Chapter Text
The first week of living with Mike and the Wheelers was something Will can only explain as awkward and painful, tension still lingering between the two from their fight in Lenora. And while they’ve cleared the air, things never really reverted back to how it used to be. Sure after 6 months of living together they’re able to face one another with confidence now, yet Will still busies himself in order to avoid Mike.
The whole living together ordeal has sort of become a routine now, Joyce and Will help Mrs Wheeler around the house, Jonathan and Nancy are barely home - probably making out in the back of his car or fighting supernatural monsters, Ted Wheeler huffs and puffs at the general existence of the Byers, and Mike, well Mike is Mike.
He usually sits in his room writing poems, or it could be stories, or letters. Will isn’t one hundred percent sure because Mike refuses to show him anything he’s working on. As much as it causes a gut wrenching pain everytime Mike snatches away that sheet of used paper, Will understands. He’s the same with his paintings. Activities such as painting and writing hold a lot of emotional power, sometimes too vulnerable to be displayed. He knows for a fact that it’d be the end of the world if, god forbid, Mike stumbled upon one of Will’s paintings.
Like the one he’s been working on for example - it captures childhood innocence and purity, with faces that could almost go completely unrecognisable compared to the one that he sees in the mirror, and the one he tries so hard not to admire. The truth being is that Will could draw Mike from memory even 60 years later. Every smile line, the placement of each freckle, the tiny scar in his left eyebrow from an unfortunate faceplant incident back in kindergarten. He could probably do that with Dustin and Lucas too, maybe missing a few details he wouldn’t dare to miss on Mike’s face. Yet of course, Will has the pleasure (and the pain) of being able to steal glances at Mike throughout the day, every day. The pros of being roommates right?
He misses how things used to be when they were kids; before everything happened. He misses how inseparable the four of them were - specifically him and Mike. But most of all, he misses never having to deal with being constantly plagued by nightmares and memories of his time missing. He misses when their biggest problem was whether they could scrounge enough money up between the four of them to get top score on Dig Dug at the arcade, they’d turn every inch of their houses upside down, even daring to steal Nancy and Jonathan’s piggy bank money. It all used to be so simple. Before the hurt, and the pain and the feelings—
“Will.”
“Will. Wake up.”
He shoots awake, sitting upright so harshly its as if his head had hit an invisible barrier. “God Jonathan what do you want?” Will complains, still with his eyes squeezed shut and a stiff palm laid flat against his forehead.
“Uh it- it’s not Jonathan.”
Fuck. Will keeps his eyes shut for one second longer, hesitating to open them. When he does, he’s met with a very disheveled version of Mike’s usual appearance. Clearly he’s just got out of the grips of sleep himself. Will couldn’t help but stare at the way Mike’s hair shoots off in different directions, and the dark bags under his eyes. Has Mike been having trouble sleeping too? The way Mike’s right eye twitches too subtly and Will questions whether he should’ve even noticed, further confirms his suspicions.
“Mike? Is- uh everything okay?” Will isn’t sure if his lack of ability to speak properly is due to the fact he’s just woken up, or that’s there’s a very concerned, and very beautiful boy stood directly infront of him. He becomes all too aware of his current state. Still tucked in his spot of the basement couch, hair probably looking just as unkempt as Mike’s.
“Oh, no everything’s fine, it’s just- I was coming to ask if you wanted to come to the arcade with me today” He pauses, “Not just me actually, Lucas too, Dustin said he wanted to come but he’s having some argument with Suzie over the phone. He’s actually mad we’re going with out him can you believe it, thinks I’m going to steal his top spot.”
Will chokes out a laugh, a bit overwhelmed by Mike’s sudden burst of energy.
“Sorry I’m rambling, just wanted to see if you’d come. I want you to come- I mean Lucas does too, of course. Sorry, you uh probably have better things to do, I’m just gonna go.” Mike starts to head up the basement stairs.
“Hey wait wait, obviously I want to come.”
Mike’s shoulders drop as he sighs in relief, “Really? O-okay awesome I’ll just leave you to get ready!” He stumbles up the stairs, probably hurrying to get away before he embarrasses himself anymore Will thinks.
He giggles to himself, almost kicking his feet at Mike’s flustered display, but stops himself. It’s wrong. It’s wrong to feel like this about your best friend. He can’t help but look around at the scenery, the good old basement where they spent far too much time on campaigns. If he looks close enough, he can even see some of his old artwork scattered among the array of posters lining the wall.
