Chapter Text
It all starts as Will is sat on the floor of the Wheeler's basement, head bent low, pens scattered every which way, slowly slogging his way through a frankly abhorrent amount of gruelling math homework that’s all due tomorrow that he, as per usual, left to the last minute. He can’t be blamed for it, not really, there’s about a million things he’d much rather do than trig. Which is exactly how he’s landed himself in this situation in the first place.
He’s so lost in the frustration of trying to figure out how the angle of this triangle is somehow 426 degrees that he doesn’t hear the door above him open.
“Hey, Will? You down here?” Mike calls down softly, startling Will away from the horror of his homework.
“Yeah, I’m here, what’s up?” He calls back, lifting his head slightly to find Mike hopping down the stairs. He’s wearing that new blue and gray striped sweater of his. He’s worn it twice this week. Not that anyone but Will probably even noticed. He’s got a yellow shirt on underneath, collar poking out, one side sticking straight up. It’s slightly comical, and entirely endearing. Will’s hands itch to readjust it, the image briefly flitting across his mind. Just one brief, innocuous movement.
How hard would it be to stand up, cross the distance between them in two steps?
What would it feel like? His knuckles skirting along the downy skin of Mike’s neck as his fingers worked so delicately to straighten out the rough fabric? Could he linger there? For just a moment before he steps back? His brain unhelpfully supplies the image of a world where he didn’t have to. Where he could tilt his body forward, instead of stepping back. Looking up, leaning up. Mike, so very, very close. Close enough that he can feel Mike’s breath ghosting along his. Would they be breathing in tandem? A symphony only the two of them shared? Or would Will’s hiccup and syncopate from nerves, while Mike’s staccatos in surprise as he realizes Will is leaning in. Closer and closer and then-
“Nancy’s looking for the radio, she said Jonathan brought it down here?” Mike bursts his bubble, head tilted in questioning as he surveys Will.
Will is jolted back into his body, into the present moment. He can feel the heat flaring in his cheeks as he realizes that, yeah, he had just been daydreaming about kissing Mike. Right in front of Mike.
Fucking hell.
“Uhh yeah, it’s here.” His gaze darts to the offending radio. It’s humming some tune away, quietly enough that he can’t make out who or what it is. He had just turned it on for the background noise, for the company of another voice gently filling the stagnant air around him.
Mike folds himself up onto the floor beside Will, his knee gently brushing against Will’s.
“Uh, does Nancy need it back? She can have it back if she wants, it’s okay. There’s nothing good playing right now anyway.” Will murmurs, trying to keep his eyes on the unreadable list of numbers on the page in front of him.
“No? You’re not a fan of-” Mike cranks up the volume so they can both hear what’s playing more clearly. Whitney Houston immediately fills the sliver of space between them, “Whitney?”
“Well, no I mean, it’s fine, it’s just… not what I’d normally listen to, I guess.”
“Are you sure?” Mike grins teasingly, as if he’s just caught Will in the middle of doing something he shouldn’t be.
“Okay, yeah it’s super cheesy, I know. It’s just what’s on right now. I don’t have that many other options, Mike.” Will rolls his eyes, knowing Mike wasn’t going to let go of this even though he was telling the truth, and he in fact had no control over what the Squawk decided to air.
“No, it’s not that bad. Just didn’t take you for a ‘Whitney’ kind of guy.” Mike says placatingly.
Before Will can roll his eyes again, a memory surfaces in Will’s head. Glittering strands of silver adorning sad white cinderblock walls. Enough balloons to keep the latex industry in business, stiff black shoes and even stiffer white collars.
“It’s the kind of shit they used to play at the Snow Ball, remember?”
“Okay yeah maybe you’re right.” Mike concedes with the shake of his head, “But those were at least fun right? Remember how we used to see who could drink a cup of that awful, watered down Koolaid the fastest?”
Will laughs, “God, yeah! And the time Dustin insisted he could beat his record and then he had to bolt across the dancefloor to the bathrooms to throw up and he sent Tom Taylor's jaw straight into the dancefloor?”
