Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was late November, the kind of cold that slipped in quietly and stayed. Claire rolled the car window up with a shiver, rubbing her hands together as the heater kicked in a second too late.

“Honey, didn’t I tell you to bring your thicker jacket?” Holly said, eyes still on the road. “It’s freezing.”

“It’s fine, Mom,” Claire sighed. “We’re already late anyway. I bet everyone’s there already.”

“We’re late because you slept through three alarms,” Holly replied, amused. “For a second, I thought you were planning on hibernating.”

“It’s a holiday,” Claire groaned. “I’m allowed to sleep. High school already ruined my sleep schedule.”

“You’re a freshman,” Holly said gently. “It only gets worse from here.”

“Mom.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” She broke into a beam despite herself, and Claire caught it, smiling too before looking back out the window. 

“You’re lucky that we moved out from your grandparents, you know. Your grandmother wouldn’t let me sleep that much, even on the weekends.” Holly ranted.

“Yeah, I know that we’re lucky. It’s even better that we live close to Uncle Mike and Will now.”

Holly’s lips curved into a smile at the mention of her older brother.

They drove the rest of the way in companionable silence, the radio murmuring something soft and classic in the background. When Holly finally slowed the car and parked, she glanced over. “We’re here.”

Claire was already unbuckling. The car door shut a little harder than necessary.

“Claire.” Holly warned her daughter, though she didn’t actually look angry.

“My apologies.” Claire said, slinging her backpack over one shoulder and grabbing the pie box from the backseat, “Do you think Uncle Mike will burn another turkey this year?”

“I don’t remember him burning it before.” Holly defended her brother as they walked up the path.

“He overcooked it last year,” Claire shot back. “That still counts.”
Before Holly could reply, the front door swung open.

“Hey!” Will said, already smiling like he’d been waiting there. He was wearing one of Mike’s shirts, sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy in the way that meant he’d been cooking. “You made it.”

Claire barely gave him time to finish before throwing her arms around him. “Hi!”

Will laughed, hugging her back easily. “Hi, kid.”

Holly followed, her smile softer but just as warm. “Hey, Will.”

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside. “Everyone’s here. We were just waiting on Mike to take the turkey out of the oven.”

From somewhere inside the house, Mike’s voice called back, “I heard that, William!”
Will smirked. “Good.”

The warmth hit them the second they stepped inside—heat, noise, and the smell of food all at once. Claire kicked her shoes off by habit, already scanning the room.

Nancy was perched on the arm of the couch, wine glass in hand. “There she is,” she said brightly. “My favorite niece.”

“I’m your only niece,” Claire said solemnly. Then, she laughed when Nancy pulled her into a hug.

Jonathan stood nearby, hands in his pockets, offering Claire a small wave that turned into a smile when she waved back a little too enthusiastically.

Then, she heard her name being called out from the hallway. She turned around to see who it was.

“Claire!” Joyce Byers entered the living room with a wide grin on her face. “Oh, look at you! You’ve grown so much.”

Claire straightened on instinct. “Hi, Mrs. Byers.”

Joyce laughed. “You don’t have to be so formal.”

“Yes I do,” Claire said, dead serious. “My mom said so.”

Holly groaned. “I said be polite, not that.”
Joyce waved it off, still smiling. “I’ll take it.”

The house settled into its familiar, comfortable chaos. Coats were draped over chairs, Joyce was already fussing over Will, asking if he was eating enough, Jonathan set a loaf of bread down on the counter like it was something sacred, and Nancy refilled her glass.

Mike finally emerged from the kitchen, with his crooked apron and messy hair. For a second, he glanced at Will, then he leaned over and fixed the collar of his sweater without thinking. Will didn’t even pause.

Claire raised an eyebrow at the gesture. Holly and Nancy laughed.

Mike clapped his hands once, announcing everyone that food was ready to be served. “Okay, before anyone criticizes anything—”

Claire squinted. “Did you dry it out this time?”

“It is perfect,” He said defensively.

They gathered around the table soon after, plates passing, voices overlapping. Somewhere along the way, the conversation drifted to Mike’s new novel—the one that was apparently, possibly, being adapted into a movie.

“If this actually happens,” Nancy said, “we need to talk casting.”

“Absolutely not,” Mike replied immediately.

“What about Elijah Wood?” Jonathan offered.

Mike lit up. “I love him. Lord of the Rings changed my life.”

“But—” Will added.

“But,” Mike sighed, “I can’t have my character associated with two franchises. I have principles.”

“What about Hugh Grant?” Holly suggested.

“No, mom. He’s too old,” Claire said before Mike could answer.

“She’s right.” Mike said. “He’s like fifty years old.”

“You’re 39. I wouldn’t be speaking if I were in your place.” Holly teased.
Mike rolled his eyes as everyone at the table laughed at the joke.

They were still laughing and chatting when Claire leaned back in her chair, groaning dramatically. “Can I rant about my school for a bit? I’m so busy with my assignments that I barely have time to sleep!” Some agreeing noises rose from the table when she spoke.

“Also, the people in my class, I mean the girls are so nice and friendly but the boys just suck.”

Holly nodded instantly. “They really do.”
“So do most men,” Nancy added.
Joyce hummed in agreement.

“Hey,” Jonathan said. “That’s not fair.”

“Yeah,” Mike added. “Not every high school boy is terrible.”

Will tilted his head. “Are you sure? I think most of them are.”
Mike shot him a look. “You’re biased.”

“Just speaking from experience.” Will grinned.

The TV murmured softly in the background, something no one was really paying attention to. Plates clinked, chairs scraped, laughter rose and fell. 

Then, mid-sentence, Mike’s gaze shifted to the TV. Just for a second.

The news anchor was talking about marriage laws—Massachusetts, New York—words like legalized and expanded rights slipping through the noise.

Mike smiled to himself.
It was small. Barely there.
But Claire saw it.

He looked away from the TV quickly, like he’d been caught doing something embarrassing, and reached for his glass instead. The conversation at the table kept moving without him—Nancy laughing at something Joyce said, Will nudging Jonathan with his elbow, Holly asking if anyone wanted more potatoes.

Dinner unraveled slowly after that. Joyce announced she needed air and headed for the back door with a cigarette already in hand. Jonathan followed Will toward the cellar, arguing about whether they’d opened the good bottle of wine last year or saved it. Nancy stretched out on the couch with a dramatic groan, declaring herself  “done for the night.” Holly gathered plates, humming to herself.

Mike started stacking dishes. Claire grabbed a towel and followed him into the kitchen without a word.

They worked side by side, the way they always did. Mike washed. Claire dried. The clink of plates, the sound of running water. Comfortable. Almost meditative.

She waited until he reached for another plate.
“I saw you looking at the TV earlier.” She said.

Mike blinked. “What?”

“You were smiling, it was for like a second, though.” She didn’t look at him when she said it, just focused on the dish in her hands.

He huffed a laugh. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m really not.”

That made him pause. He turned the faucet off, resting both hands on the edge of the sink. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.
“…They were talking about same-sex marriage,” he said finally.
Claire glanced at him. “Yeah.”

“I just—” He shook his head, a little embarrassed. “It got stuck in my brain, that’s all.”

She set the plate aside. “Stuck how?”

