Chapter Text
The sun was beginning to dip behind the high school gym, casting long, amber shadows across the parking lot where the Class of ’86 stood in a sea of polyester robes. The air was thick—not just with the Indiana heat, but with the heavy realization that tomorrow, there would be no bells, no lockers, and no safety net.
Stacey, who had spent the last four years hovering on the edge of their social circle, pushed through a group of cheering jocks to reach them. She looked glowing, her graduation cap tilted back precariously.
"Byers! Henderson!" she called out, her voice bright. "Tell me you guys aren't just going to go home and roll dice all night. It’s graduation."
Dustin looked at Will, then back at Stacey, a skeptical grin forming. "I mean, we had a very high-stakes campaign scheduled, Stacey. The fate of the Underdark hangs in the balance."
Stacey rolled her eyes, placing a hand on Will’s arm. Will jumped slightly, the sudden contact making him flush. "The Underdark can wait one night. My parents are in Indy until Monday. It’s going to be the biggest thing Hawkins has seen since... well, since ever. You guys are coming, right?"
Will looked at his feet, then at the crowded courtyard. He saw Mike in the distance, laughing with Nancy and his parents. He saw the way the world was moving forward, and for the first time, he didn't want to be left behind in the basement.
"We'll be there," Will said, his voice surprisingly steady.
"Seriously?" Dustin squeaked, then quickly deepened his voice. "I mean—yeah. We’ll be there. But only if there’s actual food. I’ve reached my quota of excitement for the day."
Stacey laughed, tossing a piece of paper with her address at them. "10 PM. Don't be late, Henderson. And bring the rest of the crew."
As she walked away, Dustin turned to Will, eyes wide. "Will. Did you just... did we just get invited to the 'Cool Kids' party? By a girl? A girl who knows our names?"
Will laughed, a genuine, light sound. "We just graduated, Dustin. I think we’re allowed to be cool for one night."
"Wait until we tell Mike," Dustin grinned, already pulling his bike toward the edge of the lot. "He’s going to have a heart attack. He’s been moping about 'the end of an era' for three weeks. This is exactly what he needs to snap out of it."
"Yeah," Will whispered, watching Mike’s lanky frame across the lot. "Exactly what he needs."
The basement was a time capsule. For nearly a decade, these wood-paneled walls had been their sanctuary, their war room, and their confessional. But tonight, the air felt different. It was thick with the scent of stale popcorn, the metallic tang of soda cans, and the heavy, unspoken weight of "the last time."
The D&D map was spread across the table, a sprawling continent of ink and coffee stains that they had conquered a thousand times over.
"I strike with the Fireball," Mike announced. His voice lacked its usual Dungeon Master authority. He didn't even look at the dice as they tumbled across the table, clattering against a half-empty bag of Cheetos.
20. A natural twenty.
"The beast... it falls," Mike said softly. "The shadows retreat. The kingdom is safe."
"We did it," Dustin breathed, leaning back in his chair, his graduation cap still sitting precariously on his head. "Ten years of campaigns, and we end it on a Nat 20. That’s poetic. That’s some high-level cosmic symmetry right there."
But Mike wasn't looking at the dice. He was looking at Will.
Will was glowing. He had his elbows on the table, his chin resting in his palms, a wide, genuine smile stretching across his face. The basement light caught the amber flecks in his eyes, making them look like molten honey. He looked happy—truly, deeply happy—and it made Mike’s chest tighten with a physical ache.
Under the table, Mike shifted his weight. His sneakers were worn at the toes, and as he stretched his long, lanky legs out, his foot brushed against something soft. He froze. It was Will’s sock-covered foot.
Usually, Mike would have pulled away with a mumbled "sorry." But tonight, with the end of the world—or at least the end of their childhood—looming over them, he didn't move. He let his foot linger there, pressing his toes gently against the arch of Will’s foot.
He waited for Will to pull away. Instead, he felt Will’s foot press back.
It was a slow, deliberate movement. Will didn't look down; he kept talking to Lucas about the stats of the final boss, but his eyes flickered toward Mike for a fraction of a second. A silent communication passed between them—a spark of electricity that traveled from the soles of their feet all the way up Mike’s spine.
Mike felt his face heating up. He’s not pulling away, he thought, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He’s staying.
