Archive of Our Own

Mike sits on the edge of the couch with his hands locked together, elbows braced on his knees like that might keep him from floating off into space.

The room is loud. Too loud. It’s been like that lately. Voices overlapping, chairs scraping, Dustin saying something earnest and a little too fast, Lucas laughing in that careful way he does when he’s trying to keep things light. Someone — Robin, maybe — has put music on low in the background, like it’s supposed to smooth everything over.

But it doesn’t. At least not for Mike. Everyone seems alright, even despite the fact they had just come up with their final plan, getting ready to defeat Vecna. Getting ready to end this. All of it.

Will is across the room, half-cornered in the safest way possible, people giving him space but not distance. Joyce’s hand is on his shoulder. El is right at his side, chin tipped up like she’s daring the world to say something wrong.

And Will is smiling.

Not the small, practiced one. Not the tight one he wears when he’s pretending he’s fine.

A real one. Shaky, but real.

Mike swallows. His brain feels like it’s been tipped upside down and shaken, every thought sliding into a new place he didn’t even know existed until around ten minutes ago.

I don’t like girls. Will’s voice echoes in his head. Will had said it so plainly, yet so shakily, tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked right at Mike when he said it and Mike prayed that Will didn’t notice how his body had a reaction to it.

I don’t like girls.

Fuck. He was an asshole, wasn’t he? All the things he had said to Will, all the ways he treated him. The way Will said it made his heart ache because… because of what he said. All those years ago.

It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!

God, did Will know then? Did he keep it a secret for this long because of Mike? Did Will let it eat him like he always did? Shoved it deep and pretended everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.

Mike didn’t even move until the rest of the party was up, walking towards Will and hugging him. He hadn’t even remembered what he said, because the second Will said I don’t like girls, Mike had stopped thinking completely. His mind blanked and his ears started ringing and the only thing he could hear was Will’s voice and he didn’t even know why, but it felt like something inside Mike had shifted.

Not cracked. Shifted.

Like a puzzle piece he’d been forcing into the wrong spot for years suddenly sliding exactly where it belonged.

He presses his thumb into the side of his index finger until it stings.

Tammy.

The word comes back uninvited.

Mike’s stomach flips.

He can still hear Will’s voice from earlier, low and careful, saying it like it was a shield instead of a confession. And I… uh— I had this crush on… on someone even though I know— I know they’re not like me. But— but then I realized that he’s, he’s just my Tammy and by Tammy I mean that it was— it was never about him. It was… it was about me.

Will’s words play back in his head like a mixtape. The only Tammy he knew of was Tammy Thompson and that didn’t make any sense. What did Tammy have to do with any of this? Will had looked at him when he said those words. He had looked at him. Mike.

Mike didn’t want to assume. He really didn’t. But there was only one explanation in his head and he didn’t… he didn’t know if that could even be the case. Because maybe Mike was overthinking and overanalyzing this.

Except he knew Will. He knows Will. He’s known him for years on years and he knows when Will’s hiding something in plain sight.

He should’ve known. He should’ve picked up on all the clues that were there. Because now that’s it out, God it’s more obvious than ever. The way Will went silent when The Party started talking about their girlfriends. The way Will never even cared about the girls swarming over him.

The way his shoulders always loosened when Mike showed up, like his body had been waiting for permission to breathe.

The painting.

Mike’s chest tightens.

He hadn’t said anything at the time because he really didn’t think anything of it. The painting being from El sounded stupid to his ears now. Of course she didn’t, she couldn’t give a shit about D&D. She even told him that Will was making a painting. For someone he liked.

But Mike took it. He took the lie and went with it because that was better than—

Than what? his brain asks, unhelpfully.

Mike drags a hand down his face.

He hadn’t even thought about that painting until recently. When him and El broke up it had passed his mind briefly. He thought himself that maybe the painting was from El when she wanted to fix things. When she wanted to be with Mike.

But then him and El had to go into Camazotz. They only went in to try and get Will back — and it worked! — but they had to venture through Will’s mind since they couldn’t go straight into Vecna’s and… and there was some things that Mike felt was oddly private. Like he was scooping through all of Will’s most personal and secretive moments and he hated it. He hated feeling like he was spying on Will and finding out things Will never wanted anyone to find out.

But that was before Will came out.

Now Will had shared a part of him that Mike thought would never come out. He thought he’d had to pretend he never found out anything in Will’s mind and act clueless. But he didn’t have to do that anymore, because Will was brave enough to tell everyone. Will was brave. Will is brave. Brave.

Screw Mike the Brave. What about Will the Brave?

