Work Text:
Will was drawn in by the cool morning breeze that kissed his rosy cheeks, causing him to clear his throat slightly until he felt his entire body enveloped in a light surface. All his senses were so calmed that for a moment he thought he had died and was now in heaven.
Will hadn't felt his body rest so deeply in years, his eyes slowly opening, that warmth gripping him, so close that he wasn't sure if it was the sunlight filtering through the curtains or the added weight on his side of the bed.
Even with his vision blurry, he observed his surroundings, so familiar his chest swelled with compassion for this being the place he could say was the safest in the world; Mike's room.
The glimpse of clothes thrown on the floor, a completely disorganized table in the corner of the room, where painting supplies had been abandoned, crooked posters everywhere and—
"Good morning, love." Will, still groggy from sleep, was quickly awakened by the serene and calm sound of Mike's voice, the one that had lulled him to sleep the night before.
The empty space on the bed next to Will was filled by Mike, who lay down again, but this time closer to him.
Will couldn't tell if the heat that coursed through his entire body was due to that heated proximity or coming from the bed they both sank into and the sheets that smelled of peony-scented soap; Mike's soap.
Will turned his body to the other side only to be face to face with the boy he had loved all his life, who wasted no time in placing a kiss on his cheek. And as a result of the touch of his lips on his exposed cheek, he closed his eyes, only for his lips to move now towards his mouth. He knew what was coming next when he felt embraced by Mike's warm breath so close to his face as he lingered.
"I love you, my cleric—"
A knock on the door, two knocks that turned into three knocks.
At the first knock, Will had already jumped out of his seat when he realized where he was now. When the effect of the fright, which felt like a pinch to snap him out of his trance and out of reality, passed, Will quickly closed the notebook in front of him and threw the pen somewhere on his desk where it wouldn't be noticeable that he had been writing before.
Even though the notebook was the most precious item he hid from everyone (and rightly so, as it was the home where his fantasies flourished). Anyone in the house who opened the first page of the book would quickly hand it over to Mike, and the thought that gnawed at him was so embarrassing that he couldn't recreate that scene in his head, because in fact Will wouldn't know what to do. What excuse in the world would help him explain that what he was writing wasn't a gay story with his childhood best friend, with whom he was now living?
He still left the notebook slightly open on top, just to answer the door and whoever was calling him. That person would pay for taking him out of his little world, but before he could turn the doorknob, "Will, I know you're there." The butterflies in his stomach now prevented him from turning the doorknob, but with a light sigh, he opened the door, coming face to face with the person he had been daydreaming about just minutes before.
"Hey Mike, I was, hum... I was reading." Even though his appearance was a mess, leading Will to assume he'd just woken from a deep sleep, he was still disturbingly handsome and attractive. Will tried not to notice how well the blue sweatshirt he was wearing suited him, and the strategically messy hair falling across his forehead. "Oh, cool." Will's eyes furtively met Mike's, before he realized where he was looking. It seemed he was trying to gather as much information as possible about Will's room. He glanced one last time at the desk before returning his gaze to Will, who now radiated understanding. Will mentally thanked himself for remembering to leave the notebook on the table.
Mike had no idea what was there.
"I just stopped by to let you know that breakfast is ready... um, that's not mine..." Will swallowed hard and didn't know how long he'd been holding his breath when "my comic book?" The boy smiled warmly, as if he'd just discovered that someone else was also interested in his nerdy pursuits. Will nodded slowly, and he couldn't help but return the smile, turning only to glance sideways at The Dark Knight Rises"
among his books on his bedside table. How did his eyes capture it so well even from a distance?
Then, after they both gave each other a brief smile, Will finally closed the door and leaned against the closed door behind him. He let out a long, exaggerated sigh of relief, even though it had been a very brief interaction, Will was anxious and afraid of ruining everything. He tried to hide his nervousness and felt that even trying to hide it as much as he could, at some point he would end up ruining everything.
He had always been nervous around Mike, and now that they were separated only by a wall that prevented them from being together, sleeping together, and forgetting the problems of the outside world.
Trying to go unnoticed was proving to be a challenge, and Mike wasn't helping at all.
Mike had always been shielded by a barrier that prevented others from seeing what he was thinking; A difficult person to read, I would say.
And he manages to mold himself so that everyone could only see what he wanted them to see.
Breakfast went well, in its usual chaotic way, with Joyce always rushing to leave and see Hopper and El. Jonathan seemed equally agitated, and Nancy was no different. It was the winter of 1888, a year after good finally triumphed and Vecna was defeated.
