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It was three in the morning in Hawkins, which meant the town was quiet, the streets were empty, and Mike Wheeler was doing absolutely anything except studying for the history test he was definitely going to fail in six hours.
His textbook sat open on his desk, abandoned somewhere around chapter seven, while Mike leaned over a loose sheet of notebook paper, pencil tapping anxiously against the margin. He had rewritten the first sentence three times already. He should have been memorizing dates or at least pretending to read, but instead he was hunched forward like the fate of the universe depended on his handwriting, because apparently this was what his brain had decided was the priority.
Writing a letter.
The thing was, Mike had sort of come to terms with his feelings for Will about a month ago. Not calmly, or all at once, but in the way most of Mike’s realizations happened, through confusion, denial, and a lot of late night spiraling. He had told himself it did not mean anything, that it was just loyalty, or guilt, or friendship stretched a little too thin. Then he kept thinking about Will anyway. He kept replaying old conversations, the way Will smiled, the way he listened, the way he made Mike feel steady without even trying. Eventually, thinking turned into pacing, pacing turned into not sleeping, and not sleeping somehow turned into this.
Writing.
Mike had always been good at writing things. He ran entire D&D campaigns without breaking a sweat, aced every English essay Mrs. Click assigned, and once wrote a speech so good that Lucas accused him of plagiarizing it. So naturally, any normal teenager in his position might have kept a diary. Except Mike was not doing that, because diaries felt embarrassingly personal and also suspiciously girly, and if his dad ever found something like that lying around, the conversation alone might actually kill him.
A letter, though. A letter was different. It was easier to fold up and hide, easier to pretend it did not mean everything, and easier to hope and pray no one would figure out it was him who wrote it if somehow found in the bathroom stall.
He read over what he had written, heart pounding harder with every line.
Dear Will,
Okay, so this is probably weird, and I know this isn’t how people usually do this, and I swear I’m not trying to make things uncomfortable or anything like that. I just didn’t know how else to say it, and saying it out loud felt worse somehow.
I keep thinking about you, which is also weird, except it’s not, because you’re my best friend and of course I think about you, but I mean more than that. Like I notice things. Little things. The way you look when you’re concentrating, or when you get excited about something and forget everyone else is in the room. And I like that I notice. I like that I’m the one who does.
I don’t know when this started, and I’ve tried to tell myself it’s just because of everything we’ve been through, or because I worry about you more than I worry about other people, which is probably normal. Except, I don’t worry about anyone else like this. I don’t miss anyone else like this.
Being around you feels like standing somewhere safe, and when you’re not there, everything feels wrong in a way I can’t explain. I don’t want to mess anything up. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what this makes me, but I know what it makes you to me.
I love you, Will. I’ve been trying not to, and I don’t think it worked.
You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anything. I just needed to say it somewhere, even if this never leaves the page.
Love,
Mike.
Mike stared at the page for a long moment, chest tight and eyes burning, then folded the letter carefully, like it might fall apart if he didn’t. He slid it into his X-Men comic and left the book sitting on his desk.
Later, he told himself again. He would deal with it later.
He turned back to his textbook, forced his eyes onto the page, and tried to care about the Cold War for exactly as long as it took his pencil to slip from his fingers and his forehead to sink against the desk.
The next thing he knew, his bedroom door flew open.
“Michael!” his mom called sharply. “You are late!”
“Shit!”
Then again, when was he not?
Okay, okay. This was a bad idea. Probably the worst idea Mike Wheeler had ever had in his entire sixteen years of living, and that included the time he thought jumping off the quarry cliff was a reasonable solution to a problem.
Thank god he didn’t.
The thing was, Mike had not planned this out at all.
He had gone into his Algebra quiz with the very clear intention of focusing on numbers, equations, and literally anything that was not Will Byers. That plan lasted approximately three minutes. Somewhere between solving for x and realizing he was done far too early, his brain had betrayed him completely.
Instead of double checking his answers like a sane person, Mike flipped his scratch paper over and started writing.
It wasn’t a letter this time. It was a terrible attempt at a poem. It was short, messy, and rambling in exactly the way Mike’s brain worked under stress. By the time he was finished, there were arrows in the margins, words crossed out, lines rewritten twice, and one very embarrassing “oops, that’s too much” scribbled in the corner.
It read:
I like the way you laugh when no one’s looking
And how you draw things, I could never imagine
Sometimes I notice you, and my brain goes boom
So that’s become my doom
And I’m pretty sure I’ve liked you forever
Not like, kind of, maybe, but seriously
I love you, Will
When the quiz ended, Mike handed in his paper like nothing had happened. For some reason, he was extremely good at math, which meant he got to finish early and sit with his terrible decision.
