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Nightmares are an unfortunate normal for Will Byers. They have been since he was twelve years old—and now, freshly sixteen, they’ve become more frequent than ever. Gallons of torrential rain, pounding the ground in front of him so hard it swallows up his feet. It weighs down his shoes, making him unable to run. Flashes of bright red lightning strike the sky like blood splatter, rapturous thunder always quick to follow. A man, not human, not alien, stands there, too. He is always watching, waiting, telling Will everything that he has ever done wrong. The way his long, tendril-like fingers come up to stroke Will’s face, so gentle as though he isn’t utterly violating Will—it haunts him.
A long time ago, Will would have fought back. The words from a man whose face Will can’t bear to imagine now would echo through his mind, and Will would scream them like they would surely work against this evil. “Go away” clawed at Will’s throat each night like a rabid dog desperate for the kill. When they were real nightmares, the protests would work. The big bad would disappear and Will’s mind would enter the peaceful state, the state of blankness. Will’s favorite state of mind. When they weren’t nightmares, when they were now-memories instead, the words never worked. Ridicule ate Will up until he’d break out of his trance, always reaching for warmth of some kind. Anything to keep him away.
Tonight, Will dreams of Mike. It’s not good Mike, it never is when the boy visits him after hours. Mike is standing in front of him, ripping something up. Will catches a glimpse of a yellow and blue shield, of a crowned heart, and one of three heads of a vermilion dragon as the pieces flutter in the wind. They float to the ground with such ease and delicacy that Will is sure those aren’t the hands that could’ve thrown them. The hands reach out to Will, strong and familiar as they wrap themselves around Will’s throat. A jolt strikes Will in the ribs as he lands to the ground, falling on the carjack ever-present on the stone floor of Ted Wheeler’s garage. Mike’s eyes are eaten up with disgust and hatred, no hint of the brown that Will fell in love with, only pits of tar that Will is sure he will choke and die on.
“I would never like you like that,” Mike’s voice booms in Will’s ears, but it’s wrong, and Will knows this.
Mike has been angry at him before, sure, but it’s such an uncommon occurrence that Will knows exactly what he sounds like. His voice is loud, but there is always a gentleness to it from not wanting to cause Will genuine hurt. This thing, whatever has Will pinned to the ground, is not Mike. Black splotches begin to overtake Will’s vision as the pressure builds up behind his eyes and tongue. Fingernails dig into the skin on the back of his neck, desperate for a better grip, for a stronger pressure.
“That is disgusting, Will. You are disgusting.” Mike sours, spitting on the ground to the side of Will’s head as if the idea were actually poison in his mouth.
Will squeezes his eyes shut. Choosing the darkness over Mike is something that could only be done in a dream, so that must be what this is. A nightmare. A dull pain hits Will’s thigh as Mike’s knee begins to dig into it, and Will compels himself to pant to try and catch a breath. This isn’t real.
“Mike?” Will wheezes out, vocal cords restricted from Mike’s violent hands.
Mike doesn’t answer, nor does he relent pressure. The force of blood flow in his head makes Will feel like his eyes are going to pop out of his skull. He brings himself to snap open his eyelids, eyebrows shooting up in pleading swoops as he tries to gather his voice once more. Mike stares blankly, frowning so deeply Will is sure it’ll leave permanent divots in his face.
“Mike!” Will is able to protest, and he can see the way Mike’s face twists as if he’s the one in pain.
“Will?” A voice whispers in his ear as a hand comes to shake his shoulder.
Groggy doesn’t even begin to describe how Will feels as he wakes up. The pressure he just felt from Dream Mike strangling him still lingers in his jaw and eye sockets, so much so that Will wouldn’t think twice if he checked and there were actually somehow bruises circling his neck like a collar.
“Will?” The voice questions again, and it takes Will a moment to realize he recognizes it.
“Mike?” Will’s voice is so strained it’s like the fingers resting on his vocal cords never left.
“Is everything okay?” Mike asks frantically, and Will cracks open an eye to try and focus himself.
Mike is standing above him, one hand tenderly perched on Will’s shoulder. Mike’s eyes are a darkened sienna, the brown glinting in the light from the candle across from them on the table. Two dark lines of eyebrows swoosh upward, and this, this, is the Mike that Will knows. This is Will’s Mike.