Mike dried his hands slowly, buying time. “I just…” He scratched the back of his neck, a habit that hadn’t changed in decades. “We’ve been together for over twenty years. We’re pushing forty. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Claire’s face softened immediately.

“I don’t care that it’s not legal here,” He continued, quieter now. “Massachusetts, New York—whatever state will have us. I don’t need a big thing. I just—” He stopped himself, then laughed under his breath. “I want to marry the love of my life. That’s it.”

Claire was smiling so hard that it almost hurt her cheeks. “You want to marry Uncle Will.” She repeated.

Mike looked at her. He didn’t deny it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

Claire’s grin came easy. “That’s perfect.”

He scoffed. “Don’t romanticize it. I don’t even know how I’d do it. I’d probably say the wrong thing and ruin the whole moment.”

“Unlikely.”

“I ruin moments all the time.”

She leaned against the counter. “But you write love stories.”

“Fictional ones.” He huffed.

“Still counts.”

Mike considered that, then sighed. “I just want it to be… right. For him.”

Claire nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Mike gave his niece a confused look.

“Okay,” she repeated, eyes bright now. “You’re not doing this alone.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, you want to help me?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Claire said. “But you’re going to have to listen to me.”

Mike smiled despite himself. “That’s usually where things go wrong for me.”

From the other room, Will called out, “Are you two plotting something?”

“No!” Mike yelled back automatically.
Claire added, a little too quickly, “Just dishes!”
They exchanged a look—shared, secret, almost conspiratorial.

“Okay, we obviously can’t talk privately right now. So how about this—you pick me up from school next Thursday, and we go to that diner you took me last month.”

Mike scratched his chin, considering the idea.
“Hmm. Fine. But don’t keep me waiting like last time, or I’ll seriously leave you there.”

Claire laughed. “I won’t! You just focus on coming up with an excuse for Uncle Will, since we’ll be plotting in private.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll tell him I’m meeting my publisher or something,” he said, leaning against the counter.

She gave her uncle a warm smile. “Good. I think we’re really going to pull this off.”

“I think so too.” Mike whispered to not be heard, giving Claire a grin before leaving the kitchen.

By the time the last goodbyes were said and the door finally clicked shut, the house settled into a familiar kind of tired.

Mike turned the lights down without really thinking about it, muscle memory guiding him through the living room. The turkey platter was empty, the couch cushions slightly askew, a forgotten sweater draped over the armchair. The television murmured softly, some late-night program no one was watching.

He picked up a book from the bookshelf, a book he’d already read before.
He was stretched out on the couch, one leg hooked over the armrest, the book open against his chest. The lamp beside him cast a soft, yellow glow over the living room.

Will came back downstairs in socks, hair still damp from the shower he just took. He stopped when he saw what Mike was reading.
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “Of course.”

Mike glanced up. “What?”

“Leaves of Grass,” Will said. “You’re so predictable.”

“What do you mean? I’m a romantic man.” Mike teased.

“You’re a walking cliché,” Will corrected, moving closer. “A very earnest one.” 

He dropped down beside Mike and immediately reached for the book, fingers sliding under the cover to hold it open. “There is no unreturned love. The pay is certain, one way or another.” Will read aloud, then looked up. “You love that line.”

“It’s a good line.”

“Sure. But, you quote it every time you’re trying to sound profound. I can’t take it seriously anymore.”

Mike smirked. “It works, though. Doesn’t it?”

Will leaned in, close enough that Mike could feel his breath. “Sometimes.”

Mike tilted his head. “Sometimes?”

Will shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t need other people’s poetry. The stuff you come up with by yourself are as good as Whitman’s.”

Mike laughed softly at that, a little embarrassed despite himself. “I think that wine you and Jonathan drank after dinner is kicking in now.”

“Maybe.” Will said. He shifted closer, his knee bumping into Mike’s, deliberate. “What I said is true, though. You just don’t always see it.”

Mike closed the book partway, resting it against his chest. “I see it.”

Will nudged Mike’s shoulder lightly, then settled against him, head resting on Mike’s chest this time. Mike’s arm came up automatically, wrapping around Will’s back, thumb pressing warm and steady just below his shoulder blade.
The book slipped a little, forgotten.

“You were really in your element tonight,” Will said after a moment. “Everyone here. You hosting the dinner.”

Mike hummed. “I like feeding people.”

“I know. You get all serious about it.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.” Will smiled to himself. “You even fixed my collar earlier.”

Mike blinked. “I did?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “Didn’t even ask. Just reached over like you owned me.”

Mike laughed. “I do own you.”

Will lifted his head, eyebrow raised. “Careful.”

“Sorry,” Mike said, grinning. “Bad phrasing.”

“Very bad phrasing,” Will agreed, but he was smiling too.

They sat in that easy quiet again, warmth layered over warmth. Mike absently traced the seam of Will’s sweater. Will’s fingers rested lightly at Mike’s waist, thumb pressing in now and then, grounding.

After a while, Will spoke.
“Do you ever think,” he said, voice thoughtful rather than heavy, “that this is… kind of it?”

Mike hummed. “What do you mean?”

“Our lives,” Will clarified. “Like—this version of them.” He gestured vaguely at the room, the couch, the quiet. “Do you think they stay like this forever?”

Mike turned his head slightly to look at his boyfriend. “Is that a bad thing?”

Will smiled a little. “No. Not bad.” He paused. “Just… steady.”

Mike nodded. Steady was good. Steady was safe.

“I guess I just mean,” Will went on, choosing his words carefully, “people don’t really talk about what comes after ‘settled.’ Like, once you get here—do you just stop changing?”

Mike’s hand slowed where it rested against Will’s side. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Why?”

Will shrugged, gaze drifting toward the darkened window. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like my brain’s itching.” He laughed softly. “That sounded ridiculous.”

“No,” Mike said quickly. “It didn’t.”

Will glanced at him, searching. “I just don’t want to wake up one day and realize I’m doing something out of habit instead of love.”

That landed wrong. It landed bad.

Mike swallowed. “You think we’re doing that?”

Will frowned. “No. That’s not—”

“I mean,” Mike said, forcing a lightness that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “if you are, you can just tell me.”

Will blinked. “Tell you what?”

“That you want… something different.”

Will’s brow creased now. “Different how?”

Mike hesitated. The words felt too big once he tried to say them out loud. “I don’t know. I just—when you said ‘is this it?’ it sounded like you were talking about… us.”

Will stared at him for a second, then shook his head gently. “Mike. No. I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” Mike laughed quietly. “Okay.”

They sat there, the moment stretching. Will reached out again, fingers brushing Mike’s knee.

“I love this,” Will said, plainly. “I love us.”

“I know,” Mike replied, a little too fast.

Will studied him for a beat, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. It was unhurried, familiar and affectionate at the same time.

Mike kissed him back, automatically, deeply, because that part of him never hesitated.

When Will pulled away, he smiled. “I’m gonna head up. My head is killing me.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “I’ll be up soon. I just have to read this chapter.”

Will stood, then leaned down to kiss Mike’s forehead this time “Don’t stay up too late,” he said, lingering a moment longer. “I’ll be waiting.”

Mike grinned as he met Will’s eyes. “I won’t be long.”