He folded the poem carefully, slipped it into his pocket, and made a beeline for Will’s locker. Half a second longer than necessary, heart hammering like he’d sprinted a mile, he slipped the paper inside the slit.
And that was it, no take-backs.
He met the rest of the party in the cafeteria a minute later, sliding into his usual seat, pretending very hard that he was not actively dying inside.
Regret hit him the second the paper slipped into the locker. It sat in his chest while Dustin talked, while Lucas complained, while Max rolled her eyes at something he didn’t even hear. All Mike could think about was the tiny folded piece of paper with his handwriting, sitting in Will’s locker, saying everything he’d been too scared to say out loud.
Anonymous, he reminded himself. It was anonymous. It was fine.
It did not feel fine at all.
“Mike! Are you listening?” Max snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Huh? Oh- yeah, yeah, of course,” he said quickly, trying to look casual but failing spectacularly.
“Really? What did Lucas say just now?”
Silence.
“Um…” Mike trailed off, scrambling.
Dustin snorted. “Wow, Wheeler. Totally nailed it.”
Lucas groaned. “You literally weren’t listening at all.”
Mike waved a hand defensively. “I was listening! Okay? Maybe not every word, but mostly! Who even cares what Lucas says anyway?”
Max leaned back, eyebrow raised. “Ooh, feisty today. What's got you a stick up your ass?”
Mike blinked, startled, then muttered under his breath, “Some of us actually care about passing the quiz, Maxine.”
Max smirked. “Oh, I care. I just like watching you freak out.”
Will, sitting across from him, quietly offered a carton of chocolate milk. “Here. You look like you need this.”
Mike grabbed it like it was a lifeline, clutching it like the universe depended on it. “Thanks,” he mumbled, voice way too serious, refusing to meet Will’s eyes.
“You okay?” Will asked, tone casual, but there was amusement in his smile.
Mike tried to recover some dignity. “Uh, yeah. Totally fine. Fine. Completely fine. Not panicking at all. Just…really into algebra and stuff.”
Will shook his head with a small laugh. “You’re hopeless.”
Mike shot Max a pointed glare. “Yeah, well some of us can’t multitask, okay? Unlike certain people.”
He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that. He just said the first thing that came to mind.
Thankfully, Max laughed, clearly unbothered. “Keep telling yourself that, Wheeler.”
It should not have happened like this.
The party walking together down the hallway toward Will’s locker was not unusual. Will forgetting something was not unusual either. Mike deciding that today was the day to send the poem was, in retrospect, deeply suspicious behavior.
“Oh, wait,” Will said suddenly, slowing to a stop. “Shit, I forgot my sketchbook.”
Of course you did, Mike thought weakly. Of course you did today.
Mike’s heart immediately started trying to escape his ribcage. This was perfect. Too perfect. He hovered behind Will as the others clustered nearby, half listening to Dustin ramble about something and half watching the locker like it was a ticking bomb.
Will rolled his eyes at something Dustin said, reached out, and pulled his locker open.
The folded piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor.
Mike stopped breathing.
Will frowned slightly and bent down to pick it up. “What’s this?” he asked, already unfolding it before anyone could answer.
Mike watched Will’s face change in real time. The confusion first, surprise, then color bloomed across his cheeks.
“Oh,” Will said softly.
Dustin immediately leaned in. “Wait, wait, wait. What is it-” He squinted, then gasped loudly. “Holy shit!”
Lucas craned his neck. Max leaned over. Jane squealed so loudly a kid down the hall actually turned to look.
“It’s a love poem!” Jane announced, delighted.
Will tried to fold the paper back up, mortified. “Guys-”
“It says I love you,” Dustin read aloud, absolutely not helping. “Whoever this is, they are down bad.”
Mike wanted to throw himself off a cliff. Or melt into the floor. Or time-travel back to algebra class and slap the pencil out of his own hand.
Instead, he forced himself to step forward, eyebrows raised, trying very hard to look intrigued instead of doomed.
“Whoa,” Mike said, voice cracking only a little. “That’s… intense.”
Will finally managed to fold the poem and clutch it to his chest, face still pink, eyes darting everywhere. “Can we not do this in the hallway?”
Jane grinned. “I think it’s cute.”
Mike nodded too fast. “Yeah. Cute. Super cute. Whoever wrote that is… brave.” He was cringing at himself.
Will glanced at him then, just for a second, and Mike nearly short-circuited under the weight of it.
Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-
He smiled anyway. Like this was fascinating. Like he had not written every word. Like his entire soul was not currently screaming.
Inside, Mike Wheeler was already planning his funeral.