“Did you have another nightmare? Are you okay?” Mike’s hand swipes down Will’s arm in a comforting motion that causes Will’s heart to drop at the same speed.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing really. I don’t even remember it.” Will lies, recalling all too well the way Mike had ridiculed him.
“Oh.” Mike offers helpfully, backing away slightly as his eyebrows dig themselves together, leaving a miniscule bumpy ridge of skin in the middle.
“Why were you down here?” Will wonders, ready to shift the focus away from his nightmares.
“You were yelling for me.” Mike answers immediately, as if it were obvious, as if Will should’ve known.
The truth, as it so often does, leaves Will in disarray. Maroon climbs its way up Will’s neck and blooms across his cheeks, stretching all the way up to the tips of his ears. It has been six long years since Will realized he was in love with Mike, six long years of hiding everything he really feels. A stupid nightmare isn’t going to be the thing that gives him away, so he does what he feels like he’s been doing nonstop recently: he lies.
“That’s weird. I have no idea why I was doing that.” Will says, wringing out his still asleep left arm.
“Is Jonathan…?” Mike’s voice trails off, but Will and Mike have always been good at finishing each other’s sentences.
“With Nancy,” Will confirms, and Mike nods along slowly.
“You sure you’re good? You sounded really upset?” Mike’s concern only serves to make Will’s face hotter, and he shifts himself to where he’s sure the shadows of the dark drown out the pink.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I can’t believe you came all the way downstairs because I was having a nightmare.” Will says it jokingly, but he’s honestly quite touched by the fact that Mike cares so much about him.
“You called. Of course I came,” Mike informs like it’s nothing, shaking Will’s arm with the subtlest of smiles.
Will is entirely overwhelmed, unsure of how to continue the conversation. It’s all he’s ever wanted and more to have Mike by his side like this, all knight-in-shining-armor mode as he cares for Will. Though he’d never say it aloud, when he was younger, Will used to purposefully fall and scrape his knees or hands. Mike would rush to his side, checking to make sure the damages weren’t bad. Once he found out Will was okay and that it didn’t actually hurt that bad, Mike would giggle and call him clumsy. But then, he would always help Will up, guiding him to whoever’s house was closest. Mike would shoo the worried mothers away, sit Will on the toilet, and with the softest of hands and the sweetest of smiles, he would patch Will up. He’d leave a kiss on every bandage, claiming that love makes wounds heal faster than any old medicine. To this day, part of Will still believes that.
For some embarrassing reason, Will feels the familiar sting of tears itch at his lower lash line. Drawing his lips into a pucker, Will begins to bite on the inside of his cheek to try and prevent himself from crying. Mike’s gaze softens like ice cream on a warm day, too sweet and sticking kindly to Will. The hand on Will’s shoulder twitches, lifts up, and then sits back down. Will watches as Mike’s micro expressions change, eyebrows flickering like the lights when a demogorgon is too close by. Mike’s face smooths, whatever inner battle he had been having now resolved, and he brings his hand up to cup Will’s face.
“Don’t cry,” Mike warns, looking at Will with a stern sort of look a parent gives their child when they’re trying hard not to cry too.
Will stares, knowing if he loosens the grip his teeth have on his skin, he’ll begin to unfold. The tension behind his eyes slowly eases, tears no longer daring to fall. Mike the Brave has willed them away, just like he does with every big bad Will has ever had to face. Mike’s thumb flutters across Will’s cheekbone before pulling away so quickly that Will swears it makes a sound.
“Wait right here, I got just the thing.” Mike scrambles to his feet, flying up the stairs two at a time.
If Will hadn’t awoken the whole house with his apparent screams of terror, Mike will certainly do it with the thunderous way his feet clap against the ground. In the absence of Mike, Will’s cheek feels cold, freezer-burnt, as if he had taken all of the warmth out of it as he scampered away. In a desperate attempt to chase the feeling of Mike’s ephemeral touch, Will brings his own hand up, slowly caressing his cheekbone the way that Mike had. It’s not the same, doesn’t warm him up the same way, and Will realizes he already misses Mike in just the few seconds he’s been gone.
