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The house is too full.
Will notices it the moment he steps inside. It’s in the way sound doesn’t travel anymore, only stacks on one another, turning into something he’s unable to decode. It’s laughter over music over voices. It’s so much.
Someone bumps his shoulder, hard, mutters a quick sorry without really looking, and vanishes somewhere behind him.
It’s supposed to be a good thing, the party.
That’s what everyone keeps saying for literally days now. Ever since one of the popular kids got on a table during lunch and screamed that everyone is invited because they all survived the end of the world.
As if any of them had any idea what happened.
But, in the end, it is the first party since everything ended. First time people are able to get together without the expectation that something awful might happen if they relax too much. No sirens, no emergency plans, no fear of deadly monsters.
Just people. Too many of them.
The living room is packed wall to wall. The coffee table pushed aside, drinks balanced dangerously on every flat surface in his sight. The windows are cracked open, but it doesn’t help much, if at all. The air still feels thick, heavy with heat and sweaty boys and perfume, far too sweet, if he were to say.
Across the room, Lucas is already laughing too loudly, one arm thrown over Dustin’s shoulders. Max is perched on the arm of the couch, hair pulled back, looking more alive than Will’s seen her in months. That’s the thing that makes him smile a little. People keep drifting in— friends of friends, kids from school he doesn’t recognize at all, someone’s cousin who apparently “heard about the motherfucking party!”
They keep coming just as Will considers slipping back out, claiming a headache, the fucking trauma, anything. He could text his mum, Jonathan. They wouldn’t question it.
But then he sees Mike.
Mike’s sitting on the floor near the couch, back against it, knees pulled up. El— who goes by Jane now— is beside him, close enough that their shoulders touch, her leg pressed lightly against his. She’s smiling at something Max is saying.
Mike smiles too, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Will watches him without meaning to (except, he does mean to). The way Mike’s fingers keep playing with the edge of his sleeve. The way he nods every now and then but doesn’t really jump into the conversation. Things that are probably invisible to anyone who doesn’t know what he’s looking for.
Will always knows.
“Will!” Dustin calls, spotting him at last. “Dude, you gonna just stand there all night?”
A few heads turn. Mike’s included.
Their eyes meet for half a second. Apparently it’s long enough for something small and quiet to pass between them. Recognition. Relief. Mike’s shoulders ease.
Will exhales.
He makes his way through the room, careful not to step on anyone’s feet, murmuring apologies, more out of habit than honesty. He drops down onto the floor, a loose circle forming from everyone else, knees pulled in, back against the wall.
Someone hands him a drink. He takes it automatically, the tase is fucking awful, but it is what it is —he drinks.
The conversation drifts, nothing catches his focus. Someone mentions a movie they missed while the world was ending. Someone else jokes about how none of this would have happened if Will lived closer to the Wheelers.
Will smiles when he’s supposed to.
When it all gets too much, the feeling strengthened and muffled by the alcohol, at once — he shifts closer to the wall, pressing his shoulder into it, grounding himself among the sea of voices. He focuses on small things, like the texture of the carpet under his fingers, the rise and fall of Mike’s chest across from him.
Mike hasn’t moved much. El leans into him now, her head brushing his shoulder as she laughs at something Lucas says.
Will looks away. Jealousy scraping his throat harder than any alcohol ever could.
He tells himself he’ll stay just a little longer. Just until the next song ends. Just until he finishes the drink.
But then the song changes, he gets handed yet another drink and—
He doesn’t know how to get out. The feeling doesn’t disappear, if anything, it grows.
At one point, someone turns the music down a notch, Will sends his thanks too quickly it seems, as it doesn’t make such a big change. It’s just enough that voices start overlapping instead of drowning completely. Still, it brings a change. The circle shifts, everyone leaning closer.
Jane sways which makes her laugh. Loud and bright, a little slurred at the edges. She’s flushed in a way Will hasn’t seen much before — loose, unguarded.
Max nudges her with her knee. “Careful,” she says. “You’re gonna start saying things. That’s what alcohol does.”
Jane grins. “I always say things.”
“Yeah,” Dustin adds, pointing at Mike with his cup, “and then Mike has to deal with them.”
That earns another round of laughter. Even Mike smiles, almost genuinely..
