Chapter Text
Mike awoke with his throat seemingly on fire.
He tried to clear his throat and cough with little success, only making it worse. He leaned over and grabbed the three day old glass of water sitting on his nightstand and chugged it-to no avail.
Oh god, Mike thought, Holly’s flu. Shit
He’s avoided her like the plague, but it was only a matter of time.
Slowly climbing out of bed and stumbling down the stairs, Mike meets his mom in the kitchen. His head is pounding from the pressure seemingly squeezing his brain out of his nose.
“Hey honey! What do you want for-” She gives him a once over. “Holly’s flu.” They stated gravely at the same time. He didn't think he looked that bad, clearly he did.
“Oh Mike,” she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder but thinks better of it. “Right.”
Just then the phone rang, his mom scurrying to get it.
“Hello?...Oh Joyce Hi! How are you?.....” A long pause. His mother glancing over at him.
“Uh oh,” She grimaces. A pause again. She looks thoughtfully back at Mike. “You know I actually might have the perfect solution,” she says, smirking. “I’ll call you back.”
Joyce. This is probably about Will.
“So Will’s down with the flu,” she announces after hanging up the phone.
Bingo.
“And with Hop’s big promotional trip coming up, she doesn't want to risk the rest of them getting sick.” Mike doesn’t see where she's going with this. “So, I have a brilliant idea. What if–because I don't want the rest of our family getting sick either– we quarantine you and Will down in the basement.” She smiles at him hopefully.
Shit.
...
“No, mom, no,” Will denies.
He couldn't believe Mike even said yes to the whole thing. After Mike's mom hung up the first time, they got a call a few minutes later proposing the boys stay in Mike's basement while sick. Which, apparently, Mike said yes to before she called back. No idea why.
“Oh come on, Will, frankly I think it would be good for the two of you. You guys used to be best friends, now it's like you can barely be around each other. We’ve all noticed, Will.”
“We are friends mom, we're just not as close anymore and that’s… fine.”
Fine. That's one word for the situation that clouds Will's brain on 24/7 basis.
“You used to be best friends,” Joyce counters.
God he wishes they still were.
“People drift apart. That's life”
A life that's currently being ruined because Will made the dumb decision to catch feelings.
“It doesn't have to be though… I’m calling Karen.” She grabs the phone and starts dialing.
Jesus, what is he in for.
...
Mike is sitting on the couch in the basement, head in his hands.
He hasn't spent time alone with Will in months. After beating Vecna back in November, he felt them drifting apart the rest of the school year. By the start of summer a few weeks ago, they hadn't had a one on one conversation in so long. Maybe once their senior year starts, things will start looking up. Back in the van during that one spring break, Will had lied about El commissioning the painting. He didn't know it at the time, but when it came up during his break up conversation he had with El four months ago in February, it just made everything more confusing.
Knowing Will had been actively lying crushed him more than the breakup.
He didn't know why.
Mike's thoughts are interrupted with the basement door opening. Will comes through the door as Mike's mom yells downstairs, "There's clean sheets on the bed and blankets for whoever sleeps on the couch, lunch will be ready in a few hours but if you guys need anything just holler!”
Will makes his way down the stairs while gripping the railing a little harder than seemed necessary.
When he’s finally at the bottom he drops his bag and collapses on the couch, eyes closed.
“You look like shit” Mike coughs out hoarsely.
“Thanks,” Will opens his eyes to see Mike “You too,” he said before closing them again.
“Symptoms?” Mike asked. God his throat hurt, he sounded like he did when he was 13.
Will laughs at his squeaky voice, head still thrown back on the couch. “So far? I’ve got a fever, my entire body hurts, oh and I’m so fatigued that every time I stand up the room starts spinning. You?”
“I-” Mike launches into another coughing fit. Will laughs at him again, which makes Mike laugh, and cough harder. After he was done, “A cough, and oh my god my throat hurts so bad I can barely talk. My head is pounding and my nose is so clogged I’m genuinely turning into a mouth breather.” At this Will laughed again. He missed hearing that so much. Every time they've hung out recently, Will is always so quiet, it sucks.