It’s not as though Mike hadn’t been gone for much longer—no, regardless of his literal distance from Will, there were quite a few instances throughout Will’s short lifespan where it seemed as though Mike was worlds apart. Now, it feels like he’s a soldier out at sea. Promises of returning sit heavy in Will’s heart, but he has to wait on the edge of his seat every moment, waiting for the signal to arrive that will shatter his hopes. Will thinks back to being trapped in the Upside Down. When Castle Byers wasn’t safe to reside in, Will would book it across town. Mike’s house has always been a comfort for Will, a place of safety and togetherness. He would burrow underneath Mike’s bed or lie on the floor of the basement. He could faintly hear the sounds of the house, only when they were particularly loud, and just the chance of catching Mike’s voice made Will sure that he could be okay.
Mike comes back downstairs with arms full of VHS tapes and blankets. Will’s feet move quicker than his brain, gathering purchase on the ground to run and help him as he stumbles on the last step. Will scoops the blankets from Mike’s hands and holds them uselessly, having no idea why Mike brought them down.
“I figured we could have a movie night. We gotta keep the volume down, but it might help with the nightmares if I’m here. I mean—” Mike cuts himself off, and if Will could see over the mountain of blankets he is holding, he’d wager Mike is embarrassed.
“Not that I don’t think you can handle things on your own, I know you can, it’s just that I thought this might help. Sorry, it’s dumb. I can go back upstairs if you—” Mike rambles, and Will has the audacity to laugh at him.
“Mike,” Will interrupts, and he can hear the snap of Mike’s teeth clanging together as he closes his jaw.
“It does help. Thank you.” Will smiles, setting the blankets on the couch, and Mike smiles back.
Mike deposits the movies on the coffee table, throwing himself down onto the couch. He looks over at Will, who can take a hint better than anything. Will takes to sitting beside him, careful to keep just enough distance to where they aren’t quite touching. Mike reaches across Will to grab a blanket, carefully placing it on Will’s lap before putting it on his own. Sharing blankets isn’t something that they do often anymore, not now that they’re older and more legs than abdomen.
“I didn’t know what you’d wanna watch, so I brought a bunch of options. I know you like horror movies the best, so I grabbed a few of those, but I wasn’t sure if they were the best idea right now, so I brought some other movies too.” Mike explains as Will curiously peeks at all of the titles presented to him.
“Aw, dude, you have The Shining? Awesome,” Will grins, and Mike lets out a breathy laugh.
“Is that really what you wanna watch? The Shining?” Mike asks, looking at him dumbfounded.
“You said it was my choice,” Will reminds, scowling at Mike.
“No, no it is, it’s just—you’re braver than me. I’d never watch this when I was already having nightmares,” Mike cracks a smile, and Will pushes his arm.
“Whatever. I don’t think I have it in me to think of Jack Nicholson getting possessed as scary anymore. It’s almost funny how simple that seems compared to everything else,” Will defends, and he watches confused as the smile seems to melt off of Mike’s face.
“I’m so sorry, Will,” Mike looks guilty, face screwed up in sadness as he draws his limbs into himself.
“Sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong, what are you sorry for?” Will asks, staring at Mike’s unreasonably depressed posture.
“You’ve been through so much. Too much. I’m sorry. I wish I could share that burden with you,” Mike answers, laying a hand on top of the back of Will’s.
The warmth of Mike’s palm pressed against his knuckles is enough to cause Will’s heartrate to double. The fabric of the blanket stretching at the movement tickles at the hairs on Will’s ankles. All of the air in the room seems to have been sucked away, causing Will to shrivel.
“It’s okay. Really. I’m okay.” Will reassures, and Mike squeezes his hand once before standing up to put the movie in the VCR.
“You sure you’re down to watch this? It’s a long movie and it’s late,” Will informs, frown etching itself on his face.
Mike rolls his eyes at Will’s concern, motioning toward the clock on the opposite wall.
“It’s only like midnight, Will. I think I can manage a couple more hours. Plus, it’s spring break, we’re like obligated to stay up late,” Mike’s tone melts into a fond one, and Will smiles despite it all.
