Chapter Text
And in case we don’t make it out of here. I just have to tell you something. I-
“BREAKFAST!”
Will woke up in a dash to the sound of Holly’s voice ringing down the staircase. He turned over, just in time for Jonathan's foot to smash him directly in the nose as he sprung off of the couch. Ouch. He was already late, and the now buzzing sinus headache certainly wasn’t giving him any sort of motivation to get up.
Will used to be a morning person. Sleeping late was never his thing. The longer he slept, the longer he dreamt. And good things never came from Will dreaming. If it wasn’t intrusive nightmares about the cold, sinister creature puppetering his body, then in crept the monsters who hunted him and soiled the sanctity of every place he ever called home.
And if he had dreams that weren’t about the upside down, then they placed him right back in front of his Dad. Or the kids at school who never gave him a break.
And if he wasn’t dreaming about any of those things, then he was dreaming about…
Him.
And those were the dreams that would get him out of bed the quickest. The guilt of his own thoughts were enough that he had no need for an alarm clock. He was lucky if he could sleep through the night at all, with the weight of what all of those daydreams he pushed down would accumulate to in the bliss of sleep, when he had no control where his mind went.
But ever since that day in California, he found it a bit easier to let his mind wander.
Will remembered that day like it was yesterday. Mike had asked him if they could be a team again. He said he felt lost without him. That Hawkins wasn’t the same without him around.
It all warmed Will’s heart. Warmed it enough for him to stick his painting in his backpack. He was glad Mike wanted to be his friend again. That was all he could ever ask for. All he could ever expect.
Until the sound of gunshots and the smell of blood spilled into the house.
Mike had grabbed Will, his rough hands clinging to the fabric of his shirt. They, along with Jonathan, tried to make their way out of the house, but were separated and had to take cover while Agent Harmon took care of the intruders.
Jonathan hid close to the agent. He was watching for a signal that it was their window to run and escape through the front door.
Mike and Will, clinging to each other for dear life, jumped behind the center counter in the kitchen. They could see Jonathan vaguely, enough that they would know when it was time to get out of there. They were otherwise hidden from sight and shielded completely by the wooden cabinets.
Will was petrified. The ringing gunshots amplified the thought of his mother coming home to find him and Jonathan dead that was already racing through his mind. He felt the tears build up in his eyes, and he clenched them closed to stop it, but to no avail. Even in this situation, a part of his subconscious was still aware of his proximity to Mike, and the embarrassment he would feel if he began to cry in front of him.
As he reached up his hand to wipe a tear off his cheek, he bumped into another hand that beat him to it. A calloused hand, which cupped his check and wiped away his tears with a soft stroke of thumb.
He opened his eyes to see Mike, less than inches away from his own face, staring directly into his eyes with the most serious, most intense expression he had ever seen. Will gasped, backing himself against the cabinet doors. He looked away, opening his mouth to speak, when Mike, with an urgency he hadn’t seen since the fight at the Starcourt mall, cut him off.
“Will. I need you to listen to me. I need you to listen to me.”
He moved his hand from Will’s face and manically fumbled to take both of Will’s hands into his own. Will looked over to their hands. Interlocked. And Mike was squeezing him hard. He looked back up into Mike’s eyes. Will didn’t know when, but Mike had began crying too. Profusely. Tears streamed down his entire face and fell down into the thin gaps between their fingers, which Mike had pulled up flush against his heart. Speaking faster than he had ever spoken, Mike desperately tried to find his words.
“I don’t know what’s happening. I really don’t. But I- I just- If something happens, I won’t rest well if I don’t say this. I…”
He looked down. Mouth agape. Almost like he started speaking before his brain had time to catch up to what he was saying. He shook his head, letting go of Will’s hands and clawing onto the side of his own neck. But Will needed to know. Regardless of what was going to happen. He needed to know what Mike had to say.
“Mike.”
This time Will grabbed Mike’s hands.
“Mike. There’s not much time.”
Mike breathed. The rhythm of gunshots underscoring Will’s voice seemed to ignite something in him. Almost restoring that urgency once again.
“Mike come on, please. Say it. Tell me.”
Silence.
“Or I won’t rest easy either. If... If something happens."
Mike winced at the thought.
“You know you can tell me anything.”
Against his better judgement, he continued, with such panic in his hushed voice that it would’ve been unintelligible for anyone else other than Will, who had the very cadence of Mike’s voice ingrained into his memory.
“In case we don’t make it out of here…”
He grabbed Will’s face once again. With both hands. He pushed hands back into the hair on the side of his head, gripping it softly to steady his shaking hands.
“I just have to tell you something.”
He moved even closer to Will. Impossibly close. Will could feel Mike’s short, warm, shaky breath against the cold, wet tears on his face. As Mike opened his mouth to speak again, Will could feel Mike’s quivering lips brush against his.
"I-"
Mike stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened into an unreadable expression. Almost a mix of terror, hope and… disappointment?
Will had become so lost in Mike that he had become numb to the gunfire. Ignorant to where they were. It took him a few moments to tune back in, and by the time he did, he heard Jonathan screaming for them to run, and Mike had already hoisted him up by the arm and was dragging him out the door.
Before he knew it, they were in a packed van, right back into business. It wasn’t the time to ask Mike what he was going to say, Will knew that. And honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he had to. The way Mike looked at him, the way he grabbed him, held him. Will wasn’t one for being hopeful, but he had never been more certain about anything.
His feelings were mutual.
Neither of them had been brave enough to bring it up again. Mike went back to El. Will continued to watch from afar. For the past 18 months since that spring break, they acted like nothing happened. Like nothing changed between them. Like Mike’s lips didn't graze Will’s. Like they didn't nearly spend the last moments of their lives hand in hand.
Will spent a lot of his time thinking about this. Dreaming about it. How things could've been different if they had had a few more seconds behind that counter, concealed from the world under the deafening sounds of gunshots and their own heartbeats. Enough time for them to do something they couldn't reverse. Something they couldn't pretend never happened. Enough time for their lips to do more than quiver towards each other as they began to lean in.
But they didn't have that time. And Will accepted that, after a lot of contemplation.
He accepted that nothing like that would ever happen again.
...
Unless maybe he and Mike were alone in another life threatening situation.
Which won't happen again. Will knew that. He wasn't stupid enough to think that that could happen again.
At least not anytime soon. They wouldn't be getting up to anything anytime soon.
It had been 18 months since he'd returned to Hawkins and nothing bad had happened yet. Their crawls were unsuccessful, the rifts had been patched up. He hadn't felt that cold tingle down his spine in months.
He brushed off the idea, dragged himself out of bed, and made his way upstairs for breakfast.