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Mike gets one final look at Holly and her friends before he closes the door behind him, albeit a bit too loudly. He wipes the last of his tears from his face as he makes his way to the dining room, where he can hear his friends bickering and talking, a sound that’s become familiar, a constant background noise in their now seemingly normal lives.
The rest of the party are all already seated in their unofficial respective places at the table as they begin serving themselves lasagna. Mike takes a seat to Will’s right, as he always does, and swiftly cuts out a large portion for himself, knowing that Lucas will soon scrape the bottom of the pan for the last few remaining bites. Across from him, Dustin is shoveling down forkfuls of food like someone’s going to steal it from him, something Steve is prone to doing.
“Dude, chill out, you’re going to choke if you don’t slow down,” Max chimes from her seat next to Lucas, eyeing Dustin with annoyance and a twinge of concern.
“I’m hungry,” replies Dustin, his mouth full of half-chewed lasagna.
“Gross, man, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Lucas nags, quickly followed by the hums of support from the rest of the party.
“Whatever man, Mrs. Wheeler’s food is goddamn delicious and I’m not wasting my time not eating it,” is his final reply before he resumes eating his food like he’s a man starved.
Will looks at Mike and shakes his head with a soft huff of exasperation. Mike looks back at him and smiles fondly, he can’t help but agree with him. Max watches with horror as he swallows it down with a cold glass of milk. He swears he can almost see her suppress a gag.
“Well, if you’re so full, I guess you guys won’t be wanting any of the cake I made to celebrate graduation, then?” Mike says, taunting Dustin and his sweet tooth.
“What, another flourless cake?” Will replies.
“That was once! One time!” Mike shouts, but the grin he’s sporting betrays the annoyance in his voice. So does the fond look he shoots Will.
“You sure you didn’t forget any ingredients this time, Martha Stewart?” Max teases.
“Fine then! Cake for no one!” Mike exclaims. Dustin throws him a thumbs down as Max and Lucas boo him, and Will sits in his seat, crumpled over, laughing so hard he’s not making any sound.
“Cake for everyone!” Lucas challenges, and who is Mike to deny such an idea?
Mike pads over to the kitchen and comes back with a single story chocolate cake with a sad excuse of a glaze running down its sides. When he looks at it, he begins to question whether he did forget any ingredients while making the batter. The rest of the party voices their concerns about the cake's edibility, and though he serves them each a hefty slice, he can’t really blame them. The worst part is that it tastes as bad as it looks. They don’t finish the cake and leave it in the kitchen for someone else to regret tasting.
Downstairs, he hears Derek holler and yell obscenities he should not know at his age, not that they were any better, if he’s being honest. The table falls silent for a few moments, just long enough to hear Holly threaten to end Debbie’s character arc if she doesn’t stop complaining about her ugly imaginary outfit. They dissolve into a fit of giggles, and Mike is once again hit with a wave of nostalgia.
For a moment, they’re not 18, they’re not freshly graduated and heading off to their respective colleges what feels like all too soon; they’re 11 year olds playing D&D in Mike’s basement way past bedtime, they’re 13 year olds going to the mall and goofing off in various stores way out of their budget, they’re 15 year olds roller skating and playing video games together, they’re 16 enjoying high school despite all the bullying. He thinks of Holly and of how much he’s beginning to see himself in her, in her nerdy interests and her strange group of friends, and he hopes she will have better teenage years than they did. He hopes she’ll have an easier time than Will did. Than he did, too.
“Mike!” someone shouts, effectively pulling him from his thoughts.
“What? Yeah, I’m listening,” he replies, kind of dazed. Will looks at him with a suspicious look in his eyes.
“Right, definitely,” he says.
“Okay, so I was lost in thought. Sorry,” Mike shrugs, his apology anything but earnest. As his shoulders move, he notices that Will’s hand is resting on his bicep, probably in an effort to snap back into reality a few moments ago, but he still hasn’t let go, and Mike feels his cheeks go warm.
“So anyways, as I was saying before you started thinking, for once, I’m gonna head out before my mom freaks out,” Dustin starts, “but I’m glad we did this instead of going to Stacey’s party.”
“Hey, there’s still time to go,” suggests Lucas, before Max continues, “The night is young,”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he grumbles as he steps out the front door and lifts his bike from off the grass. Max and Lucas follow soon after, probably to one of their houses to do god-knows-what, leaving Mike and Will alone outside. Karen and Ted have gone to sleep, and Holly’s friends have made their way home.
So, naturally, they go back into the basement. After all, it will always be theirs, no matter how old they get or how much Holly insists they’ve outgrown it, how it’s her turn to have it. And as much as he loves his little sister, the basement will never truly be hers, not the way it was theirs. The old pizza crust smell comes from the dozens of times they’ve ordered pizza mid-campaign. The crumbs between the cushions of the couch are from all of them, years of doritos and bugles accumulating in that poor couch. The stains on the carpet are from spillages of both pop and not-so age appropriate drinks, as well as a couple mystery spots none of them wish to explore. The posters and all the decor cluttered around the room, they’re all Mike’s, they’re all things he’s collected over the years the basement was his space.
Will makes his way down the stairs, but he doesn’t sit down. He stands in the middle of the room, just for Mike to stare at. He stares at this boy that he’s known for longer than he hasn’t, and he almost feels sick. He just stands there in a striped shirt that makes his arms look ridiculously good, wearing a necklace Mike gave him, though no one other than them will ever know.