It should have stopped there.
It didn’t.
Somehow, against all logic and common sense, it became a routine.
Mike started leaving notes in Will’s locker every few days. Never at the same time, never on the same day of the week. Sometimes it was before first period, sometimes between classes, sometimes right after lunch when the hallways were loud enough snd crowded to cover him. Mike planned it all with the same intensity he used for D&D campaigns, mapping out routes, distractions, and exit strategies.
He was very good at this, which felt deeply unfair.
The notes were short now, safer, a line or two at most. A compliment about Will’s art, something about the way he laughed, and once, just a small reminder that someone out there noticed him and thought he mattered. Mike never signed them. He never used anything that could trace back to him, not even his favorite words, not even his usual metaphors.
The party, meanwhile, were losing their minds.
Dustin took it personally. He was convinced this was a challenge. Lucas started keeping mental notes of Will’s schedule, determined to catch the mystery sender in the act. Max suggested staking out the lockers, which Mike vetoed a little too fast. Jane was oscillating between excitement and impatience, desperate for the reveal.
Sometimes he wondered why he was friends with weirdos, but then again, he had no say in this whatsoever.
“It’s definitely someone in his art class,” Dustin insisted one afternoon. “They’ve got, like, feelings.”
Mike nodded along, heart pounding, and said absolutely nothing.
Every near miss shaved years off his life. A locker opening too close, footsteps in the hallway, or just it being Will turning around unexpectedly. Somehow, Mike always slipped away just in time, hands shaking, pulse racing, pretending he wasn’t orchestrating this whole thing.
And Will kept every note.
Mike noticed because Will started checking his locker more carefully. Because he folded the notes the same way every time. Because sometimes, when Will thought no one was looking, he smiled to himself.
That part made it worth it.
Almost.
Then fucking Heather Whitlock came along.
She had been in Will’s art class since the year before, which Mike knew because Will had mentioned her only once in passing when they were still getting used to having art as an actual class instead of a club. At first, she wasn’t annoying. Mike had no reason to think about her at all.
That changed quickly.
Suddenly, she was everywhere. She lingered near Will’s locker longer than necessary, laughed a little too hard at things he said, and found excuses to talk to him even when he was clearly trying to leave. Mike watched it happen from a distance, jaw clenched, telling himself that it should not matter. He told himself that this was normal, that people liked Will, and that he had no right to feel the way he did.
But god, he fucking hated her.
“It’s obviously Heather,” Dustin said one afternoon with the confidence of someone who thought he had cracked the case. “She’s in his art class, she’s always around him, and she keeps looking at him like that.”
Lucas agreed, listing off reasons like evidence in a trial. Max nodded along, arms crossed, while Jane bounced with barely contained excitement and said she thought it was sweet.
Mike stared at the floor and said nothing.
After that, the suggestions started. They told Will he should go to the movies with her, or walk home together, or at least give her a chance. Will always declined, polite but firm, explaining that he was not interested and that he did not feel that way about her. No one pushed too hard, but the conversation never seemed to fully die.
Mike always found a reason to leave when it came up.
Sometimes, when he was alone, the thoughts followed him anyway. He wondered what it was about him that made things so complicated. He wondered why he felt like this at all. Will Byers was kind and talented and thoughtful in ways that drew people toward him without effort. He was beautiful in a way that did not seem fair, especially when Mike compared it to himself.
Mike saw a kid who talked too much, who got angry too fast, who still wore the same clothes year after year. He saw someone who felt like he was always one wrong word away from ruining everything. A freak, maybe. A loser, definitely. Someone who had to hide behind anonymous notes because honesty felt too dangerous.
And then Will would smile at him.
It was never a big thing. Just a small, familiar smile, soft and genuine, like Mike was something steady and good in his life. Every time it happened, something inside Mike loosened. The noise in his head quieted, and the doubts lost their grip, at least for a moment.
That was enough.
Mike straightened his shoulders every time it happened, heart steadying just enough to keep going.
He was not giving up yet.
Thankfully, after a few days, the party started to shift away from the idea that it was Heather Whitlock.
The theory fell apart under scrutiny, mostly because Heather was many things, but subtle was not one of them. She tripped over her own feet, dropped her sketchbook at least twice a week, and once managed to knock over an entire stack of chairs in the art room. According to Dustin, someone like that would never survive the level of stealth required to slip anonymous notes into Will’s locker without getting caught.
“Well, she’d have been exposed immediately,” Dustin said with authority. “You can’t be clumsy and mysterious. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Well, ouch,” Mike muttered under his breath, slouching slightly.
They were right about one thing, though. It was not Heather.
