Chapter Text
The summer after graduation is quieter than Will expected.
It wasn’t empty, it was just that it felt like the world had been turned down a notch and nobody told him why. The days stretch longer than they used to, the sun was hanging around too late, the sidewalks hot and still, and yet he can feel it in his bones like something’s off. But he doesn’t know what.
Will spends the morning at the kitchen table hunched over his sketchbook, his pencil dragging lazily across the page. He’s not really drawing anything, just lines, shapes, half-formed ideas that don’t want to become something real. He’s grateful that he at least doesn’t need to catch the bus or shove his sketchbook into his bag or count the minutes between classes. There’s no bell to wait for, and no one telling him when to start or stop.
“Hey,” Jonathan enters the kitchen and starts the coffee pot. “You want some coffee?” Will shakes his head. “Are you alright?” He glances at Will, trying to see if something was up.
“I’m good,” Will croaked, trying to make sure he sounded convincing. He couldn’t admit how off he actually was starting to feel. “Just… tired, I guess. Stayed up drawing again.”
Jonathan gives him a small smile and pours himself a cup before taking a slow sip from his mug. “Figures. You always get lost in that sketchbook. Just don’t forget to eat something, okay? You can’t draw if you’re running on fumes.”
Will nods, biting his lip. “Yeah… I’ll grab something later.”
Jonathan sighs. “Alright. I’m heading out for a bit, but don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone.” Will watches him head toward the door and the hard click of the door shutting behind him echoed in the quiet kitchen.
The house was fully quiet now. Will leaned back in his chair, staring at the half-finished sketches before him, but soon enough, the feeling of heat was beginning to crawl all over his skin.
By noon, Will’s head aches. Not sharp, just dull, nagging, and plain uncomfortable. It’s a constant weight pressing behind his eyes. Will pinches the bridge of his nose and leans back in his chair. He tells himself it’s nothing, probably just too much sun or not enough water, but the dull ache refuses to go away.
The front door opens before he can do more than set his pencil down.
“Will?” It was Mike. His voice carried from the hallway. “You alive?”
Will rubs his eyes and his ears begin to feel hot. “Yeah,” he says, but it comes out rougher than he meant. His throat is dry, scratchy, and he hates the rasp he could start to hear in his own voice.
Mike leans in the kitchen doorway and his hair was sticking up as if he didn’t bother fixing it. He looks the same as always and yet somehow different. Almost as if he’s grown into the space around him while Will’s been stuck inside.
“Why are you… like that?” Mike asks, stepping closer to Will.
“It’s cooler down here,” Will mutters. “In theory.”
Mike snorts and sits next to Will at the table. “In theory,” he mocks with a smirk, then nudges Will’s foot with his sneaker. “You look dead.”
“You look rude.”
“Fair.”
Will closes his sketchbook and rests his head on the table for a second until he decides this wasn't enough. Mike gives a confused look to Will and watches Will struggle to move over to the couch in the living room.
Mike follows him to the living room. He flops onto the couch, opposite end of Will. He stretches his legs out and tilts his head back. He continues to watch Will, noticing the small fidgets of his hands and noticing that something was clearly off.
A continuous silence.
“You okay?” Mike asks eventually, his voice much quieter now, less playful.
Will closes his eyes. “Yeah.” I should feel normal, but I don't. Something was off and Will knew that. He just didn't want to admit it to Mike.
Mike doesn’t look convinced. “You sound like shit.”
“Wow. Thanks.” Will groans and shifts to the left edge of the couch, his head resting on the arm of the couch.
Mike shifts to the middle cushion, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, watching Will. “You’re pale. Did you eat?”
Will thinks about it. “I had toast,” he says. He didn’t have anything today.
“When?”
“…Earlier.”
Mike makes a face. “That’s not an answer.”
Will shrugs, but it makes his head swim a little and starts to feel dizzy. He presses a palm to the couch to steady himself.
Mike notices. Of course he notices.
“Okay,” Mike says slowly. “That didn’t look normal.”
Will sits up a little more than he probably should, straightening his back but his eyes were still closed. “I’m fine.”
“Your eyes are closed. And you say that a lot,” Mike replies. He wasn’t accusing him, just stating a fact.
