Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler didn’t realize he needed Will Byers like oxygen all at once.
It came in fragments—quiet, accumulative things that didn’t announce themselves as dangerous. A tightening in his chest when Will left the room. A restless edge to his thoughts when Will was late. The way his hand reached out automatically, like muscle memory, searching for the solid reassurance of skin.
He told himself it was habit.
History.
Trauma.
Anything except what it felt like.
Will was sitting on the floor of Mike’s bedroom, back against the bed, sketchbook balanced on his knees. His hair kept falling into his eyes when he leaned forward to shade something, and Mike had the overwhelming urge to reach down and tuck it back. He didn’t. Instead, he lay on his stomach across the bed, one arm dangling over the edge so his fingers brushed Will’s side.
Not touching was unbearable.
Touching made the noise in his head go quiet.
“You’re gonna cramp like that,” Will said without looking up.
Mike shrugged. “Worth it.”
Will snorted softly and shifted, just enough that Mike’s fingers were able to slide beneath the hem of his sweatshirt and come to rest against bare skin at his waist. Warm. Familiar. Necessary.
Mike exhaled, slow and relieved, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it.
Will didn’t comment. He never did.
Across the room, Dustin was mid-rant, pacing with the frantic intensity of someone delivering a closing argument. “I’m just saying, if you don’t apply early, you’re basically sabotaging yourself.”
Lucas leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “We’re seniors, not corporate executives.”
“I am planning for my future,” Dustin snapped.
Mike blinked. “Yeah.”
Will added, a beat too late, “Totally.”
Dustin stopped pacing and squinted at them. “You did not hear a single word I said.”
Mike’s fingers pressed more firmly into Will’s side. Will leaned back against the bed, shoulder settling into Mike’s thigh like an apology.
Lucas watched them with a look he’d been wearing more often lately—something thoughtful, uneasy, but not judgmental.
“Anyway,” Lucas said, redirecting easily, “Tommy H’s throwing a party tonight.”
Mike felt the shift before Will spoke, the almost-imperceptible hitch in Will’s breathing.
Mike’s stomach dropped.
“You going?” Mike asked, too quickly.
Will hesitated. “I don’t know. Jonathan thinks I should get out more.”
Mike pressed his thumb into Will’s skin, grounding himself as much as Will. “You hate those parties.”
Will smiled faintly. “I like being with you.”
There it was.
Not no.
Never no.
Mike swallowed.
Footsteps sounded in the hall—older, heavier, familiar. Nancy leaned into the doorway first, eyes sharp as ever, followed by Steve, Robin, and Jonathan.
The room shifted immediately.
Steve clocked the positioning in half a second. “Wow,” he said. “You guys are… close.”
Robin grinned. “That’s one word for it.”
Will flushed. Mike didn’t move his hand.
Nancy raised an eyebrow. “Is this new?”
Mike opened his mouth.
Jonathan answered first. “It’s always been like this.”
Something sharp and territorial flared in Mike’s chest at that. He didn’t know why.
Robin tilted her head, studying them with unsettling focus. “Okay, real question. Are we calling this platonic, or are we lying to ourselves recreationally?”
“It’s not like that,” Will said quickly.
“Yeah,” Mike added. “We’re just—”
“Best friends,” Steve finished, smiling like he’d heard it before. “Sure.”
Mike bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Steve lifted his hands. “Nothing. Just… I’ve seen couples with less contact.”
“I’ve seen married people with less contact,” Robin added.
Will shifted, fingers curling into the hem of Mike’s shirt. A silent don’t pull away.
Mike didn’t.
Jonathan watched quietly, something careful in his expression. “Mike,” he said gently, “you okay?”
Mike wanted to say yes.
Instead, he said, “I don’t like it when he’s not here.”
The room went still.
Will looked up at him, eyes wide and soft. “Mike…”
Mike’s heart slammed against his ribs. Too much. Too honest.
“I mean,” he added quickly, “everything just feels… wrong.”
Robin’s voice softened. “That sounds exhausting.”
Mike laughed weakly. “Yeah. It is.”
Will reached up, fingers brushing Mike’s jaw—almost a kiss, but not quite. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Mike closed his eyes. That was it.
The realization settled deep and terrible and undeniable: If Will left—if Will chose something else—Mike didn’t know if he’d survive it intact.
This wasn’t a want.
It was a need.
And it had been growing quietly for years.