Work Text:
Mike’s busted old flip phone flashed blue on the dresser.
He’d just crawled into bed, the house finally quiet, sheets cool against his legs. When the phone buzzed, he groaned softly, already half-asleep, already annoyed at being dragged back into consciousness.
But then he read the name.
Will.
come ovr 2nite?
Mike was out of bed in a second, knocking over two empty soda cans as he lunged for the phone. They clattered to the floor, loud enough to make him wince, but he didn’t care. His thumbs flew over the cracked buttons of his busted flip phone, letters stumbling over each other as he typed.
ofc. be there soon
He tossed the phone back onto the bed and pulled on his sneakers, not even bothering to change. He was still in his pajamas—an oversized black The Cure T-shirt he’d stolen from Will’s dresser weeks ago and refused to give back, and a pair of old shorts. It smelled faintly like Will’s laundry detergent, like him, and that alone made Mike’s chest tighten.
He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling with his laces, when the phone buzzed again in the sheets beside him.
thanks.
Park down the road, plz.
Mike chewed on the inside of his cheek as he typed back, heart already beating too fast.
K
He hesitated, then added:
Love u.
This time, he bit down on his lip hard, staring at the screen while the seconds stretched. The glow of the phone felt too bright in the dark room.
Then:
love u too.
Mike let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, smiling to himself like an idiot. He stood, shoved his flip phone into the waistband of his shorts, and padded quietly to the window.
The night air slipped in as he pushed it open. Without another thought, Mike climbed out onto the garage roof, leaving his room behind.
Mike scraped his knee as he climbed down from the roof. He tried to steady himself by stepping onto the fence attached to the side of the garage, but his foot slipped. He went tumbling down into the grass, his knee dragging hard against the wooden slats. The scrape burned immediately, skin torn raw, a thin line of blood already welling.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, scrambling to his feet. He brushed grass from his hands and limped toward his dad’s truck, parked in the driveway, careful to stay in the shadows. The automatic garage lights loomed over him like a threat—one wrong move and the whole house would glow awake.
As he moved, he thought of Will. Thought about how Will had done this a million times before—sneaking out, sneaking over, taking the risks so they could just be together for a few quiet hours. Guilt twisted in Mike’s chest.
He climbed into his dad’s truck as carefully as he could, wincing as his knee bumped the doorframe. The keys were where they always were, tucked into the glovebox. He started the engine slowly, barely breathing, eyes fixed on the front door of the house as if it might suddenly swing open.
It was late. The house was dark. His parents—and Holly and Nancy—would be asleep by now.
No one saw him as he pulled away and disappeared down the street.
When he reached Will’s street, Mike parked at the very end of the road and shut the truck off quietly. He walked the rest of the way on foot, cutting through the thin line of trees that bordered the street.
It was early autumn, the kind of cold that slipped in without warning. The wind bit at his fingertips, sharp and unforgiving. He shoved his hands under his arms, shoulders hunched, desperate for warmth. Mike immediately regretted not grabbing a coat on his way out.
By the time he crouched low and crept around the side of the Byers house, all the way to Will’s window, he was shivering. His teeth chattered softly, the sound loud in his own ears.
He slowly peeked over the windowsill, eyes scanning the dim room for any sign of Will.
It took a second to spot him—curled up beneath the blankets, facing away from the window, shoulders drawn tight like he was trying to fold in on himself.
Mike frowned.
He didn’t want to knock. The idea of making noise, of waking Joyce, made his stomach twist. But Will wouldn’t see him if he just waved like an idiot in the cold.
So he tapped lightly on the glass.
Will shot upright in bed.
He turned toward the window, eyes wide. For a second, he looked shocked—almost scared. Pale in a way that made Mike’s chest tighten with worry.
Mike raised his hand in a small wave, forcing a smile he didn’t really feel.
“Hey,” he whispered through chattering teeth as Will cracked the window open.
“Hi,” Will whispered back. He avoided Mike’s eyes as he pushed the window wider. “You can— you can come in.”
“Thanks for… thanks for coming,” Will added quietly, stepping back to make room.
Mike nodded, trying to respond, but his hand slipped on the frame. His foot missed the floor entirely, and he went down hard, tumbling across the wooden floor with a loud thud.
They both froze.
The sound echoed too much. Too sharp. Too loud.
Pain flared up Mike’s back as the noise faded, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, swallowing a groan.
“Mike?” Will whispered urgently, dropping to his knees beside him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah— yeah, I’m fine,” Mike whispered back, a little breathless, trying to wave it off. “I swear.”
Will reached out anyway, gripping Mike’s hand and helping him sit up. His fingers were warm—so warm—and Mike noticed it immediately.
“Oh my god,” Will breathed. “You’re freezing.”
He pulled Mike to his feet, their hands still tangled even once Mike was steady again. Neither of them let go right away.
“Yeah,” Mike said quietly, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed and aching and suddenly very aware of how close they were. “I should’ve worn a coat. It’s… colder than I thought.”
Will hesitated for just a second, then tugged gently on Mike’s hand.
“Come to bed,” he whispered. “I’ll— I’ll warm you up. Okay?”
Mike blinked, surprised.
He followed Will anyway.
Truthfully, Mike had assumed Will asked him over for the usual reason. Because usally, when they called each other this late at night it was usally because they wanted to fuck. Not that Mike ever minded—but this felt different.
