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Will’s painting is firmly gripped between Mike’s hands—not too tight to crumple and damage it, yet not too loose for it to slip between his fingers—the painting El had supposedly commissioned to Will.
When Mike and El reached the point where they just couldn’t keep avoiding to talk about their relationship, Mike had decided to bring up the painting, as a way to thank her. A simple: “Hey, so…Will told me about the painting you commissioned for me. That was thoughtful of you, El, thanks.”
The moment El’s face fell, slowly warping in confusion as she whispered almost in disbelief “What…painting?” It was right there and then that Mike could’ve sworn his heart stopped.
So yes, he’s mad. Mad because after years and years of friendship, Will had decided to lie to him about a…painting?
But as his fingers slowly trail over the carefully-made pigmented strokes, he can’t help but feel hurt more than anything. He knew that according to El’s letters, Will had been painting something for a certain someone he likes. And a hopeful part of him can’t help but brighten up and think: “Was that painting for me?”
Mike quickly shuts down the thought, just as his fingers linger over the illustrated Will the Wise.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. His mind (or heart?) has been messing with him lately. Making him daydream of impossible and irrational scenarios with Will: Them holding hands, walking with each other shoulder-to-shoulder, talking to each other the way lovers do—and the most shameful one—kissing.
So he does the one thing he’s always done: bottle it up, ignore it, and hope it goes away. Hope that his feelings for Will don’t stay as the constant throbbing pain in his chest. Hope that his feelings for Will fade away, because the shocking electricity he feels when his mind drifts to him—is not good.
Mike carefully rolls up the painting, making sure to save it away in the corner of his room safely. He loves the painting, really—the same way he’s always loved Will’s art—but it’s too painful to keep looking at it and feel the ache in his heart.
It really doesn’t help that the Wheeler family has accepted the Byers into their home.
Now, every time Mike finds himself around Will, he can’t help but feel nervous, fighting to control the way his hands shake and how his heart beats faster around him. Every moment between them has a slight awkward tint to it now—like smudged paint you just can’t seem to get off no matter how hard you wash it.
At the dining table, whenever their arms accidentally brush against each other, Mike has to suppress the electric feeling that runs through him, has to avoid searching the gaze of Will, has to avoid the way Nancy keeps looking at him as if she knew there’s something off about him—that knowing look of hers that says I can see right through you.
It’s hardly bearable, but over time, it’s getting easier to adapt to the lingering air of stiffness.
As much as he’d like to do it, he doesn’t feel ready to confront Will about the painting—at least, not yet. He’s too afraid of what may or may not change between them.
Today, the Party (and everyone who knows about the Upside Down) is meeting up at Hopper’s cabin. Something about training them and preparing a plan to search for Vecna in the Upside Down. A plan to keep them safe in case the evil, ominous rifts across Hawkins fully bleed into the real world, or, alternatively, to prevent that from happening.
“Alright,” Hopper says, the command in his voice echoing in the cabin. “Murray’s bringing our supplies over, but we’re gonna need some help carrying them. So you,” His finger shifts towards Mike, making everyone’s head turn towards him.
Shit, why did it have to be me?
“And you can go over to help him.” Hopper’s gaze slides towards Nancy, who stands next to Mike, clearly ignoring her brother’s quiet protests at the idea. She nods, her eyes firm and determined.
Well, at least it’s Nancy who’s helping him—
“I can help him.”
Mike’s head turns so fast he almost hears his neck crack at the sound of Will’s voice.
“Um, helping Mike with carrying the supplies, I mean.”
Hopper’s eyes turn to Mike, then Will, then Mike again, slight confusion written across his face. After seconds of silence that feel too long for Mike, Hopper nods slowly, eyes now filled with both understanding and resignation.
He can briefly see Jonathan and Joyce observing Will, sometimes their eyes land over Mike, too.
Nancy, in turn, fully shifts towards Mike, brows scrunched in confusion and mouthing “What is up with you two?”
He raises his hands almost defensively, mouthing back with vague annoyance “I don’t know!”
He knows, of course, but he isn’t ready to fully admit the truth yet. Not to anyone. Not to himself.
“Good.” Hopper’s voice brings both Wheelers to the present. “Everyone else, follow me and stay together.”