Will gave his hand a gentle squeeze and headed for the stairs.

Mike stayed where he was, the warmth of the kiss still lingering on his skin.

I love us, Will had said.
So why did Mike’s chest still feel tight?

He stared at his book without reading, heart thudding softly with a thought he couldn’t quite shake: What if I’m already running out of time and I don’t even know it yet?

Thursday came with that strange, stretched-out feeling—like the day knew it mattered and decided to move slower out of spite.

Mike waited across the street from Claire’s school, hands tucked into his coat pockets, watching clusters of kids spill out onto the sidewalk. He spotted her easily; backpack slung low, hair a little messy, already mid-sentence with a friend. When she saw him, her face lit up and she waved like he might miss her otherwise.

“Uncle Mike!” she called, jogging over. “You’re late.”

“I am three minutes early,” he said, affronted.

“The teacher let us go early today.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Mike protested but Claire didn’t hear it since she started walking towards the street. Mike hurried to catch her.

“Can you walk faster, I’m hungry.” Claire said

“I’m trying.” Mike huffed, out of breath.

They started walking, the late-afternoon air sharp but not unbearable. Mike let her talk—about a quiz she thought she bombed, about a teacher who hated joy, about a girl in her class who chewed gum like it was a personal vendetta. He nodded, hummed in the right places, but his mind kept drifting.

Claire noticed. Of course she did.
“You’re doing the quiet thing,” she said, squinting up at him.

“I’m walking.”

“No, you’re thinking. What’s up? Are you anxious?”

“Can we talk about it after we get there?” He sighed.

She grinned, then nudged his arm. “Whatever you want.”

The diner was exactly how they remembered it. Same cracked vinyl booths, same bell over the door, same waitress who looked at Mike like she knew his soul and all his bad habits. They slid into a booth by the window.

Claire didn’t even look at the menu. “Burger, no pickles, extra fries. Chocolate milkshake.”

“You’re not even pretending to consider options,” Mike said.

“I know what I like.”

He ordered coffee he didn’t need and something he probably wouldn’t finish. When the waitress left, Claire folded her hands on the table and leaned forward.
“Okay,” she said. “Now.”

Mike stared at the coffee in his mug. “So… Will and I had a bit of a weird moment the other night.”

“Define weird.”

“It was unusual, I guess. Not bad. Just… off.”

Claire tilted her head. “Did he say something or did you?”

“He did,” Mike said. “But not in a way that made sense. He asked if I thought our lives would stay like this forever.”

“And?”

“And my brain immediately went to the worst possible place.”

Claire groaned. “Uncle Mike.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know. He also said he loved our life. Explicitly. Very clearly.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “That’s important.”

“It is,” Mike agreed. “Which is why I feel ridiculous for still thinking about it. Do you think he said that he love our life in an ‘I don’t want what we have to get ruined by a marriage’ way?”

“Yes, you are ridiculous for thinking that, he obviously meant it in an ‘I love spending my life with you’ way!”

Their food arrived, buying him a moment. Claire stabbed a fry and pointed it at him like a tiny weapon.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” she said. “But from what you just told me? He wasn’t pulling away. He was thinking out loud.”

Mike smiled faintly. “You sound very confident.”

“I am,” she said. “Also, you’re literally planning to propose to him, so maybe don’t spiral yourself into a parallel universe where that doesn’t happen.”

He laughed under his breath. “You really think I should propose?”

“Yes,” Claire said immediately. “Like—yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent.”
She took a bite of her burger, chewed, then reached into her backpack.

Mike watched, confused, as she dug around with exaggerated seriousness.
“What are you doing?” he asked.

Claire finally pulled something out—a folded piece of paper, creased and soft like it had been handled a lot.

She placed it on the table between them, smoothing it out carefully. “I made a list of questions.”

He blinked. “…You made a list.”

“At school,” she added, like that explained everything.

He stared at it, then at her. “Claire.”

She tapped the paper once, then cleared her throat like she was about to conduct an interview.

“Okay,” she said. “First question. Where are you going to propose?”

Mike leaned back against the booth, arms crossing. “I don’t know yet.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“I’m being honest.”

“That’s not good.” Claire said. “Do you guys have a spot? Like a place that’s yours. A bench, a bookstore, a beach, a random sidewalk you cried on once?”

Mike huffed a laugh. “You make that sound very dramatic.”

“It should be dramatic! This is your first proposal.” she said.

He took a sip from his coffee. “There’s a park we used to go when we first moved here. So, yes, we do have a bench of our own there, I guess.”

“Perfect.” she said. “Next question. What time of day?”

“That matters?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Morning proposals are unhinged. Night proposals are stressful. Afternoon is safe.”

Mike stared at her, laughing. “You’ve thought about this.”

“Answer the question.” Claire said, dead serious.

“Okay, okay—” He thought for a second. “Late afternoon. Before it gets dark.”

She nodded, satisfied, and scribbled something down. “Good. Lighting is important.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever,” she said. “Photos exist, Uncle Mike.”

He groaned. “I wasn’t planning on—”

“You don’t have to plan photos,” she said. “They just happen.”

Claire flipped the paper. “Ring.”

Mike didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket.

Claire’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

He pulled it out carefully, like he’d done it a hundred times before in private. It was a simple gold ring.

“I bought it two years ago,” He said quietly.
Claire looked from the ring to his face. “Two years?”

He shrugged, suddenly shy. “I saw it in a window. Thought of him. Thought… eventually.”

She went very still for a second. “Uncle Mike.”

“That’s not a question,” he said.

“That’s insane,” she said, but she was smiling. “In a good way. That means you’ve been wanting this for two years.”

“I’ve been knowing,” he corrected gently.

She reached across the table and closed the ring box for him, like she was handling something sacred. “Okay. Next question.”

He laughed. “You’re not even going to tease me?”

“Oh, I will,” she said. “Later. Right now I’m being professional.”

“Terrifying.”

She scanned the list again. “What are you going to say?”

“The truth, that I want to marry him?” Mike said.

“That’s vague.”

“I know.”

She sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. I assume you’ll figure that out later. Are you going to get on one knee?”

“Obviously.” He replied. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen a gay marriage proposal. Maybe it’s different from the straight ones?”

Mike started laughing so hard, his face blushed a little. “No, it’s not different.” he finally managed to say.

“Okay enough with the laughing!” Claire said even though she was smiling too. “Wait, since there’s no bride but you’re the one proposing, will Mrs. Byers and Uncle Will walk down the aisle together? Or maybe Aunt Nancy and Mom can walk with you?”

“Okay, give me a break. I didn’t even propose yet!” Mike said, embarrassed.

She grinned. “Fine, you can also sort that out later. Okay, are you proposing on a weekday or weekend?”

“Weekend.”

“Smart. No deadlines. No emails. No panic.”

Mike shook his head, amused. “You’re very intense about this.”

“Someone has to be,” she said. “You’re in your head too much.”

Their plates were mostly empty now, milkshake half-melted between them. Claire folded the paper and tucked it back into her bag like it was classified information.
“Okay,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “I think we’re off to a solid start. You still have to figure out what to say, though. That’s a big deal. Maybe quote a song or something, I don’t know.”