He looks at Will and he sees a boy, and he blinks a couple times and realizes he sees a man. They’ve all grown up, but seeing Will like this, tall and filling into his body, seeing him grow up when he once thought he’d never see him again, it really gets him. He looks down at Will from where he’s standing on the stairs and lets the emotions wash over him. He isn’t really sure what he’s feeling, but he knows he’s sure as shit feeling. As if reading his mind, Will smiles fondly at him, like he’s feeling the same things as him, like he understands him.
“So, storyteller, is that really all there is to your story? I’m a little unsatisfied with your ending, I have to admit,” Will says after a few moments.
“You know there’s more to the story. There always is.” Mike replies as he makes his way down the stairs.
“Tell me about it, then. Where does the storyteller go? With whom? Everyone else seems to have found someone to spend their time with, except for you. So tell me, what’s the storyteller’s full story?”
“Well, the storyteller is never truly alone, because he’s always by the sorcerer’s side. He follows Will the Wise to the lively city of Vallaki so that they may continue their adventures together,” Mike starts, “They pursue their studies side by side, and together, they settle and find genuine happiness. Neither of them would have it any other way,” He finishes, now standing before Will, staring into his eyes.
“You’re so lame,” Will says before grabbing Mike’s nape and pulling him into a kiss.
Mike’s hands go to grab Will’s waist, and his grip is firm and comforting, keeping Will from slipping away. The slightly sloppy slide of their lips against each other is familiar, something neither of them will ever get sick of. The hand that was resting on Mike’s nape creeps up his neck and into his hair, softly tugging at his gelled up hair, successfully mussing it up, while the other reaches up to cup his jaw, like he’s something to be handled delicately.
When they pull away, they’re both panting, breathing each other’s air, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Mike stares into Will’s eyes, and finds himself getting lost in them again. It’s something he’s prone to doing, but he firmly believes he’s not to be blamed, they do say eyes are the window to the soul.
Looking at Will is something Mike has begun to allow himself to do over the past year or so. After losing El, for good this time, Mike started to think. Not that he wasn’t before, but the main topic of his thinking has never been centered around himself. He’s spent so long trying to prevent the end of the world that he hasn’t allowed himself the chance to introspect. With that, he realized that there was a reason he continuously failed to tell his girlfriend he loved her, even in her final moments, was because he didn’t love her the way she loved him. Mike cared for El, he loved her, but he was never in love with her.
He started to notice that his eyes seemed to gravitate towards Will, no matter how wrong it felt, it always seemed right, natural. He realized that no matter what, no matter when, he always sought him out. Will has always been what he wanted, what he needed. And in allowing himself to accept that, with Robin’s help, Mike let Will in, in a way he’s never let anyone see him.
Mike smiles down at Will and before crashing their lips together, getting as close as possible as fast as possible. The kiss deepens quickly, this time. Mike’s hands travel under Will’s shirt, feeling his bare skin. His hands are cold compared to Will’s warm waist, and he shivers as he feels Mike’s touch. Will suckles lightly on Mike’s bottom lip, then nips at it before licking over it soothingly, asking to be let it. Mike caves easily and makes room for Will’s tongue in his mouth.
Without breaking the kiss, Will tugs him towards the couch and they stumble across the room together, a tangle of fumbling, lanky limbs. The back of Will’s calves meet the couch and he falls back on it, positioning himself sideways on the cushions, before pulling Mike down on top of him. The latter follows easily, allowing himself to be pushed and pulled to Will’s liking. He pulls away from the kiss to properly straddle him, then promptly dives back in with twice as much fervor.
Mike feels like every single one of his limbs is on fire, and he’s pretty sure Will feels the same, judging by the way he’s panting into the kiss. Like this, all he knows is the easy way their tongues slide against one another, the push against biceps, chests, shoulders, the tugging of hair and fabric. He loses any concept of time, lets himself get lost in the feeling of Will, Will, Will, like he’s the only thing he’s ever thought of. That statement isn’t entirely wrong, either.
What could be seconds, minutes, hours later, they finally separate after hearing a creak somewhere upstairs. Their friends may have been fine with Will being gay, but no one knew about Mike, and his parents sure as hell couldn’t know. As they pull away from each other, their breaths mingle as they pant, finally given the opportunity to breathe proper air.
Mike is now laying on top of Will, the height difference making for a slightly awkward cram of long legs on a too-small couch. He lays his head on Will’s shoulder and tucks his face into the crook of his neck, trying to get impossibly close to him. Will’s hand goes back up to his hair and rests within the messy strands.
Mike wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.
Before he can voice this thought, Will makes a move to gently shove him off. Mike whines in protest, though he’ll never admit it. He dreads the loss of a warm body under him, but he mostly dreads the loss of Will. He says as much to the latter, and he simply huffs in amusement.
“Stay the night,” Mike says, asks, “please?” He adds, ever so politely. And Will simply can’t deny that the request seems so advantageous, leaving him no choice but to agree.
Together, they set up the spare mattress from when the Byers were staying with the Wheelers last year. Mike brings out a couple blankets and a couple pillows and drags Will onto the floor with him to sleep. They share a few more kisses, this time remaining more chaste, before drifting off in each other’s arms. Someone might find them tomorrow morning tangled together, but they won’t say anything. They never do.
Here, like this, with Will, Mike is at peace. This is the storyteller’s ending. He will find happiness in the sorcerer, no matter the circumstance, no matter the cost.