Chapter Text
“I think I’m gonna stop by the Shell on the way out of town to top off. Wanna grab some snacks for us?”
“Uh-huh,” Will murmurs distractedly. He’s twisted over the center console, rummaging around in the backseat of the Saturn, hip grazing Mike’s shoulder as he grunts and groans, struggling to extricate his backpack from beneath Mike’s precariously-positioned suitcase.
Will grumbles about how he should have loaded up the car, but Mike had been impatient to get home after a long winter semester full of inadvisably early classes (he should never have taken Nancy’s advice) and that godawful finance class (at Dad’s insistence) that gave him cold sweats every time he thought about his barely passing final grade.
“Got it!” Will crows, triumphant. He straightens up and grins, waving the paperback in Mike’s direction.
Mike twists the keys in the ignition as Will buckles in. They’re off, finally saying good riddance to their mildew-scented freshman dorm, driving off into the sunset with the promise of sweet summer country grass and star-strewn skies far beyond the bustle of college town life.
Year one, in the books.
Will leans over the console for Mike’s wallet, heedless of the sensation his fingers make while digging around in the too-tight pocket, scrabbling against Mike’s upper thigh.
Mike squirms, an undignified giggle bursting out of him. “Stop! That tickles!”
“Sorry, I'm grabbing some cash for the snacks.”
“Trying to shake me down for all I’m worth, Byers?” Mike teases.
“You know it, babe,” Will shoots back, winking when he catches Mike’s eye at the stoplight.
Will’s gaze is glorious, sunset flecked hazel, and Mike suddenly can’t breathe.
He ignores the insistent lurch in his stomach and fiddles with the radio instead, the crackle of static punctuating each twist of the knob, until he lands on the soaring riffs of Head over Heels. Curt Smith’s crooning voice slides smooth as butter over the lovelorn lyrics.
“Love this song,” Will sighs, sliding a few bills free before slipping the wallet back in Mike’s pocket. His soft tenor joins in at the chorus, face turned toward the rolled-down window to catch the tepid evening breeze.
Mike pulls off at the gas station minutes later as the track slides seamlessly into Bowie’s Changes. Will is out the door with a slam the moment Mike pulls to a stop. Mike’s about to call after him to ask him to grab a coffee, but Will won’t be able to hear him over the constant rumble of car engines and crackling tires on pavement. Mike loads the pump into his tank and starts fuelling. He leans between the jamb of the driver’s door and the roof, staring toward the convenience store doors, letting his mind wander.
It had been a good year.
Great, even.
After the hazy unreality of his last two years of high school and after saving the world and defeating Vecna and saying goodbye to Kali and El, Mike hadn’t expected graduation to be such a turning point for him.
He’d mourned for 18 long months, swimming through molasses, trying to keep his head above the depression as he helped his family and friends rebuild their new normal. But that last night with all five of them together for one last game had been more than a goodbye. It had been the turning of a page called tomorrow, with Mike resolving to take Hopper’s advice from earlier that day to heart.
It started with a summer job shelving books at Hawkins City Library, and led to evenings planning out all the classes he and Will were going to take their first semester. They’d had countless sleepovers, movie nights, Nintendo marathons, shopping trips, blankets spread out in the back of Dad’s new pickup truck so they could lie side by side and hunt for shooting stars and winking constellations. They’d been inseparable, giddy with the excitement of not having to say goodbye to each other, even as the others planned their own futures.
Lucas got accepted to Northwestern in Chicago, only a few hours further from home than Will and Mike. Dustin jetted off across the country on a full ride to Caltech, where he and Suzie had finally agreed to give their relationship a real try while taking the STEM world by storm together. And Max— still learning how to live with blindness—visited a clinic in Indianapolis a couple of times a week. She took a job with Robin at the Radio station, answering calls and manning the booth for the late-night shift.
Tonight marks the final stretch of the party’s collective migration back home for the summer, a long-awaited rendezvous at JJ’s diner to look forward to after the drive.
Through the dusty glass doors, Mike can see Will shifting from foot to foot, waiting for the cashier to ring him up.
Are those new jeans?
Light wash, cuffed a few times to reveal several inches of high top. A little tight, but that look is in right now.
They look good on him.
Mike’s not sure he noticed before now. He’d been too distracted by the fact that Will had been wearing a stolen Nirvana tee from Mike’s pile of unpacked clothes that morning, the sleeves rolled all the way up to his shoulders to display a generous helping of bicep. Will could keep the shirt if he wanted. Anything to make him happy.
Because that’s what best friends do: make each other happy.