He followed her outside, the cold air snapping them back into the real world. “A song? That’s a bit cheesy, I don’t know.”

“You’ll figure it out, Uncle Mike. Calm down.”

Claire zipped up her jacket and looked up at him. “Take me home,” she said. “Then we can hang out with Mom.”

Mike nodded, then hesitated. “One thing.”
She raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s not tell her about the proposal,” he said. “I wasn’t even going to tell you. I want to keep it a secret.”

She frowned. “Okay, I’m not going to tell mom, however I think you need a second opinion from someone who knows Uncle Will. Pick someone and tell them about your plan, then ask if they think he’ll like it.”

Mike opened the car door for Claire. As she climbed in, she asked, “Are you going to do it?”

“Fine. I’ll call a friend.” Mike said, starting the engine. “But not because you asked me to, but because I want to.”

“Cool,” She replied, grinning out the window as they pulled away.

Mike’s desk lamp was the only light on in his office, casting a soft yellow glow over scattered notebooks and an abandoned mug of coffee. His laptop sat open, Skype call already connected.

Dustin filled the screen, leaning back in his chair with the casual confidence of someone who had absolutely no stake in this and was enjoying it immensely.

“So,” Dustin said, dragging the word out. “You’re finally doing it.”

Mike rubbed his hands together once, like he was warming them. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? Historic?” Dustin grinned. “Because this is historic. Michael Wheeler. Proposing. I need to frame this moment.”

“Maybe I should’ve called Lucas instead of you.” Mike muttered.

“No, you made the right decision by picking me.” Dustin replied easily. “You love me. Especially right now, because I’m about to say this is a great idea.”

Mike looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dustin nodded. “It’s romantic, it’s overdue, and honestly, I was starting to think you two were just going to keep calling each other ‘partner’ until you died.”

Mike laughed despite himself. “Okay, but Claire thinks I need a better plan.”

Dustin’s eyebrows shot up. “Your niece?”

“She made a list.” Mike admitted.

“A list,” Dustin repeated, delighted. “That girl is a genius, are you sure she’s related to you?”

“Can you just fucking take this seriously for a second?” Mike frowned.

“Okay, fine. Continue.” Dustin laughed under his breath.

“Anyway, she made this list. And she asked about location, timing, what I’m wearing—”

“Oh, you’re doomed,” Dustin said cheerfully. “But she’s right.”

Mike slumped back in his chair. “You too?”

“Mike,” Dustin said, softer now. “You’re proposing to Will. The man notices everything. If you half-ass this, he’ll clock it immediately.”

“I’m not half-assing it,” Mike protested. “I’m just… overthinking it.”

“That is still half-assing,” Dustin replied. “You need something thoughtful. Something you.” after a moment, he added. “At least you know that you’re doing it at the park on a late afternoon. Also, you’ve got the ring! So, that’s something. The rest is easier to figure out.”

“You’re forgetting the important part though,” Mike sighed. “I don’t have a speech.”

Dustin leaned back in his chair, considering this like it was a puzzle he actually wanted to solve. “Okay. Then you write one.”

Mike blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Dustin said. “You write the speech. Do you want to quote something? A poem, a movie, a person—”

“No,” Mike cut in, almost immediately. He shook his head once, decisive. “No quotes. No references. I’m not borrowing someone else’s words for this.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m writing it myself,” Mike said. “All of it. I’m going to say exactly what I feel, because Will deserves that.”

Dustin didn’t tease Mike right away. “…Whoa,” he said finally. “Okay, Romeo.”
Mike rolled his eyes once again.

“I’m serious,” Dustin went on. “That’s actually… really good. Terrifying, but good.”

“It is terrifying,” Mike agreed. “I’ve written entire novels and this somehow feels harder.”

“Yeah, well,” Dustin shrugged, “this one can reject you.”

Mike shot him a look. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m kidding!” Dustin said quickly. “I’m kidding. He’s going to say yes. Calm down.”

Mike exhaled, then laughed despite himself. “You’re the worst friend.”

“And yet,” Dustin grinned, “here you are.”
There was a brief pause before Dustin tilted his head again. “You said your niece asked about clothes. Do you have something to wear?”

“I have clothes.” Mike said defensively.

“For a proposal,” Dustin clarified.

Mike hesitated. “…Maybe.”

“If you want, you can borrow something from me.” Dustin offered. “I’ve got options.”

Mike snorted. “I would look ridiculous in your clothes. You’re built like a twig and I’m—”

“Taller? Broader? Tragically handsome?” Dustin supplied.

“Don’t push it,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Besides, I want it to feel like me.”

Before either of them could say more, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“Who are you talking to?” Will’s voice filled the room.

Mike froze.

Will stood in the doorway again, sketchbook tucked under his arm, eyebrows raised in mild curiosity.
Mike spun around. “I—weren’t you—”

“I was,” Will said easily. “I just forgot my eraser.”

On the screen, Dustin brightened immediately. “Hey, Will!”

Will smiled. “Hi, Dustin! Long time.”

“Too long,” Dustin agreed. “You look good.”

“So do you,” Will said, genuine. “How’s Yale treating you?”

“Still standing,” Dustin replied. “Which is more than I can say for Mike right now.”

Mike shot him a warning look.

Will glanced between them. “What are you guys talking about?”

Mike’s brain scrambled. “ A gift.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “For who?”

“For Dustin’s colleague,” Mike said, sticking with it. “Work thing.”

Dustin nodded along, deadpan. “Very important colleague. He’s an astrophysicist.”

“What kind of gift?” Will asked, stepping closer.

Mike opened his mouth, then closed it. “We’re… deciding.”

Will smiled, amused. “You’re terrible at secrets.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Will said gently. He reached out, squeezing Mike’s shoulder. “But it’s kind of cute.”
Mike swallowed.

Dustin coughed lightly to remind his presence to Mike and Will. They both turned their heads back to the computer screen.

“Well,” Will added, glancing at the screen, “I’ll let you two finish your… gift planning.”

“Thanks,” Mike said, maybe too fast.

“Night, Dustin! Wait, we’ll see you on Christmas, right?” Will asked.

“Oh, totally, can’t wait for it! Good night, Will.” Dustin replied warmly.

Will lingered a second, looking at his boyfriend. Then disappeared down the hall.

The door clicked shut.
Mike stared at it for a long moment. Then he dropped his head into his hands. 

“I’m going to throw up.” he said.

On the screen, Dustin let out a slow breath. “Wow.”

“Can you not?” Mike said.

“No, seriously,” Dustin continued. “You are down bad.”

Mike dropped his head back against the chair. “I hate lying to him.”

“Then don’t lie forever. Just long enough.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. I’ll probably do it in the next 15 days or something.”

“That’s good.” Dustin approved.

They sat in silence for a beat.
“You’re going to do great,” Dustin said finally. “Just— remember everything we’ve talked about. And be honest. That’s your thing.”

Mike smiled faintly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Well, I better go. I still have some student emails I have to read. You can call me if you panic again, though.”

“Thanks, man.” Mike replied.

“Goodnight, Romeo.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, Dustin.”

The call ended, leaving the room quiet again— except for the sound of Mike’s thoughts.

He stood up and paced the room, lost in thought as he considered what to say in his speech. Eventually, an idea took shape, and he returned to his desk to put it into words.