“Because it’s usually true.”
“Uh-huh.”
The fan started to sound louder even though nothing changed. Will wipes his forehead, too late to realize that he’s sweating. His body was aching, burning, and felt uncomfortable. He felt like peeling his skin off. Maybe that would help.
“It’s really hot,” he mutters, trying not to show that he’s so out of it.
Mike squints at him. “You’re hot.”
Will blinks. “Yeah. That’s what I–”
“No,” Mike interrupts, frowning. His hand presses against Will’s forehead.
Will freezes. The touch of Mike’s hand makes his chest clench sharply as he feels his heart rate climb. He wanted to pull away, but Mike's hand felt almost comforting, even if he was only making sure he was okay. He couldn’t pull away even if he tried.
Mike pulls back. “Jesus. You’re burning up.”
“I’m not,” Will insists, but his voice is weaker than he wants.
“You absolutely are.”
Will huffs a laugh he can barely feel. “You don’t know that.”
“I literally just touched you,” Mike says, his eyes squinting as he studied Will more.
“You touch me all the time.”
Mike hesitates. “Not like that.”
Will’s heart stutters, then keeps going like nothing happened.
“I’m fine,” Will says again, but softer this time. His headache wasn’t going away and neither was his sweat. He could feel himself start to drench through his clothes.
Mike doesn’t argue back. Instead, he glances toward the kitchen. “You want water?”
Will nods thankfully with his eyes still closed, “Yeah.” Mike gets up and moves through Will’s house like he lives there.
The sound of running water filling the kitchen as Will squirmed around on the couch. The TV was playing, but Will couldn’t hear or focus on anything.
Only Mike's voice.
Will opens his eyes as he feels hotness in his limbs, the weight of his own fatigue, but all he could do was watch Mike. At least he tried to, his eyes were starting to feel tired.
When Mike returns, he sets the glass in Will’s hand. Their fingers brush for a second right before Will drinks it. He tries to ignore Mike’s warm hand that spread through him but it was nearly impossible.
Though Will was burning up, Mike’s touch was different.
It shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, it does.
“You should lie down,” Mike says.
“I am lying down.”
“A bed,” Mike clarifies. “Like a person.”
Will smirks faintly. “Bossy.”
“Only because you’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” Mike mutters, rolling his eyes. Mike moves closer to Will on the couch, their knees faintly touching, unsure of what to do to help Will. Jonathan and Ms. Byers were out for the whole day, he had to be here for Will.
He had to make sure he was okay. “Come here,” Mike tries to pull Will off the couch, but he resists.
“Mike, I don’t think I can move from this couch right now,” Will admits. His voice was weak, it was dragging with every word. His body felt solid and even the smallest movement took much more effort than it should have.
Mike pauses, studying Will for a long second. “Okay,” he says finally, softer this time. He slides closer onto the couch anyway, their thighs touching, and rests a hand lightly on Will’s shoulder. Not pushing, just trying to ground him. “We’ll do this slowly. I’ve got you.”
As Mike wants to help Will off the couch, Will’s head collapses onto Mike’s shoulder. Mike doesn’t resist, even though he thinks maybe he should.
Will’s eyes are fully closed now, his face was pale and warm against Mike’s shirt. He could feel Will’s chest when he took a breath in and out, he could hear the faint rasp in his breathing.
It’s not just sickness, there was something fragile about Will in this moment and Mike can’t stop himself from noticing it.
I mean, I have to take care of my best friend when there is nobody else to, right?
Mike’s heart started to slowly race as Will’s body began to feel heavier, more comfortable against his body. It felt… right.
Will exhales, tired all the way. He doesn’t respond or say anything, but only sinks a little further and the heat of his body that was pressing against Mike.
It was overwhelming in the best and worst ways. Mike could feel it in his own chest too.
The pull, the tension, the tiny spark of something that makes him want to stay like this forever.
Mike carefully shifts. This time, he adjusts himself so Will is cradled safely, letting his arm settle around him. Mike’s shoulder aches slightly from the weight, but he doesn’t care. He never cared. He had to care for Will. This wasn’t optional.
As they sat in silence for minutes, Mike would take a peek over at Will to make sure he was still breathing. He traced Will’s face with his eyes, trying to make sure that he didn’t look too sick.
