Chapter Text
Summer 1990
They giggled under the dim light of Mike’s lamp, sprawled across his bed. Shoulders brushing as they mindlessly flipped through the pages of a comic that had gone ignored for the past ten minutes, or maybe fifty. Time seemed to freeze and speed up at once when they were together. Neither of them knew what time it was, except that it was very late, based on the silence that had settled over the Wheelers' house and the darkness pressing against its windows.
Mike avoided looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table. He wanted this moment to stretch out forever.
Joyce and Hopper having moved to New York, Will stayed with Mike during his visit to Hawkins.
It made sense. He had the space, his parents didn’t mind, and Will was already used the house since he'd lived in it for two years. But really, Mike loved spending time with Will. He loved the way they’d slipped back into something familiar, something easy. That despite being apart for a year, despite everything that had happened between them, they stayed friends. Best friends.
And nothing could ever come in the way of that.
Will shifted beside him, laughing softly, which made Mike acutely aware of how warm it was in the room. He pushed his overgrown bangs out of his face, irritated by the way his hair clung to the back of his neck.
Will noticed. Without hesitation, his fingers slid into Mike’s hair, tangling gently in the damp curls at the nape of his neck, cool against his overheated skin.
“I could give you a haircut,” he said, way too casually. “I kinda learned how,” he added, running his free hand through his own hair, as if to prove his point.
It worked. Because, as much as Mike had always loved Will’s hair, the bowl cut he’d been stuck with during their childhood didn’t even come close to the new soft and wavy locks that were now framing his face perfectly.
Mike swallowed. Heat running up his cheeks and into the tips of his ears. He hadn’t felt Will’s touch in so long. He’d been avoiding it like the plague for this very reason: It was dizzying. Dangerous. One touch always led to another, and to the urge to pull Will closer and stay there until the feeling burned itself out.
An urge Mike had buried deep enough that he could pretend it didn’t exist.
“Mhm,” Mike finally managed, suddenly serious, wide-eyed. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Yeah?” Will asked, surprised that Mike had actually agreed.
“Yeah, totally,” Mike nodded, a bit too eagerly as he vaguely gestured to his hair, “It's getting really annoying."
They tiptoed down the dimly lit hallway, arms lightly brushing as they made their way to the bathroom.
Mike dragged a stool over and sat on it, leaning forward so his head hovered over the bathtub. Will gently draped a towel over his shoulders.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked for what was probably the 7th time, holding up a pair of kitchen scissors.
“Yeah,” Mike responded, barely hesitating. "Go wild,"
Will pinched the ends of Mike's hair that curled over his shoulders. "Alright." He whispered.
"But not too wild." Mike chuckled.
The soft snip of scissors filled the bathroom, sharp against the thick silence. Strands of hair fell into the tub, while Will’s cold fingers brushed lightly against the back of Mike’s burning neck, sending shivers through him. Mike leaned into it before he could stop himself.
"Okay," Will murmured. "Turn around."
He slowly rotated on the stool. His knee bumped into Will's as he faced him. Neither of them moved, allowing the touch to linger more than it should.
Will lowered himself to meet Mike at eye level. Close enough that Mike could see every mole and every freckle scattered across his face.
He held Mike's bangs between his index and middle fingers and began trimming, careful and focused.
Mike didn’t know where to look, only that he should avoid Will’s eyes.
So his gaze dropped to his lips.
That was a mistake.
They were pink, damp. Will’s mouth parted, the tips of his bunny teeth peeked out as he released his lower lip from the bite he’d been holding in concentration. He let out a soft breath, the smell of the vanilla ice cream they'd shared earlier that evening brushed against Mike’s face, warm and unbearably close.
A sudden, unwelcome impulse crept in: To close the distance between them, to cup Will's face, and—
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think about anything else.
“There,” Will said suddenly, resting his hands on Mike’s shoulders as he straightened his posture. "I just gave you a trim,"
Mike opened his eyes, blinking as if he’d just woken up, his gaze wandered around the room like he’d forgotten where he was.
He stood and walked over to the mirror, reluctantly letting go of Will's touch.
“I’m sorry if it’s a bit uneven,” Will added nervously.
“No, no, it’s good,” Mike said quickly, studying his reflection. “I love it. Thank you.”
The bangs were slightly crooked. But that wasn’t what he was thinking about at all.
“I'm glad,” Will exhaled.
Mike huffed out a quiet laugh, "Yeah,” still staring at his reflection, "Seems uh- Seems like you missed your calling". He joked, trying to shake off a tension only he seemed to feel.
He gripped the cool edges of the sink, his knees still weak.
Will smiled, picking up the broom that sat in the corner to sweep up a few hair strands that had found their way to the floor.
The quiet returned, heavier now, broken only by the soft brush of bristles against tile.
Mike reached for his toothbrush.
“Right. I almost forgot to brush my teeth,” Will remembered before padding back to the bedroom to grab his.
As soon as he was gone, Mike finally exhaled, the tension bleeding out of his body.
He stared at his reflection.
Why was he feeling this way?
He rubbed his forehead, brows furrowed so much it hurt.
Will returned a moment later with his toothbrush.
Mike shot him an awkward smile and held out the toothpaste, clumsily squeezing the last bit onto Will’s brush, their hands hovering unnecessarily close.
They brushed their teeth side by side, movements slow and unhurried, stealing glances at each other through the mirror. Their shoulders brushed now and then, and Will's elbow bumped against Mike's side. The occasional contact sent small, electric jolts through Mike.
“Sorry,” Will whispered each time.
“It’s okay,” Mike responded.
It wasn't.