Joyce Byers’ house looked the same as it always had. That was the first thing Mike noticed when he pulled up to the curb.

It was the same house Will and Jonathan had grown up in. It was the same front yard where Mike and Will had spent countless hours, the same steps where they’d sat dozens of times, talking about their lives, school, and D&D campaigns.

The pale siding hadn’t changed. The mailbox still leaned slightly to one side. The porch light flickered for half a second before settling, just like it always did. Nothing was different, and somehow that steadiness felt grounding in a way Mike hadn’t realized he needed.

Claire shut her notebook and tucked it into her bag. “Okay,” she said, practical as ever. “Remember. You’re doing this in two days. Everything is ready. This is just—” she waved a hand, “emotional clearance.”

Mike huffed a small laugh. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Come on, we’ve been planning this for days.” she replied. “This is the final checkpoint.”

He glanced at her. “Thanks for coming with me.”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “I figured you could use some moral support.” After a beat of silence, she added. “By the way, I told Joyce some stuff, so she already knows your intentions. I mean, sort of.”

“Okay, I guess you reduced my workload.” Mike forced a smile even though he was visibly anxious.

Claire rolled her eyes and opened the door. “Let’s go, Uncle Mike. You’re about to cry and we haven’t even knocked on the door yet.”

They slowly approached the house then rang the doorbell. Joyce answered it almost immediately.

“Mike,” she said, her face breaking into a smile that reached her eyes. Then she looked at Claire. “And you too.”

“Hi, Mrs. Byers,” Claire said automatically.

Joyce laughed. “Still calling me that, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Claire said, deadpan.

Joyce stepped aside. “Come in, both of you.”

The house smelled like coffee and something sweet, maybe a scented candle. It was warm inside, in that particular way Joyce’s house always was.

They sat at the small kitchen table. Joyce poured coffee for herself and Mike, slid a glass of juice toward Claire without asking. Claire took it like this was a routine.

“So,” Joyce said gently, folding her hands together. “Claire tells me you’re here on… business.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I—uh. We are.”

Claire watched him with an encouraging look, then stood. “I’m gonna go wait in the car,” she announced. “You know. Privacy.”

Joyce smiled knowingly. “That’s very considerate of you.”

Claire paused at the door. “Call me if you pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Mike said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Just in case.”
And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

The kitchen fell into a silence.
Joyce reached across the table and covered Mike’s hand with hers. “You don’t have to be nervous around me.”

He let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in his chest all day. “I know. I just—this matters.”

She nodded. “It always has.”

He hesitated, then said it, the words tumbling out before he could overthink them. “Do I have your blessing?” Then he added, “I’d like to propose to Will… this weekend.”

Joyce sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the weight of his words. A single tear slipped down her cheek—a tear of pure happiness. “Oh, Mike,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Mike’s throat tightened, his own eyes stinging as he fought back tears. “You’re going to make me cry too.” he said softly, unable to hold it in any longer.

Without saying another word, he stepped toward her. They wrapped each other in a tight embrace, letting their tears fall in quiet solidarity, finding comfort in the shared silence.

When Joyce finally pulled back, she kept her hands on his arms, grounding him.
“I know how hard it’s been for you,” she said gently. “For both of you.”

Mike nodded, smiling through the tears. “Yeah. It has.”

She took a breath. “I know there were years when you truly believed you’d never get to do this. That loving each other would always have to stay… unofficial. Hidden between the lines.”

He nodded.

“But you can,” Joyce said, her voice firm now, warm with certainty. “You finally can. Of course you have my blessing.” She smiled through her tears. “You’ve had it since you were thirteen.”

Mike blinked. “Since I was thirteen?”

Joyce chuckled softly, shaking her head like she’d just realized she’d let something slip.
“You don’t know this,” she said. “But you should. Even if Will gets mad at me for telling you.”

“You know that he could never get mad at you.” Mike smiled.

“I guess you’re right.” Joyce said. Then, she leaned back against the counter, eyes distant now, pulled into a memory.

“It was winter break. You and Will were thirteen, and Will got sick—really sick. High fever, barely able to stand. I was terrified.” She paused, smiling faintly. “And very upset.”

Mike listened, unmoving.

“He got out of bed anyway,” Joyce continued. “I yelled at him. I think it was the first time I’d raised my voice at him like that. I asked him what on earth he thought he was doing.”

She looked back at Mike. “And he told me that if he spent the day with you, his fever would go away. That he’d feel better just by being near you.”

Mike let out a shaky breath. “Joyce…”

“He begged me,” she said, her voice softening. “So I helped him get dressed. I carried him to the car. And when you opened the door—” she smiled, shaking her head, “—he straightened right up. Pretended he wasn’t sick. Didn’t want you to worry.”

Her eyes shone. “When he came home that night, he was exhausted. Still sick. But he was happy in a way I hadn’t seen all week.” She paused. “That’s when I knew. That as long as he had you, he’d be okay. No matter what happened.”

Mike covered his mouth, tears spilling freely now. “I didn’t know he was sick that day.” he whispered. “I had no idea.”

Joyce stepped forward again and pulled him into another hug, tighter this time. “You didn’t have to.” she said. “You were already doing so much by loving him the way he needed.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes kind and sure. “And after Ted and Karen stopped treating you like their son,” she said quietly, “I tried to make up for it. I wanted you to know you had a place. That you were family. My family.”

Mike nodded again, unable to speak.

Joyce smiled then, soft and proud. “And now,” she said, brushing her thumb under his eye, “you’re going to be my son-in-law. What more could I possibly want?”

He laughed through his tears, pulling her into one last hug. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For everything. You raised me more than my own parents did, I mean it.”

She didn’t respond immediately, she just gave Mike a warm smile.

“Go,” Joyce said after a moment. “You’ve got someone waiting for you outside.”

Mike hugged her one last time. As he pulled back and turned his steps to the door, she spoke again. “I want to see you with your fiancé next week.”

Mike laughed faintly. “I’ll bring him.” Then he stepped outside.

When he got out of the house, the air felt different, like it was lighter. He took a deep breath.

Claire was waiting for him. She leaned out the car window. “Why are your eyes red?”

“We cried. And hugged. And then cried some more.”

She grinned. “Good. That means it went well.”

He laughed, opening the door. “Even more than well.”

Mike woke before the light had fully settled into the room. It felt like his body had decided to wake up without consulting him and that sleep was no longer an option. 

Will was still tucked against his chest, warm and heavy in the best way, one arm thrown over Mike’s waist like he’d claimed it sometime in the night and never let go. His breathing was slow and peaceful.

Mike stared at the ceiling for a second, his heart was already doing that stupid thing it had been doing for days.

He swallowed, then leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his boyfriend’s ear. “Will.” he whispered.

Nothing happened.

He smiled as he tried again. “Will.”

Finally, Will shifted in his place. He buried his face further into Mike’s shoulder.
He responded, voice rough with sleep. “Yeah?”

Mike exhaled, relieved just to hear his voice. “So—uh. Today,” he began, carefully casual. “I made a reservation in the city center. You remember that Italian place near the movie theater? The one you’ve been talking about forever.”

Will was listening, but only barely—eyes still closed, fingers absentmindedly tracing the hem of Mike’s shirt. “Mmh.”