He thinks back to that night when the demogorgon got him, both physically and in DnD, and how hours before he’d timidly handed over a sketch to Mike, in which he immediately pinned to the wall. A sketch of the four of them, in their DnD costumes, the Ranger, the Bard, the Cleric, and the Paladin. It’s hung there for years, never been moved, despite that one time when Mike took it to school to show all of their friends, much to Will’s embarrassment. This place was filled with his fondest memories, although somewhere between then and now, something heavy sat down on these four walls. Now it’s just the place where he (and sometimes Jonathan) sleeps.
The weight leaves his shoulders as he drags himself up the steps, only to be met with a different kind of pressure as he steps forth into the kitchen. Ted Wheeler. Will’s pretty sure Ted could sense his queerness before Will even knew himself. He’s always been scared of him for that reason, but maybe that’s just the memory of Lonnie in the back of his mind. Ted lets out a low grunt in acknowledgement when Will meets his eye, but goes immediately back to reading whatever politically charged newspaper was delivered that morning.
Mike’s sat opposite his dad, head down staring into a bowl of cereal, cinnamon toast crunch to be exact. His pale fingers clutching the spoon that’s rhythmically swirling in circles.
“Hi.” Will says quietly, secretly praying Ted doesn’t hear. Ted Wheeler has a way of making whatever word comes out of Will’s mouth sound incriminating. Like “Hey I know you have a crush on my son!”. He gulps.
Mike looks up and smiles, breaking the tension with that perfect, half crooked smile he always does. Lips chapped, yet still so soft. “Ready to go?” Mike asks, mimicking the hushed tone of Will’s voice.
“Yeah.” Offering a Mike a smile in return. The coins in his pocket jingle as he carelessly chucks on the first jacket he sees. It’s either his or Jonathan’s, he thinks.
Movement from Ted practically echoes through the hallway and Will gets that sharp, stinging sensation in his heart. The newspaper rustles, then stops, followed by deep, dragging footsteps as if Ted is really struggling to walk even 10 steps.
“Where are you boys off to then?”
“The arcade.” Mike responds without even looking up, still continuing to button his coat. Will subconsciously thanks Mike for not making him be the one to answer. Teds eyes are piercing through Will, as if he’s trying to catch them out in some sort of lie. But, as everyone knows, Ted really couldn’t care less, so he shrugs off Mike’s answer and heads back to his seat. Will finally let’s out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and before he knows it Mike is guiding him out the door.
***
The bike ride to the arcade wasn’t particularly thrilling, it was silent, other than the voice of Rockin Robin herself screeching through the radio topping Mike’s handle bars. It’s become a daily routine for the party now, mostly to listen out for signs of a crawl, but Robin has a tendency to make their lives seem a little more pleasant with her constant rambles and song choices. Currently playing ‘Every Breath You Take by The Police’. Admittedly, that’s one of Will’s favourites, despite his usual taste in rock music. The Clash could never be replaced in his eyes, but this was a pretty damn close second.
Their arrival came shortly after the song ended, and while he spent the whole time sneaking glances at Mike, something about spending the day with just him and Lucas was making him extremely apprehensive. Around Mike, Will struggles to control his emotions, struggles to keep his eyes to himself. Atleast Lucas would be there to divert his attention if he was to catch himself staring for just too long.
Lucas was waiting for them by the bike racks, stood there as if he had been for the last hour, looking thoroughly displeased. Once the pair are almost ten metres away from Lucas, he throws his hands up in a way that signals he’s fed up. For the first time this ride, Mike turns and shoots Will an amusing eye roll. Will suppresses the wide grin he can feel forming, instead replacing it with a tight lipped smile.
“I have been waiting for you guys for like ages! Where have you been?”
“It’s been like 15 minutes!” Mike snaps back. This is all playful of course, they’d never really get mad at each other, atleast not at something this pathetic. They’ll be at each others throats again once the scores start rising, whoever wins will get bragging rights and hold it over the others head for weeks to come. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed over the years. The party are all 16 now, but inside they’re still the same dorky kids who wore Ghostbuster costumes to school the Halloween of 1984.
The two argue their way inside with Will trailing behind them, slightly amazed at the way Mike can switch between agitating loser to the most caring, soft voiced person Will’s ever laid eyes on. Will pretends not to notice the way the tone of Mike’s voice changes depending on who he speaking to. It only fuels Will’s delusion that Mike might actually feel something for him. But it’s the way his eyebrows soften, and his face relaxes. Maybe it’s just because they’ve been friends for years, that’d be the most logical explanation, but he can still remember the first time Mike used his ‘Will voice’.
