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"Mike, if you don't get your shit together we're leaving!" Lucas yelled, shuffling down the tunnel towards the Mac-Z.
Mike couldn't care less—until he spots Will, close to Robin. They’re talking, but it’s hushed. Mike's the only other person here right now, it’s obviously a conversation he isn't supposed to hear. Yet, it only prompts him to tie his shoelaces quickly.
By the time he’s finished—one shoe uncomfortably tight on his foot, and the other too loose—he pads to the tunnel with a shovel gripped tightly to the point his knuckles are white.
Will and Robin are still in front of him. Mike can only swallow his envy, so he doesn't say anything impulsively. If anything, it should be him next to Will right now, just as it was on the field.
He knows what he’s supposed to do—help them get into the Mac-Z before they run out of time, but may Mike be damned if he can't get one word with Will Byers before they dive into this plan. Or before he suffocates in this tunnel.
Mike sighs, loud and obnoxious in the way Will could hear. He doesn't, and Mike is left tapping idly on a rusty shovel. Some tidbits of the conversation make way into Mike’s vicinity. Whatever it was, it sounded deep, not for his ears.
Mike wants to listen anyway.
“…She just loved every part of herself,” Robin told Will, voice hoarse as she continued her story.
Mike strides closer to them, ready to tap Will on the shoulder and take him away. He doesn't know what it is about Will; everything about him seems inviting and warm, he’s home as a person. All Mike needs is to feel steady before shit hits the fan.
Some days, Mike finds himself in his basement in the early morning—staring at Will, to see if he’s doing okay. Then he heads up before breakfast starts cooking.
They’re not kids anymore, but the need to protect Will has never left. Some nights, Mike wishes he were there with Will when he was biking home.
Mike never wants to hear his screams again, like when the Mind Flayer controlled him. Will is sweet. So unbelievably kind after everything he’s been through. Will is amazing—It’s admirable. Mike wants nothing more than his presence.
He wouldn't put it past Will to get a girlfriend so easily. Like Jennifer Hayes, or the girl at the snowball, or Robin. Mike cringes once he remembers urging Will to dance with that girl, and how stupid he looked just staring at them.
“I just needed to stop being so goddamned scared,” Robin mutters. Will has this smile on his face. The type of smile where you can tell he’s admiring something, or someone. Or it’s just Mike that notices.
He bites his cheek, waiting for Robin to continue as if he were part of this himself.
“—Scared of who I really was.” Robin smiled back. Mike’s heart constricts, like a snake crushing him, his entire self. Those words hit close to home. So close it makes Mike want to throw up.
There’s a lump in his throat, and words cling to it. A confession or two. It’s old, it’s nothing close to fresh. Old enough to make his feet drag. Confessions that can only build up, Mike shuts it down.
He knows the feeling is there, what he really wants. Mike also knows he can only hold it down for so long.
“I could fly, you know?” Robin says. Mike could hear the smile in her voice. It makes him crack a grin too. Mike wants to fly—fly like Robin, but he could never find the time or the words. He doesn't even know if he's ready.
Mike squeezes his eyes shut, and tears press out into beads. Quickly, he wipes it away.
“Rockin’ Robin,” Will says, nodding his head with Robin.
“Yeah. Rockin’ Robin.” Robin gives Will one last smile before catching up with Lucas. Will stands there, watching Robin walk away.
Instinctively, Mike rushes up to him—as he always did when they were alone after he made sure no tears were visible. His arm was already out to grab Will by the shoulder.
“Hey, are you okay?” Mike asks, hand gripping Will’s shoulder.
Will is unresponsive, staring at Robin walk away. Mike turns his head tentatively to look at Will—his eyes are watery. At that, Mike's grip on his shoulder tightens.
Words cling to Mike's throat, but he isn't sure how to sound them out without his voice breaking. He clears his throat.
"Yeah, I'm—I'm fine, Mike," Will replies, a slight tremble. Will isn't fine, Mike knows that. It's clear as day.
Mike lets his hand linger on Will's shoulder. "If you say so," Mike tells him. If Will doesn't want to talk about it, then Mike leaves it be. But he's not sure if he can let this be.
