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"I'm telling you, El needs to see it! It's too good to be missed!"
"And I'm telling you that we've seen it, like, three thousand times before! I could basically recite the script to you by now!"
Mike gave an exaggerated eye-roll when Lucas stuck his tongue out at him. He hadn't quite progressed to arm-crossing — the sign of their arguments progressing from serious to silly — but it was getting close. In reality, though, he knew he had lost already.
The subject? Star Wars.
More specifically, whether the party was going to re-watch A New Hope for the twenty-seventh time (and counting), or whether they could come up with something else to put on instead. Since El had, somehow, never seen the movie, Mike knew he was fighting a losing battle against Lucas — especially since he had Dustin to back up his nerd-ness, and Will to nod along with whatever the majority asked for. He looked over to his right, where, as if on cue, Will appeared to be avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.
It was a small setup, crowded around the television set in the Hopper-Byers' house. The trio of El, Mike and Will had claimed the couch with an unchivalrous "DIBS!", leaving Dustin and Lucas to sit at either end of the wobbly coffee table on the floor with the popcorn. They had obviously opted for No Big Light, as per movie night tradition, which meant a slightly feeble lamp positioned in the corner was working overtime to throw a soft glow over the room.
Having organized regular movie nights since the age of about 10, their routine was set in stone, even despite not being as small as they were back then. El, Mike and Will, in that order, all huddled under one blanket — the blue one, with dogs on it — while Dustin and Lucas took one each. Sometimes they shared one, but tonight Dustin had opted for the cocoon method, in which he buried himself inside his blanket (green, with bees) and left only his head poking out of the top. Mike was secretly very jealous of his technique.
"Okay, Wheeler, I'm giving you an ultimatum," Lucas huffed, now opting for an arm-cross. Mike raised an eyebrow, own arms folded under the blanket. "Either you agree to watch Star Wars, or I leave the movie night."
And Mike couldn't help but gawk at that; no one had ever threatened to leave their movie nights, not even when friendships had been tense. He tried not to show how impressed he was by the tactic, instead opting for a hand on his chest, taken out of the blanket especially. Will gave a snort next to him, and he turned to give him a withering look paired with a traitorous grin.
"You're both so dramatic," Will laughed, and Mike scoffed — which, he realized, did not help his case.
"Fine, fine! If you're so desperate," he conceded at last, removing both hands from the blanket to throw them up in surrender. Lucas gave a sly grin, and reached to put the VHS in.
"I think it will be a great movie," El said unhelpfully from Mike's other side. He stuffed his arms back in the blanket — "It is a great movie," he huffed, "just not when I've seen it, like, a million times!"
Nonetheless, his eyes became fixed on the TV the moment the starting credits rolled — a fact he would deny vehemently later.
In comparison to previous movie nights, it looked as though this was shaping up to be one of their more relaxed evenings together. Mike supposed that, with the absence of any supernatural threats, they were now able to have a more chilled out night, and for that he was endlessly grateful.
What he was not endlessly grateful for, though, was the incredible popcorn-hogging being carried out by Dustin and Lucas. Though they'd started with three bowls between the five of them, somehow they had all ended up pushed to the far side of the coffee table, where Lucas in particular was grabbing handfuls at a time.
He narrowed his eyes, but before he could carry out a popcorn-stealing plan, Will beat him to it. With a soft kick to Lucas' back, the boy was momentarily distracted, and Will leaned forward quickly to snag one of the bowls. Mike was in awe, and felt a warm grin spread across his face at the smugness in Will's expression.
While Lucas was distracted, shooting Will a betrayed look, Mike noticed another bowl sliding across the table towards him, and had to disguise a laugh with a cough. El, on his left, casually wiped her nose where a trickle of blood had escaped.
The first appearance of Darth Vader, however — the 5-and-a-half minute mark, Mike knew — caused all popcorn to be forgotten, and all heads turned to the screen. El drew in a gasp, and he turned to her briefly with a grin.
"He is not nice-looking," she said with a shudder, to which Dustin turned excitedly to her. "I know, right!" he blurted, "It's so impressive that they got him to look so menacing with just silence like that!"
Lucas joined in the quite frankly fan-girling behavior and El listened with rapt attention. She leaned on her hands, causing a cool draft to penetrate Mike's section of the blanket. He let out a shiver and heard a subsequent huff of laughter from his right. Turning indignantly to Will, the boy suddenly appeared absolutely transfixed by the movie, gaze set on the TV. Mike gave him a playful shove and wrapped the blanket around himself more tightly.
Will turned to look at him at this point, pouting when his part of the blanket shrunk due to Mike's greed. There was a smile in his eyes, though, which Mike found incredibly rewarding.
Will seemed happier, he decided, since Mike and El broke up a few months ago. Truth be told, everyone looked happier, as though their relationship had been taking a toll on them all. He supposed maybe it had; the constant fights had surely been difficult to ignore. It was something he often cringed at in hindsight: dragging the relationship out for so long just because of his own pride. He had known he didn't love El — not like that — for a while, but he'd just been too stubborn to admit it.
Will, though, seemed particularly happy for him when they ended it. He had tried to pretend he wasn't, as all good friends would, but Mike had seen through it. When he told Will it had been amicable and that he and El would stay friends, he could actually see the sigh of relief he let out. Mike smiled at the mere memory.
Mostly, Will had said, he was just happy to get his best friend back. That had made Mike's heart pang a little, remembering how often he prioritized his girlfriend over his best friend. But with a gentle grin and an arm-shove, Will had assured him he could make it up to him.
So, here they were. The three of them under the blanket, like they had done when they were children. Their longer limbs made it a tighter squeeze than it used to be, and Will in particular had filled out while Mike remained awkward and gangly. But none of it mattered, really, when they could all huddle together, knees brushing and arms touching in that childish way that they were so comfortable with.
Han Solo had now shown up in the movie, prompting a stream of "Did you know?"s from Dustin and Lucas which El clearly struggled to follow. "You know, Greedo's one of my favorite character designs," remarked Dustin, to which El stared blankly. "What is a 'Greedo'?" she asked in reply, face lined with that innocent confusion she portrayed so well, prompting a stream of explanations about bounty hunters and Star Wars races.