The movie starts slowly, and Will has to try really hard to focus on it instead of the way Mike’s knee brushes against his. Will is thankful for the flannel pajama pants he has on, thankful that there isn’t direct skin-on-skin contact. As the movie progresses, Will finds it more and more difficult to concentrate. His mind begins to wander, the idea of Jack’s possession reminds him far too much of his own, and the little boy Danny looks far too much like a younger him. Panic rises in Will, wrapping around his lungs and constricting like a snake. Mike brings a hand down to rest on Will’s thigh, grabbing just slightly at the fabric covering it. It’s like he had read his mind, like he could feel the way Will had tensed up beside him. The comforting touch works, drives Will out of his mind and allows him to focus back on the here and now. On Mike.
By the time the movie begins to end, Mike’s thrown his legs across Will’s lap. Will makes sure to keep his arms crossed in front of his chest, desperate to not let Mike feel the way it permanently quickened his pulse. Mike doesn’t seem to notice anything up with Will, anything odd about their position. Briefly, Will wonders what Ted would think if he walked downstairs to see them like this—sharing a blanket, his son laying on another boy’s lap. Just for a moment, Will allows himself to think of the gesture as something deeper, as something romantic. He makes himself shut that thought down as he homes back in on Danny running through the hedge maze.
Sometimes, Will feels like that too. Forever stuck, chasing something he’ll never be able to find. Tracing his steps in the hopes of finding some way out, any way away from who he is, from what he’s chasing. He’ll never find the exit, he knows he won’t. No matter how hard he has tried to get rid of it, he’s never succeeded. From staring at Lonnie’s magazines of naked girls for hours hoping and praying he would finally get it to scrubbing his skin so raw it bleeds, Will had tried everything to change himself. But Will has always been resistant to change, so he doesn’t do it. Instead, he is forced to freeze to death in an avalanche of his feelings, just like Jack does.
Will almost doesn’t notice when the film ends. The depressed sigh Mike lets out as he swings his feet off of Will alerts him that something’s up, and when his eyes focus back into the television, he sees a sea of names washing over the screen. Mike stops the tape and pops it from the VCR, carefully returning it to its box.
“You really should rewind before you store, you know?” Will pokes fun, causing Mike to turn around and stick out his tongue.
“This thing probably won’t get watched again for years.” Mike comments, turning off the devices.
“Not if you guys keep me around. Then I’m gonna have to rewind it before I watch next time.” Will pouts, and he can see the switch in Mike’s face before he doubles down.
“Oh, please. It never takes that long to rewind a tape.” Mike riffs, and this time, it’s Will’s turn to stick out his tongue.
“Whatever. You just want me to suffer and die.” Will says, and he internally cringes at just how flirty it sounds.
“Oh, yeah, Byers? Is that what I want?” Mike smirks, voice breathy and hot as he sets his hands on the coffee table in front of Will’s knees, leaning so far forward their faces are mere inches from one another.
“Must be.” Will whispers, breath so taken away by Mike’s closeness that he can’t bring himself to put more effort into his words.
“Is that why I came running downstairs when you said my name?” Mike rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, pushing himself backwards into his feet.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Will blushes, forcing his eyesight away from the way Mike’s biceps flex as he crosses his arms.
“I didn’t have to. But I wanted to.” Mike doubles down, watching Will intently.
“Whatever.” Will lamely responds, unable to come up with anything more intelligent to say under Mike’s scrutiny.
“Speaking of what I want to do, why don’t we go upstairs, brush our teeth, and get to bed.” Mike suggests, and Will nods without immediately realizing the implications of what Mike has said.
“Wait, go upstairs? I don’t need to go upstairs, Mike, I can do everything down here.” Will is genuinely confused, and Mike has the decency to match this.
“That’s—I know. I meant—Sorry. Never mind.” Mike shakes his head, cheeks tinted the subtlest rose.
“What did you mean?” Will pushes just like he always does.
“I was thinking you could stay upstairs. With me. Just in case you got another nightmare or something. That way I would be right there for you.” Mike explains, voice soft from embarrassment.
“Oh.” Will says stupidly, and Mike stares at him as if he’s not said anything at all.
They stare at each other for a while longer. Will contemplates Mike’s offer, debating whether sharing a bed with him would just do more harm than good. It’s true that Will has dreamed of this. Thin, freckled arms embracing him as his body shakes of fright from a nightmare. Mike shushing him, lulling him into a state of peace and calm. It had been a fantasy so far from reality that Will never thought twice about it, going on about his day like it was nothing. Once he had accepted he had to stay in the Wheeler’s basement, Will gave up all hope for ever growing close to Mike again. Mike had shown him very early on that he still cared for him, that Will staying with him was exciting for him too, but this is something entirely different. Nearly every single night, Jonathan sneaks upstairs to Nancy’s room. Mike and Will had never done anything of the sort, not a single sleepover to be had. This is a new for them, something they haven’t done in years.