“I hear you on that one,” Will interrupts his thoughts, “I can actively feel my nose plugging up, it's only a matter of time,” he says gravely. Will looks over and smiles at Mike. Mike smiles back.
This is nice, it feels like old times. Obviously they'll have to talk about the elephant in the room eventually, but for now ignoring it seems best.
Will’s head is on the back of the couch facing the ceiling again, eyes closed. He looks about ready to pass out.
Conversation over, apparently.
The past few months have been hard. Everyone's going their separate ways. Jonathan left to live in the city, Steve and Dustin have been hanging out a ton since Steve’s thinking about moving off somewhere to go to college, Lucas and Max spend every waking moment together, El has avoided Mike since he broke up with her, and Will is off doing… whatever Will does. There used to be a party. There used to be order. Now everyone is leaving each other. Maybe when school starts up again things will be easier.
He misses his friends. He misses Will. He misses Will a lot. Why can't they just talk everything out? Mike’s tried multiple times but Will always brushes him off. Will keeps pushing him away and it's hell and everything is going wrong and why is the morning light glinting off Will’s face so majestically?
Thoughts like that are why maybe it's good Will has put so much space between them. They pop up randomly. Why? No way in hell Mike knows. What he does know is that this next week that they're stuck down here sick is going to be excruciating.
Mike glances back at Will. He's usually in his signature flannel or collared shirt, Will’s always been very particular about his appearance. However—today, now that he’s sick—it seems to not matter as much. Will has a large yellow hoodie on, it’s got some sort of California license plate on it. He's also wearing black sweatpants, which makes no sense if he has a fever. Seems warm.
“If you’ve got a fever, aren't you dressed a bit warm?” he asks tentatively.
“I would take it off. Too tired,” Will responds.
“Do you want… help?”
Will doesn't react.
“Will?”
“Yes please,” he whispers.
Mike gets up to come to the other side of the couch.
“Arms up,” he commands. Will lifts his arms and Mike grabs the bottom hem of his hoodie to lift, but the static half takes his shirt up with it. Mike tries not to look as the hoodie comes off and Will fixes his T-shirt.
Why is this weird? They changed in front of each other as kids all the time, and he's seen Will shirtless at the pool multiple times. It's not weird unless you make it weird. Stop making it weird.
Mike crouches next to the couch, looking back at Will.
“You’re sweating,” Mike states, noticing the damp neckline on Will's grey shirt.
“Thank you, Mike, I'm aware.” Will turns his head and looks him in the eyes, blinking a few times.
“Are you okay?”
Will rubs his eyes. “Dizzy,” he says, blinking again.
“You should sleep.”
“I will.” He curls up on the couch, stuffing a pillow under his head. His feet are towards the arm of the couch while his head is closest to where Mike was sitting.
Mike goes back to his original spot, laying his head back. He has to give it to his parents, they have good taste in furniture.
...
Mike wakes up to insistent knocking on the basement door. “Mike! I've got lunch!”
“Just leave it there!” he manages to croak out.
“Okay, just make sure you and Will eat your soup before it gets cold.” His mom opens the door and sets the bowls on the top stair.
Will.
Mike looks over to see Will has stretched out to take up the whole couch while he was curled up in the corner. His forehead is pushed up against Mike's knee and his hand is gripping Mike's leg.
He doesn't want to wake Will, but he has to get the food. Will hasn't willingly been this close to Mike in a long time. Well, it might not be willingly, he is sleeping after all. Before thinking better of it, Mike reaches out to touch Will's hair that's messily resting on his leg.
Soft.
Why the hell is he doing this?
Will stirs and squeezes Mike's leg harder, eyebrows furrowing.
And why the hell is it making his stomach flutter?
Will starts moving again and Mike takes that as his invitation to leave. He slips his leg out of Will's grasp and hurries up the stairs to grab the food. Halfway up the stairs, he hears Will's voice.
“Mike?” he calls groggily.
Crap, he woke him up.