Will’s voice was softer than usual. His grip was careful. There was a tension in his shoulders, a faint crease between his brows that didn’t go away.
Something was bothering him.
And suddenly, warming up wasn’t the only reason Mike was there.
“Are you okay?” Mike whispered as they crawled into bed together.
Will hesitated, shifting restlessly as he tried to find a comfortable spot on the pillow. Mike pulled the covers up over both of them the moment they settled, tucking the warmth in close.
They weren’t touching yet—which felt strange. Usually, being in bed together meant limbs tangled almost immediately, instinctive and easy. But Will looked unsettled, distant somehow, and Mike wasn’t sure if he wanted to be touched. They lay facing each other, sharing the same pillow, blankets draped loosely over their bodies.
“I… I, uh…” Will murmured, still refusing to meet Mike’s eyes. His fingers worried at the edge of the blanket. He looked embarrassed, vulnerable in a way that made Mike’s chest ache. “I was just having nightmares. I couldn’t sleep.”
He swallowed hard.
“I just wanted you here,” Will added quietly. “I don’t know.”
“Oh,” Mike breathed, the word leaving him like a sigh. His heart twisted painfully with sympathy.
He didn’t push. Didn’t ask what the nightmares were about. He knew better than that. Instead, Mike shifted closer, slow and careful, giving Will time to pull away if he wanted to.
When he didn’t, Mike wrapped his arms around him, drawing Will into his chest. Will was warm—so warm—and Mike sank into it gratefully after the sharp autumn cold. Being this close felt grounding, like finally exhaling.
Mike buried his face in Will’s hair, breathing him in. Shampoo and something familiar—clean, soft, Will. His hand slipped beneath Will’s shirt, palm resting against the smooth warmth of his back, tracing the faint curve of muscle there. Will let out a quiet breath and melted closer.
Their legs tangled under the blankets. Will tucked his face into the crook of Mike’s neck, breathing softly against his skin as Mike held him, steady and sure.
They stayed like that for a long time, just breathing together. Feeling each other.
Eventually, Mike pressed a soft kiss into Will’s hair. Then another. And another, slow and unhurried.
Will responded almost immediately, brushing gentle kisses along Mike’s neck. His hand slid beneath Mike’s shirt, warm fingers resting at his waist, grounding him there.
“You feel warmer now?” Will whispered, tilting his head up just enough to meet Mike’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Mike murmured, nodding. He kissed Will’s forehead, shifting closer so they were eye to eye, his hands still firm and reassuring on Will’s back. “Definitely.”
When Will looked up at him fully, something quiet and open in his gaze, Mike’s hand slipped from his back to cup his jaw. He tilted Will’s face upward gently, thumb brushing his cheek.
Mike hesitated.
It wasn’t nerves—they’d done far more than kiss before. But this felt different. Softer. Like something fragile he didn’t want to rush.
Their lips hovered close, close enough that Mike could feel Will’s breath against his own.
Then Will closed the distance himself, kissing Mike softly. Just a brush at first—gentle, tentative.
Will pulled back almost immediately, but he didn’t get far. Mike followed, kissing him again, deeper this time, a little firmer, like reassurance wrapped in warmth.
“Do you feel better now?” Mike murmured, smiling faintly against Will’s lips.
“Better?” Will started, then stopped. His brow furrowed for a moment before his expression shifted—realization dawning as he remembered why Mike had come in the first place.
The smile that spread across his face was soft and genuine, the kind that made Mike’s chest ache.
“Yeah,” Will said quietly. “I feel better.”
He tucked himself closer again, kissing Mike’s neck as they settled back into each other, the night finally easing its grip as they held on.
“Thank you,” Will whispered, tilting his head up to press a soft kiss to Mike’s jaw.
Mike nodded, his hand sliding into Will’s hair, fingers combing through it in slow, repeated motions as they melted fully into each other’s arms. Will fit against him so easily, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
It was perfect. Quiet and warm and right. Mike never wanted to let go. He wanted to freeze this moment—wanted time itself to stop, their tangled bodies preserved like stone, untouched by the world outside this room.
But the fear crept in anyway.
It always did.
Every time they touched like this. Every time they let themselves love each other without holding back.
Mike listened carefully, his senses stretched thin—straining for footsteps in the hall, for the soft creak of a door hinge, for a voice that wasn’t Will’s. His body stayed tense even as he held him, braced for interruption, for discovery.
Nothing came.
The Byers house remained still. Silent. The only sound was Will’s breathing, steady and close. The only thing Mike could feel was Will’s body pressed against his, solid and real. The only thing he could smell was Will—familiar and comforting, grounding him where he was.
Slowly, Mike let himself stop worrying.
Because Will was here. In his arms. And Mike needed him in a way that felt almost painful—like breathing, like something essential. The kind of need that made his chest tighten, his eyes sting, emotions swelling too big to name.
He didn’t fully understand it. He just knew it was overwhelming and real and his.
Mike squeezed him a little tighter.
Will squeezed back.
“I love you,” Mike whispered into Will’s hair, the words barely louder than a breath.
There was a pause. Just a heartbeat.
“I love you too,” Will whispered back.
And for that moment, in the quiet of the room, it felt like enough.