"So," Lucas said, oblivious to the silent earthquake happening under the table. "Stacey’s party. We’re actually doing this? No Demogorgons, no gate-closing, just... red cups and bad music?"
"And girls," Dustin added, winking. "Well, women. We’re college men now, Lucas. We have to carry ourselves with a certain... je ne sais quoi."
"You don't even know what that means," Max chimed in, leaning her head on Lucas’s shoulder.
"It means I'm awesome, Max. Keep up."
Will let out a soft laugh, and the vibration of it seemed to settle right in Mike’s marrow. Under the table, Will’s foot nudged Mike’s calf, a playful, daring stroke that made Mike nearly choke on his breath. It was a challenge. It was an invitation. It was the most dangerous game they had ever played in this basement.
"I think," Will said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked directly at Mike, "that we’ve earned a night of being normal. Just for once."
"Normal," Mike repeated, the word tasting strange. He wanted to say I love you. He wanted to say don't leave for college without me. He wanted to say stay in this basement forever where I know how to protect you.
Instead, he nudged Will’s foot back, harder this time, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Normal is overrated. But I guess I can handle it if you’re there."
The tension was a physical cord stretched taut between them. Every time Dustin or Lucas laughed, it felt like a distraction from the only thing that mattered: the heat of Will’s skin through his socks and the way Will was biting his lower lip, trying to hide a smile.
Eventually, the sun dipped below the horizon, the orange light fading from the basement windows. The decade of dragons was officially over.
"Alright," Lucas stood up, stretching. "We should head out. Max and I need to stop by her place so she can grab a jacket. Mike, you’re picking up Will?"
"Yeah," Mike said, his voice slightly cracked. He finally withdrew his foot, the sudden coldness making him feel lonely. "I’ll pick him up in twenty."
"Don't be late, Wheeler," Will teased, standing up and smoothing out his shirt—the one Mike had given him. He looked Mike up and down, a bold, lingering gaze that made Mike’s blood turn to liquid fire. "I'm expecting a five-star chauffeur service for our last hurrah."
"You'll get whatever you want, Will," Mike said. It was meant to be a joke, but it came out far too honest.
The Party filtered out of the basement, their laughter echoing up the stairs. Will was the last to leave. He paused at the bottom of the steps, looking back at Mike who was still sitting at the head of the table.
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"Tonight’s going to be different," Will said. It wasn't a question. It was a promise.
"I hope so," Mike whispered.
As Will disappeared up the stairs, the basement felt suddenly, terrifyingly empty. Mike looked down at the D20 on the table. The 20 was still staring back at him. A critical hit. He just hoped he had enough HP to survive whatever was going to happen at Stacey’s house.
He grabbed his keys, took one last look at the empty chairs and the old maps, and clicked off the light. The era of the basement was over. The era of Will Byers was just beginning
The transition from the cool, subterranean sanctuary of the basement to the frantic energy of their separate homes felt like a bridge being burned. There was no going back to being kids. As the Party split up, the air in Hawkins seemed to vibrate with the anticipation of the night, a collective holding of breath before the final plunge into adulthood.
In the Byers' bathroom, the air was a thick, suffocating fog of hairspray and floral perfume. The space was tiny, cramped with the specialized clutter of three teenagers trying to reinvent themselves. Max sat on the closed toilet lid.She looked cooler than ever in a leather jacket draped over her shoulders, her red hair falling in waves that she’d spent an hour perfecting.
"Jane, stop! You're going to get hairspray in the pizza!" Max yelled, though she was grinning. She reached out to swat at a rogue cloud of aerosol drifting toward a pepperoni slice.
Jane, who was standing dangerously close to the counter, didn't flinch. She was navigating a curling iron with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb. "I want it to look... voluminous," Jane said, the word rolling off her tongue with a posh emphasis she’d clearly lifted from the glossy pages of a magazine.
"It’s voluminous enough, El," Max laughed, reaching out to steady Jane’s hand. "You look amazing. Truly. If Dustin doesn't faint when he sees you, I’ll eat my other leg. You look like a total badass."
Jane smiled, a small, proud thing. She looked at herself in the mirror—not as a lab subject, but as a girl going to a party. "And Will?" she asked, her voice dropping. "Does he look okay?"
Max glanced toward the closed bedroom door across the hall. "He’s been in there for forty minutes. He’s either having a fashion crisis or a spiritual awakening."