Mike felt a quiet, private relief every time her name came up less and less in conversation. The tension in his chest loosened just enough for him to breathe again. The notes continued. Will kept smiling. No one suspected a thing.
Then Dustin ruined everything with his goddamn theories, again.
They were standing by the bike racks after school, sunlight low and warm, everyone lingering the way they always did before riding home. Dustin was talking, as usual, gesturing wildly as he went through yet another theory, when he suddenly stopped and grinned.
“What if,” he said slowly, clearly amused with himself, “it’s someone in our party?”
Everyone laughed immediately.
Lucas shook his head. “No way. We would’ve noticed.”
Max snorted. “Yeah, none of you are that smooth.”
Jane giggled. “That would be really funny, though.”
Mike did not laugh. Instead, he froze.
The world narrowed down to the sound of his own heartbeat, loud and fast in his ears, and the sudden, overwhelming certainty that he might actually throw up in front of all of them. His hands tightened around his bike handles, knuckles going white, as his brain scrambled for something, anything, that might make him look normal.
No one was looking at him.
They were still laughing. Still talking. Completely oblivious.
“Oh, come on,” Dustin continued, waving it off. “If it was one of us, they would’ve cracked by now.”
Mike swallowed hard and forced out a laugh that sounded wrong even to his own ears. He hoped no one noticed. He hoped Will was not looking at him. He hoped he did not pass out on the pavement.
Eventually, the conversation moved on.
Mike rode home with shaking hands, heart still racing, thinking very clearly for the first time that this had gone too far, and also knowing, with sinking certainty, that he was fucked.
After seeing Will Byers smiling and joking with girls one too many times, Mike decided he was done.
There was no big, dramatic realization behind it. He did not spiral or break down or suddenly understand anything about himself. He just stood there one afternoon, watching Will laugh at something someone else said, and felt a quiet, sinking certainty settle in his chest. Whatever this was, it clearly was not meant to last.
So Mike stopped sending the notes.
It was immediate and very noticeable. Dustin brought it up the next day, pointing out that Will’s locker had been suspiciously empty. Lucas suggested the secret admirer had gotten scared. Max guessed they lost interest. Jane said that was depressing and then immediately tried to cheer Will up.
Mike stayed out of the conversation as much as possible.
For about a week, the mystery still came up. Then a few weeks passed, and it faded out entirely. The notes became a short-lived Hawkins mystery that never got solved, filed away with everything else strange that happened in that town.
As far as Mike was concerned, that was the end of it.
What he did not know was that Will noticed right away.
Will did not make a big deal out of it. He did not ask questions or tell anyone he was disappointed. He just checked his locker a little longer than usual at first, then stopped doing that, too. The letters had been strange and anonymous and sometimes badly written, but they had made his days better in a small, quiet way.
Will missed them.
What Mike also did not know was that Will had started paying closer attention to him.
Mike was still Mike. He still joked, still argued with Max, still hung out with the party like nothing had changed. But there was something slightly off, something Will could not quite put his finger on. Mike looked away more often. He went quiet at weird times. He seemed careful in a way he never used to be.
Will didn't know what it meant yet.
Mike was standing by the bike racks, staring at the same dent in the metal like it might explain his entire life, when someone said his name.
“Mike.”
He jumped and turned around way too fast. “Jesus, Will. Don’t do that.”
Will blinked. “I literally just said your name.”
“Yeah, well, you said it aggressively,” Mike said, immediately defensive.
Will crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve been weird.”
Mike scoffed. “I am not weird. I’m the same amount of weird I always am.”
“No, you’re like… distracted-weird,” Will said. “You keep zoning out. And you’ve been quiet. Which is not normal for you.”
Mike opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I talk all the time.”
“You argue all the time,” Will corrected. “This is different.”
Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m fine, okay? I’m just tired. School sucks. Life sucks. Everything sucks a normal amount.”
Will stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
Mike’s stomach flipped. “Yeah. I know.”
“Like, actually talk,” Will said. “Not just say you’re fine and hope I drop it.”
Mike smiled, soft and practiced. “I am fine.”
Will held his gaze for a few seconds, searching his face like he expected the truth to blink first. When it did not, he sighed. “Okay. But I don’t believe you.”
“That’s reassuring,” Mike muttered.
“I’m serious,” Will said. “If something’s wrong, you tell me.”
Mike nodded quickly. “Yeah. I will. Promise.”
Will looked like he wanted to say more, but instead, he tilted his head. “So… is movie night still on?”
Mike made a weird noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “What? Yeah. Obviously.”
“You hesitated,” Will said, smiling.
“I did not.”
