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The basement clock had ticked past midnight twenty minutes ago, but Will couldn't bring himself to care, mainly because Mike was doing his absolutely terrible impression of Lucas trying to explain why the ‘Empire Strikes Back’ was "cinematically superior" to ‘Return of the Jedi’, completely with exaggerated hand gestures that nearly knocked over the lamp on the nightstand.
"–and the lighting," Mike whispered dramatically, his voice pitched higher in mock-seriousness, "the symbolic weight of the color grading–"
"Oh my god, stop," Will pressed his palm over his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "That's so mean. He didn't actually say color grading."
"He did! He absolutely did!" Mike insisted, flopping back against the pillows. "Last week during movie night. I'm not making this up. He said–and I quote–'the color grading in Empire represents Luke's descent into moral ambiguity.', whatever the fuck that is–"
"Lucas does not know what moral ambiguity means."
"Exactly."
Will dissolved into giggles again, burying his face in Mike's shoulder to muffle the sound. The house was quiet around them, everyone else long asleep, and the last thing they needed was Nancy investigating suspicious noises or, worse, Jonathan asking questions Will wasn't ready to answer yet. This thing between them still felt so fragile and new, even after months of stolen moments and whispered confessions.
"Shh, shh," Mike was saying, but he was laughing too, his chest vibrating against Will's cheek. "You're gonna–Will, you're gonna wake everyone up–"
"Me?" Will pulled back just enough to meet Mike's eyes, indignant. "You're the one doing voice impressions at midnight like some kind of–"
"Comedic genius?"
"I was gonna say idiot."
"Rude." Mike's grin was crooked and soft in the dim light from the desk lamp, they'd angled it toward the wall so it wouldn't shine under the door. "You love it."
Will did love it. He loved the easy back-and-forth, loved it when Mike looked at him like he was the only person in the world worth paying attention to, loved the warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the Indiana heat.
"Okay but seriously," Will said, trying to get them back on track before his brain melted from the schmaltz, "What do you think Dustin actually sees in Suzie? Like, I know they're in love or whatever, but she made him sing that song. In front of everyone."
"True. But also, I think Dustin's into that. Like, the drama of it all. Remember when he showed up to the arcade in that stupid hat–"
"The thinking cap–"
"–and started explaining quantum mechanics to that random kid?"
"Oh god, I blocked that out," Will groaned, smiling and helpless against the onslaught of terrible memories. "That poor kid. He just wanted to play Dig Dug."
"Dustin cornered him for twenty minutes."
"Someone should do a welfare check on him. Make sure he's okay."
Mike wheezed, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Stop making me laugh. Nancy has supersonic hearing."
"Then maybe you should stop being funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny, I'm just stating facts–" Mike broke off, shaking his head. "Okay, but you know who's actually worse than all of them combined?"
"Who?"
"Erica."
Will tilted his head. "Erica Sinclair?"
"Yes. She called me Michael last week. Michael. Nobody calls me that. And then she said, and I quote, 'Your hair looks like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket, Michael.'"
"Oh wow," Will breathed, delighted. "That's amazing. She's so cool."
"She's terrifying. Lucas should come with a warning label. 'Beware: younger sister will instantly bully you.'"
"I mean, to be fair, your hair does kind of–"
Mike gasped, betrayed. "I cannot believe you're taking her side right now."
"I'm not taking her side! I'm just saying, like, objectively, there's a certain... volume situation happening going on–"
"You know what?" Mike shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. "You're absolutely the worst person I know."
"Uh-huh." Will's heart was doing that stupid fluttery thing again, Mike’s fault for looking at him all intense and focused and a little bit ridiculous. "And yet here you are, willingly in a room with me, past midnight.”
"Questionable life choices on my part."
"Whatever you say."
They were close now, closer than strictly necessary for conversation, and Will could count the freckles scattered across Mike's nose. His eyes had gone dark and soft in the lamplight. The air between them felt charged with things Will didn't quite have words for yet.
"Although," Mike continued, his voice dropping lower, "I guess I have some redeeming qualities."
"Oh yeah?" Will's pulse was racing now, thundering in his ears. "Like what?"