Mike was trying to pay attention — despite his earlier complaints — but the bore of knowing details down to the next line of dialogue made it difficult not to zone out. He cast a glance to Will, who appeared to be suffering the same fate. He was currently focusing on a stain on the ceiling — riveting stuff.
Seeing his Adam's apple bob, Mike (or rather, Mike's subconscious) decided to properly visit his favorite pastime: thinking about Will.
It was something he used to do all the time when they were younger; wondering if Will was alright, or uncomfortable with anything. Checking up on him just to see that toothy grin he reserved just for Mike. At some point, it evolved into daydreaming; about writing comics together, legs tangled together on the floor of Castle Byers, or about riding their bikes home from school, racing down the hill. In short: whenever he wasn't with Will, he would be thinking about him — which was completely normal.
Now that they were older, the thoughts weren't quite as prominent. He wasn't constantly thinking about Will's smile, or his laugh, or the way his hair kept getting in his eyes because it was just slightly too long. He didn't even think about them talking together on his bed, sitting close together with hushed voices in their own private world. Not much.
He could feel the gentle brush of their legs together now, the bump of their elbow when Will shifted slightly in place, and he smiled at the reminder that he didn't have to daydream right now, since the boy was right there. Lucas had just engaged him in a debate on the best color for a light-saber — obviously red — and he waved his arms emphatically with every cadence in his voice. The sleeves of his blue flannel shirt rolled up a little when he made an especially enthusiastic point, and Mike grinned. He found himself watching the spark in Will's eyes, the wiggle of his eyebrows Will didn't even realize he did when he was excited.
There was nothing weird about that, obviously. Admiring your friend while they talked about something they were interested in. Obviously.
Well — Mike wasn't an idiot. Fairy and queer had been household names since they graduated middle-school, and it hadn't taken much brainpower for Mike to work out that people didn't consider thinking about your best friend all the time or always holding hands on the swings together as normal. But he had always been safe in the knowledge that it didn't matter what others said, as long as they were happy. Calling it romantic to be close to your best friend was absurd, really; they had just always been different from others, he knew that.
"He is annoying," El said loudly when C-3PO gave a particularly pathetic "We're doomed!". Lucas laughed at her.
And yet.
Lately, Mike had been thinking about it more than usual — maybe half of the time he thought about Will. Because since he and El had broken up, she had been giving him these Looks that he never quite understood. When he offered to help Will move boxes, or come with him on late-night bike rides, or give him a playful nudge on the arm, El was always there, Looking at him with slightly raised eyebrows. Much of El was still a mystery to him, so he didn't quite know what to make of it, but something in her pointed gaze between him and Will threw him off.
"It is okay, Mike," she had said kindly when they ended things. "I know you do not love me like that, and I know now I do not love you like that either. We both need something different." That part hadn't been what stuck with Mike, although her expression had been difficult to decipher. No, it was what came next that threw him off.
"No matter who you end up with, I will love you. We all will."
And that had kept Mike up for weeks. Because, well, what the hell had she meant? Combined with her subtle looks at Will — which he supposed he only noticed because he had been looking at Will too — she had been… weird.
When a fleet of stormtroopers blasted into the scene, El jumped and grabbed his hand under the blanket. Mike jumped a little too, at the sudden contact, but gave her hand a squeeze and bit his lip to stop himself from smiling at her frowning face. Lucas pointed to the screen with an excited "Look! This one's about to hit his head!", and El relaxed a little against Mike's side.
See?, a voice whispered in his head, you're just touchy with your friends. It's nothing special with Will.
Maybe he thought it just to put his mind at ease about El, or maybe because he was on his final straw when it came to her Looks, but he tried to feel comforted by her presence against him, her hand on his.
Maybe you could hold Will's too, came another voice, and Mike suddenly wished he could punch himself.
But then, Will and Mike had always been, well, that. Will and Mike. Not normal friends, sure, but when was anything normal in their group? It was normal for them — Will just understood him like no one else did, and Mike understood him the same way in return. They were always there for each other because they always had been. If they didn't find it romantic, then there was no problem.
He realized that this was the second time he had repeated this mantra of not being romantic to himself, and he was starting to get a bit worried for his own thoughts. Chewbacca decided to make a particularly loud gurgle on-screen, which Dustin immediately echoed, but not even that could break Mike free of his thoughts now, because was it weird, the way he and Will acted? Or rather; why was he suddenly so hung up on it being weird or not?
It was at that exact moment, in an infuriating coincidence, that Will shifted slightly in his spot on the couch, and his hand brushed Mike. A pure accident. Nothing meant by it. The pressure was gone as soon as it appeared. It happened all the time.
So then why on earth was Mike's face heating up?
He could have sworn the room's temperature rose by a few degrees, even though the only heat now was from their own bodies under blankets, and the vague warmth of the lamp. He could have sworn at himself when Will's hand returned, remaining motionless against his own. It was the lightest of touches, but somehow that made it worse.
They had never been romantic — they hadn't. Will had always been like a — a brother? No, definitely not. A best friend, of course. He had never seen anything they did as romantic before, even when El kept giving him those Looks that he tried and failed not to get hung up on. But, well… when he did deign to think about them, the only logical conclusion he had ever reached was that El was Looking to tell him there was something more going on there. He had just tried to ignore her.
He tried to keep rationalizing their interactions in his head, but the pressure of Will's hand was starting to short-circuit Mike's brain now. Turning minutely, he breathed a sigh of relief that Will was not looking at him, instead focused on the upcoming rescue plan for Princess Leia. Good; that gave him time to think. What was happening? Did Will also feel the warmth radiating from their touch? How come Mike had never noticed it before? Had it ever even existed before?
He cast his mind back quickly to their childhood, when they would hold hands on the playground almost every day. When Will would lead Mike to their seats in class, or throw his arms around him when Mike needed comforting. That hadn't felt so… warm, had it?