Inside his room, Will Byers was indeed having a crisis. The bed was covered in discarded flannels, but his hands were trembling as he held the prize: a soft, slightly oversized button-down shirt Mike had lent him months ago. He pulled it on. The fabric was thin from many washes and smelled faintly of Mike’s laundry detergent—that distinct, crisp scent that always made Will feel safe. He buttoned it up, then hesitated, undoing the top two buttons to reveal the hollow of his throat. He looked in the mirror and didn't see the boy who had been lost in the woods. He saw a man with sharp collarbones and eyes that carried a heavy secret.
"Will? You okay in there?" Jane called out, knocking softly.
"Yeah," Will croaked, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I'm ready."
He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Max whistled, a long, appreciative sound. "Damn, Byers. Look at you. Someone’s trying to make a statement tonight. That shirt... isn't that Mike's?"
Will flushed a deep scarlet. "It’s just... it’s comfortable. It’s just a shirt, Max."
"Yeah," Max smirked, exchanging a knowing look with Jane. "And the Titanic was just a boat. Good luck, Romeo."
Across town, the Wheeler household was uncharacteristically quiet, save for the muffled sounds of classic rock leaking from Mike’s bedroom. Mike was staring at his reflection with a look of pure loathing. Two years. It had been two years since he’d realized the love he felt for Jane was the kind you have for a sister—and two years since he’d looked at Will across a D&D table and realized the love he felt for him was the kind that made his chest ache and his mind go completely blank.
"You're overthinking it," Lucas said, leaning against Mike's doorframe. Lucas looked effortless in a sharp polo, his posture relaxed.
"I'm not overthinking," Mike snapped, his fingers fumbling with his collar for the tenth time. "I'm just... checking the fit. Is this too much black? Do I look like I’m going to a funeral?"
"You're checking if Will is going to like it," Lucas countered with a smirk. "Just go, man. It’s the last summer. Stop being a coward. You've fought Mind Flayers, Mike. You can handle a crush."
Mike spun around, his eyes wide and defensive. "I'm not a coward. I'm the Paladin. I'm the one who leads the charge. It's not that simple, Lucas. What if... what if it ruins everything?"
"Then it ruins everything," Lucas said simply, stepping forward to clap Mike hard on the back. "But look at the alternative. You go to college, he goes to college, and you spend the rest of your life wondering. Because if you don't tell him how you feel tonight, some college guy at Stacey’s is going to try to swoop in. And then what?"
The thought of someone else talking to Will made Mike’s blood boil. He grabbed his keys off the dresser, his heart thudding against his ribs. "Let’s get this party started," Mike muttered.
The drive to the Byers’ house felt like an eternity. When Mike pulled into the driveway, he saw Will standing on the porch. Mike’s breath hitched. Will looked... incredible. The blue shirt looked better on Will than it ever had on him. Will walked down the steps and slid into the passenger seat, bringing the scent of the cool night air and something uniquely *Will*—cedar and graphite—with him.
"Hey," Will said, his voice a low hum.
"Hey," Mike replied. He couldn't stop looking. "You... you look really good, Will. That shirt... it suits you."
Will ducked his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Thanks. I thought I’d finally wear it out. It felt right for tonight."
"It looks better on you anyway," Mike said, the honesty slipping out before he could filter it. He cleared his throat quickly. "Ready? The others are meeting us there. Dustin’s already there with Jane."
"I'm ready," Will whispered. "I think I've been ready for a long time."
As they drove toward the Harrington estate, the distant sound of bass began to throb through the air, shaking the windows of Mike's car. They arrived just as Lucas and Max pulled up. The group stood at the edge of the driveway, looking at the massive house swarming with people.
"Okay," Dustin said, appearing from the crowd with Jane. He was already wearing a plastic lei around his neck. "Rule number one: no one gets left behind. Rule number two: we drink like we’re at the end of the world. Because we kind of are."
"To the Party?" Lucas asked, holding up a hand.
"To the Party," they all echoed, their hands stacking on top of each other. Mike felt Will’s hand underneath his. Their fingers brushed, and for a second, the music and the lights faded away.
"Let's go," Mike said, looking only at Will. "Let's make this count."
They pushed through the front doors, and the world exploded into color. The Harrington house was a labyrinth of neon lights, sweat, and the heavy smell of fruit punch and cheap beer. Stacey saw them immediately, waving them over with a frantic grin.