Nancy throws him one last look, You better fix whatever is going on between you two right now. Mike just looks away from her and hopes she lets it slide this time.
Now, Will and Mike are both alone in the room, shifting awkwardly and avoiding each other. Mike’s not that oblivious, he can tell Will himself searched for this opportunity to talk to him. But why? Has Will found out Mike knows he lied? Or does he know something else? Mike shivers at the thought, so he buries it deep down and pretends everything is okay.
When they finally have the courage to look each other in the eyes—Murray’s voice interrupts the rigid silence between them.
“Alright, children! We don’t have all day!” He stands with his hands on his hips, eyes scrutinizing both Will and Mike. “You can sort out your romantic tension later, okay? For now, let’s go and help me carry the delivery!”
Mike flinches so hard at his words he almost stumbles right into Will, nervously looking between Will and Murray.
“That’s not—we’re friends! We’re friends.” Mike professes once he’s regained a bit of composure, hoping he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels right now.
“Yeah! We’re…friends. Always have been.” The tone in Will’s voice makes Mike raise an eyebrow, but he brushes it off. He doesn’t need to give himself any more hope of something that’s impossible.
Murray’s face falls, an uncomfortable silence falling upon them. Before he laughs.
He laughs.
Clutches his stomach, leans forwards—then backwards, that kind of laugh. The one that leaves you breathless, the one that sprouts tears in your eyes.
He laughs for a good while, minutes—maybe hours—until he calms down and wipes the tears from his eyes, grinning ear to ear.
“Ah, is this a tradition between the Byers and Wheeler families?” Murray turns to look at both of them, wide smile still plastered on his face. “Oh, history truly repeats itself, doesn’t it?” He leans his body backwards and continues to laugh again, before calming down and taking a deep breath.
“Alright, so, we’re doing this now, aren’t we? Because you two are just so hopeless right now! Ah…young love.”
“Do…what?” Will is brave enough to ask after a moment of silence, both him and Mike choosing to ignore Murray’s comments about love.
Murray fixes them with a stare, shifting to look towards Will.
“You,” He starts, with a tone that makes Mike mildly uncomfortable about what’s going to happen. “Have felt rejected all this time, burying your feelings because you just couldn’t believe he’d love you back. Maybe he had another special someone, and you kept ignoring your feelings just because you thought he’d be happy this way.”
Will’s breath catches, and he turns to look the other way with a flushed face.
“And you—”
“That’s none of your business.”
“God,” Murray gives a dry laugh. “You. You’re stuck, torn between your feelings and mind despite him being the right one for you, and all because of… what? Because it's “wrong"? So, you seek a false sense of comfort and hide your insecurities in…name? Name!” He snaps his fingers, startling Mike and Will.
“El.” Will says so quietly, barely above a whisper.
“El!” Murray voices back. “We like El,” he turns towards Mike. “But we don’t love her.” He fixes him with a stare that burns through Mike.
Mike’s breath catches, chest rising up and down in short bursts with the ache in his heart returning. He can’t look at Will—not now, not ever,
“No, that’s—that’s not true!” He tries. Murray just raises an eyebrow at him.
“I…” Mike starts, hesitating and refusing to look anywhere but the ground. He can’t say it. Can’t say he loves her. Can’t love her that way.
“But it failed, didn’t it?” Murray keeps going. Despite the weak need of protesting against this—of telling Murray to shut up, or anything—he doesn’t. He’s not even sure why.
“So…now you’re back at square one, with no other way of getting over your feelings. And I get it! You have the shared trauma, yada-yada-yada…and yet you turn the other way, ignoring your problems. Silently hoping the other will reach out and see these feelings. And, of course, accept your love.”
In the short moment of silence, all the unspoken things between them spin around in Mike’s head—the brush of the knees, the bump of the elbows, the shared looks—all of the times he’s hoped Will would be more than just his best friend. Because that’s all he’s ever wanted it to be, isn’t it?
The two of them holding hands, tangled in each other’s embrace, holding each other softly, kissing each other with love.
Because he loves Will. not El. He never has.
He found her that day in the rain looking for Will. And she just needed someone—anyone—to help her.
He doesn’t know when he started realizing it—that her touch, her smiles, her kisses—didn’t feel the way they should’ve.