Mike opened his mouth, clearly about to launch into some rambling list, because that's what Mike did – he rambled and gestured and talked in circles until he'd thoroughly confused himself – but then he stopped. Closed his mouth. And instead of answering, he just leaned in and kissed Will mid-sentence, like he'd been thinking about it for the past hour and finally gave in.
Will smiled against his mouth, couldn't help it, and then Mike was pressing closer, one hand coming up to hold Will's jaw as Will let himself sink back into the mattress. It was familiar now – the weight of Mike above him, the gentle pressure of lips on lips, the way Mike's hair fell forward and tickled Will's forehead. They'd done this dozens of times over the past few months, fumbling in the dark, learning each other in increments.
Yet it still felt electric every time. Still sent butterflies spiraling through Will's stomach, still made his fingers prickle where they'd found their way to Mike's shoulders.
Mike pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe, and Will chased his mouth automatically, drawing him back in. This was better than talking. Better than making fun of their friends or discussing the merits of Star Wars or any of the other stupid things they did to pass the time. This was –
Mike laughed, sudden and bright, breaking the kiss. "Sorry, sorry, I just–your hair's sticking up now too. We match."
"Oh my god, shut up." But Will was laughing too, helpless and dizzy and possibly a little bit drunk on the sheer absurdity of it all. "You're so annoying."
"You literally just agreed I have redeeming qualities."
"I'm reconsidering."
Mike kissed him again, quick and sweet, then once more for good measure.
Eventually he pulled back, rolling onto his side but staying close, their legs still tangled together. "We should probably sleep," he murmured, though he made no move to actually follow through on that suggestion.
"Probably," Will agreed. Then, because his brain was apparently incapable of staying quiet for more than thirty seconds, "You know what we should do tomorrow?"
Mike hummed fondly. "This again?"
"Obviously this again." Will poked him in the ribs. "But also—and hear me out—"
"I'm hearing you out. I'm listening. I'm a great listener."
"You're really not."
"Whatever. Continue."
Will grinned, the idea fully forming now. "We should go to that vinyl store downtown. The one near the comic shop."
"Okay...?"
"And buy Steve that Billy Idol vinyl he was talking about."
There was a beat of silence. Then Mike's face split into the most delighted grin Will had ever seen. "Holy shit."
"Right?"
"Just give it to him? With no explanation?"
"No explanation. Just 'hey Steve, we got you this.'"
"He'll be so confused." Mike was practically vibrating with excitement now. "He'll think we're buttering him up for something. He'll get all paranoid and suspicious."
"Exactly. And then we just never explain it. Ever."
"Will Byers," Mike said solemnly, "you're a genius. An evil genius. This is the best idea you've ever had."
"I have lots of good ideas."
"Name one other good idea you've had."
"Dating you."
Mike's expression softened, went all melty and warm, and he pressed his forehead against Will's. "Okay," he whispered. "That's a pretty good idea."
"Just pretty good?"
"Fine. Excellent. Revolutionary. Changes the course of human history."
"That's more like it."
They fell quiet again, comfortable and easy, and Will let himself have this – the weight of Mike beside him, the sound of their breathing syncing up, the knowledge that tomorrow they'd wake up and do this all over again. Make fun of their friends and plan ridiculous schemes and steal kisses in doorways when no one was looking.
"We're idiots," Mike said eventually, voice thick with sleep.
"Total idiots," Will agreed.
"But like, in a good way?"
"In an annoying way."
Mike laughed, soft and quiet, and pulled Will closer. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
And Will, warm and happy and maybe a little bit in love, decided that annoying was perfect. Annoying was them, and he wouldn't change it for anything.
Twenty minutes later, Mike was definitely asleep. Or at least, he was doing a very good impression of it. His breath had gone slow and even, one arm still draped across Will's waist, face smushed into the pillow in a way that would absolutely give him pillow creases in the morning.
Will should leave. He needed to leave. It was pushing one in the morning now, and if anyone woke up and found his bed in the basement empty, there would be questions. So many questions. Ones that would unravel this entire carefully constructed secret in about thirty seconds flat.
But Mike was warm, and the bed was comfortable, and leaving meant untangling himself from this perfect moment where everything felt safe and simple.
