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Summary
“Byers.”
It’s Mike, whispering his name with a little drag at the end, the sound purring from his lips.
Will looks over on instinct, though Mike said it more as a confirmation than a call.
“Will Byers.” Mike whispers again, nodding to himself, as if he’s committing it to memory.
Will looks at him again, and Mike’s lips curl up into a teasing smile once more.
Will blushes, and he hopes Mike can’t see it. Something as simple as a pretty person calling his name shouldn’t make butterflies swarm in his stomach.