“We have to be there at two,” Mike continued. “For lunch. I made a reservation.”

Will lifted his head, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he looked at Mike properly now. Then he smirked. “I’ve been trying to convince you to have lunch with me there for months,” he said. “And you randomly picked today?”

Mike grinned back, soft and a little too pleased with himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I picked today.”

Will studied his face for a beat, suspicious but amused. Then he leaned in and kissed him.
Mike kissed him back, hands settling easily at Will’s waist.

“Also,” Mike added when they pulled apart, forehead resting against Will’s, “since it’s near the theater… I figured maybe we could see a movie. And guess what.”

Will chuckled. “What?”

“There’s a screening of Rent,” Mike said, trying hard not to sound too proud. “Got us tickets.”

Will’s eyes widened. “No way.”

“I know, I know,” Mike rushed on. “We saw it on Broadway years ago, but—”

“But maybe the movie deserves a chance.” Will finished, smiling. “Wow. You planned a perfect date. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mike scoffed, mock-offended. “Hey. You’re acting like I don’t do romantic gestures all the time.”

He made a move to get out of bed, but Will laughed and caught him immediately, arms locking around his middle and hauling him back against the mattress.

“I’m kidding,” Will said, grinning into Mike’s shoulder. “I love it.”

Mike relaxed into him, warmth spreading through his chest. “I wasn’t even done,” he said. “After the movie, I thought we could walk through the park. Then we could go to our spot, sit for a bit and enjoy the silence together.”

Will’s expression softened. “You’re really trying to ruin me today, huh?”

Mike smiled. “That’s the plan.”

They stayed like that a little longer—quiet, teasing kisses, Will’s thumb tracing lazy patterns on Mike’s arm. But eventually, reality intruded in the form of daylight and responsibility.

Will groaned and rolled out of bed. “Okay. I’ll get dressed before you distract me again.”

Mike watched as Will walked towards the closet, then he got out of bed too and padded into the kitchen in his pajamas. He started making coffee for himself and Will without trying not to think too much about the fact that he was going to propose in a couple of hours.

You’re fine, he told himself. Everything’s fine.

A few minutes later, Will appeared in the doorway. Mike turned automatically, smile already forming—then paused.

Will’s jaw was tight. His brows were pulled together in that way Mike recognized instantly. 

“Hey,” Mike said carefully. “What’s up?”

Will ran a hand through his hair. “Baby… I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you.”

Mike’s stomach dipped. “Tell me what?”

“The car,” Will said. “It’s not working. I called the service yesterday. Something with the oil level, I think? I don’t know.”

Mike blinked. “Oh. That’s fine. We can call a cab.”

“That’s the thing,” Will continued, exhaling. “The guy said we don’t need to take it in. He’s sending a mechanic here. Today. Said it’ll only take a few minutes. But we have to be here when the mechanic arrives.”

Mike nodded, slow. “Okay.”

“He’s coming at one,” Will finished quietly. “And you said the reservation’s at two o’clock.”

Something sharp flickered through Mike’s chest. He forced his shoulders to stay loose. “Right. Okay. We might be a little late, but—”

“I know,” Will said quickly. “I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t care. I should’ve told you sooner.”

Mike took a breath. His jaw tightened before he could stop it. “It’s fine,” he said, a little too fast. “It’s not a big deal.”

Will watched him closely. “Mike.”

“I said it’s fine.” Mike repeated, softer now, working to sand the edge off his voice. “Stuff happens.”

But inside, his thoughts were spiraling: Why did it have to be today? What if we don’t make it in time? What if the proposal doesn’t go according to plan?

Will stepped closer, tentative. “We’ll figure it out.” he said. “Okay?”

Mike nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. We will.”

The coffee machine finally beeped. Mike turned back to it, gripping the counter a second longer than necessary, already feeling the day begin to tilt—just slightly—off its axis.

Time passed without Mike really noticing it.
He hovered by the window at first, pretending to read a book while the mechanic worked in the driveway, but his eyes kept drifting back to the clock. Then to the mirror. Then to the clock again. At some point, he gave up entirely and went upstairs.

He chose a blue shirt carefully, a shirt that Will had gifted him on Valentine’s day the previous year. He knotted the tie twice before getting it even remotely acceptable, smoothed his hair back with gel, stared at his reflection longer than he meant to.

You’re fine. he told himself again. It’s just lunch. A movie. A walk.

When he came back downstairs, Will was standing by the front door, jacket half on, talking to the mechanic.

After the mechanic left, he closed the door, then turned at the sound of Mike’s footsteps.

“Oh my god,” Will said, eyes going wide. “You look… wow.”

“I look what? Devilishly handsome?”

“Exactly.” Will stepped closer, straightening Mike’s tie once he was within reach. “Is this the shirt I bought you?” he asked, smoothing the fabric.

“The one and only.” he replied.

Will laughed, a little breathless. “I didn’t do my hair. Or wear a tie. Should I—do you want me to—”

Mike closed the gap between them and pressed a quick, warm kiss to Will’s cheek. “You already look perfect,” he said softly. “Come on. Let’s go. Maybe we can still make it in time.”

Will smiled at that, relief washing over his face, and grabbed his coat.

They did not, in fact, make it in time.

The restaurant was packed with overlapping voices, clinking wine glasses and the smell of garlic thick in the air. Mike straightened as they approached the host stand, summoning every ounce of confidence he had left.
“Hi.” he said. “The name’s Michael Wheeler.”

The host checked his list, frowned slightly, then looked back up with practiced sympathy. “I’m sorry. You were supposed to be here forty minutes ago. We had to give your table to someone else.”

Mike’s stomach dropped. “Forty—look, we were delayed, but—”

“I understand,” the man said politely. “But we’re fully booked.”

Mike pressed his lips together. “There has to be something you can do. It’s a reservation.”

“I’m really sorry.” the host repeated.

Mike opened his mouth again, frustration flaring—I planned this, I tried, why does nothing work today—but before he could say anything else, Will’s hand slid into his.

“Okay,” Will said gently. “It’s fine. We’ll go.”

Mike turned to him. “Will, I—”

“It’s really not that important.” Will said, squeezing his hand. “Come on.”

He tugged Mike away before he could argue, steering him back out into the street. The door shut behind them, muting the noise.

They stood there for a second. Cars passing behind them, headlights streaking through the early afternoon. Mike let out a slow breath through his nose.

“Well…” Will said, dragging the word.

“I almost fought that guy. That was embarrassing, wasn’t it?” Mike sighed.

Will laughed. “I don’t think it was embarrassing, you were just trying to take me to a nice place, which I really appreciate, by the way.”

Mike glanced at him. “You say that now, but five more seconds and I would’ve started negotiating with that man like we were at a flea market.”

“I saw it.” Will said. “You were gearing up. Even your voice got lower.”

“That’s not true.”

“It definitely is.”

Mike snorted despite himself. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Will nudged him with his elbow. “Come on. There’s that place across the street. It’s not fancy, but it’s food.”

Mike followed his gaze to the mediocre-looking restaurant with fogged-up windows and a handwritten open sign.
“…You’re sure?”