Except it had. Mike realized with a jolt that it had felt like that. All warm and fluttery and nice — their touches had always been that way. He just… hadn't realized that wasn't normal, with friends. Was it not normal? How could he even know?
Unfortunately, the universe was one step ahead of him again, reminding him that he was currently holding El's hand, and had been for quite some time now — despite only thinking about Will's hardly-there touch instead. So really, if friends were always meant to feel like that, then he should really have been feeling much more warmth from El's conscious touch than from Will's accidental one.
His hand was becoming clammy against El with every slow realization he came to, and it took very little time for her to notice. She tore her eyes away from the blaster-gunfight for a moment to give Mike a questioning look, and he tried valiantly to come up with a rational explanation for why he felt quite so different when Will touched him, why he very often wanted more. He drew a blank every time.
Settling for a short shake of the head, eyes pointedly on the TV screen, he pulled his hand away from El. He ignored her stare boring into the side of his face, and placed his now clenched fist on his lap.
Okay, breathe, he told himself. All you need to do is figure out whether it's normal to feel so flustered by your best friend touching your hand, and quickly so he doesn't start to notice you're being weird. All while also not making it obvious that you're completely not watching the movie. No biggie.
Given that he already knew the remaining plot of the movie and its order, he figured this part was not top of the priority list. Will, however, was. As usual.
Okay, what do people do in relationships compared to friendships?, Mike asked himself, before mentally facepalming. He had been in a relationship for the best part of four years.
Right, so, what did we do? Hugging, holding hands, shared looks, elbow bumps… he realized that he already did all of these with Will all the time, which was definitely not helping his dilemma.
Kissing. What about kissing? Surely if he didn't want to kiss Will, there was no way they were anything but friends.
He paused, knowing he was in very dangerous territory now. Was that a good idea, to even think about kissing? Definitely not. Maybe someone like Will would have had the common sense to put a stop to that train of thought, but Mike was a Wheeler by name and a Wheeler by nature. If he had never realized how abnormal their relationship was before, he was definitely not going to formulate a well-structured plan on how to tackle it.
Taking a deep breath and trying very hard to ignore the pressure of Will's hand against his own, he delved into his imagination.
The two of them, sat on Mike's bed. Giggling together, reading comic books like they used to when they were young. The ever-present warmth would be there, from where their sides and legs touched. Will would have an arm linked with Mike's, tracing his fingers slowly over the skin. He would lean his head on Mike's shoulder, brushing his cold nose against his neck in order to warm it up. Sighing against him. One arm against Mike's, the other brushing his hand on the comic page. Mike's face was already heating up at this; not a good start. Will would angle his head upwards slightly, ghosting air across Mike's skin. Mike would draw in a hitched breath, or maybe he just did, and Will would lean closer, pressing smiling lips against his neck.
Mike's mouth was slightly parted now, and his eyes were glazed over. Will would push himself up a little, shifting his body so that he hovered over Mike. He would place an arm at the side of Mike's head, and oh God his breath was stuttering. Will would touch a hand to his face, moving over his cheek with practiced delicacy. His gaze would wander across Mike's face in that secret way it so often did, flicking up to his eyes before settling on his lips. Mike would lean into the touch against his face, let his eyes drift too, feeling their breaths mingling in the air from the closeness. Will would give that gorgeous, doe-eyed look that asked silently for permission, and Mike—
Mike wanted to kiss him.
If he could have buried his face in his hands without seeming utterly delusional, he would have, because that was not the outcome he had expected, or hoped for. But it was a glaring, obvious fact now; it felt… natural, to want to kiss him, like the urge had always been there. Oh God, maybe it had. The floodgates had opened now, and there was no denying his friendship with Will being abnormal.
He forced himself out of his thoughts before they could go any further, and closed his gaping mouth. He had never felt his heart beat so furiously, as though it might burst through his chest at any moment. If his hands were clammy before, that was nothing. His whole body felt as though it was on fire with — well, he was still figuring that out. But, eyes drawn inescapably to the boy, he realized that a lot of things had just clicked into place.
Because maybe he had always seen Will like that, and now he was aware of it, which was very, very dangerous.
Will's touch burned against his skin, creeping up his arm and into his chest, to the space carved out just for him. It wrapped itself around Mike's heart, dragging up, from the depths of his soul, feelings he hardly even knew he possessed. Care; need; longing; want; love. He had thought these feelings reserved for girls — for El — but now he was coming to the rather rushed realization that his body had known what he wanted far before his mind caught up.
Incredibly, no time seemed to have passed in the movie whatsoever — Obi-Wan was now disabling the Death Star's tractor beam, to which El had asked "What is that?" about five times so far. It all registered vaguely in Mike's mind, but all he could focus on was how intoxicating it was to be touched by Will, even in this casual way. (A hand touch, really! The tiniest hand touch! Seriously!)
It was all too much. Mike was taking advantage of Will, he was sure of it. For finding him so comfortable, so — non-friendly. He had never described a boy as anything but a friend, and it all felt a little foreign. His mouth went dry.
He wanted more. The touch burned.
He pulled his hand away, ever-so-slightly; almost subconsciously. The lack of contact felt like plunging his arm in ice — like even though they had the blanket, Will was the only thing keeping Mike warm. He felt a little overwhelmed by it all, and swallowed nervously. Surely it would be better without the contact — he could calm down and think rationally, stop it from getting worse.
Will was looking at him. Holy shit forget everything I just said he is LOOKING AT ME and he's so…
Mike refused to finish that thought. Steeling himself, he looked over, back at Will. He regretted the eye contact immediately, of course; the flecks of gold and emerald and silver in his eyes, sparkling in the dim lamplight; the softness of his hair, as though he could run his hands through it like silk; his features, once huge and adorable, now grown into fully and so… gorgeous. And worst of all; his lips, which he had just been imagining on his own. Like a pervert.
Except Will seemed to be waiting for an answer to something. He gave Mike a nudge, like they had always done as kids, which said, "Hey, you alright?". His upturned eyebrows and the flush to his cheeks told Mike that he was concerned, and maybe embarrassed. Oh right, because I just pulled away from a normal touch like a moron.