"You guys made it!" she shouted over the music. "Drinks are in the kitchen, dancing is everywhere else. Will, you look amazing! Dustin, I love the lei!"
Dustin was immediately dragged off by a group of younger students who wanted to hear about his graduation speech, leaving the rest of them to navigate the crowded hallway. Lucas and Max found a spot near the patio, holding cups and leaning into each other, finally able to just be a couple without a shadow monster looming over them. Jane was right beside them, taking a cautious sip of something blue and laughing as Dustin started a one-man dance party nearby.
Mike and Will, however, ended up by the makeshift bar. Will reached for a red cup, filling it higher than Mike expected.
"Whoa, take it easy, Cleric," Mike joked, though his eyes were admiring the way Will’s throat moved as he took a long drink.
"I told you, Mike," Will said, wiping his mouth and looking back with a daring spark in his eyes. "I’m ready for something to happen. No more playing it safe."
He took another drink, and Mike followed suit, the burn of the alcohol matching the heat blooming in his chest. Neither of them knew that within three hours, Will would be the center of the room, Mike would be a blushing mess on the couch, and everything they had been holding back for years would finally come crashing to the surface in the back of a parked car.
The party at the estate had reached a fever pitch. It was the kind of night that felt like it would never end, a blur of neon pinks and deep purples, the smell of chlorine from the pool mixing with the heavy scent of fruit-flavored vodka. The bass from the speakers was so loud it felt like it was beating in Mike’s own chest.
Mike sat on the plush velvet couch in the living room, his head leaning back against the cushions. He was tipsy—just enough for the edges of the room to soften, for the anxiety that usually occupied his mind to melt into a warm, buzzing glow. Across the room, the chaos of his friends played out like a movie. Dustin, wearing a neon lei he’d found somewhere, was up on a sturdy coffee table with Jane. They were both laughing hysterically, Jane’s hair flying in a wild cloud as they tried to maintain their balance while screaming the lyrics to a song. Lucas and Max were a world away, curled up in a large armchair in the corner, whispering and laughing into each other’s ears, a private island of peace in the middle of the storm.
But then, Mike’s eyes drifted to the center of the crowd, and his breath hitched.
Will Byers was white girl wasted.
Will was in the middle of a shifting circle of people, his blue button-down unbuttoned far lower than usual, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He was dancing with a reckless, beautiful abandon that Mike had never seen. He looked ethereal. Under the flashing strobe lights, Will seemed to glow, his skin shimmering with a light sheen of sweat. He was laughing, tossing his head back, his eyes bright and glassy, completely uninhibited.
Mike felt a deep, hot blush creep up his neck. He watched the way Will moved, the way he smiled at people he barely knew. It had been two years since Mike and Jane had broken up—two years since they’d realized they were meant to be family, not lovers. In those two years, Mike had come to a quiet, terrifying, and eventually beautiful realization: he was bisexual, and he was deeply, desperately in love with his best friend.
Seeing Will like this—open, public, and radiant—made Mike’s heart race at a dangerous speed. He felt a fierce wave of possessiveness and adoration. I love him, Mike thought, the words echoing in his mind with the force of a physical blow. God, I am so in love with him.
The moment broke when Will’s balance finally gave out. He stumbled away from the cheering circle, his feet tangling, and he came crashing down directly onto Mike.
Will landed heavily on Mike’s lap, his body hot and smelling like cheap vodka and cedarwood. The sexual tension was instant and suffocating. Will didn't move; he stayed sprawled against Mike, his arm draping over Mike’s shoulders, his face inches from Mike’s. His eyes, hazy and dark, searched Mike’s face with a raw longing that made Mike’s skin prickle.
"Mike," Will breathed, his voice a low, vibrating hum. "You’re... you’re still here. I thought you left."
"I'm not leaving you," Mike managed to say, his voice thick. The weight of Will’s body on his was almost too much to handle.
Mike realized it was too late for the party. The air was too charged, the atmosphere too heavy. He looked around, trying to find his friends. "Guys! Dustin! Lucas! We need to go!"
Dustin didn't even look down from the table. "Go ahead, Wheeler! We’re getting a ride with Steve later! Have fun!"