“Mike,” Will said, smiling, “I would eat gas station sandwiches with you and still have a good time.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

They crossed the street and stepped inside. The place smelled like grease and something vaguely tomato-based. They were seated quickly, and a waiter handed them menus that weren’t particularly clean.

Mike exhaled as he sat down. “I swear this wasn’t how I pictured today going.”

Will leaned back in his chair. “Funny. I kind of like it.”

“Of course you do.”

“I do.” Will agreed easily. “You get all intense when things don’t go to plan. It’s kind of cool.”

Mike shot him a look. “I was about to get us kicked out, and you thought I was being cool?”

“And yet,” Will said, grinning, “here we are. Still together. Still eating lunch.”

Mike softened at that, resting his forearms on the table. “I’m sorry about the car. About everything that went wrong today.”

Will shook his head immediately. “No. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should’ve.”

“It’s fine,” Mike said, quieter. “Really.”

Will studied him for a second, then smiled, small and sincere. “You look really good today, by the way.”

Mike blinked. “What?”

“That shirt,” Will said. “That tie. You look like a politician or something.”

Mike’s ears went pink. “You already complimented me before we left the house. And again in the car.”

“I know.” Will grinned. “But seeing you like this, I can’t help wondering what I did to deserve such a handsome man.”

“Oh my god, Will—we’re in public.” Mike laughed, covering his face with his hands, though he was grinning just as hard.

Their food arrived, breaking the moment. They ate and let the conversation wander to small, ordinary things: how they would celebrate Nancy’s upcoming birthday, Lucas and Max’s visit that was going to happen at the end of the month, and a bit of high-school drama Claire shared with them.

By the time they paid, Mike checked his watch and stiffened. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

They hurried back toward the cinema, weaving through the crowd, Mike already rehearsing apologies in his head just in case they were late.
Inside, the lobby was quieter than expected.

Mike stepped up to the counter. “Hi— We’ve got two tickets for Rent. I think it was playing in theater 5.”

The cashier frowned at the screen. “That’s… next week.”

Mike stared. “No. It’s today.”

She tilted the monitor slightly. “Next Friday.”

Mike leaned closer like the screen might magically change. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Will pressed his lips together, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“I checked,” Mike muttered. “I swear I checked.”

“I believe you,” Will said gently. “You just… checked the wrong week.”

They stepped back outside. Mike stopped walking entirely. “Okay. That’s it. The universe hates me.”

Will laughed, unable to help it. “Hey.”

Mike turned. “I planned this.”

“I know.”

“I planned all of it.”

Will stepped closer. “Mike.”

“This was supposed to be—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Will didn’t push. He just reached for Mike’s hand. “Let’s go to the park.”

Mike hesitated. “You still want to?”

“I mean, it’s our spot, after all.” Will said simply.

The park was close enough that they didn’t talk much on the way. When they reached the gates, the sky finally gave up pretending.
Rain came down hard, sudden and cold.

Mike stopped short. “Unbelievable.”

Will looked up, rain already dotting his hair. “Wow.”

“We should turn back.”

“And do what?” Will asked again, amused. “We’re already wet.”

“You’re not worried about getting sick?”

Will shrugged. “No. Are you?”

Mike frowned. “You always get sick.”

“And you always worry,” Will said fondly. “I’ll be fine.”

They walked anyway, shoes splashing, clothes slowly darkening. By the time they reached the bench, rain was pouring steadily, relentless.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sound of raindrops.

Mike stared straight ahead, hands clasped tightly, breathing shallow. He could feel the moment pressing in on him, heavy and loud in his chest.
He swallowed, finally turning his head—

“Mike?”

He looked at his boyfriend. “Yeah?”

Will hesitated. He stared out at the path in front of them, at the way the rain blurred the lamps into soft halos. “Do you remember… the Thanksgiving night,” he said slowly, “when I asked you if our lives were always going to be like this?”

Mike’s jaw tightened. “I do.”

Will nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I—well. There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.”

Something in Mike snapped.

He turned toward Will, rain dripping from his lashes, voice suddenly sharp with panic. “Why do you keep saying it like that?”

Will blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to leave,” Mike said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Like you’re preparing me for something.”

“Mike, I’m not—”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Mike said, louder now, chest aching. “I can’t—every time you start talking like this, I feel like the ground’s dropping out from under me.”

Will stared at him, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

Mike shook his head, laughing once, breathless and unsteady. “I’ve been losing my mind for days,” he admitted. “Trying to make everything perfect. And nothing went right. Not one thing.”

“I don’t get it—”

“I love you,” he said, cutting Will off, voice breaking. “Okay? I love you so much that I couldn’t think straight. I thought if I planned everything carefully enough, maybe I wouldn’t screw this up.”

Will’s brows knit together. “Screw what up?”

Mike exhaled shakily. He reached into his pocket with shaky fingers and pulled out the small velvet box. Then, he let out a hysterical laugh.

“I really didn’t picture it going like this,” he said. “But… fuck it.”

He slid off the bench and onto one knee in front of Will, rain soaking into his pants instantly. He flipped the box open.

Will froze. For a second, the world seemed to stall. His mouth fell open slightly, his hands hovering in midair like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Mike,” he whispered. “Is that—”

“I wrote something.” Mike said quickly, almost apologetic. “It’s in my pocket. But if I take it out, it’s going to disintegrate in the rain, so—” He let out a breath. “I think I’ll have to improvise.”

Will’s eyes were already filling. Tears slipped free, cutting clean lines through the rain on his cheeks.

Mike looked up at him, soaked and trembling, barely holding himself together.

“William Byers,” he said quietly. “You’ve been my person since we were five years old. Since before either of us knew what love even was.”

Will shook his head, laughing softly through tears. “You’re—this isn’t fair.”

Mike smiled. “You’ve been everything to me. My best friend. My roommate. And then, my boyfriend.” His voice wavered. “I don’t remember when I started loving you, because it feels like I always have.”

Will pressed a hand to his mouth, shoulders trembling.

“I love the face you make when you’re drawing and you’re completely focused, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I love it when you let me steal your t-shirts and pretend you don’t notice. I love the way you cry—even when it scares me—because it makes your eyes look impossibly beautiful.”

Will let out a broken laugh. “Oh, Jesus…”

“I even love it when Jonathan comes over and you two gossip about me, thinking I can’t hear you.” Mike added, smiling through his tears. “And those are just the things that came to me right now. If you gave me enough time, I swear I could name a thousand more.”

He swallowed hard before continuing. “I don’t care where we get married. I don’t care who takes whose last name. I don’t care what our life looks like, as long as it’s with you.”

The rain softened, almost like it was listening to Mike’s words.

“Will you marry me?”

Will let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh. He dropped to his knees in front of Mike without thinking, hands gripping his sleeves like they were the only solid thing left.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. Of course I will.”

Mike barely registered Will’s answer before Will was already leaning forward, hands cradling his face, kissing him like the world might disappear if he didn’t. The kiss was shaky and wet and a little clumsy, rain mixing with tears, but neither of them cared. Mike laughed softly into it, a sound that was more relief than joy, and pulled Will closer until they were pressed chest to chest, still kneeling in the rain like it was the most natural place for them to be.

When they finally broke apart, they stayed close, foreheads touching, breathing each other in.