“One sec,” he calls, grabbing the bowls and turning back around down the stairs. Heading back towards the couch, he hands a bowl to Will, who's now sitting up. Mike heads to his end of the couch, plopping down. They both sit criss-cross on their respective ends of the sofa facing each other.
The only sound is their spoons clinking against the bowls. Thankfully the warm chicken noodle soup is helping Mike's sore throat, though swallowing is still a chore. The taste is slightly bland since his sense of smell is now permanently blocked.
“God, my head hurts,” Mike murmurs. Will doesn't reply.
The silence is deafening.
Well. Silent except for Will’s slurping.
Without being able to help himself, Mike bursts out laughing, turning into a coughing fit after a few seconds. Finally with his attention caught, Will looks up at him smiling curiously.
“What?”
“Sorry,” Mike huffs out a cough, "it's just that,” a pause. “Do you remember how our moms were always on you whenever you had cereal or soup or a drink or something because you were always slurping it?”
Will busts out laughing, clearly not knowing where Mike was going with this question.
“Oh jeez, yeah.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “I guess I never grew out of that one.”
“Guess not.” They smile at each other for a second before Will turns his focus back to his soup, but Mike can't tear his gaze away.
Every single day it’s like Will looks more and more different. His hair is longer, waving around his ears and brushing his eyebrows. His jaw has squared out more, fading further away from his round, childish face. His features are sharper, like his nose and thicker eyebrows. He has stubble dusting his jaw now too.
Will looks back up and catches him staring. Mike immediately looks back down, feeling his face heating up.
What is happening? He never used to get embarrassed around El. Why does this keep happening around him?
Taking him from his thoughts, he hears Will say something very loudly.
“Mike!”
“Huh? What? Sorry.”
“I’ve said your name three times, where do you want to sleep tonight? Are you on the bed?”
“Oh. I don't care. You can have the bed if you want.”
“I don't care either, the couch is surprisingly comfortable.”
“No, you can have the bed, I’ll take the couch, okay?”
Will stares at him for a second. “Okay,” he says, looking slightly confused but deciding not to argue.
Shit, was that weird? He just wants Will to be comfortable while he's here. Maybe he did sound a little forceful.
Mike runs a hand through his hair, curls still messy from sleeping. He leans over to set his bowl on the coffee table, Will doing the same. Will shifts his legs like he's about to stand up, but his face pales as he squeezes his eyes closed.
“Will? You okay? What do you need?”
Will shakes his head. “Nothing, I just wanted to grab my-” he gestures at the backpack he dropped at the bottom of the stairs. He starts to push off the couch again but Mike quickly rushes to grab the backpack first.
He scoops up the bag and comes to hand it to Will, who's still perched on the edge of the couch.
“I could have gotten it myself,” Will says, huffing.
“I know, but I just want to help. You seem woozy trying to stand.”
“Mike,” he says while digging through his backpack. “I don't need your help with stuff, I can do it myself. Ever since we were kids,” he gets quieter, thinking about what he’ll say next. “You’ve always had this need to help me with everything. Sometimes it makes me feel incompetent.” He whispers that last part. He sets his backpack on the ground, now with his sketchbook and pencil in his lap.
“Oh,” is all Mike can get out. He feels flushed again.
Will looks back over at him, noticing Mike's face. “Oh no. No, Mike I didn't mean it like–”
“No. It's fine,” Mike says quietly, shoving off the couch towards the stairs.
“No Mike I swear I didn't mean it like that. I appreciate it, I really do. It's just my mom has always babied me especially because of everything that happened when we were kids, you know? Sometimes it's hard to accept help from other people when I get such an overbearing amount from her.”
“Mhm,” Mike says as he pulls out an old box of comics from under the stairs, sifting through them.
“I’m serious,” Will says, voice suddenly closer. Mike feels a hand grip his arm and pull him up. Will is up and standing. He turns Mike to face him, one arm gripping the railing for support, the other squeezing Mike's arm.
“I’m sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that. You’ve done more for me than any of our other friends have. It's just hard for me to accept help, and that's not your fault, it's mine. I'm sorry for taking it out on you.” He waits for Mike's response.