Will says something to the cashier, cheek dimpling in a smile as he scoops up his purchases and pushes the door open with his hip.
Mike turns to look back at the gas meter, if only so that Will won’t catch him staring.
Seconds later, something bumps Mike’s elbow, and he looks up to see that same smile turned up several hundred watts, and an extended cup of steaming coffee.
“Thought you might want this,” Will says. Their fingers brush on the pass off, and some of that electricity powering Will’s sunshine sizzles against Mike’s skin.
“How’d you know?” Mike asks.
Will shrugs, leaning against the wood-panelled side of the car to pop the tab on his Coke can.
“I could just tell.”
They watch the numbers tick, tick by in companionable silence, sipping and sighing.
The rush of gasoline crescendos before clicking off with an abrupt CLUNK. Mike sets his cup atop the car roof and maneuvers himself around Will and the hose. He wobbles, hand accidentally landing on Will’s waist to steady himself— “Oops, sorry!”
From the corner of his eye, he can see Will smirking like it’s nothing. “No worries. Use me as your human handrail all you want. I’m yours.”
Will catches Mike’s eye, and he’s biting down on his lip to keep from laughing.
God. Will says and does things like that all the time. Casual, unbothered. Borderline flirtatious, even.
It could be the liking guys thing. Not that Will likes Mike—he indicated as much way back when he came out. Used to have a crush on this guy, he’d said. Not anymore. Mike had wanted to ask who, but deep down he knew. He knew Will had liked him. Had given him that painting and his beautiful words parading as El’s, and Mike had fucked it up with both of them. Hadn’t put together the pieces until it was far too late, and then he’d been too torn up over El’s death to do anything other than survive.
After they’d completed their impossible mission, Will had become much more confident about this side of himself, while Mike buried himself in his stories and schoolwork and his friendship with Will to avoid the topics of dating and girls.
Mike is happy for Will, and for the most part, he doesn’t mind the lack of physical boundaries between them. But the persistent fear of appearing queer in public still nags at him, and even though Will doesn’t seem to mind the little touches and gestures that have always fortified their close friendship, the gas station is crawling with watchful eyes and small minds that might interpret a lingering touch on the waist as something else.
Mike drops his hand and focuses on replacing the gas cap with a level of care that is not typical for such a mundane task.
“—So, I grabbed some Bugles and M&M’s, plus a pack of sunflower seeds in case the caffeine isn’t enough to keep you from getting drowsy,” Will is saying while rummaging through his white plastic bag. “If we make good time and traffic’s not too bad, I’m thinking we can get to JJ’s a little early and snag one of the good tables.”
Mike hums his assent and pushes the gas hatch closed.
They pull out of the station, Will already flipping through the pages of their book.
“Where were we… Ah! Here we are. ‘When he awoke, a dragon was watching him; at least, it was staring in his general direction. Rincewind groaned and tried to dig his way into the moss with his shoulder-blades, then gasped as the pain hit him…’”
Will is a decent enough reader (though not as good as Mike. Mike tries to do the accents, even if poorly, and it never fails to make Will laugh.) Mike finds himself smiling as Will settles into the seat beside him, pages flicking past in the dying light of day.
Will pauses now and then to sip his Coke and clear his throat. Mike shifts his hands from ten-and-two to seven-and-five, the exhaustion of packing and loading all day settling into his bones.
Mike cracks his neck from side to side, groaning a little at the crick that’s formed right at the base of his neck and shoulder.
Will’s words falter, his left hand already reaching across the console to grip Mike’s neck in a gentle squeeze.
“You okay? Need me to drive for a bit?”
Mike should pull over and let him, but then Will starts doing this kneading movement with his strong, warm fingers, and Mike’s muscles melt into putty. It takes everything in him not to moan.
“Nah, I’m good. Only an hour left. Keep doing that, though, feels great!”
It feels better than great, the tingling sensation radiating down his spine, chasing goosebumps from the epicenter of Will’s touch.
Will keeps massaging, his reading turning slow and stilted as he focuses on Mike.
Mike stopped paying attention anyway. They’ll have to backtrack a few pages, but it’s no big deal. They’ve fallen asleep on each other plenty while doing this reading back and forth thing together.
Eventually, Will stops reading, pausing the slow massage long enough to dog-ear the page, and then he’s back at it before Mike has to beg him back.
“Could get used to this,” he sighs, tipping his head to chase the pressure of Will’s circling thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah?” Will says. “Well, I don’t mind it. You can ask anytime.” Now that Will’s not reading, he can focus his whole attention on scratching his fingernails into the hair curling at Mike’s nape.