“You did,” Will said. “Like, a lot.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting that question right after you accused me of having, like, a personality shift.”
Will laughed. “You do want to hang out with me, right?”
Mike looked at him like that was the dumbest thing he had ever heard. “Will. Come on.”
Will smiled, clearly pleased. “Okay. Then let’s go.”
They biked home together, riding side by side without talking much. Mike liked that part. It meant things were normal, or at least close enough.
Once they got to Mike’s house and dragged their bikes into the garage, Will kicked off his shoes and followed Mike upstairs like it was second nature.
“So,” Mike said, flopping onto his bed. “What do you want to watch?”
Will did not even pretend to think about it. “Star Wars.”
Mike groaned. “Again?”
“Yes,” Will said, immediately.
“We literally watched it last time.”
“And the time before that,” Will added helpfully.
Mike turned to look at him. “There are other movies.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “Name one better.”
Mike opened his mouth, then shut it. “That’s not fair.”
Will smiled. The look was soft, victorious.
Mike sighed dramatically. “Fine. Star Wars. But if you quote the whole thing again, I’m kicking you out.”
“You love it when I quote it,” Will said, sitting on the floor and leaning back against Mike’s bed.
“That is absolutely not true.”
“You mouth the lines,” Will said. “You think I don’t notice?”
Mike grabbed the tape and shoved it into the VCR. “I do not mouth the lines.”
“You totally do.”
“Shut up.”
Will laughed, and Mike found himself smiling before he could stop it.
The TV sat where Mike’s desk chair usually was, wires stretched just enough to make it work. Will glanced at it, then back at Mike.
“You stole this from the living room, didn’t you?”
Mike shrugged. “Borrowed.”
“Your mom’s gonna notice.”
“Not until tomorrow,” Mike said confidently. “I’ll put it back before breakfast.”
Will shook his head. “You’re insane.”
Mike flopped back onto the bed beside him. “Yeah. But movie nights are better up here.”
Will looked around the room, then back at him. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “They are.”
Mike stared at the ceiling and tried very hard not to read into that at all.
A few minutes into the movie, Mike suddenly sat up.
“Shit, the snacks,” he said, already halfway off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
“Mike, it’s okay,” Will said. “We don’t need-”
“No,” Mike cut in, pointing dramatically. “Movie night is not movie night without snacks.”
Will shook his head, smiling, as Mike rushed out of the room like the fate of the galaxy depended on it.
Left alone, Will let the quiet settle for a moment before his attention drifted around the room.
Mike’s room had changed a lot since they were younger. The bed was bigger, the furniture newer, and everything felt more grown up, but the walls were still blue. That part had stayed the same. The room was clean in a very specific way that made Will fairly confident that if he checked under the bed or inside the closet, he would find clothes shoved out of sight instead of properly put away.
Some things never change, it seems.
His gaze moved from Mike’s shelves to his collection of figures and memorabilia, then to the stack of comics, and finally to the desk.
Will smiled when he spotted an X-Men comic lying open there.
He picked it up with the intention of flipping through it, but before he could, something slipped out and fluttered onto the desk.
Will reached for it automatically, meaning to put it back, until he noticed the writing on the front.
For: Will.
He froze. Why would Mike have written something for him and not have given it to him?
He slowly unfolded the paper, even though it did feel like an invasion of privacy. And, yes, he felt guilty doing so, but curiosity took over.
It was unmistakably Mike. The handwriting was familiar, slightly messy, with places where words crowded together like he had been thinking faster than he could write. The letter rambled, jumping between apologies and explanations, circling around the same feelings like Mike was afraid to say them too directly.
Mike wrote about noticing Will in small moments, about how being around him felt safe, about missing him in ways that did not make sense even to himself. He admitted confusion, fear, and the constant worry of ruining everything, but beneath all of it was something that shocked Will to his core.
Mike loved him. He actually loved him.
Will stared at the words, his mind struggling to catch up. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Mike would hear it from downstairs.
“Oh,” Will whispered, barely audible.
He folded the letter back up just as footsteps echoed on the stairs.
Will barely had time to slip the paper back into the comic and set it down before the door opened.
Mike came back in with an armful of snacks, rambling as usual. “Okay, so we’re out of pretzels, which is a tragedy, but I found popcorn and-”
He stopped.
Will was staring at him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Mike asked slowly. “Did you start the movie without me?”
“No,” Will said, his voice softer than usual.
Mike frowned. “Then what?”
Will swallowed, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants.
“Mike,” he said carefully, “we really do need to talk.”
“Okay,” he said, trying to sound calm and failing miserably. “About… what exactly?”
Will took a breath.
“About you,” he said. “And about the letters.”