Anyway. hHe was getting lost in his thoughts. He was getting off track.

The painting.

Once Mike and El were in Will’s mind, Mike felt eerily unsettled. Mike remembers the way the world bent around them, how everything felt soaked in emotion instead of logic. It was like he could feel everything. Fear. Loneliness. Love so sharp it hurt.

Everything was dark and cold and scary, and El told him that was because Will was out cold. But still, it didn’t make it any better. Will, his lively, cheerful, amazing bestfriend. His mind didn’t look like this, no way.

There were some memories. Hallways that looked like Hawkins Middle after dark. The Byers’ living room, except it was dim and seemed dead. Castle Byers, half-rotted, boards splintered like bone. There was even a younger Will at a table, hunched over paper, tongue caught between his teeth as he painted carefully, carefully, like the world might end if he messed it up. The sight made him smile.

And then there was one room that stopped him cold.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t scream danger the way everything else did. It was quiet. Almost gentle. Too gentle to belong there.

A studio.

Will’s studio.

Mike hadn’t known what it was at first — just that the air felt different the second he stepped into it. Warmer. Safer. Like the world had exhaled. At first he and El thought that this was were Will was hiding out in his mind, but that proved to be wrong when Will was nowhere to be found.

The walls were lined with sketches, charcoal smudges and half-finished ideas, shapes layered on shapes. Figures in motion. Monsters, sure, but also people. Friends. Memories.

And at the center of it all, propped carefully against an easel like it mattered—

The painting. His painting.

Mike’s heart had stuttered, sharp and sudden, like he’d missed a step on the stairs.

He had looked over at El, expecting her to have a reaction. Anything. A look on her face or maybe a smile. But there was nothing.

She didn’t know anything about it.

Because it wasn’t what Will had said it was. El wasn’t apart of it. It wasn’t about El. It wasn’t subtle, either, once you really looked.

It was them.

The Party, sure — but arranged wrong. No, not wrong. Intentionally. Mike was there, unmistakably so, sword raised, standing just a little ahead of the others. Protective. The Heart, Will had told him. He was framed like the axis everything else tilted around. Light seemed to gather near him in the painting, warmer than anywhere else on the canvas.

And Will?

Will was painted closer to him than anyone. Not touching. Not dramatic. Just near. Like that was where he belonged.

Behind that painting, he noticed a figure. His eyes shot up immediately, thinking that maybe it was Will but… no. It wasn’t. It was—

Mike’s breath stuttered when the face became clearer.

Himself.

Not distorted or monstrous like so many other things were. Just… there. Standing a little taller than real life, colors warmer, eyes softer. The way Will saw him.

Mike remembers stopping short in that place, his stomach dropping through the floor as understanding hit him all at once. Chest tight, throat closing, thinking: Oh.

Oh.

El had noticed it too. He remembered the way she’d gone still beside him once Mike had frozen first, her eyes flicking from the painting to Mike’s face. She hadn’t said anything. Mike wasn’t sure if it was because El didn’t have any idea, or because she knew. But there’d been something unspoken in the air between them, fragile and sharp as glass.

Later — after — when they got Will back, when the relief drowned everything else — Mike had shoved the memory down. Labeled it not now. Filed it under later.

But now Will was across the room, smiling because he had just done the bravest thing Mike had ever seen anyone do. The sight made that memory flourish. Like it bloomed out of that not now label and told Mike himself— No.

Now the word Tammy sat in Mike’s chest like a live wire. Now every memory lined up in a way that made his hands shake. Mike exhales slowly, grounding himself by pressing his feet into the floor.

He was talking about me, his thought says quietly. Will likes me.

Well… liked.

Will’s confession replayed suddenly — even though it wasn’t even really a confession. Mike doesn’t know why he labeled it as that in his mind — And I… uh— I had this crush on… on someone even though I know— I know they’re not like me.

Had. Had. The word echoed in his mind. Had. Had. HadHadHadHadHad.

His gaze flicks back to Will without him meaning it to. He was laughing at something Dustin said, shoulders loose, eyes bright in a way Mike doesn’t see often enough. He looks lighter. Like he dropped something heavy he’s been carrying for years.

Had.

So that’s what was holding him back? Mike, was holding him back? He hated that thought even though it sounded reasonable. Mike was an asshole to Will, and he honestly didn’t blame him that Will had gotten over his crush.

But why did it feel so devastating? Why does it feel so heavy? There were best friends and the normal person would feel happy that he’d gotten over his crush. But he didn’t feel that way. He didn’t feel normal.

Mike feels like he’s holding it now.