Will could feel Mike’s eyes on him, but he was overheating enough that he couldn’t bring himself to move or meet his gaze. His skin burned where Mike’s hand had brushed over his shoulder earlier and every shallow breath made the closeness feel heavier, more intense.
He feared Mike would read into this, thinking there was more to this than there was, or maybe more than he wanted there to be. Deep down though, a small, stubborn part of him didn’t want to move. And he didn’t.
He hadn't even noticed yet Mike's arm that was cradling him as his head rested on his shoulder.
Will wanted to tell himself it was just the fever, just exhaustion, but his mind and body refused to let him lie.
He’s always wanted this. Just not like this. Not when he was extremely sick and needed his help.
Mike’s voice came softly and almost reverent to Will’s ear. “Don’t fall asleep yet.”
Will made a soft noise in response, he was too drained to argue, too sick to try. But even as the words sank in, he felt warmth in his chest.
It was from Mike’s presence. Or maybe the sickness. Maybe both. The world narrowed to just the two of them and for a moment, all the rules and boundaries and worries about “normal” didn’t matter to either of them in this second.
Three hours later, Will barely tries to open his eyes and realizes he fell asleep. Onto Mike’s shoulder.
Mike was also asleep, though he hadn’t meant to. His head leaned slightly forward, one arm was curved around Will’s back, holding him steady still even unconscious. He couldn’t let him slip.
Will realizes Mike’s arm and his heart rate shot up. He was already flushed enough, but feeling and comprehending Mike’s arm was unbearable.
Mike is just trying to be a good friend, he doesn’t feel the same way I do. Not like that.
He felt Mike’s heat on top of his own burning body, but he couldn’t get himself to move. He closed his eyes again and let himself stay like this despite the guilt that creeped in that this closeness, so much closer than it should be, was normal for anyone else.
Mike shifted a bit, a faint groan escaping his lips, and his fingers tightening against Will’s back.
Will closed his eyes again immediately. He froze, he was afraid that movement might wake him entirely. Afraid that this fragile stability might be destroyed if he shifted. He couldn't shake off the feeling that it felt wrong like this.
Mike was only being a good friend and yet Will couldn’t stop the rush of warmth that continued to go through his entire body. Maybe he should pull back, maybe to remind himself of the boundaries they had always clung to.
But his body refused.
The fever had made him feel heavy and sluggish, and his muscles had already betrayed him. They let him collapse against Mike as if it were the only place he could belong. Will hated how much he needed this closeness, how much comfort he felt from this simple act of resting his head against Mike’s shoulder.
Minutes passed like hours. Will’s thoughts spun. It was just the fever. But the feeling of being held by Mike for the first time…
Mike began to blink slowly, his consciousness returning, and for a second he was disoriented at where he was. He felt the pressure of something and saw Will’s head laying on his shoulder and remembered everything. Will’s skin was pale, almost clammy, and the flush of fever was extremely visible against his otherwise smooth complexion.
He noticed Will’s lips were slightly cracked, his breath was shallow and uneven, and he began to feel much more heat radiating from Will’s body than he did just fifteen seconds ago. It caused him to sit up straighter and suddenly be more alert, but still gentle enough that Will could keep his head on his shoulder.
“Will?” Mike whispered, there was a sense of worry in it. He placed his hand onto Will’s forehead again and it burned. “Jesus, Will. You’re really sick.”
As Will finally stopped pretending to be asleep, he tried to sit up, but his body felt like it was made of bricks. His body was full of heat and even lifting a hand felt difficult.
“I, I’m fine,” he muttered weakly. But you could tell through his voice, he was not fine.
“No,” Mike said firmly now, his worry was visible. “You’re not fine. You’ve been burning up this whole time, and you fell asleep on me like… like this. You’re way worse than I thought.”
Will immediately sat up, pulling his head away from Mike’s shoulder. His chest tightened, his throat closed, he felt embarrassed. Embarrassed that he let this go on for so long, embarrassed that he thought for even a second maybe Mike wanted this too. But even in the haze of heat and fatigue, he couldn’t pull away from the security of Mike’s presence next to him.
They sat beside each other in silence.