Mike does moan then, long and obscene, his scalp tingling with the acute pleasure of Will’s scraping nails.
“Good kitty,” Will teases.
“I’m not your cat,” Mike protests, but it’s a half-hearted, drowsy refrain, and Will’s laughing at him, still scratching (thank GOD).
“Am I gonna put you to sleep if I keep doing this?” Will asks, voice sultry and low. He sounds closer than before, his breath ghosting over the skin of Mike’s neck. His fingertips dip below the collar of Mike’s shirt, tentatively exploring the uncharted territory. Mike’s back stiffens at once, every nerve standing at attention.
He flicks a sideways glance over and sees Will, leaning in, studying Mike from under those long lashes, his fingers still rubbing hypnotic circles into Mike’s feverish skin…
Mike reverts to ten-and-two, alert and blinking away the fog, clearing his throat. “Nope,” he protests in a curt, confident voice. “I’m awake. I got this.”
He can still feel the prickling sensation of Will, a little too close.
Will, not close enough.
But Mike’s got his walls up again. He has to get them back to Hawkins safely, and he’s not got time to analyse the smudged divide between best friends and something else…
“Got any of those sunflower seeds?” he chokes out.
“Sure,” Will says, and like that, the thick string of tension goes slack. He rummages for the bag, ripping it open a little too enthusiastically, “—Shit! Spilt a bunch on the floor!—” before tipping a small pile into Mike’s open palm.
Will pops the lid off the empty coffee cup and for a time they take turns spitting sucked-clean hulls into the cup, speculating about whether Dustin finally cut his hair (Unlikely, unless Suzie got tired of it) or wondering if Lucas scored the chemistry 101 TA position he’d applied for (Oh, definitely! Professor’s an idiot if he doesn’t pick Lucas…) Maybe Max has acquired a few more books in braille, or bullied the city council into adding more accessibility features to the government buildings around town. (She’s unstoppable!)
Maybe El has moved on from the three waterfalls to brave the rocky cliffs of Skellig Michael where she’s doubtless found some mythical Celtic Druid to swap magical secrets with…
They speak of El in hushed tones, and though Mike’s throat tightens a little when they talk about her, it’s a dull ache compared to the gaping wound from before. Remembering her in this way is more comforting than anything. Even imagining adventures for her feels like they’re keeping her alive.
Mike’s holding Will’s hand without realizing how they got there. Mike squeezes, and Will squeezes back, and they don’t let go.
They arrive at JJ’s ten minutes ahead of schedule.
Mike kills the ignition, and for a moment, they listen to the pop and hiss of the engine settling into stillness.
Their hands are still entwined over the console, and Mike is reluctant to let go.
“Are you okay?” Will asks, eyes soft, a crinkle between his brows that Mike wants to reach over and smooth down with his free hand.
“I don’t know. Yeah. Maybe. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”
“Always,” Will says, his voice cracking on the word, his eyes going glassy in the harsh street light outside his window.
The sun has already dipped below the horizon, dusk staining the world in hues of burnt orange and indigo. In a couple of months, it will be even longer before the sun sets. There’ll be late nights at the pool, fireworks on the fourth, barbecues and bug spray, catching fireflies in jars with Holly, and staying up late nights to talk to Will about anything and everything they can think of…
A car judders to a halt in the empty lot beside them, and Mike panics, snatching his hand away from Will’s.
Will doesn’t react at this point, but Mike feels a little stab of guilt anyway. He shouldn’t—doesn’t feel ashamed of Will, but he still dreads the possibility that their friends might clock the unusual closeness and ridicule them for it.
It’s Max getting out of the car, her mom leaning over to say something to her through the opening before Max slams the door and feels for the sidewalk with the end of her cane. Will bounds out of the car, exclaiming when Max is within earshot, “Max! It’s Will!”
She laughs in delight, arms folding around him in a tight squeeze. They sway like that on the sidewalk, laughing and cooing “Awwww! I missed you!” “I missed you, too!” at each other until Mike sidles up to them, fists buried in his pockets.
Max turns her face toward Mike, cocking her head when she hears him stop a few feet away.
“Get over here, and give me a hug, asshole!” she says, but there’s no venom in her unconventional endearment.
Mike complies, earning himself a possibly intentional jab in the ribs from the cane. “It’s good to see you, Max.”
“Wish I could say the same,” she jokes. “Anyone else here yet?”
“Nah. Let’s go in and grab a table. They should be here soon.”
Will offers his arm to Max, and they make their way up the walk, Mike trailing in their wake.
“How’s your mom?” Will asks. “She looked pretty good from what I could see.”