Mike took a deep breath, hoisting Will up. He practically carried him through the throngs of people, out into the cool, damp night air. Mike was tipsy, but he was lightyears more sober than Will. He got Will to the car, gently shoving him into the passenger seat.
As Mike leaned over to buckle the seatbelt, Will suddenly grabbed Mike’s lapels. He pulled Mike down until their noses were touching. The space between them was non-existent.
"Mike," Will whispered, his voice dripping with a clumsy, drunken seduction. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Mike’s jaw, his hands wandering down to Mike’s chest. "You're so... you're so pretty. Did I tell you that?"
The sexual tension in the cramped car was electric, a cord stretched to the snapping point. Mike’s heart was hammering against his ribs. He wanted to kiss him—he wanted it more than anything—but his conscience screamed louder.
"Will, stop," Mike groaned, his forehead leaning against the headrest as he fought for control. "You’re drunk. I’m not... I’m not doing this while you’re like this."
The moment was shattered when Will’s face suddenly went pale. "Mike... I think I'm gonna..."
Mike didn't wait. He slammed the car into gear and peeled out of the driveway, stopping at the first gas station he saw. He spent the next twenty minutes rubbing Will’s back in the gravel behind the building, his heart aching as Will got sick. When it was over, Mike went inside, bought a gallon of water and some hangover pills, and helped Will get cleaned up with a damp paper towel.
As they got back on the road, the "wasted" phase had faded into a quiet, vulnerable hangover. Will was slumped against the window, watching the streetlights blur by. He kept looking over at Mike. To Will, Mike looked incredibly hot—focused on the road, his jaw set in a line of protective concern, his large hands steady on the wheel. He looked like the responsible leader, the Paladin who had once again saved him.
Will looked at Mike’s hand on the gear shift. His heart swelled. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and covered Mike’s hand with his own, lacing their fingers together.
"Mike?" Will’s voice was small, cracked.
"Yeah, Will? I'm right here. Almost home."
"I want you," Will whispered. It wasn't just the alcohol talking anymore; it was the truth that had been buried for years. "I want you, Mike."
Mike’s heart stopped. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "What? Will, I'm right here. I'm taking care of you."
Will whined, a small, pained sound of frustration. He squeezed Mike’s hand, pulling it toward his chest. "No. You know. I want... I want you. Please."
Mike gulped, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He felt like his heart was going to explode. He looked at Will—vulnerable, beautiful, and completely honest. He wanted to say it back so badly he could taste it.
"Will... you're drunk right now," Mike whispered, his voice cracking with a mix of love and restraint. He squeezed Will’s hand back, his thumb stroking Will's palm. "Not now, okay baby? Let’s just get you home. We'll talk when you're sober. I promise."
Will let out a long, shaky sigh, closing his eyes as he leaned his head against the seat, still clutching Mike's hand like a lifeline as the car sped through the quiet night
The car was a cocoon of humming engine noise and thick, suffocating tension. Will was slumped in the passenger seat, his head lolling against the window, but his hand was still firmly anchored to Mike’s on the gear shift. The "baby" Mike had let slip hung in the air like a heavy, golden secret, making Mike’s ears burn a bright, embarrassed red.
Will’s eyes, glazed and dark with the fading haze of the alcohol, drifted down to Mike’s hands. He didn't pull away. Instead, he started to move his thumb in slow, deliberate circles over Mike’s knuckles.
"Baby?" Will repeated, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rasp that made Mike’s stomach do a slow flip. A smirk—lazy, messy, and entirely too confident—tugged at the corner of Will’s mouth. "Is that what I am to you now, Mike? Your baby?"
Mike’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles went white. "Will, you’re drunk. You’re literally hungover and you just puked behind a Shell station. Don't... don't do that."
"Do what?" Will teased, leaning his head back and looking at Mike through hooded lashes. He looked incredibly soft, his skin still glowing from the party's heat, but his eyes were sharp with a sudden, playful mischief. He pulled Mike’s hand up, pressing Mike’s palm flat against his own chest so Mike could feel the frantic, heavy thud of his heart. "You’re the one who said it. You're the one being all... responsible. Taking care of me. It’s actually really hot, Mike. Has anyone told you that?"
Mike felt like the air in the car had been sucked out. "Will, stop it. I’m trying to drive. We’re going to crash."