Not the weight. The responsibility.

Because if Will was brave him enough to say it out loud — to come out, to sit there shaking and honest and real — then Mike doesn’t get to sit on this. He doesn’t get to pretend he didn’t notice. He doesn’t get to hide behind confusion.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck.

Okay. Okay.

He doesn’t know what this means yet. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with it. But he knows one thing with a clarity that scares the hell out of him:

He can’t not talk to Will. He can’t let this go, especially when they’re about to go and fight Vecna and everything feels so fragile and… as much as Mike doesn’t want to admit it. They could lose. Everything could be over and they could all be dead and that means he might never have the chance to talk to Will about this. He might never have the chance to talk to Will ever again. He’ll lose his chance forever. Lose Will forever.

Mike shifts forward on the couch, pulse quickening, eyes tracking Will’s back like he’s approaching a wild animal — but that’s not what this is. He’s approaching Will. His best friend. His childhood best friend. His childhood best friend that has (had) a crush on him.

That thought flutters something deep in his chest. In his heart.

Will. Will is here. Alive. Breathing. Standing ten feet away with his back turned towards Mike, talking quietly with Joyce.

Joyce is saying something gentle, her hand brushing Will’s arm. Will nods along, still a little overwhelmed, still soft around the edges like he hasn’t fully come back down to earth yet.

Before Mike can talk himself out of it, he strides over towards them. His legs feel unsteady, like they might give out, but he crosses the room anyway. Every step feels too loud. Too obvious. He stops just behind Will and hesitates for half a second — then reaches out and rests his hand on Will’s shoulder.

Will startles slightly, then relaxes when he realizes it’s Mike.

“Hey,” Mike says. His voice comes out quieter than he expects. He doesn’t even sound like him. “Uh… can I— can I steal you for a second?”

Will turns to him, eyes searching his face. There’s a flicker of nerves there, quick and instinctive, like he’s bracing for something. But he still nods.

“Yeah,” Will says. “Of course.”

Joyce glances between them, and gives Will a small, reassuring smile. “I’m gonna go check on El,” she says gently, already stepping away like she knows better than to linger.

As soon as she’s gone, Will shifts his weight, fingers fidgeting at his sleeve. “What’s up?” he asks.

Mike opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Shakes his head once. “Not— not here.”

Will blinks. “What?”

Mike doesn’t answer. He just reaches out, catches Will’s wrist — not tight, not forceful, just enough to anchor himself — and gently tugs him along.

“Mike—” Will starts, but he follows anyway, feet moving on instinct.

They weave past the others, past the noise and the music and the too-many-eyes, and Mike doesn’t stop until they’re outside, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft click.

The air is cooler out here. Quieter. The hum of cicadas fills the space where words should be.

Mike lets go of Will’s wrist, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them now. Will turns to face him, heart clearly beating too fast. “Okay,” he says softly. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Mike swallows.

“I know,” he says. “I’m— sorry. I just… I needed to talk to you and in there it was just...”

“I get it,” Will cuts him off with a reassuring smile. Mike returns it without even thinking twice.

Mike can tell Will is trying to be brave. His shoulders were tight but steady. He looked ready. Mike looks at him — really looks at him — and for a second, the world narrows down to just this. Will Byers, standing in front of him, brave and terrified and real. And Mike realizes there’s no going back now.

“So, um,” Will says simply. “Is this about—”

Mike doesn’t let him finish.

He throws himself towards Will and wraps his arms around him, quick and sudden, like the decision didn’t even pass through his brain first — just straight from his chest to his hands. Because he didn’t. Mike did not fucking mean to do that.

Will freezes for half a second.

Then he exhales, shaky, and melts into it.

Mike presses his forehead into Will’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. He clears his throat and when he speaks, his voice comes out rough. “That was brave. What you did back there. Like, really brave.”

Will’s fingers curl into the back of Mike’s jacket like he needs something solid to hold onto. “Thank you,” he exhales and it’s shaky. “Even though I didn’t feel brave.”

“I know,” Mike says immediately. “That’s— Yeah. that’s how I know it was.”

They stand there, just breathing, the night wrapping around them. Mike can feel Will’s heart racing through his chest, can feel the way he’s trying not to shake. Mike tightens his grip without even thinking about it, grounding them both.

“I’m really proud of you,” Mike adds quietly.

Will pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy but bright. “You are?”

“Yeah,” Mike nods. No hesitation. No second-guessing. “Yeah. I really am.”

There’s a beat. The cicadas buzz. The world keeps spinning.