Curiosity pushes Mike to ask Will what he was talking about—if he and Robin are talking that way.
It shouldn't be a problem. Mike should be happy that Will could finally be interested in someone—but he isn't. The thought of Will with someone is wrong. Wrong in the way it makes Mike grip Will's shoulder more tightly.
Mike can't find a word for this feeling. He's had plenty of time to—he just can't, he doesn't want to. Doesn't want to mess up his and Will's friendship. They're special.
Will keeps to himself for a moment before facing Mike. Mike’s eyes flash to Will’s lips, and Will gives him a shy smile. It’s like the world had gone silent just for them.
The old feeling courses through Mike’s body, and before he knows it, that confession is at the tip of his tongue. Mike can’t keep it together for long.
“Will I—”
“Mike, have you been doing okay lately?” Will asks. Mike doesn't mind being cut off, he’d do anything else to avoid becoming a sputtering mess in front of Will.
Mike sighs, then a breathy chuckle escapes before he speaks. “I—Yes, I’ve been doing okay,” Mike answers. A smile lingers on his face while he bites his lip.
Will has always been selfless.
“I feel light, Mike,” Will tells him. It’s not a bad thing—Mike can tell. Will is happy, his little smile turning into a wide grin, and Mike can’t seem to pry his eyes away from his teeth.
Mike repeats, “Light?”
Will nods, “Yeah, light. As something has lifted off of me,” Mike listens, even though he doesn't have a clue. They start to walk towards Lucas and the others.
“I wanna feel light, too,” Mike blurts, their elbows bumping as they shuffle through the tunnel. That slight touch is just enough for Mike to crave, and he starts doing it on purpose.
“Can you walk straight?” Will huffs out sarcastically.
Mike smiles gingerly, “‘Don’t think that’s possible.” He mutters. Not possible with Will.
“How are you and El?” Will looks over to Mike, and he wishes he had a solid answer.
Mike scratches his neck before answering. “Not sure… just not talking.” Will acknowledges that.
“I just feel—I don’t know. I don’t wanna feel, like, evil for saying this. But I feel trapped. I feel trapped,” Mike mumbles, glancing at Will.
Guilt coats Mike’s words as they slip out. He can’t stop it now. He doesn't know how to. His heavy heart only grows lighter by the second. This is what Will was talking about.
“I want El to be happy, of course I do! It’s just…” Mike trails off, watching Will’s brows draw together. He’s listening. He’s listening and that’s fine.
Will Byers would never judge.
Mike finally spits it out, “It’s just that—that she’s not the one. The one I want, or need.” Will keeps silent. Everything else is tuned out. It’s just Will, him, and his feelings.
Mike exhales shakily. His hand is still on Will’s shoulder, sliding down to his bicep. Mike squeezes it lightly, “It’s like I’ve been hiding something important from her. Something she should've known a long time ago to keep—keep her from liking me.”
Will looks like he’s about to say something, his lower lip wobbling before he closes it tightly. Mike stares at Will, holding and searching them.
Will’s expression softens, his eyebrows aren't furrowed anymore.
“Well, what should she have known, Mike?” Will asked. Mike feels pathetic, always needing Will to solve his problems. But, what did El have to know?
Mike sucks air through his teeth, throwing his head back. He looks up at the tunnel’s ceiling, as though it’ll give him answers.
“—I don’t know,” Mike says quietly. Will only stares at him, knowingly. Like Will knows something Mike doesn't.
Will clears his throat, “You know the painting? The one… El commissioned.” Mike nods before Will’s breath hitches as he dives for another set of words.
“It’s, uh, the wrong story.” Will continues, and Mike’s face screws into one of confusion. A list of possibilities filed through his head, did Will lie? Or did El not—
“El didn't commission it. I just made it. For you.” Will explains, “and I don’t want you to be mad or anything.”
Mike could never be mad at Will.
“The things I said in Cali—about how much El needs you.” Will’s gaze averts from Mike’s face, staring distantly now.
