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As soon as the car rolls to a stop, Mike wants to go home. Voices overlap as doors pop open, bodies climbing out. But he pauses, squished in the back seat. His stomach turns with anxiety. It’s just a party.
Just a party.
But he wants to go back home, to the basement, to their game.
“Dude, get out, come on!” Dustin shouts, knocking on the hood.
He huffs and climbs out. The group buzzes with excitement, Will and Dustin bouncing with each step. Max and Lucas bickering about the quality of the music pouring out the front door. Mike follows them up the lawn, dodging giggling teens and crushed solo cups.
They approach the door, weaving between bodies spilling out the entrance. Mike squeezes close to them, his eyes widening at the smell of alcohol.
Lucas is technically the only one of their group that's ever been drunk before. Mike once stole a sip of his moms wine when he was like six, but he just remembers how bitter it tasted.
Lucas is also the only one to have really partied before. Mike always thought he’d never go to a party like this. With loud music, trembling base, shouting assholes, and warm liquor. But here he is. How things have changed.
“Holy crap-” Will bumps his shoulder, knocking him out of his head. He looks back at Mike, eyes glimmering. Smile wide enough to hurt. “What are we supposed to do now?” Mike can’t help but crack a smile, his nerves melting at the sight of Will enjoying himself. If Will can do this, he can too.
“Uh, drinks, right?” Dustin shouts awkwardly over the loud music. “Drinks make sense.”
“Screw that, I wanna get a shot at beer pong.” Max smacks Dustin and Lucas on the back, her expression smug. “Let’s go.” Max drags them further into the room, leading them through the pack. Will pauses, looking back at Mike. “I don’t really wanna do that.” He cringes, thinking of the sticky ping pong ball sinking into drinks.
“Uhm,” Mike looks around the boys back, to the packed kitchen, where the punch bowls and spilled snacks sit. “Then I guess let's get wasted.” He shrugs.
Will chokes on a laugh, his front teeth rolling over his lip in a giddy grin. “Jonathan told me it tastes like crap,” he offers happily, following Mike to the kitchen. Still, he’s first to grab a plastic cup from the counter.
There's something so intoxicating about Will these days, something about the newfound confidence he carries. He’s always been a quiet boy, gentle in spirit. Cautious. But in the past eighteen months, something’s changed. Like a weight lifted from his shoulders. Like that dark cloud following him finally began to clear. He’s still Will, just a little more curious, he thinks. A little more free. It’s like finally, finally, he realized he can live again. Maybe for the first time entirely.
So he downs one cup, then another. Mike follows suit, taking large gulps to ignore the sour and bitter flavors burning his throat. “Jesus Christ-” he gags, “ Jonathan’s right.”
Will laughs, his shoulders bunching. “He usually is-” he finds a half empty bottle of cherry soda and fills his cup, Mike's too. “Just wash it down, I guess.” Artificial sugar bubbles on his tongue, helping him forget that awful taste. He stares up at Will, a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue- but it dies there. The cheap soda leaves a pink stain in Will's lips, which smack together as he swallows. He seems in his own world for a moment, filling his cup with soda, and more liquor. He seems pleased with the outcome. His gaze meets Mikes, his brows lifting in surprise when he finds the boy already staring. “It’s not so bad when you add the soda.”
Mike nods, hair falling loose over his forehead. He quickly rakes it back, tucking behind his ears. “Right, yeah, gimme some.” He snags the bottle to fill his cup.
“Let’s bring some to the others,” He leans into Mike's space, reaching around him to grab more cups. For a second, he doesn’t smell the liquor or sweat in the air. He smells Will’s familiar scent, his fabric softener. Something warm and close to home.
Maybe the drinks are already hitting him, because he shamelessly inhales. Will pulls back, scooping nasty punch into cups. “C’mon, I wanna see who’s winning that stupid game.” He nods into the crowd, arms full of drinks.
Mike bites back a laugh and nods. “I think I can guess.” Will shakes his head, but his response blends into the music as they shuffle further into the house, closer to the speakers. The living room is absurdly hot. Body’s press into his as he passes, dancing and mixing together. He can smell a mixture of colognes, perfumes, sweat, and shitty punch. It’s so intense, it makes his head spin.