Will swallows, backing up from him slowly and Mike can’t help but think: Fuck. “I mean, it wasn’t even really me. I had to do it.” Had. HadHadHad. “I didn’t want Vecna to… to use it, y’know?”

Mike shakes his head gently, even though it was mostly to shake his thoughts away. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Will asks, confused.

“Take it away from yourself,” Mike says. His voice is quiet but firm, like he’s anchoring something down. “You didn’t have to say anything. You chose to say it. That matters.”

Will looks down between them, jaw tight. “It didn’t feel like a choice.”

Mike hesitates, then reaches out again — not a hug this time — just his hand closing on Will’s shoulder softly, like he did earlier to get Will’s attention. “Maybe not. But it was still yours.”

Will lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in him for years.

“I was scared,” Will admits. “That if I didn’t say it, it would just… stay there. And he’d find it. And twist it. Like he always does.”

“He won’t,” Mike says instantly.

Will looks up, startled. “You don’t know that.”

Mike does, though. He feels it in his bones, in the way something fierce and protective has settled in his chest without asking permission. “He won’t get to,” Mike says instead. “It’s out and now… he can’t use it against you because damn near everyone knows. You know.”

Will blinks at those words, sucking in a breath. He looks at the ground between them once more, like he knows that not true. Like’s there’s something else. Something else that Vecna can use against him.

Mike is pretty sure he knows what it is.

Another silence stretches between them, heavier now — but not bad. Charged. Full.

Will wipes his thumb under his eye quickly, like he’s annoyed it dared to water. “So,” he says, attempting casual and failing miserably. “Was that… was that all you wanted to talk about?”

Mike’s stomach flips.

“No,” he says a little too fast and a little too honest. “I mean— yes. But also… not exactly.”

Will tenses just a fraction, and Mike hates that he caused it.

“Hey,” Mike says quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just—” He exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “My head’s kind of a mess right now.”

Will gives a small, understanding nod. “Yeah. Mine too.”

Mike laughs weakly at that. Then, before he can lose the nerve, he says, “Can we… not talk about it out here?”

Will blinks. “Not here?”

“Yeah. I just—” Mike glances back at the door, at the noise and the people and the weight of everything waiting on the other side. “Somewhere quieter?”

Will’s looks around them and then back at Mike, huffing a small laugh. Cute. The word springs into Mike’s mind. “Where else is there to go, Mike?”

Mike opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“My house,” he blurts.

Will stares at him. “Your— what?”

“My house,” Mike repeats, immediately wincing. “I mean— not like— I mean. I just— it’s close. And it’s quiet. And nobody’s there. My parents are still in the hospital and Nancy’s— doing Nancy stuff here and Holly’s not there obviously and—”

“Mike, Mike. Calm down.” Will chuckles softly. “I just…” he blinks, processing. “Right now?” he asks, incredulous but not… upset. “Everyone’s inside, Mike.”

“I know,” Mike says quickly. “I know. That’s why I thought— I mean, we don’t have to go. We can totally stay. Or we can talk later— actually, no. We should talk now because we might never— not never, that was a bad word choice—” He groans, dragging both hands down his face. “I just thought it might be… easier. Somewhere that isn’t full of people listening and— everything.”

There’s a pause.

Will studies him, really studies him. The way Mike’s shoulders are tight, the way his eyes keep flicking back to the door like he’s afraid it’s going to open and swallow them whole. The way he’s talking too fast, like if he slows down he might lose the nerve completely. Mike hates how he can feel Will’s eyes all over him and it makes him nervous. Nervous.

“Oh,” Will says softly.

Mike glances away briefly, bracing himself for a no. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. Really. I just— thought I’d ask.”

Will exhales. His shoulders loosen a little.

“Okay,” he breathes, like he’s testing the words. Then he nods, just once, echoing the words. “Okay.”

Mike’s head snaps up. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Will says, voice steadier than Mike feels. “Okay. We can go. Like… right now?” He glances back toward the Squawk.

Mike was planning on telling someone they were leaving, because that felt a little wrong, but now that Will’s saying it? Leaving without saying nothing doesn’t sound too bad. No one would know where they went and no one could come after them and they could take all the time they want and—

Mike stops his thoughts before they go any further. He swallows and nods. “Yeah. Right now.”

Will hesitates just a second longer, then crosses his arms. Is he cold? “Okay. Let’s go before I freak myself out.”

That earns a quiet, breathy laugh out of Mike. They slowly fall into step next to each other. Mike’s eyes are straight forward because he can’t seem to get the thought of his head that Will is right there next to him. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to not look or why the thought makes his stomach feel like he’s going down a drop on a rollercoaster. He’s not going to think about it, thought. Not with Will right there.