Mike nodded quickly to Will's silent question, and turned back to the movie, which he had almost lost track of by now. Was it even still Star Wars? He could barely make out the scene through all the buzzing in his head. He fixed his gaze on the TV as though attempting to burn a hole through it, and stayed like that for a long while. Regret coursed through his veins.
It was only once he had regained control of his body temperature and thoughts that he noticed Will's distance. Since Mike had pulled away, Will must have done the same in return so that now there was not a single point of contact between them. Mike felt the absence like a stab to the heart, like his stomach being carved out of him.
Of course Will had pulled away; any sign of discomfort from Mike would instantly translate as Will having done something wrong. Knowing him, he was probably beating himself up with guilt as he spoke. Thought. Whatever.
He flicked his eyes over to his right, and saw Will apparently calm and casual, like he had no idea he had moved. But Mike knew him better than that; they were always touching. Even he and El were touching on his other side, her leg pressed against his. This was wrong.
Now came another dilemma. Incredible. On the one hand, Will was now not touching Mike at all, and that was utterly wrong and uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that Will probably felt guilty, and that was unbearable to even think about.
On the other hand, Will touching Mike was almost too much to handle right now, when the mere graze of their hands suddenly meant more than anything ever had to him. More importantly still was that Mike wanted to touch Will. Wanted even more than just their knees or elbows or hands brushing, and that was terrifying.
He fidgeted with his hands, trying not to move the blanket too much in the process. He noticed El give him a look from the corner of his eye, but refused to engage.
It was unbearable, not feeling Will's presence against him. Mike couldn't handle it for much longer. Even if the touch burned with a longing he couldn't fully comprehend, it would be better than the horrific cold of Will's absence.
He drew in a shaky breath, and inched his hand closer to Will. Their fingers touched after a single moment, and electricity pulsed through him like… like… he didn't even know; like electricity. Forgive him for not channeling his best similes in the moment.
Did it feel like this when they were younger?
Yes, said the voice in his head. Yes it did.
Angling his head very slightly, Mike could just about make out a tiny smile on Will's face, tugging at the edges of his mouth despite still being engrossed in the movie. From the sounds of things, Obi-Wan and Darth Vader were now fighting, but Mike couldn't care less, mesmerized by Will's expression. He silently thanked whatever god might be out there for the fact that no one had yet noticed his, assumedly blatant, staring.
It was like a drug: once he felt the electricity spike from the brush of their hands, Mike needed more. He needed Will back next to him, against him, with him. It was startling how much his feelings were pouring out of him, now that El's Looks had kicked his brain into gear.
God, he was in love with his best friend and he hadn't even noticed. What kind of friend was he?
In a moment of brilliance, he decided to actually evaluate how much he had to lose, if he went any further than this. A lifelong friendship, maybe. Maybe things would be irreparably awkward between them, knowing how much Mike needed him. Maybe Will would never forgive him for simply chasing after his own selfish wants with no regard for what Will wanted — or didn't want — in return.
But optimism was too much of a friend to Mike's clouded judgment. Yes, Mike stared a lot, but Will was usually staring back. Yes, Will had only brushed their hands together as an accident, but then he had stayed there. And if El had been giving them both Looks, eyes flicking between them, that surely counted for something, right?
Besides, if they didn't have some sort of proper contact soon, Mike might just combust.
He took another deep breath, and moved his hand once more. He brushed it slightly over Will's, marveling in how soft the skin felt beneath his touch, before pausing at his fingertips. His gaze, still trained on the TV, wavered just slightly.
This was probably a mistake.
Mike's rational thought, however, was proving to be limited. He pressed against Will's hand, pushing between his fingers and interlacing them with his own. For a truly minuscule gesture, it sure felt like the world might end.
It took him a moment to remember how to breathe, or relax his hand like a normal human. A flame ignited in his chest, simmering through his entire body. He watched Will carefully for signs of overstepping boundaries, but all he could see was the gentle opening of Will's mouth into a small "o" shape. He was definitely not watching the movie anymore, eyes a little glassy. Mike felt a wave of fierce longing. Whatever feelings he had buried were threatening to boil over, only spurred on by their hands touching, and to say Mike was nervous would be the biggest understatement in history.
Maybe it was the flickering glow from the lamp playing tricks on him, but he swore he saw a gentle blush creep up Will's neck. He struggled not to stare — or rather, to not make it obvious that he was staring. He kept himself turned three-quarters towards the TV, with some effort.
Will's leg suddenly pressed against his again, and Mike drew in a sharp breath. Thank God, he thought to himself, allowing a small grin to split his face. Maybe Will had been tensed before, or maybe they moved together again without even realizing, but the two boys shifted slightly and suddenly they were closer than ever. Their whole sides touched, pressed together in a way that Mike was obsessed with.
Will shifted his gaze ever-so-slightly from the TV to the floor, like he was considering something. It wasn't something Mike should have even noticed, had he not been watching like a hawk.
It took Will a few moments to come to whatever conclusion he was working on; his brow furrowed, then smoothed. His hand twitched against Mike's. He worried his lip between his teeth in the way he used to when Mike asked him to play with him in kindergarten. But, ultimately, the creases resolved themselves on his face, and he leaned further against him until his head rested lightly on Mike's shoulder.
Now they were really touching. Mike couldn't quite believe his heart was still beating — he had been thoroughly unprepared for the level of… that.
Except, he could very much believe his heart was still beating, since the thundering against his ribcage was all he could hear and it was frankly growing quite concerning.
The movie was probably reaching its most intense section now, judging by Dustin's loud (and, regrettably, accurate) impersonation of a TIE Fighter. This was the part where Mike would usually leap up into a crouch, lacing his fingers together in suspense; Luke was going to destroy the Death Star.
Right now, though? Mike was having to force himself to breathe, never mind paying attention to Luke's heroism. The gentle rise and fall of Will's chest, the frantic thud of his own heart against his ribs, the pounding in his ears, buzzing in his head, electricity in their hands, gnawing in his stomach, tightness in his throat, it was all too much and not enough and he didn't even know what he wanted anymore but it was utter bliss and hell on Earth at the same time and did that even make sense, he wasn't sure but Will was just there and comforting and pretty and so, so perfect but Mike couldn't think about anything anymore.