“Dustin, it’s right in front of you! Shoot it, Jesus," Max groans loudly, shaking the boy's shoulders as he tries to aim.
“It’s math, Max, let me do my shit!” He whines.
“We brought clean drinks,” Will calls, pushing a cup into Lucas’s hand. Mike hands one to Max, stifling a laugh when Dustin misses his shot.
“Oh that’s bullshit!”
“Oh Jesus, move over,” Max shoves the boys aside, taking over. It doesn’t take long for her to tip the scale and eventually win the game. The group watches in shock as she downs drink after drink, and sinks shot after shot. It’s almost alarming how good she is at something like this. But it makes sense, she’s always been a bit smarter than them when it came to letting go. The opposing team groans and complains, claiming Max cheated, since she wasn’t supposed to be playing that round.
Eventually they move further into the crowd, where the rest of the drunk people are dancing. Mike doesn’t think he’s that drunk, until he realizes he isn’t that embarrassed about dancing. And he sucks at dancing.
So yeah, maybe he is a little drunk. And maybe a lightweight.
Mike can feel the drinks spreading through his veins, relaxing his nerves and anxieties. Laughter bubbles in his chest, shallow and breathy, as Will stumbles into him. Music swells around them, something trendy and overtly loud. Max’s long red hair swipes his cheek as she swishes her head from side to side. “This is so dumb!” She shouts, though her tone is filled with laughter. Mike wants to look back and see how awful her dancing is, but his gaze stays pinned to Will once he finds him. Hair sticks to his forehead, his skin pink and glistening with sweat. His cheeks are flushed a dark color, the heat and alcohol coloring him embarrassingly.
Mike's one to talk, looking just the same, he can imagine.
“What?” Will shouts over the music, his smile casual and tired.
“You’re red.” He points out, brushing his cold knuckles over the apple of his cheek. Warm. So warm.
And stupid.
Will’s clumsy dancing comes to a halt, big green eyes blinking up at him. “So are you.” A girl knocks into Will from behind, jostling him slightly. He turns, leaving Mike's hand hanging awkwardly in the air. “Sorry-” he apologizes to the girl, for no reason.
“Are you hot?” Mike shouts, a little too loud. Will swivels back around, blinking slowly. He nods, smiling to himself. Mike can't help but laugh at him. “Wanna get some air?” He suggests, partially for himself. He hates crowds like this. But he doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want to leave this sight; a happy and loose Will.
Will nods. “Sure.”
So he takes him with him. They abandon their friends and shoulder through the crowd to the bathroom. Will thought they’d go outside, but the way to the front door seemed like a battle too hard for their lazy limbs. Mike wrestles the crappy door open, then slams it closed behind them. They spill into the bathroom, giggling at nothing in particular. Will collapses against the counter, his eyes flying open at the sight of himself in the mirror. Mike pants heavily, back against the door.
“Oh my god, you’re right.” Will presses the back of his hand to his cheeks. He is red. So so red. It’s a little embarrassing.
Mike snickers, pushing off the door to stand beside him. “Here,” he flicks on the tap. “Let’s cool you off.” He runs the hand towel under the cold water, then wrings it out. Will sighs at the first press to his flushed skin. He leans back against the counter, eyes rolling shut as Mike gently strokes the towel down his cheek. Selfishly, Mike thinks they should spend the rest of the night like this. Just them two, alone, with the music seeping through the walls. He also thinks he likes Will like this. Pink and lax, letting Mike take care of him like he used to.
Before everything.
Will's eyes roll open, long lashes fluttering. “Why do you wear your hair like this?” He blurts.
Mike pauses, frowning. “What’dya mean?” He glances in the mirror over Will's head. It’s not that bad, he thinks. Just combed to the side more. It’s not how he used to wear it, but-
He stiffens when Will reaches out, raking through the top of his hair. “I miss your hair. Please let me fix it.”
Mike just stares at him, shocked at how forward he’s being. He just sorta nods. “Okay, fine, yeah.”