Without even realizing, Mike bumps into Will’s shoulder, earning a look from Will.

Will just answers by stepping closer.

They don’t talk while they walk. There’s something fragile about the quiet, like if Mike opens his mouth too soon everything he’s holding together will spill out at once. He needs to do this right. Right.

His house is only a few minutes away, but weirdly enough the walk feels like hours. Maybe that’s because they didn’t walk as fast. Or maybe that’s because tonight, it feels different. Charged. Like crossing a threshold.

Mike unlocks the front door, wincing out of habit, then remembers — no one’s home. No one will be home. While that thought should make Mike burst into tears, it doesn’t. His parents are in the hospital and Holly’s in the Upside Down and yet? The thought still makes his stomach light.

Alone. Here. With Will.

“See?” Mike says softly as they step inside. “Quiet.”

Will looks around like he’s seeing it for the first time. The couch. The stairs. The family photos on the wall. A place he knows so well it’s almost part of him.

“Shocker,” Will says sarcastically and it makes Mike laugh. Mike closes the door behind them. The click sounds louder than it should.

He hesitates in the entryway, suddenly unsure. At first he almost wants to go to his room. But that doesn’t feel quite right. Also because his room is destroyed. That thought comes suddenly. Oh yeah, he forgot about that. “Um. Basement?”

Will nods immediately. “Basement.”

They head down together. The stairs creak under their weight, the air cooling with each step. Mike reaches the bottom first and flicks the light on. The basement hums to life — posters on the walls, old D&D books stacked on the table, the couch pushed against the far wall like it’s waiting for them.

It feels… safe. Familiar. Like a place where big things have always happened.

Mike stops near the couch, and he spots a record player right by the couch. Hm.

He slowly crouches down in front of it, scanning through the records he has in a basket right under it. “How about I play some music?”

“Sure,” Will responds from behind him, and Mike can’t help but smile at his soft voice. He scans through all his records… and now all his records of his favorite albums suddenly seem bad to play. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself with his music taste. Even though he thought it was alright, Max and Lucas have told him otherwise.

But then, his ends land on one record. Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me by The Cure. The album seemed a little… romantic? But at the same time it felt so… right. And he knew the exact song to put on repeat.

He puts the record into place and places the needle on the 8th line, signaling the 8th song.

Just Like Heaven.

He doesn’t know why the song pops up into his head so suddenly. He doesn’t know why it feels so perfect, but it does.

Slowly, he stands up, turning to face Will. For a second, neither of them speaks.

This is it, Mike thinks. This is the moment where he either does this or chickens out forever.

He takes a breath.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “So. I’m probably gonna say this really badly.”

Will’s lips twitch, nervous but fond. “That’s kind of your thing.”

Mike snorts despite himself. Then his expression softens again.

“Um. Uh— So, like…” Mike stutters and he almost asks: Do you like me? (Even though that should be in past tense.) But he realizes that, no, that’s too fast. Not right. “Who’s… Tammy?” He says before he can stop himself.

Will freezes.

Not dramatically — not like he’s been struck by lightning or anything — but like something in him has gone very, very still. His smile falters, just a touch, and his fingers curl into the hem of his sleeve.

“Oh,” he says.

Mike’s stomach drops. “I— I’m not trying to, like— interrogate you or anything,” he rushes out. “I just— you said it, and I keep thinking about it, and I don’t really understand and I figured it was better to ask than to— you know. Wonder.”

“Tammy’s just…” He hesitates, then shakes his head. “It was a dumb way of explaining it. I didn’t want to say it straight out.”

Mike nods, encouraging, heart pounding. “Okay. You can take your time.”

Will swallows. “She was—” He winces slightly. “She was supposed to be a stand-in. Like, a safe name. Someone I could talk about without actually… talking about it. My friend… um. Tammy’s was their crush. They told me about it and… and it kind of helped me realize that I was going through the same thing with him.”

Mike’s chest tightens. “With… your crush?”

Will nods once. “Yeah.”

There it is. No turning back now.

“And when I said it was never really about him,” Will continues quietly, “I meant— I meant hiding myself behind him in a way. But… I didn’t need to do that because it wasn’t—” He stops, breath hitching, like the words are difficult to say. “It wasn’t his fault. He had nothing to do with it and… and I needed to accept myself instead of dwell on—”

Suddenly, Will stops, and that’s when Mike realizes his eyes are welling up with tears and he’s choking his words back, trying not to cry. Mike’s fingers twitch at his sides. He wants to reach out. He doesn’t. Not yet.

