Chapter Text
Hiding from Vickie with Robin in the storage closet of the hospital, Will finally plucked up the courage to ask, “So, how did you know that, with Vickie, right? How did you know Vickie wanted to…”
“Make out?” Robin regarded him curiously.
Not exactly.
“…Date.”
The jump from making out to dating was a chasm that felt impossible to cross. Will was intimately familiar with it.
He was intimately familiar with Mike, to say the least, and he needed help understanding. Now that he’d found Robin and Vickie, he thought this might be his only chance.
There were some things, many things, that Will believed would never mean the same to Mike as they did to him. Because he was in love with Mike.
Will's perception of Mike would always be inherently skewed by nature, because Will was screwed by nature. He needed outside guidance.
“Oh!” Robin piped up. “There were, like, signals.”
“Signals?” Will replied. He felt the back of his neck grow warm.
“Yeah! You know, like a brush of the knee, a bump of the elbow, a shared look. It all kind of just accrued, like a snowball rolling down a hill, until it was obvious.”
Images of Mike flitted through Will’s head. A hand on his knee, elbows knocking, eyes locking. Lips ghosting the birthmark on his neck.
Something like hope perched itself in his soul and fluttered its wings.
“How obvious…?”
“Let’s say the snowball became an avalanche.” Robin winked, and Will tried to swallow his soaring heart before it tumbled right out.
For Will, making out versus dating felt like trying to force the like poles of magnets together. Impossible. A waste of effort.
Like-poles weren’t meant to click. Opposites attract. That was safe and expected and decent.
Two boys dating, like properly dating, would be crazy.
But now, Will wondered if, maybe, he wasn’t going crazy alone.
***
Month Five, 1986
“A Brush of the Knee”
“Family movie night!” Holly shouted from the top of the basement stairs. Will could hear her footsteps thud across the ceiling as she sprinted around the house to rally the troops for a movie. It had become a weekly tradition since the Byers moved in with the Wheelers five months ago.
The house lived in a constant churning of chaos with seven people under one roof. School mornings were always the most hectic, and that was when Will missed his house the most. But the evenings usually fell into a calmer rhythm, and living here meant he got to revel in Mike’s near-constant company. While most people went about their own tasks, Will and Mike developed a bubble of cohabitation. At the beginning, Mike always tried to fill the silence, but now they existed in comfortable solitude together.
Tonight, Will painted at his new desk while Mike lay on the sofa with his legs kicked up on the arm, reading a comic book.
Mike shut the book with a deep sigh. “I really don’t feel like watching a movie tonight.”
“C’mon, it’s E.T. Holly’s never seen it before. It’ll be nice.” Will tapped the water off his paintbrush and laid it down on a towel.
“I see enough extraterrestrial shit as it is.”
He had a point. Will snorted as he stood up.
“It’s ridiculous how much they get wrong. I think friendly demos would freak me out more than the regular, bloodthirsty ones.”
When Will turned to face Mike, he found the boy looking up at him with a distinct fondness.
Was Mike thinking about someone else, or was he really looking at him like that? He extended a hand to reel Mike off the couch.
“I mean, there was Dart,” Mike responded thoughtfully, locking his hand around Will’s.
Mike didn’t let go of his hand, clasped near their chests, even after they stood. But Mike was remembering Dart fondly, not Will, so there was no point in overthinking it.
“That’s different, Mike.” Will rolled his eyes. “Dart didn’t let us go because he was friendly. He was distracted by Dustin’s nougat.”
When Will looked back at Mike, he was caught off guard by how effortlessly beautiful Mike looked standing this close to him under the dim basement lights. His deep brown eyes glittered with the reflection of the warm lamps.
Let it go, he reminded himself.
Will dropped Mike’s hand and cleared his throat. “They’re, uh… They’re probably waiting.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” Mike acquiesced.
They bounded up the stairs into the living room, where his mother was setting up the TV, and Jonathan and Nancy sat on the three-piece sofa, practically on top of each other. Will felt a pang of jealousy at their casual, socially acceptable touch. He felt guilty for getting peeved, but he couldn’t help but feel frustrated that this was something he’d never have.
Karen Wheeler and Holly took up the couch across from Ted and his recliner, so that left Will and Mike on the floor.
“Mom’s next to us, Sorry,” Jonathan said. “I left you guys a blanket.”
The two of them shrugged and settled in front of their respective siblings.