He moved his hand against Will's, purely out of instinct. It began with a twitch, a subconscious effect of his internal spiral, and moved from there. His thumb roamed over the soft skin, catching just a little on the creases and callouses from battles long-since-fought. It was rooted in self-grounding, trying to latch onto the one consistent presence beside him to drown out his incessant thoughts.
So when Will tensed, Mike was a little unprepared. And when Will's breath hitched, almost inaudibly, Mike was absolutely floored. The buzzing in his head focused in on the presence beside him. All he could hear, feel, want, was Will.
It was at this moment that Will lifted his head from Mike's shoulder, turning to look at him. Mike felt it in the way his nose brushed over his neck, just for a moment. In an effort not to revisit his imagination, Mike swallowed hard and checked their company surreptitiously.
El was leaning forward in her seat on the couch, enthralled by the final moments of the movie. No risk there, then. Dustin and Lucas were exchanging their oh-my-god-it's-the-big-bit-I'm-so-excited look, which consisted of an elaborate jazz-hands-esque movement, and Mike almost found it within him to laugh.
Concluding that they should be safe for the moment, Mike turned slowly to meet Will's eyes for maybe the third time that night. He was no less winded by the sight of him the third time around — God he was in love — but this time something in the air had shifted dramatically.
Will was looking at him… confusingly. Mike could hardly process all the different emotions passing over his face, only noting a wondering curiosity that could only mean Mike was not playing it cool, at all. He watched Will's brows furrow, itching to smooth the lines on his face, before attempting to decipher the expressions which followed.
Confusion. That was definitely there, understandably so. Then… happiness. Again, not out of the question; Mike was certainly happy whenever Will was around.
After that, they became more difficult to work out. He saw what looked like relief cross Will's features, his mouth relaxing into the ghost of a smile. And then — well, Mike was no expert in emotion-reading, but Will's eyes were just slightly wider than his usual deer-in-headlights look. His pupils were larger than normal, too, if only by a fraction. His mouth parted as though he might whisper something to him, but then stayed that way, just barely open. He looked… well, there was really no other way of putting it than longing. He closed his mouth again, chewing the inside of his lip.
Shit, I just looked at his lips.
Mike realized his mistake instantly, flicking wide eyes back to Will's. God, that was his friend — he couldn't do that. If he had felt like he was taking advantage of Will before, he had just doubled down. He wanted to turn away, pretend it had never happened, maybe leave the room or the house or the country. But God, his lips.
Mike was undeniably, hopelessly, blushing. It spread across his entire face, working outwards from his cheeks. It burned right to the tips of his ears and he fought to maintain eye contact. But then, upon more careful inspection, Will was blushing too. He had been able to excuse it before as a trick of the light, but with the lamp behind him now, there was no way of mistaking the red tint to his cheeks. It made him glow.
He chanced another look at Will's lips, knowing it was wrong, knowing he shouldn't. But he wanted to lean in, close the distance between them, press them together until nothing, not even his own buried emotions, could squeeze through. He wanted to move his hand up into Will's hair, tangle it in the gentle curls and pull him in for more. His fingers twitched against Will's, still entwined with his own, itching for more. The eye contact bore into him.
The seconds ticked by — or were they minutes? — and it appeared more and more like Will was understanding something. Sound dimmed around them, even quieting the buzzing in Mike's head and clearing the fog in his brain. He inched closer and his thoughts became crystal clear; he wanted to kiss Will, he wanted to kiss Will, he needed to—
The end credits theme blared out of the TV set, and they jumped like they had been electrocuted. Everything blurred into one: Dustin and Lucas singing along to the music at full volume; El declaring she was going to refill on popcorn; Will giving a quiet, shaky exhale; all in a matter of seconds. Mike stared at the floor.
When El promptly flung the blanket off herself, Mike withdrew his hand from Will's with unchartered speed. He almost flinched at the cold of the absence, but remained steadfastly looking straight ahead.
"That wasn't so bad, right Mike?" Lucas jibed. Mike felt about ready to sink through the floor.
"Uh," he said insightfully. "Yeah— I mean, El enjoyed it, I think. And I guess it… wasn't so bad, yeah." His voice sounded far away. Lucas frowned at him.
"Really?" he asked, skeptical now. Dustin turned to regard him as well, doubling the pressure on Mike's foggy mind. He conjured an eye-roll from somewhere, and put on his best reluctant act.
"Yeah, well, I guess twenty-seventh time's the charm, or something," he murmured, and Lucas thankfully dropped it. He dared not even look at Will.
When the rest of the party decided to take a bathroom-stroke-snack-stroke-general break, Mike gave a sigh of relief, shoulders visibly relaxing. He hadn't even realized he had been so tense. He vaguely registered Will's "I just need to grab something from my room", and muttered something along the lines of a bathroom break, waiting until everyone else had gone before he moved.
Okay. What the fuck.
He pushed himself up from the couch and aimed for the upstairs bathroom for something between a celebration and a panic attack, because what? What??
His heart was attempting to jump out of his throat, it seemed. He padded up the stairs as though in a trance, eyes fixed on the floor. What the hell?
He vaguely registered a call from El in the kitchen — something about popcorn refills. He tried to shout back his preference, but found his throat dry and scratchy. Had he really been about to lean in towards Will? Had he seriously just done a double take at his lips? Had Will not pulled away? Had he been imagining it all? Had he died, and this was hell? He leaned on the handrail at the top step.
"I'm fine with whatever!" a voice called, scarily close by. Mike's heart stopped for a moment when he registered that it was Will's voice, laced with that softness that Mike had always admired. Right now, though, Mike was not ready to face the owner of said voice, and so he turned away towards the bathroom. Luckily, Will's bedroom was down the opposite end of the corridor, so there should be no reason for him to—
"Mike?"
Well shit.
Hand frozen on the doorknob to the bathroom, Mike's eyes widened. He quickly fixed his face, and turned to regard Will despite the fluttering nerves in his chest. He tried to remain normal, even though he felt both cold panic and a warm glow battling inside him.