They were recovering emotionally and financially. Jonathan and Nancy had pursued journalism and were now working in the press, with Nancy rising through the ranks at The Hawkings Post and gaining international prominence, even reaching the New York Posts.
Joyce was living with Hopper and El, who would soon decide to move out of Hawkings.
And of course, Will couldn't accept this decision very well, the idea of abandoning the city where he had grown up his whole life, even with everything that had happened, was still his city, their city.
Soon he would have to get used to Mike's absence, and he blamed himself every day for what could have been... what they could have been in that time.
And Will was now just waiting for the acceptance letter from the university, and thankfully El would go with him.
But still, nothing made sense away from the boy he loved most in life, and all that was left for him at that moment was to cherish the small moments.
And now he was in the kitchen, drying the dishes while Karen was clearing the table; it was just him, Mike's parents, and Mike.
That thought sounded wrong; the idea of him living in the Wheelers' house wasn't as magical as it had been years ago. Now he understood Mike, understood his complaints, and now he was noticing things that Will had never noticed before in that house. Mike grew up in a dysfunctional family.
And he felt like he was invading Mike's personal space, as if he were spying on his every move and his routine.
But Mike didn't seem to mind.
Will was quickly startled when the boy appeared beside him, making it seem like he was thinking about something wrong, or something he shouldn't.
And he was, thinking about Mike sounded wrong.
The thought was pushed away when Mike appeared in front of him. With a quick glance, Will noticed that the sleeves of his sweatshirt were awkwardly raised, exposing his hands full of bulging veins. A warm blush rose to his cheeks.
And Mike's hair looked neat now, as if he had tried to make it as nice as possible at some point in the past. The thought almost made Will laugh to himself at the stupid idea.
And before Mike could recoil with the dirty mug, Will snatched it from his hand. Their fingers touched for only a fraction of a second, but that was enough to send an electric shock through his entire body.
And with a quick glance at Mike, he noticed that the sleeves of his sweatshirt were awkwardly pulled up, exposing his arms full of bulging veins, his hair was now... styled? Will couldn't remember exactly when he'd had time to style his curly hair, as if he'd fixed it sometime before entering the kitchen.
Will held back a laugh at this stupid idea, but couldn't help the hot blush that rose to his cheeks-"Let me take care of this." And once again their fingers touched, this time longer, more intimate, more raw. And there was no need for either of them to be holding the dirty coffee cup, and there they were. Mike quickly pulled back, still holding the cup, when he noticed Will's uncomfortable silence, who only nodded before returning to the wet dishes. His hands gripped the cloth tightly, and Mike began to work on the remaining dishes in the sink.
He was still standing in the same place, frozen even after finishing drying everything because he was waiting for Mike to finish washing what was left, and with a single movement, Mike handed it to him, even though there was an endless space on the dish rack, he wanted to hand it to Will, he wanted to look directly at their hands touching and obviously Will couldn't contain his rosy cheeks at the contact that seemed somehow intentional.
And after they finished, Will thanked him slightly, avoiding his eyes. He was going to pass Mike to go upstairs before being interrupted by him, who leaned against the counter blocking Will's passage. This sounded attractively intimidating. "Hey, hum, I was working on a campaign these past few days and I was wondering if you could... read it to see if it's good? I wanted everyone to read it together this coming Wednesday, but you know, I want you to read it first." Mike emphasized the last part, demonstrating how significant Will was to him. "Of course, of course I can."
"Great then... so later to my basement?" His finger pointed towards the basement door
"Sure, we can."
"Nice"
"Nice."
Will now found himself in his room, in his own world that he had built when things got tough in the real world.
He frantically poked and prodded the pen on the table, trying to catch some glimpse of an idea to add to his story, which was stupid anyway.
Then he found himself sitting at his easel in the corner of the room, waiting for some inspiration to come, but nothing came.
He put down the brush and stood there staring at the blank canvas. Lately, Will had been focusing on writing, but he also painted.
He constantly wondered if he could ever stop making Mike the main source of his art these days, but he couldn't think of anything else when he picked up a pen or a brush, because there were no more monsters or mind flayers or Vecna, bigger problems that he faced.
And as if muscle memory were controlling him, he opened the last drawer of his bedside table just to retrieve the painting he had done the previous week, which had been the source of inspiration for his little story.
The Paladin and the Cleric.
Mike, in his armor atop his horse, and Will, the cleric, handing him a map.
He never knew when he stopped painting a party fighting a great dragon with Mike on the front line facing it, and being the heart to draw the two so intimately together like that.
The Paladin and the Cleric.