“I think this button is broken,” Joyce said, repeatedly pressing Channel 3, while the news played in the background.
Ted huffed. “The TV works perfectly fine. You’re probably doing it wrong.”
“No, the button is stuck.”
As Joyce finicked with the TV, the news played a jingle as the anchor introduced the next segment.
“And good evening from NBC Nightly News. Tonight, we’re live from Washington, D.C. as a heated Filibuster over funding AIDS research at the National Institute of Health shakes the Senate floor. This is Senator Jesse Helms of North Carolina.
“‘America needs to accept the truth. It is gross irresponsibility for homosexuals to violate the laws of decency and nature and then cry for the NIH to find out how to stop their own disease. Remember what Paul said; whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.’”
Will’s heart lodged itself in his throat, and tears silently stung his eyes. He felt like he was going to be sick. He felt like he was going to be seen.
“Jesus fucking Christ—” Jonathan muttered, quickly jumping into action.
“Language, boy!” Ted chastised, but Jonathan ignored him.
Will could feel Mike’s eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look. He didn’t dare move, as if a single breath would be his tell.
“‘AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals. It is God's punishment for the society that tolerates them.’”
“Goddamnit!” Jonathan smacked the side of the TV so hard, the stuck button dislodged itself and finally switched channels.
“Thank you,” Joyce sighed in relief and started the movie. Jonathan nodded and sat back down.
“Senator Helms makes a strong point, I’ll tell you that,” Ted mumbled.
“Dad, stop,” Mike said sharply, glaring at his father. “You’re interrupting the movie.”
Ted raised his eyebrows and said something under his breath, but no one paid him any mind.
As the eerie opening soundtrack of E.T. permeated the air, everyone seemed to relax. Everyone but Will.
Gross. Unnatural. Irresponsible.
The words reverberated through every crevice of Will’s mind.
God’s punishment. A violation of nature. Wrong.
Will’s throat burned, and he tried to breathe silently as he hid himself behind his knees pulled up to his chest, using the corner of the blanket to wipe his hot tears.
Another set of knees suddenly brushed against his under the blanket.
“Will?” Mike said barely above a whisper. “Will, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mike,” he whispered back. It scared Will how lying came easily to him.
The movie was loud enough that nobody noticed them.
Will finally brought himself to look at Mike, whose eyebrows were knit together with equal parts of worry and compassion. For a gaze so soft, Mike’s eyes bore deep into his soul. It should have been terrifying, but it soothed him.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Will tried to smile.
Mike knocked their knees together again before turning back to the movie. Keeping his gaze fixed on the screen, Mike brushed a hand over Will’s knee.
Contrary to the butterflies threatening to overtake him, the touch was grounding. Mike’s hand settled atop his knee, and Will eventually relaxed.
Mike kept it there the entire movie, and the faintest whisper of Will's thoughts dared to wonder if Mike needed the support, too.
By the time E.T. boarded his spaceship home, everyone aside from Jonathan, Nancy, Will, and Mike was asleep. Will knew that meant nothing good for his prospects of returning to the basement.
Nancy nodded her head towards the stairs and looked at him with classic Wheeler puppy-dog eyes. “Do you mind?”
Will rolled his eyes. “If you guys so much as touch my bed, I will send Vecna after you in your sleep.”
“Ha-ha. Not funny, dude,” Jonathan said. He briefly squeezed Will’s shoulder as the two of them snuck off towards the basement.
“Guess you’re stuck with me.” Mike feigned a dramatic sigh.
“Oh, shut up.” Will lightly punched Mike in the chest.
They both bit back grins as they carefully tread upstairs into Mike’s room.
“Help me pop the trundle?” Mike asked, walking over to wheel the second mattress out from under his bed.
Mike still had the same trundle bed they’d used for sleepovers ever since Will was seven. His feet started dangling off the end of the bed when about two years ago, but Mike never seemed to mind when he’d angle his feet to rest at the end of his mattress instead.
“One… Two… Three!” They crouched down on opposite sides and pulled the lever to raise the frame. After fighting with the metal bars for a bit, the springs finally locked into place.
Will and Mike both huffed in relief and plopped down on the edge of the bed. Will felt something unspoken buzzing between them when the quiet finally settled.
“My dad is wrong, and that idiot Helms is wrong, too. I’m not, you know… Like that or anything, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being…” Mike began to ramble.