"You won't crash," Will whispered, his voice a feather-light caress. He leaned over the center console, ignoring the seatbelt, and let his nose brush against the shell of Mike’s ear. He could feel the heat radiating off Mike’s face. "You’re the Paladin, right? You always save me. But who’s going to save you from me?"
Will’s hand drifted from Mike’s wrist up his arm, his fingers dancing over the fabric of Mike’s jacket. He was being shamelessly seductive, leaning into Mike’s personal space until Mike could smell the mint of the gum he’d given him earlier.
"You're so tense, Mike," Will murmured, his lips almost touching Mike’s jawline. "Your heart is beating even faster than mine. Is it because of the 'drunk guy' in your car? Or is it because you actually want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?"
Mike let out a choked, ragged sound. He pulled the car over to the curb of a dark residential street, slamming it into park. He turned to Will, his chest heaving. The sexual tension was no longer a cord; it was a live wire, sparking and dangerous.
"Will, I am trying so hard to be the good guy here," Mike rasped, his eyes dark with a mix of frustration and pure, raw desire. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say those things. But you’re not in your right mind. You’re going to wake up tomorrow and be embarrassed, and I’m not going to let you hate me because I took advantage of you being wasted."
Will’s smirk softened into something more vulnerable, more real. He reached out, his fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of Mike’s neck, pulling him just an inch closer.
"I won't be embarrassed," Will whispered, his voice suddenly steady. "I might have a headache, and I might feel like death, but I’ve wanted you since the first day we met in the sandbox, Mike Wheeler. Drunk Will is just... a lot louder than Sober Will."
He leaned in, his breath warm against Mike's lips, a final, torturous tease. "So? Are you going to keep being the responsible Paladin? Or are you going to show me why you called me 'baby'?"
Mike’s resolve was crumbling. He looked at Will—messy, beautiful, and looking at him like he was the only person in the universe—and he let out a defeated groan, his hand coming up to cup Will’s cheek.
"I’m going to get you home," Mike breathed, his thumb brushing Will’s lower lip. "And then I’m going to stay with you until you wake up. And when you’re sober, if you still want me... I’m never letting you go."
Will huffed a soft, satisfied laugh, leaning his head into Mike’s hand. "Fine. But I’m holding your hand the whole way back. Don't even try to let go."
The car was a pressure cooker. The low hum of the engine and the rhythmic click-clack of the turn signal were the only sounds in the dark cabin, but the silence between them was screaming.
Will wasn't just holding Mike’s hand anymore. His fingers were dancing, tracing the prominent veins on the back of Mike’s hand, then sliding up to wrap around Mike’s long fingers. He was playing with them, interlacing their digits and then slowly pulling them apart, his skin hot and damp. Will’s touch grew bolder; he began to trace the sensitive skin between Mike’s fingers, his movements rhythmic and agonizingly slow.
"Mike," Will murmured, his voice sounding deeper, heavy with a hazy, post-party heat. He wasn't just tipsy anymore; the alcohol had stripped away every filter, leaving behind a raw, pulsing need. He shifted in the passenger seat, his jeans tightening as he moved closer to the center console. His eyes were dark, fixed on Mike’s profile, and his breathing had turned shallow and ragged.
Will’s other hand reached out, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of Mike’s inner wrist, right where his pulse was thrumming like a trapped bird. "You’re shaking, Mike. Why are you shaking?"
"Will, for the love of God, stop," Mike choked out. His grip on the steering wheel was so tight his fingers were cramping. The way Will was looking at him—hungry, desperate, and completely focused—was doing things to Mike’s resolve that he couldn't handle.
Will didn't stop. He leaned over the console, the scent of his skin and the fading vodka clouding Mike’s senses. He took Mike’s index finger into his hand and gave it a slow, deliberate squeeze, his eyes never leaving Mike’s face. "I don’t want to go home yet," Will whispered, his voice hitching. "I want to stay right here. With you. I want you to look at me, Mike. Properly."
The air in the car was thick with a sudden, overwhelming tension. Mike could feel the heat radiating off Will, could hear the desperate whine at the back of Will’s throat. Will was horny, shamelessly so, and he was making sure Mike knew it. He moved Mike's hand off the gear shift and pressed it firmly against his own thigh, his fingers digging into Mike's arm.
"Mike... please," Will groaned, his head falling back against the headrest, exposing the long, pale line of his throat.