Mike went completely still. Then he started to laugh, but it came out wrong.
“What letters?” he asked, setting the snacks down a little too carefully. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Will didn’t laugh back.
“The letters,” Will repeated. “The ones in my locker. The ones that stopped.”
Mike shook his head quickly. “You’re seriously still on that? Dustin said it was probably just some random-”
“Mike,” Will said, sharper now. “I know it was you who wrote them.”
Mike froze.
For a second, he genuinely considered pretending he did not hear that. He reached for the remote, pressed play, and the opening crawl of Star Wars filled the room.
“Mike,” Will said again, standing up. “Don’t do that.”
Mike sighed loudly and rubbed his face with both hands. “Okay, but listen. This is not a thing we need to talk about. Like, at all.”
“Yes, it is,” Will said. “You were acting weird, the letters stopped, and then I found one in your comic. So please stop pretending I’m stupid.”
“I’m not pretending you’re stupid,” Mike snapped. “I’m pretending that this isn’t happening.”
Will crossed his arms. “Why?”
“Because it’s embarrassing,” Mike said. “And because it was a mistake. And because I should not have written them in the first place.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Will said.
“Why can’t it just be… nothing?”
“Because it wasn’t just ‘nothing’,” Will said quietly. “It mattered to me.”
Mike looked at him then.
“I didn’t mean for you to find that one,” Mike said. “It wasn’t even supposed to leave my room.”
“But the others did,” Will said. “You wanted me to read those.”
Mike opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked toward the door, calculating, already halfway to leaving in his head.
“Mike,” Will said, softer now. “Please don’t do this thing where you shut down and run away from your feelings instead of talking about them.”
“I’m fine,” Mike said automatically.
“You’re lying.”
Mike exhaled hard. “I just thought it would be easier if I stopped.”
“Easier for who?” Will asked.
Mike didn’t answer.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable.
“You could’ve told me,” Will said. “You know that, right?”
Mike shook his head. “No. I really couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I ruin things,” Mike said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Because I get attached- and- a-and then I mess it up and then eve- everything changes! A-and I didn’t want to be the reason you felt weird around me.”
Will stared at him. “You already are the reason I feel weird around you.”
Mike swallowed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” Will said. “But you don’t get to just decide things alone.”
Mike felt his chest tighten. He wanted to cry. He wanted to rewind the last month of his life and never touch a pen again.
Instead, he snapped.
“Fine,” he said, voice shaking despite his best efforts. “Fine. You want the truth?”
Will nodded. “Yes.”
Mike clenched his fists. “Fine! Yes, I love you, okay?”
The words hung there.
“I love you,” Mike repeated, louder now. “And I tried not to, and I tried to be normal about it, and I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. So yeah. That’s what the shitty ass letters were.”
Mike turned his gaze aside, his vision blurring as his chest tightened with the sudden, crushing certainty that he was about to lose the person who mattered most to him.
“And I love you too,” Will said.
Mike blinked. “What?”
“I love you,” Will said again, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
They both stared at each other.
“Oh,” Mike said faintly.
“Oh,” Will echoed.
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, both clearly realizing at the exact same time what had just happened, what they had just admitted, and how drastically everything had shifted.
Mike let out a shaky laugh. “Wow. Okay- that.. that was not how I thought this was going to go.”
Will smiled, soft and nervous and unmistakably real. “Me neither.”
The movie kept playing in the background, completely forgotten.
“Do you want a hug?” Will asked quietly.
Mike looked up at him like the question itself had knocked the air out of his lungs. “What? I uh- a… a hug?”
Will nodded, immediately second-guessing himself. “I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s okay. You don’t have to. I just thought-”
He didn’t get to finish.
Mike grabbed the front of Will’s shirt and pulled him forward with a force that surprised them both. He wrapped his arms around Will like he was afraid letting go would make everything collapse again. Will barely had time to react before Mike’s forehead pressed into his shoulder.
“Oh,” Will breathed.
At first, Mike was quiet. His shoulders shook once, then again, like his body was testing the waters. He tried to steady himself, sucking in a breath that came out broken anyway. The sound that followed was small and cracked, and then it all spilled out at once.
Mike cried hard.
He cried the way someone does when they’ve been holding something in for far too long, when the dam finally breaks without asking permission. His grip tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of Will’s shirt, and his breaths came in uneven gasps. He didn’t even know why it was happening anymore. He just knew it hurt. He felt like he had failed at something fundamental, like he was constantly disappointing everyone without meaning to.
Will stiffened for half a second, startled and worried, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Hey, Mike. It’s okay.”
Mike shook his head against his shoulder, a muffled, wordless protest, and cried harder.