“Oh, she’s doing well! We applied for that grant I was telling you about, and got it! They sent some contractors to install ramps and rails around the trailer last month, and it’s been so much easier to get around. She doesn’t have to stress about saving the money for renovations anymore, which has helped so much…”
Mike hears someone shouting his name from the parking lot and turns to see Dustin flying at him for a hug.
They collide with an Oof! And it’s all laughter and shouting as Will and Max join in.
“You owe me ten bucks,” Will whispers into Mike’s ear. “He’s cut it!”
“You only get the ten bucks if it’s because of Suzie,” Mike shoots back.
“Where’s Lucas?” Dustin asks Max. “I thought he’d be with you.”
“Running late. Erica needed a ride to the mall. I’m pretty sure she has something on him, because he caved a little too easily, if you ask me…”
“What do you think it is? A failing grade in World Civ? Ooh! Or a secret fender bender he’s afraid to tell his parents about?” Mike asks.
“I don’t know, but I’m gonna get her to tell me. She usually can’t resist spilling the goods!”
Inside, JJ’s is unusually busy, though with summer approaching, it’s perhaps no surprise to see groups of high schoolers clumped around, daydreaming of their impending freedom. The group squeezes into one of the only free booths left, Mike and Will on one side, Dustin and Max on the other.
Mike is waffling between the omelette and chicken-fried steak when Lucas slides into the seat beside Max, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek by way of greeting.
“Ewwww! Can you not right now?” Max says, but she’s also laughing, squeezing Lucas’s arm. “You’re making Mike uncomfortable, babe.”
Mike’s not sure how she knows this, but she always seems to sense his pressure points and nail them with pinprick accuracy.
“I think it’s cute,” Will says, like the sweet, cuddly teddy bear he is. Mike doesn’t miss the way Will’s thigh presses against his in wistful imitation of Max and Lucas’s unrestrained physical affection.
He’s so warm and nice, and no one can really see, so Mike doesn’t feel the need to pull away.
“And that’s why you’re my favorite, Will,” Max says.
“Hey!” Lucas and Dustin protest in unison.
Mike shrugs. “I dunno, I think I’m kind of special, being the only one Max hates.”
“You have a point there,” Lucas says.
“It’s good to be together again,” Max says, and for a moment they take it all in. It’s been four months since they’d all congregated here during winter break. It feels like it’s been much longer.
“Oh! Mike, Will, I forgot to tell you. Come by my house tomorrow night at seven,” Dustin says, breaking the silence with the abrupt and official request.
“Why?” Mike asks. Not that he’s not interested, but it’s been far too long since he’s had a good, home-cooked meal, and he’s not sure he wants to miss it if it’s only going to be for video games or something.
Dustin gets all shifty-eyed before answering, “Trust me. It will be fun.” Then, as if he can sense Mike’s unspoken reservation, he tacks on, “And there’s going to be food. Lots of fucking food!”
There seems to be no confusion on Lucas or Max’s end, which means they already know. Or are in on it? Mike narrows his eyes and looks between them, opening his mouth to ask what this is really about, when Will beats him to it.
“Do we get to see Suzie again?” Will guesses.
Dustin mimes zipping his lips and throwing a key away.
“I forgot you guys have already met her,” Lucas says. “I’m a little jealous. Is she as pretty as Dusty-bun says?”
“Shut up, asshole!” Dustin reaches over Max to swat at Lucas, who dodges, nearly knocking into the gangly, curly-haired teen with the apron and notepad who has just shuffled up to their table.
“Sorry,” Lucas mumbles at him.
The teen—“Stanley,” his name badge reads—stares down at him for a second before shrugging and flipping to a blank page on his notepad.
“What can I get you guys?” Stanley drones in a monotone that oozes boredom.
They go around the table and give their orders. Stanley jots them down before collecting the sticky menus with a pointed yawn.
“Tough crowd,” Dustin mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. He turns back to Mike and Will. “So, you’ll come?”
Will darts a quick look at Mike before meeting Dustin’s eye again, worry furrowing his brow. “Mom might be using her car. I might need a ride…”
Mike is quick to say, “I’ll come pick you up! Don’t worry about it!”
Will’s expression softens into relief, and for a moment, they’re caught up in each other, a shared smile that lingers a little too long…
The moment is broken by Dustin clearing his throat. Mike feels his face heat. He hastily grabs for the sweetener caddy and begins rearranging the packets.
Thankfully, Lucas is quick to change the subject, asking Will about how his winter classes went, and Will regales him with stories about his outrageous Bio professor, who set off random explosions in class and frequently blasted rave music anytime he felt the class was getting too drowsy.