Mike, however, starts putting things in place. Those weren’t El’s words. She never asked Mike what he thought about the painting.
It’s Will’s words. It always has been Will.
A stifled sob yanks Mike from his realization. Will’s facing away from him, and he watches a tear trickle down his cheek.
With no words, Mike draws Will closer until Will’s head finds itself on the nook of his neck. He drops his shovel.
Mike can feel his heartbeat in his own ears. He pats Will down, feeling the small of his back, and his hair—still soft.
Will continues to sob, hushed; Mike’s jacket helps to muffle them.
It’s wrong that Mike feels relieved, relieved that it was Will’s words. For some reason, he’s okay with El not loving him like she used to.
“Mike, I—” Will cries out, softened. Slowly, Mike rubs circles on Will’s back. He finds himself hugging Will tighter, as if he’d disappear if Mike doesn't.
“You—you don’t hate me right?” Will says, voice broken and scratchy. Mike watches Will’s trembling head, his hands still close to his sides. Mike’s stomach churns.
He leans in to Will’s ear, “No—no, Will, I could never.” Mike whispers, carding his fingers through Will’s hair. He stays there, face close to Will’s.
That old feeling crawls up Mike’s throat again—leaving marks. Mike inhales shakily, careful and considerate as if a small thing like that could scare Will.
It’s always been Will, not El, not anyone else. Just Will. Now or never, Mike tells himself.
“Will,” he starts, drawing his face back to look at Will. "I don't know how old this feeling is, but I know that it never disappeared," Mike tells him, a whisper.
"I need you, Will—I always have. I just… I just wouldn't know what to do without you. You're so kind and sweet. I don't know how you do it. It's always been you, okay? Just you and me. I never wanna lose you." Mike sighs, staring into Will's teary eyes. There's a gleam in them.
It's out, and Mike doesn't need to hold back anymore. That pressure alleviates like a feather flowing with the wind. It's free—Mike is free.
"Stay with me forever, please?" Mike says before pulling Will close to him. He buries his face into Will's shoulder, inhaling, because Will never changes. He still uses the same shampoo, body wash, style, same brand of colored pencils, and sketchbook.
Will's hands finally find Mike's back, and he hugs him. It's tight, but assuring. For good measure, Mike pats Will's back again; making sure this is real. Warmth pools all over Mike's body—red dusting his cheeks and nose.
"I love you, Mike," Will says, hands on Mike's face. They hold each other's gaze, and Mike cracks a smile.
"I love you so much," Mike replies through a breathy laugh. The air feels steady, yet charged. "I'm sorry, Will," Mike adds on, looking down. His eyes burn and start watering.
Will reaches his thumb out, wiping away a tear from Mike's face. "No, no, you don't need to apologize." Will tells him, "It takes time. I get it, Mike."
Mike's voice quivered, "'Love you so much." He lets a tear roll down before he brushes his lips against Will's. "Can I?" Mike asks tentatively.
Will nods, "Please." And Mike pushes his lips against Will's. They fit perfectly, as though they were molded just for each other. Years of pent-up feelings seem to pour out from every press.
Mike places his hand on the back of Will's neck, rubbing it delicately. Will still has his hands on Mike's face, pulling him closer as if they need to become one, so Mike never lets him go. Like Mike is taking Will's pain and replacing it with his love.
Mike doesn't want to name this feeling just yet. He knows what it is—but right now, he's focused on loving Will Byers.
Will pulls away, an anxious smile and rosy cheeks polishing his already perfect face. Mike breathes weakly. His heart still thrumming against his ribcage—begging for an escape, almost.
"Hey, we don't have all day!" Lucas yells, and the two jolt back from each other's hold. Lucas gives them a questioning look, one eyebrow perked up. He shakes his head and leaves, dragging the shovel against the ground.
The two share a bashful smile. "We'll talk later, yeah?" Mike says, calm through his pounding heart.
Will nods, and Mike picks his shovel back up.
Mike doesn't feel like dragging his feet anymore. He's lighter, light enough he swears he could fly. When he glances at Will, the image of him on the swings filters through.
It's always been Will.