“Yeah yeah, okay, it's alright. I get it.”
Will lets out a sigh of relief. They stare at each other for a second. Mike realizes how close their faces are.
“Hey, Will?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re still squeezing my arm really hard.”
“Oh,” He quickly releases his hand, face reddening. Will takes a step back and brushes his hand on his pants. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” Mike laughs, bending over to grab the stack of comics he's selected. “C’mon.”
He comes back towards Will, grabbing his arm and looping it around his neck. Lowering Will back onto the couch, Mike flops down onto the floor with his comics. He lays on his stomach to restart an old X-Men issue he read a few years ago. Reading while listening to the quiet sketching of Will's pencil is definitely a good way to spend the afternoon.
After a while of comfortable silence, Mike’s curiosity gets the better of him. “What are you drawing?” he asks, looking up at Will.
Will takes a second before breaking his trance, shaking his head a few times before making eye contact with Mike. “Oh, umm. Nothing,” he stutters. “Just some old D&D monsters, all I could think of.”
“Can I see?”
“Uhh, no. not finished yet,” Will says quickly as he flips his book over and sets it aside. “Actually, I'm done drawing for right now, can I come read with you?”
“Oh, yeah sure. Do you need-”
“I got it, Mike,” he cuts him off, smiling. Will gingerly climbs off the couch and onto the floor. He matches Mike's position on his stomach, scooching close so their shoulders touch.
Their closeness makes Mike feel warm, like he's the one with the fever.
“Mike?”
“Huh, what?”
“The comic?” Will dips his head and smiles curiously at him.
“Sorry. Right.” Mike lays the comic on the floor between them, moving it closer to the right towards Will.
Will props his head on his left hand, tilted towards Mike. They read like that for a bit, Will occasionally asking questions and Mike flipping the pages. When the comic is done, Mike lowers his head to see Will's reaction, only to find his eyes closed and mouth agape. Mike laughs quietly as he switches out his comic for the next one. Flipping it open to start, Will's head falls to rest on Mike's shoulder.
He smells good. Like fresh shampoo and just… Will.
God what is happening. Think straight Mike, Jesus.
Man, this kid sleeps a lot. He must really feel like crap.
Carefully, Mike adjusts his arm so Will’s laying fully on the floor with his head cradled in his elbow. He gets up quietly to grab a blanket, resting it over Will. Then he crawls under the other half of the blanket and lays down to mirror Will’s position, faces facing each other.
Will looks so peaceful. His hair falls over his arm gracefully and touches the floor. His mouth is opened slightly and his lips are full. Sweat beads on his forehead.
Shit. His fever must be getting worse.
Mike reaches over to wipe the sweat, which makes Will twitch. He feels like he's burning up.
Quickly, Mike rushes up the stairs and calls for his mom. He makes his request for tylenol and some ice water and brings it back downstairs. He sets it in front of Will before snuggling up under the blanket, hopefully Will will wake up soon to take it.
...
Mike wakes up flat on his back, arms sprawled above him. His senses come back to him. Slowly he looks over to where Will is. He's laying on his stomach, an arm laid over Mike's chest and a leg laid over Mike's leg.
Mike feels hot.
Everywhere.
Maybe it's just the fever warmth Will is radiating .
Mmm.
Nope.
He looks up to where he set the glass earlier. The tylenol has disappeared and the water is mostly gone. At least Will woke up at some point and took it. Mike should probably want to get out of this situation he's currently in.
But he doesn't.
And that's slightly concerning.
Number one and only reason of course being Will needs his sleep. Of course. Right.
More than anything though Mike knows Will would never willingly get this close if he were conscious. Maybe that's what hurts the most.
But why should it? If it were Lucas or Dustin it wouldn't matter as much. But they would have never done anything like this in the first place, not that Mike would want them to anyway. So what makes Will so special?
Well. Will has always been special.
Always.
Why? Mike tries not to think about it.
What time is it anyway? It feels like they've slept on and off the entire day. He raises his hand laying above Will's head to check his watch.
6:26
A pang.
Their matching watches.