“Oh my God!” Mike snorts, the laughter bubbling up from him washes through Will like a hot cup of cocoa, warming him from the inside in a way that makes him want to squirm. “I completely forgot about that! He refused to drink it for like a year after that. Yeah, I kinda miss that.”
“Yeah until you all got too busy dancing with your girlfriends.” It’s meant to be a teasingly little quip, but it comes out all flat in all the wrong places. It immediately feels wrong as it rolls off of his tongue. He hates himself for sounding bitter. Hates himself more for feeling bitter about it. It’s not his place, he knows that. He has no right to be upset about Mike and the others for dancing with girls they were interested in at a dance meant for dancing with girls you’re interested in. God knows it was never like that for Will. He couldn’t have cared less about the girl he danced with that year. He only did it to be… polite, he supposes. And because the others egged him on but, truth be told he just wanted to get back to the others. To Mike.
“Hey! Nancy was definitely not Dustin's girlfriend.” Mike counters, thankfully not calling out the edge to Will’s tone.
“Okay okay! Fine! But still… I think it was more fun when it wasn’t all… couple-y… I guess.” It makes Will’s skin crawl to admit it, like he’s upheaving his guts out onto the floor for Mike to witness, instead of making an offhanded comment about how that was when they had all started drifting apart.
“Yeah… I guess you’re right.” Mike replies, his voice just a fraction softer than before. It doesn’t sound right either. Will picks up on it, of course. He always does. It throws him off for a moment, because-
“Yeah but, you were with El. Wasn’t that what you wanted? A girl to dance to this kind of shit with?” Will gestures at the radio, still playing the song. “You were moping the entire time, until she walked through the doors.”
Mike goes all quiet, then he sighs long sufferingly. It strikes Will as odd, his mouth twisting as he considers the look on Mike’s face. “I mean yeah, a bit. No you’re right but… thinking back, it wasn’t… it wasn't what I was expecting at all, I guess.”
This really takes Will by surprise, but he doesn’t want to pry. Well, no, that’s a lie. He’d love to find out. He’d love to have the courage to ask ‘Why not?’. Maybe that’s because some awful, tiny part of him would do anything to hear Mike say ‘Because I wanted to dance with you.’
But he can’t ask. And he knows that’s not the response he’d get, no matter how hard every fibre of his body aches for it.
“Really? Why not? Slow dancing not as good as you thought it would be?” Is what Will settles for instead, tone light and teasing, trying to draw both the conversation and his thoughts away from those lost, no, those impossible possibilities.
Mike huffs a laugh, but it’s flat. Flatter than Will had expected from him. Is he imagining it, or does Mike sound?-
No. He’s kidding himself. He’s deluding himself. Maybe Mike just… hates dancing. Or something.
“No, I guess not.” Mike returns flatly.
“What, you thought there’d be fireworks and confetti in the background like all those romance movies you pretend not to watch over Nancy’s shoulder?” Will tries for a light hearted joke, trying to draw Mike away from whatever train of thought is causing the formation of that little furrow between his brows. In an ideal world, he’d smooth it away with a kiss, but Will had gotten over the childish hope of ideals years ago.
“Hey!” Mike’s head whips around to look at Will, his mouth open in an affronted gasp. “I don’t!- I don’t do that!” He splutters, trying to save face. But the blush that creeps across his cheeks tells a different story, and Will knows he’s hit the nail on the head with that one. He hadn’t even known that, it was just a very educated blind guess.
“I don’t know who you take me for! That’s!- Slander! Blasphemy! Lies!” Mike gasps out, outraged. His mouth is opening and closing as he grapples for words, it reminds Will vaguely of those little goldfish you used to be able to win at the fair.
“Okay okay! I mean, if you insist but… you’re defending yourself a little too hard here, in my opinion.” Will counters easily, unable to keep his lips from tilting up in a mocking smile.
Mike gives him a gentle shove on the shoulder, a friendly tap.
“Whatever.” Mike huffs, but then he adds, “Anyway, yeah, Nancy does want the radio back but uhh… I’ve got one in my room? It’s got a cassette deck and everything.”
“Really?”
“Uh, yeah, I don’t uhh, have a great selection but…” Will can see a flush of embarrassment creeping up Mike’s cheeks, which piques his interest even more.
