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The morning light wasn’t doing anyone any favors. It poured weakly through the blinds, falling across two bodies tangled like some terrible, domestic jigsaw puzzle. Will was pressed against Mike’s chest, knees poking under the covers, hair sticking to his damp forehead from the nightmare that had driven him into Mike’s bed last night.
Mike had fallen asleep fully clothed, sprawled across his side like he owned the bed. Will had shuffled next to him at two a.m., shivering and still shaky, and somehow they’d ended up like this—arms wrapped, legs intertwined, blankets half kicked off. Mike hadn’t minded. Not one bit. He’d been awake long enough to notice every small, panicked detail of Will’s presence: the way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled when Mike adjusted the pillow for him, the tiny sounds he made when he relaxed finally, slowly, under Mike’s arm.
Now, in the bright morning, Will groaned and rolled over, pressing his face into Mike’s shoulder.
“Mike,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “You’re… warm.”
Mike smirked, stretching one arm over Will’s hip. “Shit, don’t sound so surprised. I’ve been telling you for months, bottom-of-the-bucket-of-ice cold or not, I’m warm.”
Will squirmed a little, face burning. “Why are you so loud in the morning?”
Mike grinned like a goddamn idiot. That flustered little shout made his chest tighten in ways he swore he’d never admit. He didn’t need to. Seeing Will blush was punishment enough.
“You know,” Will said, wriggling under him, “I didn’t ask for a cuddle marathon. You're suffocating me!”
“I didn’t ask for a nightmare invasion either,” Mike shot back, voice low, teasing, one arm still draped possessively over Will’s waist. “But here we are.”
Will groaned again, burying his face into Mike’s chest. “You’re infuriating.”
Mike laughed, a deep, low sound that made Will shift closer despite himself. “Oh, I know. That’s part of my charm.”
Breakfast came later. They moved like a pair of robots malfunctioning in tandem. Will made coffee, Mike grabbed bagels, and somehow they ended up sitting on the tiny kitchen floor instead of at the table, knees brushing, shoulders touching, mugs in hand.
Will stirred his coffee absently, trying not to let the tension show. Mike, of course, noticed everything. Every sip, every blink, every flicker of hesitation.
“So…” Will said finally, voice careful. “You didn’t… stay up watching over me last night, did you?”
Mike shrugged, nonchalantly, and took a sip of his coffee. “Nah. Slept like a rock. You’re not that important.”
Will blinked. “Not… important?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the pinch in his chest. He tried to mask it with a laugh, but it came out small, forced. “Okay… okay, I see how it is. I just crawl in here half-dead and suddenly you don’t care?”
Mike’s grin widened, because of course Will sounded exactly like he did after nightmares—vulnerable, flustered, and ridiculous. “I care,” he said lightly, shrugging again. “Just… don’t make it weird, okay?”
Will huffed, rolling his eyes but not looking at him. “You’re impossible, Michael Wheeler.”
Mike’s chest jumped a little. That—that—hit him like a sucker punch. He loved it. Wouldn’t admit it ever. “You call me Michael like that one more time and I’m gonna pretend it’s the only thing keeping me from pinching your cheeks off.”
Will snorted. “Pinching? Wow, terrifying. Truly, I sleep in fear.”
Mike elbowed him lightly, careful, brushing his fingers against Will’s arm. “Shut up. You love it, admit it.”
Will’s cheeks heated. “I do not.”
Mike leaned closer, smirking, nose brushing Will’s as he whispered, “Sure you don’t, bottom.”
Will shoved him, giggling, smacking Mike’s shoulder. “Michael!”
Mike laughed openly now, a little breathless. “See? You do like it.”
They moved on to the serious stuff eventually. The date. Will’s stupid, happy little date later this night. Mike could feel it simmering under his ribs like hot coals he wasn’t allowed to touch.
“So… date tonight?” Mike asked, stirring his coffee slowly, trying not to sound like he was calculating how many seconds he had before Will got home again.