“Will. Will. I…” He doesn’t know what to say. Fuck, he’s so dumb. He should comfort Will. He had all these words and thoughts before he was with Will and now nothing? Nothing at all?

“I’m sorry,” Will lets out a shaky sigh. “I didn’t mean to cry. It’s just… a little— hard.”

Mike nods instantly. “No, no. I get it, don’t apologize.”

There’s a small silence between them suddenly, except for the occasional sniffle from Will’s side and Mike can’t help but fill the silence and ask his next question. He hopes this isn’t pushing it too much. He needs to be careful. Not because Will was fragile — God, he was anything but — It was only because he didn’t want to mess this up. Not now.

“Who… who is it? Who is he? Do I know him?” Mike asks softly, even though his heart already knows the answer. Even though it’s been screaming it at him for days.

Will doesn’t move. He just continues staring at his spot on the floor.

Mike thinks, fuck, he fucked this whole thing up and Will probably knows that he knows or thinks he teasing him or worse and now they’re probably not gonna talk about anything at all because—

“You.” The word drags Mike out of his thoughts and back into the present world, with Will.

The word lands between them, fragile and devastating and somehow inevitable.

He said it. Mike thinks, blinking slowly as their eyes are still connected. He said it. Mike should’ve known that Will was going to be honest because that was just Will. He was honest. He was brave. Because if Mike was in his position? He thinks he’d lie to Will. He’d lie and Will would probably never know that Mike’s been in love with him since they were kids, unless Will finds out like Mike did and honestly? Mike thinks Will’s so clever, he’d probably find out—

Wait, what?

Mike’s been in love with him since they were kids? When the fuck did that happen?

Mike blinks again, slower this time, forcing himself to breathe. His chest feels like it’s trying to expand and implode at the same time. Since they were kids? The thought is dizzying, and yet somehow it fits — every little memory of Will, every stupid fight over nothing, every time he stayed up waiting for him, every time he felt like his chest was too full just seeing Will smile… it all clicks.

“Oh,” he breathes. It comes out shaky. Honest.

Will rushes on, panic flickering across his face. “I— I know you don’t feel the same. I’m not saying you have to or that I expected anything, I just— you asked and I… you needed to know the truth. So I—”

“Will,” Mike says, cutting him off.

Will stops. His eyes flick up, wide and scared and hopeful in a way that makes Mike’s chest ache.

Mike steps closer before he can overthink it. “I’m not… freaked out,” he says carefully. “Just— surprised. And also not surprised at all. Which is… confusing.”

Will huffs out a weak laugh. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Mike rubs at the back of his neck. “I think—” He swallows. That’s wrong. “I knew. I’ve kinda been putting the pieces together recently.”

Will’s brows knit together. “You have?”

“Yeah,” Mike admits. “Um. I feel like the signs have always been kinda there. I just… when you said that Tammy thing it kinda put it all into perspective for me. That and…” he swallows, his throat suddenly feeling dry at the topic that comes next. He was in Will’s mind.

“And?” Will pressed, a little reluctant.

“When Me and El went to save you. In Camazotz.” He sighed.

“Yeah? What about it?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed and Mike’s stomach fluttered at the sight.

“Well… To get to Camazotz, we had to go through your mind, since we couldn’t really get straight into Vecna’s.” Will nods long and suddenly, the look on his face drops, and Mike thinks that he probably realized where this was going. “So… while we were there it was just… really dark. And El said it was because you were knocked out but… but I… I don’t know. It was just scary. And there were memories. Not a lot, but some. And one was…”

Mike takes a breath before he continues, almost like the words were taking the breath out of his chest.

“It was like this studio. An art studio. There was a lot of your paintings there. One’s that I’ve never even seen before. And um… the painting you gave me was there too. The one from Nevada, in the van. It was there and it looked like… special. Like, it was up on a pedestal and then I saw—” He stops himself, eyes widening slightly. “That stuff seemed private. So… I’m sorry I saw it but…”

“Mike.” Will sighs out, and he’s not looking at him anymore. Damn it. “I’m sorry you had to see all that. I… I didn’t want you to find out that way. I mean, I didn’t even want you to find out at all.” He chokes out, and then Will’s eyes are back — this time even more clouded. Why was he apologizing? “I thought I’d go to my grave with this. This… stupid, silly crush.” He chuckles a sad laugh from his throat, and Mike hates it.

Stupid, silly crush. Mike was just a stupid, silly crush. Because Will had this stupid, silly crush on him but he got over it because Will’s just strong like that. Brave. Strong. And… everything Mike doesn’t deserve.