“You should’ve told me,” Mike finally said, but almost as if he were scolding himself for not noticing sooner. “I would’ve… I would’ve helped you.”
Will exhaled shakily, letting the words slip between breaths. “It’s nothing, it wasn’t this bad until today. And it would just be a bother.”
Mike’s jaw tightened. “You’re never a bother, Will. I’m supposed to be here. For this. For you.”
Will didn’t say anything for a minute and Mike accepted that. They stayed still together in the quietness. He didn’t press Will more, he didn’t try to make him talk. He just… waited.
“You’re a good friend,” Will finally said weakly, as much as he wanted otherwise.
Mike’s chest tightened, a strange mix of relief and something sharper he couldn’t want to address. “I’m supposed to be,” he said softly. “I I told you… I’ll always be here.”
Will’s eyes closed again and Mike realized he wasn’t going to be able to keep him on the couch much longer. Every heavy movement made it clear: Will needed proper care, and a couch wasn’t enough.
“Alright,” Mike muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Will. “Bed it is.”
He leaned down and carefully slid an arm under Will’s back, lifting him with as much gentleness as possible. Will murmured something incoherent, burying his face further into Mike’s shoulder as he struggled to walk, making Mike tighten his grip slightly. Step by careful step, he walked Will to his bedroom.
“You can do it, Will.” The floorboards creaked as they walked together. And yet, Mike’s heart raced. Not from making sure that Will doesn’t fall, but from the weight of Will in his arms. And also making sure Will didn’t fall.
They finally make it to Will’s bedroom and Mike eases him onto the bed. He adjusts the pillows and shuffles the blankets around to make room for Will, careful not to push him too much. Will’s limbs felt heavy and limp against the mattress.
“Just… stay still for me, okay?” Mike whispers, noticing Will's continuous sweat. He looks around and finds a clean towel on his desk, sitting back down on the bed. He brushes Will's damp hair off his forehead, his hand stays there longer than it should and his fingers rest lightly against the curve of Will’s temple.
Will flinches slightly, but doesn’t pull away from Mike’s touch. He moves his head a little to become more comfortable on the pillow and Mike adjusts the blanket over him again, making sure not to overheat him. He had to keep him cool.
As Will was near falling asleep, Mike sat on the edge of his bed and gazed at him. He wanted to do more, anything more he could to help Will not feel this way.
He got up from Will’s bed and sat onto the chair by his desk, continuing to watch Will.
Eight.
He counted his breaths and the pace of it, each inhale and exhale were uneven and slightly forced. It only made Mike’s stomach twist more.
The room was quiet. All you could hear were the faint voices of people walking by outside, a faint barking from someone’s backyard, and of course, Will’s breathing.
Eight. Nine. Ten. He counted again, slower this time.
Will was fast asleep once again.
Mike carefully gets up from the chair and heads to the kitchen to bring Will some water for when he wakes up. He was unsure what to do. Does his mom know he’s sick? Should I call her? He slightly panics and starts pacing in the kitchen, realizing he wouldn’t be able to reach her if he could, he couldn’t remember where she worked currently or her contact.
She'll be home soon, Jonathan too. I can take care of him, Mike told himself.
He fills up a glass of water and brings it into Will’s room, placing it on his nightstand. He felt a pull on his chest, a strong, almost too much pull, that he wanted to stay longer here. Here in Will’s room. Mike goes back to the kitchen for another glass of water for himself.
He returned slowly, making sure he wouldn’t wake up or startle Will, and he quickly adjusted the blankets on him so he wouldn’t kick them off in his restless movements.
He sits back down gently onto Will’s bed and looks closer at him. He was sweating. He was uncomfortable, you could tell. A strand of his hair was back onto his damp forehead, so Mike softly brushed it away from his eyes. He wanted to sit beside him all night, just watching, just being near him.
But he also knew he couldn’t suffocate him. Not that Will would protest, not really, but Mike needed to give them both a little space. And he needed a few minutes to breathe too. Maybe process these feelings that began to feel stronger the more he was near Will.
Slowly and reluctantly, he stepped back.
“I’ll be right here,” he whispered, more to himself than to Will. Then carefully, just so he doesn’t wake up Will, he eases toward the door.