Will straightens up, running both hands through his hair, ruffling it slightly. Mike shivers, eyes fluttering. Goosebumps travel down his spine. Wills nails scratch over his scalp as he brings his bangs forward. His hair is soft, fluffy, roots just a touch sweaty. Mike's eyes slide closed, leaning forward into the feeling. “Feels nice…”
“I like your hair like this…” Will mutters. His voice is close. So so close. His fingers trail through untamed waves, just because.
Mike opens his eyes. He hadn't realized how far he’d moved into Will's space. He stares down at Will. At his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “It feels weird.”
“You wore your hair like this for like- ten years, how is it weird?” He laughs, raking his fingers down the back of his head.
“Not that.” Mike swallows, gaze dropping to Wills smile. His lips. “You. Touching my hair.”
Will pauses. “Oh,” he starts to withdraw. Mike quickly grabs his wrist, thumb twitching over his pulse point.
“No, don’t stop.” He rushes. “Not weird like bad weird- just,” Mike’s mouth feels dry. “Different.”
Will’s stomach swoops, his fingers sinking back into the hair along Mike’s nape. Maybe the alcohol makes him brave. “Good weird.”
Mike smiles, cheeks rosy. “Good weird.”
They share a short laugh. Mike leans into him. Their bodies brush. Outside the bathroom, music thrums, making the door rattle. There's a line building on the other side. Voices shout. It’s warmer here than it was before. For a moment Mike wants to reach for the wet towel. He doesn’t. He lets his hands rest on the counter on either side of Will's hips.
“I can’t believe the first party we ever went to was after graduating high school.” Will mutters, thinking out loud. Mike realizes his eyes are closed. “We’re such losers.”
Mike blinks down at him, his words coming out sharper than he means. “None of those idiots out there are half as cool as our party.” He sounds oddly defensive, and maybe he is. He’s always hated the idea of Will thinking less of himself. Even if he isn’t serious.
“I know,” Will strokes his fingers down Mike’s nape. He shudders. “I just mean…I can’t believe it, you know? Being here. Graduating. Leaving. I mean, I can’t believe it’s really over. We’re actually leaving Hawkins.” His voice is soft, contemplative. A smile in his tone.
But Mike's stomach drops. He hates those words. That’s not what this is. “It’s not over,” He mutters, staring at the boy's lips. He knows what Will means, but for some reason those words burn Mike where it hurts. The rag drops to the counter. Will's breath catches. Mike sags further into him, knocking their foreheads together. “That’s- that’s…” He trails off, warm breath tickling Wills skin.
He shifts, lips brushing the corner of Will’s. “Mike…-”
The alcohol. It’s the alcohol. But he doesn't want to stop. He doesn’t want to think.
His lips meet Wills in a hurried collision. He nearly misses, uncoordinated. He rights himself and drags a bruising kiss over the boy's lips. Will makes a stunned sound, somewhere between a gasp and a choked off noise. Maybe it really is the alcohol, because instead of pulling back or panicking, Will melts into him. It’s almost humiliating how easy it is. Mike cups the back of Will's neck, other hand falling to his waist. Squeezing, pressing, pulling him closer. Will's hips ache from the pressure of being pinned against the counter. But the pain numbs itself.
Mike tilts his head, opponents his mouth, and angles Will’s jaw just right. Will instinctively tugs his hair. Mike groans into his mouth. A shudder travels down his spine. It wasn’t even on purpose. It was a shaken attempt to steady himself, his body twitching from the reality that's sweeping him off his feet. It’s messy, but not sloppy. It’s rushed and chaotic and confusing. Soft and bruising all at once. Will's fingers dig into the tense muscle in Mike’s shoulder, grappling. Like he can’t get a good grasp of him.
Mike’s tongue brushes his lips.
Will gasps into his mouth, lips parting.
Mike's tongue drags over his. Will's stomach swoops and dips, knotting and unraveling all at once. His vision goes white for a moment. Mike sighs, pleased, lips hot and flushed. Swollen from pressure. His thumb strokes the line of Will’s jaw, tilting his head so Mike can kiss him deeper. Harder. He wants more, god he needs more.
It’s not enough.
Will tastes so good. Not even in the literal sense, it’s just so perfect, enlightening, delicious. He tastes like cheap liquor and cherry soda. But also something different, distinctly Will. Warm and familiar.
