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Hawkins felt quieter after everything that had taken place.
Not necessarily peaceful, but emptied out.
It felt like the aftermath of a house party where everyone had rushed out too quickly, drunkenly leaving their belongings behind with no intention of retrieving them. The streets were relatively the same. The Wheeler’s… overcrowded, but the same. Will’s clothing was the same, though it felt heavier – as if it were carrying the burdens that he hoped to one day leave behind.
Mike noticed Will's strange behavior first, as per usual, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back against the bed. He stared absentmindedly at the stack of old sketchbooks shoved underneath his desk, untouched since the move. He figured that this would be a good place to start.
“Are you ever gonna draw again?” Mike asked, attempting casual conversation.
Will, lying on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands, simply shrugged. “I… do. I just – don’t parade my art as much. Things are... a bit different now.” He slightly frowned, aware that his sketches lay worthless within his books. Perhaps that was for the best, he liked to maintain at least some control within his turbulent lifestyle.
Mike waited, but Will didn’t elaborate much beyond that, at least verbally.
This had become a noticeable pattern between the two. Although the streets felt frozen in time – calm amongst the storm – there was a clear difference in the party’s dynamics. Ironically, the one thing they had all wished to be stagnant.
Not only was this change taking place between the boys, but it had been roughly three weeks since Mike and El broke up… There was no yelling, no dramatic slamming of doors… just a quiet, painful conversation that had ended with no tears even. The two of them simply agreed that maybe – just maybe – they both needed space. Mike replayed this moment in his head a million times over, as if there was a lost puzzle piece he could discover and place if he listened closely enough. If there was some way that he could just rewind time and fix the originally unnoticed mistake.
He hadn’t told Will the full details, not yet. He was just as guilty when it came to continuing this persistent uncommunicative pattern.
It should fix itself - or at least it always had before between the two.
Most of the house was out again, grocery runs and training sessions stacking up now that Hawkins was trying to pretend nothing bad had ever happened. Jonathan, being one of the only ones typically home at this hour, was out as well… Probably out with Nancy, at least generally speaking. If both of them were gone, it was safe to assume the two were at least keeping each other company. It left the house unnaturally quiet, silent even, in a way that pressed against your ears. It was like an unavoidable pressure, forcing the boys to muster up some sort of conversation in order to keep them from thinking too much.
Mike dragged his index finger along rough the edge of one of the sketchbooks, bored out of his mind. “Do you think… people can mess things up, even when they’re trying really hard not to...?” He kept his eyes glued to the spine of the book, continuing, “Like an art piece, I guess… or – I meant.”
Will’s fingers stilled, wondering if this is what Mike really was insinuating. If so, he was really pressing this whole art thing.
“I mean… Yeah.” He said carefully, a small idea of what was running through his friend's head other than Will's blunders. “I think – sometimes that’s just when it happens.” He tried to offer up some sort of subtle consolation, his eyebrows knitting together in thought.
Mike exhaled, a humorless huff. “Great.”
Will rolled onto his side to face him. “Is this about El?”
Mike didn’t answer right away, which was answer enough. Especially between the two of them - sometimes things didn't need to be said in order to be understood.
“I didn’t mean to,” he spoke finally. “Mess it up, I mean. I thought – if I just said the right things, did the right things, it would work. But I always.. um…” Mike couldn’t even find the right words to say now, stammering as he vented his frustrations to Will. “Freeze. Or say dumb stuff… or even say some things too late.” His fingers had stilled as well at this point, lingering over Will’s shaky signature at the bottom of the sketchbook. He could tell it was rushed, probably written before the move in order to simply keep up with it.
Will’s chest tightened in a way he was getting very good at ignoring, a painful empathy toward what Mike was expressing. He nodded softly before offering his reassurance, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He believed that, even if Mike didn’t.
Mike shook his head. “That’s what everyone says, but something had to go wrong. People don’t just… stop being in love.” He furrowed his brow, bringing his palms up to burrow his face in a frustrated manner. These things were awfully confusing to him – he could figure out a million ways to go against creatures that come from an entire dark, decaying world paralleling their own, but teenage love was a whole different ballgame for him. It made him feel lost, clueless even.
Will swallowed hard. The room felt smaller for him, suddenly. He could hear the clock in the hallway clicking too loud, too steady. He was too stuck in his own head to properly respond, momentarily thinking about his own pathetic love life.
Mike laughed under his breath, snapping Will outside of this headspace that he often found himself trapped within. “I don’t even know how to start anymore. Like – what if I meet someone new, and I just–” He brought his head up, gesturing helplessly. “Do the same thing. Mess it up, again.”