Jane tilts her head, studying him. Really looking, like she’s trying to solve something. Will loves his sister, but the look doesn’t fill him with optimism. It’s like waiting for the shoe to drop.
He does nothing to stop it.
“I mean,” she says, shrugging one shoulder, “don’t get me wrong. Mike’s great. He’s just—”
She hesitates. Just long enough.
Is he a bad friend? Brother? For not cutting in, changing the topic.
“—kind of a bad kisser.”
The words land wrong. Too sharp for how casually she says them.
For half a second, no one reacts. Then Lucas lets out a startled laugh, Dustin choking on his drink. Someone, Will doesn’t pay attention who says, “Damn,” under their breath.
Jane laughs too, waving a hand, as if she was talking about goddamn Eggos, not her boyfriend’s feelings. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
Mostly.
Mike doesn’t laugh.
He freezes. Will saw it happen before she even ended speaking. The way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers curl into his sleeve, twisting the fabric.
“Well,” Max says quickly, “at least you’re honest?”
Jane glances at Mike then, something uncertain flickering across her face, finally. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. “I just— I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like he’s somewhere else.”
The room hums with awkward energy now, laughter fading into something thinner. Someone clears their throat. Someone else reaches for the bottle again. Even the obnoxious background noise does little to help with the tension.
Mike stands up.
The movement is abrupt, he doesn’t look at anyone. He just steps over a pair of legs, mumbles something that might be bathroom, and disappears into the hallway.
Will’s heart is beating too fast. He hadn’t realized he was watching Mike so closely until there’s nothing left to watch.
Jane frowns, twisting around to look after him. “I really didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” Lucas cuts in, too fast. “He’s just sensitive.”
Sensitive.
Will’s already pushing himself up.
No one notices at first. Not until he clears his throat.
“I’ll take care of it.” If his smile looks as fake as it feels— no one comments on it.
Will slips out of the circle, following the path Mike took, his drink forgotten on the floor.
Will finds him easier than he anticipated. It’s almost alarming. As if there was a secret message somewhere in it. Something between being too shaken up to hide well enough and, just maybe, wanting to be found. The bathroom door isn't even closed properly, let alone locked.
Is it him, though? The one supposed to find Mike.The one he wants to be found by.
Mike’s leaning against the sink, both hands braced on the porcelain, head tipped forward. The light is harsh in here, fluorescent and unforgiving, casting sharp shadows under his eyes. It makes Will uneasy, he changes it absently, hitting a different switch outside the room. It changes to something softer, not quite as he’d like it but still better.
Will hesitates in the doorway.
For half a second, he considers pretending he didn’t find him, didn’t go look for him. That he just needed the bathroom too. That he didn’t hear anything, didn’t notice the way Mike left, and for sure not the way the room shifted after that. Maybe he just leaned on the wall by accident, the lights switched on its own.
He steps inside instead.
The door clicks shut behind him.
Mike doesn’t look up.
“Hey,” Will says, and immediately regrets how small it sounds.
There’s a beat. Then another.
“I’m fine,” Mike says, automatically. The words come out flat, practiced. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” Will cuts in, too quickly. He clears his throat. “I just— I wanted to.”
Silence settles between them, heavy but not hostile. Mike’s reflection stares back at him from the mirror, eyes unfocused, jaw still tight.
Will wants to reach out, massage his fucking shoulders, tell him to relax and forget about her— About the situation, obviously.
Instead, he shifts his weight, leaning his back against the door. It’s cooler here, at least. The air smells faintly of cheap soap and something chemical.
“So, I’ve found out that parties aren’t really my thing,” he says, aiming for light, aiming for normal. “Too many people. Too much noise. Too little air.”
Mike huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. You looked like you wanted to disappear since the moment you walked in.”
“Strategic retreat,” Will says. “Very well planned, I’ll let you know. Although— the execution was kinda shit.”
That gets a real reaction. A twitch at the corner of Mike’s mouth. Not a smile. But something close enough.
Will takes it as permission to keep pushing. “You wanna get some air?” he offers. “Or we can just… stay in here. Hide from everyone. To be honest both options kind of save me, so...”
Mike finally looks at him then.