“Sorry. It was dumb to even offer.” Mike is dejected, whirling around to walk upstairs, and in Will’s overwhelming state of disbelief, he almost lets Mike leave without him.
“No, no, not dumb at all. I just didn’t expect it. I would love to. Have a sleepover, I mean.” Will interrupts, feeling suddenly childish for his words.
Mike spins around with the grace of a ballerina, bright smile saturating his face. Will grins in response, and Mike runs forward to grab Will’s hand. They stop by the downstairs bathroom to allow Will to grab his toothbrush, and then they head upstairs, Mike’s fingers remaining interlocked with Will’s. Once they reach the upstairs bathroom, Mike still doesn’t drop Will’s hand. He turns on the sink and wets his toothbrush and then frowns, seemingly realizing he’ll need to drop Will’s hand to put toothpaste on his toothbrush.
“Wait, grab the toothpaste and put it on my toothbrush.” Mike commands, and Will is quick to follow, the muscles in his cheeks burning from how hard he’s smiling.
It takes an awkward amount of dancing around for Will to unscrew the lid and squeeze the tube one-handed, but he manages. If Mike doesn’t want to drop Will’s hand, he sure as hell won’t make him. Once Mike has his toothbrush poking out of his mouth, he grabs the toothpaste from Will and motions for him to wet his own toothbrush. Will obliges, and then they stand there together, brushing their teeth and holding hands. It’s so intimate Will wants to cry, especially when his eyes meet Mike’s in the mirror, and he receives a foamy grin in response. Upon finishing, Mike finally drops Will’s hands to wash his face. Will follows suit, stepping up to the bowl once Mike stopped hogging it.
Mike doesn’t let the cold settle into the cracks of Will’s palms, hand returning to Will’s as soon as they both finish washing their faces. Mike lets out a breathy laugh, pulling Will into his bedroom and shoving him onto his bed.
“What the hell, Mike?” Will questions from his sprawled position on the bed, but he’s laughing too.
“You know, I have another visitor tonight.” Mike says grinning ear to ear as he hovers dauntingly above Will.
“Who?” Will demands, not liking the ornery tone Mike’s voice adopts.
“Monster Mike.” Mike responds quietly, giving Will time to search the depths of his memory for what the name means.
‘Monster Mike’ was a character Mike would put on when they were children. He would spread his arms out and walk on one foot at a time, trying to give the illusion that he was much bigger than he had actually been. He would stomp up to Will, bring his arms down, and tickle him. Monster Mike was the tickle monster. Will’s heart drops to his ass as he sees Mike do the same pose he would do as a child from across the room.
“No.” Will half-shouts as he recalls.
“It is too late for you, William Byers.” Mike says, lowering his voice an octave to fully get into character.
Mike tickles at Will’s side, causing Will to squirm. Will slaps at Mike’s hands, kicking at Mike’s torso with his feet. Mike laughs out loud, far too noisy for three o’clock in the morning. Will would say something if he wasn’t fighting for his life to keep quiet himself, low giggles being drawn from the back of his throat unwillingly. His ribs are tough with laughter, eyes wet with tears.
Will feels a blast of chilly air on his side as his shirt rides up, and he hears the hitch of breath as Mike’s fingers still on his unclothed waist. The touch burns Will’s far too cold skin, and Mike’s big brown eyes meet his with far too much emotion swimming around in them. Will stares at them, tries to decode them for every little code they hide. Mike blinks away from Will’s eyes, tearing his hand from Will’s side.
“Are you ready for bed?” Mike questions, voice much quieter than just moments ago.
Part of Will wonders if he’d done something wrong. He wracks his mind, trying to remember if he said anything weird, if he made any odd noises while protesting Mike’s tickle attack. He can’t remember anything distinctly weird, so whatever is up with Mike must entirely be on his end.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Will nods, still trying to catch his breath as his ribs return to their normal state.