Will nodded, bright-eyed. “Yeah. You know, just… dinner. Nothing crazy.”
Mike gritted his teeth. “Cool. Totally cool. Go… have fun.”
Will looked hurt for half a second, lips pressed in a thin line. Mike noticed, instantly feeling guilty, but he swallowed it. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let himself unravel right here. Not yet.
“I’m serious,” Mike said lightly, leaning back on his elbows, “don’t worry about me. I’ll be… fine.”
Will’s eyebrows knit. “You… sure?”
“Yeah. Fucking sure.” Mike forced a shrug, forced nonchalance. “You go be happy. I’ll… I’ll survive.”
Will said nothing, just stared, eyes a little sad, lips pressed together. He finally sighed and shook his head, accepting it. “Alright… alright. But you better not get all weird while I’m gone.”
Mike smiled, lips tight. “Weird is kind of my brand.”
Will rolled his eyes, standing to grab his coat. “Mike,” he said, exasperated but soft, and it made Mike’s chest clench in a way he wasn’t prepared for, “don’t fuck it up.”
“I never fuck it up,” Mike said, voice low and smug, even though inside he was already spiraling.
Will left the apartment, hair bouncing slightly, smile bright, and Mike slumped against the counter, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… why the hell does he do that? Why the fuck do I care this much? Jesus, Christ… shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
Mike knew he should get a grip. He should act like it didn’t hurt. That it was fine, really. That he was fine being nonchalant, pretending he wasn’t boiling over while Will went out to be happy with someone else.
But goddammit, the second Will smiled like that, his entire chest warmed, his hands clenched, and Mike couldn’t help thinking, I’m not fine. I’m not fucking fine. And I might never be.
***
The morning air was crisp, biting just enough to make Mike zip up his jacket halfway, leaving a strip of chest bare where the collar sat against his neck. He grinned down at the gleaming blue bike in front of their building—the one he’d finally convinced himself he needed. A grown-up bike. Big wheels, gears that actually worked, and a bell that sounded obnoxiously cheerful.
Will was standing behind him, helmet in hand, hair sticking up in every direction from sleep, eyes bright and still flushed from the morning cuddle. He didn’t even glance at the bike; he was too busy fidgeting with his own jacket.
“You’re really taking me on this thing, huh?” Will asked, voice light, teasing, as if this was just another one of Mike’s overzealous adulting ideas.
Mike smirked. “Yeah. You’re on the back. You hold on, don’t die, we’re fine.”
Will rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. He climbed on slowly, legs awkwardly straddling Mike’s waist. His arms circled Mike’s middle instinctively. Fingers threading through the waistband of Mike’s jacket, holding tight like he didn’t even realize it.
Mike froze for a second. Heart hammering. Brain melting. Holy shit. Will’s touching me. On my waist. Jesus Christ, he’s—he’s literally touching me and holding on and—fuck I’m alive. I’m alive and he’s on me.
“Whoa. You—uh—you’re heavier than last time,” Mike said casually, though he was practically vibrating with awareness. Will laughed softly, snuggling into him a little, as if that was the point.
“You haven’t been paying attention, Michael. I lift weights now,” Will said, smirking a little. “Grocery bags, furniture… stuff.” He tightened his grip, leaning closer. Mike could feel the warmth of his body, the soft pressure of his chest pressed to Mike’s back.
Mike felt a ridiculous surge of something he refused to name. Pride? Power? Jealous, protective, alpha-daddy Chad energy in full swing. He inhaled sharply through his nose and kicked off down the street, adjusting his grip on the handlebars like a pro—but secretly, he was hyper-aware of Will’s hands sliding along his sides.
“So… how’s he?” Mike asked casually, pretending to focus on the road.
Will hummed. “Who?”
Mike glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “The guy. From the date. Dinner guy”
Will shrugged, tilting his head slightly. “He’s… cool, I guess. Cool, i guess.”
Mike stiffened. 'I guess'?