That was the breaking point. The Paladin’s restraint snapped like a dry twig.
Mike let out a low, guttural growl of frustration and desire. He checked the rearview mirror once—the road was empty—and slammed the car into park right there on the shoulder of the dark, tree-lined road. He didn't even turn off the engine.
He lunged across the center console, his large hands reaching out to cup Will’s face with a desperation that had been building for years. Will met him halfway, his hands tangling in Mike’s dark curls, pulling him in.
When their lips finally met, it wasn't a soft, cautious first kiss. It was an explosion. It was messy, frantic, and filled with the pent-up longing of two years of pining. Mike groaned into Will’s mouth, his tongue seeking entrance, and Will gave it to him eagerly, a soft sob escaping him as he pulled Mike closer.
The car was small, the space cramped, but neither of them cared. Mike’s hands moved from Will’s face to his waist, pulling him as far over the console as he could get. The kiss was deep, tasting of mint and the lingering sweetness of the party drinks, and every time Will made a small, needy sound into Mike’s mouth, Mike felt his own heart hammer against his ribs.
"Will," Mike gasped against his lips, breaking away for just a second to breathe, his forehead pressed against Will's. "I've wanted to do that... so fucking long."
Will didn't answer with words. He just grabbed Mike’s collar and pulled him back down, his eyes dark and dilated, his face flushed with a heat that had nothing to do with the Indiana summer and everything to do with the boy holding him.
"Don't stop," Will whispered against Mike's mouth, his fingers tightening in Mike's hair. "Don't ever stop."
The car sat idling on the gravel shoulder, the headlights cutting two lonely beams into the dark Indiana woods, but inside the cabin, the atmosphere was white-hot.
The initial collision of their lips had broken the floodgates. Will, fueled by a potent mix of liquid courage and years of agonizing suppressed desire, wasn't satisfied with the distance the center console put between them. He made a frustrated, needy sound against Mike’s mouth, his hands clutching at Mike’s shoulders as he scrambled upward. With a clumsy but determined grace, Will hoisted himself over the gear shift and the armrest, straddling Mike’s lap in the cramped driver’s seat.
Mike let out a choked gasp as Will’s weight settled on him, his back hitting the driver’s side door. The space was tiny, their limbs tangled, but the friction was electric. Will’s hands were everywhere—in Mike’s hair, tracing the line of his jaw, clutching at the back of his neck to pull him closer.
The kiss deepened, becoming something raw and desperate. Will was relentless, his mouth moving against Mike’s with a hunger that made Mike’s head spin. Every time Will let out a soft, shaky moan into the kiss, Mike felt his resolve crumbling further into ash. Will leaned forward, pressing his chest against Mike’s, his fingers digging into Mike’s shoulders as if he were afraid Mike might vanish if he let go.
"Mike... Mike, please," Will whispered against his lips, his voice wrecked and heavy. He began to trail kisses down Mike’s jawline, his breath hot against Mike’s skin. The sheer audacity of Will’s movements—the way he was moving against Mike, the way he was shamelessly seeking more—was driving Mike to the brink of losing all control.
Mike’s hands, which had been hovering at Will’s waist, suddenly gripped Will’s hips firmly, holding him still. The heat between them was unbearable, the air in the car thick and smelling of the rain that was finally starting to pitter-patter against the windshield.
"Will," Mike rasped, his voice dropping to a low, commanding tone that made Will shiver. He pulled back just enough to look Will in the eyes. Will’s face was flushed a deep, beautiful pink, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes wide and completely dark with desire.
Mike’s heart was hammering against Will’s chest, but he forced himself to take a breath. He reached up, his thumb brushing over Will’s bottom lip, trying to steady his own ragged breathing.
"Control yourself, baby," Mike murmured, his voice a mix of a warning and a caress. "Look at you. You’re all worked up."
Will let out a small, whined protest, trying to lean back in for another kiss, but Mike kept his firm grip on Will's hips, keeping that small but necessary distance.
"Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?" Mike whispered, his eyes boring into Will’s. "Hmm? I want to do this properly. I want you to remember every single second of what I’m going to do to you."
Will’s breath hitched at the word 'properly', his eyes fluttering shut for a second as he leaned his forehead against Mike’s. He was trembling, the reality of the situation finally clashing with the haze of the alcohol.