Will stared at the carpet, his heartbeat feeling trapped within his throat.
“Maybe… you just need practice.” He said, the words coming out before he could think them through.
Mike blinked, cluelessly. “Practice?”
Will’s face burned. He forced himself to keep talking before Mike could ask too many questions, before he could nervously back down himself. “I mean – like – people don’t just know how to do stuff automatically. You practice everything else, right? Like.. D&D, talking to people, even apologizing.”
Mike raised a brow, almost offended by this suggestion. “You want me to… practice apologizing?”
“No–” Will laughed, a little too fast. “I mean – kissing. Or… whatever. Starting things.” He felt his voice nearly crack at the end of his sentence, a sudden heavy implication behind his words.
The room felt too quiet, too cautious.
Mike stared at him like he was trying to solve another puzzle – which he seemed notoriously bad at by this point. “With you?” He asked, finally breaking the overpowering silence.
Will shrugged, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “I’m... safe. I won’t like… judge you. And I won’t tell anyone. Besides… I’ve never kissed anyone either. It’d just be – practice.”
Mike opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was once more struggling to find the words to say.
Will felt the silence of the entire house weighing in on him now, the proximity between him and Mike feeling suddenly unbearable. His mind was screaming at him to take it back, to laugh it off… say he was joking. He thought of Lonnie’s voice, sharp and seething, telling him that boys didn’t do things like that. He thought of the way that Joyce often shielded him, the way that she insisted that he was allowed to be soft – to be himself.
He thought of the rain, of Mike’s face twisted with anger and hurt, of the words that had landed like a slap even though Will knew they weren’t meant to.
'It’s not my fault that you don’t like girls.'
The memory burned away and faded into the present, too many thoughts crowding the space within his head. Mike wasn’t aware of the weight that these words carried, anyway. It’s like he said earlier, sometimes he just said dumb stuff without thinking. Will did the same, leading them to their current position. He couldn't blame him too much.
“I mean,” Will added wearily, “only if you want to. You don’t have to, of course. It was just a throwaway idea…”
Mike rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, “No. No, I–” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He couldn't let himself sound too excited, nor too withdrawn. “I think… that might actually help.”
Will’s heart dropped and soared at the same time, a sudden overwhelming juxtaposition between excitement and regret. Had he really suggested this after the previous thoughts he'd had regarding his best friend? Maybe now was the best time to back out, to claim the joking position he contemplated once before. This could only complicate things, could only-
“Okay,” Mike interrupted his thoughts, nodding like he was convincing himself as well. “Yeah. We can – practice as friends.” He was certain that some friends had done this before, this was... probably normal. Just as Will said, you practice everything else in life.
“As friends,” Will echoed.
They both sat there, staring at one another, neither of them moving. How had they ended up here again?
“So,” Mike rejoined eventually. “Do we, uh… set rules? Like D&D, of course…”
Will nodded, a little too eagerly perhaps. “Rules are good.”
“Okay,” Mike said, counting on his fingers as he spoke the guidelines into existence. “Rule one: if it gets weird, we stop.”
“Okay.”
“Rule two: this doesn’t mean anything.”
Will flinched, just slightly. “Okay,” he said anyway, wondering if Mike could see right through him.
“And rule three,” Mike added finally, “we don’t tell anyone.”
“Okay.”
They stared at one another again, both of them listening - not to the room, but to the sound of their own rapid heartbeats. Each was certain that the thumps were loud enough to give them away, that the other could hear them if they listened closely enough.
“This is a terrible idea,” Mike's lips moved before his thoughts could catch up, a dazed look on his face as his eyes traced up and down Will’s facial features – particularly his lips… which was… normal, given the topic at hand.
“Probably,” Will simply agreed, eyes glued to Mike’s.
Even so, neither of them attempted to stop themselves, readjusting until they were both sat up on Mike’s bed. Their backs were now against the headboard, knees brushing against one another. Mike kept bouncing his leg, and Will kept pretending not to notice. They had been in this position before, only reading comics, their racing hearts caused by the climax of a story rather than the soft cracks between their best friend’s lips.
“So,” Mike said. “How do people… usually start?”
Will thought about every movie he’d ever watched, every half-remembered scene, every stolen glance he’d tried not to hold too long. “I think... you’re just supposed to lean in. You’ve at least kissed El before, right?” He quipped.