"Okay," Will whispered to absolutely no one, since Mike was out cold. "Okay, I'm going."
He didn't move.
Mike made a small noise in his sleep, tightening his grip for just a second before relaxing again. Will's heart did something painful in his chest.
"Right. Going. Now."
It took another three minutes of careful maneuvering to extract himself without waking Mike up. He moved slowly, shifting Mike's arm onto the mattress, sliding toward the edge of the bed, pausing every time Mike stirred.
Finally, he was standing beside the bed, and Mike was still peacefully asleep, one hand now curled against his chest where Will had been moments before.
Will allowed himself five seconds to just look, and feel the captivating thrill of this secret. He turned toward the door and immediately caught sight of himself in the mirror above Mike's dresser.
"Oh no," he whispered.
His hair was disastrous. There was absolutely no way to explain this away as 'I was sleeping peacefully in the basement.' This was 'someone's hands were definitely in my hair' hair.
Will frantically tried to smooth it down, running his fingers through it and pressing it flat against his head. It helped a little, but he still looked suspicious, but maybe he could pass it off as shower hair? No, wait, that didn't make sense, he'd showered before dinner, no way he was going to shower again right now just to –
He was reeling. He needed to leave before he woke Mike up with his panic.
Will crept toward the door, stepping carefully over the pile of D&D books Mike had left on the floor. The doorknob was cold under his palm, and he turned it with agonizing slowness, cringing at every tiny click and creak.
The hallway was dark and blessedly empty. Will slipped through the gap he'd created, then spent another thirty seconds carefully, carefully closing the door behind him, one hand supporting the weight so it wouldn't swing shut and make noise. The latch clicked into place with the softest sound, barely audible, and Will let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
He turned around.
And froze.
Because Jonathan was standing in the hallway, approximately eight feet away, in front of Nancy's door.
Also frozen.
Also clearly in the process of sneaking out of a bedroom that was not his own.
They stared at each other in the darkness.
Jonathan's hair looked remarkably similar to Will's – thoroughly messed up, the universal signal of someone who'd been doing exactly what they'd been doing. His shirt was rumpled. One of his socks was missing.
Will's brain had completely blanked out. Of all the possible scenarios he'd imagined for getting caught – Mrs. Wheeler waking up, Nancy investigating, even Mr. Wheeler stumbling to the bathroom – he had not prepared for this.
Jonathan's eyes were wide and reflected what little light came from the window at the end of the hall. Will gestured frantically at the stairs – go, go, GO – but Jonathan was apparently as paralyzed as Will was.
This was a nightmare. This was the actual worst thing that could have happened.
Jonathan pointed at Mike's door behind Will, his expression somewhere between confused and possibly about to laugh, which would wake up the entire house and then they'd both be dead.
Will shook his head violently – don't you dare, don't you DARE – and made another desperate gesture toward the stairs.
Finally, finally, Jonathan seemed to understand. He took one careful step forward, moving like he was walking through a minefield.
Will did the same as he crept toward the stairs from the opposite direction, and they met in the middle of the hallway like two spies conducting the world's most awkward exchange.
They stood there for another excruciating moment, roughly three feet apart, just looking at each other. Jonathan's face was cycling through shock, realization, more shock, and possibly the beginning stages of older-brother-protectiveness.
Will put a finger to his lips. Please don't say anything. I might actually die.
Jonathan's face landed on understanding, or at least a temporary truce. He nodded once, sharp and quick.
Then he pointed at Will, then at himself, then made a zipping motion across his lips.
Will nodded back frantically. Yes. Yes, exactly. We both saw nothing. This never happened.
They stood there for another second, mutual blackmail comfortable between them.
The basement door was at the bottom of the stairs. This was the real awkward part, the one neither of them could avoid. Crammed into the Wheelers' house, it was hard to avoid your brother when your brother was sleeping in the same room as you. Will felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to repeatedly bang his head against a wall to pass out faster.
"Will," Jonathan said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Jonathan," Will replied, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around 'definitely suspicious.'
"So. That was–"
"Yep."
Silence. It was immensely suffocating.
"I was just," Jonathan started, then stopped. Ran a hand through his disaster hair. "I was just, like. Talking to Nancy. By the way. Just clarifying."