He kept forgetting to check if Will still wore his. Mike quickly looks at the hand lying across his chest, upon seeing no watch he adjusts his head to see Will's other wrist that's half covered by his forehead. His head is cradled in his arm with his wrist peeking out just enough.
The watch. He still wears it.
This shouldn't matter as much as it does, but it feels like Mike is slowly being erased out of Will's life. And yet, Will’s childhood drawings still scatter the walls in the basement and Mike's room. During what Mike likes to call: The Great Separation To Devilish California, Mike contemplated taking all the pictures down. Will clearly moved on, evidence shown by his lack of calls, why shouldn't Mike? But every time he tried, he just couldn't rip them off the walls. The thought of actively trying to forget someone who so dearly shaped your life made Mike's mouth taste sour.
Pretty soon his mom will be yelling down the stairs to give them dinner. She's had a strict dinner between 6:30-7:00 policy for forever. As much as he doesn't want to wake Will, it would be a lot weirder if Will woke on his own and found Mike staring at him.
Deciding on the least awkward way to go about this, Mike pats Will’s arm, then gently shakes his shoulder. Slowly, Will’s eyes flutter open as he rouses from sleep. It takes him a second to take in his surroundings, mainly Mike staring at him. His expression changes from sleepy to wide eyed embarrassment when he notices the position he's in.
He immediately yanks his arm and leg back, scrambling to sit up and put space between them.
“Oh my God,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry, I didn't realize…” he trails off, face reaching a new shade of pink. He won't make eye contact.
“It's all good, I just woke up a second ago anyway.”
Lie.
Sitting up now, Mike gathers the blanket and sets it aside.
“It's good we woke up when we did, my mom will have dinner ready soon.”
Will elicits no reply, instead busying himself moving his water glass off the floor and onto the coffee table. Mike stays seated on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest. He watches Will. After setting the glass down, Will stays bent over the table, one arm holding the corner. His expression changes as he looks over at Mike.
“Did you bring the water and tylenol down here?”
“Yep.”
“Why?” Will gets back on the ground, legs crisscrossed.
“You were sweating a lot, I figured your fever was getting worse. And I kind of only just now remembered tylenol even helps fevers so.”
“Well thank you, I feel a lot better. Not so dizzy anymore either.”
“Yeah, you're welcome.” The silence that follows is not a comfortable one. Will stares at the ground. He opens his mouth to speak, pausing a second before the words actually come out.
“I’m sorry for getting all up in your space.” Will looks everywhere but Mike's eyes. “I don't even know how it happened,” he mutters.
“No worries. You were sleeping, it's not like you meant to anyway.”
He almost wishes he did.
Will makes a sound, still refusing to make eye contact. His mothers muffled voice breaks the silence.
“Mike!”
He quickly uncurls his body and starts heading up the stairs.
“Yeah?”
“Dinner’s ready.”
Reaching the top of the stairs after a second, he opens the door to grab whatever his mom has made tonight. She hands him two plates of spaghetti with salad. Before shutting the door, she ruffles his hair.
“How are you guys feeling? Did the tylenol help Will?”
“Yeah it helped him, can I just have the bottle for later so I don't have to come up here for more?”
She grabs the bottle and sets it on an empty spot on his plate.
Back downstairs, Will is still on the floor. He hands Will his plate and heads to the other side of the coffee table, getting back down onto the carpet. They sit across from each other, eating in silence. After a minute, Mike goes to grab a bottled water from the pack they keep under the stairs. He tosses one to Will before opening his own and popping a few tylenol. Will notices.
“How come you're taking some?”
“My head has been pounding all day.” Maybe being medicated will fix this damn squeaky voice. At least his cough subsided after he'd been awake for a little bit.
“Why didn't you just get some for yourself when you got some for me?”
That's a good question. Why didn't he?
“I- umm. I don't know, I guess I didn't really think about it. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He gets quiet at that last part, staring at his plate instead of Will's face.
My own needs are second place when you're around.
Mike almost cringes at how intimate the thought seems, although it's 100% true. Somehow this realization hasn't crossed his mind before, but it's always been accurate.