Mike was sprinting full speed across the playground, soaring his newly fashioned paper aeroplane through the sky. Will scurrying behind with his own, tidier plane, both making loud ZOOM sounds. Mike’s plane had very suddenly disappeared from Will’s sight, now dropping further and further down. Mike’s body laid flat against the gravel, his arms contorted in a way that showed how he tried to break his fall.
“MIKE! MIKE ARE YOU OKAY” Will practically screamed at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t bare the thought of his new best friend being injured. When Mike took longer than socially acceptable to reply, Will broke into a fully fledged panic attack, whispering Mike’s name repeatedly between gasps. Until Mike’s head rose with a shit-eating grin as if he hadn’t just consumed a mouthful of rubble. His eyebrow had a dirty scrape, now scattering droplets of blood on the floor and his face.
“It’s okay, I’m fine”
“Will?” The tone of his voice had completely shifted, considering his throat should be hoarse after that fall. Mike took the scene in, his best friend, hand clutching at his chest, struggling to get a full gasp of air. His hand lowered gently on to Will’s shoulder, thumb moving in rhythmic, soothing strokes.
“Will, breathe.”
“I promise Will, calm down p-please.”
“Will? Will? Will-“
“Will?” Mike places a hand on his shoulder, causing Will to flinch.
“Hey thought we lost you for a second there.” Lucas sighs.
“Oh uh sorry guys. I was just um… thinking about how I’m gonna kick your asses at Ms PacMan!”
“Oh man I see how it is!” Lucas shoves Will aside and almost trips with how fast he runs through the arcade, receiving an agitated “Slow down!” from the poor worker at the front desk.
***
By the time the boys arrive home, Mike’s a broken version of the boy he was hours before, his ego shattered and his fist grazed after punching a machine; that unfortunately resulted in them being kicked out, but Will’s choosing to ignore that fact.
“I can’t believe Lucas beat me! He SUCKS at arcade games, that’s- that’s like common knowledge!” Mike blurts out, hysterically laughing like the idea of Lucas actually winning is hilarious.
“Well- and no offence, you didn’t have to punch the machine.”
“It deserved it! It was totally bugging on my turns but not for Lucas. I swear it even moved Lucas’ character for him!” Will’s now joined in with the hysteria, finding Mike’s rage more amusing than he probably should. As much as he loves Mike, he’s always- always been a sore loser.
“Yeah yeah totally Mike. Y’know, we should probably clean your hand up, you’re mom will literally kill you if you leave blood everywhere.”
“Fine Doctor Will, clean me up.” Mike weakly holds his hand out towards him, taking a seat at the kitchen island and Will scoffs. He’s desperately trying to act annoyed that Mike’s making him clean up an injury that was entirely his own fault, but all he can focus on is how hard his heart is hammering against his chest. Clutching a damp rag, he takes his seat opposite Mike.
“This might sting.” He announces, and lifts Mike’s slack hand into his own, before using his free hand to dab the grazes gently. He tries to ignore the way Mike deeply grunts, and keeps on wiping away the blood. He tries to ignore the way Mike’s left hand rests on Will’s knee, occasionally squeezing for relief. It’s not until he pours the rubbing alcohol onto Mike’s hand that he simply cannot ignore what’s happening.
“God.” Mike puffs out, gritting his teeth. His head flies forward, landing on Will’s right shoulder. Dark curls press against the bare skin of his neck. Focus. Will tells himself, until it’s Mike’s warm breath hitting his ear. Focus. Until Mike says Will’s name in the lowest tone Will’s ever heard his voice. FOCUS. He bandages Mike’s hand up as fast as he can, not even caring to be gentle anymore. Once secured, he frees their hands, dropping Mike’s on the counter.
Clearing his throat, “Uh- all done.”
“Damn, thanks Will.” Mike whispers back. He’s different than before, his happy demeanour suddenly switching into something more- sad. Will hesitates to ask what’s wrong, part of him not wanting to know. Instead he just stares, much like Mike is doing to him. It should be awkward, two best friends refusing to take their eyes off each other, but it’s not. It’s comfortable.
Will’s always loved Mike’s eyes, how dark they are, how you can barely see his pupils. But today, well, Will’s never seen brown eyes look so blue.