There’s something raw in his expression, stripped bare in a way Will’s not used to seeing. Embarrassment, maybe. Hurt. Something else underneath it that Will doesn’t have a name for. Almost yearning-like.
Mike looks almost childish with those emotions written on his face. It’s been a couple years since he learned how to shut it all in, but Will remembers. He knew Mike before his need to hide.
“Did you hear it?” Mike asks quietly.
Will doesn’t pretend, there’s no point. “Yeah.”
Mike nods, once. Swallows. His grip on the sink tightens, knuckles paling.
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” he says. “I mean— I didn’t think it was anything.”
Will shrugs, small. “She said she was kidding.”
“Mostly,” Mike echoes, the word bitter now.
The music shifts outside, bass thumping harder for a moment before fading again. Someone knocks on a door down the hall shouting a name Will doesn’t recognize. He couldn’t care less.
Mike exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“God, that was so fucking humiliating,” he mutters. “In front of everyone. Jesus fucking Christ.”
Will’s chest aches, sharp and sudden. He cannot stand seeing him like this.
“She shouldn’t have said that,” he says. “Not like that.”
Mike laughs again, but there’s no humor in it. “She’s not wrong, though.”
Will frowns. “What do you mean?”
Mike hesitates. His eyes flick back to the mirror, then to Will, like he’s weighing something. Searching it in himself and Will, both.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s just— it always feels like I’m doing it wrong. Like I’m thinking too much. Or not enough.”
Will swallows. His mouth feels dry. He’s already made a fool of himself while saving their relationship once. Why does the universe keep putting him in those positions?
“Well,” he says, forcing a breath, “you’re kind of famous for overthinking.”
Mike snorts despite himself.
The tension shifts. It’s not gone, just… redirected.
Mike moves then, the space between them suddenly noticeably small. It’s almost like he’s cradling Will against the doors, but Will is no fool, even after a drink or two, so he doesn’t think that’s what is happening. He can’t let himself daydream, not now.
Mike’s gaze drops to Will’s mouth. Just for a second. Maybe less.
Will feels it anyway.
He laughs, nervous, because— Because he’s not a fool and yet… “I’m probably the worst person to talk to about this, by the way. I have, like, zero experience.”
Mike looks at him sharply. “Really?”
“Shocking, I know,” Will says. “Try not to act too surprised.”
“I kinda thought— You’re—“ Will knows his lips are watched again, he thinks he would know it with his eyes closed. The other boy continues, “You were always so popular with— With girls.”
Another pause, a deeper one this time. Will doesn’t really know how to replay.
“Can I ask you something?” Mike says.
Will nods, even though something in his stomach tightens at the way he can almost feel Mike’s breath as he speaks. “Okay.”
Mike’s voice drops. “Would you… would you mind if I tried something?”
Will blinks. “Tried what?”
Mike hesitates. His ears are red now, unmistakably.
“Kissing you.”
The word hangs between them.
Will stares at him, searching his face for the punchline. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious. Like, um… Dead serious, Will.”
That makes his chest seize. There must be a logical explanation, like—
“Mike,” Will says carefully, laughing again, softer now, “you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“That’s not what this is,” Mike says. He steps closer, just a little. Their stomachs touch. “I just— I need to know if it’s… if it’s the kissing. Or if it’s—”
He stops himself. Shakes his head.
“Maybe the problem isn’t kissing,” he says instead. “Maybe it’s who I’m kissing.”
The room feels too small all at once.
Will’s heartbeat is loud in his ears. He should say no. He knows he should. This is crossing a line he’s spent years pretending doesn’t exist. He will regret it as soon as it ends, because what possible routes are there from here? Mike will be freaking disgusted as soon as their lips touch. He will try to smooth things up with Will, but nothing will ever be the same. How could anything be the same after kissing the love of one’s life?
But Mike is right there. Looking at him like there’s nothing else in the goddamn universe. And fuck, there is nothing else Will wants this much. Nothing.
“Mike,” he says, and doesn’t know what he means by it.
“Just—” Mike swallows. “Just once. You can say no.”
Will doesn’t answer right away.
Then he nods, hands already curled into the soft material of Mike’s shirt.