When they were kids Mike slept in lumpy hospital chairs, lent jackets in the rain, stayed up late telling stories in the dark, slept with the light on, all so Will would be more comfortable than Mike himself. When Will had to get his appendix removed, Mike slept in the hospital waiting room with Joyce long after Lucas and Dustin left. Multiple times through the years, the afternoon summer storms would hit and Will would be left without a jacket, Mike always gave him his. Up until they were 10 years old, Will was afraid of the dark, so sometimes they would sleep with the bright lamps on and sometimes Mike would stay up late in the dark telling stories to Will so he knew he wasn't alone.
The feeling of giving up comfort so Will can have it is second nature at this point. But never once has Mike been mad about it.
Mike's spaghetti that he's been absentmindedly eating is almost gone. He glances up at Will, whose hazel eyes look back at him. Will looks down at Mike's plate and then back up at him.
“Michael, eat your salad.” Will raises his eyebrows at him.
Mike huffs. “I am convinced this salad will not cure the flu.”
“No, but it's definitely better for you than spaghetti.”
They glare at each other for a second before both of them break into laughter.
“You're such a kiss up,” Mike says, grinning and shaking his head.
“No,” Will pauses to swallow, pointing his fork at Mike, “I’m just healthy.”
“Whatever.” Mike leans against the couch. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
Will stabs at the last of his greens before answering. “Sure,” he says, eyes light with a smile.
...
The end credits roll of the Ghostbusters movie they put on 2 hours ago. Mike feels like he's about to pass out even though it isn't even 9 o'clock yet. They've rotated the cabinet that was against the wall so the tv could face the couch. Will takes one look at Mike from the other end of the couch and hops up to move the cabinet back.
“I can help!” Mike protests, sitting up.
“It's fine, Mike.” Will laughs. He gets the cabinet back in place and grabs his bag at the foot of the couch, heading to the bathroom.
By the time that Mike realizes Will is probably brushing his teeth and changing for bed, he's shirtless with pajama pants quickly being pulled on. Will opens the bathroom door and stops in his tracks, taking in the sight that is Mike Wheeler trying not to topple over while putting on pants as fast as humanly possible.
Mike gets the pants on his waist and starts tying the drawstrings, avoiding eye contact while his face heats up. Will slowly leaves the bathroom, leaving the walkway clear for Mike. He grabs his shirt off the couch and rushes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Mike pulls on his t-shirt and leans on the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. His cheeks and ears are pink. He rubs his face.
What is going on?
Whatever is happening in his brain regarding Will, it needs to stop. He needs to get his shit together.
Mike brushes his teeth, finishing with a cold splash of water on his face. He walks out of the bathroom as Will is throwing blankets over the bed. He's wearing his same shirt from today with Ninja Turtle pajama pants. Will has left two of the blankets on the couch for Mike. Mike tucks the thinner one around the couch cushions and leaves the thick fuzzy one to put over himself.
Will finishes setting up his bed and comes to grab the tylenol bottle off the table, taking a few. He looks at Mike and gestures to the bed.
“I’m gonna sleep, are you staying up or-?”
“I’m going to bed too,” Mike cuts him off. Will nods and climbs into bed, flipping off the lamp.
“Goodnight,” Will says from his mound of blankets.
“Goodnight.”
Mike climbs under his blanket and stretches out his legs. Well, as far as he can before hitting the other end, which isn't very far considering he's almost six feet tall. The basement is pitch black, the only light being the slight shine of the moon coming through the window high above his head.
Sleep drags him under quickly.
...
Mike's eyelids flutter open. The basement is no longer silent. Still disoriented from sleep, he tries to make out the sound he’s hearing. He props up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes.
It’s…heavy breathing? Mike looks around in the dark, seeing the outline of the bed. And the moving figure on top.
Will.
Mike throws off his blanket and rushes onto Will’s bed. Will is laying with his knees pulled to his bare chest and his eyes squeezed shut, hyperventilating. Mike puts a hand on Will’s face. His cheeks are damp with tears. Mike grabs onto his shoulders, shaking.