Mike nodded quickly, a sudden blush dusted along his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “Right. Leaning.” He took a moment to compose himself before leaning in a little too fast, jerking back abruptly when he felt their noses awkwardly bump. He quickly brought his hand up to rub the bridge of his own, feeling like an inexperienced pre-teen all over again. “Shit – Sorry. Too fast.”
Will had latched onto his own nose as well, letting out a genuine chuckle… “No,” He said quickly, “It’s fine… practice.”
When they both had enough time to regain their composure, they tried again – slower this time. Will focused on breathing. On not shaking. On not thinking about how close Mike was, how familiar and unfamiliar it all felt at once.
When it happened – brief, soft, barely anything at all – it still felt like the world tilted.
Mike pulled back at barely a peck, unnerved by the intense flutter in his chest and the heat in his cheeks that seemed to fog his brain. “Was that – okay?” It was different with Will than he thought it would be, more real than he had intended.
“Yeah,” Will said. His voice sounded far away, disconnected from his own body. As if he was dreaming this up and couldn't realistically find a way to respond. “That was… fine.”
Mike frowned. “Just fine?”
“I mean-” Will swallowed. He was trying to downplay his feelings, to not sound too excited. He didn't mean to necessarily critique Mike's kissing skills, after all it had just been a peck. “It was good, but practice.”
“Oh.” Mike nodded. “Right. Practice.”
They tried again, and then again, each time stopping to overthink it. Mike asked too many questions. Will answered too carefully.
On the third attempt, Will pulled away first.
He suddenly felt the significance regarding two of the three rules aforementioned.
It had started to grow more heated without either quite noticing the shift taking place. Mike's leg had been bouncing before from pure nerves, but at some point the restless motion transferred into something else entirely - a need, an energy that had gradually bled upward and outward. His lips lingered longer against Will's now, moving with more intention, less caution, like he had stopped counting the seconds between breaths.
Will felt it immediately. The change. The way the kiss stopped being careful and turned more consuming.
Mike's hand came up to Will's cheek, cool from the air in the room and abrupt against his hot, flushed skin. The contrast made Will inhale sharply, his fingers curling into the fabric gathered at Mike's waist as if to steady himself.
For a moment, everything seemed to narrow to that point of contact.
Without thinking - which increasingly seemed to define most of their choices - Mike shifted closer. The angle changed. His lips moved in a way that wasn't accidental, wasn't careless, but still unmistakably a question. His tongue brushed tentatively against Will's soft lips, not demanding - but asking.
Permission.
Will's body responded before his mind could catch up, heat pooling low in his chest, his heartbeat stuttering hard enough that he was sure Mike could feel it. He parted slightly on instinct, breath catching between them...
Only – Will wasn’t ready.
Wanting something didn't mean that he was ready for it.
The realization hit fast and sharp, cutting through the haze that now congested the room. His hand tightened reflexively against Mike's side, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away - but simply holding on.
Mike felt it immediately.
He stilled, pulling back just enough to look at Will, an apology already forming in his mind before he could speak. He knew that he had gone too far, gotten too carried away, just as he always had.
“I think – that’s probably enough,” Will said suddenly, standing up far too quickly. “For today.”
Mike looked disappointed, and Will hated himself for noticing.
“Yeah,” Mike quietly agreed. “Probably.”
...
They didn’t talk much after that.
They watched TV with the volume low, sitting further apart.
When Mike eventually fell asleep in his bed, Will messily threw the blankets over top of him, moving almost suspiciously silent down to the basement where he slept. He felt guilty, as if he were invading a space where he didn't belong, even more-so than before.
Will lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, wondering how something so small could feel so heavy.
...
The next day was worse.
Mike was quieter. Will was distant. Every glance felt loaded, like it carried a question neither boy was brave enough to ask. Every silence stretched until it felt intentional. It wasn't necessarily loud or dramatic, but worse in the way that it settled underneath the skin and stayed there, like a bruise that's continuously pressed without intention.
Will told himself that it was fine, that this was normal. That this was exactly what he had expected when he agreed to help in the first place - even so, it didn't ease the tightness in his chest.
By the time evening rolled around again, Mike couldn’t take it anymore. He followed Will down the hallway without quite deciding to, the words clawing at the back of his throat until he could no longer contain them. After losing him once to California, he was certainly not going to lose him again. He couldn't take the distance that seeped between each crack unmistakably formed.
“Did I do something wrong?” Mike asked in an accusatory whisper once he could catch up, stopping Will just short of the bathroom door.
Will froze.
It certainly wasn't subtle either, his shoulders rigid as if he were caught mid-thought. For a moment, Mike wondered if he should take it back - pretend he hadn't said anything at all. He didn't quite feel unreasonable, but he certainly felt somewhat self-conscious.