The first thing Will notices is the hesitation. The careful inching forward like Mike’s afraid Will might disappear if he moves too fast. Maybe he’s just giving Will the last chance to back out of this. Will wouldn’t know not with how much he wants it.
Mike’s hands are warm where they rest at Will’s sides, thumbs brushing fabric, not quite gripping, but burning his skin all the same.
Their foreheads touch first, and Will finally gets what ‘mingling breaths’ mean in real life. It’s all stupidly intimate. Worse than the kiss alone would be.
(It’s like he can see himself, late at night, cheeks burning, mind replaying this very moment, perhaps even over the kiss itself.)
“Okay?” Mike murmurs, voice low and rough, unlike anything Will’s ever heard fall from his lips.
Will nods. Once.
When Mike finally kisses him, it’s awkward in the best possible way.
It's not bad, more like— raw, unsure. It feels as neither of them quite believes this is happening. Their noses bump, at the same moment that teeth graze, and Will lets out a soft, startled laugh that puffs warm against Mike’s lips.
He feels how it makes Mike freeze, but Will doesn’t let him retreat. Instead, tilting his head just a fraction, trying to change an angle by bringing Mike closer by his shirt, and leans in again.
That’s all it takes.
The second kiss lands perfectly. Mike’s mouth is warm, lips slightly chapped, just like Will imagined. They’re moving carefully and hungry all at once. Will feels fucking sparks everywhere, all over his body. Chest tight, knees weak, fingers curling harder into the front of Mike’s shirt.
Mike makes a quiet sound low in his throat, almost a sigh, and presses a little closer, letting the kiss linger, deepening it just enough to taste the want they’ve both been carrying.
It’s good. It’s really fucking good.
They break apart only because they have to breathe, lips still brushing, both of them unsteady on their feet and flushed.
Mike stares at him, wide-eyed, breathing hard. “Holy shit,” he says, a little wrecked. Then, quieter, like he’s afraid to jinx it, “Is— was that…?”
Will swallows. His lips feel tingly. “Yeah. It— It was, um, stupidly good, Mike. Um, you?”
Mike laughs under his breath, disbelieving. “Yeah, fuck. That was. That was really good. I had no idea it could feel this good, to be honest”
Will nods. He’s smiling despite the awful feeling settling over him, now that they’re done. “Yeah.”
Mike moves his hand up Will’s side, deliberate. He lets his fingers spread warm against the thin fabric of Will’s shirt. His thumb presses firmly into the dip just above Will’s hip, a pressure that sends a sharp jolt straight through Will’s stomach. Makes his breath stutter.
He should let this continue. God, he wants to let this continue.
But he can’t.
They already did way too fucking much, there’s no explanation. Not even El’s shitty behavior.
With more effort than he wants to admit, Will untangles his hand and presses his palm flat against Mike’s chess. The touch is gentle, but forceful and he pushes until there’s a few inches of space between them. He can feel Mike’s heart pounding hard under his fingers, fast.
Mike stops immediately, hand stilling on Will’s waist, eyes searching his face with sudden worry.
“Mike,” he says, voice shaking now. “I’m not— I’m not something for you to test things on. We’re friends and— If that’s to stay this way…”
Mike looks like he was slapped across the face.
“We can’t do this. I— It was probably the best thing that happened to me, but,” Will continues, words tumbling out faster, “I cannot let you continue just so you can gather data or— whatever. And then watch you go back to her like nothing happened. I won’t let you kiss me and then— and then try to fix things with her using whatever you learned or—.”
“Will, no—”
“I mean it,” Will says, even as his resolve wavers. “You wanted to know. You know now.”
For a second, Mike just looks at him.
Then he steps closer again. Not pressing, not trapping, just close enough that Will can feel him. Warm, steady, not quite his but just there, nonetheless. A breath away.
“What I know now is— She could never compete,” Mike says, voice heavy with emotions so big even Will cannot read them fully. “Not with you. I— I wasn’t trying to use you. I swear.”
Will’s breath hitches.
Mike lowers his head slowly, as if Will required cautiousness. He presses his forehead into the curve of the other boy’s neck. Trying to hide there, like the weight of everything he’s feeling has to go somewhere safe.
His breath is hot against Will’s skin, unsteady, almost ragged. Then— his lips brush just below Will’s jaw. A soft, barely there, more accidental than intentional touch, but it still sends a sharp shiver down Will’s spine.