"Oh. Uh… hi." He felt his voice break and briefly considered jumping from the first floor. He slowly registered Will's expression from his doorway across the hall; there was something careful, uncertain about it, despite his gentle smile. Uh oh.
Will folded his arms across his chest in what was usually a defense mechanism, Mike had found. Shielding himself from rejection before it happened. The panic died down momentarily in order to make way for confusion.
"Come here a sec?" It was phrased like an order, and yet Will's tone rose at the end like it was more of a question, a suggestion. Mike felt a nervous smile pull at his lips; that was one of his favorite Will-isms. But then the reality of the question dawned on him, and he swallowed nervously. His hand dropped from the doorknob, and Will seemed to jump with realization.
"Oh, sorry, you were— it can wait, go to the bathroom first, sorry." He looked away quickly, and Mike's mouth flopped a little.
"No, it's—" he began, cutting himself off. It's alright, Will, I was only going to have a panic attack about how much I may or may not want to kiss you. Yeah, that was normal.
"I wasn't, uh— it's fine," he settled on, unhelpfully. As expected, Will's expression had creased into utter confusion, but Mike tried to ignore it. He made his way towards Will's room with only minor leg-shaking. Don't ask don't ask don't ask.
He didn't ask. Will simply stepped aside to let him in.
Mike realized, with a pang, that he hadn't actually been in Will's room for some time. It was largely the same as he remembered, of course: posters lining the walls, sketchbooks and notebooks and scrapbooks and folders strewn across the desk in one corner, bed unmade. It looked and smelled and felt like home.
His eyes were drawn, though, to a particular sketchbook placed in the middle of the bed. Its cover was black, unmarked, unassuming. Like it had been kept that way to stop people looking. Mike knew how much Will enjoyed decorating his sketchbooks — hell, he had helped with a lot of them, adding stickers and terrible doodles and smiley faces. His interest was piqued.
Glancing sidelong at Will, he noticed he was biting his lip again. His cheeks held a soft tint of red, and his eyes seemed far away, reserved, like he was holding something back. Nerves crept back into Mike's stomach. Will cleared his throat.
"I was just gonna… um. I wanted you to…" he trailed off each time, eyes flicking between the sketchbook and somewhere around Mike's shoulder. Giving an exasperated sigh, he flopped on the bed and grabbed the book. He handed it to a bewildered Mike, who gingerly sat in the space next to Will and opened the first page.
It was full of action; colors strewn across the sky, each brushstroke carefully calculated and thought-out. A Demogorgon towered over the party, each tooth marked on with the finest of brushes. Their D&D characters, tiny in comparison, still shone with each of their traits. Most notably, Will and Mike. Mike was in the process of plunging a sword into the Demo's heart, grimacing a little. His face was captured perfectly, down to the curve of his eyebrows, the dusting of freckles which had stubbornly remained through winter. He looked, well… heroic. Like an exaggerated version of who he tried to be in their campaigns and reality. Will had managed to paint each feature as though it radiated with brilliance, and the effect took Mike's breath away.
Will was watching him cautiously, now sat up beside Mike.
"Oh my God, Will," Mike breathed, "this is beautiful." Will flushed a deep scarlet, which Mike had to try very hard not to find adorable. Will reached an arm out vaguely, gesturing to the next page.
Will the Wise and Mike the Brave, standing triumphantly at the top of a hill. Vast kingdoms sprawled out in front of them, framing their glowing silhouettes. Will was turned slightly towards Mike, so that (real) Mike could make out the details of his face. Not as much care seemed to have been put into recreating Will's own features, the hair a little too dark and the eyes holding none of the spark they usually did. He was still… well, he looked great, but Mike frowned. He made sure to smile at Will, though — the real Will — and hoped his eyes conveyed the utter awe he couldn't express with words.
Each painting was better than the last. Will and Mike, clinking glasses together while the rest of the party huddled around them, gorgeous warm light radiating from the page. Mike — a close-up, now — raising his shield toward a giant troll. The crease in his brow was placed perfectly, as though Will had spent hours studying the expression. His body buzzed.
The party surrounded by treasure, stuffing coins and goblets and pearl necklaces into their arms. Will and Mike linking arms, clothes bloodied from battle. Another close-up of Mike, eyes widened in shock now as a huge shadow loomed over him. The party; Will and Mike; the party; Mike; Will and Mike. Each picture had more care put into it than anything Mike had ever seen, and even as a less-than-great artist himself, he recognized that these were beautiful.
"These are… wow," he murmured, tracing his fingers over his own face in one painting, feeling the bumps where layers of paint had been applied. He stopped his hand from roaming to Will's face in the picture.
"They're incredible, Will," he smiled, and looked properly at the boy. Will was still blushing furiously, looking away coyly. "I mean, I am proud of them," he replied, "but also— I mean, that one, your hair doesn't look right and my smile is a bit crooked."
"You're kidding." Mike touched a hand to Will's arm in genuine incredulity, wondering how on earth he could criticize his own work so easily. He then retracted his hand hastily when he realized that Will had tensed under his touch.
"They're amazing, Will, they really are," he said earnestly; but then a thought occurred to him.
"Why are you showing me these?"
That was what made Will turn away properly. He fiddled with his sleeve, and Mike could no longer make out his expression. "Oh, I… I just wanted to," Will tried, shrugging as though completely casual. His shoulders were stiff, though, and he picked at his nail beds. Mike didn't need to see his face to know that he was deathly nervous.
Bullshit, the voice in his head said. "Really?" he asked instead, leaning around to try and glimpse Will's face. Will looked at him in return, sending shivers down Mike's spine at the openness of his expression. He wanted to push for answers, place a hand on Will's and ask him with his eyes what he was doing.
Will drew in a breath, unable to maintain eye contact. "Well, yes and no. I did want to show you… but they— they felt like secrets, too. I didn't want to keep them from you."
