Chapter Text
"...I needed to find my own way. But what matters is that you're still here, and you still think we can be friends."
A wave of dizziness hits Mike, and when that lightheadedness doubles as he locks eyes with Will, he doesn't think it was from how high up they are.
Friends.
Something about that seems wrong to him. "Friends" was a word you used to describe Dustin and Lucas. Not Will. The word was too shallow, too trivial to describe the relationship they've built, ever since that fated day on the playground.
He can't even remember a time when he thought of them as just "friends". Their relationship had always been special, in a way that Mike, deep down, knew he would never find with someone else.
"And what about us, Mike?"
"We're friends! We're friends."
That memory, even just the thought of staying "friends" feels so unnatural that it makes his stomach churn. The words come tumbling out of him before he even realizes his mouth is open.
"Friends? No thanks."
Just as quickly as his courage came, it abandoned him again. His voice is lost, now just a lump in his throat, and he wants to curse his impulsivity. I mean, what am I going to say? Best friends? Just the thought was preposterous to him. Even the highest level of friendship wasn't enough to describe them. A thought that has been shoved far into the depths of his mind threaten to arise. Maybe it isn't friendship at all. It terrifies him.
But for the first time, he can see it now, his future if he stays silent. Raised in a conservative, republican family, he's always known that, while his family (maybe just his sisters and mother, really) loved him, there were some things they just wouldn't understand: how his hugs with Will always lasted a second too long, or the way his eyes followed him as he left a room. He knows that if he continues down this path, hiding away from who he really was, allowing Will the believe that was all they ever could be, Mike would wind up just like his parents. Stuck in a loveless relationship that slowly drained all the colour out of his life, eating away at everything he holds dear, leaving nothing but an empty shell of himself. Living on as a ghost, until the regret finally caught up and choked him to death. That future scares him more than anything else.
And he knows that if he doesn't do something now, he might never get the chance to again.
"You're the heart, Mike."
And for once, it seems that the fog has been lifted from Mike's eyes, and he can finally see, really see the boy in front of him. Will. Will, who is strong, and smart, and gorgeous, who's heart seems to hold so much love for the world that its overflowing. Will, who continues to try and fight and accept, even after experiencing traumas that Mike was sure, if burdened on himself, would reduce him to nothing but a collapsed pile of shriveling madness. Will, who is still staring at him.
The silence between them is stretching now, longer than normal, and that's when Mike focuses on the hazel hues that bear into his soul, and sees a mirror of himself. They both stare at each other, as if they were ships in the middle of a thunderstorm, with each other as the only lifeline to the world. Will searches for that something in Mike's eyes, and can feel the walls he's built up slip away under his gaze. The thousands of times he has denied, lied and punished himself for his thoughts start barrelling down like a snowball, until his emotions turn into an avalanche, and Mike can feel himself, finally, fall.
For once, Mike decides to follow his heart.
He's reaching before Will before he can stop himself. The gap between them is closed so suddenly that Will stumbles back in surprise before the arms around him pull him closer.
The hug feels like a thousand unsaid words. It's a beacon of light in the cold of the upside down, warm and tight and Mike is clinging onto him as if they were the only beings in the universe, face pressed into the crook of Will's neck like an apology. A way to beg for forgiveness for all the times he's hurt him, sidelined and ignored him to focus on any distraction he could find, following the voice in his head that tells him to shove his love in a box and bury it in himself forever.
"Mike..?" Will asks, arms wrapping around Mike tentatively. "Are you okay?"
The tears that brim Mike's eyes threaten to spill. Even in the middle of an apocalypse, when he is about to face the monster that tortured him, Will still worries for him.
It's all too much for his brain, and Mike doesn't think he's ever felt this confused before. Millions of thoughts whirl around his head, but he tries to push past the voices of his father, the ones that scream at him to be normal, and reaches for the whisper that tells him to stay close to Will. Because how could something so good ever be wrong?
"I love you, Will." Mike feels the arms around him flinch in shock, reacting to this uncharacteristic bout of honesty, and he's rambling before he can stop himself. "Meeting you on the playground was the best choice I've ever made, and when I lost you the first time around, I didn't even know what to do with myself. The day we got you back, it was like I was reborn, and I think I've loved you ever since, even if I didn't know it. And I'm sorry for all the times I avoided you in Lenora. I was so stupid, pushing away the one person that's stuck with me since the beginning. You've been one of the most important people in my life for so, so long, and I know we're in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse and this is a really shitty time to be talking, but I promise, when this is over, we'll talk. Just please, please don't leave."
Mike feels like he's opened a door that can never be closed again, and he knows that something between them has changed. The feeling that they've never spoken about, the one that they've danced around for years, are, for the first time, coming to light, and Mike hopes that this change, whatever it is, can be good.
He tears himself out of Will's arms and turns away, too scared to try to look for a confirmation in Will's expression lest he be faced with rejection, and he's climbing up the ladder before Will can reply, before he does something stupid like break down in tears or, god forbid, answer that feeling in his chest and try to kiss him.