Mike pushes closer. Will arches back against the counter, panting. He sucks softly on Wills tongue, humming in satisfaction. Wills stomach swoops again, and he swears if this goes on any longer he might black out- or worse. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering. He feels lightheaded.
They’re uncoordinated and clumsy, grasping desperately as one another with slow hands. Feeling and memorizing. Making up for lost time. Mike rolls Will’s lip between his teeth. He makes a hiccupped noise. Mike swallows the sound.
A heavy fisted knock rattles the bathroom door.
“If you’re fucking in there, take it somewhere else! Some of us need to piss!”
They pull apart with a lewd smack, a string of spit breaking between their lips. They’re panting, heavy and staggered. Wills lips are swollen and pink. Slick. Mike almost leans back in. Will’s staring back at him with wide eyes, sparkling green clouded over. His skin is so pink Mike can almost feel the warmth radiating off of him. He’s shaking, Mike realizes.
Maybe it’s just from how hard he’s breathing. Fuck.
The knocking rattles the door again.
Mike’s thumb brushes the corner of Will’s lips, his breath hitches. He strokes his palm over his jaw, then down his neck. “Sorry…” He whispers, lying.
Will’s gaze snaps between his lips and eyes, shock and emotion bubbling inside him. He cant form a single thought into words. He just stares. Mike can’t take that look. He huffs, crashing their lips back together.
Will is readier this time, mouth opening to take him. He moans into it, tongue stroking over Mikes. It’s deep, wet, warm, and sickeningly intense. The rattling door and irritated shouts fade into the background, mixing with the mind numbing music floating through the house. The racing thoughts in Will’s head slow, allowing him to sink into the moment.
Lips, tongues, trembling breaths.
Hands, touching, clinging, wandering.
Will tugs at Mike’s hair, earning another clipped groan. A sound so unexpected, but so appreciated. One Will has fantasized about his whole life. Mike palms his waist, thumb digging into tender flesh. His hands circle his back, dragging over the base of his spine. Will pulls him in by his shirt this time, desperate for more. Before whatever dream this is disappears.
But fuck, it’s not enough.
And someone’s still pounding on the door.
“Mike-” Will whines against his lips, words muffled by the kiss.
Mike groans, his fingers pressing a little harder into Will's skin. He doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to leave this cramped bathroom. His tongue brushes Will’s, his teeth nips at his lip. He wants to bring the boy closer. Fuck, he can’t get enough of this.
“Mike…-” Will whispers, kissing back slowly. His hands drag down Mike’s chest, fighting between pushing him away and dragging him closer. “Door,” he pants, barely able to speak between hungry kisses.
The knocking hasn’t stopped. Maybe it’s gotten stronger.
Mike whines, kissing Will’s puffy lips gently. “Please…” he whispers, drunk and stupid. So stupid. So hungry. Will sighs when the boy finally pulls away, head dropping to his shoulder. For a moment he thinks he might be able to hear his racing heart.
For a second, the bathroom is completely silent. Only the sound of heavy panting and thrumming music remains.
Mike swallows heavily, then pulls back to look at him. Will’s eyes are blown wide, cheeks pink, and lips swollen. For a pleased second, Mike thinks I did that. Will’s throat bobs visibly as he swallows. His mouth falls open, then snaps closed, as he tries to find the words.
“Should we go?” Mike finally manages.
Will blinks. “To- back to- outside? Or the party?” He stammers, his tongue suddenly heavy.
“The others.” Mike mutters, unable to keep his eyes from wandering to his mouth. This time Will notices. His heart pounds in his throat.
“Yeah, okay.”
Except they don’t move.
Will grows antsy, his skin burning where Mike still touches him. “Can I do that again? Later?” Mike mutters, his speech slow.
Will sucks in a shaky breath. “Do-”
“Kiss you, can I kiss you again?”
Will nods, shaky and slow. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
“Cool,” Mike smiles, his cheeks tinting pink.
“Cool.
When they finally exit the bathroom, Will pretends to be sick over the toilet, while Mike opens the door. A pair of deeply drunk girls shove past them and kick them out, shouting at them for taking so long. The boys share a near hysterical laugh as they shoulder through the crowd back to their friends.
The only thought on either of their minds remains that promise of later.
Mike thinks he might like parties.