That’s all? That’s it? Who the fuck does that?
Cameron better watch his back, that’s who. He hates Cameron. Fuck Cameron.
Mike gritted his teeth. But he had to play it cool. Calm. He was a responsible adult.
“I guess??” Mike pressed, teasing now but there was steel under it.
Will laughed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, fingers still laced on Mike’s jacket. “Yeah. Cool, i guess. I mean… he’s fine. Nothing special.”
Mike’s chest tightened. Nothing special? He’s better than Cameron. He’s better than Cameron? Fuck, good. He’s mine. Wait… I mean—shit, calm down, Wheeler.
“Nothing special?” Mike repeated, voice low, teasing, but not. His jaw tightened. He slowed the bike just a little, daring Will to protest. “That’s… interesting, because I would’ve thought you’d be more excited. Smiles a lot though, huh?”
Will’s cheeks flushed, soft and bright in the morning sun. “I… uh… I don’t know. He’s nice. I mean… it’s just dinner. Don’t make it weird, Michael.”
Mike laughed softly, feeling absurdly smug. “Don’t make it weird? You’re literally holding onto me like a goddamn koala. You’re adorable.”
Will snorted into Mike’s back. “Stop calling me adorable!”
Mike smirked, one hand steady on the handlebar, the other pressing lightly against Will’s hip as he pedaled, subtle touches, testing boundaries. “Adorable, flustered, bottom-of-the-year nightmare survivor. You hit all the marks.”
Will groaned softly, hiding his face against Mike’s shoulder. “Mike, you’re infuriating.”
Mike grinned, proud and slightly dangerous. “I know. But admit it—you love it.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Will muttered, but he didn’t move away. His fingers dug just a little tighter into Mike’s waist.
Mike inhaled, steadying himself. Okay. Calm down, Wheeler. This is normal. Totally normal. Will’s not dating anyone I actually need to worry about… well, besides the fact that he’s touching me like this and making me want to murder anyone else who looks at him, but that’s fine. Totally fine.
They turned onto campus streets, slowing to a crawl as students streamed past, oblivious. Mike let Will slide down slightly on the bike so they were more balanced, giving him subtle, careful touches: a hand resting lightly on his hip when he turned, brushing the curve of his shoulder when navigating a tight corner. Every touch sent a thrill through him he didn’t want to name.
“So… he’s just ‘cool, i guess’?” Mike pressed again, deliberately teasing but inwardly tightening. “Nothing exciting? No sparks? No… fireworks?”
Will groaned, laughter soft and quiet against Mike’s back. “Michael… you’re insane. It’s dinner, not a war. Chill.”
Mike snorted. “Yeah, right. Totally chill while some other dude eats dinner with you. Perfectly calm. I’m zen. Meditating.”
Will laughed, louder this time, squeezing Mike’s waist slightly. “You’re ridiculous.”
Mike didn’t reply. He just rode a little straighter, his grip firm, chest puffed slightly, teeth clenched—but smug as hell.
I hate Cameron. I’m better than Cameron. I am better than Cameron.
Eventually, they reached the campus gates. Bike skidded to a stop. Will hopped off, brushing at his jacket like nothing had happened, but Mike could see the faint blush along his neck.
“Alright, see you later,” Will said softly, leaning in just slightly, fingers brushing against Mike’s hand when he held the bike steady.
Mike swallowed. “Yeah. Later.” His voice was casual, too casual. He watched Will walk away, hands still fidgeting with his jacket, and felt that familiar tightness in his chest. Jealousy, frustration, pride, heat—messy, unmanageable, perfect.
Will didn’t look back. Mike didn’t want him to. Not yet. He would keep this, savor it, let it simmer. The tension. The closeness. The fact that Will trusted him enough to hold on like that.
Mike swung the bike around, riding slowly toward his own first class, heart still hammering. Fuck. Goddamn it. Will Byers is impossible.