“Different?” Will filled in.
“Yeah. Different.”
The word queer sat unspoken between them. The simple utterance felt dangerously irretrievable from the universe.
Will knew he was queer, though. He knew it from how he dreamed of doing more than sitting here beside Mike. How he fell asleep at night to fatal fantasies of trysts, pinned to the wall by Mike’s perfectly arched lips.
“Hey,” Mike said softly, placing a hand on Will’s thigh. It sent a thrill up his spine that rearranged his senses.
He snapped his gaze up to meet Mike’s profound eyes. He felt them searching through him.
“A Cleric isn’t limited by the binaries of fighting-men or magic-users. It can harness the advantages of both, so does that mean it’s not normal? Yeah! Yeah, it does. Which is why a Cleric is so powerful. It gets its power from being different. Like you, Will. Like you.”
“That’s D&D, Mike,” Will said weakly, but his heart sang a tune of hope. He couldn’t stop it. Mike’s words felt cloaked in the intimacy of a secret language meant just for him.
“And Vecna was supposed to just be D&D, too, but I don’t know, man. Seems pretty real to me.”
“You think?” Will replied, a shy smile creeping onto his lips.
His stomach somersaulted when he realized Mike was studying them. Mike flitted his gaze back up, and Will felt his cheeks burn sheepishly.
While almost every unsaid word had dissipated, the air still felt thick with tension. But not the kind that swirled around them after a fight. It was something different.
Let it go, Will warned himself.
But he placed a hand on top of Mike’s instead.
Let it go, Will told himself.
But he didn’t stop Mike from sliding closer.
Let it go, Will told himself.
But he leaned into Mike’s touch when he cradled his cheek like it was something precious.
Will searched Mike’s eyes for discomfort, but found them staring back at him with earnest curiosity.
Curiosity was safe. Curiosity was a polite kind of rejection he could force his heart to handle. There was no future in curiosity. There was only something mutually beneficial in the here and now of it, that Will believed would be worth the hurt when it ended.
Mike’s breath warmed the tip of his nose as he learned closer to Will.
Will’s eyes fluttered closed, and when Mike kissed him, he almost wanted to open them again, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He melted into the kiss, and Mike’s hand slipped around his neck, pulling him closer.
They stayed tangled in one another for eternity and no time at all. Will knew he should end it. He always warned himself to let it go before the grenade exploded. But Mike kissed him like it meant something, and Will felt wanted in a way he never had before.
When they finally parted, Mike looked a little stricken. He looked beautiful, with rosy cheeks, puffy lips, and bright eyes, but he also looked scared.
Will quickly sobered up. Mike wasn’t queer. Mike regretted kissing him.
Will sort of wanted to go crawl into his mom’s bed and cry if the basement was still occupied.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Will started.
“No, no. Will, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to—” Mike cut him off.
“No, Mike. It’s not fine. I’ll go sleep somewhere else, and we can act like this never happened tomorrow.”
Will stood up, but Mike grabbed him by the wrist.
“Don’t go. Please,” Mike said.
Will shifted on his heels. Mike sounded worried, and Will didn’t want to make him feel worse.
“Okay.”
Mike climbed over to his bed and handed Will a blanket and pillow.
They lay facing each other, unsure of what to do next.
“I’m sorry,” Will apologized again, just to say something.
“Stop apologizing, Will.” Mike sighed. He rolled onto his back, and Will watched him study the ceiling. “It’s just kissing. It’s not a big deal. Everybody does it.”
“Right…” Will said. He personally didn’t think everybody kissed their best friends, but he resisted the urge to say that. “Besides, you’re not, um—You’re not queer.”
He bore these words to the universe like speaking them aloud made them certain. Irreversible.
Will watched Mike’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard.
“Right…” Mike eventually replied. “So, it’s fine to—to kiss, I mean. It’s not like we’re dating.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Mike’s lips still tingled pleasantly on his own. He needed them again.
“You know you’re my best friend, right?” Mike suddenly snapped his head to Will and grabbed his arm. “You’re my best friend.”
Will wrapped his hand gently around Mike’s wrist. “You’re mine too.”
“Nothing will ever change that.”
“Nothing.”
“Good.” Mike smiled and closed his eyes.
He didn’t let go of Will, and Will didn’t want to let go of Mike. So they stayed like that, holding each other across the chasm between the trundle.