Mike flips off the lights, and Will can just make out his silhouette as he strips off his shirt. Will wishes, suddenly, that the lights were still on for that moment. He would love to trace the freckles dotting Mike’s shoulder blades, love to see the way his back dimples at the very bottom. Will has seen it before, a million times at the pool or on a hot summer day, but he’d do anything to see it again.
Will brings the comforter up to his chin, inhaling deeply as Mike washes over him. The scent is all pine, coconut, and vanilla—signs of his shampoo and body wash fighting for dominance amongst the fibers of the fabric. There’s a hint of lavender from the spray Mike’s mom uses when she washes the sheets and pillowcases—to help everyone sleep a little better. The weight of the bed shifts as Mike crawls in, a draft of cool air settling under the blanket as Mike covers himself with it. Mike flips on his left side, the one facing Will, and Will can just barely make out the whites of his eyes.
“Hi.” Mike whispers, and now Will can see the freshly exposed white of Mike’s teeth, too.
“Hi.” Will whispers back, unable to stop himself from smiling.
He knows there’s nothing wrong with them sharing a bed. He knows it has never been against the rules for him to sleep over in Mike’s room. But something about this feels sacred, forbidden. Something about it feels like a secret that they should keep between themselves, far too intimate to be received well by their general audience. Will’s heart clamors in his chest at that idea—an intimate secret just between the two of them. Will had prayed for moments like this his entire life, but he never thought once they would ever get answered like this.
“We should do this more often.” Mike suggests, still looking at Will with an unwavering stare.
“Yeah?” Will asks, breathless.
“I like hanging out with you, Byers.” Mike laughs, scooting just close enough for Will to be able to make out more of his features.
Their knees brush under the covers, the jut of Mike's bones into his make it to where Will can't even begin to try and forget about the touch. Will can’t bring himself to adjust to where they don’t, and Mike doesn't seem to want to either. Will takes it as some sort of sign of reciprocation.
“I like hanging out with you, too.” Will affirms, and he can feel the puff of air that comes from Mike’s nose—a silent laugh.
Quiet rests between them comfortably for a while, and Will takes it as a hint that conversation is over. Mike doesn’t look away though, and Will is forced to watch as his eyes roam all over Will’s face. The flick of his tongue running across his lips feels like torture as Will watches, but Mike makes no move to broaden or lessen the distance between them.
“You know, I missed this. I missed…” Mike trails off, squeezing his eyes shut indefinitely.
Will nudges Mike’s knee with his own as if to encourage him to continue. Will subconsciously holds his breath as he awaits Mike’s full sentence. Mike opens his eyes again, gaze so soft and sweet as he looks at Will that Will is sure he’d melt right then and there if he got wet.
“I missed you.” Mike admits, eyes searching Will’s for something Will can’t determine.
“I missed you too, Mike.” Will responds brightly, easily, as if it were the simplest thing in the world to admit.
In a way, it is. Will has missed moments like this with Mike more than anything in the world. The entire time he had been in California, the only things he could really think about were the fact that he missed the clouds and he missed Mike. Once he finally got Mike back, it hadn’t been the same. It hadn’t been his Mike. Will had supposed maybe his Mike was never coming back, having disappeared when they were fourteen and starting to grow into themselves. But here he is, as though he has always been there. Will wishes that he had, wishes he never had to live years without the comforting presence of Mike Wheeler.
“Things have just been so weird between us, and I know it was all my fault, it just…it feels good to go back to how we used to be. Mike and Will, you know? I think that’s how it’s always supposed to have been.” Mike says, speaking their names together as if they were one word, a whole together, unable to be separated.
It almost sounds like a love confession. It almost sounds like Mike wants it to just be them, and to only be them forever. Not Mike and Lucas. Not Mike and Dustin. Not Mike and El. Mike and Will. The way it’s always been.
“Yeah, trust me, Mike, I get it.” Will says, exhausted because he’s been trying to get back to this point for years.
“Thanks for never giving up on me.” Mike credits, and Will scoffs playfully.
“How was I supposed to give up on you?” Will asks, and it’s dangerously close to a confession.
“I don’t know, but I do know I deserved it. I deserved it so bad. I was so mean to you. I mean I said some real heinous shit. But you never changed or faltered once.” Mike praises, and Will can feel heat rise in his cheeks for what must be the millionth time that night.