***
The apartment was quiet, too quiet, and Mike hated it instantly. Will was gone. Out. Having dinner with Cameron. That piece of shit. Mike ground his teeth, hearing the faint echo of Will’s laugh from the morning still ringing in his ears. He’d tried to act casual, tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. Tried to shrug and convince himself that he’d survived countless small disasters before.
But now the silence hit him like a punch in the chest, and he hated himself for it.
Will Will Will.
The name kept repeating in his head, like a mantra he didn’t want to say out loud because if he did, he’d probably scream it down the hall and embarrass both of them. He imagined Will there, smiling politely, talking too much, that soft, nervous laugh that always got under his skin, eyes bright, oblivious. And then Cameron laughing too, maybe touching Will’s arm, maybe leaning in a little closer than Mike would like.
Mike wanted to break something. Shout at something. Stomp on the floor like a five-year-old who didn’t get his juice. Instead, he sank into the couch, laptop balanced awkwardly on his knees, fingers flying over the keyboard, forcing himself to work. Coding, emails, spreadsheets—anything that would distract him from the image of Will smiling across a table at that asshole.
He muttered curses under his breath. “Fuck. Goddamn it. Shit. Will, why do you have to be like this? Why the fuck do I care this much?” He leaned back, eyes closed, one hand pressed against his forehead. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Not losing my mind. Just… just… pissed. Yeah. Pissed. Totally healthy adult anger. Fuck.”
The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and yesterday’s breakfast, comforting but also mocking in its domestic normalcy. Mike’s gaze kept drifting to the empty side of the bed, the sheets slightly rumpled from Will curling against him this morning. That warmth he’d had pressed to his chest, fingers laced around his waist, hazy from sunlight and sleep, haunted him.
He swallowed. He was supposed to be calm. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let this eat him alive. He could wait. Be patient. Play it cool. Be the responsible adult, the nonchalant roommate, the guy who didn’t absolutely lose his goddamn mind over a simple dinner.
But every time his mind wandered to Will, every little smile, every soft word, every breathless, flustered look—the thought of Cameron there—he clenched his fists. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Calm. Zen. Totally okay. Goddamn it, Wheeler, control yourself.”
Mike’s eyes flicked to the clock. Ten minutes past the time Will had left. Fifteen. He tried not to let it spiral, tried not to imagine Cameron laughing, hand brushing Will’s hair back, that stupid grin. He could almost hear the words, the voice, the infuriating confidence that Cameron apparently carried everywhere.
He shook his head. “No. Don’t think about it. Will’s fine. Dinner. Just dinner. Don’t—don’t care.”
Yet, he typed slower, distracted, coffee cooling on the table, eyes darting every few seconds to the door like Will might magically appear early. He wasn’t supposed to wait up. Will had told him not to. “Don’t stay up, Mike. I’ll be back before midnight.” That should have been enough. But it wasn’t. Not for Mike.
He kept working anyway, fingers stiff on the keys, heart racing, muttering curses like a broken record. “Shit. Fuck. Christ, goddamn it. Calm. Focus. Work. Don’t spiral.”
He imagined every step Will would take to get to the restaurant, every street corner, every laugh that escaped him, every stupid polite smile he would force Cameron to see. And it made Mike ache in ways he couldn’t put into words. Not because Will was happy. Not because Will deserved this dinner. But because he wanted to be the one Will wanted. The one Will touched. The one who had that laugh pressed into his chest, whose hands Will laced around his waist, whose face Will nuzzled when nightmares came.
Mike shut his laptop abruptly, hands hovering over the keyboard, and ran a hand through his hair. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm inside. “Focus,” he muttered, voice low, but his chest was tight and his stomach twisted. He stared at the screen again, typing slowly, mechanically, pretending to work. But his thoughts, god, they refused to leave Will alone.
He leaned back on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, legs stretched out, and groaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… how do I get him? How do I… what the hell do I do? Just… wait? Be calm? Not look like a goddamn lunatic?”