“Oh I’ve got to see this.” Will says as he springs up from the floor. “But I’m bringing this just in case you really do have shit music taste.” He says as he rootles through his bag, before brandishing the mixtape Jonathan gave him in the air with a little triumphant wave in Mike’s direction.
“Uh… okay then, let me just grab this then.” Mike gestures toward the radio.
“Okay, but hurry up, I need to see what kind of insane musical inclination you have.” Will says as he rises to his feet. Mike swats at him but misses.
“Fine! Fine, I’m coming, Jesus.”
Will follows Mike all the way up to his room. It’s changed a lot over the last few years, an array of new posters and a distinct lack of toys, but it’s mostly been the same since Will moved in. That is to say, it’s in a complete state of disarray. Will can’t remember the last time he saw more than a sliver of the carpet, with clothes and books strewn all over the place. A pile of comics is spilling haphazardly all over his dresser, illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp. Mike slips out to head over to Nancy’s room. Will can hear them squabbling almost as soon as the door swings open. Typical.
Will is over at Mike’s desk, where the radio lays, with a small but precarious stack of tapes next to it. He leans down to inspect it, even taking the liberty to carefully shuffle through the stack.
“Dude… this is… a lot of Bowie.” He calls over his shoulder when he hears the door click closed behind Mike as he enters.
“Oh… uh yeah.. Nancy got those for me after we saw 'Labyrinth' in the cinema. She said she just wanted me to shut up about how cool he was, which isn’t fair because he is really fucking cool and I don’t think I even said that much at all but anyway, she thought it would help me… y’know, shut the fuck up.”
Will laughs. “Did it?”
“Well, I mean, yeah, at first. But then, I thought ‘Wouldn’t it be cool if I had hair like him?’ and I wouldn’t stop talking about it and one day she told me she’d push me out the window if I ever did that, which I thought was a little unfair but hey, I think I get it but also, I think I could really pull it off.”
“Pull what off?”
“A hot orange mohawk. Look, like this.”
Mike piles all his hair in his hands and lifts it up in a really abstract impression of a mohawk. Will can’t help but burst out laughing at the expression on his face as he does it.
“Orange? Absolutely not.” Will manages to spit out through his laughter.
“Hey! C’mon, don’t be such a kill joy. I’m telling you, I think I could really pull it off.”
“Yeah, keep dreaming, Mike.”
“Whatever, man!” Mike scoffs, but his smirk betrays the humour in it. Will’s eyes skirt back to the tape player. His eye catches on one particular cassette, so out of place from the others that he just has to ask.
“And uhh… who are the… Butthole Surfers?”
“Holy shit, you haven’t heard of them? There’s no way.” Mike pads over to the desk, look of incredulous disbelief written all over his face.
“No, I’m… uh… pretty sure I’d remember a band with a name like that.”
“Okay, then you’ve got to listen to this. It’s like, one of the greatest albums I’ve ever heard.”
Mike slots in the cassette, he moves to press play, but his hand stops, and lingers over the ‘play’ button.
“Do you mind if I uh… fast forward to my favourite song? I just think it’s a way better representation of their sound and I don’t know if you’ll find the first song too slow or something-” He cuts his rambling off, and then mutters, so quietly that Will can barely make it out, “I just don’t want you to hate it.”
“What?” Will asks, leaning forward and hoping Mike will repeat himself.
“I just don’t want you to hate it!” Mike bursts out, looking flustered. “I just… don’t know if it’s the kind of thing you’d normally listen to.”
“I’m sure I won’t hate it Mike.”
“Really?”
“Promise.”
“Alright then.” Mike presses play and hops onto the bed, gesturing to a spot next to him. “Uh, you wanna sit?”
“Uhm… sure.” Will offers back hesitantly as he takes the spot next to Mike. Their thighs are just about pressed together, heat seeping into the fabric of Will’s jeans almost immediately. Will does everything in his power not to think about it, pulling his focus entirely onto the sounds that permeate the air around them.
The room is filled with an upbeat drum, one that reminds Will of the way his heart is puttering in his ribcage right now. Whining guitars follow suit not long after. Will sneaks a glance at Mike, finding him with his eyes closed, a small, private smile on his lips.