“You’re giving me too much credit. I was mean sometimes too.” Will says, and it’s objectively true, but Mike is already busy shaking his head in denial.
“No, you were just truthful. You’ve always been good at telling it like it is. I think I was just scared of you back then. I mean, I had no clue who I was, and you seemed so sure of yourself. You knew what you wanted and liked, and you never changed. I was trying so hard to change myself, to change what I felt, and I think part of me was jealous that you never had to.” Mike admits.
Will closes his eyes and lets himself process for a moment. It’s a heavy acknowledgement, and Will wants to make sure he says the right thing in response. Mike is a very closed-off person, only willing to share feelings very occasionally, so Will has to put in extra work to not scare him off. It’s like working with a stray cat in an alleyway, having to coax them to you so gently to where they don’t get scared and run away.
“Trust me, I was having just as much trouble as you. I guess I just handled it better.” Will shrugs, and Mike laughs.
It’s such a beautiful noise that Will wishes he could record it on a tape. It’s something he knows would save him from Vecna, a song he would never tire of.
“You handle everything better than me. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.” Mike states, reaching a timid hand up to brush a hair out of Will’s eye that he hadn’t even noticed himself.
“Well, only one of us has the title of ‘The Brave’.” Will murmurs, knowing it’s nerdy enough to make Mike feel better.
“I guess that’s true.” Mike hums, closed-lip smile perched comfortably on his face.
“What did you have a nightmare about earlier? If you don’t mind me asking.” Mike asks just when Will thinks their conversation is over, and part of Will definitely does mind him asking.
“It wasn’t really about anything. It just was a scene, kinda.” Will dodges the question, keeping things vague.
“What kind of scene?” Mike prompts because he lives to torture Will.
“It was…well, it was us. I guess. We were in your garage for some reason, and you were so mad at me. I don’t really remember what you said, you weren’t making any sense. But you attacked me. You were strangling me.” Will confesses, and the room is so hushed you could hear a pin drop.
“Oh. So you weren’t…you weren’t calling me for help, then?” Mike interrogates, and Will shakes his head ashamed.
“Did I make things worse by coming downstairs?” Mike’s voice is quieter than a whisper, so silent that Will wouldn’t have been able to hear it if they weren’t sharing a bed.
“No, Mike,” Will immediately answers, hoping that his tone gives the air of ‘you’re being ridiculous’. “You couldn’t make things worse if you tried.”
“Oh, really? You enjoy my company that much?” Mike taunts, and Will reaches a hand out to gently flick his forehead.
“Don’t get cocky on me now, Wheeler.” Will teases with a grin, and Mike dips his head down further into his chest.
"Sorry for what dream me did." Mike apologizes after a few moments of quiet, and it's stupid of him to do, but Will still appreciates it.
"It's okay. I know real you would never do that." Will expresses, and there isn't an ounce of doubt behind it.
A hush falls across them again, draping them in a warmth stronger than the blanket. Will can tell that he’s won whatever little battle they’ve just had, that it’s the end of their talk, so he flips over to face the door.
“You know, I really meant it when I said we should do this more often.” Mike reaffirms, voice pitching as he flips over to face the other direction.
“Okay.” Will agrees softly, knowing consistent sleepovers with Mike Wheeler are just a pretty way to send him to a quick grave.
“Good. Goodnight, Will.” Mike concludes, pulling on the blanket minutely so as to wrap himself up tight but not disturb Will’s peace.
“Goodnight, Mike.” Will whispers back, letting himself fall into a slumber deprived of shadow monsters, tentacles, and thunderstorms.
The next morning, Will wakes up heavy and pinned. His limbs are all entrapped by a softly snoring Mike, who has apparently taken to hugging Will with all of himself at some point in the middle of the night. Will stills, anxious to not wake Mike up. If the promises made last night were empty and Mike has no intention of doing this again, Will wants to make sure to stamp this feeling into his long-term memory. He snuggles closer, pressing his nose into Mike’s bare chest. The warmth and comfort are so inviting that Will lets himself slip back to sleep.
The second time he awakens, he’s alone. The other side of the bed is empty, and the shirt Mike had thrown on the floor earlier in the night has disappeared. Sleepily, Will climbs out of bed himself, bringing his fists up to rub the exhaustion from his eyes.