Will wrapped his arms around him then, fully, pulling him closer and holding on tight. He pressed a hand into Mike’s hair, the other steady at his back, grounding him there. He did not rush him. He did not tell him to stop. He just stayed.
“It’s okay,” Will repeated. “I’ve got you. You’re not messing anything up. I promise.”
Mike clutched him like a lifeline, sobbing until his chest ached and his throat burned, until the tears slowed simply because he was exhausted.
Will held him the entire time.
It was rare to see Mike fall apart like this, stripped of all defenses, all noise, all sharp edges. Will understood that instinctively, and he treated the moment with care, like something fragile and important.
So even when Mike finally took a shaky breath that did not immediately turn into another sob, Will did not loosen his hold.
He kept his arms around Mike, steady and warm, even as Mike’s breathing slowly evened out. Every time Mike tried to pull back or apologize, Will shook his head and murmured his name, grounding him again.
“I love you,” Will said quietly, like it was something solid. “I really do.”
Mike’s shoulders trembled. He sniffed and wiped at his face with the back of his sleeve, embarrassed and exhausted. “You shouldn’t,” he said hoarsely.
Will pulled back just enough to look at him. “Why would you say that?”
Mike laughed weakly, the sound breaking halfway through. “Because I mess everything up. I say the wrong things. I get angry. I run away when things get hard. I make everything complicated, and I don’t even mean to.” He swallowed hard. “Why would you like someone like me?”
Will stared at him for a long moment, like the question itself hurt.
“Mike,” he said, firm but gentle. “You don’t mess everything up.”
“Yes, I do,” Mike insisted. “All the time.”
Will shook his head. “You care more than anyone I know. You think about everyone else before yourself, even when you pretend you don’t. You fight for people. You never give up, even when you’re scared.” His voice softened. “And you’re kind. And you’re brave. And you make me feel safe.”
Mike’s eyes filled again. “That’s not-”
Will lifted a hand and brushed his thumb gently under Mike’s eye, wiping away a tear. “You’re also really bad at lying about your feelings,” he added, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “And you talk too much when you’re nervous. And you overthink everything.”
Mike let out a shaky laugh. “Wow. Thanks.”
“I love all of that,” Will said simply.
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Mike’s forehead, then another to his temple, then his cheek.
Each one was careful, like Will was making sure Mike stayed right there with him.
Mike’s breath hitched, and he didn’t pull away.
Will stopped just short of his lips and hesitated. “Is this okay?” he asked quietly.
Mike nodded, eyes still glassy, hands gripping Will’s shirt like he might float away otherwise.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Will smiled, just a little, and leaned in.
The kiss was careful at first, like he was giving Mike time to pull away if he wanted to, but Mike did not. He leaned in without thinking, like his body already knew where it was supposed to be. The kiss was gentle and warm, not rushed or uncertain, and it felt so right that Mike almost laughed into it.
It did not feel anything like the kisses he remembered from before. Those had always felt like something he was trying to do correctly, something he was supposed to enjoy. This felt different. This felt natural, like breathing, like finally relaxing a muscle he had been tensing for years without realizing it.
Will’s hand rested lightly at Mike’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek in a way that made his chest ache in the best possible way. Mike’s heart was racing, but he was calm at the same time, grounded and steady in a way he had never felt before. He did not overthink it. For once, he did not panic.
When they pulled back, just barely, Mike stayed close, forehead resting against Will’s.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Will smiled at him, “Of course.”
“So, um,” Mike started, immediately rubbing the back of his neck. He shifted his weight, then shifted it again, like standing still was suddenly too much pressure. “I mean. Okay. This is going to sound dumb, but-”
Will tilted his head, clearly entertained. “Mike.”
“No, let me finish,” Mike said quickly. “Because if I don’t say it all at once, I’m going to lose my nerve and then I’ll pretend this never happened, which would be really bad, because this did happen, and I don’t want it to be weird, but it already is weird, except not bad-weird, just—”
Will smiled. “You’re spiraling.”
“I know,” Mike said desperately. “That’s the problem.”
He took a breath, then immediately abandoned it. “I was just thinking that maybe, hypothetically, if you wanted, which you absolutely do not have to, we could maybe hang out more. Like, not just movie nights. But also movie nights. And other stuff. And I would stop being weird. Or I’d try to. I can’t promise anything.”
Will laughed softly. “Mike.”
“And I guess what I’m saying is,” Mike continued, voice rushing, “I like you, and I already told you that part, and you said it back, which was great, but I don’t know what that means now, and I don’t want to assume anything because assuming is bad, and-”
Will gently cupped Mike’s cheeks, thumbs warm against his skin.