Will can’t help but be entranced by the sight, eyes locked onto the way Mike’s mouth moves along to the lyrics, how he’s fallen into his own little world almost immediately. It makes something in Will’s chest flutter.
Will gets lost in watching Mike instead of paying any shred of attention, mainly because he’s a blundering fool, and how could he not?
Mike’s eyes fly open all of a sudden, smile widening to find Will’s gaze already on his.
“So, what do you think?”
Will hesitates for only a moment, really considering the blanket of sounds emanating from the radio. “I really like it. Like, a lot, honestly. It’s really good. I wasn’t really expecting that from a band named Butthole Surfers.”
“You really think so?” There’s a gleam of delight that dances in Mike’s eyes at Will’s words. It makes that flutter in his chest soar.
“Yeah, I didn’t realize you listened to this kind of stuff.” Will admits shyly, still having trouble acquainting this heavy sound with the boy grinning in front of him. That was still a big issue for him, reconciling the Mike he used to know with the Mike sat in front of him. With how much time he spent in Lenora, he doesn’t know when or where that rift began but he does know that they’ve both changed more than they’re even aware of, and it threw Will for a loop more often than not.
“What, didn’t take me for that kind of guy?” Mike asks, wry smile melting Will’s mind a little.
“Not really?” Will offers hesitantly.
“Well, it’s only fair, I mean, when’s the last time any of us really talked about music?”
“Uh… never?” Will replies carefully.
“Exactly!” Mike exclaims, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis. “Plus, I guess it’s not immediately that obvious considering-”
“Your Bowie shrine?” Will cuts in, smirk colouring the amusement in his tone.
“Hey! It is most definitely not a shrine, I just think he’s really ho- Cool! Uh… he’s really cool.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night Mike.” Will replies coolly.
Mike scoffs, elbowing Will gently in the ribs.
“But seriously,” Mike continues, voice a little quieter than before. “You really like them? I know it’s a little… out there, I guess, but-”
“No, I do! I really do! I uh… see the appeal.”
Mike's face lights up. It’s more blinding then the midday sun in July. “Good! And you’re uhh… not just saying that to be nice?”
“No, Mike. I’m not, I swear.” Will says softly, a fond exasperation that he can’t hold back colouring his tone. “Plus, I’m just glad you listen to something other than Bowie on occasion. ” Will teases again. He’s revelling in the exasperation that quickly floods Mike’s face.
“You’re never gonna get tired of this, are you?” Mike groans.
“Hmm… Not really, no.” He chuckles, thoroughly amused.
Mike groans again, burying his face in his hands for a moment, playing it up. It draws another full laugh out of Will. Mike peeks out of the spaces between his fingers, wide, pleased grin visible in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. It makes Will feel way too warm all at once.
“Hey, y’know, if you wanted, you could come back up here anytime. I could show you their debut album, I think it would be entirely your thing, especially if you like this song.”
“I… I would love that.” Will replies, his voice a smidge too hushed for his liking, feeling the pink flush flaring on his cheeks.
“Cool.” Mike replies softly, pleased smile making Will dizzy.
“Cool.” Will returns airily, too smitten to add anything remotely fucking insightful to the conversation.
Over the music, they hear Mrs. Wheeler’s voice floating up from downstairs, calling them both down.
“Dinner?” Will asks.
“Probably.” Mike shrugs, already standing up and stretching out his endlessly long limbs.
“We should go.”
“Yeah.” Mike replies softly, his eyes trained on Will for a moment long enough to make him squirm, before he turns towards the desk and turns the music off. “Take me up on that offer, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Will mumbles, honestly a little confused as to why Mike seems so taken with the idea. It’s not like they never hang out anymore, sure it’s less than they used to, but not by much. Maybe he’s just really excited that he has someone to share his… rather eclectic taste in music with. Not that it matters, Will never really had the capacity to deny Mike, not when it caused that grin that was currently lighting up his face as he headed towards the door.
“C’mon, they’re all probably waiting for us.” Mike calls over his shoulder, and Will follows, just like he always does.