The clock ticked on. Mike’s phone buzzed. No message from Will yet. Of course not. Mike’s chest tightened again. He scowled at the empty screen. Goddamn it, Will.
He muttered every curse he knew, pacing, rubbing his jaw, curling his fingers into his hair, letting himself feel all of it without letting anyone know. He wasn’t ready to confess. He wasn’t ready to ruin what they had. But god, he was drowning in him. Will. That stupid, perfect, infuriating little mess of a man who had somehow claimed Mike’s chest, his hands, his heart, and made him wait like a fucking idiot while he smiled for someone else.
Mike leaned over the laptop again, opening a new document, typing nonsense to occupy his brain. Shit about the apartment, groceries, a random coding project—anything to push Will’s image to the back of his mind. But it didn’t work. Every click, every keystroke, every sip of cold coffee reminded him that Will was out there, and he wasn’t.
He exhaled, eyes closing. “It’s fine. Totally fine. Calm. Fucking zen. Yeah. I’m fine. He’s fine. Just… dinner. Nothing special. Fucking nothing.”
And still, Mike waited. Because he always waited.
*****
The door clicked behind Will, and Mike instantly tensed.
He’d been pacing. Coffee cold. Laptop abandoned. Waiting. Dying. Mentally dismantling Cameron piece by piece in his head, ready to beat him into next week for even thinking about smiling at Will.
Will stepped inside, jacket half-unzipped, hair mussed, and something… was off. Very off.
His face was red. Not the cute, flustered blush from the morning, but bright, almost angry red. His lips were pressed together like he was holding in something, and his hands fidgeted with the strap of his bag. He was quiet. Too quiet.
Mike’s chest tightened immediately. “What the fuck happened?” he demanded, striding toward him. “Did Cameron—did he do something? Tell me. I swear to Christ I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna beat him into next week.”
Will just froze, staring at him. Small, shallow breaths, trying not to crack. Mike’s hands were already on Will’s shoulders, fingers pressing lightly, lightly like he could crush the tension out of him if he tried hard enough.
“Mike…” Will started softly, voice almost breaking the way it always did when he was flustered.
Mike leaned in closer. “What did he do? Speak. Don’t hold anything back. I’m—fuck, I’m not even gonna wait for a story. Tell me. Shit.”
Will just… sat down on the couch. Slowly. Deliberately. Aloof, almost smug, despite the faint crimson still on his face. Mike hovered over him, pacing, practically vibrating with worry and jealousy.
“Will,” he growled, “I swear to—fuck, you better tell me. Did he—”
Will tilted his head and suddenly, he laughed. Quiet at first, then louder. Mike froze, eyes narrowing. That laugh wasn’t relief. It wasn’t amusement at him. It was… something else.
“Mike,” Will said finally, voice shaking between laughter and disbelief. “You’re about to hyperventilate over nothing.”
Mike stared. “What the fuck do you mean nothing? You’re red. You’re quiet. I was ready to—fuck, ready to murder him, Will! What did he do?”
Will sat up straighter, arms crossed over his chest, still laughing softly. “Mike… Cameron? That guy? He’s… he’s insane. Off. Out of his goddamn mind. He—he tried to kiss me. Like… leaned over the table like he thought he was some… hero in a movie. Embarrassed me in front of literally everyone by talking about… weird stuff. Too proud of himself. His hygiene? Shit. Disgusting.”
Mike blinked. Then blinked again. And another. And suddenly every ounce of tension in his body exploded into a mix of relief and possessive pride.
“He’s… terrible?” Mike said, voice low, clipped. “Absolutely terrible? Good. Good. I hate him.”
“Yes,” Will said, smiling faintly. “Terrible. And now I’m… exhausted from pretending to be polite.”
Mike let out a low growl, stalking over the couch like a predator circling prey. “And you sat there and listened to that shit? Poor Will. Poor. Fucking. Will. You had to sit there, smiling, nodding, while that lunatic thought he could—ugh. Jesus, I—fuck, I hate him. He’s nothing. You deserve better.”