“I lied you to about the painting because I thought it was what you wanted to hear and… and it was. It worked. It helped beat Vecna. But—” Will sniffled. “But… El never commissioned it.” He said shaky, and it finally confirmed everything in Mike’s mind. Well, he already knew but, it was good to hear it aloud. “She thinks that about you— She does! I know she does. But, I just… I did too. And I’m sorry.”

Mike’s chest aches. Did.

“Hey— no,” he says quickly, stepping closer before Will can retreat any further into himself. “Me and El—” he exhales, the words heavy but not painful in the way he thought they’d be. “We broke up. Kind of. A while ago. Before all of this. It wasn’t… bad. We sort of just grew apart after everything happened in California.” He shakes his head. “So when you told me it was from her, I didn’t— I didn’t think it was weird. I just thought… okay. That makes sense. And then when me and El weren’t… us, anymore, I just thought she had commissioned it when she wanted to make things right between us.”

Will opened his mouth to say something else, but Mike spoke before he could. “But it didn’t make sense anyway. I… I should’ve known in the van. That it wasn’t from her, she barely even knows anything about D&D.” He shakes his head in disbelief. Disbelief of how dumb he was. “I was dumb back then, but I’m trying to make it better. This, better.”

That lands. Mike can see it land — in the way Will’s breath catches, in the way his shoulders go slack like he’s been holding something up for way too long.

“For what it’s worth… I don’t think it’s stupid. Or silly.” Mike said before he could think about it. Because that was the truth. It wasn’t stupid or silly. Mike wasn’t stupid or silly, not anymore.

Silence stretches between them, thick but not uncomfortable. The cicadas buzz. Somewhere down the street, a car passes. Okay, Shit, did he say the wrong thing? Will’s silent.

“You didn’t imagine it,” Mike continues, voice shaking now but he doesn’t stop. “The painting is special. It always was. I just— I didn’t understand why yet. Not fully. I mean I think… I think I knew. I just didn’t let myself know.” He laughs under his breath, nervous and raw. “I’m kind of an idiot.”

Will huffs a quiet, incredulous sound. “You’re not.”

“I am,” Mike insists gently. “But— I’m trying to be less of one.”

There’s a silence. Not an awkward one. A fragile, careful one.

“Now that I… understand...” Mike says, slower now, choosing every word. “I know why it’s special. Because… because it’s from you. Everything was from you. And… and… that feels better than it being from El. Like, way better.”

Will’s throat bobs. He looks down for a second, then back up, eyes shining. his voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Mike doesn’t answer right away. He looks at Will — really looks at him — and something settles in his chest. Something warm. Familiar.

“I think you know.”

He hopes he being clear enough. Because he doesn’t think he can say it. Not aloud. He barely fucking said the word in this thoughts just minutes ago.

The space between them feels suddenly charged, like the air itself is holding its breath. Mike doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or not. Then, Will swallows and he realizes. Okay, maybe he’s not. His hands are loose at his sides, fingers twitching like they’re resisting the urge to reach out and his heart is beating so loudly he’s convinced Will can hear it.

“You think I know,” Will says quietly. His words are careful, like if he says the wrong thing, this fragile moment might shatter.

Mike swallows. His eyes flick to Will’s mouth and then back up again. He didn’t mean to do that. His eyes just flicked down without meaning too and suddenly, they’re down there again. And now he’s too aware of what he’s looking at because fuck, Will’s lips are slightly parted, a little red from all the crying he had been doing and— yeah. Fuck.

“I—” Mike starts, then stops, looking back up. He lets out a shaky breath and laughs once, breathless. “God. I’m really bad at this.”

Will lets out a small, almost hysterical huff. “You don’t say.”

That earns him a smile. A real one. Soft and nervous and undeniably fond.

Mike steps closer. Not much. Just enough that Will can feel the warmth of him now, can smell the faint detergent on his clothes, can feel the gravity pulling them together whether either of them is ready or not.

“I think,” Mike says slowly, like he’s building courage word by word, “that I’ve been lying to myself for a long time. About a lot of things.”

Will’s breath catches.

“And I don’t want to. Not anymore. Not when everything—” He gulps. “Not when everything could go wrong. I— I… I don’t want to have any regrets.” He blinks and he hopes that Will understands.

Will just stares back, and then nods. Once.

Mike exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.

And suddenly, he’s lifting his hand — slow, hesitant — and stops just short of touching Will’s arm, like he’s asking permission without words.

Will doesn’t pull away.