Will blinked at him. "Okay?"
"Just–y’know. Talking. That's all."
"Jonathan, Nancy's your girlfriend."
"Right. Yeah. Obviously." Jonathan looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. "I just meant–I wanted to clarify–we were just–"
"I'm not judging you," Will said quickly, because watching his brother try to explain himself was almost physically painful. "I don't care."
"Good. Great. Cool." Jonathan nodded several times, too enthusiastically. Then his eyes narrowed slightly, and Will watched in horror as his gaze traveled down from Will's face to his neck. "So, uh. Why were you in Mike's room anyway?"
Will's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, it's one in the morning. You were sneaking out of Mike's room."
"I'm allowed to be in my best friend's room."
"At one AM?"
"We were talking," Will said, echoing Jonathan's excuse back at him, keeping his voice perfectly level. Then, because he felt the need to add something, "Platonically."
Cool. Great. Not suspicious at all.
Jonathan gave him a look.
"Jonathan," Will continued, adopting his most innocent expression, "he's a guy. I'm a guy. We've known each other since we were five. We hang out in his room all the time. What are you trying to say?"
Jonathan seemed to consider this. "Yeah," he said. "That's true. You guys are close."
"Exactly!" Will seized on this, maybe a little too eagerly. "We're best friends. Best friends hang out at night."
Jonathan looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Just two best friends. Hanging out."
"Yeah."
"At one in the morning."
"We lost track of time."
"With messed up hair."
"We were–" Will scrambled for an explanation. "We were lying down. On the floor. Talking. People's hair gets messy when they lie down."
"Uh-huh." Jonathan's mouth twitched. “And you are close.”
“Yeah.”
Silence settled over them.
Then, Jonathan murmured softly, so softly that Will almost missed it – "Horizontally close, apparently."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Nothing!" Jonathan said. “I didn't say anything." He totally did.
"You–" Will grabbed the nearest pillow from his bed and chucked it at Jonathan's head. Jonathan caught it, and his countenance turned into something more serious. "Will. Come on. I'm not an idiot."
"I never said you were."
"You're actually not fooling anyone."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Will said, aiming for dignity and probably missing by a mile. "We're friends."
"So are me and Nancy!"
"Okay then!"
They both froze, realizing they'd gotten too loud. The house remained silent around them. No footsteps upstairs. No doors opening. They'd gotten away with it.
For now.
"Will. Please." Jonathan looked at him, and his expression softened. "I mean, we're both clearly in the same boat here, right? Mutually assured destruction and all that?"
Will felt something loosen in his chest. "...Yeah. Okay."
"Cool." Jonathan smiled. "You can just tell me, you know? I wouldn't be shocked. And I love you, Will. You're my brother, and nothing changes that."
Will's throat went tight. He wasn't ready for this sort of sincerity, or the open door Jonathan was offering. Because once he walked through it, once he said it out loud, it became real in a different way. It stopped being just his and Mike's secret and became something other people knew about.
But just knowing Jonathan would always be there, would never make him feel weird or broken, even when everyone else did, made it all the better.
"I take back every nice thing I've ever said about you," Will said, but his voice cracked slightly on the words.
"All three of them?"
"All three of them." Will looked down at his feet, then back up at his brother. "And Jonathan? I love you too."
Jonathan's smile widened, and he reached out to lightly punch Will's shoulder. "Get some sleep, man. You look like hell."
"You look worse."
"And if you're gonna keep sneaking around, maybe invest in a comb. Or like, a hat or something."
Will grabbed another pillow. "Shut up–"
"Just trying to help!" Jonathan whispered, dodging the pillow. "Your hair looks like a bird nested in it–"
"I hate you so much–"
"No you don't. Goodnight, Will."
"Night, Jon."
Tomorrow was still going to be weird, but maybe in a different way than he'd thought. Maybe in a way that felt a little bit like acceptance. His brother knew, knew and he'd said nothing changes, and he'd smiled like he was happy for Will.
Will rolled over, staring up at the basement ceiling. The secret door had swung open, just a little, and the world hadn't ended.
Annoying older brothers and all, this was exactly where he was supposed to be.