Will tilted his head at him, eyes sparkling faintly with amusement. “Better… huh?”
Mike knelt behind him, one arm draping over Will’s shoulder, hand pressing lightly against his chest, pulling him close. “Yeah,” he said, voice low, proud, a little teasing. “Better. Way better. Than Cameron. Way better than anyone else, really.”
Will’s cheeks warmed. He stammered, fumbling with the hem of his sleeve. “Mike, you—”
Mike leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from Will’s face with one finger, eyes gleaming. “Yeah?”
Will froze, heart hammering. “I… I mean, you’re right. Obviously. You’re… just… you.”
Mike’s grin widened. “Just me. Infuriating, right? Alpha-level, infuriating me.”
Will giggled softly, flustered, warmth creeping into his chest. “Yeah… infuriating.”
Mike snorted. “Oh, I’m done with tiptoeing around this.” He pressed a finger under Will’s chin, tilting his head up, lips hovering over his. “You’re mine, Byers.”
Will’s eyes widened, a mix of shock, thrill, and total fluster. “Mike—wait—”
Mike laughed softly against his lips, then closed the gap, kissing him. Soft at first, testing. Will melted instantly, hands going up to Mike’s chest, gripping his jacket, curling into him like he’d been holding that in for months. Mike deepened it, hands framing Will’s face, pulling him impossibly close.
Will gasped softly against his lips, breaking for a second. “I—uh—I like… I like you,” he admitted, voice trembling but bright. “I… I’ve liked you forever, Mike. Even when you make me insane. Even with the nightmares and the yelling and… everything.”
Mike’s grin widened, teeth flashing, a little wild, entirely smug. “Oh yeah? Forever, huh? You’ve been hiding that, tiny human, while I’ve been dying over here? That’s adorable.” He pressed another soft, teasing kiss to Will’s forehead. “I’ve liked you too, idiot. More than you can handle.”
Will flinched, face heating again, but smiled like the sun had come out. “You’re… impossible. Infuriating. And I… I’m over the moon.”
Mike leaned back slightly, just enough to grin down at him. “Good. That’s my goal. Infuriate you, own you, make you ridiculously happy. You ready for this, bottom?”
Will giggled, head spinning, fingers tangled in Mike’s jacket. “Yes… yes, Michael.”
Mike laughed, low and warm. “Good answer.” And kissed him again, slower this time, teeth grazing lips, hands roaming in all the ways that weren’t overstepping but made Will melt like butter.
Will laughed softly between kisses, flushed, breathless, completely, utterly over the moon. “You’re… so infuriating,” he whispered.
“I know,” Mike said, grinning like a complete idiot. “And I’ll never stop.”
Will rested his forehead against Mike’s chest, curling closer, hands still laced on him, and whispered, soft but certain: “I like you, Michael Wheeler. Always have.”
Mike’s grin turned full-on smug. “I know. Took you long enough to say it, but it’s fine. I forgive you. You’re cute when you’re flustered anyway.”
Will groaned softly, swatting at him, still pressed close. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but you love it,” Mike said, one hand threading through Will’s hair, the other holding his waist. “And I love you. So… we’re good.”
Will rolled his eyes, still smiling, warmth spreading through him. “Yeah… we’re good.”
And for the first time that night, in their little Brooklyn apartment, with the city noisy outside but silent inside, they didn’t have to pretend. They didn’t have to hide. They were tangled together, bickering and bantering like a domestic married couple, hearts hammering, grinning like idiots, and for once, it was perfect.
Mike pressed one last teasing kiss to Will’s lips, grinning down at him. “Cameron who?”
Will laughed, breathless. “Gone. Never existed.”
Mike’s grin widened. “Exactly. Good. Mine. Fucking mine.”
Will rolled his eyes again, muttering, soft and satisfied: “Infuriating. But… perfect.”
And Mike just held him tighter, whispering, proud and smug and utterly in love: “Yeah. Fucking perfect.”