Mike had a hard time following this. "What do you mean?" he asked after a pause, trying to kick his brain into gear despite the ever-present buzzing in the back of his mind. Secrets? Will didn't owe him showing off his paintings — so what was he keeping from him?
He remembered when Mike had showed him his last painting; in the van, handed to him with an insecure sincerity. When Mike had told him it was incredible, and Will had said that it was commissioned by El. Mike hadn't thought about the ache in his chest after that, putting it down to gratitude towards El. Now he had a much better idea of what it had been.
"You've showed me your paintings before," Mike said slowly when Will didn't supply him with an answer. "Like the one in the van, the one that El asked for." He furrowed his brow.
Will suddenly looked very much like he had been caught. A flicker of fear crossed his flushed face, and he looked fixatedly at the sketchbook. He went very, very quiet; Mike couldn't even hear him breathing. He began to worry, the delirious affection from earlier slowly dying down. Silence ebbed between them, and Mike was afraid to break it. He looked at the sketchbook again, marveling at its detail.
"Yeah," Will spoke at last. His voice was hardly more than a whisper. Mike flicked his eyes back up to him; the blush had taken over his entire face. "That was probably the biggest one."
"The biggest… painting?"
"Secret."
This was the point where Mike's brain truly stopped functioning. That painting was… a secret? Or it had a secret? What did Will mean? He was giving nothing away, still staring guiltily at the sketchbook. This was a movie night, why suddenly show him his entire collection of paintings and talk about secrets? Mike couldn't have stopped himself if he tried; he reached out a hand and touched Will's shoulder. Will tensed again at the contact, but didn't move away.
"Will, what are you talking about?" he asked as softly as he could manage, in the voice reserved for Will especially. He felt Will shiver a little beneath his hand and take a deep breath before speaking.
"El didn't ask me to make that painting. I just… made it."
Okay, so that was why El had only given him a perplexed look when he had thanked her later. Will looked, finally, into Mike's eyes, and Mike really had to stop getting caught out by that. He forced his lungs into action, exhaling slowly.
"You… you did?" He questioned. Will nodded, but it still didn't make sense.
"So…" Mike could almost hear the gears turning in his brain, "Why are you telling me?"
There was a beat of silence in which Mike immediately reconsidered his words. "Well— no, I'm glad you've told me, obviously I'm glad and I kinda knew I guess since when I brought it up to El she was a bit weird about it and I just hadn't questioned it, but I guess it was more I wondered why now?" He wondered if Will could tell how incredibly hard his heart was beating just from the speed of his backtracking. He always did it when he was nervous.
Will was looking at him with shining eyes, framed in the light from his bedside table. Mike really wanted to kiss him — but this was an inappropriate time to be thinking that.
"Um, well… downstairs—"
Never mind; this was the perfect time to be thinking about that, and regretting it. A lot. Mike's face flamed instantly and he looked away as though he had just been found guilty of a great crime. He began to stammer out an apology, or explanation, or really he wasn't sure what he tried to say, but Will nudged him with his leg and he fell silent.
"Downstairs," he re-emphasized, "I, well…"
Did they really have to be talking about this right now? Mike was sure his skin resembled a lobster in color by now, and he quickly made a note to sort his last will and testament out so that he could die of shame.
Will sighed like he was getting exasperated with his own stalling, and pressed the heels of his hand to his face. "I didn't want to… I don't know, I don't know. Take advantage of you, I guess." The buzzing in Mike's brain instantly ceased.
"I mean, that just sounds weird," Will continued quickly, balling his hands up, "but I don't know how else to… God. I wanted you to know the truth, before I… in case I… I don't know. I don't know!" he looked away, covering his face entirely with his hands.
Mike was completely gobsmacked. His mouth fell open slightly, and he stared at Will like he had just sprouted an extra arm.
"Wait," he muttered without thinking, and then snapped his mouth shut when Will peered at him through his fingers. Shit. He didn't know what to do at all.
"So, in the van, when you said…?" he half-asked, closing the sketchbook slowly.
"El needs you, Mike. And she always will." That's what Will had told him, when he had shown Mike the painting. Mike had been completely awestruck by the sincerity in his words.
"Yes," Will whispered, still turned away. "That was me."
"I need you, Mike. And I always will."
Mike forgot how to breathe for a moment. Those words had been what inspired Mike to say I love you to El, when she needed it most — and they had been Will's? He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
But no, hold on. Mike's thoughts screeched to a halt, wheeled around, and took a couple of steps back. Take advantage of him? Was Will a sorcerer and a mind-reader? Mike hardly noticed him looking his way again until Will spoke, voice shaking.
"Look, I know, I'm sorry I kept it from you all this time. I just didn't want to ruin things, I guess, or make it weird or make you uncomfortable when I didn't need to because I really value you and I want to keep that and I'd never forgive myself if—"
"Take advantage of me?" Mike murmured faintly, mostly to himself. Will flinched away.
"I'm sorry, I don't know why I— forget that, it's a stupid way of phrasing—"
Mike had very little control over his limbs now, it seemed, because his hand moved without warning to touch Will's chin, facing him toward Mike. He watched Will's internal spiral and his heart ached, because he wanted to fix it, explain, tell him how much he wanted — well, him. Trying to ignore how utterly cheesy that sounded.
"Will, no," he said quietly, looking earnestly into Will's eyes. God, he really was beautiful. "Will," he insisted when the boy tried to continue his apology. "I just— that's… almost exactly what I was thinking before."
He watched the pieces fall into place. Will took a few moments to catch up to where Mike's brain had already reached. He opened his mouth in shock, then furrowed his brows, then widened his eyes, exposing all the threads of hazel and green and gold and amber in his irises. He opened and closed his mouth several times, Mike's hand never moving from his chin. Then, finally, two spots of color appeared on Will's cheeks and his mouth dropped open to let out a tiny "oh". Mike hoped the final connection had been made.
Mike was almost past the point of wondering if this was a good idea. He shifted his hand slightly to Will's cheek, and moved his other hand to cup his face. The touch was tentative, slow, unsure, but Will drew in a soft breath and looked at him as though there was nothing Mike could do that was wrong. They were close; maybe a foot between them, but shrinking.