Will sucks in a sharp breath, his knees going weak enough that he has to grip Mike’s arms in order to stay upright.
“Mike,” he whispers, the name cracking between warning and plea. “It’s still— You know what this is. She’s my sister, I—”
“We’ll deal with everything else later,” Mike murmurs, lips moving against the sensitive skin of Will’s throat, voice low and rough with want. “I promise. Just… please. Let me make it good for you. Let me do this right.”
Will closes his eyes, chest tight.
This is the moment he’s supposed to push back once again. To be the sensible one, the one who remembers the world outside this cramped bathroom and all the reasons this is a terrible idea. He should think of his family, of how this may change everything with the party. But—
He and Mike go way back, don’t they? Before anyone else even knew of their existence, there already was a ‘Mike and Will’. Maybe it’s something they owe one another. The vote of confidence. The permission to fall when it’s falling together.
His knees dip, just a little, betraying him completely.
Mike feels it instantly—his hands tighten on Will’s waist, pulling him closer, holding him up like he’s been waiting to do this for years. Maybe he has. Will has less and less of a problem with imagining it’s not only him that has been in love with his best friend since forever.
“Okay,” he says, quiet and honest. “Okay.”
Mike doesn’t waste a single second after that.
He lifts his head just enough to find Will’s mouth again, kissing him slower this time, deeper. With a new kind of certainty that makes Will’s pulse race. Mike’s lips part against his, tongue tracing the seam of Will’s mouth in a soft, deliberate question. Will answers by opening for him, letting the kiss turn hot and unhurried, tasting the quiet desperation.
Will’s fingers twist tighter in Mike’s shirt again, tugging him closer until their chests press together, hearts hammering in the same frantic rhythm. Mike’s hand slips up to the nape of the other boy’s neck, thumb stroking the short hairs there, holding him steady while the other stays firm at his waist, fingers splayed wide like he’s claiming what’s his. Will doesn’t want to dwell on how the idea makes him feel..
Mike tilts his head, deepening the kiss just a fraction more, and Will feels the soft scrape of stubble, the faint hitch in Mike’s breath when Will’s tongue meets his—tentative at first, then bolder. A low, almost inaudible sound rumbles in Mike’s chest, something between relief and need, and it vibrates straight through Will, settling hot and low in his stomach.
They shift closer without thinking, hips brushing lightly, enough to feel the spark but not enough to push further. Barely telling them both how much the other wants, well… everything. Mike’s thigh nudges gently between Will’s, steadying him when his balance wavers again, and he lets himself lean into it, into him.
For a little while, the party outside is gone.
When it comes back, it does so violently.
A fist pounds against the bathroom door, once, then again. Someone laughs on the other side, slurring Mike’s name like it’s a joke they don’t quite understand themselves.
“Hey— you alive in there?”
They separate too fast.
Not cleanly. Not gracefully. Just enough to break the spell.
Will smooths his hands down his shirt, while Mike runs a hand through his hair, eyes darting everywhere but Will, like he’s afraid that if he looks, he won’t be able to stop himself from lounging at the other boy.
They don’t say anything.
They don’t need to.
Mike opens the door first.
The noise rushes back in, loud and careless and completely unaware of what just happened. Someone whoops when they see them. Someone else immediately shoves a drink each into their hands.
Mike moves first.
Will follows a moment later, keeping a careful distance, like space might make this easier to survive. Like pretending this didn’t just alter the shape of his entire life might work if he tries hard enough.
They slip back into the living room separately.
Jane is sitting where Mike left her, knees tucked up, worry etched into her face the moment she spots him. She starts talking immediately— apologizing, explaining, blaming the alcohol, herself, the night.
Mike nods along.
He says it’s okay.
He says he understands.
He sits down beside her.
But his eyes don’t stay there.
They drift, unfaithful and unguarded, cutting straight across the room.
Will feels it before he sees it.
He looks up.
For just a second, they hold each other’s gaze. Too long to be accidental, too loaded to be harmless. Something passes between them again, heavier now. Charged. Unspoken.
The music swells. Someone laughs. The party keeps going.
Nothing looks different.
But Will knows better.
So does Mike.