"I’ll remember," Will promised, his voice small and shaky. "I promise, Mike."
"I know you will," Mike said, his voice softening as he leaned in to press a firm, lingering kiss to Will's forehead. He felt the tension in Will's body start to settle, replaced by a sleepy, heavy vulnerability. "But let’s get you home now, okay? You’re exhausted, and you’re going to be so sore tomorrow if we don't get you in a real bed."
Will let out one last, defeated sigh, nuzzling into Mike’s neck one more time before slowly, reluctantly climbing back into the passenger seat. Mike helped him settle, buckling the seatbelt for him again and lingering for a second to stroke Will's hair away from his face.
"Stay with me?" Will asked, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.
"I'm not going anywhere," Mike promised, shifting the car back into drive. "I'll be right there when you wake up."
As they pulled back onto the road, the silence in the car was no longer tense—it was a promise
The drive to the Byers' house was conducted in a heavy, charged silence, broken only by the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers. Will had finally succumbed to the weight of the night, his head lolling against the window, his fingers still loosely curled around Mike's sleeve.
When Mike pulled into the gravel driveway, the house was dark. Joyce and Hopper were at a cabin in the woods for a post-graduation retreat, and Jonathan was still out at a different party in the city. They were alone.
Mike turned off the engine, the sudden quiet of the cabin feeling louder than the music they’d left behind. He looked over at Will, who looked so small and peaceful in the dim glow of the dashboard. The "white girl wasted" energy had evaporated, leaving behind the boy Mike had loved since they were six years old.
"Will," Mike whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. "Hey, we're home."
Will just let out a soft, incoherent mumble, his eyes fluttering but refusing to open. He was dead to the world.
Mike sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. He got out of the car, the humid night air clinging to his skin, and walked around to the passenger side. He unbuckled Will’s seatbelt and carefully maneuvered him out of the seat. As soon as Will felt Mike’s touch, he instinctively reached out, his arms looping around Mike’s neck and his face burying into the crook of Mike’s shoulder.
"Gotcha," Mike grunted, hoisting Will up into a bridal carry.
Will was lanky, but Mike didn't mind the weight. He adjusted his grip, feeling the heat of Will’s body through the thin fabric of the blue shirt—his shirt. He carried him up the porch steps, the wood creaking under his boots, and managed to fish the spare key from under the planter.
The house was cool and quiet. Mike didn't turn on the lights, navigating by the moonlight filtering through the windows. He carried Will down the hallway, past the kitchen where they’d shared a thousand breakfasts, and into Will’s bedroom.
The room smelled like oil paints and old books. Mike kicked the door shut behind them and walked over to the bed, carefully lowering Will onto the mattress. But as Mike tried to pull away, Will’s grip on his neck tightened.
"Don't," Will whispered, his voice thick with sleep but laced with that same desperate longing from the car. "Stay. Please."
Mike’s heart did a slow, heavy roll. "I’m just getting your shoes off, Will. I'm not going anywhere."
Mike knelt at the edge of the bed, tugging off Will’s sneakers and setting them aside. He moved to the top of the bed, gently unbuttoning the blue shirt to make Will more comfortable. As the fabric fell open, Will’s eyes blinked open—hazy, dark, and fixated on Mike.
"Mike," Will breathed, reaching up to touch Mike’s cheek. His fingers were cool now, tracing the line of Mike’s jaw. "You’re so... you’re so good to me."
"I told you," Mike said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp as he sat on the edge of the mattress. "I'm always going to take care of you."
Will pulled on Mike’s hand, dragging him down until Mike was hovering just inches above him. The sexual tension from the car hadn't left; it had just softened into something deeper, something more permanent.
"I meant it," Will whispered, his eyes searching Mike’s. "Everything I said. I want you."
Mike gulped, his thumb stroking Will’s cheekbone. "I know. And I want you too. More than anything in the world." He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Will’s temple. "But right now, you need to sleep. You've had a long night, baby."
Will let out a contented hum at the pet name, his eyes finally drifting shut as he tucked his head into Mike’s side. Mike kicked off his own shoes and climbed onto the bed next to him, pulling the quilt over both of them.
Will immediately curled into Mike’s chest, his hand resting over Mike’s heart. As Mike looked down at the boy in his arms, he knew his life had changed forever. The party was over, but their story was just beginning.