His eyes lingered on Will for a long moment, memorizing the way he looked sprawled across the bed, fevered and fragile and completely human.
Mike entered the living room and settled onto the couch where they once sat together, curling up with a blanket pulled around him. He let out a slow breath, but even from here, he could hear Will’s faint, uneven breathing. It was enough to keep him tethered to Will, enough to make the room feel smaller and warmer and more intimate, even with this distance between them.
He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to let himself drift off to sleep, but his mind refused to be quiet. Every subtle movement Will made, every sigh, every shift beneath the blankets replayed in his thoughts.
He had to stay close, had to know that he was safe, even if he couldn’t be right there beside him for a few minutes.
The couch was firm. It was not as comforting as Will’s bed and not nearly as warm. Mike's chest started to ache, wondering if he should get up and check on him again, but he forced himself to stay, curling tighter into the blanket. He let his fingers brush against the edge of the cushion as if it could replace the touch he so desperately wanted to offer to Will.
Minutes stretched into long, quiet hours. Mike drifted lightly, not ever fully asleep, but half-conscious of Will’s presence and half-conscious of whatever feelings he couldn’t seem to shake off. Somewhere deep down, Mike realized that being this close, even from across the room, was enough for now.
But it wouldn’t be enough forever.
Eventually, Mike fell asleep. He didn’t know how long he slept or if Will had gotten up at any point, but the sound of the front door opening made him fully awake.
He heard a familiar voice.
“Mike?” Ms. Byers stepped into the living room and her eyes immediately scanning the room until they landed on him. “Is everything okay? Where is Will?” He could hear her voice turn from confusion to panic, but he hurried to answer before she had a chance to imagine the worst. Again.
“He’s… he’s in his room,” Mike said quickly, “He’s really sick. Fever and all. I stayed with him.”
Ms. Byers froze for a moment and took in his words, her hand flying to her chest. “Sick? Oh Mike, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mike shook his head and tried not to worry her more. “I didn’t want to worry you. He just, needed someone here. He’s asleep now.”
Her eyes softened slightly, though the worry still lingered. “Oh Mike, thank you for staying,” she puts her hand on her head, “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“I wanted to,” he said simply. “He needed me, and well, I couldn’t leave him alone. I was only checking in since I hadn’t seen him since graduation.”
Ms. Byers let out a shaky breath, nodding. “I know. I can see that. But you’ve been here all day, Mike. You need to go home, get some rest. You’ve done enough for one day.”
Mike hesitated, taking a look toward Will’s bedroom door that was still open. His desire to stay almost physically ached him, but he knew she was right. “Yeah… okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll head home. But… I’ll check on him first thing in the morning.”
She gives me a small, relieved smile. “That’s all I ask. And Mike? Thank you. Really. Will’s lucky to have you.”
Mike nodded and gets up from the couch. He follows Ms. Byers into Will’s room and they step into his room. Mike stays by the doorframe to give her space with him. His fan was still on, his blankets were scattered, and Will looked almost peaceful, though he was clearly achingly sick.
“Goodnight Will,” he whispered. “Thank you Ms. Byers, see you tomorrow.” She gives him a smile and he takes one quick look at Will again before heading out.
Mike walks through their front door and makes sure to close the door shut. The air was cold and the street was now quiet.
He took a deep breath and began his walk home, but he couldn’t stop replaying the image of Will in his mind. So fragile, so fevered, so sick, yet somehow still holding onto him and trusted him to stay. He had memorized how Will felt in his arms. It made his chest throb in a way that was more than worry, something so much more.
I need to sleep.
But part of him was still in Will’s room, still watching over him, and he was afraid that even for a second, what if he couldn’t be there for Will? He couldn’t stop replaying every single interaction from today.
He craved warmth, he just didn’t realize it was Will’s.
The next morning, the phone beside Mike's bed rang. He rubbed his eyes, thinking to himself who could possibly be calling him this early in the morning. He reaches out for the phone, unable to find it on his nightstand for a second.
"Hello?" He answered, his voice was still thick with sleep and his eyes were half-open.
"Mike, it's me, Ms. Byers," her voice was slightly strained, "So sorry to call you this early, I just..."