Mike has heard all of this already—even sat in on one of the lectures to see if it was true, and Will hadn’t been exaggerating. The man was borderline insane.
The conversation flows on, any awkwardness caused by Mike’s minor lapse in judgment long forgotten. Nobody suspects anything odd. Not that there’s anything to suspect, but still. It’s normal. Mike’s normal.
They talk for a ridiculous amount of time, not noticing the dwindling patrons around them or the impatient way Stanley wipes every other table in the room while shooting them a never ending barrage of annoyed looks.
“—So, when are we going to get together for another campaign, Mike?” Dustin asks.
But Stanley's had enough, and interrupts them with a gruff, “We’re closing in ten minutes!”
“Alright, alright, don’t get your tighty-whitey’s in a twist!” Dustin scoffs. “About the campaign, Mike—"
Lucas stands first, helping Max up while Mike deflects, promising to be in touch once he figures out his and Will’s summer schedules. He’s distracted by the way Will leans against him, yawning, elbow brushing Mike’s shoulder in a back-cracking stretch.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice how late it was,” Mike says as they file out of the diner.
Will keeps bumping into him while rubbing his eyes. He’s so cute when he’s like this, and Mike has to restrain himself from telling him so.
Instead, Mike wraps an arm around his shoulder, steadying him as they stumble to the car. He holds open the door and waits until Will’s feet are safely tucked inside before slamming it shut.
Mike catches Lucas’s eye above the roof of his car, where he’s done the exact same thing for Max, and for a terrifying moment, Mike thinks he’s been had.
But Lucas smiles and waves, and that’s that.
The ten-minute drive is silent. Mike keeps stealing glances at Will, who’s closed his eyes, head slumped into the crevice between the headrest and the window. The radio is turned down low, more static than melody, lulling Mike along the silent roads until he feels as drowsy as Will looks.
The Byers-Hopper cabin is dark when Mike pulls up the drive.
He tries to inch quietly along the dirt road, killing the lights as soon as he can, so as not to wake Will’s parents.
Mike shakes Will awake once they’ve parked. “Hey. We’re at your place. Looks like your Mom has gone to bed already.”
Will blinks blearily up at him, then unbuckles and opens the door. He pauses, squinting at the clock on the dash—past midnight, now—before turning back to Mike.
“You look tired. Wanna crash with me?” Will’s voice is gravely and irresistably soft.
Mike probably should go home. He wouldn’t have to share a bed, (Will is a notorious blanket hog), and he can take a long shower without worrying about the water getting cold, and Mom might make blueberry pancakes for breakfast if she sees that he’s made it home, and…
Will wouldn’t be there. Mike’s gotten so used to Will being in the same room as him, the sound of his breathing at night and the sight of him sleep-rumpled and yawning in the morning familiar and comforting.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Mike nods. “We can unpack in the morning.”
“Better at least grab the food,” Will says, bending over the seat to load the leftover snacks and trash into his plastic shopping bag. “Wouldn’t want bears or raccoons to get into the car.”
“Right. I have that box of our dorm food in the trunk. Hang on—”
Will eases the screen door open, wincing when it squeaks. Mike tiptoes up the creaky wood steps behind him, feeling like a burglar breaking in. He wants to laugh, but that would defeat the purpose of acting stealthy.
They deposit the food on the minuscule kitchen table before easing their way down the narrow hall to the tiny bedroom across from Joyce and Hopper’s.
It’s barely big enough for the full-sized bed wedged beneath the postage-stamp window, but they manage to squeeze in, too tired to care about modesty. They deposit socks and shoes and belts and jeans and t-shirts in haphazard piles on the floor, heedless of bumping elbows and knees.
Mike takes the space closest to the wall (the most easily defensible against blanket thieves) and Will follows, the blue flash of his boxers disappearing beneath the blankets before Mike can commit the sight to memory.
“Good to be home,” Will says through an enormous yawn. He punches his pillow into the perfect shape and collapses onto it with a tired groan.
“Yeah,” Mike agrees.
“Thanks for staying,” Will murmurs, his consonants sleep-slurred and drowsy.
“Thanks for letting me.”
For a moment, Will doesn’t reply, and Mike thinks he’s fallen asleep.
Mike closes his eyes, ready to let himself slide under the same current when he hears Will mumble, “Love you,” before reverting to the heavy breathing of someone who is very much asleep.
Love you.
Could mean anything.
Could mean, ‘Love you, pal!’
Or maybe Will thought he was saying goodnight to his Mom.
Or maybe…
No.
Mike probably imagined it, anyway.