“No…” Will said automatically, his eyebrows knitted together.
Mike crossed his arms, the familiar defensive posture settling in before he could bring himself to prevent it. “Well, it certainly feels like I did.”
Will bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of how to answer this… He stared past Mike's shoulder, anywhere but his face, his thoughts tangled between one another. In reality, Mike hadn't done anything wrong. He did exactly what they had agreed on. He hadn't pushed. He hadn't assumed. They practiced.
“Well, you didn’t." Will said finally, forcing himself to speak up. "You did exactly what you said you would.” The words sounded hollow, even to his own ears.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
The words landed harder than Mike probably meant them to.
Will felt something crack open in his chest.
He sucked in a breath that felt as if it scraped his throat on the way down. “Because,” he said, voice shaking despite his best efforts to keep it steady, “I don’t know, Mike. Just - give me a break. I need a minute to... get over it.”
Mike’s brow furrowed. “Get over what?”
The hallway suddenly felt too narrow. Will turned his gaze to the wall, staring at the faded paint. At the place where a shadow used to stretch too far at night, where Mike and Will giggled as kids staying up past their bed times to run through campaigns. He wondered what they would think, if they could somehow see the futures ahead of them. What all would they have done differently?
“It’s hard to explain.” He said quietly, barely a whisper.
Mike watched him closely. The way Will's shoulders caved in on themselves, the way his hands curled inward like he was bracing for something. And finally, something shifted. Mike understood, somewhat, at least. A painful awareness.
“Oh,” Mike said.
The word slipped before he could stop it.
Pieces had began to click together, slow and painful, like a puzzle he hadn't realized he'd been working on for months. One that he had lost the motivation for in between sections and later revisited. California. The painting Will had held as if it were something so fragile, so important. The way he'd hesitate at every step forward, as though he were always waiting for permission that never came.
“Oh,” Mike said again, softer this time.
Will squeezed his eyes shut, unaware of how far Mike's thoughts had gone, how much ground he was covering all at once. “I didn’t... mean for it to be a big thing," he said quickly, like he was afraid the silence would swallow him whole. "I just – wanted to help. That’s what I’m good at, Mike, right? Helping. Being useful.”
The words tasted familiar. Old.
“That’s not–” Mike took a step closer, stopping halfway, hoping to comfort him. “That’s not all you are, Will.” He sounded weak now, almost defeated. His accusatory tone had melted away, softening at the edges.
Will laughed weakly, embarrassed, hearing Lonnie’s voice echoing somewhere in the back of his head. Telling him not to be so sensitive, to not make things harder than they needed to be. “Whatever…” Will muttered, shrugging like it didn't matter.
It did, Mike could tell this time.
It was familiar to the way Will had looked at him in the rain, only reminding Mike of all the words he wished he could take back. With El, with Will… Of how often Will had stepped aside, making himself smaller, allowing himself to be second countless times without fail. How the party had finally grown without him, finally reforming into Hellfire Club only when he was gone.
How long had he misread the situation?
“I didn’t want to practice for someone else,” Mike blurted out before he could talk himself down or storm off prematurely.
Will looked up.
“I mean – I thought I did." Mike rushed on, like he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he paused. "But it felt wrong. Like I was… pretending. I don’t know. Maybe I’m misreading this again...”
Will’s breath caught. Mike couldn’t seem to breathe enough, his chest tight and lungs refusing to cooperate. Panic hovered just beneath the surface as he waited for Will to pull away completely.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Mike continued. “But I know I don’t want to mess things up by lying anymore. Not with you.”
Silence filled the space between them, thick and suffocating. Neither of them moved, neither of them looked away. A similar positioning from the day before, only more perceptive.
“So..” Will said at last, his voice barely audible, “What are you suggesting, then?”
Mike hesitated. His mouth twitched, nerves flickering across his face before he smiled – small, nervous, real.
“Maybe,” he said carefully, “we stop… practicing.”
Will nodded slowly. His chest felt lighter and heavier all at once, like something had been lifted and replaced all at the same time. His gaze stayed locked on Mike’s, a tender look that was unmistakable, impossible to miss.
“Yeah,” Will spoke softly, his cautious smile matching Mike's. “I think that’s a good idea.”
They stood there, not touching, not moving, but closer than they’d ever been.
Outside, Hawkins stayed deceptively the same.
Inside, something new and fragile had begun to take shape.
And for the first time in a long while, Will let himself believe that maybe – just maybe – he didn’t have to earn being chosen.