Mike sat up immediately on his bed, he was fully awake now. This could not be good. "Ms. Byers? Is, is everything okay?"
There was a short pause. Mike felt sick to his stomach.
"Will, Will's in the hospital. I wanted to let you know so you didn't show up this morning unknowingly." Her voice was low, he could hear her worry and sadness.
Mike gripped the phone tighter, his chest beginning to ache all over again. "What? Hospital? How-What happened?"
"We're not sure, but he got worse overnight. His fever spiked and Jonathan insisted we bring him in," she explained, worry threading through each word she told him. "He's stable now, but they want to monitor him and keep him here for a little while until they figure out what exactly is wrong." She sighs, "Mike… I know you were here yesterday. Thank you. Really, you were the only one keeping an eye on him.”
Mike’s fingers tightened even more around the phone. “I, I didn’t know it was that bad. Why didn’t he say anything?”
"You know Will. But he needed you and you were there. You did the right thing. We are so thankful for you."
Mike exhaled a sharp breath, he wasn't even awake for two minutes and his world turned immediately. His mind replayed yesterday. The weight of Will in his arms, the fever burning through his skin, the panic that had gushed under his chest every time Will moved uncomfortably.
And now, he hadn’t been enough. Not fast enough.
"I'll be right there," he said quickly.
"Alright," Ms. Byers responded with, "But don’t rush recklessly. You need to get there safely. Thank you again, Mike. He’s lucky to have a friend like you."
A friend like you.
Friend. Like. You.
She hung up and he slowly put the phone down, staring at the phone for a long moment. The quiet room around him started to make him claustrophobic. He threw off his blanket, ran his hand through his hair, slipped on the first pair of clothes he saw, and hurried into the bathroom to get freshened up. His heart was beating hard in his chest, full of panic at the edges of his thoughts.
By the time he got to the hospital Will was at, Ms. Byers was standing outside the front door smoking a cigarette. She was waiting, eyes worried, but relieved when she saw him. “Mike, thank God. Come,” she said, ushering him forward as she dropped her cigarette and stepped onto it.
“He’s able to see visitors for now, but..” Ms. Byers said, glancing at the hospital doors they walked through, “He was burning up, Mike. He… he looks rough.”
Mike’s stomach twisted. “I know. I,” He stopped, the words catching up to his throat. There was nothing he could say that would make this better, nothing that would fix the panic in his chest, and he definitely didn’t want to make Ms. Byers panic worse.
They entered the hospital together, the harsh fluorescent lights making the sterile smell hit harder than he expected.
He couldn't help but remember this same feeling from years ago. Will in the hospital. All over again.
Mike’s eyes immediately scanned the waiting area, heart beating as he tried to find a glimpse of Will through the hallways.
A nurse approached them, clipboard in hand. “Are you here for William Byers?”
“Yes,” Mike said instantly, almost too quickly. His heart was beating out of his chest and his hands flexed at his sides anxiously.
“Family only,” the nurse said, looking at Ms. Byers. “If you’re a friend, you’ll need to wait here while family goes in first.” She said, staring at Mike.
Mike felt his stomach drop. “I, I’m really close. I just, he needs someone right now. Please.” He was practically begging.
Ms. Byers gave him a pointed look. “He does, Mike. You’ve been there for him. Let me handle it for a minute, okay?”
Mike nodded reluctantly and swallowed hard, accepting that he might not be able to see Will right now. Ms. Byers follows the nurse as she points for Mike to sit in the waiting room. He couldn’t sit down though. He couldn’t stop pacing, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and heart thrumming so loud he was sure Will could even hear it from wherever he was.
Minutes felt like hours. Each second stretched much longer than the last, and the cold air of the hospital pressing against him only made him feel worse. He wanted to be there with Will, to make sure he was breathing, that he was warm enough, that he knew Mike was there.
Finally, Ms. Byers emerged from one of the rooms, her face softer now. “He’s okay, Mike. But he’s running a high fever still. They’re keeping him for monitoring, giving him fluids and keeping an eye on him. You can see him, but be careful, okay?”
Mike nodded quickly and the tension in his shoulders were finally able to loosen slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, almost to himself.
They stepped into the room together, and Mike froze at the sight of Will.