Mike could feel his self-restraint fraying — although there had clearly never been much to begin with. The points of contact between his hands and Will's face felt as though they could burn a hole straight through his skin, fizzing and crackling with longing. This was more than it had been downstairs; the air was still between them, like it was holding its breath. Will let out a shaky exhale, and Mike felt the air ghost across his face.
Before, there had been people around; Mike's uncertainty in his own actions; his uncertainty in Will's wants; all stopping him from acting. But now? There was no one watching.
Mike's eyes wandered involuntarily to Will's lips: slightly parted. His gaze flickered away immediately, but he knew Will must have seen — he was only a few inches away now.
"Mike…?"
That was the final fray in his resolve: the softness, the quiet longing, the break in Will's voice at the end of the syllable. It was somehow familiar and yet nothing like Mike had ever heard before in his voice. He wanted so badly to kiss him — and he was nothing if not a man of his word.
He leaned in tentatively, thumb brushing over Will's soft skin. He looked at Will for confirmation, or rejection, and found only wide eyes and a stare fixed on his lips. His breath caught; he hadn't done that earlier.
Their noses brushed when Mike got close enough, and it was a miracle he had made it this far without losing all semblance of restraint. Now, though, it broke entirely, and he leaned in the rest of the way with a force he had buried within him for longer than he would ever know. Their lips pressed together and fireworks exploded in Mike's chest.
Mike's thumb brushed over Will's cheek again; he was becoming addicted to the touch. He anchored one hand behind Will's ear, tracing the other down his neck to his collarbone. His whole body hummed, glowed with the feeling of more.
Will hadn't yet moved, Mike vaguely registered. He pulled away quickly, letting his hands fall, and looked concernedly into Will's eyes. He just about registered his wide pupils and parted lips.
"Sorry— are you…" he began, confidence faltering.
But then, then Will moved. He lifted his arms and Mike barely had time to register before they were flung around his neck. Mike let out a noise of surprise, only to have it cut off when their lips crashed together.
Will's hand brushed the nape of his neck, working its way into his hair, and Mike overbalanced from the sheer force of him. He fell onto the bed, landing with his back against the pillow, and suddenly Will was hovering over him looking only slightly apologetic and utterly breathtaking. Mike's eyes raked down his figure, and he pushed himself up slightly to connect them again.
God, nothing had ever compared to this. Will, despite his brief enthusiasm, was moving so softly, so slowly against him, savoring every moment they touched. That was what struck Mike, really: not the kiss itself, nor the burning warmth of their touch, but the softness. Will was tracing over him, touching like he was something to be beheld, and Mike felt about ready to swoon.
Will placed one hand on the pillow next to Mike's face, and the other grazed his waist. His shirt must have ridden up from the fall, because he felt tentative fingers against his bare skin and almost melted completely. He moved a hand to the back of Will's neck and relished in the quiet hum which he heard in response against his lips.
It struck him, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this must be Will's first kiss. He noticed it just slightly in the way his hands trembled, and the way he forgot to breathe every few seconds and had to pull away a little. But for a first kiss, Will was incredible.
Nevertheless, Mike took it upon himself, the next time Will drew back for air, to push himself up to a sitting position. He took a moment to relish in Will's perplexed expression, all flushed cheeks and wide eyes, before touching a hand to his side. Will's breath hitched at that, and Mike smiled, guiding him to the pillow so that they swapped places.
And, well. That was both the best and worst idea Mike could have come up with, because now Will was below him and looking utterly flustered, which caused Mike's heart to thunder against his chest even more than it had been previously. He took in Will's flushed face, letting out a long breath. He admired for another moment, then felt the uncontrollable urge to lean down again because Will was really, truly irresistible. He too placed an arm beside Will's head, entangling it in the hair splayed across the pillow, and leaned over him. Mike relished in the tiny noise that escaped Will, like it was there only for Mike to hear — and probably completely unplanned.
Electricity coursed through him, and he needed to speak, to let Will hear how much he had wanted this, needed this, how relieved he was that Will was — well, himself.
"God," he breathed eventually, lips brushing Will's in the process. The message clearly got through, because Will reached a trembling hand to Mike's chin and pulled their lips together again.
Mike was quick to move, though; he shifted his aim, trailing kisses along the corner of Will's mouth, his cheek, his jaw, down his neck. Every hitch of breath spurred him on, head spinning. He had just pulled away slightly to analyze Will's face, when—
"WILL?"
They sprang off the bed like a bolt of lightning had struck them, breathing heavily. Will shot Mike a look of many things — predominantly disappointment — and opened the door a crack.
"Yeah?" he called back, and Mike's stomach flipped at the way his voice wobbled a little, softer than usual.
"EL CAN'T FIND THE NEXT MOVIE!" yelled who must have been Lucas from downstairs, and Will gave a long sigh.
"One sec!" he shouted back, before shutting the door again. He turned to Mike with glassy eyes and reddened lips, and Mike could have died right then and there from the sight.
"Um, we should…" Will trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the door behind him.
"Yeah," Mike murmured, not moving. They stayed there for a long moment, watching each other.
"So we should—"
"Mhm," Mike hummed, stepping towards the door. He reached a hand out and pressed it to Will's waist, slipping just slightly beneath his shirt. He guided Will backwards until he landed softly against the door, and watched his eyes flicker shut when he leaned in once more.
It was quick; of course it was, the party was waiting for them downstairs. But Mike nonetheless felt the dizzying warmth of Will's lips against his, and he smiled against him. He reached his free hand into Will's hair, just slightly, then pulled away with some effort.
"Let's go," he said quietly, and Will just gaped at him for a moment.
When they returned to the party — a minute apart, of course — Mike immediately felt El's gaze on him. He met her eyes, unwavering, but she narrowed them in suspicion and he knew there was no way he was getting out of that conversation later.
Oh well, he thought. He resumed his position on the couch, under the blanket, bathed in dim lamplight, with Will's head on his shoulder and their hands interlinked.
A grin crept onto his face, and he reached with his free hand for some more popcorn as The Empire Strikes Back began playing on the TV.