Mike’s thumb brushes Will’s sleeve. Just fabric. Just barely there. But it sends a jolt straight through Will’s chest, lights something up that’s been waiting in the dark for a very long time.

They’re close now. Really close. Mike can see the little mole under Will’s eye and can study the exact curve of his cupid’s bow. Too close to pretend this is just friendly. Mike’s gaze drops again before he can help himself.

Hopefully Will gets the hint because he really wants to kiss him right now. Like, really fucking bad. But then, suddenly he remembers something. The past tense. Had. Did. Did Will even still like him?

“Just… to be clear.” Mike mumbles and Will lets out a little hum in response. “I— you still like your Tammy… right? I’m just— making sure. Y’know. Because you did say that you had a crush on him. Not… have.”

Will doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t pretend this is a misunderstanding.

He just looks at Mike — really looks at him — like Mike has finally said the thing he’s been waiting years to hear.

“Of course,” Will says quietly.

Mike’s breath catches.

“I don’t think I ever stopped,” Will continues, voice steady in a way that makes Mike’s chest ache. “I just… figured I had to. If I convince myself that it was just a silly crush, I didn’t have to tell you and Vecna still wouldn’t use it against me.” He swallows. “But… yeah. I still like my Tammy.” His lips twitch, just barely. “I think I always will.”

Mike’s heart is pounding in his ears and his jaw tightens despite himself and he can feel his stomach flutter once more and he finally knows what it is. After all these years.

The world seems to narrow down to this moment. The cicadas fade. The house behind them might as well not exist.

Mike leans in.

So does Will.

It’s slow. Careful. Like they’re both terrified of moving too fast and ruining it. Their foreheads nearly touch. Will can feel Mike’s breath now — warm, uneven, real.

“Mike,” Will whispers, not to stop him. Just… saying his name. It felt like a prayer to Mike’s ears. Will saying his name like that. Like it was a mercy. His eyes flick up, searching Will’s face one last time. Making sure. Always making sure.

Because this was right. He wanted this to be right and everything finally felt right.

Somewhere in the background, Mike faintly hears Just Like Heaven replay in the background. He had forgot he put that in. How many times has it even played? He honestly doesn’t care because everything feels perfect. The song in his ears and Will right in front of him. A perfect match.

Suddenly Will’s nose brushes his and— Yes. Yes. This is perfect. Amazing. Everything feels so right.

Mike’s eyes flick to Will’s mouth. Back to his eyes. Back again.

This is it. This is really it.

And then—

“Mike? Will?”

The door at the top of the stairs creaks open.

Both of them jerk back like they’ve been shocked, the space between them snapping open all at once. Mike looks up quickly, heart in his throat, to see Lucas halfway out the door, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Oh,” Lucas says slowly, looking between them. “Cool. So this is where you guys ran off to.”

Will’s face is burning. Mike’s probably matches.

“Are you two okay?” Lucas asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Uh—” Mike starts.

“We were just talking,” Will blurts at the exact same time.

Lucas squints harder. “… Right.”

There’s a beat. Then Lucas shrugs. “Anyway. You both disappeared and we were doing a headcount, but then we realized you guys had left.” He pauses. “So a couple of us went out looking for you, and I thought you’d be here so…”

Mike and Will both freeze.

Lucas grins, clearly clocking something, then turns back inside. “Let’s get going then, chop chop. I’ll be outside.” he adds, way too knowingly, before shutting the door again.

Silence rushes back in.

Mike lets out a shaky laugh. “Wow. Timing.”

Will exhales, half-laughing too, half-dying. “Yeah.”

They stand there, closer than before but not touching now, the moment still humming between them — unfinished, but not gone.

“We should go,” Will sighed and fuck. He really wanted that kiss. “Before they start worrying more than they probably alright are. I’m… I’m glad we talked. Before everything went down. Really.”

Mike meets Will’s eyes again, softer this time. “Yeah, me too. Like, really fucking glad. Everything feels…” Perfect. Amazing. Just like heaven. The song is still playing in the background and Mike can’t help but cringe at the fact that Lucas probably heard it.

Will gives him a slight chuckle and Mike loves it. Soaks it in. And when his laughing dies down, a smile forms on his face. He grabs Mike’s hand loosely and leads him up the stairs.

And if this it was it’s gonna be like — Mike doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. They should’ve been doing this the whole time. Mike knows he’s gonna fight really fucking hard because he can’t lose this when he’s now just got a taste.

A taste of heaven. Even without a kiss, it feels like something has already changed — something real, something warm, something that’s not going away. It feels like heaven. Just like heaven.

Will is just like heaven. This is just like heaven.