And it was always Will. He’s always wanted it to be him.
The hope he’s been hiding deep within his chest—trying to extinguish it, and failing to do so—settles once again. Strongly. He can feel the heat rising to his face, his body tingling with electricity, his gaze begging to take in all of Will.
But then comes the dread. The what-ifs. And it stops him in time.
“Well? How did I do?” Murray perks up. “Splendid, right? I’m always right, I know it.”
He laughs, paying no mind to the spirals of hope and fear he’s planted into Will and Mike’s hearts.
“You can submit your criticism later on, but for now, help me bring the delivery over, yeah?” He winks at them, before leaving the cabin and calling out to them. “Come on, lovebirds! We don’t have all day!”
Mike glances up at Will, he finds him staring, uncertain, twiddling his thumbs together, as if unsure of what to do after that.
“...Just…don’t pay any mind to what he says, he’s…” Will mumbles, tearing his eyes apart from Mike.
“Yeah, yeah… that was, um…” Mike doesn’t know how to continue. He wants to say so many things. Too many things. But he can’t. Not right now.
So he shakes his head with a sigh. “Let’s just go.”
Mike makes sure Will is following after him, and they trail after Murray, heading towards the truck packed with boxes and boxes.
They don’t speak after that. They just stare. Stare when they think the other isn’t looking, unsure about what that talk means for them. About them.
Murray keeps sneaking looks towards them. Ignoring the tension and mumbling something about “thanking him later”.
When they finally carry the supplies over to Hopper and the others, Mike looks up to find Nancy staring at him, eyes holding a hint of worry and concern. He brushes it off, telling her he’s fine. He’s really not, but who can be after going through Murray?
Mike can’t seem to pay attention at all during training. Barely holding the gun with interest. Because all he can think about is Will. About the Will Byers he met at the swings in kindergarten, about the Will Byers who’s been his best friend since he can remember, about the Will Byers who he wishes to keep safe from Vecna at all costs, about Will Byers, because he loves him.
His mind drifts back to the painting, body moving on instinct when he holds up the gun and shoots at the practice target—he fails, of course, but he’s too busy thinking about himself and Will to care about it all anymore.
A hand on his shoulder startles him. He flinches so hard he almost drops the gun, and takes a look back.
It’s just Nancy.
She’s smiling at him softly, eyes still tinted with concern.
“Your posture is wrong, Mike.” She says, stepping back just slightly to fix his lazy posture. Tells him how to stand properly and how to grip the gun. “Okay, now shoot.”
Mike does, he doesn’t hit bullseye, but it still lands.
“There you go, the recoil isn’t that bad now, is it?”
They lock eyes, and Nancy’s worry for him—despite not showing it much—comforts him.
Mike musters up a smile back to Nancy, and laughs when she ruffles his hair.
Nancy eventually leaves him be—not without teasing him for a good while, of course—but now he’s all alone, his mind going back to torment him with thoughts of Will.
The painting, he remembers. If there was an already kind of awkward air between him and Will, then Murray’s talk just made it worse. There’s no way he can ask him about it now, maybe another day, when the tight air around them fades away.
At nighttime, Mike finds himself staring at the painting again, feelings bubbling up in his chest almost uncomfortably, feeling too warm in his locked room.
“We like El. But we don’t love her.”
God, how did Murray see through him so clearly? He’s spent years trying to cover up that part of him, because it didn’t feel right.
It shouldn't feel right to kiss your girlfriend and hope it was your best friend instead.
Maybe…he should try talking to Will? No—that could be making things worse between them. He doesn’t know if the things Murray said were true, if they should now avoid each other in fear of what may change between them if they talked.
Should I talk to Will? The thought resonates in Mike’s head, a part of him wants to so badly. Too badly.
He starts pacing around his room, gripping his hair while muttering under his breath.
Maybe he should talk to Will, tell him Murray was just lying and making up things for fun—or something. But he wants things to change between them—he doesn’t want Will as his best friend, not anymore. Not when he’s tempted with thoughts of kissing and holding him every day.
He sighs, takes a deep breath.
There’s no point in standing still and just overthinking it, right?
He looks at his closed bedroom door, then the painting, then the door again.
Mike shivers, stepping slowly towards his door and hesitantly gripping the handle.