Delicate humming can be heard from down the stairs, and Will is endeared as he realizes that it’s Mike, singing some song popular enough for Will to recognize from the radio. The faint popping of bacon on a skillet provides backing vocals, and Will tiptoes closer to the kitchen. Mike has a plate of already made pancakes sitting beside him on the counter, the frying pan before him full of bacon. A carton of eggs sits out, waiting for their turn on the heat.
“Making breakfast for everyone?” Will asks, scooting one of the dining room chairs into the kitchen.
“Hm? Oh, good morning Will. Yeah, I was gonna, but no one else is home. I guess they all had stuff to do this morning. So, looks like it’s just us.” Mike fills him in, not even sparing a glance in his direction as he focuses on making their food just right.
It’s so endearing that a grin works its way up to Will’s face without any effort. Breakfast. Just for them. Foolishly, Will lets himself pretend like that’s how it always is. That this house is theirs, and they’ve been married for years now. Their kids are at school, and Mike woke up early just to make him his favorite breakfast. It’s a stupid thing to do, daydream like this, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel as farfetched anymore.
“You didn’t have to make me anything. You could’ve just made it for yourself since it’s just us.” Will reprimands sheepishly, unable to accept the fact that Mike would go out of his way just for him.
“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. I even put blueberries in half the pancakes.” Mike comments, clearly pleased with himself for remembering that’s Will’s preference.
Will is pleased too.
“Thank you, Mike.” Will hopes the other boy can hear just how genuine his appreciation is.
“Anything for you, Byers.” Mike grins, and Will’s heart flutters at being called by his last name.
Mike doesn’t usually do that—doesn’t usually call him anything but ‘Will’. Something about the newly frequent use of his last name feels surprisingly intimate. It almost feels flirtatious, like the way you would poke fun of someone you like in the hallway at school. It’s a change, but a welcome one, one that makes Will’s face turn an embarrassing shade of red.
“Shut up, Wheeler. Get back to cooking.” Will lets himself tease, and Mike guffaws like the good playmate that he is.
“You love it.” Mike taunts, and Will ducks his head.
“Yeah, yeah.” Will remains noncommittal, not giving Mike too much confirmation in the fear of surpassing this comfortable level of joking.
They eat their breakfast good-naturedly, passing the syrup back and forth as they slowly add more to their pancakes and eggs. It’s a disgusting habit; one Will surely would’ve made fun of anyone for doing had they not been Mike. Mike had forced him to try the funky combination when they were children, and Will doesn’t remember if he made himself like it to appease Mike at first and then grew into it, or if he just genuinely liked it from the get-go. It doesn’t matter, now, instead being another fun thing they share that no one else does.
Their day together passes by mostly interrupted, the other housemates running around at work or somewhere else around town. Mike and Will sit in the basement, Mike reading comics as Will sketches in the notepad he’d been given for his birthday. The other guests spend the entire day away, only stopping by the house to grab something they had originally forgotten. They all return for dinner, agreeing to just call in a pizza and call it a night. Mike and Will also wind down early, but not without Mike having the audacity to start dismantling the bed they’d made for Will down in the basement.
“What the hell, Mike? That’s where I sleep!” Will protests as Mike begins to strip the mattress of its blankets and sheets.
“Not anymore. It’s way comfier with you upstairs.” Mike shrugs, continuing his cleanup until there is no evidence Will had ever slept downstairs in the first place.
“Much better.” Mike grins, overly satisfied and pulling Will upstairs in a comforting repeat of the night before.
It’s unusual, different from how Mike acts with any of their other friends, but it’s certainly not unwelcome. For as long as Mike wants him to, Will will happily fill the extra space in his bed. The quarantine in Hawkins may not last long, so Will swears that he will take advantage of every moment like this. Every moment that toes the line of platonic and romantic, blurred at the edges that only Mike can clarify. It’s daunting, allowing himself to be so close to Mike, but it’s his favorite place in the world to be. Will would go through every event of his life again just to end up in this same predicament, this same moment of time. He could probably live like this forever, relationship status uncertain and undisclosed, so long as it’s Mike that he’s doing it with. For Will, it has always been Mike, and deep in the bottom of his heart, Will is allowing himself believe that it has always been that way for Mike, too.