Will leaned over the sink, bracing his hands against the porcelain as he rinsed his mouth. The sound of running water filled the bathroom, loud in the quiet. Mike watched him bend forward, the muscles in his neck tense and relax as he swished and spit. Water dripped down his chin before he noticed, catching briefly on his jaw. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, slower than necessary, then straightened.
Mike realized, distantly, that he was staring.
Will glanced at him over his shoulder. The look that crossed his face was brief, something questioning, not quite a smile. Hope, maybe. Though it vanished just as quickly, replaced with something more careful.
Mike looked away first.
Will turned off the tap and stepped past him, heading back toward the bedroom without comment.
Mike stayed behind, gripping the edge of the sink. His reflection stared back at him, wide-eyed and guilty, like he’d been caught doing something he couldn’t explain, even to himself.
His gaze fell on the scissors still resting on the counter. With a tired sigh, he evened out his bangs.
He joined Will a moment later.
"Uh- I kind of forgot to pack pajamas," Will said, scratching the back of his head. "Do you have anything I can borrow?"
"Yeah. yeah, of course." Mike crossed the room to his closet. "Hold on." He searched in his closet for a while, until he finally grabbed his Hellfire Club shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants, and set them on the bed beside Will.
"Thanks"
They blankly stared at each other for a second before Will pressed his lips together, awkwardly turned his back to Mike, and started pulling off his shirt.
It took Mike a second to register. "No– Sorry. Of course." He let out a sharp breath. "Privacy."
He stepped out of the room and waited by the doorway, arms crossed tight against his chest, face burning. He closed his eyes.
He shouldn’t, but he let his mind fill in the gaps anyway; Will inside the room, pulling his shirt over his head. The way his tank top might ride up, revealing...
Stop.
“Okay," Will called. "I'm done,"
Mike walked back in. Seeing Will in his clothes hit him harder than he'd expected. His shirt was tight on him. His arms lightly stretched the fabric, his shoulders filling it out.
Mike didn’t realize he was staring until Will let out a small, awkward laugh.
“What?” Will asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh, uh, nothing," Mike said quickly. "I just—spaced out." He cleared his throat.
Will nodded, like he'd accepted the answer. His smile was faint, restrained, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"Okay," he said softly, turning away to sit on the bed.
Mike swallowed, unease curling in his chest.
They lay on opposite sides of Mike's bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, backs pressed against the mattress. Mike slowly turned his head.
Will was already looking at him.
The lamplight softened Will’s features. His green eyes looked brown in the dim light, but were as beautiful as ever.
Mike's gaze drifted to his wide shoulders and arms. He'd changed. A lot.
Without thinking, he slowly moved his hand closer, closing the gap between the tips of their pinkies. He froze, hoping the stillness would make it seem unintentional.
Will’s finger moved shakily, tentative, hooking around Mike's.
That small movement alone was enough to make his heart flutter. He pulled away sharply, as though Will’s touch had burned him, and turned his head back toward the ceiling, fast.
"We should sleep," he managed.
"I can sleep in the basement," Will offered, sitting up. "Or the mattress, if you still have-"
"The mattress," Mike said quickly. "I still have the mattress." He climbed off his bed and dragged the mattress out from underneath it. He fetched clean bedsheets from his closet and handed Will one of the extra pillows on his bed.
"Thanks."
“Okay if I turn the light off?”
“Yeah.”
The light clicked off, and the room softened, washed in pale moonlight. Will pulled the blanket over himself and shut his eyes.
“Goodnight,” Mike whispered.
“Goodnight,” Will murmured back.
The room stayed quiet after that.
The house creaked softly around them, the way it always did at night, and the mattress beneath Will shifted once before going still again.
Mike lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, listening.
Will’s breathing evened out after a while, slow and steady.
Then he shifted again.
A small sound slipped out of him, barely more than a breath. Mike frowned, turning his head slightly.
Another sound followed, sharper this time.
“No,” Will murmured.
At first, Mike told himself it was just another bad dream. But the sounds grew, louder, more frequent, until they turned into something that made his stomach twist.
“Will?” Mike called softly.
No response.
He climbed out of bed and knelt beside the mattress, resting a careful hand on Will’s shoulder and giving it a gentle shake.
“Hey, you okay?”
Will jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his chest heaving, eyes glassy with tears.
“Hey, hey,” Mike whispered. “I’m here.”
He didn’t hesitate to pull Will into his arms, holding him tight.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, slower this time, steadier.
Will melted into his embrace as his breathing gradually evened out. He clutched at Mike like he was afraid to let go, like he needed proof that he was real, still there with him, still breathing.
It was only once Will was fully awake, and his shaking subsided, that Mike realized this was the first time they’d hugged in nearly two years.
It then struck him that he probably needed that hug more than Will did.
So he didn’t pull away. Not when Will was finally calm. Not when he knew he should. He waited a few seconds longer, letting himself linger in the warmth of Will’s arms, indulging just a little before reality could catch up with him.
“You okay?” Mike asked softly, pulling back just enough to look at him, his hands lingering on Will's shoulders.
Will nodded.
“Okay,” Mike exhaled.
He shifted, as he braced himself to stand, he felt a light tug at his sleeve.
“Don’t go,” Will whispered, barely above a breath.
Mike hesitated.
He looked down at Will's hand, his fingers lightly pinching his sleeve, loose but unwilling to let go.
"Okay," he said softly.
He sat back down on the edge of the mattress, and Will relaxed almost immediately, his grip loosening as his breathing steadied and his eyes slowly fluttered shut.
Mike stayed there and watched Will's chest rise and fall rhythmically until the room fell quiet again.
Will looked beautiful when he slept.