It’s now or never.
He opens the door almost too sharply, and he finds himself face-to-face with Will.
Will, who’s hand is raised almost as if he was going to knock on the door.
For a moment, they both stand there, staring at each other, unsure of what to do. Mike keeps his hands at his sides, trying to keep himself under control.
It seems they both had the same idea after all.
“Oh,” Will breathes, it almost sounds unintentional, as if the word had escaped from his lips.
“Oh.” Mike voices back on instinct, breathless by the sight of Will.
Will shifts his weight from one foot to another, before he looks at Mike’s bedroom and notices the rolled-up painting at the side of his bed.
“Is that…the painting I gave you?” he says, startling Mike and making him turn towards where Will’s eyes are fixated.
“Oh! Um, yeah that’s…Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. The painting, I mean.”
“Me too.” Will nods, gaze carefully landing on Mike again.
There’s a million things to say that run through Mike’s mind: Thanks for the painting, I love it. I’ve always loved your art, so…thank you. Or, I’m glad you painted it, Will. But instead, what comes out of his mouth is:
“Why did you lie about the painting?”
Will’s eyes widen, mouth opening ever so slightly in surprise—in fear.
“Did…did you talk to El?” he whispers, voice trembling ever so slightly.
Mike nods, not taking his eyes away from Will.
Will stays silent, looking at the ground for seconds, minutes. The silence is unbearable, holding too many emotions at once, before a response finally slips from Will’s lips.
“I’m sorry.”
Mike shakes his head quickly. “No! No, don’t be, I just—I felt…hurt, because…”
Because El told me you had painted something for a person you liked, and I hoped it was me. I still do.
But how could he say those words to Will? He wishes he could hold Will in his arms, stay with him in bed and read comics all day, kiss him in the night and intertwine their hands together.
It’s now or never. He repeats to himself, so he takes a deep breath and…
“I love you.”
It comes out of Mike’s mouth so easily, like he’d been waiting forever to say those words, like he was born and fated from the start to say those words to him.
And when he says it out loud, the ache in his heart is instead filled with relief.
The words are spilling from his lips now, everything he’s been meaning to say.
“And I always have. When you gave me that painting I—I was so happy, Will. I was ecstatic. Because El had told me you were working on a painting for someone you liked, and I wanted it to be me. I still do. When you told me El commissioned it to you I just felt…disappointed. Because I wanted it so badly to be from you. It means so much to me, Will.”
Will’s eyes are glassy, tears beginning to pool in his eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly
Mike keeps going.
“And I know Murray—there’s something wrong with him, too many screws loose, you know?—but everything he said…it was true. I wanted to be normal so badly, I dated El just because I couldn’t get over the fact I loved you. And I tried so hard to be normal, I really did—but it turns out normal is just not for us, after all.”
Will cracks a smile at that, laughing lightly and wiping the tears slipping from his eyes.
“Yeah, and I guess he really did see through us too, after all.”
Mike bites his lower lip slightly, feeling heat rush through his face. He doesn’t bother to hide his blush.
“Does…does that mean…?”
“Yes, I love you too, Mike. I think—I know I always have.”
Mike’s breath catches.
He locks eyes with Will—he’s blushing, too. A hopeful smile on his lips.
Mike raises his hand, cradling Will’s face gently. And Will leans into the touch, putting his hand over Mike’s.
And they embrace, the way Mike’s always wanted it to be.
Just them—alone, in his room, bare for the other to see, showing each other their love and passion.
Mike places his forehead against Will’s, and he leans in slowly. Will meets him in the middle.
Their lips feel so soft against each other, a shock of electricity running through Mike’s body, chest heaving up and down in short bursts.
Their arms tangle around each other, bodies intertwining and sharing the same body heat.
The bedroom door closes behind them as they both fall onto Mike’s bed, separating from the kiss to laugh and hold each other closer, before they join their lips together again.
Mike thinks this is more than okay, he thinks this is perfect.
He smiles against Will’s lips, and he can feel him smiling back.
Just the two of them—alone in each other’s arms, kissing like lovers do, clasping their hands together and holding onto each other as if they could vanish at any moment.
Yes, he thinks. This is perfect.
And…he’ll have to thank Murray later, that’s for sure.