Will laughed under his breath, still stunned. “Did you… did you really come up with all of that on your own?”

Mike huffed, smiling. “No,” he admitted. “I asked Claire for help first. Then Dustin. And then—” He hesitated, eyes flicking away for a second. “Then I asked your mom for her blessing.”

Will froze. “You asked my mom?”

Mike nodded, grinning now, rain dripping off his nose. “Yeah. She told me I had her blessing since we were thirteen.”

Will groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Oh my god.”

“She told me a story,” Mike continued, clearly enjoying himself. “About how you were sick during winter break. High fever and everything. And you still insisted on spending the day with me.”

Will peeked at him through his fingers. “She did not.”

“She did,” Mike said, softening. “She said you told her you’d feel better if you were with me.”

Will dropped his hand, cheeks flushed, smiling despite himself. “Why would she tell you that?”

Mike shrugged, eyes warm. “Because she loves you. And because she wanted me to know.”

Will shook his head, laughing quietly, and leaned in to kiss Mike again—shorter this time. When they finally stood, knees aching, they laced their fingers together without thinking, the ring cool and solid against Mike’s skin.

They started to walk toward their car slowly.

“And,” Will said after a moment, voice careful, “for the record—I wasn’t trying to stress you out earlier.”

Mike glanced at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “I just… I’ve been thinking about my art. I kind of want to try different styles for a while. I’m a little bored of drawing the same things over and over.” He swallowed. “And I guess I was scared to tell you. I thought you might not want my illustrations in your books anymore if I changed things up. Or that readers would hate it.”

Mike stopped walking.

Will turned to him, worried. “Mike?”

“That was it?” Mike said, half laughing, half horrified.
Will nodded, tentative.

“You almost gave me a panic attack,” Mike said, shaking his head. Then he squeezed Will’s hand tighter. “Will. I don’t care what your art looks like. You could draw stick figures and I’d still want you illustrating my books. You’ll always have a place there. Always.”

Will’s eyes softened. “You mean that?”

“With my whole life.” Mike said.

They reached the car and stood there for a moment longer, fingers still intertwined, rain tapping lightly against the metal.

They got in, doors closing with a gentle thud, the world finally muted. Mike started the engine, and as they pulled away, Will rested his head against the window, still smiling, still shaking a little.

Will and Mike’s house was full in a way it usually wasn’t. Voices layered over one another, laughter drifting from room to room, the clink of glasses against the counter, music low enough that it blended into the background instead of demanding attention. Someone had opened a window and forgotten about it; cold air crept in, mixing with the warmth of bodies and food and something sweet baking that Joyce had insisted on bringing even though no one asked her to.

Mike stood near the kitchen island with a drink in his hand, listening more than talking. Lucas and Max were there with him, both holding cocktails Max had mixed herself and declared “safe” which Lucas clearly didn’t trust.

“So,” Lucas said, glancing toward the living room where Will was mid-conversation with Dustin and Jonathan, “you had a whole plan for this proposal.”

Mike nodded. “I thought I did.”

“And then it fell apart?” Lucas grinned.

“It unraveled,” Mike corrected. “Slowly. Painfully.

Max smiled. “You still did it, though.”

Mike looked past them again, instinctively, toward Will. He was laughing at something Dustin had said, head tipped back, the drink he had in his hand about to spill. The ring was still new enough that Mike noticed it every time it caught the light.

“Yeah,” He said. “I still did.”

Across the room, Joyce and Holly stood shoulder to shoulder near the window, glasses forgotten in their hands.

“Honestly, when Claire first told me about it, I was worried. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Holly said. “For one of them to panic. Or maybe for Will to say no.”

Joyce smiled, soft and certain. “They’ve already done their panicking. This part’s easy.”

Holly glanced toward her. “You really weren’t surprised?”

Joyce shook her head. “I’ve known who Will loves since he was a kid. The rest was just time.”

Claire, meanwhile, was planted cross-legged on the rug, right in the center of things, holding court without even trying. Nancy sat on the edge of the couch nearby, listening with an amused smile.

“I didn’t plan it,” Claire was saying. “I organized it.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “And there’s a difference between them?”

“Obviously,” Claire replied. “He was spiraling. Someone had to ask practical questions.”

Nancy laughed softly. “You did good.”

Claire shrugged, pretending it was nothing, but she smiled anyway.

Will eventually drift toward Mike, slipping easily into his space like it was second nature. He leaned in, brushing their shoulders together, his voice low. “You’ve been explaining yourself again, haven’t you?”

Mike huffed. “They’re making it sound like I caused a natural disaster.”

Will smiled. “You fought a restaurant employee.”

“I almost fought a restaurant employee.” Mike rolled his eyes as he corrected his fiancé.

Will turned, meeting his eyes. “You tried to make it special. I knew that.”

Mike didn’t reply with words but instead threw his right arm around Will’s shoulder, making him lean into his side.

Dustin appeared out of nowhere, drink in hand. “Just for the record,” he said, “I was consulted.”

Mike sighed. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“I shouldn’t,” Dustin replied. “It was significant.”

Jonathan snorted from behind him. “You gave him terrible advice. If he listened to you he would quote a movie or something during his speech.”

“Okay, I didn’t give him terrible advice, Jonathan.” Dustin said. “I gave him options, mind you.”

Will shook his head, smiling despite himself. “I can’t believe he asked my mom.”

Joyce looked over immediately. “You absolutely can.”

Will groaned. “Mom, you told him the fever story.”

“I told him the truth.” Joyce said gently.

Mike smiled at Will, a little sheepish. “It helped.”

Will covered his face for a second, then dropped his hand, laughing quietly. “I’m never escaping that, am I?”

“No,” Mike said. “But I kind of love that I know it now.”

As the night wore on, conversations softened. Max and Lucas debated something low-stakes near the kitchen. Dustin helped himself to more food than necessary. Claire eventually migrated to the couch, leaning against Nancy’s side, visibly tired but refusing to admit it.

One by one, people gathered their coats. Joyce hugged them both for a long time. Holly kissed Mike’s cheek, then Will’s. Claire hugged Will hard, then Mike.

When the door finally closed behind the last guest, the house fell into a quiet that felt earned.

Mike and Will stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by half-empty glasses and the faint echo of voices that had filled the space not long ago.

Will exhaled slowly. “That was… nice.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah.”

They moved without really thinking about it, settling onto the couch, legs tangled, shoulders touching. Will rested his head against Mike’s shoulder. Mike let himself lean back, the tension of the past few weeks finally easing.

“I kept thinking,” Mike said after a moment, voice low, “that something would go wrong again.”

Will tilted his head slightly. “It didn’t.”

“I know,” Mike said. “I just—” He stopped, then tried again. “I’m not used to things going right for us.”

Will reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. “Nothing has to be perfect,” he said. “As long as we’re together.”

Mike swallowed, nodding. “I’m really glad you said yes.”

Will smiled into his shoulder. “I never thought there was another answer.”

They sat like that for a while, the city humming outside, the ring cool and solid between them.

Eventually, Mike shifted, pressing a kiss to Will’s jaw. “We should probably clean up.”

Will smiled, but didn’t move yet. “In a minute.”

Mike didn’t argue. He just stayed, holding on, both of them knowing they had nowhere else to be.