Mike stopped talking instantly.
Will leaned in just enough that Mike had to focus very hard on not melting into the floor. “You’re trying to ask me to be your boyfriend.”
Mike blinked. “I am?”
“Yes,” Will said, smiling. “But you’re extremely bad at it.”
“Oh, okay,” Mike said, then immediately winced. “I mean- y-yeah. I guess I am.”
Will’s expression softened. “Mike, I would love to be your boyfriend.”
Mike stared at him, processing slowly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Will said, still holding his face.
Mike blinked a few times, still holding onto Will’s hands as the reality sank in. “Okay,” he whispered, barely able to contain his grin. “Then… that’s settled, I guess.”
Will laughed softly, brushing his thumb across Mike’s cheek. “Yeah. That’s settled.”
They settled back onto the bed, popcorn and soda forgotten for the moment, the opening crawl of Star Wars glowing faintly on the TV. Mike leaned against Will, shoulders touching, and Will rested his arm across him.
Soft kisses found their way between whispered commentary on the movie, gentle pecks along foreheads, cheeks, and noses. Mike laughed quietly at one, squirming just enough that Will caught him and kissed him again. Each one was slow, careful, and sweet, like they were testing this new closeness and finding it fit perfectly.
Hours passed unnoticed. The movie continued playing, voices and lights fading into the background as the room grew darker. At some point, their eyelids grew heavy, breaths slowing, and without realizing it, they drifted off.
Mike’s head rested against Will’s chest, Will’s arm still around him, and everything felt exactly right. Safe, quiet, and exactly where they were supposed to be.
A month had passed, and Mike was feeling better. He laughed more, argued more, and even made a few dumb jokes that made everyone groan and want to rip their hair out, but that was okay. Max, of all people, couldn’t help but grin when Mike teased Dustin or got into one of his classic debates. He wasn’t stuck in his own head anymore, and even if he didn’t realize it, the party noticed and quietly admired it.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. The party groaned and began collecting their things. Mike’s chest beat a little faster. “I’m gonna go check on Will,” he said casually. “Be right back.”
No one questioned it. Mike exhaled, the hallway suddenly quiet, and once the coast was clear, Mike slipped into the bathroom. Silence pressed around him until he felt the wind being knocked out of him as he was pushed against the bathroom door.
“Jesus-” He gasped, eyes widening as he saw Will laughing at him.
“Don’t scare me like that!” Mike said, flicking Will’s forehead.
Will laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so jumpy.”
Mike huffed and grumbled. He then looked up and stared at will, admiring his boyfriend.
Will stepped closer. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Mike breathed, his shoulders relaxing.
Will tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You missed me?”
“Maybe,” Mike said, leaning in before he could rethink it.
Their lips met, soft and teasing at first. Mike chuckled when their noses bumped. Will laughed quietly into the kiss. It was gentle, warm, and so perfect. It made Mike’s chest feel full in a way he didn’t even know was possible. They stayed pressed together, noses brushing, foreheads touching, whispering into each other’s mouths.
Will leaned down for his neck, and Mike grabbed his shoulders. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Will teased.
“Something you didn’t earn,” Mike muttered, pressing a finger to Will’s chest, then kissing him again. Their backs bumped the wall softly, and they both gasped before laughter bubbled up. Sliding down just enough to sit, they collapsed together on the cold floor, laughing and catching their breath.
“We’re gonna get caught,” Will groaned.
Mike’s eyes lit up. “Do you have your Sharpie?”
“What the hell? How do you even know I carry one, creep?” Will asked.
“Just- shut up and give it,” Mike said, grinning.
Will sighed but handed it over. Mike grinned, grabbed it, and they snuck out of the bathroom together.
A moment later, Mike had written in big, obnoxious letters “MR COOPER SUCKS BALLS.” Will gasped and smacked the back of Mike’s head. “Michael Wheeler! Are you insane?!”
A teacher’s voice suddenly boomed down the hall. Mike ran, grabbed Will’s hand, and pulled him with him. They laughed, sprinting down the hallway, dodging classmates and the occasional adult glare.
Once they were safely out of sight, they leaned against the wall, chests heaving from laughing and running. Will brushed a strand of hair off Mike’s forehead. “You’re an idiot, Wheeler,” he said softly, still grinning.
“I know,” Mike admitted, catching his breath. “But you like it.”
Will laughed and shook his head. “I do. I love you.”
Mike’s heart skipped. He leaned forward and kissed Will again, slower this time, softer, lingering. When they pulled back, it wasn’t rushed. They just stayed there, foreheads together, fingers intertwined.
“I love you too.”