying fact, he's afraid to test it for the possibility it might be a lie and he might really drown.
The afternoon is growing long and late as he finally gets to the house. In his nerves about what he's about to do—he still doesn't know—he falls off his bike in the front lawn. It's not a particularly bad fall, but for a moment he simply lays there in the sparse, scratchy grass and catches his breath, lets the ache in his wrists fade, though his anxious energy doesn't go with it.
When a shadow falls over Mike's face after a few minutes, blocking out the slanted sunlight from over the treeline that he's squinted his eyes closed against, he knows already who it is before he opens them again. Will smiles down at him with amusement, doesn't even question what Mike is doing there on the ground as he offers a hand to help him up. Mike's heart skips a beat, remembering all over again the reason he's here.
He accepts the help up and definitely does not think about that brief moment of Will's hand in his the entire time he's following Will inside the empty house. They pass through into the kitchen, Mike fidgeting and trying to psych himself up. He has no idea how to start this conversation. He lingers awkwardly beside the table, fairly sure he looks exactly as stressed as he feels, and Will turns to glance curiously at him after a beat.
"Hey, so, um," he tries, fumbling his words a little, "Max just told me something, something crazy, like, no way it's real." He gives a weird, forced, hollow-sounding laugh. Will is staring at him with this look of confused concern, like he thinks Mike might be suffering from a head injury. Mike is mortified, but Will is listening so patiently even while probably convinced he's a head case, and he's just so sweet and cute and nice and it makes Mike want to die a little. Jesus, he's losing it. "Crazy. But I just wanted to, um. Ask you. If it is. Real."
And then he just stops. Will's nodding along slowly, waiting for Mike to continue, but he's stuck. He can't do this. The primal terror of the possibility Will might laugh it off—or, much, much worse, be nice about rejecting the notion—strangles him.
"Mike, what is it?" Will presses, clearly a little worried, but he laughs faintly. "You look like you're gonna be sick." And Mike feels like he might be right. That would be the way to make this moment even more unsalvageable.
"Are you in love with me?" He blurts out in the world's most idiotic kneejerk panic response before he can stop himself.
Mike watches the blood drain from Will's face, and an expression of pure, prey-animal, sky-is-falling horror comes over him. It's the worst expression he's ever seen. Mike has watched Will literally face down imminent death, and he's never seen him look this petrified. He is going to be sick.
It all transpires in the blink of an eye, and then just as quick, it's gone. Will flashes an awkward little smile, shakes his head with a tiny, totally unconvincing laugh.
"What are you talking about?"
Mike is thrown by the rapid recovery, and how seamless Will's feigned confusion is, because holy shit, where the hell did he learn to lie like that? No wonder Mike's never figured it out. Will has been wearing a perfect glamour, maybe for as long as he's known him.
And that's the moment Mike knows. It's true. He wouldn't have need of a mask that good if he didn't have something to hide.
The only thing Mike can't understand is why. Why would Will think he needed to hide this, from him of all people? Haven't they been through hell together, almost literally?
You're fucking stupid, he hears in Max's voice again, because the answer is quite literally staring him in the face. Will hid it for the same reasons Mike did.
"God, we're so stupid," Mike exclaims, slapping his palm over his face. He catches sight of Will's expression in the next second: the look of fear is back, Will's completely misinterpreted Mike's reaction. He nearly chokes on his own tongue in his haste to backtrack.
"Wait, no no no no! Not– that's not what I meant that's not what I'm talking about," he rushes the words out, almost too fast to comprehend, and Will looks a little alarmed and bewildered, but he's retreating, his body language and his expression, and Mike cannot let him, cannot lose him now, not when he finally understands. He grabs him by the arms, shakes him a little, and Will looks afraid—
He's completely screwing this up, he realises with dawning horror. How the hell does he fix this? Words are failing him, how does he explain without—?
All impulse, Mike pulls Will closer and kisses him on the mouth. Will turns instantly to stone in his grasp.
Mike doesn't have very much experience with kissing, but he's sure this isn't how it's supposed to go. Will is absolutely still, and when Mike releases him his eyes are open and very, very wide.
"Mike," he says, breathless, "What—"
"I know, I'm sorry!" Mike blurts out quickly, panic setting in. "I know I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I just had t–"
Will jumps on him, then, with such force it knocks him back a step, and as he narrowly recovers his balance, it registers that Will is kissing him. Really kissing, this time, hands cupping his face, an unmistakable smile curling his lips and making the kiss awkward and messy.
Mike recovers his last brain cell in time to kiss back, and he's pretty sure he's bad at it—pretty sure they both are—but he can't stop. Doesn't want to stop, and they don't until they're both out of breath. Everything about it is perfect and safe and a giddy, dizzy rush of adrenaline and the soft touch of Will's hands on his cheek and in his hair and Mike will remember every detail of this moment for the rest of his life. When they part, they stare at each other for a moment, gasping. Will is grinning—his eyes misty—like Mike hasn't seen in years, since before their world changed forever with monsters and dead friends. Mike is pretty sure his face is the same.
He wants to apologise, to find some way to make up for Will living with this secret so deeply buried for so many years, convinced he could never tell Mike. He has no idea how, but he wants—
"Jesus Christ, finally," a voice reaches them, deeply exasperated, and Mike jumps out of his skin. Max stands there utterly remorseless with her arms crossed, smirking like she's won a prize, and Lucas is beside her looking sheepish enough for the both of them. Mike can feel his whole face go bright red, unable to think of a single thing to say.
"Why are you in my house?" Will asks, not rudely, but sounding a hell of a lot less flustered than Mike, which is kind of embarrassing.
"Had to make sure he wasn't going to make a jackass of himself," Max answers casually, hooking a thumb in Mike's direction.
Mike's mouth falls open, "Thanks for the vote of confidence!" He snaps sarcastically, his voice cracking a little. He shuts his mouth just as quickly, at Max's look of malicious amusement.
"We're happy for you though!" She adds brightly, and now Will is looking a little embarrassed, too.
"Ugh, come on," Lucas huffs, taking Max's shoulders and steering her toward the door. He mouths sorry at Mike—but his eyes flick between Mike and Will and he smiles a little. Will returns the look bashfully, just for a moment before they are gone.