“Will! Will wake up!” He must be having a nightmare.
“Will, please, you're scaring me!” he almost yells. Mike's face crumples in fear as he shakes Will harder.
Finally, Will’s eyes fly open. His eyes are full of tears, he looks terrified.
“Hey, hey it's just me, Mike, okay? You're safe.” He pulls Will to his chest in a tight hug. “You’re safe, okay? Everything is okay. I’m right here.”
At this Will wraps his arms around Mike, face buried in his neck. His breathing slows down a bit. Slowly, Mike tries to lower Will down, but Will won't let go of him. They end up laying next to each other, Will clinging to him. Mike wraps his arms back around him.
“It's okay Will, you're safe now.”
Will's hair is clinging to Mike’s face, wet with sweat. Mike rubs his damp back trying to calm him down. Will's breathing starts slowing down more, hot breath on Mike's neck. After a minute or so, Will adjusts his position. He unclenches his arms gripped around Mike's neck and gently moves them to rest them over Mike's ribs, hands set on his back. One of his hands is resting on Mike's bare skin where his shirt has ridden up. Although that hardly matters, Will doesn't even have his shirt on. He must have discarded it sometime during the night.
Unfortunately, Mike's nervous system doesn't know when to quit. The seriousness of this situation does not match the heat that's quickly spreading through his body. Their close proximity makes Mike's stomach feel light. Will's warm hand on Mike's side makes him feel dizzy.
With his hand on Will's back, he can feel his body expand with deep inhales, then exhale shakily on his neck. This goes on for a few minutes as the adrenaline in their bodies plummets. Mike's eyelids feel heavy again, begging for sleep. Will's nearness has always made Mike relaxed and tired, and his hands gently wrapped around Mike's back is increasing the effect.
He falls asleep quickly to the sound of Will's rhythmic breathing.
...
Cold.
Mike's eyes drift open to the black room. He's awakened by the absence of heat that was right next to him. Now on his back, he looks to where there was a body curled around him seconds ago. Will is scooting over, now almost two feet away. Will flips to his back, eyes now visible shining in the dark. He stares at the ceiling.
“Will?” Mike whispers.
Will startles and looks back towards Mike. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” he cringes.
“You didn't, I just… got cold.” He flips on his side to face Will. Will flips to mirror him.
Too far?
Mike's statement computes on Will’s face for a second before he realizes.
“Oh…sorry.” He stares at his hands draped in front of his face.
A moment passes.
“Hey Will?”
Will’s dark eyes meet Mike’s.
“Yeah?”
“Do you wanna, you know, talk about it?” Mike scoots closer. Will's face changes, he purses his lips.
“I don't know if I… can.” His voice breaks on the last word as he looks back at his hands.
“Please, Will,” Mike pleads.
Will is quiet for a while, eyebrows creased. It seems like he's not going to answer, then finally, he speaks.
“I’m back in the upside down after I was taken. I’m being restrained by the vines. Trapped. Vecna is talking to me, but I’m so, so, scared.” His face contorts from the memory, voice shaking. “One of the vine, tube things goes over my mouth.” Disgust clouds his expression. “It’s pumping whatever crap it was into me. And it's like I’m stuck there, in that moment before I went unconscious. Just… staring at Vecna. And I’m trapped in that moment, in that feeling, until I wake up.”
Will's eyes are filled with tears as he makes eye contact again.
“Oh Will…” Mike reaches out to grab him without thinking. Will lets himself be pulled closer. They wrap their arms around each other, faces buried in each other's necks. Will squeezes tighter, like he's reliving memories all over again.
“He's gone, Will. They're all gone. Nothing can get to you anymore, you're safe," he whispers into Will's hair.
“I know it's over but, all the stuff that happened… it's like my brain won't let me forget,” Will whispers back.
“I’m so sorry.”
They both hug tighter, bodies invisible in the dark. Their breathing syncs, chests expanding against each other.
And it hits Mike in that moment with Will’s feverish body pressed against his own, nothing in the world could possibly compare to how this situation is making him feel. The ache of the implications makes him feel like drowning.